Is he sick?

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Dumbledore told Ezio how to enter the platform before handing him his ticket and departing; he was not Hagrid, and he would not carelessly forget to tell a young wizard such vital information.

Passing through the hidden barrier between platforms nine and ten, Ezio arrived at the magical station on the other side of the wall.

Directly ahead, a scarlet steam engine puffed out white smoke, and cats of various colors wove through the crowd underfoot. On the platform, students about to head to Hogwarts said their goodbyes to their parents, while people reunited with classmates after a long holiday chatted about interesting vacation stories, crowding together to board the train.

Neil, perched on Ezio's shoulder, looked around curiously. Surrounded by countless delicious snacks, he was so excited he was about to flap his wings and dive in, but Ezio patted him on the head, and he quieted down.

"After we get to Hogwarts, don't treat their pets like snacks. And the owls—those are birds for delivering mail. Remember not to catch them."

Neil shook his head with some dissatisfaction, but in the end, he nodded in agreement.

"If you can't catch anything to eat outside, you can just come to me. I'll provide your meals."

Neil suddenly widened his eyes, abruptly raised his wing to pat Ezio on the forehead a few times, and let out a protest, as if saying: "Who are you looking down on! How could I possibly fail to catch prey and go hungry!"

Because he had taken off his hood and made no attempt to hide himself, the interaction between the man and the bird attracted the gaze of many, which made Ezio feel slightly uncomfortable, though he was trying to accept such things.

The training he received was mostly focused on infiltration, assassination, and direct combat, but an assassin also needs to disguise himself in certain situations to get close to a target for a one-hit kill. However, Ezio had an innate disadvantage in this regard: he was a bit too eye-catching. While makeup could provide good concealment, the Training Space did not teach this, and Giovanni had not had time to teach him.

This was perhaps the only shortcoming of Ezio as an assassin.

Walking through the bustling crowd and meeting several curious, scrutinizing gazes, Ezio boarded the train empty-handed. His luggage was all packed in his backpack; the Undetectable Extension Charm spared him the embarrassment of lugging bags and bundles everywhere. He wasn't used to this; after all, what he used to carry in his hands were tools to take people out, though a suitcase could certainly be listed as a lethal weapon.

With over half an hour until departure, Ezio easily found an empty compartment in the corner. Taking out a teapot and cups, he leisurely brewed himself a pot of black tea. He hadn't finished the books he bought, so he pulled out a Household Magic Compendium to pass the time.

The Hogwarts Express blew its whistle for the first time, signaling that only five minutes remained until departure. Ezio looked up at the lively scene outside the window, and a mass of fiery red hair suddenly caught his eye.

Is that a Weasley? Ezio looked over with some curiosity, but he didn't see a single familiar face. Just like Snape, the movie actors were very different from the real people in this world. If one only went by names, it was hard to find the corresponding faces—take that pretty little girl Ginny who was always crying, for example; in the movie, she had freckles and a flat face, which hardly deserved the word "pretty."

But the sound from the compartment door made Ezio withdraw his gaze. Two red-headed twins pushed a heavy trunk to the door, followed by a thin, dark-haired boy who was almost a head shorter than Ezio, clearly suffering from malnutrition.

As the boy wiped his sweat, the red-headed twins made exaggerated gestures. They seemed to be saying something, but it was unclear through the door.

After about ten seconds, the red-headed twins left. The boy who was left behind looked into the compartment and locked eyes with Ezio.

He seemed to be asking in a shy voice: Can I come in?

Ezio was currently weighing his value—what kind of benefits could Harry Potter bring him? After a brief pause, Ezio nodded, and the compartment door was pulled open.

"Hello." Harry looked somewhat reservedly at the youth with a majestic bird of prey resting on his shoulder. Although nervous, he still spoke up to greet him.

"Harry Potter, right?"

"How did you..." Harry replied subconsciously, but immediately realized: "Right, I am." His expression was a bit dejected; to be honest, he found it hard to accept the celebrity treatment where everyone knew who he was.

"It seems you're quite troubled by your fame?" Ezio closed his book and looked at Harry, asking: "This is actually a good thing."

"I don't see what's good about it." Harry shrugged. Realizing that the boy in front of him was quite easy to talk to, he couldn't help but relax. At that moment, Harry was gritting his teeth, trying to shove his heavy trunk onto the luggage rack, but he found that he couldn't do it with his own strength.

"The spell is Wingardium Leviosa." Ezio pointed at the trunk. "Why don't you try a Levitation Charm?"

"What? A Levitation Charm?" Harry was stunned for a moment, then looked troubled: "I... I haven't learned any magic yet."

"Perhaps you could try practicing at home during the holidays." Ezio opened his hand slightly. The device originally used to deploy his hidden blade had been modified to eject his wand. Ezio gripped his Elder Wand and gave it a light flick; after a month and a half, he had already mastered silent casting for simple spells.

The heavy trunk suddenly became light as a feather. Without needing to exert any effort, Harry placed it in the proper spot.

"Thanks." He quickly thanked Ezio, a glimmer of envy flashing in his eyes. "I couldn't practice magic at home. My aunt and uncle would have killed me. The fact that they even let me come to Hogwarts is already incredible."

"But, why did you say earlier that having fame is a good thing? I can't even understand why."

After sitting down, Harry looked for a topic to chat about.

"Because having fame, especially a good reputation, means that a great many people are willing to help you."

The train's whistle blew at that moment, but the rolling wheels didn't interrupt their conversation.

"That's a very lucky thing, isn't it?" Ezio asked calmly in return: "If I were you, I would definitely take this opportunity to figure one thing out—exactly who killed my father."

"Your..." A look of shock appeared in Harry's eyes.

"Yes, he died at the hands of a wizard. I will find out exactly who killed him."

"Sorry." Harry said in a low voice.

"Why apologize to me, unless this matter has something to do with you?"

"No, no, no, it doesn't." Harry waved his hands repeatedly, swallowing hard, looking incredibly nervous.

"Don't you want to figure this out?"

"What?"

"Figure out why Voldemort..."

The compartment door was suddenly pushed open. A red-headed boy with a face full of freckles, large hands, large feet, and a long nose stood frozen at the door. His face was a bit pale, as he had just heard something quite ominous.

When both Harry and Ezio's gazes landed on him, the boy shifted uneasily. A look of embarrassment appeared on his face, and then he asked uncertainly: "What were you two talking about just now?"

"We were talking about Voldemort," Ezio replied indifferently. Harry had utility to him, so he wouldn't share him with others.

The red-headed boy gasped, then quickly opened his mouth: "Sorry! My mistake! Goodbye!"

He slammed the door shut in a panic, making a loud "bang," and fled, dragging his trunk away as if escaping.

"Perhaps he's ill?" Ezio withdrew his gaze and looked at Harry, speechless.

"He was probably just scared," Harry couldn't help but twitch his lips: "Wizards seem to be very afraid of that name."