Hogwarts Express – September 1st, 1991
Lucius Selwyn stood on the platform, the scarlet train hissing and steaming as if it were alive and judging him. He'd been alive long enough—or at least remembered long enough—to know that stepping onto this train meant stepping into chaos, tradition, and the occasional homicidal adolescent. And the first carriage he approached seemed promising, until he saw it was already a warzone of chattering bodies and shoved luggage.
"Excuse me, could I—" he began politely, his voice almost polite enough to offend the British wizarding sense of personal space.
A chorus of glares met him. Some faces were so unpleasantly twisted he wondered if Voldemort himself had been conducting experiments in human ugliness. Others simply looked hostile enough to gnaw on his spleen for fun. Lucius withdrew. No, he thought grimly, he did not want to spend the next hour shoulder-to-shoulder with any of these… specimens.
He wandered down the train, peeking into emptier carriages, only to find a new set of problems. Several were filled with hulking seventh-years, their arms like tree trunks and smiles like rusty knives. When he inquired if he might join them, they laughed in a way that made him seriously consider casting a minor hex just to test his luck.
Finally, Lucius spotted a carriage at the very end of the train. Its door was slightly ajar, and inside… just one child. The boy sat by the window, clothes normal, plain, utterly unremarkable, staring outside with a quiet intensity.
Lucius paused. No glaring hostility. No grotesque deformities. No terrifyingly large seventh-years practicing intimidation. This one, he realized, might be tolerable. Possibly even… interesting.
He stepped in. The boy glanced at him briefly, eyes flicking with the polite curiosity of someone who had been forgotten by the chaos of the world—and Lucius allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. This train ride might not be a total disaster after all.
Lucius eased himself into the carriage, careful not to jostle anything more fragile than his own patience. "Mind if I sit?" he asked, voice polite but edged with a natural aristocratic arrogance that said, you'll regret it if you say no.
The boy across from him looked up, green eyes flashing—sharp, intense, almost suspicious. "I suppose… you can sit," he said, and there was a curious note in his voice, something like doubt, or perhaps betrayal, that made Lucius pause just slightly.
"Lucius Selwyn," he offered, settling across from him and allowing a faint smirk to curl at the corner of his mouth.
The boy's eyes narrowed in that peculiar way children have when they are sizing you up—or deciding whether you're about to ruin their entire life. "Harry.... Harry Potter," he said, voice calm but carrying a strange tension, like a trapdoor slowly creaking open beneath him.
Lucius's eyes widened. "Ah. That is… quite a name," he murmured, leaning back as if the weight of the universe had just pressed gently against his chest. "Funny enough… when I was five, I received a birthday gift. A book, to be precise. From my grandparents. Thick, dusty, full of stories that were supposed to inspire bravery—or paranoia, I can't quite remember."
He studied Harry carefully, unable to stop himself. "That book told of a boy named… Harry Potter. Vanquisher of some dark lord, savior of whatever the world thought needed saving. And yet… here you are." Lucius paused, a faint, incredulous smile tugging at his lips. "Unruly black hair, circular glasses perched on the nose, small frame—remarkably similar, if I may say so. Though, of course," he added dryly, "the book's Harry was healthier… and had a rather conspicuous scar on his forehead."
Harry's green eyes widened slightly, just enough to make the resemblance—or the absurdity of it—all the more uncanny.
Lucius leaned closer, voice low and teasing. "Tell me… did your parents perhaps read that book when naming you? A little joke from the universe, maybe?"
Before Harry could answer, the carriage door opened abruptly. A boy, slightly rumpled, looked around with a flustered expression. "Uh… all the other carriages are full," he said, voice tinged with exasperation. "Mind if I sit here?"
Lucius arched an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching in dark amusement. "Oh, why not," he said, letting the absurdity of Hogwarts' logistics and the ridiculous timing of the universe wash over him. "The more, the merrier—if you can survive the company."
The boy with flaming red hair practically plopped himself into the seat near Lucius, tossing his trunk into the allotted space with such careless force that Lucius winced involuntarily.
"Hi! I'm Ron Weasley!" the boy announced, grinning as if the world had been waiting solely for him.
Lucius Selwyn regarded him with thinly veiled distaste. Antique manners? Nonexistent. Personal space? Obliterated. Decorum? A concept apparently lost on this species, he thought, eyes narrowing slightly, lips pressing into a line. The boy's chaotic energy made even the Hogwarts Express seem orderly by comparison.
He opened his mouth to introduce himself—Lucius Selwyn, aristocrat, observer, reluctant participant in this absurd comedy—when the boy's eyes suddenly narrowed, fixing on the quiet figure across the carriage. "Oh Merlin… you're Harry Potter!" Ron blurted, the words bursting out like fireworks.
Lucius's eyes sharpened. Childish behavior at eleven? Really? Mistaking a real child for the protagonist of a story? He pinched the bridge of his nose subtly, trying to maintain composure. The universe truly has a taste for irony.
But Ron was just getting started. He immediately launched into a minute-long rant about reading every story about Harry, from the tales of vanquished dark lords to the "incredible feats of heroism" that Lucius had already half-expected to be exaggerated.
Finally, the red-haired whirlwind paused, leaned closer, and asked, almost conspiratorially, "Do you really have… you know… a scar?"
Lucius arched a single eyebrow and turned toward Harry, who shifted uneasily under the sharp scrutiny of Selwyn and the intense curiosity of Weasley. For a moment, the carriage felt unnaturally still, the world outside reduced to the steady clack of the train.
Then Harry hesitated, glanced at Lucius, and slowly raised his sleeve, revealing the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
Lucius's eyes widened abruptly, the smirk he had been holding dissolving into a flash of recognition and something else—something unreadable. Interesting, he murmured under his breath. Very, very interesting…