Platform Nine

September 1st marked the start of term at Hogwarts.

The morning mist over the Thames had yet to disperse when Damon rose early, dressed in a neat casual suit, picked up a light suitcase, and set off for Platform Nine at King's Cross Station.

With a light sprint at the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, Damon successfully entered Platform Nine and saw a deep-red steam locomotive waiting beside a platform packed with passengers.

The sign on the train read: Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock.

Thick smoke from the steam engine curled over the chattering crowd. Cats of every color weaved between people's feet, while students pushing luggage carts were like butterflies caught in a spiderweb—Weasley red hair burned through the mist, Malfoy's pale blond head floated above the crowd, and Hermione Granger's brown curls rose and fell in rhythm with her turning the pages of A History of Magic.

A first-year pushing a luggage cart crashed into Damon's birdcage while running. Chachabarton flapped her wings unhappily inside the gilded cage, and several snowy owl down feathers drifted out.

"Sorry—I—I think I ran too fast."

"No, it was my fault. I shouldn't have been standing there daydreaming."

A clear, low voice drew closer. Harry, who had fallen to the ground, instinctively looked up and saw a warm, slender hand. He took it without thinking, and that hand steadily pulled him to his feet.

Even though Harry Potter was a boy himself, he had to admit that the boy before him was exceptionally handsome. If they had been familiar friends at that moment, Harry probably would have patted him on the shoulder and said, "Hey, mate, you're really handsome."

But they were strangers meeting for the first time, so naturally he could not say such things.

In any case, the boy had made an excellent first impression on Harry, and he could not help asking:

"Are you a new student going to Hogwarts too?"

"That's right. My name is Damon White. Just call me Damon."

"You're Harry Potter?"

"Y-Yes, that's me—"

Harry, who had just been about to introduce himself, felt a little uncomfortable and instinctively brushed his hair over his forehead to hide his scar.

He worried that the boy in front of him would be like everyone else he had met, bombarding him with questions or even shouting excitedly.

If possible, Harry desperately hoped not—there were so many people on the platform!

As he wished, and yet contrary to his expectations, the elegant boy before him merely smiled, then turned and left. His way of ending the conversation was even somewhat abrupt.

Watching the other's back as he carried a suitcase in his left hand and an Owl cage in his right, and thinking of that slightly mysterious smile from earlier, Harry followed him without thinking.

"Is this your Owl? She's the same color as my Hedwig."

"Yes, her name is Chachabarton."

The Owl in the golden cage shot Harry a disdainful glance, clearly still angry about the earlier collision.

Harry gave Chachabarton an awkward smile and an apologetic look, but once again, his mouth ran ahead of his brain.

"Chachabarton? That sounds like such a strange name—I mean, it's strangely nice."

"Your Hedwig is nice too. Bathilda Bagshot's A History of Magic, right?"

"How did you know?" Harry felt the delight of finding a kindred spirit, and his attitude grew even warmer.

"Mm, I usually like reading."

The crowd around them was too packed for them to talk much, so they began forcing their way through.

Harry found an empty compartment near the rear of the train. He happily turned back to look for Damon, but the words on his lips failed to come out completely.

"Damon, there's a se—at here."

The situation on Damon's side was truly not good—where he stood seemed especially crowded, and he was practically surrounded by a group of young witches.

Only when they saw Harry calling to Damon did their enthusiasm ease somewhat, allowing Damon to pass through the crowd and reach Harry.

"Whew, thanks to you, Harry."

The two placed their Owls on the seats, then carried their suitcases toward the compartment door.

Harry tried to lift his trunk onto the rack, but he could not raise it at all. Straining desperately, he nearly dropped it heavily onto his foot. Then, he heard an extraordinary spell.

"Levitation Charm (Wingardium Leviosa)!"

Harry's grip suddenly loosened. The trunk he had been unable to lift before now became light as a feather. He forgot all about moving it and stared wide-eyed at Damon, saying excitedly:

"You've already learned magic!"

Seeing someone his own age cast a spell was several times more shocking to Harry than anything Hagrid had shown him.

Those nights at the Dursleys when he had been mocked, the scenes of Dudley slapping fairy-tale books against his face and roaring, "Only monsters do tricks"—and now, he seemed to see a group of monsters just like himself—no, ones even more outstanding than him.

"It was only the simplest Levitation Charm. It's in Standard Book of Spells: Beginner. You'll learn it as soon as you start school."

"No—that's different!"

Harry shook his head. He had wanted to continue, but he suddenly could not help reflecting—was he making too much of a fuss?

So he said no more and quietly placed the suitcase in the corner of the compartment.

Then an arrogant voice sounded behind them:

"That's right, completely different. Mispronouncing some spells can lead to terrifying consequences. I didn't dare try it at all. The fact that you can use it so naturally is enough to prove your ability."

Damon turned and saw a girl with bushy brown hair, his gaze briefly passing over her prominent front teeth.

The two boys then sat down, and the girl introduced herself generously:

"Hello, my name is Hermione Granger."

"Damon White."

"Harry Potter."

"Ah!" Hermione suddenly let out a scream and said excitedly, "It's really you? I know all about you!

Of course, I bought a few extra reference books: A Modern History of Magic, The Rise and Fall of Dark Magic, and Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century. All of them mention you."

"Mention me?" Harry said, suddenly feeling dizzy.

"Oh my God, how could you not know? If it were me, I would definitely find every book that mentioned me," Hermione said excitedly.

At that moment, Damon silently took out a copy of Magical Defense Theory and began reading quietly.

He did not like the subject of the conversation.

For Harry, the night he lost his parents was an eternal pain. There was no way he could be happy just because it had been recorded in books.

When Hermione saw that Damon was actually reading, her eyes shone so brightly they nearly glowed. For a moment, she felt conflicted—should she continue speaking with the legendary Boy Who Lived, or begin a new conversation with the fellow book lover before her?

While she was wavering, a round-faced boy stood hesitantly at the open compartment door and stammered:

"Hello, can I sit with you?"

"Of course, come in!"

Hermione spoke first, while Harry also looked expectantly at the boy in the doorway.

"Hello, my name is Neville."

Neville instinctively sat beside Harry, his fingers twisting together restlessly.

Damon put down his book and glanced at Neville, a smile appearing on his face.

Gryffindor Sword Saint? Right now, he really did look like nothing more than the boy next door.

"Neville, what's moving in your pocket?"

Harry looked curiously at Neville's pocket.

"Oh, it's my pet, Trevor. He always likes to run off."