Chapter 16: Platform 9¾
The previous night passed far too quickly for all the Lhaerys. When dawn arrived, it brought with it the quiet certainty that this was no ordinary day.
Breakfast was served early — earlier than usual.
No one ate much. Daemyr pushed eggs around his plate, his appetite consumed by an anxiety that made his stomach churn. Vaenyra sliced bread into precise pieces but barely touched the food, each movement too mechanical to be natural.
Lyra served tea three times, her hands busy because standing still seemed impossible. She asked about luggage, about wands, about supply lists — questions whose answers she already knew, but which filled the heavy silence.
Serena watched them with quiet attention, cataloging every expression as if trying to memorize them. Her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of her cup — the only sign of restlessness she allowed herself to show.
Maeric remained in absolute silence, his gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the window, his jaw tight.
Aelarion was the only one who attempted normalcy, his voice low but firm: "Eat. The journey is long."
But even he left his toast half-finished, his appetite defeated by the weight of the moment.
It was a farewell disguised as a meal. Everyone knew it. No one admitted it.
When Daemyr finally stood, murmuring something about checking his luggage one last time, no one stopped him. The truth was that he needed a moment to himself — a moment to process that, in a few hours, he would leave the only home he had ever known.
He climbed the stairs slowly, each step feeling larger than the last.
The suitcase was where he had left it the night before, closed but not locked. He knelt beside it, taking a deep breath before opening it.
The magically expanded interior revealed a replica of a mountainous habitat — an enchanted sky displaying a perpetual sunrise, rocks warmed by temperature spells, a small cave in the corner where Sunfyre could sleep. A gift from Maeric and Aelarion months earlier, prepared exactly for this moment.
Sunfyre was curled atop his favorite stone, his golden body glowing softly beneath the artificial light. His head lifted when Daemyr appeared, obsidian eyes fixing on him with immediate attention.
"Hey, boy," Daemyr said quietly, extending a hand inside the suitcase.
Sunfyre chirped — a curious sound, not alarmed — and uncoiled, moving closer. A warm snout nudged Daemyr's fingers, seeking the familiar touch.
"It's going to be strange," Daemyr continued, swallowing the knot in his throat. "You'll stay in here for… a long time. Months, maybe. You won't be able to fly freely. Not like in the fields."
The dragon tilted his head, as if he truly understood every word. Maybe he did. The bond between them was far too deep to be mere instinct.
"But I'll visit you. Every day. I promise." He stroked the warm scales, feeling the familiar heat that always calmed him. "And when we're older, when you're too big to hide… we'll fly together again. Like before."
Like in dreams, he wanted to say. But he didn't.
Sunfyre chirped softly — not protest, but acceptance. Trust.
Daemyr stayed there a few more minutes, simply existing in the same space as the dragon, memorizing every detail. The shimmer of scales. The scent of sleeping fire. The comforting weight of a presence that had been with him since the egg hatched.
Then, with almost reverent care, he closed the suitcase.
For a moment he remained kneeling on the floor, his hand still resting on the worn leather, feeling the warmth that emanated from within.
Sunfyre was there. Alive. Trusting him.
And Daemyr was about to take him somewhere unknown, confining him to a magical space for months, far from the open sky and the winds of the fields.
The thought tightened his chest.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the suitcase. He didn't know if Sunfyre could hear him through the enchanted leather. Maybe not.
But he needed to say it anyway.
He stood, quickly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and picked up the suitcase. It was lighter than it should have been — magic compensating for the dragon's weight inside.
But to Daemyr, it had never felt heavier.
When he went downstairs again, his family was already gathered in the entrance hall. Suitcases organized. Travel cloaks on. Everything ready for departure.
Lyra looked at Daemyr, noticing the subtle redness in his eyes, but she didn't comment. She simply touched his shoulder gently as she passed.
"It's time," Aelarion announced, his voice carrying the weight of inevitability.
And so, without further delay, the Lhaerys family departed.
