There’s something unnatural about goodbyes.

  They don’t sound like what they should. They’re too quiet, or too formal, or too drawn-out. This one was no different.

  We stood near the edge of Ptform 9 ?, hidden between the folds of the Muggle world and the wizarding one. Steam hissed from the scarlet train, like breath from some old beast waiting to swallow us whole.

  My trunk was packed. My wand was at my side. Kuro nestled herself in my p inside her small enchanted carrier, already drowsing despite the chaos.

  Lyra gripped my robes with both hands.

  "You’ll write, right?" she asked, eyes wide. "Every week. Even if you're busy. Even if you fight a troll or something."

  "I’ll write," I promised.

  "And if they have a library, ask if I can visit! Not yet—but ter. Maybe I’ll just sneak in through the firepce and—"

  "Lyra," I said, raising an eyebrow.

  She pouted. “Fine. But you better not have too much fun without me.”

  Mother knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair back from her daughter’s cheek before turning to me.

  She looked tired. Not from age, but from hope. Hope clung to her like perfume—something worn every day until it became invisible to the wearer. She kissed my forehead and whispered, “Be safe. Be yourself. Don’t let anyone bury that.”

  I nodded.

  Then my father stepped forward. Cassian Rosier. As rigid and unreadable as always.

  He didn’t embrace me. Of course not. But his hand settled briefly on my shoulder, and he looked at me with something that wasn’t disappointment for once. Not pride either. Something quieter. Maybe acceptance.

  “Represent us well,” he said. But his tone held no force behind it. Merely habit.

  “I represent my family,” I replied.

  We locked eyes.

  He didn’t argue.

  I boarded the Hogwarts Express as the whistle blew. Lyra waved until the train curved out of sight, her scarf fpping in the wind like a banner of defiance. I found a compartment near the rear and slid the door closed.

  Kuro leapt from the carrier immediately and curled onto the seat beside me, licking her paw with bored disinterest.

  The train rocked into motion. I stared out the window, letting the trees blur into watercolor. The smell of smoke and iron clung to everything.

  I had barely begun to settle when the door smmed open.

  "Oi! You got space here?" a voice chirped.

  I turned.

  A boy about my age stood there, hauling a trunk half his size, grinning like he’d just won something.

  He had messy brown hair, a slightly oversized jumper, and eyes so bright it was like his soul hadn’t learned disappointment yet.

  Before I could answer, he tossed his trunk in, plopped down across from me, and said, “Thanks, mate. All the others were full or had weirdos talking about bloodlines. S’like being dropped into a snake pit.”

  “Wasn’t offering,” I said, dryly.

  He ughed. “Too bad! I’m Jake. Jake Dawson. You?”

  “Caelum.”

  “Cool name. You a half-blood? Pure? Muggle-born? Wait, don’t answer, that’s probably rude. Not that I care, but—wait, I am Muggle-born! Just found out I was a wizard three months ago. Freaked out and nearly burned the neighbor’s hedge.”

  I stared at him.

  Jake blinked, then ughed again. “Sorry. Talk too much when I’m nervous. You nervous?”

  “No.”

  “Course not. You look like one of those calm, mysterious blokes from stories. Like you could just stare at a fire and it’d tell you its secrets.”

  I let that comment hang. He filled the silence.

  “Anyway—this whole magic thing, right? Nuts. I thought wizards were all robes and beards, but the dy who came to talk to my parents—Professor Vector—she was sharp. Expined everything. Wands, spells, the works. I’ve been practicing saying ‘Lumos’ under my breath ever since. You think they let us use real spells right away?”

  He talked like he knew me. Like we’d been raised in the same street. No caution. No reading the room. Just open.

  And yet, behind all that noise, I felt it.

  Intent.

  It hummed in him. Not control. Not mastery. But will. The kind I’d seen before in another life—blond, loud, reckless. Uzumaki.

  Jake had that same raw pulse. The kind of soul that tore through doubt with a grin and a bruised fist.

  Interesting.

  He leaned forward, squinting. “You’ve got that look, you know? Like you’ve seen some stuff. Are you, like, from a powerful family or something?”

  “Something.”

  He whistled low. “Mysterious and cool. I picked the right carriage.”

  Kuro yawned beside me and stretched her cws into his seat. Jake reached to pet her. She hissed.

  He grinned wider. “Yep. We’re gonna be great friends.”

  I doubted that. But I said nothing.

  Hours passed.

  The sky darkened into indigo. Mountains rolled past. Eventually, the train slowed.

  A booming voice echoed down the corridor.

  “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over ‘ere!”

  Jake and I followed the crowd of eleven-year-olds off the train, blinking against the cool northern air.

  And there he stood—massive and bearded, ntern in hand. The half-giant.

  Rubeus Hagrid.

  “Right then! Into the boats, four ter each! No pushin’, no dunkin’, and don’ touch the grindylows!”

  The ke stretched out like ink beneath a star-smeared sky. The castle—Hogwarts—rose in the distance like a dream carved from shadow and torchlight. Towers, spires, endless windows glowing gold.

  Even I… paused.

  It looked like something built atop the bones of an old god.

  I stepped into a boat. Jake tumbled in beside me, humming a tune off-key. Two girls joined us, whispering excitedly.

  The boats glided forward of their own accord, cutting silent trails through the water. Somewhere, a squid breached just enough to ripple our wake.

  Jake stared, sck-jawed. “Mate. This is insane. Like—we’re really doing this.”

  I said nothing.

  The boats docked beneath a stone archway. Hagrid helped us up the steps and led us into a cold antechamber lit by floating torches.

  There stood Professor McGonagall, tall and composed, lips thinned in a strict line. Her eyes swept the group like she was weighing each child against an invisible scale.

  “Welcome to Hogwarts,” she said crisply. “In a moment, you will be called for Sorting. Until then, remain quiet. Do not wander.”

  Her gaze lingered on me for a moment—subtle, curious.

  Then she turned and disappeared behind the massive double doors.

  The hall beyond them flickered with candlelight and voices.

  Jake leaned over and whispered, “This is it, huh? Time to see where we belong. You think you’ll get Gryffindor? You look like a Gryffindor.”

  I didn’t answer.

  Because belonging was never something I’d trusted in.

  But now… I was here.

  And the door was opening.

  [End of Chapter 4]