The Hogwarts Express began to move while Matthew was still watching the platform through the compartment window.
At first, the train travelled slowly enough that he could distinguish every face. Vivian stood nearest the carriage, one hand raised and the other pressed against the front of her coat. Helen Granger held Hermione's shoulder, while Daniel waved with the slightly uncertain expression of a man who had accepted moving portraits, magical banks, hidden streets, and impossible trains but still preferred departures to obey ordinary railway rules.
Hermione did not wave.
She stood very straight with her linked book held against her chest and watched Matthew as though she intended to memorise every second of the train taking him away.
Matthew pressed his palm against the glass.
Hermione raised two fingers toward her own eyes and then pointed them at him.
She was watching him.
She would keep the record.
The train gathered speed. Steam rolled between the carriage and platform, briefly obscuring everyone before the curve of the track carried King's Cross from view.
Matthew remained beside the window long after there was nothing left to see.
Only when the last roof disappeared behind them did he sit.
The compartment seemed larger without Vivian, Hermione, and the Grangers inside it. Matthew's briefcase-sized trunk rested securely in the luggage rack, while his satchel occupied the seat beside him. The cedar-and-cherry wand inside his left bracer felt warm against his forearm. The bone-white Auror contact token remained concealed in a warded pocket beneath the inner layer of his tunic, and his black-framed protective glasses sat firmly across his nose.
Everything important was where it should be.
That did not make leaving easier.
Matthew opened the linked book.
Hermione's handwriting was already appearing across the first page.
The train has moved. I dislike this.
Matthew rested his quill against the parchment.
I noticed.
Her answer came immediately.
That was not intended as useful information. It was an emotional statement.
I understood it as one.
A pause followed, long enough for Matthew to imagine Hermione walking away from the barrier while trying to write neatly.
Are you seated?
I am seated beside the window.
Have you eaten one of the biscuits Vivian packed?
The train left less than two minutes ago.
That does not answer the question.
Matthew glanced toward the packet of biscuits inside his satchel.
Vivian had written FOR EMERGENCIES, EMOTIONAL OR OTHERWISE across the paper in large letters. Hermione had added LEAVING COUNTS beneath it.
Matthew opened the packet and ate one.
I have now eaten a biscuit.
Good. That means the communication enchantment and one part of the safety plan are both functioning.
Matthew smiled faintly.
You have classified eating a biscuit as a safety plan.
You forget meals while concentrating. It is therefore preventative care.
He could not argue successfully with that.
Matthew placed the book across his knees and withdrew a second, thinner volume from his satchel. It was bound in dark grey leather and carried no title on the cover. A small golden circle surrounded the Knight shield and key, identifying it as a First-Circle Study Leaf.
It was not the family Grimoire.
The true Grimoire remained beneath the Knight house, protected inside the sanctuary. It contained generations of family knowledge, memories, ward designs, healing methods, body disciplines, legal records, and things Samuel refused to describe until Matthew had learned enough to understand why the descriptions themselves might be dangerous.
The Study Leaf was a bridge between the Grimoire and its student.
It held only the books Matthew had been authorised to read, along with his examination records and the written lessons assigned by the portraits. Whenever he completed one text, the Study Leaf remained closed to the next until Samuel, Gareth, Eleanor, and the Grimoire itself agreed that he understood the material rather than merely remembering the words.
Reading was only the first stage.
Samuel examined principles. He asked Matthew to explain an idea in his own words, defend it against objections, compare it with historical examples, and identify where a reasonable rule could become an instrument of control.
Eleanor tested consequences. She presented flawed spells, incomplete healing plans, damaged wards, and enchantments whose creators had forgotten to consider the person affected by them. Matthew had to identify not only what was wrong, but who would be harmed if the error remained.
Gareth preferred pressure. He interrupted explanations, altered conditions halfway through scenarios, created distractions, and asked what Matthew would do when the correct plan became impossible. Gareth claimed that knowledge which disappeared during confusion had never been properly learned.
Hermione had added another requirement.
Matthew had to teach the material to someone else.
She argued that a person could mistake familiarity for understanding until forced to explain the subject clearly. Samuel had agreed with her. The Grimoire had written TEACHING REVEALS THE SHAPE OF KNOWLEDGE across an entire page, after which Matthew had been permanently outnumbered.