The world Daemyr and Vaenyra knew lay behind them.
The world awaiting them stood ahead.
And there was no turning back.
The journey to London was made through the Floo Network — the most discreet and efficient method of travel.
The point of departure was a private chamber in the fortress's underground, a black stone fireplace engraved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly when activated. Aelarion went first, followed by Maeric and Serena. Lyra held Daemyr and Vaenyra's hands before leaving, her eyes saying everything her voice could not.
Then it was their turn.
Daemyr gripped the suitcase firmly — Sunfyre inside, protected by enchantments but still vulnerable — and stepped into the green flames. The world spun, colors and sounds blending into a nauseating whirl until his feet touched solid ground again.
He emerged in a dusty little office, clearly abandoned for years. Peeling walls, furniture covered in white sheets, a single window showing a narrow alley between red-brick buildings.
"Secondary transfer point," Maeric explained, already brushing dust from his clothes. "The British Ministry maintains several scattered throughout London. This one is registered as 'unavailable for public use,' but arrangements were made."
Of course they were, Daemyr thought. Maeric always made sure arrangements were made.
When everyone had crossed, Maeric sealed the fireplace with a touch of his wand, extinguishing the runes. No traces. No unwanted attention.
They stepped out into a side street, where Muggle London swallowed them immediately.
The contrast was violent.
Daemyr paused on the sidewalk for a moment, assaulted by noise. Horse-drawn carriages rattled over cobblestones, street vendors shouted about their wares, distant church bells marked the hour. And people — so many people — moving in every direction with a hurriedness that seemed to have no specific destination.
The air smelled different. Coal smoke mixed with something damp and heavy that clung to the lungs. It wasn't unpleasant exactly, just… strange.
Foreign.
New Valyria, with its silent mountains and open sky, had never seemed so far away.
Vaenyra walked beside him, her posture straight even as her eyes absorbed everything with calculated attention. She showed no discomfort, but Daemyr knew his sister well enough to notice the subtle tension in her shoulders.
Lyra, on the other hand, seemed fascinated. Her eyes traveled over shop windows, Victorian architecture, even the uniforms of Muggle police officers patrolling corners. There was genuine curiosity in her expression — not judgment, just a desire to understand that world which worked so differently from her own.
Serena observed with a more critical gaze, cataloging details: the distribution of people, movement patterns, where eyes lingered too long (on their silver hair, inevitably). All information processed, archived, potentially used later.
Maeric led the group with the confidence of someone who had studied the destination. He didn't hesitate at corners, didn't check signs. He simply knew.
And Aelarion… Aelarion walked with the calm of a man who had seen too much of the world to be impressed by busy streets. His cane struck the ground in a steady rhythm, an anchor of stability amid movement that seemed disordered.
It took a little less than fifteen minutes to arrive.
King's Cross Station rose before them — a massive structure of iron and glass, white smoke escaping chimneys as locomotives whistled inside. The main entrance swallowed and expelled hundreds of passengers per minute, a constant flow of individuals without end.
"Impressive," Lyra murmured. "It's like… organization within chaos."
"It's more like chaos disguised as organization," Serena corrected. But there was a note of respect in her voice.
They entered.
The interior of the station was even more impressive than the exterior.
The arched ceiling rose above them, supported by iron beams crossing in geometric patterns. Light filtered through frosted glass panels, creating shifting patterns of shadow and brightness as clouds passed outside.
Numbered platforms stretched in both directions, each with its own train, its own crowd, its own destination. Signs announced schedules in large letters: Edinburgh, Manchester, York, Brighton.
None mentioned Hogwarts.
Daemyr tightened his grip on the suitcase handle, feeling a comforting weight. Sunfyre was quiet inside — sleeping, perhaps, or simply waiting patiently.
"Platforms Nine and Ten," Maeric said, pointing. "Between them."
They navigated through the crowd, dodging hurried luggage carts, children running between adults' legs, vendors offering newspapers and food.
