Platform 9¾ was alive with the usual end-of-summer chaos. Owls screeched, trunks tumbled, and steam curled around farewells like ghostly fingers. Yet beneath the hustle and bustle, there was an unmistakable weight—a tension, subtle but ever-present, that hovered like a storm cloud waiting to burst.
Arthur stood by his trolley, watching the swirling mess of students and families. Elira perched on the handle, casting him a glare every now and then, still fuming from his abrupt departure and the silence that followed. He knew she was angry, but in her way, she was also worried. The little owl had a way of expressing both in the same look.
His trunk was packed, and he could already feel the absence of certain things. A small piece of parchment from Cassian, now folded in his pocket, weighed heavily on his thoughts. The rune on it pulsed faintly, but what it meant, what it was meant to do—it was all still a mystery. One he was no closer to solving than when he left for the summer.
He watched the Potter family as they said their farewells—Elena, Harry, and the younger twins. The chaos was normal, but Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that the ground had shifted under him. The Potters, the Weasleys, and almost half of wizarding world had an expectation of him. They saw someone marked by destiny, caught up in a prophecy too heavy for even the greatest minds to fathom. But Arthur... Arthur didn't know what kind of person he wanted to be, let alone what kind of hero.
Harry, Elena, and the rest of the family headed to the train, but Arthur broke away, quietly slipping past them to board on his own. He needed space—he needed to think.
The train was as loud as ever, but that didn't stop him from making his way to the back. He knew this part of the train well. It was quieter, tucked away from the crowd. As he reached the last carriage, he found an empty compartment, the door slightly ajar. With a soft exhale, he pushed it open and stepped inside.
Arthur sat by the window, looking out at the passing landscape, but his thoughts kept pulling him back to Remus' words earlier that morning.
"The wheel's turning now, Arthur. People are watching you. You need to know who you are before they decide for you."
Arthur had thought about it all the way here—about the weight of those words, about the kind of person he was supposed to be. What kind of danger would he become? And if he couldn't figure it out, who would?
He pulled the folded parchment from his pocket again. He stared at the faintly glowing rune, Cassian's words echoing in his mind: "Don't let them define you, Arthur. This world will always try to push you into a box. But there is more to you than even you can see right now."
More. Arthur couldn't help but wonder what more meant. What did it mean to truly know himself, especially when it seemed like everyone had a role in mind for him? Cassian's words felt like a promise, but they also felt like a challenge.
Suddenly, the door creaked open.
Arthur looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing there, leaning against the doorframe with his usual smug expression. Behind him, two of Draco's usual goons—Crabbe and Goyle—lingered in the hallway, but Draco dismissed them with a flick of his wrist.
"Thought I'd find you here, Reeves," Draco said, his voice dripping with an amused arrogance.
Arthur raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "Am I really so predictable, Malfoy?"
Draco smirked and folded his arms in the same way. "Half the time."
Arthur couldn't help but chuckle, a sound that seemed foreign to him after the intensity of the last few weeks. It felt good, like a crack in the wall he had been building around himself.
"First time I've seen you smile in ages. First time I've seen you in ages," Draco said, raising an eyebrow. "I thought I might have to do something really dramatic to get that out of you."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'd like to see you try."
Draco stepped in, sliding the door shut behind him and sitting down across from Arthur. He studied him for a moment, his usual teasing gaze softening just slightly. "You've been a bit of a mystery lately, Reeves. People have been talking."
Arthur nodded, his expression hardening. "That tends to happen when you run off for a while"
Draco's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, well, I didn't exactly expect you to be gone of for so long. But it makes sense, doesn't it? You've got some kind of secret mission, probably involving all those old families, and half the school or probably the entire wizarding world thinks you're the one to stop it all."
Arthur frowned. "What exactly is your point, Draco?"
Draco leaned back in his seat, the playful glint in his eye flickering with something else. "My point is... I'm curious. Everyone else is busy speculating about you, but you? You're not saying much. What are you really planning, Reeves?"
Arthur hesitated, staring out the window at the landscape speeding by. "I don't even know anymore."
Draco's expression softened ever so slightly. "That makes two of us. But for what it's worth... don't think you have to do it alone."
