The Beginning of the Era
September 1, 1937
It was a morning of gentle freshness. The cool wind, though mild, caressed the face, while the sun merely hinted at its warmth. The sky shone with perfect clarity, heralding the onset of autumn, which promised the splendour of the day. A serene inevitability hung in the air—a tranquillity that, however, did not touch everyone at that moment.
That same morning, the station teemed with students in a medley of moods—some worried, others excited, many confused, and certainly anxious. Platform 9¾ bustled with youthful souls brimming with vibrant and inspired energy.
Around them echoed tearful farewells—laments from some, while others were radiant. Black robes, crinkled from travel, were promptly smoothed by attentive parents’ wands, some accompanied by affectionate smiles, others by anxious, stern gazes.
The train still rested at the station, and the figures of students began to punctuate the scene. One family, positioned right at the front of the locomotive, presented a sombre group, more suited to a funeral than a school departure. They complained incessantly about the use of trains, considering them Muggle contraptions—a grievance that, judging by the exhausted expressions of some of the five young members, had been voiced many times before. Yet such signs went unnoticed by the two authoritative figures present.
Another family, equally distinctive and refined, radiated an air of superiority. A fair-haired man spoke sternly to his young son, whose platinum hair and pale skin mirrored his own—a conversation laden with expectations and strictness. A little apart, a youth with sharp features and sleek black hair stood alone, his expression tinged with disdain, distrust, and seriousness as he remained standing, luggage neatly beside him.
Among the crowd, another boy stood out for his impressive height, despite his seemingly young age. Meanwhile, a more ordinary family—comparatively speaking—consisted of a bespectacled boy and his parents, who wore tender expressions. And so many other families gathered, each face etched with unsaid words, as each individual became enveloped in their own sea of emotions and expectations, while the train awaited its signal to depart.
The students began to board the train, and the carriages gradually filled.
In one of the compartments sat the peculiar solitary boy with sleek black hair. He was alone, relishing the quiet that solitude offered him. His thoughts drifted to what awaited him in that new environment, where he would have to reaffirm his so-called superiority. He enjoyed the silence around him, which allowed his thoughts to flow uninterrupted, free from the distraction of other voices. Yet, much to his displeasure, the door to the compartment opened suddenly, obliging him to turn his head slowly, evaluating the intruder with a cautious yet indifferent gaze.
It was the fair-haired boy with pale skin and icy blue eyes. His posture exuded an innate elegance, and upon seeing the solitary boy, his expression seemed to soften, almost forming a smile, though his features retained a calculated rigidity.
"Good morning," greeted the newcomer, settling himself on the seat opposite the other boy, who responded with a nod.
The blond lad observed him closely, considering whether it would be appropriate to initiate a conversation. His father would not permit him to converse with a "Mudblood," yet, despite the other boy’s second-hand-looking attire, there was something intriguing about him—perhaps an air of seriousness or a subtle magnetism.
With a hesitant motion, the blond boy slid closer and, with a careful gesture, extended his hand. "My name is Abraxas Malfoy," he said, in anticipation of a handshake.
The boy remained silent, casting a disdainful look at the offered hand, while Abraxas silently prayed his hand was not trembling.
"Oh, a moment," the young Malfoy interrupted, clearing his throat before reciting with a hint of importance, "There is no more certain sign of ineffective magic than weakness in living alongside Muggles. — Brutus Malfoy, my grandfather."
Abraxas attempted to impress, showcasing the superiority of his lineage, convinced the other boy would appreciate such a display of status. However, the boy offered no immediate response, merely holding Abraxas’ gaze with a penetrating look. This silence began to unsettle Malfoy, until finally, a hint of a smile appeared at the corner of the other’s mouth, and he extended his hand in response.
"I am Tom Riddle," he spoke at last.
Abraxas returned the handshake, offering a restrained smile, careful not to reveal more than necessary.
