Chapter 5 – The Train Between Worlds

The coach sliced silently through the early morning sky, higher than any Muggle plane, yet utterly undetectable. It looked, from the outside, like an elegant Victorian carriage drawn by nothing—until Aleric Fawley activated the alchemical flight sequence.

Then it shimmered, turned translucent, and vanished into the clouds.

Celene sat inside, dressed in midnight blue robes with silver trim. Across from her, Aleric adjusted the brass dials on the ceiling console, occasionally muttering about crosswinds and ley lines. Mirena sat beside him, composed as ever, flipping through a small book of warding runes. Between them, Tibbin clutched her trunk with tight determination, while Nessa sat quietly near the door, knitting something with shimmering thread.

"We'll arrive directly on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters in twenty-seven seconds," Aleric said without looking up. "The field distortion is calibrated. Should be a smooth landing."

Celene raised an eyebrow. "And what if it's not?"

"Then the trolley lady may have some explaining to do," he murmured.

The cabin pulsed once with soft light—and with a sudden hush, they reappeared.

Gleis 9¾ unfolded around them in quiet steam and flickering lanterns. The Hogwarts Express sat waiting, red and magnificent, its brass trim gleaming. Wizards and witches bustled across the platform, calling to their children, stacking trunks, guiding owls.

No one even noticed the Fawleys arrive.

The door opened with a quiet click, and Tibbin stepped out first, placing Celene's trunk gently on the stone. Nessa handed Celene her satchel and tucked a silver-wrapped parcel into the side pocket.

"For emergencies," she whispered. "Or boredom."

Aleric disembarked last, tapping the coach gently on its curved side. With a soft hum, it shimmered once more and vanished—no trace of it left behind.

Celene stood still for a moment, watching the crowd. The energy was overwhelming—so many voices, so many faces. She had read about this place. Seen diagrams. But reality was louder, warmer… more alive.

"Don't forget to break the rules," Aleric said behind her.

She blinked. "What?"

"Just make sure you understand them first," he added with a grin.

Mirena stepped forward, smoothing an invisible crease in Celene's sleeve. "You will do well, Celene. Not because you must—but because you always do."

She nodded.

And then, with one last look back, Celene turned toward the train—and the life ahead.

Celene stepped up into the train, dragging her trunk behind her. The corridor was narrow and alive with sound—laughter, scraping luggage, fluttering owls. She moved through the crowd calmly, observing more than reacting, her gaze absorbing everything, filing it away.

Most compartments were full—buzzing with chatter, sweets, robes half-on, and spells half-cast.

She passed them all.

Finally, toward the rear of the train, she found what she was looking for: a quiet, empty compartment with a wide window and a sense of stillness. She slid the door shut behind her, heaved her trunk into place, and sat down, allowing herself a long breath.

It was the first time she'd been alone since stepping out of the carriage.

She opened the VIS and checked the map interface, more out of habit than necessity. The dots on the display blinked across the train's layout, marking enchanted energy signatures—children, luggage, animals, sweets enchanted for dancing. The map shimmered as the train began to move.

She watched the countryside roll by. Trees blurred. The grey of London gave way to green, to open sky, to something older. The motion was soothing.

A soft knock broke her concentration.

The door slid open, and Linnea Goldfinch's head peeked in, her cheeks pink from excitement. "Empty? Oh good. I'm stealing this one."

She entered without waiting, followed by Arden Whitmoor, who offered an awkward smile as he carried his book close to his chest.

"I was hoping we'd find you," he said.

Celene closed her VIS and nodded. "There's room."

Linnea dropped into the seat across from her. Arden sat beside her.

For a while, it was easy. They talked about Hogwarts, the four houses, and all the stories they'd heard. Arden brought up floor plans. Linnea had a theory about rotating dungeons. Celene asked questions, adding her own quiet insights when she felt they mattered.

Then—

"Oi! Anyone got room for one more?" A red-haired boy stuck his head in, a confident grin plastered on his face. "You lot look like you've got brains. That's rare. I'm Cormac. Cormac Wexley."

He slid the door open wide and dropped into the seat beside Celene without asking.

"You're Celene Fawley, yeah? Heard about you. You built a book that talks or something, right? My uncle's in the Department of Magical Innovations—he said you were 'scary clever.' In a good way!"

"Something like that," Celene replied, keeping her tone neutral.

"Wicked. So what house are you hoping for? I want Gryffindor—big halls, lots of action. Bet they've got secret tunnels full of chocolate."

Arden raised an eyebrow. Linnea snorted. Celene stared at him blankly.

"You talk a lot," she said.

"Thanks! That's what my mum says too."

Before he could launch into a detailed explanation, the door opened again—this time quietly.

A boy stepped in with an air of practiced elegance. His uniform was already perfectly arranged. Dark hair, cool eyes, chin slightly lifted.

"Fawley," he said, bowing slightly. "Thornwell Selwyn. A pleasure. Our families intersect, I believe—on your mother's side."

Celene remained seated. "Rosier, yes."

His lips curled faintly. "A noble connection. I expect we'll both be in Slytherin. Or is Ravenclaw more your style?"

She didn't blink. "I don't expect the Hat cares about bloodlines."

Selwyn's smile turned razor-thin. "How quaint."

He glanced at the others—dismissively at Arden, vaguely puzzled at Linnea.

Without waiting for an invitation or offering a goodbye, he turned and left.

Cormac stared after him. "Mate walks like he swallowed a broomstick."

The train ride settled after that. Cormac eventually ran out of things to say, Arden buried himself in a copy of Hogwarts: A History, and Linnea began sketching robes for each house, adding her own flair. Celene watched the window.

Dusk began to fall. The trees outside thickened, the air darkened, and fog crept over hills like breath.

Then she saw it—across a lake, distant and waiting.

Hogwarts.

The castle towered above the land like it had always been there. Golden lights glimmered in its windows. It looked like something drawn from legend.

Celene leaned forward, her wand faintly pulsing inside her coat.

This wasn't just a school.

It was a threshold.

And she had just crossed it.