The final morning at St. Jude's was tinged with a quiet, surreal sense of finality. Ariana woke early, the grey pre-dawn light filtering through her window. Midnight was already in her small cat form, a tiny patch of perfect darkness perched on the windowsill, her violet eyes watching the city slowly awaken. The air in the room was still, holding the lingering scent of old paper from her late-night reading and the faint, clean smell of the previous night's rain.
She dressed with the same methodical care she applied to everything. She chose a pair of wellfitting grey trousers, a simple cream-coloured silk blouse, and sturdy, polished boots. Over it, she wore her new travelling cloak of dark, heavy wool. Her honey-blonde hair was brushed until it shone and tied back in a simple, elegant braid that fell to the small of her back. The style was practical, yet it accentuated the graceful line of her neck and the ethereal quality of her features.
She was the picture of serene, self-possessed maturity.
When she descended the stairs, her trunk—magically lightened by a subtle charm she'd woven herself after reading about the concept in The Standard Book of Spells—gliding smoothly behind her, Mrs. Gable was waiting. The matron's eyes were misty. In her hands, she held a small, slightly lopsided paper bag.
"I… I packed you some sandwiches," Mrs. Gable said, her voice thick with emotion. "And a jam tart. For the journey."
Ariana, who rarely showed overt emotion, felt a genuine warmth spread through her chest. In her own way, this kind woman had been her guardian, the anchor to her new, small life before the wider magical world had come calling. She accepted the bag with a soft, grateful smile that made the matron's own smile wobble.
"Thank you, Mrs. Gable. For everything."
"Oh, you be good, dear," the matron whispered, pulling her into a brief, heartfelt hug. "You are a special girl, Ariana. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise."
A taxi, arranged by a discreet missive from Hogwarts, was waiting to take her to King's Cross Station. The journey through London was a transition, a final farewell to the mundane world of red buses and bustling pedestrians. Ariana watched the familiar sights pass by, feeling not sadness, but a calm sense of closure. That world, the one of her past life and her brief time at the orphanage, was now officially behind her. Everything ahead was new territory, a landscape she knew only from a map and was about to explore on foot for the very first time.
King's Cross Station was an overwhelming cathedral of noise and motion. The air was thick with the smell of steam and steel, and the roar of announcements and the shuffling feet of a thousand travellers echoed off the high, arched ceiling. People rushed everywhere, a river of humanity flowing towards their mundane destinations. Ariana, with her quiet poise and the small black cat peeking out from the opening of her cloak, was an island of stillness in the chaotic current.
She consulted the ticket Hagrid had given her. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Her eyes scanned the station signs. Platform 9. Platform 10. There was, of course, no Nine and Three-Quarters. She felt the corner of her lip twitch in a small, private smile. She knew the secret. She could feel it—a shimmer in the air, a concentration of the Anima Mundi localized on the solid brick barrier between the two platforms. It was a masterpiece of concealment, a door that was only a door to those who knew it was there.
As she made her way towards the barrier, her gaze swept the crowd, a habit born of an architect's observational nature. And then she saw him.
Harry Potter was standing forlornly beside a pillar, looking lost and increasingly desperate. His trunk was piled on a trolley that seemed too large for him to manage, and perched atop it was the cage containing his magnificent snowy owl, who looked far more dignified than her owner. He kept looking from his ticket to the platform indicators, his face a mask of frantic confusion. The Dursleys, she noted with a flicker of cold anger, were nowhere in sight. They had abandoned him here, leaving an eleven-year-old child who had never heard of magic to navigate this impossible puzzle on his own. It was a final, petty cruelty.
His plight was drawing stares. People were beginning to notice the boy with the owl, muttering and pointing. His panic was escalating, his face flushing with embarrassment.
Without a moment's hesitation, Ariana changed her course. She glided through the crowd, her own trunk following her like a loyal dog, and came to a stop beside him.
"Lost?" she asked, her voice calm and even.
Harry jumped, startled. He spun around, and his face flooded with relief when he saw her. In this overwhelming sea of strangers, she was a familiar, reassuring presence. "Ariana! I… I don't know where to go. The ticket says Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, but… there isn't one."
"No," she agreed smoothly, her gaze drifting to the brick barrier. "There isn't. Not one you can see, at least." She gestured with her head. "The entrance is that way. Through the barrier between platforms nine and ten."
Harry stared at her, then at the solid wall, his eyes wide with disbelief and a healthy dose of fear. "Through the… you're joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking, Harry?" she asked, her expression serene. She could see a family of redheads further down the platform, clearly magical, but she decided this was a moment for her to take the lead, to solidify their burgeoning camaraderie. "It's magic. You just have to walk straight at it. It's best to get a bit of a run up if you're nervous."
She saw the flicker of doubt and terror in his eyes. He was envisioning a painful collision, public humiliation. He was a boy who had spent his life being the butt of the joke, the victim of cruel pranks. Trusting in the impossible was a huge leap of faith for him.
"Watch me," she said.