No one stopped them. No one questioned the group of six clearly non-British people walking with clear purpose through the extremely busy station.
Muggles, Daemyr realized, had the remarkable talent of not seeing what they didn't want to see.
When they reached the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, Maeric stopped.
A brick pillar stood there, ordinary in every way. Worn with time, stained with soot, completely uninteresting.
Except that it wasn't.
Daemyr could feel magic emanating from it. Not obviously — it was subtle, woven so deeply into the structure that it almost disappeared. But it was there. Waiting.
"Platform Nine and Three-Quarters is on the other side," Maeric explained, his voice low enough not to be heard by nearby Muggles. "Walk straight through the barrier. Directly. Without hesitation."
He looked at Daemyr and Vaenyra.
He said nothing more. He didn't need to.
Vaenyra went first.
Of course she did.
She didn't run. Didn't quicken her pace or close her eyes dramatically.
She simply pushed her luggage cart and walked toward the brick wall with the same straight posture she would use to cross any corridor.
Absolute confidence. Not a trace of doubt.
The barrier swallowed her without resistance, her body disappearing through solid bricks as if she had never existed.
Daemyr released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Then it was his turn.
He looked at his family — Lyra smiling encouragingly, Aelarion nodding slightly, Serena watching with clinical attention, Maeric… Maeric simply observing, his expression unreadable.
Daemyr adjusted the suitcase strap over his shoulder, grabbed the cart, and walked.
Ten steps. Nine. Eight.
The wall approached, bricks growing clearer, and a small part of his brain screamed that he was about to collide, that he should stop, that this was madness—
Seven. Six. Five.
But he didn't stop.
He trusted.
Four. Three. Two.
And he passed through.
There was a moment of disorientation — the sensation of moving through a curtain of cold water, pressure against his skin that vanished as quickly as it came.
Then he was on the other side.
And Platform Nine and Three-Quarters revealed itself before him.
Hot steam surrounded him.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was alive in a way the Muggle side of the station was not. Not just movement — there was movement there too — but life infused with magic, purpose, belonging.
Wizarding families occupied every available space. Parents saying goodbye to their children for the tenth time. Younger siblings watching with poorly disguised envy while older ones boarded. Owls hooting in cages stacked atop carts. Cats stretching inside baskets. Even a toad escaped from somewhere, hopping frantically between legs while its desperate owner tried to catch it again.
And dominating everything, imposing and impossible to ignore: the Hogwarts Express.
The scarlet locomotive gleamed beneath filtered light that came from nowhere and everywhere at once — magic keeping the platform illuminated regardless of the hour or weather outside. Steam escaped in white clouds that smelled of hot coal and something subtler, almost sweet. Carriages stretched behind it, polished red surfaces reflecting the chaotic movement of the platform.
Daemyr stopped, simply absorbing it.
This was real. Not a dream, not a vision, not a fragment of a future that didn't yet exist.
Real.
Vaenyra emerged from the barrier seconds later, quickly followed by the adults. She didn't stop to admire the scene — her eyes were already cataloging exits, people of interest, potential threats. Always evaluating. Always prepared.
"It's bigger than I imagined," Lyra said softly, a smile touching her lips as she watched a mother consoling a child who cried about forgetting a spellbook at home.
"It's chaotic," Serena corrected. But there was approval in her voice. Chaos meant reduced vigilance. Easier to go unnoticed.
Aelarion said nothing. He simply watched the train with a distant expression, as if seeing something beyond metal and steam. Memory, perhaps. Or a future his dragon dreams whispered about.
Maeric checked his pocket watch.
"Ten forty," he announced. "Twenty minutes until departure."
Twenty minutes.
Suddenly it felt both insufficient and endless at the same time.
They moved to a less crowded corner of the platform, near the brick wall but away from most families. Space to breathe. To say goodbye.
For a moment, no one spoke.
What could be said in a moment like this? What words could carry meaning without sounding inadequate or incomplete?
