King’s Cross Station.
On the faces of pedestrians wearing all sorts of clothing hung a uniform, hurried expression.
After sending Harry and Ron off, Molly was about to take Ginny through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 to see the children off on the platform when she turned her head and saw a thin boy pushing a trolley coming over.
Judging by the things on the trolley, he was presumably a Hogwarts student as well.
Furthermore, for some reason, the moment Molly saw this child, she felt her heart stirred by him, so she took the initiative to ask:
“Child, are you also looking for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?”
“Yes, madam.” Sheeran smiled gently.
“Oh, come this way.” Molly made way with Ginny, her eyes carefully sizing up the child.
His dark brown to near-black hair and eyes showed a hint of gold under the faint sunlight, and his build was slender with ill-fitting clothes.
It could be guessed that his life was not very wealthy.
But for some reason, this child’s face always gave her a familiar and endearing feeling.
This feeling made no sense at all.
Although not violent, it was very tenacious, seeming to grow from deep within her bloodline.
Once it appeared, it was like taking root, lingering in her heart and refusing to dissipate.
This made Molly quite puzzled.
Why would she have this feeling toward a child she had never met before?
“Don’t worry, run straight ahead, that’s very important.
If you’re scared, just break into a trot.” Molly pointed at the barrier and said.
“Thank you, madam.”
Looking at the slightly plump woman with a little girl before him, Sheeran gradually realized.
She was probably Molly Weasley.
Fortunately, it was at King’s Cross Station and also the start of term, making this plot node very clear, otherwise Sheeran wouldn’t have recognized Molly.
Genealogically speaking, Molly should be Sheeran’s aunt.
But from a social perspective, Sheeran had never met this aunt of his, nor could he recognize her in the vast sea of people, then walk up and state his surname for a touching station “family reunion.”
Therefore, Sheeran simply gave a polite thank-you, pushed his cart at a trot, and prepared to pass through the barrier.
Looking at Sheeran’s face, the more Molly looked, the more familiar it felt, and a nearly absurd thought suddenly jumped into her mind.
This child looked so much like her older brother Fabian!
Molly shook her head, seemingly wanting to banish this absurd notion from her mind, but it was no use.
The more she resisted, the stronger this thought became, until it occupied all her mind.
“Child, what is your name?”
“Sheeran Prewett!
Madam.”
Sheeran turned back and bowed slightly to show respect, and after speaking, passed through the barrier.
“Prewett?
Prewett?!”
The moment this surname, deeply engraved in Molly’s heart, popped out of Sheeran’s mouth, it turned into a steaming, derailed train, impacting her mind with a terrifying force.
It left her standing there in a daze.
How could it be Prewett?
Although this surname was not uncommon throughout London, wizards with the surname Prewett were far too few!
This child looked like a Hogwarts first-year, so his age was probably around 11.
Didn’t this coincide with the time of Fabian’s death?
Coupled with the face that Sheeran made her feel familiar with and Professor McGonagall’s letter…
All the information integrated together, and then suddenly exploded in Molly’s heart.
A bold idea forcefully jumped out from Molly’s heart.
Could he be her brother’s child?!
Her own nephew?!
Molly stood in a daze for quite a while before reacting that she needed to find Sheeran.
As long as she found him and asked his father’s name, wouldn’t she know?!
“Ginny, hurry up!”
Molly took Ginny’s hand, quickly passed through the barrier, and came to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
She widened her eyes, her gaze rapidly darting through the crowd, wanting to find that figure, but after looking for a while, she found nothing.
She couldn’t help thinking, if Sheeran really was her nephew, wouldn’t the Prewett family have descendants?
This thought made her feel incomparably happy, but soon it turned into bitterness and guilt.
Seeing that the clothes on this child and the school supplies he bought were even worse than Ron’s, she knew his life was probably very unsatisfactory.
As an aunt, she actually let this child suffer so much hardship, and for so many years she didn’t even know of his existence at all, and even never fulfilled a shred of responsibility as an aunt.
Thinking of the gentle smile and polite demeanor on Sheeran’s face, Molly felt even more guilty.
This child was still so young, yet so gentle and polite; it was truly rare, and he must have suffered a lot of unknown hardships.
Thinking of this, Molly felt even more guilty inside.
[I don’t understand, why do you always make women feel guilty?
Sheeran was dumbfounded.
Didn’t he just state a name?
He hadn’t gone up to her to acknowledge relationship, claiming to be her nephew, and then weeping snot and tears about his tragic experiences either; how could she feel guilty to this extent?
Shortly after he was born, Fabian sacrificed himself.
Although Molly was his aunt, she didn’t know of his existence at all, nor had she ever seen him, so even if his life wasn’t good, she didn’t need to take the blame upon herself and feel guilty for it.
After thinking for a moment, Sheeran shook his head helplessly.
The only explanation was that Molly was inherently a kind and gentle person.
Her brother’s sacrifice and the extinction of the family surname both made her feel heartbroken.
These emotions were like aged, bitter wine, becoming increasingly heavy across the span of ten years.
And Sheeran’s appearance gave these emotions a vent, and the intense emotions accumulated over many years were all fed back onto Sheeran, transforming into guilt.
Understanding the cause and effect, Sheeran prepared to board the train.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was crowded with passengers, and the red steam train was docked near the platform.
Passengers of all sizes filed slowly into the train like ants entering a nest.
Looking at the sign hanging on the train that read “Hogwarts Express, Eleven o’clock,” Sheeran felt his heart surge.
Who hadn’t fantasized about this moment?
At the most wretched and unlucky moment of one’s life, suddenly a door leading to a distant place opened for you, shattering all your trivial life, terrible interpersonal relationships, and hopeless future prospects.
Then telling you, we don’t have enough time left, are you still going to continue participating in these boring activities?
Then reaching out a hand, pulling you out of your unchanging mire of life, and revealing a breathtaking world you had never seen before and another way of life without reservation right before your eyes.
Who could not be fascinated by this?
Sheeran let out a long breath and took this step.
Home was behind him, and the world was right before his eyes.
…
Carrying her luggage, Hermione squeezed through the crowd, only to find that the first few carriages were already full of students.
With no other choice, she walked towards the back of the train with her luggage again.
Along the way, she saw cats of various colors darting back and forth beneath people’s feet.
The buzzing of the crowd and the hooting of owls blended together, irritatingly noisy.
After squeezing for quite a while, Hermione finally found a compartment with hardly anyone around, and she somewhat laboriously moved her trunk towards the carriage door.
Arriving at the carriage door, Hermione wanted to lift the trunk onto the step, but as soon as she lifted it, she felt it was too heavy and almost dropped it from her hands to smash onto her own foot.
Suddenly, her vision blurred, and a hand abruptly reached out and steadied the trunk.
“Thank you.” Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and expressed her thanks.
“You’re welcome, Hermione.”