Without any further ceremony, she squared her shoulders, took a firm grip on the handle of her trunk, and began to walk. She didn't run. She walked with a steady, confident pace directly towards the solid brick wall. For a split second, the mundane world registered the impending impact—brick, bone, and splintered wood. Then she simply… vanished.
She passed through the barrier as if it were smoke. One moment she was in the noisy, grey expanse of King's Cross, the next she was standing on a sun-drenched platform, bathed in the warm light of a world she had only ever dreamed of.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was alive. A magnificent, scarlet steam engine, the Hogwarts Express, was hissing proudly, billowing clouds of steam that drifted like morning fog over the heads of the crowd. The platform was thronged with witches and wizards in robes of every colour, seeing their children off. Cats of all descriptions wound their way through legs, and the air was filled with the hooting of owls and the excited chatter of students greeting their friends after a long summer.
The ambient magic was thick and joyful, a stark contrast to the utilitarian hum of the station on the other side.
A moment later, Harry stumbled through the barrier, his eyes wide and wild, a look of pure, unadulterated shock on his face. He had closed his eyes and run, fully expecting to crash, and had instead found himself here. He stared at the scarlet engine, at the crowd, at Ariana standing there waiting for him, and a slow, brilliant smile spread across his face.
It was the first truly happy, unguarded smile she had seen from him.
"See?" she said simply. "Magic."
"Wicked," he breathed, the word a perfect summation of his awe.
"We should find a compartment before they all fill up," Ariana suggested, already moving towards the train. "The trunks need to be loaded."
They found a porter who, with a grunt of acknowledgement, took their trunks to be stowed away. Harry made sure Hedwig's cage was handled with care. Ariana kept Midnight nestled securely in her cloak, the small, warm weight a comforting presence.
They boarded the train, the scent of steam and old velvet filling the narrow corridor. Most of the compartments were already occupied, filled with boisterous groups of older students. Near the back of the train, however, they found an empty one. It was small and cozy, with plush crimson seats and a large window that looked out onto the bustling platform.
"This will do," Ariana said, sliding gracefully onto the seat by the window. She set Midnight down on the cushion beside her, where the cat immediately curled into a neat, black ball and appeared to go to sleep.
Harry sat opposite her, still looking slightly dazed, as if he couldn't quite believe any of this was real. He kept glancing out the window at the families saying their goodbyes—mothers hugging their sons, fathers giving last-minute advice. A pang of something sharp and lonely crossed his face, and Ariana's protective instinct, which she was beginning to realize was surprisingly fierce where Harry was concerned, stirred within her.
He was an orphan, just like her. But he had been raised in a house filled with hate, while she had been raised in one filled with quiet kindness. He had been told he was worthless, a freak. She had been told she was special, a girl with a beautiful name. Their starting points were worlds apart, even if their destinations were the same.
"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice soft.
He started, as if pulled from a deep thought. "Yeah," he said, a little too quickly. "It's just… a lot."
"It is," she agreed. "But it's our lot now."
She used the word 'our' deliberately, a small but significant act of solidarity. His expression softened, the lonely look in his eyes receding slightly. He wasn't entirely alone in this strange new world.
The train whistle blew a long, shrill note. A final wave of parents surged forward on the platform, waving handkerchiefs. With a great lurch and a hiss of steam, the Hogwarts Express began to move.
They slid away from the platform, the faces of the waving families blurring and then shrinking into the distance. The train picked up speed, rattling and swaying as it left the magical enclave of the station and plunged into the London suburbs. For a long while, they sat in a comfortable silence, watching the mundane world of terraced houses and grey cityscapes flash by the window.
Ariana reached into the lopsided paper bag Mrs. Gable had given her. She pulled out a perfectly made corned beef sandwich wrapped in wax paper and offered it to Harry.
"Hungry?"
He looked surprised, then his stomach rumbled audibly, and he blushed. "Yeah, a bit," he admitted.
He took the sandwich gratefully. "Thanks."
As he ate, Ariana unwrapped a jam tart for herself. She took a small, neat bite, the familiar taste a final, sweet farewell to her life at St. Jude's. The train rattled on, carrying them north, away from everything they had ever known.
Harry, munching on his sandwich, looked at the sleeping black cat beside Ariana.
"Ollivander said your wand had to be custom made," he said, the awe still evident in his voice. "With Elder wood. What does that mean?"
Ariana took a moment before answering, choosing her words with the care of a scholar. "Elder is a wood with a great deal of history, Harry. It's considered powerful, but also… demanding. It aligns only with a witch or wizard of significant strength and will." She didn't mention the Deathly Hallows or the Elder Wand's bloody history. He had enough burdens for one day. "And the Thunderbird core suggests a magical signature that is attuned to natural forces, to storms. Ollivander believes my magic is… elemental."
Harry just stared at her, his half-eaten sandwich forgotten. "Elemental," he repeated, as if the word itself held immense power.
Ariana simply nodded, her periwinkle eyes calm and deep. The journey had just begun, but already, the lines were being drawn. He was the Boy Who Lived, a figure of prophecy and fate. And she… she was something else. Something new. A quiet force of nature, a weaver of storms, sitting calmly on a train hurtling towards a future she intended to build with her own two hands.