As the controlled chaos of family farewells and luggage coordination continued around them—a symphony of trunk wheels scraping against cobblestones, owl hoots of protest at being jostled, and the general pandemonium that seemed to follow large groups of magical families anywhere they went—Hadrian caught Natalia's eye with a subtle glance that conveyed urgent need for private discussion.
His silver-grey eyes held the kind of focused intensity that suggested crucial intelligence requiring immediate sharing—the same look that had gotten him out of more detentions than he cared to count and into more trouble than was strictly advisable for someone who was supposed to be the responsible one in any given situation.
The look was accompanied by the slightest tilt of his head toward a less crowded section of the platform, a gesture so minute it might have been mistaken for a casual stretch of his neck. But Natalia, whose own training in covert communication had been extensive and occasionally involved actual life-or-death scenarios, caught it immediately.
"Natalia," he said quietly, his voice carrying that particular tone that somehow managed to sound both casual and commanding simultaneously—like a general discussing weekend plans while secretly coordinating a military operation, "could I have a word? There's something important we need to discuss before boarding the train."
The way he said it suggested that 'important' might be a spectacular understatement, delivered with the kind of smooth confidence that suggested he'd been managing classified information since he could walk. Which, given his family background and the fact that he was currently harboring the memories and tactical knowledge of a war veteran in an eleven-year-old body, might not be entirely inaccurate.
She recognized the tone immediately—professional urgency wrapped in casual social coordination, delivered with the kind of natural authority that came from extensive experience with high-stakes situations and the absolute certainty that whatever he had to say would fundamentally change their operational parameters.
"Of course," she replied with matching casualness, though her blue-green eyes sharpened with alert attention that suggested she was already running preliminary threat assessments and contingency calculations. "Lily, we'll be right back. Just need to coordinate some travel logistics with Hadrian."
The phrase 'travel logistics' was delivered with the kind of innocent precision that fooled absolutely no one while maintaining perfect plausible deniability—a masterclass in diplomatic misdirection that would have made career politicians weep with envy.
"Travel logistics," Lily repeated with fond amusement, her emerald eyes sparkling with the kind of sisterly understanding that came from years of experience with Natalia's various 'coordinations' and 'consultations' that mysteriously required privacy and usually preceded dramatic improvements in strategic positioning. "You mean secret strategic planning that you don't want the rest of us to overhear?"
"Something like that," Natalia confirmed with a slight smile that neither confirmed nor denied Lily's accurate assessment while somehow managing to convey both affection and mild exasperation at her sister's perceptive commentary on operational security protocols.
"Oh please," Sirius interjected with characteristic dramatic flair, his grey eyes bright with mischief and the kind of boundless confidence that came from never having encountered a situation he couldn't charm, prank, or dramatically flourish his way through. "As if either of you could manage actual secrecy. You're both far too dramatic for proper subterfuge."
The statement hung in the air for precisely three seconds—long enough for Hadrian to process the audacity, catalogue the multiple ways it was factually incorrect, and select the most devastatingly precise method of correction from his extensive arsenal of verbal destruction techniques.
Hadrian turned to face his cousin with the kind of slow, measured movement that suggested impending verbal devastation—like a predator that had just spotted particularly foolish prey and was taking a moment to appreciate the irony before striking. His silver-grey eyes held depths of dangerous amusement, the sort of look that had historically preceded legendary acts of social demolition.
"Sirius," he said with deceptively gentle precision, his voice carrying the silky undertones of impending destruction wrapped in such elegant courtesy that the target might not realize they were being flayed alive until several minutes after the conversation ended, "coming from someone who literally announced his Sorting preferences to half of Diagon Alley while standing on a table at the Leaky Cauldron—"
He paused for effect, allowing the memory to settle with maximum impact while his expression remained perfectly composed, as though he were commenting on weather patterns rather than delivering surgical strikes to his cousin's credibility.
"—I'm not entirely certain you're qualified to lecture anyone about discretion. In fact, I believe your exact words were something along the lines of 'I'm definitely going to be in Gryffindor because Slytherin is for evil gits and I'm obviously too handsome and charming to be evil.' Which was, coincidentally, shouted at sufficient volume to be heard three streets away."
