Part 3 Whispers on the track
Part 3: Whispers on the Tracks
The morning air at King's Cross buzzed with an energy that only a new term at Hogwarts could bring. Families bustled about the station, owls hooted, trunks rolled over the tiled floor, and anxious parents gave last-minute advice to wide-eyed children. Hidden behind the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, Platform 9 ¾ shimmered with magical anticipation. The scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express hissed steam, preparing for its long journey north.
Elena Granger stood amidst the flurry of travelers, her white-blond hair catching the light as she adjusted Hermione’s scarf with motherly precision. “Be polite. Don’t correct everyone. And please try not to read while walking,” she said, her tone light but firm.
Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Mum, I’ll be fine. I’ve already read Hogwarts: A History twice.”
From across the station, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy arrived with elegant grace. Draco walked beside them, quiet but observant, the chain tucked beneath his robes resting against his chest—heavy, familiar, and humming with a subtle magic he’d never been able to explain. His parents had told him he was special, that the world would try to label him before he ever spoke. And so he was to maintain the façade: the perfect pureblood son.
“You know what’s expected, Draco,” Lucius said lowly. “The world isn’t safe. The shadows haven’t gone. But don’t let it change your heart. Be cunning, not cruel. Strong, not harsh.”
Draco nodded. But a flicker of doubt passed through him. He had overheard them once—words spoken late into the night. He was not truly a Malfoy. But who he was… they wouldn’t say. All he had was the chain that had appeared around his neck when he was barely a day old, and a quiet echo of something—someone—else.
On the platform, a familiar boy waved awkwardly as he balanced Hedwig’s cage atop his trolley. Harry Potter had received his Hogwarts letter under less-than-ideal circumstances. But Hagrid had made sure he got everything he needed, even if Harry hadn’t truly believed any of it until he’d stepped through the barrier and seen the train.
Next to Harry stood Ron Weasley, tall for his age, hair blazing in the sun. “Blimey,” Ron said, looking around. “This is brilliant.”
Hermione noticed the boys and walked over. “Harry! You made it.”
Harry smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Ron looked between them. “You two know each other?”
“We went to primary school together,” Hermione replied. “I’m Hermione Granger.”
“Ron Weasley,” Ron said. “And you’re Harry Potter, right?”
Harry nodded, a bit sheepishly. “Apparently.”
As they boarded the train, Hermione helped a flustered boy named Neville Longbottom search for his missing toad. Trevor had escaped again, and Neville looked on the verge of tears.
“I think I saw it hop into that corner,” Hermione said, pointing.
Neville brightened. “Thanks!”
Meanwhile, Draco had already found his compartment, joined by his closest friends—Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, Daphne Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson. They spoke easily, familiar with each other from many family gatherings over the years.
“You think Potter’s really as famous as they say?” Pansy asked, peeking out the window.
Draco leaned back, eyes thoughtful. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll see what he’s like soon enough.”
They passed a girl on the platform with flaming red hair—Ginny Weasley, waving frantically at her brothers. Luna Lovegood, absent today, remained at home, still quiet after her mother’s death. Astoria Greengrass, too young for Hogwarts, stood with her parents watching her sister board the train with longing in her eyes.
Back inside the train, the compartments filled with chatter. Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Neville ended up sharing one. Harry and Ron bonded quickly over sweets and awkward stories about their families, while Hermione tried to hide her fascination with magic through facts and book references.
In another compartment, Draco leaned back, the train rattling beneath him, and for a moment, his fingers brushed the chain hidden beneath his shirt. It pulsed faintly—like a heartbeat.
At the edge of his mind, something stirred.
Far away, in the deepest dungeons of Azkaban, Sirius Black sat still in his cell. The ocean wind howled through cracks in the stone, cold and unforgiving. He barely noticed it anymore.
But then—
A pulse.
A flicker of warmth.
Like sunlight touching his skin for the first time in years.
Sirius gasped, his hand clenching the stone beside him. The bond had been dead for so long—silent and aching.
“Nyra?” he whispered.
There was no answer, only silence.
And yet, something had changed. He could feel it. The ancient magic of their soulbond had trembled.
Back on the train, Elena Granger lingered at the edge of the platform even as the engine chugged forward. A faint ache bloomed in her chest, watching the child she had raised disappear into the horizon.
On her finger, the heirloom ring shimmered—a relic from a past she couldn’t remember. Along the band, etched in ancient runes, was the magic of the Le Fay lineage that she didn't knew it belongs to which has started changing its words on different occasions from the time Hermione received letter:
Veritas Lux Mea – Truth is my light.
And on a silver chain tucked beneath Hermione’s blouse rested another heirloom—a small piece of a chain, unknowingly given to her by the same magic that had bound Nyra and Draco. A gift on her eleventh birthday, passed from hand to hand without knowledge of its origin.
The wind carried the sound of the train’s whistle as it disappeared from view.
And far across the country, the whispers of old magic stirred once more.