Travelling [Magical]
31-08-1969
———
Perteus Graymort:
The first thing that pulled my interest upon stepping into the Hogwarts Express was its sheer vastness—a distortion that spoke of poor communication between the exterior and interior.
The corridor alone was enough to host four people, and if one was less vigilant, they would think themselves in a manor's hallway…
I stepped in proper, and joined in the line we had all instinctively formed. Easily, the switch in priority almost natural, my gaze strayed…appreciation and judgement its intentions.
It—the train's internal splendour—was not luxurious, not by my spoiled sensibilities at least. The decor was archaic, the style in obvious opposition to the aesthetic artistry of the modern age that was half a century from this era I now suffered. Yet, despite all that, there was a permeance of warmth to its ambiance, a nostalgic comfort that reminded me of my prior youth back in my grandparent's home.
My heart swelled with emotion…thrumming.
That feeling, the appeal I suspected was both birthed and reinforced by magic, was enough for me to develop a heavy fondness for this locomotive, and further forgive the obvious manipulation.
…the children jostled around me as the march progressed, many of them seemingly unwanting to break the current uniformity in fear of drawing attention and expectation from the rest of our year-mates.
It was honestly adorable…and a tad bit amusing, but we could not carry on like this. Plus, the nervous glances they were casting one another were starting to get pitiable.
Thus, intending to break the monotony, I stopped in front of a random compartment, straightened my posture, and braved its interior with mild pomp colouring my gait.
The door gave way quite easily—there was barely any squeak to its hinges. Much like the train's body, I noticed, the compartment was larger than what its exterior representation might have suggested.
It was furnished with two long, light-brown cushioned seats that encouraged interaction, with a small, retractable table fixed under the window. Above, a storage rack hung, perfect for our trunks. It was simple, but it suited the train's cozy atmosphere.
I stepped fully inside and placed my trunk by the seat as I moulded my telekinesis, only to hear soft footsteps behind me.
A bit startled, I turned to see a girl standing hesitantly in the doorway. Her auburn hair was tied into a loose braid, and her cheeks were already turning pink as she noticed my attention upon her. She clutched her wheel-drawn trunk awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
"Um, hi," she mumbled…greeted, avoiding my gaze.
I fought back a sigh—I had hoped for solitude—and forced a polite smile instead. It was not her fault she'd followed me. "Hello. Are you planning to sit here?"
She nodded quickly, her face flushing an even deeper shade of red. "If that's okay…"
She was not a native, I noticed—the craftsmanship of her clothes lacked the finesse of magical aid. "It's fine," I said, stepping forward. "Here, let me help with that."
Before she could protest, I extended a hand toward her trunk. With a faint flick of my wrist and adequate desire, I commanded my shroud with better grace and potency than before. The trunk rose gently from her grasp and floated up to the storage rack, settling neatly beside my own.
The girl's eyes were wide with wonder, but I was more impressed by how effortlessly I had moved her non-magical trunk. Still, I kept any hint of that off my face, opting instead for a satisfied quirk on the left side of my lips, I had an image to craft after all.
"Yo—you can al—already do magic?"
"Just a bit of it," I lied, offering her a small smile. "It's not too difficult to get the hang of." And that was true. Invocation was more like movement—what mattered was intent and the capacity to execute it. The real challenge lay in manifestation. "And I'm sure the school will cover all the necessary steps thus you shouldn't worry."
That was just me being arrogant and insensitive, not that the girl noticed it.
"Thanks," she said softly, though her surprise still lingered. She sat down on the seat opposite me, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.
I took my own seat and leaned back, deciding to break the silence before it took an awkward turn. "I'm Perteus Graymort," I told, offering my hand across the small table. "And you are?"
She hesitated, then shook my hand lightly."Emma Fawcett." That came out smoothly. Familiarity, I supposed.
"Pleasure to meet you, Emma," my smile took on a genuine stretch. "So, are you new to the magical world?"
She nodded, her cheeks pink again. "Yeah. I didn't even know magic was real until Ms. Dittany came by the house. My parents are muk— mangu—, I mean, normal."
I suppressed my amusement and feigned ignorance to her embarrassment at the inability to pronounce the derogatory word.