James snorted with laughter, nearly dropping his trunk in the process. "He's got you there, mate. I heard about that from at least six different people before we even met you."
"Furthermore," Hadrian continued with the kind of ruthless momentum that suggested he was just getting started and had been saving up several days' worth of ammunition for exactly this opportunity, "might I remind you that this is the same person who, approximately three hours ago, tried to convince your grandmother that his trunk was making suspicious noises because he'd packed 'emergency entertainment supplies' rather than admitting he'd forgotten to properly secure his collection of Zonko's products?"
Sirius's face began to show the first signs of dawning horror as he realized that his cousin had apparently been cataloguing his tactical failures for future deployment in exactly this sort of situation.
"Emergency entertainment supplies," Hadrian repeated with devastating precision, his tone suggesting he found the entire concept personally offensive to his intelligence and possibly a war crime against proper operational planning. "As though explosive pranking materials qualify as survival gear. I'm fairly certain that when most people think of emergency supplies, they imagine things like food, water, or medical equipment—not dungbombs and trick wands designed to cause maximum chaos in enclosed spaces."
"I mean," James interjected with growing amusement, "technically dungbombs could be considered a form of biological warfare..."
"Don't encourage him, Potter," Natalia said with weary resignation, though her eyes were bright with appreciation for the tactical precision of Hadrian's assault on Sirius's credibility. "He's already insufferable without additional ammunition."
"They *are* emergency supplies," Sirius protested weakly, though his voice carried significantly less confidence than it had moments earlier and suggested he was beginning to realize that challenging Hadrian to a battle of wits might have been a strategic error of epic proportions. "What if we encounter a boring professor? What if the dormitory lacks proper atmosphere? What if—"
"What if," Natalia interrupted with surgical precision, her voice carrying the kind of sweet venom that could strip paint and had once made a particularly arrogant ministry official actually whimper during a formal hearing, "you encounter someone with actual wit instead of relying on magical shortcuts to create entertainment? Revolutionary concept, I know, but some of us manage to be interesting through personality rather than pyrotechnics."
The burn was delivered with such elegant brutality that it took several seconds for the full impact to register, like being stabbed with a knife so sharp you didn't realize you were bleeding until you looked down and saw the damage.
*Oh, that was beautiful,* Aslan observed with deep satisfaction, his mental voice carrying the rich, warm tones of someone who had just witnessed a masterpiece of verbal artistry and felt compelled to offer professional appreciation. *Precise, devastating, and delivered with such elegant brutality that he can't even be properly offended. Like watching a master surgeon at work.*
Sirius stared at Natalia with something approaching awe and possibly religious revelation. "Bloody hell, Evans, that was savage. I mean, genuinely brutal. I think I might be in love."
"Your romantic inclinations," Natalia replied with serene satisfaction, her blue-green eyes bright with pleased accomplishment at having delivered what was clearly a career-defining burn, "are significantly less interesting than your apparent belief that chaos qualifies as charm. I do try to maintain professional standards in both conversation and personal connections."
"She's right," Remus observed quietly, though his voice carried barely suppressed amusement. "That was probably the most elegant character assassination I've ever witnessed. I'm taking notes."
"Right then," Hadrian said with obvious satisfaction at the successful demolition of his cousin's ego and what appeared to be a growing appreciation for his operational partner's tactical capabilities, "as I was saying before we were interrupted by amateur commentary on operational security protocols and questionable claims about subterfuge capabilities..."
He gestured toward a less crowded section of the platform with the kind of natural authority that suggested considerable experience with crowd navigation, tactical positioning, and the general management of complex situations involving multiple personalities and competing agendas. The gesture somehow managed to be both casual and commanding, like a general directing troops while maintaining perfect social camouflage.
"Shall we?"
"Lead the way, Commander," Natalia replied with just enough mockery to avoid actual insubordination while clearly enjoying the entire dynamic and the opportunity to work with someone who appreciated precision in verbal warfare.
"Commander?" James repeated with growing amusement and what might have been the beginning of genuine respect for whatever organizational system Hadrian was apparently implementing. "Are we running military operations now? Because if so, I'd like to formally request better intelligence briefings on our targets."
