The two-month pre-term break? Gone in a blink.
Magic's shiny new-car smell wore off quick—they've digested the weirdness.
Dudley ditched his sweat-drenched fat-camp routine. Dropped damn near 30 pounds in six weeks—pudgy blob shrank a full size. Fat takes up space; torch it and boom, instant makeover.
Main reason? Lynn's hand-me-down Forced Workout Shack crapped out. Smack it, kick it—still dead.
But Dudley's hooked on the dopamine rush. No magic box? No problem. Vernon hooked him up with a hanging heavy bag. Kid pounds it for hours—THWUMP THWUMP—like he's auditioning for Rocky.
Vernon's behind the wheel to King's Cross, sneaking sad-dad glances at Holly. Two months of bonding flipped the script—she's a dream kid.
Quiet, helpful, pitches in with Petunia's chores. Spends afternoons nose-deep in textbooks, sunlight filtering through blinds, gilding her like some angelic Pinterest board.
Vernon's this close to fake-crying. Always wanted a daughter to spoil. Reality just served it up.
Station clock hits 10 AM. Petunia's yammering last-minute nagging, clutching Holly's hand. Dudley pushes the cart—Holly's modest trunk. Most crap's stashed in pocket-dimension pouches anyway.
Hedwig and Sieglinde snooze in their cages under cozy blankets—crowd-proof.
"Alright, Lynn and I are heading through. Bye Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Dudley~"
Holly waves, rolls the cart with Lynn to the wall between platforms 9 and 10.
"Entrance really here, Lynn? I don't see a door like the Leaky."
"I'll lead. Pray I don't eat brick, Holly."
Lynn struts forward—smack into solid wall… and vanishes.
Holly exhales, squints, charges. Cool watery ripple—no impact.
Instant roar of chatter. Crimson steam engine idles at the platform. Sign: Hogwarts Express, 11:00 – Platform 9¾.
White plumes swirl overhead. Cats everywhere. Owls hooting. Kids leaning out windows yelling goodbyes. Pure chaos.
"Let's snag seats before the rush." Lynn's grinning, grabs Holly's case, wades into the crowd.
"Coming!"
Holly scoops Hedwig's cage, hustles after.
"Aren't there empty compartments? Got friends at Hogwarts, Lynn?"
She tugs his sleeve—they've passed a dozen empties.
"Wanna scoop some intel early? Let's find a chatty upperclassman."
"Oh, right!" Holly nods hard. "Books mention four houses, but how do they sort us?"
"No biggie." Lynn shrugs, stops at a door.
Through the glass: one occupant, older—second-year vibes.
Knock knock. Slide.
"Mind if we join?"
Lynn locks eyes with a girl—black irises, same as his.
"Sure. First-years?" She lowers her book, nods. "Come on in."
"Hey, we're newbies. I'm Lynn, this is Holly."
"Hi. Ravenclaw second-year—Cho Chang."
Cho stands, sizes Lynn up. "Asian? Family name Lin?"
"Something like that. Parents didn't leave a note, so Lynn works."
"Ah, sorry."
"Nah, solo life's chill." Lynn grins.
Luggage stowed—owls on the rack. Lynn grabs the seat across from Cho.
X-ray vision made scouting easy. Asian girl on the train? Locked on.
His gaze flicks to Holly—yup. She's blushing, sneaking peeks at Cho, all shy and fidgety.
"She's Holly, right?" Cho clocks the nervous energy. "Your friend?"
"Yup. Bit bashful. Dying for Hogwarts dirt."
"I'll spill what I know." Cho's all smiles, turns to Holly. "Houses? Other stuff?"
Their muggle-fit clothes scream muggle-born. Wizards' fashion? Stuck in the 1800s—frumpy, outdated. Magic's too OP; why keep up with trends when you can conjure miracles?
"Uh…" Holly's cheeks pinker. She meets Cho's eyes, nods.
"Holly, you're adorable."
Cho's big-sis mode activates—leans in, grabs Holly's hand. Cute overload demands pets.
She yanks out a wooden bento. "Mom's coconut milk pudding. Chilled, delish. Want?"
Scoops a wobbly yellow cube dusted in snowy coconut. Holly's lips part—cold shock makes her eyes flutter. Pure bliss.
Cho beams—instant BFFs. Long black hair solidarity.
In minutes they're thick as thieves. Lynn across from 'em, grinning like an idiot at the girl-cuddle fest.
Screw Ron chowing drumsticks like a barbarian. This? Premium eye-candy.
Mood lifted, Lynn pulls his half-read book, lounges in sunbeams.
"Practiced any spells at home?"
Cho remembers the third wheel, tosses a topic.
"Yup. Textbooks done. But charms? I suck compared to Holly." Lynn grimaces. Near-photographic memory—spells memorized in one pass. Execution? Trash.
"First-year stuff's easy. These two months? Rare window to practice legally at home."
"Why, Cho?" Holly's lashes flutter, shoulder brushing Cho's.
"No magic outside school—Trace snitches. Adult wizards mask it. Your place? No cover. Post-enrollment, even holidays are dry."
"Lame." Holly pouts. "Unfair."
"Blame muggle-borns and the Secrecy Statute." Cho shrugs. "Kids flashing spells in public? Aurors would live on memory wipes. Wizard families? Low risk—anti-muggle charms, invisible houses. Mine's in a muggle suburb—poof, gone to normies. Just dress normal outside."
Holly's envy stings—thinks of her parents.
"Come hang during breaks. My area's wizard-free; summers bore me stiff."
"Quidditch?!"
"Brooms!" Holly lights up. "Wanted a Nimbus 2000, but first-years can't bring 'em. Dying to fly."
"Quidditch rules, Holly!"
Shared hobby = instant hype. Cho loops arms, pulls closer. "Second-years can try out. I'm going for it—nervous I'll eat dirt mid-air."
"You'll crush it!" Holly fist-pumps.
"But there's broom-free flight gear…" Holly winks at Lynn—pretty please.
"Flying carpets?" Cho perks. "Dad says Ministry banned imports. Comfier than brooms—dumb rule."
"Nah." Lynn digs in his pack, pulls bamboo copters. "Got 22 of these bad boys. 22nd-century commute staple—kids' toy, adults' Uber."
Places one on his head—whirr. "Eight hours full charge, 80 kph. Drain it mid-flight? Splat."
"Fun!" Cho snags one, studies. "Just… plop on head?"
"Yup. These got <2 hours left. Time it."
"Let's go!"
Lynn's mastered flight via telekinesis + teleport. Copters? Meh. Plenty more.
"Flying with Hedwig and Sieglinde again!" Holly cheers—she's tested 'em secretly. Sky junkie.
Owls bounce out the window, soar.
"Corridor's packed—" Cho starts.
Lynn blinks—poof. All three on the roof.
Cho doesn't flinch—wizard kid, used to Apparition, Floo, Portkeys.
Copter spins—gentle lift, like invisible hands. No panic.
"Slower than brooms, but nimble." Cho flips mid-air—skort, no upskirt. Holly's jeans = zero risk.
"Chasing Snitches with this? Untouchable."
Arms wide, Cho pirouettes, mock-curtseys.
"You dance?" Holly asks.
"Mom taught me. Wanna learn? French branle—perfect for three."
She grabs Holly and Lynn, forms a sky-circle.
Owls spiral nearby, big eyes curious.
Final whistle—TOOT TOOT. White smoke billows. Hogwarts Express chugs out.
Above, three silhouettes chase the train, basking in sunshine and crisp forest breeze.
Near noon, pooped trio lands on the roof. Copters dying—safety first. Back inside for trolley snacks and growling stomachs.
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