As if to accommodate the young witches and wizards flocking to King's Cross Station from all over the country to embark on their magical apprenticeship via the Hogwarts Express...
The cloudy, rainy weather that had plagued London for two days suddenly cleared. Brilliant sunshine bathed the earth, chasing the gloom that had shrouded the city back into the sewers.
After a series of twists and turns and anxious moments, Harry finally reached his destination and saw a scarlet steam engine parked beside a platform crowded with passengers.
The thick smoke from the engine drifted over the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wove between people's legs. Amidst the buzzing of conversations and the scraping of heavy luggage, owls hooted shrilly, answering one another.
This was Platform 9¾, and the train Hagrid had spoken of—the one that would take him to the wonderful world of magic!
Harry's breath hitched, and he tried to widen his emerald green eyes, taking in the scene before him.
Everything, whether ordinary or extraordinary, seemed so magical in this moment. Even the air was filled with a sensation that made his heart flutter. Harry didn't think it was an illusion; he knew clearly that every person here was his "kind." From this moment on, he no longer had to worry about accidentally causing some inexplicable commotion and being treated like a freak by those around him.
Although he would have loved to spend a little more time immersed in this wonderful feeling, the clock hanging overhead told him he had to board the train as soon as possible.
The first few carriages were already packed with students. Some were leaning out of windows talking to their families, others were fighting over seats. Harry had to drag his trunk, which was nearly as big as he was, towards the back of the train.
With the help of a pair of red-headed twins, Harry successfully got his trunk onto the train.
The compartments near the doors were also full of students. Further back, however, there were a few sporadic empty seats.
Harry was eager to learn more about the wizarding world from these children who had grown up in wizarding families. But looking at the tender faces in the compartments, faces just as young as his own, a subtle sense of inferiority crept into his heart. This persisted even though the twins' reaction to seeing the scar on his forehead when helping with his trunk proved Hagrid right again—he was indeed famous here!
"I need to take it slow, get used to things," Harry told himself silently, his cheeks flushing slightly.
So, he continued dragging his trunk and birdcage towards the rear of the train.
Like searching for the plumpest ear of wheat in a paddy field, Harry carefully selected his travel companions. Before he knew it, he had arrived at the very last compartment of the train.
This compartment had the fewest passengers of any he had passed—only one. And it was easy to see why.
Sitting inside was an adult... very young, but definitely an adult.
This was strange—he thought the entire train was for students of the magic school!
A hint of curiosity made Harry take a few extra glances at the person inside:
It was a young man wearing black wizard robes made of fine fabric, with enviable, silky, shoulder-length black hair. He was slender, but his handsome features and the heroic air between his brows were unlike anything Harry had seen in his previous world or in his short time in the wizarding world!
At this moment, the young man was leaning his shoulder against the wall of the carriage. His right hand rested on the table, gently swirling a glass of bright red liquid, while his deep gaze watched the diverse crowd outside the window.
Furthermore, although the young man's expression was calm, Harry, who had grown up reading the Dursleys' moods, read a certain coldness in the man's indifferent face. This was intimidating. He didn't intend to enter this compartment... but it was too late. The young man's gaze had already swept over him.
Hiss—
A sudden sensation in his scar... well, not quite a sharp pain, but like being under a strong UV lamp—a slight burning sensation... uncomfortable.
Harry sucked in a breath silently, steeled himself, and slid the compartment door open.
"Excuse me, sir," Harry said, licking his lips and flashing what he thought was a polite but actually shy smile.
"Do you mind if I sit in this compartment? Uh, most of the others are full."
The young man didn't answer immediately. He just quietly stared at the spot on Harry's forehead where the scar was... Based on his experience at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry had already prepared himself mentally for how to react when the young man exclaimed in surprise.
"I'm sorry, but no."
The result surprised Harry. The man's reaction was calm, just a hint of an amused smile curling the corner of his mouth. And the refusal was definitive.
"I'm expecting a guest later—and things might get a bit loud. So I suggest you find another compartment... preferably one as far away as possible."
"Okay, sir."
Harry nodded, looking almost eager to leave.
He dragged his trunk and practically ran down nearly half a carriage length until he bumped into a red-headed boy—Harry remembered this boy; his mother had called him Ron.
"The back is full," Harry panted to Ron, who looked at him with some confusion. Only then did Harry realize that in the half-minute conversation with the young man, his back and forehead had broken out in a cold sweat!
"Alright."
Ron didn't suspect anything. He muttered under his breath and peered into the compartment next to them.
There were two people inside, both about their age. One was a girl with bushy brown hair, and the other was a chubby boy.
For some reason, the round-faced boy had his head down, shoulders shaking, looking extremely depressed.
"Here will do. Not much choice anyway," Ron said to Harry, giving a thumbs-up and pointing at the glass window of the compartment.
It's far enough from back there.
Harry looked towards the end of the train and let out a sigh of relief.
"Okay, let's do it," Harry said, and walked into the compartment with Ron.
Vroom—
The train started with a slight jolt. The reluctant faces of parents on the edge of the old platform drifted backwards one by one, and Ares withdrew his gaze.
He took a sip of the potion in his cup. His expression returned to calm, but ripples of emotion were washing through his heart.
Perhaps the unexpected encounter with the "Savior" had triggered a hidden but real unease deep within him... like the premonition sensitive animals feel before a disaster strikes.
Of course, it could also be pure sentiment—twenty years had passed in the blink of an eye, and he was finally witnessing the start of the plot.
The speeding train left the city behind, racing across fields full of cattle and sheep. After a while, the fields became more desolate. Rugged peaks began to intrude into the passengers' view, and then the train entered a tunnel.
Ares wasn't in a hurry. He had been pondering where the unease in his heart came from (Quirrell and a powerless Voldemort were obviously not enough to give him this feeling).
As the train burst out of the tunnel and the world returned to light, a cold, ruthless voice suddenly reached Ares's ears.
"I'm here."
The visitor slid open the door and walked into the compartment, looking down at Ares.
"Where is the person I asked for?"