"Some of us," Hadrian said with magnificent condescension that somehow managed to sound both insulting and educational simultaneously, "understand the importance of proper planning and strategic coordination. Others of us think that charging headfirst into unknown situations while hoping for the best qualifies as tactical thinking."
He paused, allowing the implication to settle with maximum impact.
"I'll leave you to determine which category you fall into, Potter, though I suspect the evidence is fairly conclusive."
"Hey!" James protested with indignant energy, though his grin suggested he was enjoying the verbal sparring more than actually taking offense. "I plan! I have strategies! They're just... more flexible than yours."
"'Let's see what happens' is not a strategy, Potter," Natalia observed with devastating accuracy that cut through James's protests like a sword through tissue paper. "It's barely even wishful thinking. I believe the technical term is 'improvised chaos with optimistic intentions.'"
"Exactly," Hadrian agreed with warm approval for his operational partner's professional assessment and what was clearly becoming a beautiful friendship built on mutual appreciation for tactical precision and superior wit. "Strategic planning requires analysis, preparation, and contingency development—not simply assuming that enthusiasm and good intentions will overcome poor preparation and inadequate intelligence gathering."
*The girl has excellent instincts,* Aslan noted with sophisticated appreciation that came from extensive experience with both tactical planning and the assessment of human potential, *and exceptional timing for verbal precision strikes. She understands that warfare—whether physical or social—requires proper preparation and situational awareness.*
"You know what," Sirius said with grudging admiration as he watched the systematic demolition of several egos and the establishment of clear operational hierarchy, "I'm starting to think you two might actually be scary when you work together."
"We're not scary," Hadrian replied with perfect innocence that fooled absolutely no one and carried clear implications about what might happen to people who continued to underestimate their capabilities. "We're simply thorough."
"Thorough," Natalia agreed with matching innocence that somehow managed to sound like a threat wrapped in professional courtesy. "We believe in proper preparation and comprehensive approach to problem-solving."
As they moved away from their friends toward a more private section of the platform—navigating through the crowd with the kind of smooth coordination that suggested extensive practice with tactical movement and situational awareness—Hadrian's expression shifted into something more serious, though he maintained the relaxed confidence that seemed to be his natural state.
The change was subtle but unmistakable: shoulders squaring slightly, eyes focusing with laser precision, voice dropping into tones that suggested whatever he was about to share would fundamentally alter their understanding of the situation they were walking into.
"So," Natalia said once they were positioned with adequate distance from other families and sufficient background noise to prevent eavesdropping, automatically engaging counter-surveillance protocols while maintaining perfect social camouflage, "what's the intelligence briefing that requires this level of operational security?"
Her voice carried professional directness mixed with tactical alertness—the tone of someone who had received enough classified briefings to recognize when the stakes were about to escalate dramatically.
"Two crucial pieces of information that will directly impact our mission parameters," Hadrian replied, his voice carrying controlled urgency while maintaining the kind of casual authority that made everything sound like routine business rather than earth-shattering revelations that could change everything.
The way he said it suggested that 'crucial' might be an understatement and 'directly impact' might translate to 'completely revolutionize everything you thought you knew about the next seven years.'
"Go ahead," she said with professional directness, automatically engaging threat assessment protocols while maintaining perfect social camouflage and preparing for whatever bombshell was about to fundamentally alter her understanding of their operational environment.
"First briefing," Hadrian began, his silver-grey eyes holding depths of complex emotion—compassion mixed with protective fury and the kind of determination that came from watching good people suffer for circumstances beyond their control, "concerns Remus Lupin and the secret he's been carrying since he was five years old."
He paused, clearly considering his approach with characteristic precision while weighing the impact of revelation against operational necessity and the fundamental requirement that their team understand all potential variables.
"Remus is a werewolf," he said simply, his matter-of-fact delivery somehow making the extraordinary revelation sound like routine intelligence rather than shocking disclosure that could change everything. "Infected by Fenrir Greyback as punishment for his father's support of werewolf rights legislation. Five years old, playing in his garden, targeted specifically because Greyback wanted to destroy a family that dared advocate for werewolf equality."
The additional details were delivered with clinical precision that couldn't quite mask the underlying rage at the injustice of a child being targeted for his father's political positions.
