On the morning of September 1, King's Cross Station was a whirlwind of noise—footsteps, platform announcents, people asking for directions, and the clatter of trolley wheels filled the air.
Though the station was always bustling, the train conductor couldn't quite figure out one thing: why were there always so many people lingering between Platforms 9 and 10? And why, every year around this ti, did soone inevitably ask him where Platform 9¾ was? Was this so new prank cooked up by daft university students?
William, bundled tightly in a trench coat, and Anli, with only her sunglasses peeking out from her disguise, hurried Edward toward the middle of the platforms.
"Dad, Mum, listen, you really don't need to go all out like this. This isn't the Leaky Cauldron or Diagon Alley," Edward said, barely holding back a laugh. His parents were being a bit *too* dramatic.
Thankfully, he wasn't famous enough to need to wrap himself up like a burrito.
William and Anli didn't respond. They moved quickly, darting into the passageway between Platforms 9 and 10, practically dragging Edward toward the brick wall.
*Whoosh.*
Edward instinctively closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the wall to Platform 9¾ was behind him.
A gleaming scarlet steam locomotive stood waiting beside a crowded platform. The sign on the train, in gold letters on a red background, read: *Hogwarts Express*.
Thick steam curled above the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wove between people's feet and overhead. Amid the clamor of voices and the heavy dragging of luggage, owls hooted sharply—so clearly not getting along with each other.
Even after years in the wizarding world, seeing the train for the first ti was nothing short of awe-inspiring.
Since they'd arrived early, there were still plenty of empty seats. Edward quickly found an unoccupied compartnt.
With a casual flick of her wand, Anli levitated Edward's luggage onto the rack.
But neither parent seed ready to leave.
"Edward, I can't believe you're actually leaving ho for school," Anli said, her eyes brimming with tears as she gripped his hands. "I knew I shouldn't have agreed to let you go to Hogwarts. Your dad and I could've taught you at ho—do you really think those unreliable professors could do better than us? I got Outstanding in nine O.W.L.s, you know, except for History of Magic."
"Son, as much as I hate to see you go, you're a Bedivere—a true knight's descendant. It's ti for you to venture out into the world!" William said, patting both his wife's and son's shoulders, trying to comfort them. "Besides, it's not like Edward's gone forever. He'll be back for holidays."
"But what if soone bullies him at school?" Anli fretted.
Looking at Edward's sturdy build and recalling the splintered training dummies in their backyard, William didn't seem worried at all. "I'd be more concerned about the poor sods who try to ss with him."
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Finally, Anli pulled herself together and reluctantly stepped off the train.
"Edward, don't forget to write! If anyone gives you trouble, I'll make them regret it. Our family's curses aren't just for show!" she called out.
"Got it, Mum!" Edward replied.
"And eat properly! You're still growing!" Anli shouted as she waved from the platform.
Suddenly, the train shuddered, and a loud whistle echoed across the station.
The Hogwarts Express began to move.
William and Anli's figures, the platform, King's Cross, and all of London grew smaller and smaller until they vanished entirely.
Edward lingered at the window a mont longer before turning away.
Though he was mature beyond his years and had long outgrown needing his parents' protection, in that mont, he felt like an eleven-year-old again.
As the train rolled through endless fields and past lush forests, with the breeze brushing his face and his pet Puffskein snoring softly in his lap, Edward was in high spirits.
He pulled out *The Knight's Guide to Magic* and began reading, chuckling at a story about the Round Table knights bickering.
But then, a cool voice interrupted from the doorway. "Hello, is anyone here?"
Edward looked up. A girl leaned against the doorfra.
She wore an immaculate robe, her sleek blonde hair falling naturally over her shoulders. Her pale gray eyes scanned him up and down.
Her tone wasn't a question—it was more like a statent, as if she were claiming the space.
She was like a rose carved from ice—beautiful, but with thorns.
"Of course. Need help with your luggage?" Edward asked, closing his book.
"If it's no trouble, thanks," she replied, gliding into the compartnt and sitting across from him with an air of elegance.
"*Wingardium Leviosa,*" Edward said, drawing his wand and giving it a precise flick.
The heavy trunk floated up and settled neatly onto the overhead rack.
Thanks to his knightly focus, Edward had already mastered most of the spells in *Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1*.
The girl raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.
"Not bad for a Levitation Charm," she said. "Daphne Greengrass. And you are?"
Edward could tell the other compartnts were either too crowded or too noisy, which must've driven her to find this quiet one. She hadn't planned on introductions—her deanor suggested she valued brains over looks, despite Edward's obvious charm.
"Edward Bedivere. Nice to et you," he replied warmly.
The mont he heard "Greengrass," he knew exactly who she was.
The Greengrass family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, notorious for their pure-blood supremacy, as listed in *Pure-Blood Directory*.
"Bedivere, as in the famous Round Table knight?" Daphne asked, her eyes glinting with curiosity as she realized who he was.
"I've heard about your parents," she continued. "They've got the oldest, noblest blood, yet they go around publicly preaching their friendliness toward Muggle-borns. Honestly—"
She paused, her lips curling into a faint smirk. "If the Dark Lord were still around, maybe they'd tone it down a bit?"
She didn't finish the thought, but her chuckle said enough.
Edward frowned. His parents had warned him to steer clear of pure-blood supremacists at school, and here he was, face-to-face with one already.
Cold, haughty, and a touch sharp-tongued—Daphne was the picture of a typical pure-blood witch.
But unlike Draco Malfoy, whose arrogance was almost a natural talent, Daphne was… different.
Her words carried a bite, but Edward's keen sense of empathy—honed by his knightly virtues—picked up on sothing else. Was she subtly warning him to keep his true thoughts under wraps in public?
Was this a spark of kindness buried deep in an eleven-year-old's heart? A sign she hadn't been fully indoctrinated by pure-blood ideals? Maybe there was hope for her yet.
Perhaps years of pure-blood propaganda could be undone—not just with words, but through actions.
Edward was starting to form a plan.
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