No book in the sanctuary simply poured information into his mind. The Knight family had possessed methods that could transfer impressions, languages, and carefully prepared memories, but Samuel had locked those methods behind deeper doors.
"Knowledge without judgement is only a sharper accident," he had told Matthew.
The sentence had sounded like something Hermione would approve of.
She had copied it twice.
Matthew opened the Study Leaf.
The authorised text appeared across its pages.
FOUNDATIONS OF PERSONAL WARDING: BOUNDARY, PERMISSION, RECOGNITION, AND RELEASE
He had completed the first four chapters before leaving home. The fifth concerned the difference between a ward that recognised identity and one that interpreted intent.
Matthew had read only three sentences when the compartment door slid open.
The page immediately became blank.
Aidan Rookwood leaned into the doorway.
He had sandy-brown hair, lively eyes, and the same expression he had worn upon seeing Matthew's expandable trunk on the platform: the expression of someone who believed the world had just offered him something interesting and would be unreasonable to expect him not to investigate it.
Elara Vance stood behind him with her arms folded. Her dark hair had been divided into two neat braids, and her expression suggested that she had followed Aidan primarily to prevent him from entering the wrong compartment, losing his belongings, or accidentally joining a travelling circus.
Aidan looked around.
"You are sitting alone. Is that because you want to be alone, or because no one has annoyed you into allowing company yet?"
Elara closed her eyes briefly.
"He practised that sentence after I told him that asking whether someone was lonely would be rude."
"It was still a considerate question," Aidan protested.
"It was a question wearing consideration as a disguise."
Matthew looked at the empty seats.
The linked book rested beneath the blank Study Leaf. Hermione's last message remained hidden by its privacy ward.
"You may sit," he said. "I cannot promise that you will not become annoying later."
Aidan grinned.
"That is fair."
He entered and claimed the seat opposite Matthew with the confidence of someone who believed friendship could begin through a combination of proximity and persistence. Elara sat beside him more carefully, placing her school bag at her feet rather than throwing it onto the luggage rack as Aidan had done.
Her attention moved to the blank book in Matthew's hands.
"Did that page have writing on it before we entered?"
"Yes, it did."
Aidan leaned forward.
"Did it disappear because of us?"
"It became private because neither of you is authorised to read it."
Elara's eyes sharpened.
"Recognition ward?"
"A modest one."
"What happens if someone tries to force the book open?"
"The first response closes the visible text. The second records the interference. The third locks the book and sends a notice to its anchor."
Aidan glanced around.
"Where is the anchor?"
Matthew closed the Study Leaf.
"That information is also protected."
Aidan looked delighted rather than offended.
Elara nodded once.
"That was the correct answer."
Matthew liked her more after that.
Aidan examined the overlapping panels of Matthew's ward-cloth. The tunic was mostly hidden beneath his travelling coat, but silver runic seams showed at the collar and cuffs.
"Did you really make that?"
"Hermione and I designed it. Vivian taught us to sew, and several people supervised the enchantments."
"Who is Hermione?"
"The girl who was standing beside me on the platform."
"The one who looked as though she might order the train to return if it left too quickly?"
"That is a reasonable description."
Aidan looked toward the compartment door.
"She is coming next year, isn't she?"
"Yes. She is ten months younger than I am."
"That must be rotten for her."
"It is."
Elara adjusted the clasp of her bag.
"She called it a preparation year when we spoke on the platform. That is probably the most useful way to endure it."
Matthew remembered the way Hermione had brightened when Elara used those words.
"Yes, it is."
Aidan pointed toward the luggage rack.
"Is your trunk really inside that briefcase?"
"The trunk is the briefcase."
"That sounds like the sort of correction my mother makes."
"Your mother may value accuracy."
"She values accuracy when I am wrong and flexibility when she is late."
Elara looked at Matthew.
"His mother is almost never late."
"That proves how much she values flexibility."
Matthew's mouth shifted into a smile before he could prevent it.
Aidan noticed and looked pleased.
For the first half-hour, their conversation moved through ordinary first-day subjects. Aidan wanted Gryffindor because two of his cousins had been sorted there and had described the common room as "the best place in Britain for doing things one had been told not to do." Elara refused to predict her House because she believed family expectations contaminated self-assessment.