Natalia's training prevented any visible reaction beyond a slight tightening around her eyes, though her analytical mind immediately began processing implications with systematic precision while her protective instincts engaged with fierce determination. The sweet, brilliant boy who got genuinely excited about theoretical magical frameworks and helped with homework explanations was carrying a burden that could destroy his social life if discovered.
"Well," she said after a moment of processing, her voice carrying clinical assessment rather than shock while her strategic mind catalogued support requirements and protection protocols, "that certainly explains the defensive behavior patterns, social anxiety indicators, and the careful way he monitors group dynamics for signs of rejection."
"Quite," Hadrian agreed with obvious relief at her professional response and what was clearly gratitude that he was working with someone who approached classified intelligence with tactical analysis rather than emotional reaction. "Zero threat during normal periods—exceptional self-control and would literally die before hurting someone. He's spent years developing coping mechanisms and safety protocols."
"Threat assessment during transformations?" she asked with tactical precision while her mind automatically began developing contingency plans and support strategies.
"Significant threat potential without proper precautions," Hadrian replied with clinical honesty, "but manageable with appropriate preparation and security measures. The primary risks are isolation, inadequate safe space during transformations, and the psychological damage from years of believing he's a monster."
"Support requirements?" she asked with professional efficiency while her protective instincts were already developing comprehensive care protocols.
"Acceptance, friendship, and carefully managed monthly privacy," Hadrian replied, his voice carrying the kind of careful precision that suggested extensive analysis of psychological needs and social dynamics. "He'll never ask for help directly—the shame and self-hatred run too deep—but he desperately needs to know he's valued despite his condition. The primary threat is isolation and self-hatred, not the lycanthropy itself."
"Understood," Natalia confirmed with professional efficiency while her mind was already developing operational protocols that would provide support without compromising cover or making Remus feel like a charity case. "Operational protocols adjusted for support and protection without compromising cover or dignity. Integration rather than accommodation."
*Excellent threat assessment and resource allocation analysis,* Aslan observed approvingly, his mental voice carrying the warm tones of someone who had extensive experience with both tactical planning and the complexities of providing support without creating dependency. *Professional approach to complex interpersonal intelligence management. The wolf deserves friendship, not pity.*
"Secondary briefing," Hadrian continued, his expression becoming grimmer in a way that suggested the first revelation might have been the easy one, "concerns Peter Pettigrew."
His voice carried complicated emotional undertones—betrayal mixed with analytical assessment and the kind of cold fury that came from discovering that someone you trusted had sold out everyone you loved.
"Don't know him yet," Natalia replied with alert attention while her tactical mind immediately began developing preliminary assessment protocols, "expected contact during Hogwarts operations?"
"Almost certainly," Hadrian confirmed, his voice carrying bitter clinical assessment mixed with the kind of controlled anger that suggested personal investment in the intelligence he was sharing. "In my original timeline, Peter was part of our core friend group—James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were inseparable, called themselves the Marauders."
He paused, clearly struggling with the emotional implications of what he was about to reveal.
"He was also my parents' Secret Keeper—the person who betrayed their location to Voldemort and directly caused their deaths. Sold them out to save his own skin when the pressure got too intense."
Natalia's professional composure remained intact, but her eyes sharpened with focused intensity that came from recognizing a direct threat to people she had sworn to protect while her tactical mind began developing comprehensive threat assessment and intervention protocols.
"Betrayal analysis," she said with controlled precision that masked protective fury beneath professional assessment. "Contributing factors and recruitment vulnerabilities?"
"Cowardice, primarily," Hadrian replied with bitter clinical assessment that couldn't quite mask years of rage and betrayal, "combined with inadequate self-worth and dependency on stronger personalities for direction. Peter was the weakest member of their group—magically, intellectually, emotionally. He survived by attaching himself to stronger people, but when the pressure escalated and choosing sides became mandatory, he chose survival over loyalty."
"However," Natalia interrupted with careful precision, her voice carrying analytical objectivity rather than emotional reaction while her strategic mind processed the implications of timeline divergence and behavioral modification possibilities, "you need to remember that alternate timeline intelligence has significant operational limitations."