Arthur turned to look at him, surprised by the sincerity in Draco's tone. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the smirk and arrogance that was his usual armor.
"I'll think about it," Arthur replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Draco leaned back, eyeing Arthur as if he wanted to say something else—something real—but, true to form, opted for his usual flair instead.
"Well," he said, brushing imaginary lint off his robes, "I should go inflict some knowledge on a few terrified first years."
Arthur raised a brow. "Do you mean bully?"
Draco placed a hand to his chest with mock offense. "Hey, I don't make the rules. I just... ensure the traditions continue."
Arthur snorted. "You're insufferable."
Draco winked. "And you love me for it." Then he opened the door, letting the sound of the corridor pour in. "See you around, Reeves. Don't do anything too explosive without me."
With that, he was gone.
The door slid shut with a quiet thunk, and the noise outside dulled again. Arthur was alone.
For a moment, he just sat there, watching the landscape blur past, his reflection faintly visible in the cracked glass. Then, slowly, he reached for his trunk. From its false bottom, he pulled out a narrow, black box—smooth wood, unmarked save for a small silver phoenix etched into one corner.
The wand box.
Cassian had given it to him on their last training day together. "Not yet," he'd said. "You'll know when the time is right."
Arthur's hands hovered over it for a beat before he flipped open the lid.
Inside lay a sleek, dark wand—almost black in color, but with veins of copper running along its length, like lightning frozen in wood. It pulsed faintly with an energy that prickled his fingertips. A tiny scroll sat beside it, delicate as old parchment.
He unrolled it:
Wand Specifications
Wood: Ironwood (with storm-forged finish)
Core: Thunderbird feather & Basilisk heartstring
Length: 14¼ inches
Flexibility: Slightly unyielding
Description: Crafted to channel immense magical surges with precision. Not recommended for use without intense training. Highly reactive. Bonds for life.
Arthur stared at the wand. Thunderbird and basilisk heartstring... That wasn't just rare. It was unheard of. One core summoned storms, the other was born of death.
He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and lifted the wand.
The effect was instantaneous.
A pulse of magic surged outward. The train shuddered as if something massive had just passed over it. The lights flickered. The compartment vibrated violently for a full thirty seconds before settling again.
Then came the sharp crack of shattering—several of the compartment's glass panes fractured in spiderweb patterns, lines radiating outward from Arthur like ripples in a pond.
Arthur gasped and dropped the wand, but it didn't fall. It hovered, gently, in the air in front of him, spinning slowly before descending softly into his palm.
From her perch near the luggage rack, Elira flapped her wings and scolded him with a long string of high-pitched owl-speak.
"You're lucky the train didn't derail, genius," she snapped, feathers puffed. "Next time you open something that screams forbidden magical artifact, maybe do it not in a metal tube going 80 miles an hour?"
Arthur blinked at her. "Noted."
She narrowed her eyes. "Boys. Honestly. Blow up one train and suddenly you think you're Merlin."
He couldn't help it—he laughed.
But even as he laughed, he couldn't deny it: something had shifted. The wand knew him. And now that it had chosen him, there was no going back.
Not just a tool... but a key.
To what, he didn't know.
Yet.
The sky was darkening fast as the Hogwarts Express hissed to a stop. Students poured out in waves, laughter and chatter echoing across the station platform. First-years were already being herded toward the boats, while the older students veered toward the thestral-drawn carriages waiting at the edge of the forest.
Arthur stuck close to Draco, Pansy, and Theodore as they made their way through the crowd.
"Finally," Pansy muttered, brushing some hair behind her ear. "I swear, if I had to listen to one more first-year shriek about 'magic' like they'd just discovered it—"
"You'd have hexed someone," Theodore finished for her, smirking.
The trio laughed, and Arthur felt his nerves settle a little. It almost felt... normal. Almost.
They reached the row of carriages and found one near the back, mostly untouched by the crowd. Theodore climbed in first, followed by Pansy and Draco. Arthur hesitated for a moment as his gaze drifted to the strange skeletal horses pulling the carriage—thestrals. He'd only read about them in books. The creatures pawed at the ground, their wings fluttering restlessly, their empty, black eyes seeming to stare into nothingness.
