Harry Potter: The Soldier of Hogwarts

The rhythm of the train was hypnotic.

The soft clack-clack of the tracks beneath the Hogwarts Express echoed faintly through the compartment. Outside the window, the landscape of the English countryside blurred past in streaks of green and gray. Mist gathered on the glass, diffusing the morning sun.

I was alone. For now.

And I preferred it that way.

My trunk was secured under the seat, and my wand lay flat across my lap. It was a simple thing—dark, almost black, with a twisted grain like scorched wood. Eleven inches. Ebony. Phoenix feather core. Ollivander had claimed it was "well suited for a strong, precise will." At the time, I'd just nodded. Words meant less to me than action.

Now, sitting still, hands in my lap, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

Magic.

Everyone kept saying I had it. That it lived inside me. That it had been trying to keep me alive before I even knew it was there.

But I couldn't feel it. Not in the way people described. There was no hum, no warmth, no current.

Only silence.

Still, I tried.

I focused on the wand resting across my legs. Tried to imagine a thread stretching from the center of my chest to the tip of the wood—like drawing a line with my mind.

Magic is will given form, I remembered someone saying. Probably McGonagall. Intent channeled through discipline.

So I gave it intent.

Simple.

Clear.

Lumos.

I didn't speak it aloud at first. Just thought it. Visualized the tip of the wand flaring with soft light.

Nothing.

I opened my eyes. The wand remained dark.

I frowned.

Raised it slowly in my right hand. Cleared my throat.

"Lumos," I said quietly.

Still nothing.

A beat of silence passed.

Then just as I began to lower it there was the faintest flicker of warmth in my fingers.

I focused.

"Lumos."

A tiny spark snapped at the wand's tip. Weak. Flickering. Like a firefly dying in the dark.

But it was something.

I stared at it, stunned.

Then I grinned.

The spark faded after a second. My fingers ached. My chest tightened slightly from the strain. But I had done it.

Magic.

Real magic.

The compartment door slid open with a loud click.

I instinctively whipped the wand behind my back an old reflex. I expected noise. Trouble. Maybe a group of giggling kids or someone looking for a lost toad.

Instead, two girls stepped inside.

The first had auburn hair and sharp emerald-green eyes. Confident posture. Bright smile. She was already halfway into the room before I'd even blinked.

The second followed with slower steps. She had long, jet-black hair pulled into a half-ponytail, skin pale as porcelain, and dark, observant eyes that immediately landed on me with quiet intensity.

"Is this seat taken?" the auburn-haired girl asked without hesitation.

I blinked. "No. Not anymore, apparently."

She grinned and dropped her trunk by the opposite bench. "Excellent. Everywhere else is packed. One kid had three cats in his lap. Three. Who travels like that?"

She flopped onto the bench like she owned it. The black-haired girl followed silently, taking the seat beside her with more grace than noise.

"So," the first girl said, leaning forward, "first year?"

I nodded slowly.

She offered her hand. "I'm Rose. Rose Potter. And this is Lyra Black, my best friend."

I shook her hand, then offered the same gesture to Lyra, who paused for a second like she was weighing something then took it gently.

"Ryan Ashford," I said. "Pleasure to meet you both."

Rose tilted her head, green eyes narrowing slightly. Her smile faltered for a half-beat.

"You didn't react," she said, studying me.

"Should I?"

"You didn't gape. Or ask me about him."

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

She opened her mouth to explain, but Lyra cut in, voice smooth and cool.

"She means her brother. Harry Potter."

My expression didn't change.

Rose blinked again. "Still nothing. Merlin, you're the first person today who hasn't gone wide-eyed over it."

"Am I supposed to care?" I asked, genuinely confused.

Lyra let out a low chuckle. "Not unless you enjoy celebrity drama. Don't worry, it's refreshing."

Rose smirked. "He's famous, you know. The Boy Who Lived."

I frowned. "The Boy Who Lived? Lived where, exactly? A volcano? The Queens bedroom? What makes living somewhere make once so impressive?"

That caught them both off guard.

Lyra giggled. "Do you truly not know? He's the savior of the wizarding world. Defeated the second Dark Lord. You-Know-Who."

My eyebrows scrunched together. "Wait—You-Know-Who? That's what people call The Dark Lord?"

Rose nodded. "Most people are too scared to say his real name."

I stared blankly at her for a beat, then deadpanned, "What, was he cursed with a name so bad even saying it triggers the regret that his mother never abortion him?"

Rose choke on that. "No. His real name is—"

I cut in, holding up a hand. "No, no. I'm still stuck on You-Know-Who. That's the most awkward title I've ever heard. Sounds like something your mum says when she doesn't want to admit she's dating your weird uncle."

Lyra burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. "Oh Merlin—stop!"

