The morning of September 1st dawned cool and bright, the London sky streaked with the promise of autumn. Sagar, now perfectly inhabiting the role of an eleven-year-old wizard, stood outside King's Cross Station, his trunk perched atop a trolley, an owl cage balanced carefully on top. The hustle of Muggle travelers swirled around him, oblivious to the magic hidden in plain sight.
He paused for a moment, watching the flow of people—parents hurrying children along, porters shouting over the clatter of luggage, the sharp whistle of a departing train. Sagar let himself savor the anticipation; this was a threshold, a moment of transformation. Today, he would step from the world he had crafted into the heart of wizarding legend.
He navigated the bustling station, following the directions in his Hogwarts letter. The instructions were simple, yet delightfully absurd: walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Sagar watched as a red-haired family, clearly magical, gathered at the barrier. The mother gave last-minute instructions, then, one by one, the children disappeared through the solid metal, trolleys and all123456.
A smile played on Sagar's lips. He waited for a lull, then pushed his trolley forward, heart pounding—not with fear, but with the thrill of the unknown. As he reached the barrier, he leaned forward, letting the magic take him. For a split second, the world shimmered—and then he was through.
He emerged onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, a place that hummed with excitement and possibility. The scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express billowed smoke across the platform, its brass fittings gleaming in the morning sun. Witches and wizards bustled everywhere, some in robes, some still in Muggle attire, all with the same air of anticipation6.
The platform was alive with magic: owls hooted from their cages, trunks levitated and spun in the air, and a group of older students practiced spells with whispered incantations. Sagar took it all in, every detail feeding his endless curiosity.
He watched as a boy with unruly black hair and round glasses—Harry Potter, unmistakable even to Sagar—stood uncertainly by his trolley. Nearby, the Weasley twins were already causing mischief, while Percy fussed over his prefect badge and Ron looked both nervous and excited. Sagar noted the subtle glances exchanged between families, the way some students clustered together by bloodline or House tradition.
Sagar moved through the crowd with practiced ease, exchanging polite nods and brief smiles. He caught snippets of conversation—whispers about the Jadhav family's mysterious arrival, speculation about which House he would join, and the usual gossip about the coming year.
He found an empty compartment on the train, stowed his trunk, and settled in by the window. From here, he could watch the platform's drama unfold: tearful goodbyes, last-minute instructions, and the nervous excitement of first-years about to step into legend.
As the train whistle blew and the Hogwarts Express began to move, Sagar felt a surge of anticipation. He was surrounded by magic, by history, by the promise of new stories. He glanced at the castle crest on his ticket, the words "Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus" curling around the edge.
He smiled, feeling the old thrill of a new game. The journey to Hogwarts had begun.