Shortly thereafter, the compartment door opened again, interrupting the conversation that had just begun to unfold between the two boys. It was a young man, a member of the same sombre family mentioned earlier. His nearly pale skin contrasted with his hair, black as night, and his features severe yet possessing an unsettling beauty. His eyes, a deep brown polished like mahogany, seemed to reflect an introspective intensity. His posture was impeccably straight, bestowing upon him an aura of respect and seriousness.
"Orion!" exclaimed Abraxas, his eyes brightening. "Where have you been?"
"My apologies," replied the newcomer, closing the door behind him. "Mother and Father were giving us the customary instructions on decorum and… other family matters."
Tom watched the interaction between the two, maintaining his usual impassive expression, while Abraxas straightened in his seat, assuming a more formal posture.
"This is my old friend, Orion Arcturus Black," Abraxas introduced, indicating the boy who had already seated himself nearby, though maintaining a discreet distance.
"Yes, precisely," Orion added, a proud yet calm smile lighting his face. "Of the most noble and ancient House of Black."
Abraxas and Orion had been childhood friends, bound by the ties between their families, both of prestigious and illustrious lineage.
Tom responded with a slight nod, observing the two conversing about matters that did not particularly interest him, as his mind wandered to deeper reflections.
However, Orion soon turned his attention to Tom, addressing him with a few words. Riddle, sensing that Orion could be a useful ally, found him intriguing enough to keep close, as with Abraxas. The three young boys continued their conversation, discussing the castle that awaited them and the people they would encounter there.
In another compartment, not far from the previous one, a conversation unfolded simultaneously, as if fate were weaving its invisible threads around these characters.
A girl, whose auburn hair flowed like a cascade of wine, sat with her face pressed against the window. Her deep eyes, where shades of brown entwined with green to create a look of sweetness capable of touching even the most hardened souls, were fixed on a single man outside on the platform. He watched her with a paternal smile that conveyed a silent love.
The door to the compartment slid open smoothly, interrupting the intimate moment. The girl sniffled and straightened in her seat, discreetly wiping her eyes as a slender, austere figure entered. It was a girl, from the same serious family seen earlier, with hair black as night, skin as pale as marble, and intense blue eyes that seemed to hold the mysteries of a deep ocean. Her rigid posture and well-defined features lent her a severe and imposing aura.
Behind her, a second figure appeared. Another girl, also from the sombre family, but slightly taller, with dark brown hair in well-defined waves. Her skin was not as pale as her companion’s, and her dark brown eyes, shining with boldness, gave her an air of unshakable seriousness. Strong eyebrows and full lips completed her resolute expression.
"Here you are, Wallb. Delivered," the first girl said, in a tone mixing disdain and familiarity. The other gave her a piercing look, but she merely smiled before leaving the cabin.
The girl with blue eyes settled into the seat, casting an inquisitive look at the auburn-haired girl, who observed her with curiosity.
"Hi—" the girl began, but quickly corrected herself, furrowing her brow. "I mean, hello."
The other girl studied her for a moment, as though weighing her words.
"Good morning," she replied, maintaining an appraising expression.
"Good morning. My name is Euphemia, Euphemia Foster. Pleased to meet you," said the auburn-haired girl, offering a warm smile that lit up the other’s face.
Walburga couldn’t resist a small smile but quickly lowered her head, replying in a formal tone.
"Walburga Black, of the most noble and ancient House of Black."
Euphemia, noticing the formality, was unbothered, merely adjusting herself in her seat.
"Is it your first year as well? I’m rather sad to leave my father behind. Such a difficult decision, isn’t it? Perhaps not for some, but for me, family is an essential part of life, even if at times we must part in pursuit of education and other obligations. Don’t you agree?" Euphemia asked, watching Walburga’s reaction, who looked back with an enigmatic expression, blending disdain and fascination.
"I suppose so," Walburga responded slowly, her voice measured. "One must balance these aspects fairly. Both are necessary, yet there are times when certain responsibilities demand one’s full attention."
"Yes, of course..." Euphemia agreed, thoughtful but enthusiastic. "I like your perspective. It’s profound and leaves room for further reflection."
Walburga felt a slight flush rise to her cheeks and allowed herself a discreet smile, which Euphemia returned with equal kindness.