Hadrian's eyebrows rose slightly, clearly not expecting this particular response to information about betrayal and murder—most people tended to focus on the emotional impact rather than tactical implications.
"Timeline divergence means personality development variables have already changed substantially," she continued with professional assessment that prioritized strategic accuracy over emotional validation while her analytical mind catalogued the various factors that could influence behavioral outcomes. "The Peter Pettigrew in this timeline may develop differently due to altered social dynamics, support systems, and the fundamental changes in social pressure that your presence creates."
Her blue-green eyes held the kind of analytical focus that came from extensive experience with behavioral prediction, intervention strategies, and the complexities of changing established patterns through environmental modification.
"More importantly," she continued with quiet authority that suggested extensive experience with both tactical planning and psychological manipulation, "approaching him with pre-existing suspicion could actually create the isolation and inadequacy feelings that contributed to his original recruitment vulnerability. Self-fulfilling prophecy through prejudicial treatment."
She leaned forward slightly, her expression becoming more intense as she developed her strategic analysis.
"If cowardice and dependency were the primary vulnerability factors, then treating him as an inevitable traitor increases those exact conditions. Isolation breeds desperation, exclusion creates resentment, and prejudicial treatment reinforces inadequacy beliefs that make recruitment offers more attractive."
*She makes an excellent point,* Aslan observed thoughtfully, his mental voice carrying sophisticated appreciation for Natalia's strategic thinking and the kind of wisdom that came from understanding that revenge and prevention often required different approaches. *Treating him as inevitable traitor could create the conditions that produce the betrayal. Prevention requires addressing root causes rather than avoiding symptoms.*
Hadrian was quiet for a moment, processing her assessment with serious consideration while his analytical mind worked through the implications of alternative approaches to threat management and behavioral modification.
"You're suggesting," he said slowly, his voice carrying growing appreciation for strategic thinking that prioritized effectiveness over emotional satisfaction, "that my Harry Potter prejudices could increase betrayal risk rather than preventing it."
"I'm suggesting," Natalia replied with devastating precision that cut straight through emotional reactions to tactical reality, "that prevention requires addressing root causes rather than avoiding individuals. If cowardice and isolation were primary factors, then providing strength-building opportunities and genuine inclusion addresses vulnerability before it becomes operational threat."
She paused, allowing the tactical implications to settle.
"Besides," she continued with tactical consideration that demonstrated sophisticated understanding of intelligence gathering and threat management, "keeping potential threats close allows better monitoring and influence than exile-based prevention. If Peter becomes part of our group, we observe development patterns in real time and intervene if problematic behaviors emerge, rather than trying to prevent contact and losing all opportunity for assessment and modification."
"Counter-recruitment through positive engagement," Hadrian mused with growing appreciation for her operational framework and what was clearly a more sophisticated approach to threat management than his original instincts had suggested. "Instead of exclusion and suspicion, provide support systems that prevent the vulnerability factors that made recruitment possible."
"Exactly," Natalia confirmed with satisfaction at his tactical understanding while her strategic mind continued developing comprehensive intervention protocols. "Your timeline intelligence provides threat awareness and behavioral pattern analysis, but prevention requires addressing causation rather than avoiding specific individuals."
Her expression became more serious as she continued her analysis.
"Though," she continued with professional caution that balanced strategic opportunity with tactical reality, "I'll maintain appropriate operational awareness. Trust with verification, comprehensive observation, strategic positioning for intervention if necessary. We support his development while monitoring for concerning patterns."
"Strategic positioning for intervention," Hadrian repeated with obvious approval for her professional approach rather than emotional reaction to past trauma, "combined with behavioral modification through environmental improvement. Professional threat management rather than revenge fantasy."
*The wolf deserves support and friendship,* Aslan observed with warm approval that carried the wisdom of someone who had extensive experience with both justice and mercy, *and the potential traitor deserves opportunity to choose differently this time. Wisdom rather than predetermined judgment, prevention rather than punishment.*
"Thank you," Hadrian said quietly, his voice carrying genuine gratitude mixed with professional appreciation for analytical precision that had helped him separate strategic necessity from personal emotional reactions. "I needed professional perspective to separate tactical requirements from trauma response."