Matthew said he had qualities suited to several Houses.
Aidan stared at him.
"That sounded suspiciously sensible."
"Houses are school communities, not complete descriptions of people."
"My cousin says Slytherins are all snakes."
"Your cousin is either using metaphor carelessly or has discovered an uncontrolled Animagus problem."
Elara laughed.
It was a small sound, quickly contained, but it changed her whole face.
Aidan pointed at Matthew.
"I knew inviting him was the correct decision."
"You were bored," Elara reminded him.
"A correct decision may have more than one cause."
Matthew opened the Study Leaf again. The writing returned, but the body of the text remained hidden from Aidan and Elara, appearing to them as pale lines without readable letters.
Elara withdrew A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration from her bag.
"If the school expects us to learn it, there is no reason to wait until a professor asks a question in front of everyone."
Aidan looked between the two books.
"I appear to have entered the studying compartment."
"You may leave," Elara offered.
Aidan settled more firmly into his seat.
"I did not say I objected. I only believe food should be involved."
It was not long before the trolley witch arrived.
Aidan purchased enough sweets for four people despite having only enough coins for three. Elara made him return a packet of exploding bonbons after reading the warning label. Matthew asked whether the trolley carried anything containing curry.
The witch looked at him as if this were the first time anyone had presented her with the question.
"No, dear. We have pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, liquorice wands, chocolate frogs, and several sandwiches."
Matthew accepted a pumpkin pasty with quiet disappointment.
Aidan purchased two chocolate frogs and handed one to him.
"You look as though the pasty has betrayed you."
"It is acceptable. It is simply not curry."
"That is an unusually serious opinion about food."
"You have not eaten Vivian's curry."
"That sounds like a challenge."
"It is an observation."
Aidan opened his chocolate frog box. The frog immediately leapt toward the window, struck the glass, and landed upside down on Elara's book.
She stared at it.
Aidan retrieved it carefully.
"I apologise. The frog has no respect for education."
Matthew opened his own box.
A small card slid into his palm.
Albus Dumbledore smiled from the moving photograph.
The public description beneath the image praised Dumbledore for defeating Grindelwald, discovering uses of dragon blood, and working with Nicolas Flamel in alchemy.
Matthew read every word.
The man in the image looked warm, wise, and almost amused by the fact that he had been placed on a sweet.
The warded glasses did not react.
A photograph had no active mind behind its eyes.
Matthew placed the card face down on the seat.
Aidan noticed.
"You do not collect them?"
"I collect useful information."
"Dumbledore is useful information."
"That is why I read the card."
Elara watched him more carefully.
"You do not like him."
Matthew's hand rested over the face-down photograph.
"I do not trust him."
Aidan stopped eating.
Most children would have asked why immediately. Elara did not.
"That sounds as though it has a reason," she said.
"It has several documented reasons."
"Are you going to tell us?"
"Not today."
Elara accepted that.
Aidan looked as though accepting it required more effort, but he managed.
"That seems fair. I have only known you for part of a morning."
The compartment door opened again before the conversation could become heavier.
A girl with bright pink hair leaned inside.
Her Hufflepuff scarf identified her as an older student, while the confidence with which she occupied the doorway suggested that she expected people to make room for her whether or not they had been introduced.
Her hair changed at the tips from pink to deep violet.
Aidan's mouth fell open.
Elara stared.
Matthew's attention moved first to the wand tucked behind the girl's ear, then to her loose balance, then to the fact that the looseness did not appear careless. She seemed prepared to move in any direction, although there was also a strong possibility she might collide with the doorframe before doing so.
"Wotcher," she said. "You are the first-year with the coat."
Matthew looked down at himself.
"I am one first-year wearing a coat."
"No, you are definitely the first-year with the coat. I could see those shoulders from halfway down the platform."
"It is ward-cloth."
The older girl's brows rose.
"You made actual ward-cloth?"
"Hermione and I made a prototype with adult supervision."
"Good answer. Adults become twitchy when children forget the supervision part."
Elara glanced meaningfully at Aidan.
He looked offended.
The girl's gaze moved to Matthew's face, lingering for only a moment on the web-like scar before returning to his eyes. There was curiosity in her expression but no pity.
"Does it move properly?"