"Imagine the Wizard trying to track him—'We're looking for You-Know-Who.' 'Who?' 'You-Know-Who.' 'No, I don't, that's why I'm asking!'" I smirked. "Honestly, the name's doing half the hiding work for him."

Rose groaned into her hands while Lyra looked like she was about to cry from laughter.

"You can't just mock the most feared Dark wizard of our time," Rose said between chuckles.

"Why not?" I shrugged. "He gave himself a name straight out of a comedy sketch, I get. It's theatrical. But 'You-Know-Who'? Might as well call him 'That One Guy With The Face'."

Lyra wiped a tear from her eye. "Merlin's beard, I needed this. Ryan, I hope you survive the year. You're hilarious."

"I hope I survive the food," I muttered.

"Don't worry," Rose said, finally catching her breath. "The feast at Hogwarts is legendary. You'll be too stuffed to make fun of anything."

"I doubt that," I said dryly. "Even a full stomach won't stop me from roasting an evil ghost who names himself after pronouns."

The train rumbled on, laughter settling into something more comfortable—an unexpected sense of camaraderie.

For the first time since boarding, I didn't mind the company.

The laughter slowly faded, but the ease in the air lingered.

I found myself leaning back a little, letting the tension that normally coiled in my shoulders unwind—not fully, but enough to notice.

Curiosity tugged at me.

"So," I said, glancing between them, "what kind of magic can you two actually do?"

Rose raised an eyebrow. "Like, in general?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Spells. Charms. Stuff you've actually pulled off. I only managed a half-dead Lumos earlier, and that nearly gave me a nosebleed."

Lyra smirked, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "That was your first spell?"

"Unless you count setting an owl on fire and calling it dinner," I muttered.

Lyra leaned forward slightly, her black eyes gleaming with restrained pride. "I've got a decent handle on everything from first-year and half of second-year charms. Levitation, locking and unlocking spells, disarming, basic shielding, light hexes. That sort of thing."

My brow rose. "You're not even officially a first year yet."

Rose shrugged like it was obvious. "Our families started us early."

I looked at her. "Let me guess. Your dad's an overachiever?"

Rose smirked. "Our dad's an Auror. Retired. Kind of. Depends on who's asking. And he's insanely protective. So yeah, we were throwing Stupefy at trees by the time we were nine."

"Meanwhile, my father," Lyra said, crossing her arms, "thought the best training method was throwing me into dueling stances while blasting me with minor jinxes and yelling, 'Figure it out!'"

I blinked. "That's... not insane at all."

Lyra grinned. "Worked, though."

Rose tapped her wand on her knee. "Between the two of us, we've covered most of the first two years already. Except Transfiguration. That stuff's a nightmare without proper instruction."

"Speak for yourself," Lyra said smugly. "I managed to turn a teacup into a gerbil. Sort of. It had whiskers."

"It squeaked when you set it down," Rose said with a snort. "You traumatized porcelain."

I blinked at them, taking that all in. "You two are… kind of terrifying."

"We prefer prepared," Rose said sweetly.

"No," I said, pointing at her. "You're terrifying. She," I said, nodding to Lyra, "is unsettling."

Lyra smiled faintly. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Can you show me?" I asked suddenly.

They both looked at me.

"I mean... a spell. Something simple. I want to see what it's supposed to look like when you're not accidentally setting your wand on fire."

Rose raised her eyebrows, then drew her wand with a practiced flick.

"Lumos," she said, and the tip of her wand ignited with a bright, steady glow.

Not a flicker.

Not a spark.

Just pure, clean light.

She twirled it in a slow figure-eight before extinguishing it with a whispered, "Nox."

Then Lyra lifted hers.

"Aresto Momentum."

I blinked and the tiny roll of parchment on the window ledge froze mid-roll, suspended in mid-slide as if gravity forgot it existed. The spell lifted a second later, and the parchment finished its journey to the edge.

"Useful for catching books mid-fall," she said with a smirk. "Or friends who get knocked off brooms."

I nodded slowly. "Okay. Yeah. That's… a little more impressive than fireflies on command."

"You'll get there," Rose said. "Some people take longer to connect with their magic. Doesn't mean you're weaker."

I frowned. "How do you even 'connect' with it? Feels like trying to hear a whisper in a storm."

Lyra tilted her head. "That's… not a bad description."

Rose leaned forward, voice gentler. "For some of us, it's instinct. For others, it's effort and will. Magic wants to obey but only if it trusts you to command it."

"That sounds like nonsense," I said automatically.

She laughed. "It does. But give it time. Hogwarts has a funny way of showing people who they really are."

I let their words sink in.

Magic that obeys trust.

Training before you even step foot in class.

Two witches who could probably duel adults blindfolded.

And me? A half-starved boy with a flickering wand and no clue what I'd walked into.

But still… I wasn't intimidated.

If anything, I was curious.

Very curious.