Days passed, and soon it was time for school. Alan was quite satisfied with the progress he had made during his seclusion.
He packed his trunk, bid farewell to Tom at the Leaky Cauldron, and set off for King's Cross Station. After more than a month of daily interaction, Tom had grown quite fond of him and presented Alan with a small barrel of butterbeer as a parting gift. Alan, in turn, left behind a few simple recipes—such as his version of fried chicken—which earned him a look of genuine warmth from the landlord.
Alan arrived at King's Cross early, navigating his luggage alone. He carefully loaded his gear onto a trolley, double-checked his pockets, and pulled the train ticket from his admission letter. Professor McGonagall had already explained the boarding procedure before they parted ways in July.
As he pushed his trolley toward the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, Alan noticed several Aurors maintaining a discreet but firm presence. *They must be here to prevent Muggles from wandering in or to intercept any interference,* he thought.
Alan glanced left and right, confirmed no one was watching him, and then pushed his trolley into a steady run, charging directly at the solid brick wall.
On the other side, a dark red, old-fashioned steam locomotive idled beside the platform. The station was relatively quiet; the train wasn't scheduled to depart until eleven o'clock, and it was barely past nine. Alan had arrived well ahead of the crowd.
He walked along the side of the scarlet engine and found an empty carriage. With a casual wave of his hand, his luggage rose from the trolley and floated beside him, trailing him into the train like a loyal shadow. Once he found a vacant compartment, he stepped inside and gestured again; the trunks flew onto the overhead racks and settled smoothly into place.
"Tailwind, wake up," Alan called to his owl, but the bird remained perched in its cage, dozing with its eyes half-closed. Alan shook his head, placed the cage on the small table, and slid the compartment door shut.
He took the opportunity to change into his plain black wizard robes while the train was still empty. Once dressed, he sat in the corner by the window, pulled out a copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, and began to read. He had studied this text many times and had even attempted a few basic transformations during his stay at the pub.
While he had a firm grasp of Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration remained at an introductory stage for him. It was a rigorous branch of magic that seemed to require the direct guidance of a professor to truly master.
About an hour later, the platform outside began to bustle with activity. A sharp knock sounded at the compartment door.
"Is this seat taken?" a girl asked, pointing to the bench opposite him. She looked young, with long brown hair and light green eyes that held a hint of nervous naivety.
"No, please, have a seat," Alan said with a welcoming smile. "I'm Alan Wilson. Let me help you with that."
He saw the girl struggling to heave a heavy suitcase onto the rack. Alan pointed his hand, and the suitcase floated upward, sliding into place with effortless precision.
"Cool! I'm Vivian Bulstrode," she said, her eyes wide as she watched the display. "Are you a senior? You can even do wandless magic! I'm a first-year starting this term."
It was a natural assumption. Alan was more robust than most boys his age, standing over five feet tall with a sturdy, disciplined build that made him appear older.
"Actually, I'm a first-year too," Alan said, offering a small, calculated lie. "This is just the one charm I've managed to become proficient in." He didn't want to reveal that his Shield Charms had also reached the level of silent, wandless casting; there was no need to stand out more than necessary.
"You're amazing! Are you from a pure-blood family? I don't recognize the name Wilson," Vivian said, tilting her head as she searched her memory. "My father and grandfather are both Squibs, and my mother is a Muggle. My grandfather was actually disowned by the Bulstrodes years ago. You wouldn't believe it, but when my admission letter arrived, he was overjoyed. Because of me, our branch was finally re-admitted into the main family."
"I'm an orphan," Alan replied calmly. "I have no connection to any pure-blood lines. I'm a wizard from a Muggle background. Tell me, if your family disowned your grandfather, don't you resent them? Why are you so happy to go back?"
"You don't look like a Muggle-born at all," Vivian remarked, still staring at the spot where her suitcase had floated. "My grandfather spent his whole life resenting being a Squib. He says I'm his pride! Isn't it a good thing to return to the family? The Bulstrodes are one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight!"
Alan couldn't quite wrap his head around Vivian's perspective. In his view, the obsession with bloodlines was absurd. If a family had cast him out, he wouldn't have given them the time of day, yet Vivian was clearly radiating pride. She seemed eager to share her history with a total stranger.
A commotion on the platform drew their attention. A crowd had gathered near the center of the station, and the sounds of a heated argument drifted through the open window.
"Do you know what's going on out there, Vivian?"
"Let me see." Vivian leaned out the window to get a better look.
"One side looks like the Travers family, and the other is definitely the McKinnons. I've seen them at family banquets," she said, pulling her head back in and sliding the window shut.
"I heard a rumor that someone from the Travers family is a Death Eater," she whispered, her expression growing exaggerated and secretive. "An Auror from the McKinnon family was badly hurt by them recently. The McKinnons think the whole Travers line is loyal to... you know, the Dark Lord. The Travers family denies everything, of course. They say it was just one person acting alone, or a case of mistaken identity. They claim they have nothing to do with Death Eaters."
"How do you know so much?" Alan asked, genuinely curious. "I thought your family only just rejoined the fold."
"Ever since we were brought back in, the Head of the family has been taking me to visits and banquets. I've heard plenty of stories over tea," Vivian said, looking at Alan with a look that suggested the world was far more complex than he could possibly imagine.
*You're just a born gossip, aren't you?* Alan thought, though he kept the observation to himself.