"That's what operational partners are for," Natalia replied with warmth beneath the tactical precision while her eyes carried understanding of the complexities involved in managing personal investment alongside professional requirements. "Maintaining objective analysis when personal investment creates blind spots and emotional responses interfere with optimal strategic planning."
The Hogwarts Express whistle echoed across the platform with the kind of melodious urgency that suggested departure was imminent and passenger boarding should commence immediately.
"We should rejoin the others," Hadrian observed with satisfaction at successful intelligence sharing and the establishment of clear operational protocols for complex interpersonal challenges, "before they begin developing conspiracy theories about our strategic consultation."
"Agreed," Natalia confirmed, automatically shifting back to social coordination mode while maintaining heightened strategic awareness and comprehensive threat assessment protocols. "Mission parameters updated, operational protocols adjusted, intelligence briefing complete."
As they walked back toward their friends—navigating through the crowd with smooth coordination that suggested extensive practice with tactical movement while maintaining perfect social camouflage—Aslan padding beside them with dignified grace and Laika maintaining alert surveillance of their surroundings, they could hear animated conversation about boarding procedures and compartment selection strategies.
"Everything coordinated properly?" Lily asked with knowing smile as they rejoined the group, her emerald eyes bright with sisterly understanding and possible suspicion about their strategic consultation that had clearly involved more than simple travel logistics.
"Everything coordinated properly," Natalia confirmed with casual confidence that masked comprehensive tactical planning while her eyes held depths of new strategic awareness and operational readiness, "all logistics thoroughly analyzed and contingency plans properly developed."
"Brilliant," Sirius declared with characteristic enthusiasm while apparently having recovered from his earlier systematic demolition, "now can we please board this bloody train before it leaves without us and we're forced to explain to our families why we missed the most important journey of our educational careers?"
"The train," Hadrian observed with magnificent condescension that carried patient explanation for those too dramatically inclined to appreciate basic transportation logistics, "is not going to leave without its passengers, Black. That would rather defeat the purpose of passenger transport and create significant operational difficulties for Hogwarts administration."
"You don't know that," Sirius protested with the kind of irrational concern that suggested extensive experience with magical transportation and its occasionally unpredictable nature. "What if it gets impatient? What if it has a schedule to keep? What if it develops opinions about punctuality?"
"What if," Natalia suggested with surgical sweetness that carried implications about intelligence levels and decision-making capabilities, "you developed the revolutionary ability to think before speaking? Just as a novel concept to explore during our educational journey."
James burst into laughter, nearly dropping his trunk again in the process. "She's got you there, mate. That was absolutely brutal."
"I'm starting to think," Remus observed quietly, though his voice carried obvious appreciation for the verbal sparring he was witnessing, "that traveling with you two is going to be significantly more entertaining than I originally anticipated."
"Entertainment is not our primary objective, Lupin," Hadrian replied with mock severity that couldn't quite mask his satisfaction at successful team building and tactical coordination, "though superior wit does tend to be a natural byproduct of proper intellectual development."
"Right then," he continued with obvious satisfaction at the successful briefing and renewed verbal destruction of his cousin's dignity, "time to begin the most incredible journey of our lives."
*Journey indeed,* Natalia thought with fierce determination as they prepared to board the Hogwarts Express, their mission parameters clearly defined and operational protocols fully coordinated for the complex challenges ahead. *Mission timeline: optimal. Threat assessment: comprehensive. Strategic alliance: confirmed.*
*This time,* she promised silently as the magnificent red engine waited to carry them toward their magical destiny while steam rose in great white clouds and the whistle sang with promise of adventure, *everyone gets the life they deserve.*
—
Platform 9¾ buzzed with the controlled chaos of magical families navigating farewell logistics, but in a slightly quieter section near the middle of the platform, Dennis and Megan Pettigrew were engaged in what could only be described as emergency maternal crisis management. The crisis in question was their eleven-year-old son, who had apparently achieved a level of nervous energy that defied several laws of physics and possibly qualified as a form of renewable energy source.
Peter bounced on his toes with rhythmic precision, clutching his train ticket like it might try to escape if he didn't maintain adequate physical restraint. His sandy hair stuck up at angles that suggested he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly, and his wide eyes darted between the magnificent red engine and his parents with the kind of rapid assessment that came from someone whose brain was operating at approximately three times its normal processing speed.