"I understand," I said, leaning forward slightly. "I didn't know about it either until Mr. Slughorn—the Potions professor, by his own admission—came by the home. Turned my book into a bird, he did. And he did it with a wand, like one of those pixies from the stories."
That last part seemed to shine the girl's eyes something fierce. A bit of wonder shared. I had, of course, researched a bit about magical creatures, and thus knew that such mystical beings existed, albeit extremely rare and twisted.
It appeared, honestly, that a great many fantastical—and even dangerous—creatures existed in this world. Old legends and mythic lands, once confined to tales recounted and imagined by the mundane world, lived and breathed here, with some even bleeding into the calm realm.
"That's wonderful," Emma exclaimed.
I feigned embarrassment. "I'm sure Ms. Dittany did something just as brilliant," I murmured quietly, playing into the role.
Emma's smile dimmed. "She only floated our kitchen table when my father asked for an example." I nearly forgot how…mercurial kids could be. But her brightness quickly returned. "Though that odd market had much more of the proper magic."
"Yeah," I affirmed her statement. "Diagon Alley is amazing—"
Unfortunately, it seemed our conversation was fated for an early end. The compartment door slid open with a sharp clatter. Three older years stood in the doorway, their eyes momentarily roaming over us.
"Oh, it seems this compartment is occupied as well," said the tallest of the trio, a boy with slicked-back blonde hair and black eyes. "And by a pair of firsties no less."
Emma stiffened, but I was ever calm. These were kids and teens, hardly people to be intimidated by. "Is there perhaps something we could help you with?" I asked the boy who styled himself a leader.
He raised an eyebrow, though I caught the apprehension that gripped him for a second. It was the image I projected, was my suspicion…the fostered vanity presented as regality.
"Just looking for an adequate compartment," he said, gaze moving to the window next to me. "Name's Arcturus Rosier by the way. These are my friends, Lydia and Clarence."
I nodded, sparing a glance to his mates—they did not have the presentation nor the mannerisms of nobility…at least not that of privileged nobility. "Perteus Graymort. And this is Emma Fawcett." I gestured to the other seats, "there's still room in here if you feel inclined."
My desire for solitude had already been ruined, thus there was little reason for me to not be welcoming.
Arcturus shook his head, "it's fine, there's plenty of empty compartments, best not to intrude on you two." He turned to leave.
I watched them go, a bit uneased. It seemed tensions and factions had already formed at Hogwarts. And it was to a point where even first-years were approached with caution.
The door clicked shut, and I turned to look at Emma. The poor girl had fully withdrawn, and I could not blame her. She probably wouldn't enjoy Hogwarts much—not with Tom and his cronies prowling about with cruel intentions…
I looked out the window, relaxing into my seat.
…I was likely to run a foul of the budding dark lord—such a silly name that—in the future, so I vowed to prioritize ensuring my safety as soon as possible. I planned to make use of the Room of Lost Things to aid me in this endeavour, and with any luck, it might also allow me to explore and expand upon my interests.
Another student came into the compartment—a first year by his appearance. Palish blond hair and dark green eyes, he almost looked like a Malfoy, perhaps a descendant of a branch family?
He had a book in his right hand, one that was authored by Newton Scamander, though his queer gaze was on me, then Emma, then back to me again. "Hope I'm not intruding," he did not shy or smile, though his personality was not one of confidence. He was just…blunt, and uncaring of external judgment.
"You're not," I answered. "Looking for a place to sit?"
He nodded and entered in proper, eyeing the seat right beside me. "Thank you," he smiled, then looked at his luggage. "Though I'm afraid I must request your assistance."
I liked this kid.
…once more, I flaunted my shroud, effortlessly levitating the trunk to the rack. I noticed, however, that his trunk was enchanted with weightlessness—and, I suspected, internal distortion.
"Unassisted casting," he murmured curiously. And that allowed me some knowledge about him. "It's unusual for someone our age to be capable of that." He looked at me in expectation.
I was not comfortable referring to my shroud as wandless magic—at least, not the conventional kind. Its nature was entirely different, and the range of abilities I could express through it far exceeded the bounds of standard wizardry.
"Is that so," I said, frowning slightly before quickly shaking my head. "I'm new to all this magic stuff, so I'm not sure about the… norms here."
