King’s Cross Station.
The crowd pushed past in a blur of coats and hurried faces.
Molly had just sent Harry and Ron through the barrier between platforms nine and ten.
She turned to take Ginny across, and stopped.
A thin boy was approaching with a luggage cart.
The trunk and supplies on it said Hogwarts student.
But that wasn’t what held her.
Something about him pulled at her.
She didn’t know why.
“Looking for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The boy smiled, easy and polite.
“Right this way.” Molly stepped aside with Ginny, studying him.
Dark brown hair, nearly black.
Dark eyes that caught a hint of gold in the thin sunlight.
Slight build.
Clothes that didn’t quite fit.
Money was probably tight.
But his face stirred something.
Familiar.
Warm.
It made no sense.
The feeling wasn’t strong.
But it was stubborn.
Rooted somewhere deep, like it had grown up from the blood itself and wouldn’t let go.
Molly found it unsettling.
Why would a boy she’d never seen before make her feel anything at all?
“Don’t be nervous.
Straight at the barrier.
A running start helps if you’re worried.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Hylan took in the woman with the little girl.
Slightly plump.
Kind face.
Molly Weasley.
Had to be.
King’s Cross.
First day of term.
The timing made it obvious.
Otherwise he wouldn’t have recognized her.
By blood, Molly was his aunt.
But from any normal perspective, Hylan had never met her.
Couldn’t possibly pick her out of a crowd, walk up, announce his last name, and have some tearful station reunion.
So he just thanked her, took a running start, and pushed his cart toward the barrier.
Molly watched his face and couldn’t shake it.
The thought came out of nowhere.
Absurd.
He looked like her brother Fabian.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge it.
It didn’t work.
The harder she pushed it away, the stronger it got, until it swallowed everything else.
Before she knew what she was doing, she called out.
“What’s your name, dear?”
“Hylan Prewett, ma’am.”
He turned back, dipped his head slightly, and disappeared through the barrier.
Prewett.
Prewett?
The name hit Molly like a train ripping off its tracks.
Steam and screaming metal.
She stood frozen.
How could it be Prewett?
The name wasn’t rare in London.
But among wizards?
Almost unheard of.
The boy was a Hogwarts first-year.
That put him around eleven.
Which lined up perfectly with Fabian’s death.
The familiar face.
Professor McGonagall’s letter.
The pieces slammed together and detonated.
Could he be her brother’s son?
Her nephew?
Molly stood there, stunned, before her brain caught up.
Find him.
Ask him his father’s name.
That would settle it.
“Ginny, come on!”
She grabbed Ginny’s hand and pushed through the barrier onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Her eyes swept the crowd.
Searching.
Scanning.
Nothing.
If Hylan really was her nephew, the Prewett line wasn’t dead.
The thought made her almost giddy.
Then the bitterness hit.
His clothes.
His school supplies.
Worse than Ron’s.
He’d been struggling.
She was his aunt.
And she’d let him go through all of it alone.
Never knew he existed.
Never did a single thing for him.
That easy smile.
Those polite manners.
A boy that young, that gentle, it didn’t come from nowhere.
It came from hardship.
The guilt cut deeper.
[I don’t understand.
Why do you always make women feel guilty?
Guilt Value +190]
Hylan was baffled.
He’d given her a name.
That was it.
He hadn’t walked up, announced he was her nephew, and sobbed out a tragic backstory.
How had that produced this much guilt?
He’d been born right before Fabian died.
Molly hadn’t known he existed.
Had never met him.
Whatever his life had been, it wasn’t her fault.
He thought about it, then shook his head.
The only explanation was that Molly was simply a kind person.
Her brother’s death.
The family name nearly gone.
All of it had sat inside her for ten years, aging like something bitter, getting heavier.
Hylan’s appearance had cracked it open.
A decade of stored grief poured out and turned into guilt aimed straight at him.
He understood it.
He didn’t need it.
Time to board.
The platform was packed.
The scarlet steam engine waited on the tracks.
PLATFORM NINE AND THREE-QUARTERS, HOGWARTS EXPRESS (WITCHES AND WIZARDS, MIND YOUR STEP)
Travelers streamed into the cars like ants into a nest.
Hylan looked at the sign, HOGWARTS EXPRESS, ELEVEN O’CLOCK, and felt his pulse kick.
Who hadn’t dreamed of this moment?
Your life at its lowest.
Everything grinding you down.
And then a door opens to somewhere else.
It shatters the routine, the dead-end relationships, the future you were dreading.
And a voice says: we don’t have much time.
Are you really going to keep doing the same pointless things?
A hand reaches down.
Pulls you out of the mud.
Shows you a world you never imagined.
A different way to live.
Who wouldn’t fall for that?
Hylan let out a long breath and stepped forward.
Home behind him.
The world ahead.
…
Hermione hauled her luggage through the crowd.
The front cars were already full, so she kept moving toward the back.
Cats of every color darted between feet.
The buzz of voices mixed with the screech of owls.
It was giving her a headache.
She finally found a quiet compartment.
Getting her trunk up to the door was another problem.
She lifted it toward the step, felt the weight shift, and nearly dropped it on her own foot.
A hand shot out and caught it.
“Thanks.” She exhaled.
“You’re welcome, Hermione.”