"Apologies, I don’t think I gave you a chance to speak," Euphemia said with a slightly guilty expression, accompanied by a playful smile. "So, is it your first year as well?"
"Yes," Walburga replied, giving a shy smile as she felt her cheeks grow warm and chuckled softly. "I’m not as nervous as I thought I’d be, though there’s still a slight knot in my stomach..."
Euphemia smiled, but Walburga immediately felt a pang of discomfort. That wasn’t appropriate. A lady should not express herself in such a manner. Clenching her arm firmly, she forced herself to remain composed, focusing on Foster’s words and choosing to stay silent.
"I get nervous about my father and all those complicated matters too," Euphemia continued, her words almost drowned out by Walburga’s thoughts. "I hope he’ll send me letters while I’m there..."
Walburga’s brow furrowed slightly. Why did Euphemia speak so much about her father and never mention her mother?
"Don’t you speak to your mother?" she asked, her face showing confusion.
Euphemia’s expression seemed to lose some of its usual brightness, and her smile softened a little.
"No," Foster replied, her tone calm. "I don’t know her."
Walburga was genuinely intrigued. Was Euphemia speaking metaphorically? Or had she truly never seen her mother? But how could that be? Everyone has a mother and father, don’t they?
"You’ve never seen your mother?" Walburga asked, gazing at the girl who now seemed to shrink under the weight of the question.
Euphemia found the question somewhat blunt. Could Walburga not understand? To Euphemia, the absence of her mother was a delicate subject. As much as she deeply loved her father, she had always felt the lack of maternal affection.
"No," Foster replied, her tone slightly harsher, folding her arms as though to shield herself. "She left before I ever opened my eyes."
Walburga felt disconcerted. Had she said something wrong? Perhaps Foster had been offended, but she hadn’t meant any harm, had she? Could she have avoided it? But would that make it her fault?
"I... Well, I know my mother. She’s a respectable woman," Walburga said, attempting to break the awkward silence.
Foster wondered what Walburga had meant by that, but chose to let it pass.
"At any rate, I’m excited to enter the castle. I hope it’s lovely; after all, it’ll be our second home, won’t it?" Euphemia remarked, trying to lighten the tone of the conversation, her smile gradually returning.
Walburga felt a slight relief and smiled back, a timid but genuine smile.
Euphemia noticed the smile and found it charming, as it seemed to come from the heart.
"Indeed," Walburga agreed. "Perhaps even more than a home."
The two talked for a long time, though Euphemia, despite finding her travelling companion interesting, disagreed with some other opinions she expressed over the course of their conversation.
In yet another carriage, two young people sat across from each other. The first, a tall, slender young girl with hair as dark as silk that gleamed with a light-catching sheen, possessed deep eyes with a penetrating clarity, as if illuminating every shadow with an acutely perceptive gaze born from a keen mind. Opposite her, the boy had dark brown hair, and though his eyes were framed by glasses, they held the depth of rich soil, glowing with an earthy warmth that conveyed a gentle kindness.
The two were discussing school, their first year, and the subjects that sparked their interest. It seemed that both had already acquired some preliminary knowledge before arriving at the institution. A new figure entered the carriage after a light knock on the door. She was of medium height, with light blond hair that provided a striking contrast to her skin, creating a subtle yet captivating luminescent effect. Her blue eyes shone with a radiant softness, exuding an aura of kindness and empathy. The young woman, glowing with her own inner light, smiled as she greeted them, "Good morning," and gently closed the door behind her.
"Hello, how are you? My name is Poppy Pomfrey. It’s a pleasure to meet you," she said, settling in with a contagious smile.
The boy, already drawn in by the positive energy of the newcomer, responded with a kind smile: "Hello, good morning! The pleasure is mine. Lyall Lupin."
The other young woman, watching the scene with pressed lips, introduced herself with a more reserved expression, though her eyes seemed to sparkle slightly: "Minerva McGonagall, pleased to meet you."
"I’m so excited to learn; everything sounds like it will be fascinating and engaging!" Poppy exclaimed, her face lit up by an enthusiastic expression.