That seemed to surprise him. "You're not a pure-blood? Though, you act a lot like my cousin Lucius—" he cut himself off, "oh, that was rude of me, no one deserves to be compared to my cousin."
This was the second time I was compared to the Malfoy heir. I wondered if I should remodel my persona. Maybe, though I would need to acquaint myself with Lucius before that.
"It's of little bother," I said, waving off his apology and subtly steering the conversation onto a proper course. "My name's Perteus Graymort, by the way, and this," I gestured toward the girl, who was eyeing the boy's hair with no small amount of bewilderment, "is Emma Fawcett."
That brought her out of her daze, and she managed a shy smile and a small wave. The boy waved back—not an impolite child, this one. "Well, I suppose I must offer my name in kind," he said, placing a hand on his chest. "My name's Xenophilius Lovegood."
My eyes widened, my composure briefly faltering. This was—would be—Luna's father. The odd bloke with a fixation on nonexistent creatures and wonders… or so the books described him.
I composed myself quickly. "Fascinating name," I admitted, and the boy brightened. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Lovegood. Or would you rather I refer to you as Xenophilius?"
"My proper name, I think," he smiled.
"Then I will extend the same courtesy."
And the young girl squeaked, "me too" when I directed a look at her. There was little need to exclude her from this, after all.
The train whistle for the final time before it started to move.
With little else to occupy my time, I decided to initiate small talk with the two—though primarily with Xenophilius. I asked him about his book, magical beasts, his primary interests, and his dreams—he certainly had some wild ones. Surprisingly, from that interaction, I managed to pick up some valuable information about wizard society.
For instance, most of the children born into the Sacred Twenty-Eight attended a pseudo-academy where they were taught basic literacy and numeracy, along with lessons in etiquette, history, and other miscellaneous arts.
What I inferred from that was that the magical world was, in many ways, willfully ignorant. By scorning the discoveries of the mundane world, their understanding of the fundamentals of reality was deeply lacking.
Sure, common sense and scientific advancements might seem irrelevant to magic, but the current magical system was still bound to a general order.
Magic was not just about desire and will. It also relied on an understanding mechanism—a function that played a crucial role in manifestation, often compensating for a lack of raw power.
I discovered this for myself when attempting to cast the Lumoscharm. While the spell appeared singular in nature, it actually consisted of two aspects: the primary being visibility, and the secondary being banishment. During casting—which was a straightforward process—I realized the spell had a degree of flexibility. Through desire and intent, one could manipulate the intensity of its radiance.
Unfortunately, that intensity was tied directly to one's magical reserves. However, with an understanding of the principles of light—basic, elementary concepts—it became possible to manipulate the intensity of the charm by adjusting the emittance of its shine without risking combustion.
Because the spell was singular in function, increasing its radiance proportionally amplified its banishment effect. Unsurprisingly, this enhancement required only a negligible amount of vigour. It was also ten times easier—or harder, for those lacking prior knowledge of physics—to utilize than mastering its derivatives.
Naturally, I knew this method of casting wouldn't apply to more esoteric spells, yet this was still a more rudimentary form of meta-magic.
Still, it was frustrating. I did notlet that frustration show, though, and continued to engage with the kids—talking, discussing, and debating. At some point, I suggested we practice some magic—a suggestion that Emma greeted with enthusiasm.
Xenophilius, on the other hand, was a bit apprehensive. The boy seemed more interested in speculating about and discussing the abilities of creatures, both real and imagined. However, after some coaxing and childish peer pressure, he eventually relented.
"Though you two best not tell," he warned, pulling his wand from his pocket. "Mother says those grumps at the Ministry send Nettlethorns after kids who break their rules."
"Of course."
Emma shot me a nervous glance, but I shook my head. It was honestly incredible how much trust she afforded me despite my admitted ignorance, though I knew Mrs. Lovegood's words were meant only to frighten.
I flicked my wand from its holster at my wrist, giving it a flourish. "Let's start with the simplest yet most intriguing of charms. Lumos!" The spell lit with minimum effort, though I would be lying if I claimed true mastery. "You, of all people, ought to love this charm, Xenophilius. It's not just an illuminating spell but also a banishing one—especially effective against dark creatures."
