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Chapter 12: Platform nine and three-quarters
🕑 Added 2025-08-29 02:19:12 +0000 UTCThe next day dawned early. Ryan dressed without hurry: formal trousers, a white shirt, and an open robe fastened with an elegant clasp. His look was somewhere between studious wizard and stylish merchant.
Breakfast was waiting in the kitchen. Scrambled eggs, toast with blueberry jam, pumpkin juice. All prepared with the meticulous care of a loving mother.
Even so, he only ate half.
Iris watched him from the other end of the table. Her posture was relaxed, but her sharp eyes noticed everything.
“Nervous?” she asked with a slight smile, tilting her head. “You’re quieter than usual. And that’s a rare sign for you.”
“Me? Not at all,” he replied, but his tone wasn’t as convincing as he had hoped.
“Oh…” Iris made a thoughtful gesture. “Who would’ve thought the great magical inventor would be nervous about starting the school year. Is there a girl? Some new victim of your charms and your exclusive quills?”
Ryan looked up with an offended expression, but it took him a second. Just one second.
And in Iris’s trained eyes, that second was a full confession.
Because yes. There was a face.
An image that had slipped in without permission.
Andromeda Black.
Not because of his memories, the ones from the other Ryan, though he knew they had shared classes. The old Ryan had barely spoken to her. A passing word. A “sorry” in the corridors. She was always so proper, so Black.
No. What came to his mind now was something else.
The first time he saw her with his own eyes.
It was in Perks’ shop, when he sold his first batch of ten quills.
She was there with her sister Narcissa. Two impeccable figures, dressed like opposite versions of the same ancient sculpture. Narcissa, with her icy perfection, like a porcelain doll too aware of her own beauty. Andromeda… she had something different.
Yes, her posture was flawless. Worthy of a Black. Her neck held high, her movements measured, her straight chestnut hair falling like a silk curtain over her shoulders. A sculpted face, the kind that looks torn from a Renaissance painting.
But her eyes…
Her eyes weren’t haughty, nor defiant.
They were curious.
And that detail, that faint nuance others would likely ignore, was what caught Ryan.
A veiled curiosity. A gaze that didn’t seem to judge, but to analyze.
Besides, with his knowledge of the series he knew Andromeda was different from her sisters, and that a few years down the line, if canon held, she would marry a Muggle-born wizard. And that made her far more interesting than her sisters.
Though of course, he would never admit it.
“No,” he finally answered, with a tone drier than necessary, lowering his gaze back to the plate.
Iris said nothing. She only took a sip of coffee, with a smile that needed no words.
At last they left the house and headed for the station.
They crossed the platform with the trunk balanced on a trolley, without trouble. Ryan pushed it with steady steps, though his gaze drifted across the walls. He knew what was coming, yet part of him still didn’t believe it.
And then it happened. He passed through the wall.
He felt a brief pressure in his chest, a soft vibration, as if the air had shifted density for a second… and as he emerged on the other side, his eyes widened in genuine awe.
No matter that he had the original Ryan’s memories, no matter that he knew exactly what it was like, no matter that he had imagined it a million times…
This was the first time he was seeing Platform 9¾ with his own eyes, not through borrowed memories.
And it was glorious.
Smoke from the train floated thick in the air, carrying the scent of enchanted coal. The Hogwarts Express roared with elegance, painted scarlet red, gleaming under the morning light. Dozens of wizarding families bustled about, children in robes and scarves of every House hugging in their farewells, cats darted out of poorly closed cages, owls hooted, and a street vendor was already shouting about discounted copper cauldrons.
It was magical chaos.
Ryan stopped, his heart tight in his chest. He was fifteen, no matter how much he pretended to be more mature. For him, a Harry Potter fan since childhood, this was like watching a dream come alive.
“What’s wrong?” said Iris, stopping a few steps ahead, her stride elegant, golden hair flowing like that of a carefree queen. “Come on, the train won’t wait for magical geniuses or teenage models.”
Ryan blinked, snapped out of his trance, and pushed the trolley forward until he caught up with her.
