บท 11: platform nine and three quarters
This dinner stretched on for more than an hour. Throughout the evening, Ciaran regaled Harry and Ginny with a few lesser-known tales from the wizarding world, primarily focusing on enchanted artifacts. Harry and Ginny were captivated, their interest only waning when dessert was served. Despite Ciaran's already distended belly, he couldn't resist indulging in a few large mouthfuls of the sweet treat.
After enjoying themselves and each sipping a cup of hot chocolate, Mrs. Weasley ushered the children off to bed. Ginny, Harry, and Ron, clearly exhausted from the day's events, were yawning incessantly and visibly ready to call it a night.
"Good night, Professor," bid the Weasleys as they escorted him out of the Burrow. Apparition within the confines of the house was out of the question.
"Good night," Ciaran replied before vanishing with a soft pop, heading back to Fremont Manor.
With magic, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley swiftly cleared the table, washed the dishes, and retired to bed.
In Ron's room, Harry and Ron engaged in quiet conversation.
"Professor Frémont is an exceptional combat instructor," Harry praised once more.
In the darkness, Ron nodded in agreement. "I wonder what our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor will be like."
The memory of Professor Quirrell from the previous school year sent a shiver down their spines.
"Let's hope they're nothing like Quirrell," Ron murmured.
"Even if they're as bad, they couldn't be worse than Snape, right?" Harry reasoned.
Ron conceded, "Fair point."
As fatigue overtook them, the two young men gradually drifted off to sleep.
Before succumbing to slumber, Harry couldn't help but entertain the thought: if only the Dursleys were more like the Weasleys, and if all Hogwarts professors were akin to Professor Frémont, life would be bliss.
As Harry drifted into sleep, Hogwarts filled his dreams.
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Following the visit to the Burrow, only a few days remained before summer vacation's end. Ciaran spent his time alternating between studying spell collections and practicing related spells and counter-spells, making significant strides. His natural talent in magic was undeniable, evident in his advancement to level 4.
Ciaran also pondered the possibility of stumbling upon significant artifacts during his leisurely strolls around Hogwarts, potentially confirming his theory about the origins of Force points.
Regarding the notion of acquiring Force points through lethal means, Ciaran relegated it to secondary importance. With Voldemort's defeat and the wizarding world's relative stability, he lacked adversaries. While encounters with minor conflicts were not uncommon, they seldom escalated to the point of fatality.
Venturing to Azkaban was out of the question. Though some Death Eaters and dark wizards deserved punishment, locating and defeating them posed considerable challenges.
In comparison, the hypothesis concerning objects favoured by the world seemed more plausible. Hogwarts, steeped in history and mystery, held untold secrets. Even Dumbledore couldn't claim omniscience. Perhaps Ciaran would chance upon one such treasure during his stay. The Sorting Hat, in particular, captured his interest.
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Time slipped away, and September arrived swiftly. With his belongings packed, Ciaran apparated to London, preparing to board the Hogwarts Express bound for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He anticipated witnessing first-hand whether events would unfold as they had in the original timeline, with Harry and Ron taking to the skies in a flying car to reach school.
As Apparition within Hogwarts was prohibited, Ciaran opted to journey to Hogsmeade Village first before proceeding on foot to Hogwarts.
As his office in Hogwarts remained unoccupied, the Floo network fireplace at home remained disconnected. The previous connection to Professor McGonagall's office had served only for an interview.
Pushing his suitcase, Ciaran arrived at platform nine and three-quarters. Taking advantage of a moment of distraction, he passed through the wall between the platforms and spotted the Hogwarts Express awaiting its passengers—a dark red steam locomotive bustling with activity. A sign adjacent to the platform indicated, "Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock."
Amidst the chatter and hustle of the crowd, Ciaran's owl, Edsna, hooted softly.
"Not a Weasley in sight yet," Ciaran noted, scanning the platform for the familiar red hair. Shaking his head, he boarded the train, eliciting little more than a passing glance from the other passengers, who assumed him to be a professor, albeit not a particularly notable one.
Speculation swirled around him, conjecturing if he is the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor or Hogwarts' first combat instructor.
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