Aegeus had just settled into his seat, pulling out a book called Cursed Moon. It was a book written from a werewolf perspective, an account of what it actually meant to live with lycanthropy.
He liked to pick up such light reading from time to time, resting his mind between hours of dissecting complex magical theory that their authors made needlessly vague.
This book spoke at length about the agonizing reality of the transformation itself— the horrific sensation of bones snapping and reforming, skin tearing, and human consciousness drowning in a wave of primal rage.
But even worse than the monthly physical agony was the crushing societal prejudice. In the wizarding world, a werewolf was treated as a pariah, denied honest work, and viewed not as a sick human, but as a monster.
He pulled his face away from the book when he noticed someone standing outside the doorway.
"Everywhere else is full," said the boy standing in the doorway. He was broad-shouldered for an eleven-year-old, he had a battered Quidditch magazine rolled up under one arm. "You mind?"
"Go ahead," Aegeus said smoothly.
The boy slid his trunk onto the floor with a heavy thud, panting slightly as he shoved it beneath the opposite bench. He collapsed into the seat, letting out a long sigh before his eyes drifted across the small space and locked onto Aegeus.
He froze mid-exhale.
For a second, the boy just stared, mouth slightly open. Up close, Aegeus's features were even more striking than they had looked from the doorway— perfectly symmetrical, pale, flawless skin, deep eyes. The boy blinked hard.
"Is there a problem?" Aegeus asked.
Before the boy could answer, a girl pushed past him and dropped into the seat opposite, hauling a cat carrier onto her lap. "There isn't," she said, not looking up. "He is just an idiot."
The girl then studied Aegeus for a moment, the same curious look he had been getting all the time, though hers had considerably less awe behind it. "You're the one everyone was talking about," she said. "Are you actually part-Veela?"
"No," he said deadpan.
"Shame. Would've been much more interesting." She said it without any real disappointment, already prying open her cat carrier. A cat lazily strolled out and sat down beside her. "Rosalind Ashworth." She pointed at the cat. "And that's Bella."
"I'm Aegeus Granger."
"Marcus Hale," said Marcus, finally glancing up. "You play Quidditch?"
"I've never held a broom before," he said casually.
Marcus looked genuinely mournful about this. "We are going to need to fix that."
"What's that?" Rosalind asked, pointing a blunt finger at the title. "Doesn't look like any of the textbooks."
"It isn't," Aegeus said smoothly. "Cursed Moon. A book about life as a werewolf from a werewolf perspective."
Marcus scowled, his lip curling slightly. "A book by a werewolf? My dad says those dark creatures are dangerous beasts. They belong in cages, not writing books."
Aegeus didn't comment further. Though he had found himself somewhat sympathetic while reading it, he wasn't sympathetic enough to argue.
The scarlet steam engine picked up speed, the London suburbs blurring past the window and giving way to open fields of rolling green.
A short while later, the compartment door slid open again, revealing a plump, smiling woman pushing a wooden cart heavy with brightly wrapped sweets.
"Anything from the trolley, dears?" she asked warmly, the fragrant scents of pumpkin pasties and molten chocolate drifting into the narrow space.
Marcus was on his feet before she had finished the sentence. "Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans," he said, already digging through his pockets for Sickles.
"Pumpkin Pasty and some Chocolate Frogs," Rosalind said, handing over a few Sickles.
He himself bought a Chocolate Frog, mostly out of curiosity, and nearly dropped it when it attempted to leap off his palm the moment the wrapper came open.
"They're not actually alive," Rosalind said, not looking up from her sweets. "Just charmed to jump once, then it stops."
Aegeus caught it on the second attempt, examined it curiously, and bit the legs off before it could try a third time. Inside the box, a small card slid free— a witch he didn't recognize, her painted portrait waving up at him before wandering out of the frame entirely.
"Moving photographs," he murmured. "Fascinating."
"You can collect them," Marcus said, mouth full of pasty. "I've got about forty at home."
Marcus offered him a bean without comment. He studied it for a moment— uniform in size, faintly speckled, entirely unlabeled as to flavor— turned it over once, and ate it.
His expression didn't change.
"What was it?" Marcus asked.
"I believe," Aegeus said slowly, "that was a sock."
"Pffff"
Rosalind couldn't help but laugh aloud at his deadpan delivery.
After twenty minutes of uninterrupted reading, the book came to an end. Aegeus closed the dark leather cover with a soft click, slipped it back into his jacket, and reached up to retrieve a significantly thicker book on Transfiguration.
The rest of the afternoon passed in relative quiet— punctuated only by Marcus flipping through his Quidditch magazine, Rosalind occasionally scratching behind Bella's ears, and Aegeus effortlessly consuming chapter after chapter.
"We're nearly there," Rosalind noted, checking the darkening sky outside the window. "You two should change quickly, then step out so I can."
"Finally," Marcus grunted, standing up to stretch his broad shoulders.
Aegeus carefully pulled down his heavy black Hogwarts robes.
Side by side in the cramped space, they pulled their black cloaks over, fastening the silver clasps at their necks. Rosalind scooped up Bella, securing the cat back in her carrier, while Marcus adjusted his collar with a grimace.
Clad in the stark black wizarding robes, Aegeus's striking, flawless appearance was even more pronounced.
A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train— it will be taken to the school separately."
The train slowed to a shuddering halt, steam hissing loudly against the dark platform outside.
Aegeus slid the compartment door open and stepped out into the crowded corridor. Once again, a ripple of hushed whispers and turned heads followed in his wake as students jostled toward the exit. Unbothered, Aegeus moved with cool grace.
Rosalind and Marcus both shivered the moment they stepped into the cold night air. Aegeus barely felt any difference.
A lantern bobbed above the crowd, carried by a figure who stood well over twice the height of anyone else on the platform— broad as a small building, with a thick tangle of a beard and a voice that rolled over the noise like distant thunder.
"Firs'-years, this way! Firs'-years, over 'ere with me!"
_________________________________________________________________________
TO BE CONTINUED
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