Chapter 9 — The Hogwarts Express
Frieren had, quite unusually, dressed herself.
Although her robes were a little crooked, and she had even tried to tie her own hair into a ponytail—only to make a complete mess of it—Fern still made sure to properly praise Frieren for waking up early on her own.
With Fern's help, Frieren was soon neatly dressed again, while Stark had already energetically carried all of their luggage downstairs, including his enormous battle axe, which he had carefully wrapped in thick cloth.
He had even, on the way, helped an anxious little witch find her pet Puffskein, which had been hiding inside a teapot.
The day before, Professor McGonagall had specially come by to give them strict instructions:
"Tomorrow, you will need to make your own way to King's Cross Station. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters is located between Platforms Nine and Ten. Muggles are unable to notice its existence. Simply walk straight through. Do not hesitate."
After saying goodbye to Tom, they traveled to King's Cross Station by Floo Powder.
The experience of traveling by Floo made Frieren spend quite some time studying the structure of the fireplace afterward, until Fern pulled her out of it.
King's Cross Station was packed with people. The roar of steam engines and the noisy bustle of the crowd made Stark nervously tighten his grip on the strap securing his axe. Instinctively, he stepped half a pace in front of Frieren and Fern, warily surveying this unfamiliar environment filled with steel beasts.
"Platform Nine… Platform Ten…"
Fern quickly noticed a wall tinged with magical traces.
"A stable point of folded space," Frieren observed, pale green eyes gleaming with excitement. "Layered with extremely strong cognitive interference magic, working on the collective subconscious level… what an exquisite design."
"Mistress Frieren, please focus. We're going through now."
Fern reminded her quietly. She took a deep breath, pushed her trolley, and ran straight at the wall without hesitation. Her figure disappeared into it instantly, as though the wall had swallowed her whole.
Seeing that, Stark braced himself too and started jogging forward with his trolley.
"Alright! I'm coming too!"
Frieren went last. Just before touching the wall, she curiously stretched out a finger and lightly brushed the brick surface, as if trying to feel the texture of the magic itself.
The barrier rippled like water, and Frieren's figure clearly emerged on the other side.
But instead of heading immediately toward the train, she seemed to have discovered something fascinating. She actually took a step backward, retreating through the barrier again, and vanished at once. Then, just as quickly, she came back through it.
She was just about to try a third time when a small hand firmly caught hold of her sleeve.
Fern frowned slightly, her tone carrying a seriousness that allowed no argument.
"Mistress Frieren! Please don't do that anymore! You'll hold up the people behind us!"
Frieren, caught in place, blinked and turned to look at Fern's puffed-up little face.
She seemed to realize only then that her actions might cause trouble for others.
Immediately, she lowered her head a little like a child who knew she had done something wrong, her fingers unconsciously twisting at the hem of her robe.
"…Sorry, Fern."
Fern's voice softened on its own. With a quiet sigh, she even reached out to smooth the sleeve she had just wrinkled while pulling Frieren back.
"Alright… Mistress Frieren, I know you didn't mean any harm. But you can't do that again next time, alright?"
"Over here, Fern, Frieren! This compartment is still empty!"
Having boarded ahead of them, Stark called out when he saw the two of them still not aboard.
After stowing their luggage, Frieren said to Fern, "I'm going out to take a look around."
"Please make absolutely sure not to leave the train, and don't disturb anyone else, Mistress Frieren," Fern instructed seriously.
Frieren nodded and left the compartment. To her, this train was like an ordinary shell wrapped around a magical construct, something well worth investigating.
She moved slowly along the corridor, sensing the structure of the carriages and the magical flow hidden beneath their steel exterior.
She passed one compartment after another, seeing young witches and wizards trading Chocolate Frog cards, sharing snacks, and laughing noisily together. She found the sweets particularly interesting.
In the corridor, she encountered a kindly witch pushing a trolley of treats, and Frieren was instantly drawn in by the dazzling array of magical snacks.
"One of everything, please."
She pulled out her purse and bought a large pile of them.
By the time she returned to the compartment carrying boxes of sweets in both arms, Fern was already waiting with some concern.
"Mistress Frieren, you were gone for quite a while."
She let out a small breath of relief, then saw the pile of snacks and sighed helplessly.
"You went and…"
"Market research," Frieren replied with complete seriousness.
Then she opened a Chocolate Frog, watched it leap up, caught it neatly between two fingers, and carefully examined its magical structure before finally popping it into her mouth.
"Mmm… to think they actually attached animation magic to food. Humans in the future really are geniuses."
Then she turned to Stark.
"Stark, do you want to try these beans that supposedly have random flavors? It looks like it takes a certain amount of courage."
Stark looked at the brightly colored box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, recalled certain regrettable food-related experiences from past adventures, and immediately shook his head in horror.
As the train set off, the three of them watched the trees speeding past outside the window and could not help sighing in amazement.
This was much faster than a carriage.
Though if it could stop whenever she wanted, Frieren thought, it would be even better.
...
Frieren and Fern sat side by side, with A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration spread open between them.
Frieren lightly tapped the illustration showing how to turn a matchstick into a needle, her gaze focused, as though constructing the magical model in her mind.
Fern, meanwhile, sat upright with a slight frown, trying to understand the principles that completely contradicted everything she had known about magic before—the idea of fundamentally transforming one material into another seemed almost miraculous to her.