Matthew stood.
The stiffness that had begun gathering through his right leg made the movement slower than he preferred. He turned his shoulder, raised both arms, lowered his centre, and shifted into the opening position of one of Mrs Tanaka's forms. The lower panels of the tunic separated around his legs, while the overlapping shoulder layers moved without pulling against the scars beneath them.
The older girl nodded appreciatively.
"That is clever."
Matthew noticed her surname recognition before she had given it.
"You know the Knight name."
Her expression changed by less than a breath.
"Maybe I have heard it."
"That is not an answer."
Aidan looked between them with increasing interest.
The girl grinned.
"Nymphadora Tonks. Seventh-year Hufflepuff, Metamorphmagus, and frequent victim of badly placed furniture."
Matthew glanced at the doorframe.
"You nearly struck your shoulder when you entered."
"That door moved."
"The train is travelling forward."
"Exactly. Suspicious."
Elara's mouth twitched again.
Tonks pointed toward Matthew.
"What is your name?"
"Matthew Robert Knight."
The violet disappeared from the ends of her hair.
For one second, the entire colour became a subdued brown.
Then it returned to pink.
"Knight," she repeated.
Matthew waited.
Tonks rubbed the back of her neck.
"My mother knew some people in the Order. The name came up."
"Who is your mother?"
"Andromeda Tonks."
Something moved behind Matthew's right eye.
The compartment blurred.
For one breath, he saw a dark room hung with a vast family tapestry. Names spread across it in silver thread. Several had been burned away, leaving black holes in the cloth. A young woman with dark hair stood before one of those holes while a man with long black hair laughed beside her. His laughter in the vision was real, warm, and unbroken.
The scene changed.
The same man stood in rain beside a black motorbike, his face destroyed by grief. A giant held a bundled child. Someone said the name Peter.
Then the vision closed.
Matthew caught the edge of the seat.
The golden current beneath his scars flared softly. His ward-cloth responded, warming along the inner seam near his ribs and distributing the sudden tension through the belt anchors.
Tonks's expression sharpened.
"Are you all right?"
Matthew breathed slowly until the pressure behind his eye receded.
"I received a brief vision."
Aidan stared at him.
"You receive visions?"
"Sometimes. They are not always literal, and they are not proof by themselves."
Elara studied him.
"You said that very quickly."
"Because it is important."
Tonks no longer looked playful.
"What did you see?"
"A woman who may have been your mother standing before a damaged family tapestry. Sirius Black stood beside her when they were young."
Tonks's hair lost its colour again.
Aidan stopped moving.
Elara closed her book.
Matthew continued before anyone could misunderstand.
"I also saw Sirius beside a black motorbike while a very large man held a baby. Someone spoke Peter Pettigrew's name. That is everything I can state accurately."
Tonks stepped fully into the compartment and closed the door behind her.
"My mother is Sirius Black's cousin."
Matthew already knew the Black family had branches, but not this one.
"Did she believe he betrayed the Potters?"
Tonks's jaw tightened.
"She believed what everyone was told. She also said Sirius could be an arrogant berk, but that betraying James Potter made no sense."
"That is not proof."
"No, it isn't."
Tonks looked at him for a long moment.
"You really are a Knight."
Matthew did not know whether she meant the surname, the caution, or something else.
Tonks took a folded scrap of parchment from her pocket and wrote several directions.
"If you are going to keep doing those movement exercises, there is a covered courtyard behind the east Charms staircase. It is usually empty before breakfast. The floor is level, and only one statue throws things."
"What does it throw?"
"Small stones, mostly."
"That seems manageable."
"It becomes offended if ignored."
"That is less manageable."
Tonks handed him the directions.
"Do not go wandering there tonight. Hogwarts likes to rearrange itself around new students, and you will end up inside a cupboard with an argumentative mop."
Matthew accepted the parchment.
"Thank you."
Tonks smiled.
"See you around, shadow-lion."
"What does that mean?"
"Your coat says shadow, while your face says you intend to walk into danger and make it explain itself."
"That is not what lions do."
"You would be surprised."
Tonks opened the door, immediately caught one boot against Aidan's bag, recovered with an unnecessarily dramatic turn, and continued down the corridor as though nothing had happened.
Aidan watched her go.
