The Hogwarts Express was waiting when Edmund stepped through the barrier at King's Cross, its scarlet engine gleaming in the morning light, steam hissing from its wheels. The platform was crowded with students and parents, the noise a familiar chaos of trunks and owls and last-minute goodbyes. But Edmund moved through it differently this year. He knew where he was going. He knew who he was looking for.
He found the compartment near the back of the train, where he had sat with Arthur on the first journey, and slid the door open. Arthur was already there, his feet up on the seat opposite, a copy of *The Dark Forces* open on his lap. He looked up when Edmund entered and grinned.
"Second year," he said.
"Second year," Edmund agreed.
He stowed his trunk, settled Perseus's cage on the rack, and sat down across from Arthur. The compartment felt smaller than he remembered, or perhaps he was larger. The world outside the window was the same—the grey of the station, the green of the countryside beyond—but everything else had changed.
Cassius arrived next, his trunk levitating behind him, his expression a study in studied indifference. He dropped onto the seat beside Arthur and pulled out a copy of *New Theory of Arithmancy* with the air of a man who wanted everyone to know he was taking his studies seriously.
"You're reading that already?" Arthur asked.
"I've been reading it all summer," Cassius said. "It's not my fault you spent your holidays staring into crystal balls."
"I did not stare into crystal balls. I read the textbook. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
Horace appeared in the doorway, his face flushed, his arms full of sweets. "I got us supplies," he said, dumping a pile of Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Cakes onto the seat. "My mother says we should eat well before the feast. She says the first meal of term is always the most important."
"Your mother says a lot of things," Cassius said, but he reached for a Chocolate Frog.
Astrid came last, slipping into the compartment just as the train began to move. She did not carry sweets or books. She carried a small leather case that she placed on the seat beside her, and when Edmund looked at it, she smiled.
"Rune stones," she said. "My father gave them to me. For practice."
---
The journey passed quickly.
They talked about the summer, about the books they had read, about the electives they had chosen. Arthur was taking Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, which Cassius declared a waste of time. Cassius was taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, which Arthur declared a recipe for madness. Horace was taking Alchemy, which required instructor approval and which he had secured by writing a letter to the Alchemy professor, a witch named Vesta Marchbanks who was, coincidentally, the sister of their Charms professor. She had reviewed his first-year marks—Outstanding in Potions and Magical Theory—and agreed to admit him to the small, select group of students who studied Alchemy as an elective.
"Alchemy," Arthur said, his voice full of awe. "That's usually for third years and above."
"Professor Marchbanks said my potion theory was exceptional," Horace said, trying to sound modest and failing. "She said Alchemy is the natural next step for someone who understands the deeper principles of transformation."
Edmund listened, and he watched, and he thought about his own choices. Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures. The runes would give him the language of old magic, the keys to wards and enchantments. The creatures would teach him about the beings that shared the world with wizards.
The system pulsed once, a soft acknowledgment, and then was still.
---
The train began to slow. Outside the window, the sky had deepened to a bruised purple, and in the distance, Edmund could see the lights of Hogsmeade station.
"We're here," Arthur said, and there was a note in his voice that was not just excitement. It was recognition. The castle was waiting for them. It had always been waiting.
The Great Hall was as magnificent as he remembered. The enchanted ceiling showed a sky thick with stars, and the floating candles cast their warm light over the four long tables, where students were already gathering. The staff table was full, the professors in their places, and at the center, Headmaster Black sat in his high-backed chair, his expression suggesting that the start of term was yet another indignity he was forced to endure.
Edmund took his place at the Slytherin table, between Cassius and Horace. Astrid sat across from him, her rune stones tucked away, her face composed. The first years were filing in now, their faces pale, their steps uncertain, and the Sorting Hat was placed on the stool before them.
The sorting began. Edmund watched each first year walk to the stool, heard the names called out—Flint, Greengrass, Nott, Weasley, Bones, Avery—names he recognized from the year before, from the families that would shape the wizarding world for generations. They were sorted into houses, and each time, the tables applauded, and the new students found their places, and the old patterns continued.