"Stop talking that way," he grumble, though I did catch amusement in his tone. "And mother did tell me about it."
Expected, but still necessary to ensure.
I turned to Emma, who was actually managing the incantation and wand movement but was struggling with the manifestation.
"Don't let frustration claim you, Emma." Teaching someone to invoke a spell was both deceptively simple and unexpectedly complex. Like dancing, a spell—or a charm, as it was called here—was akin to a single move, with the ultimate goal being to weave that move fluidly into the overall rhythm of the dance. "Calm down, and attempt the charm with a clearer mind."
It took an hour for progress to actualise.
"I did…it," the girl exclaimed, unsure. I looked at her wand and found a dim glow on its tip. That was actually the normal manifestation of the charm.
"That's good," I said, "but you'll need to try it again and focus on how the spell feels. Close your eyes, concentrate on your wand, and try casting the spell once more."
Xenophilius managed to cast his charm seven minutes later, though he did so by imagining himself banishing a Flickerghast—a shadowy creature with a severe fright for light.
He was ecstatic for a time, until the moment came for him to turn off the charm.
Nox was a simple spell, but unfortunately, the boy's imagination was too potent. It was not until I suggested he imagine the sun shining brightly in the sky—thus nullifying the need for the charm—that he managed to extinguish it.
We carried on like that, taking breaks now and then, and in one instance, buying some candies from the trolley once it passed by our compartment. Emma was excited by the moving sweets, refusing to eat them, while I was fascinated by their charm-work, and wondering if the enchantment could be employed on a larger scale.
Magical automatons sounded like a dream to me.
I brought up my notepad and added the pursuit to the list.
Creation of Automatons to eliminate the need for fleshy assistance.Refine aesthetics to mirror normal humans.I frowned at that last part before adding something else.
Learn or manufacture security charms."Have you an interest in curse-breaking?" Xenophilius asked, glancing curiously at my notepad.
I shook my head, careful not to react to his intrusion. "Charm creation and enchantments hold my interest," I replied simply, closing the book. "Though I might dabble in curse-breaking at some point." I glanced at him. "Is it a popular…discip— Ahmm, I mean, choice?"
He nodded eagerly. "My father is one. He says all the important treasures have curses. Once, he brought home an old trident, and it turned golden after he was through with it." His excitement grew as he continued. "We sold it to Old Trephul at Mistral Row and bought two fancy flying brooms with the gold."
I almost forgot about flying brooms—another silly creation.
"Flying brooms?" Emma was curious, eyes shining again.
"Some wizards like to use brooms to get around," I explained. "There's even a sport played on them. I read that Hogwarts teaches its students how to fly them."
"They do, and there's also quidditch starting from second year."
"Quidditch, is that the sport Perteus was talking about?" The girl questioned, the bewitched sweet still moving around in her palm.
Xenophilius nodded, going into an explanation that was more competent than the nonsense Rowling scribbled in her books. At some point, I moved my focus to the outside, watching as forests, farmlands, and mountain ranges passed by.
Most of these locations I was sure did not exist in the mundane world with how fantastical they were.
The sun waned as the announcement to change into our robes came, my enthusiasm rising to a new level. We were almost there; the shift in ambiance was nearly tangible to my senses.
The first sign was the loss of clarity in the skies, as a thick gathering of rain clouds—flashing occasionally with streaks of lightning—began to take shape. Then came the abundance of trees, rolling hills, and the ever-lake, a vast, seemingly endless body of water with countless streams branching into it like veins.
It took close to fifteen minutes, and then the train began to decelerate. It came to a proper stop near a poorly illuminated station.
"Time to disembark, and remember to leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately," The announcer said. "First-years are to leave first!"
And so we did.
==••••==
The Saint: Sorry for the absence, Feb wasn't a good month for me. Still, I didn't neglect this story, I only just forgot to post. I'll be reworking on the dialogue during the casting part, mend Perteus's character a fair bit.
Still, I'm satisfied with this chapter, though I'm not opposed to feedback and criticism. Also, I have chapter 6 and 7 on Pa-treon (BoombaTheSaint) under the Free Membership section (I just found out about that by the way), go and read them, free of charge.
I also have a new story out there, great stuff.
Anyway, I have to post this thing on a couple more sites, so bye!