"Is everyone at Hogwarts like that?"
"I sincerely hope not," Elara said.
Matthew sat again and opened the linked book.
Hermione's writing appeared before his quill touched the page.
Something happened.
He looked at the privacy line. The book had registered the sudden change in his magic and sent a warning through the anchor.
I had a vision after meeting Nymphadora Tonks. She is Andromeda Tonks's daughter. Andromeda is related to Sirius Black.
Hermione's response began before he finished writing.
Record the vision exactly. Do not interpret it until you are calm.
Matthew recorded every image.
When he finished, Hermione wrote:
The link between Tonks, Andromeda, Sirius, the motorbike, the large man, the baby, and Peter may be relevant. It is still prophetic evidence rather than independent confirmation.
I know.
I am reminding both of us.
Matthew looked at the blank Study Leaf beside him.
Aidan had remained unusually quiet.
"You really speak to someone through that book."
"Yes. Hermione has the matching copy."
Aidan leaned forward.
"Can she see what we are saying?"
"She receives only what I write."
A line appeared beneath Matthew's last sentence.
Tell the loud one that I can still judge his conclusions through your reports.
Matthew looked at Aidan.
"Hermione says she can judge your conclusions through my reports."
Aidan looked delighted and alarmed in equal measure.
"That is powerful."
Elara resumed reading.
"I think I am going to like her."
Katie Bell joined them before midday.
She appeared at the compartment door carrying a satchel, a broom catalogue, and the increasingly strained expression of someone who had opened six occupied compartments and been told five times that a seat was being saved for a person who did not appear to exist.
"Do you have room?"
Aidan immediately moved his sweets.
"We have room if you do not mind books, wards, visions, and an indirect correspondence with a girl who is already disappointed in me."
Katie stared at him.
Elara pointed toward the empty seat beside Matthew.
"You may sit. He has been like this all morning."
Katie sat.
She had an open face, bright eyes, and the contained energy of someone who wanted to move faster than the train permitted. Her attention settled on Matthew's briefcase trunk.
"Is that actually a trunk, or are you showing off?"
"It is both," Aidan answered.
Matthew looked at him.
Aidan spread his hands.
"It can be both."
Katie grinned.
Within twenty minutes, she had explained that she wanted to play Quidditch, had only flown on old family brooms, and had been informed repeatedly that first-years were not permitted to own their own. Matthew asked questions about sleeve drag, glove grip, robe length, and how fabric behaved during sharp turns.
Katie began answering with increasing enthusiasm.
Elara eventually looked over the top of her book.
"You are designing something."
"I am identifying movement requirements."
"That is how he begins designing something," Aidan said.
Katie examined Matthew's bracers.
"Could you make gloves that let someone feel the broom properly without slipping in rain?"
"Yes, although the tactile enchantment would need careful testing."
"Could you make sleeves that do not fill with air during a dive?"
"Yes."
"Could you make robes that do not pull sideways during a turn?"
Matthew opened a clean notebook.
Elara sighed.
Aidan leaned toward Katie.
"You have activated him."
Matthew wrote while Katie described how ordinary school robes shifted during flight. He asked whether she turned more comfortably left or right, how she positioned her knees, and whether she preferred fingerless gloves.
Katie stared at him after the fifth question.
"No one has ever asked me that many useful things about clothes."
"Hermione asks more."
"Is Hermione the girl in the book?"
"She is also my best friend and design partner."
Katie looked toward the linked volume.
"Does she know you are planning this?"
New words appeared.
I know now. Ask Katie whether her right shoulder rises during a hard left turn.
Matthew read the line aloud.
Katie's mouth opened.
"I do not know."
"You should find out."
Katie sat back.
"This is brilliant."
Elara closed her book with one finger marking the page.
"Neither of them has begun school, and they have already assigned you movement observations."
"That is how useful design works," Matthew said.
Aidan picked up another cauldron cake.
"Could useful design create sleeves that do not fall into soup?"
Matthew looked toward him.
"What kind of soup?"
Aidan considered the question seriously.
"All kinds."
"That is not a design requirement."
"It is the heart of the problem."
Matthew wrote it down anyway.
The hours passed more easily after that.
