The next morning, Eira rose early and bid farewell to her Aunt Isabella. With Emma at her side, she stepped into the Floo network, and in a swirl of green flames, the two emerged near King's Cross Station.
The bustling noise of the Muggle world greeted them—the hiss of trains, the shuffle of hurried commuters, the sharp whistle of guards calling out departure times. Eira's white hair drew more attention than she cared for. Though some Muggles were familiar with pale hair people but hers seemed to catch the light unnaturally, making more than a few passersby pause in curiosity. She ignored the stares with practiced composure, her green eyes fixed ahead.
Together, she and Emma wove through the crowds until they reached the inconspicuous barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. Eira ran a gloved hand across the cool brick, then glanced at Emma.
"One after another," she murmured.
Emma nodded, and with that, the two stepped briskly forward. In an instant, the clamor of the Muggle station melted away, replaced by the echoing hum of a world hidden within.
On the other side stood the Hogwarts Express—gleaming red and magnificent even under the grey drizzle. Steam hissed from its pipes, curling into the rainy air. Families crowded the platform: mothers fussed over collars, fathers hoisted trunks, siblings squabbled or hugged farewell. Owls hooted irritably in their cages, and cats slunk between legs.
Eira lifted her gaze to the great station clock—ten o'clock. The train would leave in one hour. She turned to Emma, rain pattering lightly against her cloak.
"You should go back," Eira said gently. "It's raining, and you still have a great deal to do. You and your wife have been busy these past few days and didn't had an alone time with each other so use this opportunity wisely and make her happy and you know the rest."
Emma flushed faintly and gave a small cough. "Ahem. If you need anything, my lady, just send an owl—or use the Floo network from school or Hogsmeade."
Eira nodded. "Also, make sure to continue searching for Elisha White's information—especially the location of her portrait."
"Of course, my lady." Emma inclined her head.
With that, Eira left her behind and crossed the slick stone platform toward the train. She carried little: no trunk, no parcels, only her wand at her side. All else—her books, robes, and school supplies—remained neatly tucked away in her system space.
The interior of the Express was alive with chatter and laughter. Students bustled through the narrow corridor, dragging bags and pets. Some compartments already brimmed with noisy games of Exploding Snap, while others were occupied by couples entwined in whispered embraces. Here and there, Eira caught sight of sharp words, of older students shoving younger ones, petty cruelties playing out under the dim carriage lamps.
She moved steadily toward the rear until she found an empty compartment. A soft colloportus locked the door behind her, followed by a casual wave of her wand to cleanse the space. Dust lifted from the seats and motes of dirt scattered into nothing.
Satisfied, she slid onto the bench and turned toward the rain-smeared window. Water coursed down the glass in rivulets, blurring the outside world into shadow and grey. For a moment, she allowed the soft rhythm of it to calm her thoughts.
The door clicked.
Eira turned.
Standing there was a girl with long, straggly, dirty-blonde hair and eyes so wide they seemed perpetually caught between wonder and distraction. Her pale brows were almost invisible against her skin, and around her neck hung a curious necklace—Butterbeer caps strung together like talismans. In her hand was a magazine, which she clutched upside down as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
The girl stepped inside without hesitation, her aura radiating an odd mixture of serenity and strangeness.
"Hello," she said brightly. "Eira White. Nice to meet you."
Eira blinked, momentarily caught off guard. That this stranger knew her name was startling even though she was famous, but even more so was the ease with which she said it. Still, Eira inclined her head politely.
"Hello, young lady. A pleasure to meet you as well."
The girl smiled wider. "Oh, I'm Luna Lovegood. You can call me Luna. We'll be seeing each other a lot at Hogwarts."
And with that, she settled into the seat across from Eira, lifted her upside-down magazine, and began to read with dreamy focus.
Eira studied her quietly, lips parting in the faintest of smiles. She had met her share of unusual companions—Marin, for instance, with his irrepressible playboy charm—but this girl was something altogether different.
Weirdly eccentric. Yet… oddly endearing.
Perhaps even cute.
Curiosity eventually got the better of her. "What are you reading?" she asked, gesturing toward the magazine.
Luna tilted her head, considering, her silvery eyes sparkling. "Oh, this? It's Quibbler Magazine. My father is the editor… or perhaps the owner—I'm never quite sure which," she said dreamily. "Here, you can look at it if you want."
With a delicate flourish, Luna handed the magazine to Eira. Eira took it cautiously and began flipping through the pages. Immediately, her brow furrowed. The articles were… unusual, to say the least. There were illustrations of invisible creatures called Nargles, conspiracy theories about magical government officials, and detailed reports on Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.
Eira blinked. "This… all seems rather… peculiar."
"It is," Luna said matter-of-factly, not at all embarrassed. "But very true. You just have to know how to see it."