"Indeed. I’m not quite sure which subject will appeal to me the most, but I’m very interested in Magical Creatures and also in History of Magic," Lyall mused, reflecting on his preferences.
"As for me, I’ll probably be more interested in Charms or Transfiguration," Minerva commented, contemplating her own inclinations.
"Hm, I haven’t read much yet, but maybe I’ll end up liking Herbology. Doesn’t it sound fascinating? Taking care of plants and watching them grow—all with a touch of magic..." Pomfrey revealed.
"That doesn’t sound bad to me either!" Lyall added.
"Well, I believe not every subject will appeal to me," Minerva observed, her expression showing a hint of unease.
Lyall and Poppy exchanged knowing glances and began to laugh, soon joined by Minerva, who, though somewhat perplexed, couldn’t help but join in the amusement.
The conversation between the three became more relaxed, and they quickly found a natural ease with each other, creating a friendly and welcoming atmosphere.
Another compartment passed by as two young people sat opposite each other. The boy, with fiery red hair that gleamed vibrantly, as though it absorbed the warmth and energy of a crackling fire, had eyes that evoked the richness of autumn—deep and warm. His radiant smile grew broader as he chatted with the girl seated before him. She, with hair as dark and smooth as a curtain of midnight silk, cascading softly, conveyed an air of mystery and elegance. Her nearly black eyes held a muted glow, as if veiled by a mist of uncertainties.
The young girl was smiling too, and an instant connection formed between them, a fascinating, platonic bond despite their brief acquaintance.
"I do hope everything unfolds well. The school seems such a vast and enigmatic place," the young girl commented, her gaze hesitant.
"Well, I hope I shan’t lose my way, though I’m quite certain that’s bound to happen," the boy replied, prompting a laugh from her, which he quickly joined.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a new figure. It was the same young lady who had earlier been seen with the strange family and with Walburga in another carriage. Her dark hair, falling in loose waves, moved slightly with the motion, and her face lit up, revealing bold eyes that seemed to challenge the world with their penetrating intensity. Her sharply arched brows lifted slightly, and her full lips curved into a slight smile.
Despite her serious features and reserved posture, the young woman didn’t seem unapproachable and promptly greeted them at the door.
"Good morning. May I join you?" she asked, and the two exchanged glances, smiling softly and nodding.
The young woman seated herself, observing them with attentiveness.
"Ignatius Prewett," the boy quickly introduced himself.
"Eileen Prince," added the dark-haired girl.
"My name is Lucretia Black, of the most noble and ancient house… Are you both in your first year?" she inquired.
They both nodded, and Ignatius added, "It’s our first time at the castle, and we’re truly looking forward to it. Have you been at Hogwarts long?"
"Not quite, actually," Lucretia replied with a charming smile. "I would have begun last year, but I missed an academic term while I was abroad in France. I might have continued at Beauxbatons, where I’d already commenced my studies, but my mother would not allow it."
The two watched her, attempting to comprehend her story.
"So you must start anew, even though you’re already well-versed in the basics?" Ignatius asked, frowning.
"To my utmost disappointment, yes," Lucretia responded.
"That hardly seems fair," Eileen commented.
"But we could keep you company; perhaps that might help, hm!" Ignatius suggested, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
Lucretia laughed, nodding. "Indeed, that would be a tremendous help!"
As other compartments passed by along the train corridor, a cacophony of laughter filled the air, some warm and jovial, others laced with derision. Scattered remarks punctuated the conversations, and among them, the voice of a blonde girl could be heard complaining openly about a “giant boy,” sharing her grievances with the friends gathered around her. It was a diverse atmosphere, a mosaic of personalities and emotions.
In this sequence of sounds and faces, varied bonds were forming—friendships that promised to endure through the years, while other relationships began with tones of curiosity or misunderstanding. With each laugh and whisper, each exchanged glance and captured expression, a broad and intricate scene was taking shape, brimming with possibilities that, in the end, lay enclosed within the train’s walls, pulsating silently with the promise of stories yet to be told.