They spoke about Houses, school rumours, ghosts, moving stairs, and whether the lake actually contained a giant squid. Aidan claimed his cousin had shaken one of its tentacles. Elara said his cousin had probably shaken a piece of rope and embellished the story over time.
Cormac McLaggen appeared briefly in the doorway, introduced himself with enough confidence for two people, and commented that Matthew's clothing seemed excessive for school.
Matthew looked at his standard robes.
"Only if the school is safe."
Cormac said that Hogwarts was the safest place in Britain.
Matthew thought of Dumbledore, memory charms, hidden corridors, and a man imprisoned without trial.
"That conclusion would require evidence."
Cormac stared at him.
Katie laughed.
Cormac chose another compartment.
Later, a quiet boy named Julian Quill appeared while searching for a copy of Hogwarts: A History. Elara had one. He remained for half an hour after Matthew asked whether moving staircases counted as architecture or controlled environmental behaviour.
Julian believed they were architecture.
Elara believed they could be both.
Aidan insisted buildings could not manipulate people.
Matthew said doors lied all the time.
Julian looked so pleased by the answer that he forgot to leave until the train began slowing.
The journey was not painless.
Sitting for long periods tightened the scar line running through Matthew's right hip and leg. By mid-afternoon, the ache behind his eye had become a steady pressure, while the muscles around his ribs had begun compensating for his posture.
Matthew closed his book.
"I need to move."
Katie immediately shifted so he could pass.
"Does your leg hurt?"
"Yes, but the pain is familiar and not worsening."
Aidan began to rise.
"Do you need help?"
"I need space more than help."
Elara stopped Aidan before he crowded the doorway.
Matthew entered the empty section of corridor between carriages. The train swayed beneath his feet, providing an imperfect but useful challenge.
He placed his heels carefully, relaxed his shoulders, and allowed his breathing to settle.
The first movement was slow.
His hands rose as his weight shifted through the left leg, then returned through the right without forcing the damaged knee to lock. He turned his waist, followed the motion through his shoulders, and let his arms describe the path rather than dragging his body after them.
The train's movement complicated his balance.
Matthew adjusted.
The ward-cloth moved with him. The inner seams warmed across the right side, while the belt anchors distributed strain away from his ribs. Beneath the fabric, the golden survival current stirred in response to breath, alignment, and intent.
It did not surge.
It flowed.
A narrow warmth moved from his centre toward the damaged leg, crossed his hip, and travelled upward through the scar paths without becoming trapped behind his eye.
Katie watched from the doorway.
"Is that a fighting form?"
"It can contain fighting movements, but that is not why I am practising it now."
"Then why do you do it?"
Matthew completed the turn before answering.
"The curse damage changed how my body carries magic. If I become stiff, frightened, or unbalanced, the magic gathers in the damaged pathways and increases the pain. These forms teach my body to distribute movement and give the magic safer routes."
Aidan looked puzzled.
"So you train to become stronger."
"I train so that strength has somewhere safe to live."
Elara's expression changed.
"That is different."
"Yes, it is."
Matthew lowered his hands.
"Mrs Tanaka taught me that learning to hurt someone is the smallest part of martial arts. Balance, restraint, breath, recovery, and knowing when not to strike matter more."
Aidan stepped into the corridor.
"Can I try the first stance?"
"You may copy the posture, but I am not qualified to teach you without proper supervision."
"You have trained for years."
"That makes me a student with experience. It does not make me Mrs Tanaka."
Aidan accepted the correction, spread his feet too widely, and nearly fell when the train turned.
Elara caught his sleeve.
Matthew adjusted Aidan's stance verbally rather than touching him without permission.
"Bring your feet closer together, soften your knees, and stop trying to look powerful. You are standing, not challenging the floor."
Katie laughed.
Aidan managed three breaths before the train swayed again.
"This is harder than it looks."
"Most useful things are."
Matthew finished the final movement.
The golden current settled beneath his scars. The ache remained, but it had returned to something he could carry rather than something carrying him.
He wrote to Hermione as soon as he sat down.
I completed a shortened form in the train corridor. The ward-cloth distributed the strain properly, and the golden current moved without catching beneath the right eye.
Her answer appeared moments later.
Record the duration, which movements pulled, and whether the train's motion affected your knee.
Matthew began writing.
Aidan watched the exchange.