“Just saying goodbye to the Muggle world…” he muttered.
As they walked through the crowd, Ryan slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his robe and pulled out a pair of round sunglasses with dark metal frames and opaque lenses. They were high quality, the kind of accessory you’d expect from a young wizard with an income of over 1,700 galleons. He put them on with a smooth, casual motion.
“Seriously? Sunglasses to get on the train?” Iris said, raising an amused eyebrow.
“I hate when girls get lost in my eyes,” Ryan replied without missing a beat. “It’s a daily aesthetic tragedy. Genetic inheritance, you know.”
“Oh, I understand your pain,” Iris answered, nodding with mock gravity as if they were discussing an incurable ailment. “It’s exhausting to be attractive, isn’t it?”
“A burden,” said Ryan.
“A curse,” said Iris.
“A cross I must bear because of you and your perfect genes,” he concluded, sighing dramatically.
Iris chuckled under her breath, then narrowed her eyes mischievously.
“Well… use those eyes for something useful. Like winning over a girl who’s actually worth it. And preferably not a crazy one. Or a future dark witch.”
“Mm… I don’t know,” Ryan said with a shrug, adjusting his sunglasses. “Haven’t met anyone who’s caught my attention enough to risk my business income. You know… girlfriends are expensive. And I can’t be a stingy boyfriend.”
“Oh, of course… at this rate you’re going to end up marrying your inventions, just wait,” Iris scoffed.
“They’re more faithful than most people. They don’t complain, don’t demand explanations, don’t steal my sleep, and on top of that, they make me money.”
Both laughed as they moved through the crowd. They didn’t go unnoticed.
They were like mirror versions of mother and son, designed by the same painter: the same golden beauty, the same gray eyes, the same sharp and intelligent air.
More than one passerby glanced at them, wondering whether they belonged to some important bloodline or were simply too photogenic to be real. And there were always adults murmuring something about, “The Ollivanders, always so… striking.”
They had arrived early. The platform wasn’t completely crowded yet. Ryan took the chance to find an empty compartment near the middle of the train.
He preferred it that way: not too close to the noisy first-years, and not too far back where the troublemakers usually gathered.
He slid the door open, hoisted his trunk with little effort, and placed it in the luggage rack with a smooth gesture. Then he set his owl’s cage on the seat by the window. The bird, white with dark speckles on its wings and deep amber eyes, watched him with a mix of judgment and serenity.
“Easy, Ingrid,” he said, stroking the side of the cage. “I promise not to get you into trouble. Well… not too much. Maybe I’ll even change that awful name I gave you years ago…” he muttered.
Ingrid pecked him lightly in reply.
Ryan settled into the window seat, legs crossed, sunglasses still on.
Iris stepped up to the window, resting a hand on the frame as she prepared to say goodbye. She wouldn’t stay until the train departed. Ryan wasn’t eleven anymore. The handkerchief-waving and teary eyes were for the little ones.
“Remember this is an important year,” she said, her voice serene but firm. “Your O.W.L.s will determine which subjects you can continue with in sixth year. I’d give you the usual lecture that never works, but…” she tilted her head with a faint smile, “I’ve already seen you studying Transfiguration, Potions, Charms… so I’m not worried.”
“And if any professor decides to punish you,” she continued, letting his name slip by without comment, “at least make it worth it. But please… no more annoying letters sent home. I’m trying to focus on my research.”
Ryan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’ll try.”
Iris watched him in silence for a few seconds more. Her expression softened, and her eyes shone with pride, tenderness, and love.
“I’d give you a kiss on the forehead… but that would be too embarrassing for you, wouldn’t it?” she murmured.
Ryan looked at her with a half-smile, and for a moment, their eyes met without sarcasm or sharp remarks between them.
“I wouldn’t mind,” he said simply.
That surprised her. A little. But she said nothing. She only smiled, placed a hand against his cheek through the open window… and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
“You have my permission to cause chaos at Hogwarts, just don’t get caught,” she whispered.
And then she stepped away.
Ryan settled back into his seat without a word, as the train slowly began to fill with students, trunks, cages, and voices.