Aelarion approached first.
He didn't prepare a speech. There were no rehearsed words or ancient wisdom ready to be shared.
Instead, he placed his hand on Daemyr's head — a gesture of silent affection and blessing. Then he did the same with Vaenyra, his warm palm resting against her silver hair.
"Dragons do not bow," he said simply, his voice rough. "Remember that."
He turned away before emotion could crack his voice. Before the tears forming could fall.
He had already lost too much in life. Valyria. Saenra. Pieces of himself he would never recover.
But this… this was not loss.
It was continuation.
His grandchildren would carry the fire forward. And perhaps, in a distant sky he could not yet see, dragons would fly again.
Lyra was next.
She pulled Daemyr into an embrace before he could react — arms wrapping around him with surprising strength, her head resting against his shoulder even though she was taller.
"You're going to be incredible," she whispered near his ear. "Not because people expect you to be. But because you are."
When she let go, her eyes shone with contained tears. She blinked quickly, trying to hide them, but one escaped anyway, tracing a silver line down her cheek.
Then she approached Vaenyra — more cautiously, respecting the personal space the girl always protected fiercely.
She wasn't her daughter. Vaenyra was Serena's, and that difference had always been clear, never resented, simply acknowledged.
But Lyra had raised her. Watched her grow. Taught her as much as she taught Daemyr.
And loved her the same.
"Take care of him," Lyra said softly, only for Vaenyra to hear. It wasn't an order. It was trust.
Vaenyra held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. Once. Firmly.
Contract sealed.
When Lyra stepped back, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, laughing at herself.
"Look at me. I'm already crying and you haven't even boarded yet."
But no one laughed. Because everyone felt the same knot in their throat.
Serena did not hug.
It wasn't who she was.
Instead, she held Vaenyra's shoulders, her gaze steady and piercing.
"Trust your instincts," she said, her voice low but firm. "The wizarding world lies often. Your eyes do not."
Pause.
"And when you feel you must be ruthless… be so. But choose your battles wisely."
Vaenyra held her gaze for a long moment. Understanding passed between them without the need for words.
Then Serena turned to Daemyr.
"You have a kindness the world needs," she said. "But kindness without strength is vulnerability. Do not confuse one with the other."
She touched his chest lightly, over his heart.
"And when you dream… pay attention. Dragon dreams do not lie. They may not make sense yet. But they do not lie."
Daemyr swallowed hard and nodded.
Serena stepped back, her work done. Lessons given. Weapons sharpened.
Now all that remained was to see them use them.
Maeric was last.
He stood still, his jaw tight, as if each word had to be forced out.
"Hogwarts is not Durmstrang," he said finally, his voice controlled but heavy. "It will be different from what I prepared you to face. More… unpredictable."
A brief pause.
"But you have foundation. Discipline. Valyrian blood." His gaze fixed on both of them. "Use it. Do not let them underestimate you for being… different."
He inhaled — the only sign that the next words cost him something.
"And when you return…" He stopped. Corrected himself. "When you return. Do not come back broken. Do not come back as what other people want you to be."
Silence.
Then he did something unexpected: he placed a hand on Daemyr's shoulder. Firm. Heavy. Brief.
Then on Vaenyra's.
It wasn't a hug. It was recognition. A touch that said what his voice could not.
Without another word, because none were needed.
When he stepped back, his expression remained controlled. His jaw still tight. His posture still rigid.
But his eyes… his eyes carried an intensity Daemyr had never seen before.
Not tears. Maeric did not cry.
But something was there. Something raw. Something vulnerable he had never allowed them to see.
Fear.
Not fear of failure or weakness.
But fear of loss.
Fear that this departure marked the beginning of a separation that could not be undone. Fear that Hogwarts would change his children in ways he could not control or protect against. Fear that when they returned — if they returned — they would no longer be his.
Daemyr understood all of it in an instant. And it hurt.
