Chapter Seven: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters
The magic of Kama Taj, as Elian understood it from the flickers of knowledge within him, was fundamentally different from the magic of this world. Here, magic was an inherent trait, like eye colour. You were born with it, or you weren't. There was no 'mana pool' to manage, no complex internal cultivation—just will, a wand, and the right words.
Kama Taj's path was one of discipline and universal energy. It was learned, not inherited. Through focus and practice, one could draw on the ambient energy of reality itself, shaping it into shields, weapons, and portals. It was, in theory, open to anyone with the dedication. Right now, for Elian, it was mostly theory. His control was rudimentary—telekinesis came instinctively, but shaping raw energy into stable forms was like trying to hold water in his bare hands.
He'd spent the last night before term not in anxious sleep, but in relentless, quiet practice. Sitting in the centre of his bedroom, he'd visualized a simple disc of golden light, a shield. Sparks would erupt from his fingertips, fizzling into nothing. A brief, wobbly circle of light would form before shattering like glass. It was frustrating, but beneath the frustration was a steady hum of progress. The Eye around his neck felt warm, a constant, encouraging presence.
One system felt like a wild, natural river he could swim in. The other felt like building a dam, brick by meticulous brick. He had no doubt which had the greater potential.
September 1st dawned bright and clear. Elian arrived at King's Cross Station early, his second-hand trunk trailing behind him. For a moment, he felt a pang of panic—how did one find a magical platform? Then he saw them: a family hauling an owl cage, the parents giving their excited daughter last-minute advice. He followed discreetly, his heart beating faster as they approached the solid barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten.
Watching a flock of eleven-year-olds sprint blithely at a brick wall was one thing. Doing it himself, as a teenager who logically knew walls were solid, was another. He felt a blush of self-consciousness heat his cheeks. They can do it. You can do it.
Taking a deep breath, he gripped his trolley handle, lowered his head slightly, and walked purposefully forward. Just as the trolley's front wheels should have smashed into the brick, he squeezed his eyes shut.
There was no impact. Only a sudden, loud whoosh of steam and a wave of noise.
He opened his eyes.
The scarlet steam engine, the Hogwarts Express, gleamed before him, puffing smoke into the arched ceiling of a completely different platform. Witches and wizards of all ages filled the air with chatter, tears, and laughter as they said goodbye. Above him, a sign clearly read: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
A grin spread across his face. I'm here.
His luggage—a trunk, a smaller case, and an empty owl cage (he hadn't settled on a pet)—required two trips to haul onto the train. The corridors were packed with students reuniting, scrambling for compartments, and lugging their own belongings. Elian moved down the train, looking for a compartment that wasn't overflowing with boisterous younger students.
As he passed one compartment, a flash of pale blond hair caught his eye. Draco Malfoy was holding court, surrounded by other Slytherin-looking boys, including the hulking forms of Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy was speaking with his usual sneering confidence. When his grey eyes flicked up and met Elian's through the glass for a split second, a flicker of puzzled arrogance crossed his face.
"Crabbe," Malfoy's voice, slightly muffled by the door, drifted out. "Who was that? Which house is he in?"
Elian didn't wait to hear the grunted, confused replies. He kept walking, a strange feeling in his chest. Seeing these characters from the pages of his old life, real and breathing, was endlessly surreal. He wondered what storms were already brewing behind Malfoy's cold eyes.
Finding a quiet spot was proving difficult. The train seemed full to bursting. Just as he was nearing the last carriages, he noticed one compartment that was an island of calm. The blinds were half-drawn, and it was silent inside.
He paused, peering through the glass in the door.
Inside, a girl with long, dirty-blonde hair the colour of parchment sat reading a magazine upside-down. The Quibbler. She had large, silvery, protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised and dreamy look. She wore radish earrings and a necklace made of butterbeer corks.
Luna Lovegood.
She looked up, her gaze drifting to the door as if she'd felt him there. Her eyes weren't startled, just mildly curious, as if he were an interesting but harmless type of Wrackspurt.
Before Elian could decide whether to move on or say hello, the compartment door behind him slid open with a bang.
"—absolute rubbish, the whole thing! 'Disturbance of the Peace'? I was saving our lives!"
Elian turned to see a furious-looking Harry Potter, his black hair messier than ever, glasses slightly askew. Behind him stood Ron Weasley, tall and freckled, and Hermione Granger, who upon seeing Elian, blinked in surprise.
"Oh! Elian. Hello," she said, her annoyance momentarily shifting. "Have you found a seat?"
Harry and Ron both looked at him. Harry's gaze was assessing, guarded. Ron's was openly curious.
"Not yet," Elian said. "It's a bit full."
"You can join us," Hermione said decisively, gesturing to their compartment, which he could see was already crowded with their belongings. "We've just had the most ridiculous conversation with Malfoy. And the Daily Prophet is printing utter lies about Harry."
"I see," Elian said, though he saw much more. The tension in Harry's shoulders, the protective glint in Hermione's eye, Ron's supportive scowl. The story was alive around him.
As he stepped aside to let them pass, he glanced back at Luna's compartment. She had gone back to reading her upside-down magazine, a faint, serene smile on her face.
The whistle blew a long, final warning.
The adventure was leaving the station, and Elian Throne, sixteen-year-old first-year, was finally on board.
(End of Chapter)
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