When the last name was called, Headmaster Black rose. The hall fell silent.
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," he said, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. "I trust that each of you will endeavor to uphold the traditions of this institution. The Forbidden Forest is forbidden. The corridors are off-limits after hours. And I remind you that any student found outside their common room without permission will be subject to detention."
He paused, his eyes sweeping the hall. "Let the feast begin."
---
The next morning, Edmund woke before dawn.
The Slytherin common room was empty at this hour, the fire low, the lake dark beyond the windows. He sat for a moment in the green light, letting the stillness settle over him, and then he went to find his new timetable.
It was waiting on the table where the first years had gathered for breakfast, a small scroll tied with a silver ribbon. He opened it and read.
**SECOND YEAR TIMETABLE – EDMUND PRINCE, SLYTHERIN**
**Monday**
9:00 – 10:30: Transfiguration (Prof. Wainwright)
10:45 – 12:15: Charms (Prof. Marchbanks)
12:15 – 1:15: Lunch
1:15 – 2:45: Potions (Prof. Burke)
3:00 – 4:30: Herbology (Prof. Foley)
9:00 – 10:30: Astronomy (Prof. Sinistra)
**Tuesday**
9:00 – 10:30: Defence Against the Dark Arts (Prof. Merrythought)
10:45 – 12:15: Ancient Runes (Prof. Blackwood)
12:15 – 1:15: Lunch
1:15 – 2:45: History of Magic (Prof. Binns)
3:00 – 4:30: Magical Theory (Prof. Finch)
4:45 – 5:45: Study Period
**Wednesday**
9:00 – 10:30: Herbology (Prof. Foley)
10:45 – 12:15: Transfiguration (Prof. Wainwright)
12:15 – 1:15: Lunch
1:15 – 2:45: Care of Magical Creatures (Prof. Kettleburn)
3:00 – 4:30: Potions (Prof. Burke)
4:45 – 5:45: Charms (make-up/practice)
The timetable continued, but Edmund stopped reading after Wednesday. Nine core subjects, plus electives. It was a full schedule, but he was ready.
He folded the timetable and slipped it into his robes. There was work to do.
---
The weeks that followed settled into a rhythm.
Ancient Runes was taught in a small classroom on the third floor, its windows looking out over the Quidditch pitch, its walls lined with charts of runic alphabets. Professor Silas Blackwood was a young man, not much older than the seventh years, with dark hair that fell across his face and eyes that seemed to see more than they should.
"Runes," he said on the first day, "are not a language. They are a key. Each rune is a door, and behind that door is a concept, a force, a piece of the world that cannot be expressed in ordinary words. When you learn to read runes, you are not learning to translate. You are learning to open doors."
He drew a single character on the blackboard: ᚨ.
"This is Ansuz. It represents the divine, the breath, the voice of authority. In modern magic, it is used in wards that require the caster's full authority—wards that cannot be broken by anyone of lesser will."
Edmund took careful notes. This was what he had been waiting for.
Care of Magical Creatures was held on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, in a clearing that had been set up with wooden benches and a paddock. Professor Kettleburn was a young man with a shock of red hair and a prosthetic hand that gleamed in the sunlight.
"Welcome," he said. "First lesson: the Flobberworm. Harmless, boring, and very, very useful. Flobberworm mucus is an essential ingredient in a dozen potions. Today, you will feed them. You will handle them. And you will learn that not every magical creature wants to eat you."
The class groaned, but Edmund took his turn, feeling the cool, damp weight of the worm in his hands. It was not exciting. It was not dangerous. But it was the foundation for the work that would come later.
The system tracked his progress.
**Progress – End of September**
Charms: 52%
Transfiguration: 45%
Potions: 48%
Defence Against the Dark Arts: 42%
Herbology: 38%
Ancient Runes: 35%
Care of Magical Creatures: 25%
He was not where he wanted to be. But he was moving.
---