Chapter 10: Maybe He's Sick?
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Before Dumbledore had given Ezio the ticket and left, he had told him how to get onto the platform. He was not Hagrid; he wouldn't carelessly forget to give a young wizard such crucial information.
Passing through the hidden barrier between platforms nine and ten, Ezio arrived at the magical station that lay just a wall away.
In front of him, a scarlet steam engine billowed white smoke. Cats of various colors weaved between people's legs. On the platform, students about to attend Hogwarts were saying goodbye to their parents, while those reuniting after the holidays chatted about their summer adventures, boarding the train in cheerful groups.
Perched on Ezio's shoulder, Neil looked around curiously. Surrounded by countless delectable "snacks," he was so excited he was about to launch himself into the air, but a pat on the head from Ezio calmed him down.
"Once we're at Hogwarts, don't treat their pets as snacks. That includes the owls. They're messenger birds, remember not to catch them."
Neil shook his head with some dissatisfaction but finally nodded in agreement.
"If you can't catch anything to eat outside, you can always come to me. I'll feed you."
Neil's eyes suddenly went wide. He flapped his wings and slapped Ezio on the forehead a few times, letting out a series of protesting squawks as if to say, "Who are you looking down on?! How could I possibly fail to catch prey and go hungry!"
Because he had taken off his hood and wasn't hiding himself, the interaction between the boy and his bird attracted a fair bit of attention. This made Ezio slightly uncomfortable, but he was trying to get used to it.
The training he had received was mostly focused on infiltration and both stealth and frontal assassinations. However, an assassin also needed to disguise themselves in certain situations, get close to the target, and kill them in a single blow.
But Ezio had a congenital weakness in this area: his features were rather eye-catching. While makeup could conceal it well, the training dimension didn't teach that, and Giovanni hadn't had time to.
This was perhaps the only weak point in Ezio's skillset as an assassin.
Passing through the bustling crowd and meeting several curious gazes, Ezio boarded the train empty-handed. All his luggage was in his backpack; an Undetectable Extension Charm spared him the awkwardness of lugging bags everywhere. He wasn't used to it. After all, the things he usually carried by hand were meant for taking someone out, though a suitcase could certainly be listed as a potential weapon.
There was still over half an hour until departure, so Ezio easily found an empty compartment in a corner. Taking out a teapot and cup, he leisurely brewed himself a pot of black tea. He hadn't finished the books he'd bought, so he pulled out 'The Complete Book of Household Magic' to pass the time.
The Hogwarts Express sounded its first whistle, signaling five minutes until departure. Ezio looked up at the lively scene outside the window, and a shock of fiery red hair suddenly entered his vision.
'Are those the Weasleys?' Ezio glanced over curiously, but he didn't see any familiar faces. Just like with Snape, the movie actors were very different from the real people in this world. If you only went by name, it would be hard to match them to a face.
For example, the pretty little girl who was a bit of a crybaby, Ginny, was a freckled, round-faced girl in the movies, a description that hardly fit the word "pretty."
But a sound from the compartment door drew Ezio's attention away. Two red-haired twins were pushing a deathly heavy trunk to his door. Behind them followed a small, skinny boy with black hair, almost a full head shorter than Ezio—a clear sign of malnourishment.
While the boy was wiping away his sweat, the red-haired twins made exaggerated gestures. They seemed to be saying something, but he couldn't hear them through the door.
After about ten seconds, the twins left. The boy who remained looked into the compartment, and his eyes met Ezio's.
He seemed to be asking in a timid voice, 'Can I come in?'
Ezio was currently contemplating his value, what sort of benefits Harry Potter could bring him. After a brief pause, Ezio nodded, and the compartment door was pulled open.
"Hello," Harry said, looking somewhat reservedly at the boy with a magnificent bird of prey resting on his shoulder. Though nervous, he still managed a greeting.
"You're Harry Potter, right?"
"How did you—" Harry replied instinctively, but immediately caught himself. "Right, I am."
His expression was a little dejected. This celebrity treatment, where everyone knew who he was, was something he was having trouble accepting.
"You seem troubled by your fame," Ezio said, closing his book to look at Harry. "It's actually a good thing."
"I don't see how it's good at all." Harry shrugged. Realizing the boy in front of him was easy to talk to, he began to relax. At that moment, Harry was gritting his teeth, trying to shove his heavy trunk onto the luggage rack, but he found he simply didn't have the strength.
"The spell is 'Wingardium Leviosa'," Ezio said, gesturing to the trunk. "Why don't you try the Levitation Charm?"
"What? Levitation Charm?" Harry was startled, then looked troubled. "I… I haven't learned any magic yet."
"Perhaps you could try practicing at home during the holidays."
Ezio slightly opened his hand. The mechanism originally used to deploy his hidden blade had been modified to eject his wand. Gripping his elder wood wand, Ezio gave it a light flick. After a month and a half of practice, he had already mastered non-verbal casting for simple spells.
The heavy trunk Immediately became light as a feather. With almost no effort, Harry placed it in the proper spot.
"Thanks," he said quickly, a flash of envy in his eyes. "I can't practice magic at home. My aunt and uncle would kill me. The fact they even tacitly allowed me to come to Hogwarts is already a miracle."
"But why did you say earlier that being famous is a good thing? I can't even begin to understand why." After sitting down, Harry tried to start a conversation.
"Because being famous, especially with a good reputation, means that a great many people are willing to help you."
The train's whistle blew again, but the rolling of the wheels didn't interrupt their chat.
"That's a very fortunate thing, isn't it?" Ezio asked calmly. "If I were you, I would definitely use this opportunity to figure something out—who exactly killed my father."
"Your…" Harry's eyes filled with shock.
"That's right. He was killed by a wizard. And I'm going to find out who did it."
"Sorry," Harry said in a small voice.
"Why are you apologizing to me? Unless you had something to do with it."
"No, no, no, I didn't," Harry stammered, waving his hands frantically. He swallowed hard, extremely nervous.
"Aren't you curious to find out?"
"About what?"
"To find out why Voldemort—"
The compartment door was suddenly thrown open. A red-haired boy with a face full of freckles, big hands, big feet, and a long nose stood frozen in the doorway. His face was a little pale, because he thought he had just heard a rather ominous word.
As both Harry's and Ezio's eyes fell on him, the boy shifted uncomfortably. An awkward expression crossed his face, and he asked uncertainly, "What were you guys talking about?"
"We were talking about Voldemort," Ezio replied flatly. Harry had value to him, so he wasn't going to share.
The red-haired boy gasped sharply, then quickly blurted out, "Sorry! My mistake! Gotta go!"
He slammed the door shut with a loud 'BANG' and fled, dragging his trunk away as if his life depended on it.
"Maybe he's sick?" Ezio said, retracting his gaze and looking at Harry with a deadpan expression.
"He was probably just scared," Harry replied, the corner of his own mouth twitching. "Wizards seem to be very afraid of that name."