But it wasn't the thestrals themselves that made him pause. It was the sound—a soft, almost imperceptible voice.
"Why am I always stuck with the annoying ones?" The voice, dry and somewhat annoyed, came from nowhere in particular, as though the thestral was talking to itself.
Arthur blinked, looking around. It was coming from the thestral—he could feel it.
The creature shifted its wings slightly, snorting as it pawed at the dirt. Then, the voice continued, clearly unbothered by Arthur's presence.
"Great, here comes another one who thinks they're too good to give us a proper scratch. Just once, I'd like some appreciation. It's not like I asked for this job…"
Arthur's heart raced in confusion. Wait… did I hear that right?
He stepped closer, instinctively reaching out to the thestral. No one else seemed to hear it, no one else seemed to notice the creature grumbling to itself.
"You know," the thestral muttered, tilting its head as though it were considering him. "You're the first one in ages to hear me. Not that anyone ever asks, but what's the point of pulling a carriage if no one even acknowledges you?"
Arthur's mind was spinning. He'd always been able to hear animals—he'd been able to understand their thoughts, their feelings. But this? A thestral, talking like a disgruntled employee?
"What's your name?" Arthur asked quietly, almost automatically, before he could stop himself.
The thestral gave a low, rumbling sound, almost like a sigh.
"Name? Ha! I don't get paid enough to have a name." There was a pause, and Arthur could have sworn the creature was chuckling under its breath. "Just call me 'Thorn,' I suppose. It's better than nothing."
Arthur couldn't help but smile, though it was more out of disbelief than amusement. "Thorn," he repeated, testing the name. "Why are you so... upset?"
The thestral's head turned slightly, its eyes locking onto Arthur. There was a strange intensity in its gaze. "Because, kid," it rumbled, its voice lowering a touch, "I pull this carriage every year, hauling it through the same path. And not once do any of you ever offer a word of thanks. We're not just beasts of burden, you know."
Arthur was struck, not just by the thestral's words, but by how... human its frustration sounded. As if it had become bitter over the years of being overlooked.
"Sorry," Arthur said, feeling oddly guilty. "I don't think they meant to ignore you."
The thestral snorted again, but it seemed to soften. "Yeah, well, maybe. But you're the first one to actually acknowledge it. Most of you just climb in and start jabbering about who's going to win the next Quidditch match."
Arthur's chest tightened. He was the only one who could hear it. Only he could hear the thestral's voice.
Just as that realization hit, Draco's voice snapped through the moment.
"Arthur! What are you doing? We're going to miss the Sorting!"
Arthur turned to see Draco leaning out of the carriage, a frown tugging at his lips.
Arthur snapped back to reality, looking around. Draco, Pansy, and Theodore were all staring at him, but none of them seemed to see the thestral standing right there, as if it were invisible to them. They were clearly confused by his sudden silence.
"Sorry," Arthur muttered, shaking his head as he pushed the confusion aside. "Just... lost track of time."
He climbed into the carriage, the door shutting behind him. As it began to roll forward toward the castle gates, Arthur glanced back one last time.
The thestral was still there, standing in the shadows of the forest, its wings fluttering lightly in the breeze. Its form shifted in and out of focus for just a moment—like the faintest hint of a shimmer. Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he realized none of his friends had even noticed the creature. None of them could see it.
Inside the carriage, Pansy raised an eyebrow, eyeing him carefully. "You look a bit... off. Saw something interesting?"
Arthur shook his head, forcing a smile. "Just... thinking."
But deep down, the voice of Thorn still echoed in his mind, and Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that there was much more to these creatures than anyone realized.
And as they neared the castle, a thought clung to him: No one else could see the thestrals—only those who had seen death.
Arthur sat quietly, listening to Pansy's complaints and Theodore's snide remarks about summer homework, but his thoughts were far away.
His second year was about to begin. A year older, a little wiser, and—if Thorn was anything to go by—a whole lot closer to secrets the rest of the world didn't even realize were right in front of them.
There was something stirring beneath the surface. He could feel it. And this time, Arthur wasn't just another student at Hogwarts.
This time, he was different.
And something out there knew it.