"The key lies in imagination and willpower," Frieren murmured, half to Fern and half to herself. "Clear visualization. Firm belief… yes."
She experimentally waved her new wand. The ordinary matchstick on the table twitched, and the tip gave off the faintest metallic gleam, but the rest of it remained wood.
Fern watched closely and quietly offered her thoughts.
"Mistress Frieren, the book keeps emphasizing 'believing completely in your idea,' but I simply can't understand how a matchstick can become a metal needle."
"It's like turning all things into gold. Humans of the future really are amazing—magic that changes the very nature of an object has become basic."
Frieren picked up the half-finished matchstick and examined it carefully, utterly absorbed in exploring this new magical system.
Stark, on the other hand, had no interest whatsoever in magical theory. At first, he had watched the scenery outside with great enthusiasm, but the train's monotonous swaying and rhythmic clattering soon had a soothing effect.
Leaning back against the soft seat opposite them, his head began to droop. Eventually, it tilted to one side. He fell asleep holding the cloth-wrapped handle of his battle axe in his arms, letting out a soft and steady snore.
For a while, the only sounds in the compartment were the turning of pages, the movement of the train, and Stark's breathing.
Then suddenly, the compartment door was yanked open with a loud clatter.
A girl with thick brown hair and prominent front teeth stood in the doorway. Behind her was a round-faced boy with red-rimmed eyes who looked timid and miserable.
"Excuse me! Have you seen Neville's toad? It's been missing ever since we boarded, and we've already searched so many compartments!"
Hermione spoke quickly, with a confidence that seemed to leave no room for doubt, her eyes sweeping rapidly across the compartment.
Fern's reading was interrupted. She looked up at this girl who had barged in without so much as a knock or greeting, and her brows knit ever so slightly.
She instinctively felt displeased by such rude intrusion, but her good manners kept the feeling suppressed.
"We haven't seen Mr. Neville's toad. Perhaps you should knock before entering the next compartment."
Only then did Hermione seem to realize her own abruptness. Her cheeks flushed faintly, but her attention was immediately drawn to the Transfiguration textbook open on the table—especially to the matchstick whose tip was faintly gleaming.
Hermione's eyes lit up instantly. She stepped forward at rapid speed, practically ignoring Fern's earlier reminder.
"Oh! You're revising Transfiguration too? That's wonderful! When I got my Hogwarts letter, I was so excited I memorized all my books!
"Of course, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration is the most marvelous one, but also the hardest! I've tried it at home several times, and this matchstick always just twists around and refuses to cooperate."
She rattled on in a torrent of words, carrying the enthusiasm of someone who had finally found kindred spirits.
"…You seem to be making progress? You've already managed to make it change? Do you have any special tricks? Is it the flick of the wrist, perhaps…"
At that very moment, Stark—who had been fast asleep on the opposite seat—was jolted awake by the sudden burst of noise. He mumbled groggily, rubbing his sleepy eyes as he sat up.
His voice was thick with drowsiness.
"Mmh… Fern? Are we there already? Can we get off now? Or… are there monsters?"
He was clearly not fully awake yet. One hand groped beside him by instinct, tightening around the cloth-wrapped axe.
"Mr Stark, we're still on the train. Please go back to sleep. It's perfectly safe here."
Fern turned back to Hermione. Her tone remained basically polite, but it was firmer than before, and now carried a note that left no room for dispute.
"I'm sorry, miss, but we can't answer your question. And right now, you're disturbing Mr Stark's rest."
Hermione abruptly choked off the rest of the long string of questions she had been about to ask.
Only then did she realize that there had been another boy asleep in the compartment all along, around the same age as them, and that her excited speech had very obviously disturbed him.
Embarrassment, annoyance, and a trace of apology flashed quickly across her face.
Her voice dropped, and at last her words slowed.
"Oh! Right… I'm sorry! I didn't realize someone was resting in here. I'm terribly sorry for disturbing you! We… we'll go search the compartments ahead instead."
She tugged at Neville Longbottom, who seemed to be shrinking into himself, and hastily turned to leave. This time, she even closed the door softly behind her, as though trying to shut the noise of a moment ago outside along with it.
The compartment returned to silence once more, filled only with the train's steady rhythm.
Stark blinked in confusion, still not entirely sure what had happened. He muttered vaguely,
"What a noisy girl… like an enraged dragon…"
Then he slumped back down, rubbed against the soft seat, and was soon breathing evenly once again.
Fern looked at the closed door and gave a faint sigh, seeming somewhat at a loss with such an energetic personality.
She turned her attention back to the stubborn matchstick and the heavy textbook, her small face now even more serious than before.
As for Frieren—from beginning to end, her gaze had never truly left the matchstick and the page. During Hermione's chatter, she had paused only slightly, as if taking in and processing the information from the outside world, and had now sunk completely back into her own world of magical deduction.
That little interruption from the outside had been like a ripple on the surface of water. It settled almost at once, leaving scarcely any trace behind.
She even absentmindedly gave her wand a small wave, and the metallic sheen on the matchstick seemed to increase just a little more.
...
At last, the train blew its whistle and slowly came to a stop at a dim little station. A booming, familiar voice echoed through the night:
"First years! First years over here! Harry, yeh all right?"