"Okay, okay, so I definitely have my ticket," he said with the breathless intensity of someone conducting a final equipment check before a dangerous military operation, "and my trunk is definitely on the train, and Hermes is definitely somewhere around here—WHERE IS HERMES?"
"Peter," Dennis said with the patient tone of someone who had been managing Peter-based crises for eleven years and had developed systematic approaches to anxiety management, "Hermes is safely secured in the luggage compartment with the other familiars. Remember? We checked three times."
"But what if he forgot?" Peter asked with genuine concern, his voice climbing toward panic frequencies. "What if he doesn't remember that he's supposed to stay with my luggage? What if he decides he doesn't like train travel and tries to fly back home? What if he gets confused about which trunk belongs to which student and accidentally delivers my mail to someone else for the next seven years?"
Megan exchanged one of those parental looks with Dennis that conveyed entire conversations about childhood anxiety, magical transportation stress, and the impressive creative capacity of their son's imagination when it came to developing worst-case scenarios.
"Sweetheart," she said with the kind of maternal patience that could probably negotiate international peace treaties if properly applied, "Hermes is a very intelligent owl. He knows you're his person, and he knows his job is to help you stay connected with us. He's not going to abandon you or get confused about basic owl responsibilities."
"But what if—"
"Peter," Dennis interrupted gently but firmly, placing both hands on his son's shoulders with the solid presence that had helped ground Peter through countless moments of overthinking-induced panic over the years. "Take a breath. One deep breath. Everything is going to be absolutely fine."
Peter obediently took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it in a rush of words that suggested the oxygen had only temporarily slowed down his mental processes: "But what if it's not fine? What if I can't find my compartment? What if I sit with the wrong people and they think I'm weird? What if I am weird? What if everyone else is already best friends and I'm the only one who doesn't know anyone? What if the food is terrible? What if I'm allergic to something they serve and I haven't discovered the allergy yet? What if—"
"Peter Oliver Pettigrew," Megan said with the kind of maternal authority that could stop natural disasters in their tracks, "you are going to have a wonderful time at Hogwarts. You are going to meet other children who are just as nervous and excited as you are, and you are going to discover that most eleven-year-olds are too worried about their own social performance to spend time judging yours."
She reached out and smoothed down his persistently rebellious hair with automatic maternal precision, the gesture carrying years of comfort and connection.
"Besides," she continued with warm confidence, "anyone who gets to know you will discover what we've always known—that you're funny, kind, loyal, and exactly the sort of friend that makes everything more interesting."
"What if I'm not though?" Peter asked with the kind of vulnerable honesty that made parental hearts ache, his voice smaller than it had been moments before. "What if I try really hard to be a good friend and I mess it up anyway? What if I say the wrong thing or do something embarrassing or accidentally break something important?"
Dennis crouched down until he was at Peter's eye level, his weathered face warm with the kind of paternal love that could weather any storm.
"Son," he said quietly, "do you remember when you accidentally turned Mrs. Henderson's cat purple last month while practicing color-change charms?"
"That was an accident!" Peter protested with wounded dignity, though his cheeks flushed pink at the memory. "I was trying to turn the flowers purple, not Whiskers!"
"And do you remember what happened after Mrs. Henderson discovered her purple cat?"
Peter's expression shifted slightly, confusion replacing panic. "She... she thought it was hilarious? And she asked if I could teach her grandson how to do color-change charms because he'd always wanted purple hair?"
"Exactly," Dennis said with obvious satisfaction. "And do you remember what you did?"
"I spent three hours teaching Tommy color-change theory and helping him achieve the perfect shade of purple for his hair," Peter said slowly, clearly beginning to see where this conversation was heading.
"Because," Megan added with maternal wisdom, "mistakes often lead to unexpected friendships and interesting adventures, especially when you handle them with honesty and willingness to help fix whatever went wrong."
"Most people," Dennis continued with the kind of gentle authority that came from years of experience with both magical mishaps and human nature, "appreciate someone who can laugh at their own mistakes and care more about making things right than appearing perfect. And you, Peter, have always been exceptionally good at both."