"I have never met Hermione, but I am beginning to feel supervised by her."
Elara reopened her book.
"That may improve you."
The Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade beneath rain and early darkness.
Steam rolled across the platform as students dragged down trunks, collected animals, and shouted for friends they had lost in the chaos. Matthew stepped from the carriage carrying his briefcase trunk in one hand and his satchel across his body.
Cold air struck his face.
Rain mixed with steam.
For one terrible instant, the platform became Dartford Road.
The smell of smoke entered the rain. A wand flashed in Peter's hand. Jessica's face appeared beyond the wall.
Matthew stopped.
The old instinct told him to lock his knees, tighten his chest, and make himself smaller around the pain.
Mrs Tanaka's training answered first.
He felt the platform beneath both feet. He relaxed his jaw. He breathed through the pressure behind his eye rather than against it.
The present returned.
A great voice rolled over the station.
"First-years, come over here! All first-years should follow the lantern!"
Matthew turned toward the speaker.
The man was enormous.
He stood taller than any person Matthew had ever seen, with wild hair, a vast beard, and a lantern held high in one hand. His coat looked capable of sheltering several ordinary adults. Despite his size, his expression carried an open kindness that seemed almost too gentle for the body containing it.
The vision struck before Matthew could prepare.
The station vanished.
A cottage stood broken beneath a black sky. One wall had collapsed, and smoke drifted from shattered rooms. The enormous man knelt among the ruin with a bundled baby held against his chest.
A black motorbike roared into the lane.
Sirius Black dismounted before it had stopped moving properly.
He looked younger than the prisoner in the newspapers, but grief had already aged him. Blood marked his clothes. His hands shook when he reached for the child.
"Give him to me, Hagrid. Harry is my godson. James and Lily chose me."
The giant held the baby closer.
"I have orders from Dumbledore. Harry has ter go to his aunt and uncle."
"Sirius" looked toward the broken cottage.
For one moment, Matthew felt the man's thoughts as if standing inside the emptiness where his future had been.
Then Sirius withdrew his hands.
"Take the bike. I will not need it."
"What are yeh going ter do?"
"Peter is still alive."
The vision changed.
Sirius stood in Dartford rain, running toward a rat-faced man.
Then Matthew returned to Hogsmeade Station with his right hand clenched around the handle of his trunk.
The giant was looking directly at him.
"Are yeh all right there?"
Matthew found his voice.
"Your name is Hagrid."
The giant blinked.
"That is right. Rubeus Hagrid. Have we met before?"
"No, we have not met. I sometimes see events connected to people near me."
Hagrid looked uncertain.
"What sort of events?"
"Past events, present dangers, or possible futures. I do not always know which kind I have seen until more evidence appears."
Aidan stood beside Matthew, suddenly very attentive.
Hagrid scratched his beard.
"That sounds like difficult magic for a young lad."
"It is inconvenient."
Hagrid looked at the scar across Matthew's cheek.
"Yeh should tell Professor Dumbledore about it."
The arms of Matthew's glasses warmed.
The warning was faint, caused by his own reaction rather than foreign pressure, but it was enough to make him careful.
"I already have adults assisting me."
Hagrid seemed satisfied by the answer.
"Well, keep close. The path gets slippery in this weather."
Matthew followed the first-years away from the station.
He did not tell Hagrid what he had seen.
Not yet.
The vision joined the record.
Sirius had gone to Godric's Hollow.
Sirius had believed Harry was his godson.
Sirius had offered to take the child.
Hagrid had followed Dumbledore's orders instead.
Sirius had given Hagrid the motorbike and gone after Peter.
None of that proved innocence.
All of it mattered.
The path descended through wet trees until the ground opened before them.
The black lake lay beneath the night.
Hogwarts rose beyond it.
Matthew stopped.
The castle stood upon the cliffs like something built from moonlight, shadow, and centuries of secrets. Towers reached into the darkness. Hundreds of windows burned gold against the stone. Their reflections spread across the lake, broken by rain until another impossible castle seemed to exist beneath the water.
Matthew had seen the Knight sanctuary.
He had entered Diagon Alley.
He had walked through Gringotts and watched books write without hands.
None of those wonders prepared him for Hogwarts.
The castle did not merely look old.
It felt aware.