It hurt because for the first time in his life, he saw his father not as an unchanging figure of authority, but as a man. A man who loved imperfectly, who did not know how to express emotion without suffocating control, who fought against his own nature simply to let his children leave.
Beside him, Vaenyra swallowed hard. A sound almost inaudible, but Daemyr heard it.
She understood too.
Then Maeric turned away, his movement rigid and controlled, and took a step back.
Work done. Control maintained.
But the cost was there, etched in the tension of his shoulders, in the hard line of his back, in the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Daemyr looked at Vaenyra.
She looked back.
They said nothing. They didn't need to.
The train whistle echoed across the platform.
Five minutes.
Reality returned with force.
Daemyr and Vaenyra exchanged a look — silent communication only they fully understood.
Time to go.
They picked up their luggage, adjusted their robes, checked their wands in the inner pockets of their cloaks.
Then, together, they turned to their family.
There were no more words. Everything that needed to be said had been said. Everything that needed to be felt had been felt.
Aelarion waved — a small gesture carrying great weight.
Lyra smiled through tears.
Serena gave one final nod, her last sign of approval.
Maeric remained still, his gaze fixed on them as if trying to memorize every detail.
Daemyr and Vaenyra turned.
And walked toward the Hogwarts Express.
Each step felt heavier than the last. Each meter increased a distance that would soon become impossible to cross.
But they did not stop.
They did not look back.
Because if they did…
If they did, they would not have the courage to board.
Daemyr and Vaenyra boarded the Hogwarts Express while the final whistle still echoed through the platform.
The interior of the train was narrow but well maintained. Corridors lined with dark wood stretched in both directions, glass compartment doors offering glimpses of families still saying goodbye, older students already settled into noisy groups, nervous children searching for empty seats.
Daemyr held the suitcase tighter — Sunfyre quiet inside, trusting him.
"Let's find a compartment," Vaenyra said, already moving down the corridor without waiting for his answer.
Of course she didn't wait.
They passed several occupied compartments. A group of boys who looked like fourth or fifth years playing Exploding Snap. Two girls laughing too loudly about something in a gossip magazine. A family of redheads — many redheads — squeezed into a space far too small, everyone talking at once.
Daemyr recognized one of them: Penelope Weasley, from Madame Malkin's shop. She saw him too, waving excitedly. He waved back, smiling.
Vaenyra didn't even notice. She was already three compartments ahead.
Finally, they found one that was almost empty.
Almost.
A girl sat alone by the window, a book open on her lap. Upright posture, perfectly arranged dark brown hair, fingers turning pages at precise intervals.
Vaenyra didn't knock.
She simply opened the door and entered, pulling the suitcase behind her. Her gaze swept the compartment in an instant evaluation: one person, no apparent threat, enough space.
She sat opposite the window, near the door.
Without asking permission.
Daemyr hesitated at the entrance, embarrassed by his sister's lack of courtesy.
The girl looked up from her book, one eyebrow arching slightly. She didn't seem offended — more… evaluative. Her grey eyes moved from Vaenyra (already opening her own book, completely indifferent to her presence) to Daemyr (still standing awkwardly in the doorway).
"Sorry," Daemyr said quickly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "My sister sometimes… forgets social courtesies."
He carefully placed the suitcase in the overhead compartment, then sat beside Vaenyra.
"I'm Daemyr Lhaerys," he offered, trying to compensate for the abrupt entrance. "This is Vaenyra."
Vaenyra didn't look up from her book. But Daemyr knew she was listening. She always was.
The girl closed her own book — carefully marking the page first — and studied them with attention that bordered on clinical.
"Cornelia Fawley," she introduced herself. Her voice was clear, well-modulated, carrying a refined British accent Daemyr recognized from some island families. Old aristocracy. "A pleasure to meet you."
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Author's Note
A coworker of mine was hospitalized, so my workload has doubled for the next 15 days.
Because of that, I'll probably only be able to post one chapter per week.
I'm also still revising all the chapters and will be making some changes — basically to all of them.