King's Cross Station.
This is a real station in the Muggle world. What Muggles don’t know is that hidden within it is a magical platform—and the entrance to that platform is located at Platform 9¾.
The mont Hermione stepped briskly through from Platform 9¾, she instinctively turned back to glance at the solid wall behind her. If she hadn’t been lucky enough to beco a witch, who would’ve known that behind that wall was a gateway to a magical world?
“It really is amazing.”
“Yes, even now, it still feels like a dream.”
Appearing right behind her were Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who couldn’t help but share their awe. In so ways, Hermione was truly fortunate—few Muggle parents could accept such a reality so quickly.
Not every Muggle could handle this kind of change.
“I read in My Close Encounter with Platform 9¾ that it was the first magical platform developed for wizards back in the 1850s. In fact, it was also the first successful application of a compound spell.”
“I see... sounds like our Hermione knows quite a bit.”
“Incredible!”
Though they didn’t entirely understand what she was saying, Mr. and Mrs. Granger still responded with proud and supportive smiles. The encouragent in their expressions, and the pride they felt, made it clear why Hermione loved explaining things to others.
In their eyes, Hermione’s confident and slightly smug deanor was their greatest treasure.
“I suppose it involves Muggle-Repelling Charms, Confundus Charms…”
Just as Hermione was about to dive deeper into magical theory, Harry ca up beside her and gently cut her off.
“Hermione, I think this is where we part ways.”
“Uh, you an…”
She paused, then followed Harry’s gaze. That’s when she spotted a middle-aged man nearby staring at them with thinly veiled disgust.
“Yeah… I guess so.”
Not wanting to talk any further about his aunt and uncle, Harry didn’t give Hermione a chance to respond. He simply turned and walked toward the Dursleys—who clearly didn’t want to be there, but had co to pick him up anyway.
It’s worth noting that most of the young witches and wizards erging from Platform 9¾ were from Muggle families.
After all, wizards had their own ways of getting around...
...
His body felt like it was spinning at high speed, a deafening roar in his ears as green flas whirled around him, making him dizzy.
Step.
"Convenient or not, this thod is just awful every single ti."
Every ti Draco stepped out of a fireplace, he couldn’t help but grumble internally. While Hermione and the others were still back at King's Cross Station, he had already traveled a significant distance in re monts.
Among the most common forms of magical travel—aside from the highly restrictive Apparition and broomsticks—was the very thod Draco had just used: a handful of green powder.
Floo Powder.
As long as the fireplace was connected to the Floo Network, a wizard could use just a pinch of the green substance—costing only two Sickles—to instantly travel to almost any location in the world... or rather, any connected fireplace.
Simple and fast.
Aside from the nauseating experience, it really didn’t have many flaws.
It was the standard mode of travel for most wizarding families. Of course, when a ho’s fireplace was set to one-way use, wizards like Draco couldn’t travel directly back ho in a single hop.
After all, no one wants a total stranger popping out of their fireplace uninvited.
Naturally, after stepping into the designated Floo fireplace at King’s Cross—the one reserved for wizard use—Draco erged at one of the Malfoy properties. From there, it only took a short carriage ride to reach Malfoy Manor...
And it was once he’d boarded the Thestral-drawn carriage that Draco finally got the chance to glance at his father’s left forearm—the spot where the Dark Mark was etched.
Before parting ways earlier, Draco had specifically reminded Pansy and the others not to let themselves be caught.
Now, as he tried to peer through the folds of his father’s sleeve, Draco suddenly noticed Lucius watching him with a curious, unreadable expression.
“I heard about what happened at the end-of-term banquet, Draco.”
Must’ve been from my godfather...
Lucius's expression gave nothing away—neither approval nor anger. After a few monts of silent eye contact, Draco simply nodded, offering no explanation as he guessed who had passed on the news.
Narcissa stood quietly beside them, not interrupting the rare mont between father and son.
“Have you considered the consequences of your actions?”
The Malfoys were the very image of a strict father and gentle mother. Lucius, in particular, was always stern and rarely smiled in Draco’s presence. So, this emotionless questioning didn’t surprise him. If anything, this was exactly the Lucius Malfoy Draco had always known.
And as for those so-called consequences, Pansy had already brought them up to him before...
“I have.”
“You have?”
“Yes. I know.”
“...”
Silence.
Lucius stared at the son he’d taken pride in since the day he was born. After a beat, he gave a small, silent nod, choosing not to press the issue further—perhaps because he truly believed his son wasn’t foolish.
Tap, tap, tap.
Lucius’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the head of his cane.
“You’ve always been smart. Full of potential. I won’t question too much about what you plan to do, but...”
A man who had walked away unscathed after Voldemort's downfall—Lucius Malfoy was no fool. While he might not have matched Dumbledore in power, or even Snape, when it ca to reading the room and manipulating people, he was a master.
And he knew Dumbledore would never allow another Dark Lord to rise from Hogwarts. Yet Draco... Draco showed a brilliance that rivaled, maybe even surpassed, what Voldemort had once displayed.
That was why Lucius Malfoy was worried sothing would happen to his son at Hogwarts.
“Don’t forget—you have the Malfoy na behind you.”
With that, the conversation ended. A subtle yet firm way of telling Draco: go ahead—but don’t disappoint .
Draco glanced sideways, his gaze falling on his father, who now stared out the carriage window, face unreadable once again.
For so reason, it reminded him of his godfather...
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