Erwin had no intention of chatting with the crowd. He strode straight to the barrier between platforms nine and ten.
A magical veil enveloped him as he approached. Now he understood why no Muggles ever noticed wizards vanishing into solid brick. The pillar was enchanted to conceal the platform from non-magical eyes.
Grasping the principle, Erwin stepped forward without hesitation. His body rged seamlessly with the stone.
In an instant, the dingy station transford. Before him lood the scarlet Hogwarts Express, puffing steam into the hazy air. Wizards bustled about, herding excited children toward the train.
Erwin glanced back at the wall. A simple charm divided the mundane world from the magical one. The wizarding realm truly defied logic.
He boarded without fanfare—no tickets, no checks. Slipping into an empty compartnt, he sank into the cushioned seat and closed his eyes, savoring the quiet.
The train lurched forward monts later, gliding smoothly out of the station.
But peace was short-lived. The compartnt door slid open with a rattle.
A freckled redhead poked his head in. "Er, everywhere else is full. Mind if I—?"
Erwin cracked one eye open. Ron Weasley. Bloody nuisance from page one.
"No," Erwin snapped. "Out."
Ron froze, half in the doorway, cheeks flushing. He wasn’t used to outright rejection.
Erwin scowled. "Close the door on your way out."
Muttering under his breath, Ron retreated. He knew from Erwin’s crisp robes and confident air that this wasn’t a fight worth picking—especially without backup. In the books, Ron only mouthed off to Malfoy with Harry at his side. Alone? He backed down every ti.
Erwin leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips. He couldn’t stand the git; Ron’s whining had grated on him even as a reader. If circumstances allowed, he’d hex him into next week. As a transmigrator with real power, why not indulge a little? He had the skills to back it up.
Eyes drifting shut again, he aid for a proper rest. But the door creaked open once more.
This ti, Erwin’s temper flared. What now?
A bushy-haired girl peered in, followed by a round-faced boy. "Hello," she said brightly. "Have you seen a toad? A boy in my compartnt’s lost one."
Erwin suppressed his irritation. For Hermione Granger, he’d make an exception. She was the only one of the trio worth rooting for—smart, fierce, and played by Emma Watson in the films. This version matched the books: keen eyes, wild curls, and an air of determination.
"I haven’t," he replied evenly, "but I can help find it. What’s the toad’s na?"
Hermione turned to the boy. "Neville? What do you call it?"
Neville Longbottom shrank back, avoiding Erwin’s gaze. He mumbled, "Trevor. His na’s Trevor."
Erwin suppressed an eye roll. The kid was a bundle of nerves—classic Neville. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the enchanted ring on his finger glead faintly. His wand slid into his sleeve, ready in an instant. Ollivander’s quick-draw holster? Useless compared to this.
"Trevor," Erwin said, wand appearing in a fluid motion. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
A Level 3 Levitation Charm—flawless execution. He’d show off a bit; every story’s hero had their train-car mont.
But he overlooked a key detail, straight from the books. The spell propelled objects in a straight line—predictable arc and all.
Trevor hurtled toward him from down the corridor. And right behind the toad? A furious entourage.
Leading the pack was Draco Malfoy, platinum hair gleaming like a paler echo of Erwin’s own silver locks. The pure-blood prince, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, his face twisted in rage. A fresh red welt blood on his cheek, imprinted with what looked suspiciously like webbed toes.
The toad had clocked him mid-strut. Erwin caught it deftly, then tossed it aside with a casual flick. Trevor landed with a limp—poor thing had packed a wallop.
Malfoy’s eyes locked on Erwin’s wand. He sized him up, calculating. "Who are you?"
Erwin raised an eyebrow. Malfoy, playing it cautious? No imdiate insults or peacocking? The ferret had grown a brain.
"Hogwarts first-year," Erwin said coolly.
Malfoy’s brow furrowed, searching his mory. Erwin’s tailored robes scread old money, pure-blood vibes. He shot a glance at his lackeys; Crabbe and Goyle shrugged blankly.
Erwin watched their fumbling with amusent. Ti to cut the tension.
"Relax, Draco," he drawled. "I’m no pure-blood from your Sacred Twenty-Eight. Just a muggle-born with a knack for trouble."
Malfoy blinked, processing. His followers exchanged confused looks. The carriage had drawn a crowd by now—whispers rippling through the onlookers. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley hovered at the edge, wide-eyed; they’d seen the whole slap from their compartnt.
Erwin sighed inwardly. This standoff was dragging like a bad fanfic. Why wait for barbs when he could end it his way?
His wand sparked. "Expelliarmus!"
Malfoy’s wand flew from his grip, yanking him off his feet. He crashed backward, sprawling in the corridor to scattered gasps and chuckles.
Scrambling up, cheeks burning, Malfoy sputtered, "Why’d you do that? You hit with that bloody toad!"
Erwin twirled his wand idly. "To stop you from running your mouth first. Call it preemptive."
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