Peter was quiet for a moment, processing this information with the serious consideration he brought to all important concepts, his nervous energy gradually shifting into something more manageable.
"But what if I really do mess something up spectacularly?" he asked, though his voice carried more curiosity than panic now.
"Then you'll figure out how to fix it," Megan said simply, "and probably make some friends in the process. Magic school is supposed to be about learning—learning spells, learning about magical creatures, and learning how to navigate new social situations with grace and humor."
The Hogwarts Express whistle sang out across the platform with melodious urgency, indicating that departure time was approaching rapidly.
"Right then," Dennis said, rising from his crouch and brushing off his knees, "time for the official Pettigrew family pre-adventure blessing."
"The what?" Peter asked with obvious confusion, clearly not remembering any previous family traditions involving pre-adventure blessings.
"The blessing I just invented," Dennis said with cheerful honesty, "because this seems like the sort of moment that requires proper ceremonial recognition."
He placed one hand on Peter's shoulder while Megan took the other, creating a small family circle on the busy platform while magical families swirled around them in organized chaos.
"Peter Pettigrew," Dennis began with mock solemnity that couldn't quite mask genuine paternal emotion, "you are hereby officially blessed with the power to make terrible jokes at inappropriate moments, to ask questions that make professors think harder than they intended, and to find friends in the most unexpected places."
"You are blessed," Megan continued with matching ceremonial gravity, "with the wisdom to know when to follow rules and when to break them for good reasons, with the courage to be yourself even when yourself feels weird or uncertain, and with the absolute knowledge that you are loved completely regardless of what House you're sorted into or how many spectacular mistakes you make."
"Most importantly," they said in unison with synchronized parental authority, "you are blessed with the confidence to know that home is always here waiting for you, no matter how far your adventures take you."
Peter stared at them for a moment, his eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears and overwhelming gratitude for parents who somehow always knew exactly what he needed to hear.
"That's not a real blessing," he said with watery protest, though his smile suggested he appreciated the sentiment regardless of its official religious status.
"All the best blessings are invented by people who love you," Dennis replied with warm certainty.
The train whistle sounded again, more insistently this time, and students began moving toward the carriages with renewed urgency.
"Time to go, sweetheart," Megan said, though her voice carried reluctance to end their last private moment before everything changed forever.
Peter threw himself into their arms with the kind of desperate hug that tried to memorize every detail for future reference—the scent of his mother's perfume, the solid warmth of his father's embrace, the absolute safety of being surrounded by people who loved him unconditionally.
"I'm going to miss you both so much," he said with muffled intensity, his voice thick with emotion and sudden realization of how far away Hogwarts suddenly seemed.
"We're going to miss you too," Dennis said quietly, his own voice rough with paternal emotion. "But we're also incredibly excited to hear about all your adventures and meet all your new friends."
"Write to us," Megan added with maternal instruction that was also plea, "about everything. The big things and the small things and especially the funny things that happen when magic meets your particular brand of curiosity."
"I will," Peter promised with fierce determination. "Every week. Maybe twice a week. Maybe more if something really exciting happens."
"Go on then," Dennis said gently, giving Peter a final squeeze before reluctantly releasing him. "Adventure is waiting, and adventures don't like to be kept waiting."
Peter picked up his remaining carry-on bag, checked his ticket one final time, took a deep breath that seemed to steady his nerves considerably, and walked toward the train with the kind of determined courage that came from knowing he was loved and supported regardless of what happened next.
At the train steps, he turned back one last time to wave at his parents, who were watching him with expressions of pride, love, and the particular combination of excitement and terror that came from watching your child walk toward independence.
"Make good choices!" Megan called out with maternal authority.
"But not boring ones!" Dennis added with paternal wisdom.
Peter grinned—that bright, transformative smile that lit up his entire face—waved once more, and disappeared into the magical red engine that would carry him toward his destiny.
As the train began to move, building steam and momentum for the journey ahead, Dennis and Megan Pettigrew stood on Platform 9¾ and watched their son begin the greatest adventure of his life with the knowledge that whatever challenges lay ahead, they had given him the best possible foundation: unconditional love, terrible jokes, and the confidence to be exactly who he was meant to be.
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Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there