The Knight sanctuary recognised him as family. Its magic opened in welcome, tested his authority, and made its expectations clear.
Hogwarts did something different.
It watched.
Matthew thought of Hermione and immediately hated that she was not beside him.
He wanted to see wonder overthrow her careful expression. He wanted to hear the seven questions she would ask before the boats reached the far shore. He wanted her to begin estimating the power required to enchant hundreds of windows before anyone had explained that many of them were ordinary.
He opened the linked book beneath his coat and wrote one hurried line.
The castle is unreasonable. You should be here.
Her response appeared before Hagrid finished directing them into boats.
That description is inadequate. I expect dimensions, structure, visible enchantments, and a full account of the approach.
Matthew smiled.
I knew you would say that.
Aidan, Elara, Katie, and Matthew entered the same boat.
No one touched an oar. The small craft moved from shore by itself and joined the line gliding across the dark water.
Halfway across the lake, the pressure behind Matthew's eye returned.
The water deepened into another sea.
A black fortress rose beyond it. Stone towers stood beneath a sky without warmth. Inside one narrow cell, a black dog paced in circles, too thin and too human in its grief. It stopped beside the barred window and raised its head as though hearing a name spoken hundreds of miles away.
Matthew's fingers tightened around the boat.
The image tried to pull him deeper.
The golden current stirred beneath his scars, but this time it met the pattern of his breathing before becoming uncontrolled. He let the boat move beneath him, kept his shoulders loose, and named every point of contact between his body and the present.
His boots rested against wet wood.
His right hand held the side of the boat.
Aidan sat opposite him.
Elara watched from his left.
Katie was staring at the castle.
The vision receded.
Elara waited until Matthew's breathing had steadied.
"Was that another one?"
"Yes. I saw a black fortress in the sea and a dog inside a cell."
"Was it Sirius?"
"I do not know with certainty."
Elara nodded.
She did not ask for more.
Matthew appreciated silence that did not abandon the person inside it.
The boats passed beneath the castle and entered an underground harbour. Stone steps led them upward through a passage older than any part of the Knight house.
Professor Minerva McGonagall waited at the top.
Her robes remained perfectly dry despite the rain, and her expression caused several first-years to straighten without being told.
When her gaze reached Matthew, it paused.
Not long enough for anyone else to notice.
Long enough for him.
Her eyes moved across the ward-cloth, the glasses, and the web-like scar on his face. Then she looked at his name on the parchment in her hand.
Something tightened at the corners of her mouth.
Matthew recorded the reaction.
Professor McGonagall led them into the entrance hall. Torches burned along walls of ancient stone. The ceiling disappeared into darkness, while footsteps moved somewhere high above them where no visible passage existed.
Hogwarts continued watching.
McGonagall explained the four Houses and told them that each would become something like a family during their years at the school.
Matthew did not react visibly.
He had learned that adults often used the word family to describe systems children had not chosen.
That did not make those systems harmful.
It meant the word required examination.
They waited inside a smaller chamber while whispers spread through the group.
One child claimed they would be required to duel a troll. Another expected a written examination. Katie quietly admitted she would prefer the written test. Aidan said he would prefer the troll because at least one could see where it was.
"You can also see a badly written question," Elara reminded him.
"A badly written question cannot usually hit me with a club."
"It can affect your marks for seven years."
Aidan reconsidered.
"Perhaps the troll is safer."
A ghost passed through the wall.
Several first-years screamed.
Matthew did not scream, but his hand moved toward his wand before he recognised the difference between a living threat and a transparent dead monk apologising for frightening them.
The ghost bowed.
"New students. How delightful."
Aidan stared until the ghost floated away.
"I did not prepare for dead people walking through walls."
"Portraits should have prepared you somewhat," Elara said to Matthew.
"Portraits remain inside frames."
"That is a meaningful distinction."
The doors opened.
Professor McGonagall instructed them to form a line.
Then she led them into the Great Hall.
Matthew had known the ceiling would be enchanted.
He had read Hogwarts: A History. Hermione had made him describe the known properties before leaving home. He understood that the ceiling displayed the sky outside and that the floating candles were held by long-term charms.
Knowledge did not lessen the effect.
Hundreds of candles burned above four long tables filled with students. The night sky stretched where a roof should have been, so perfectly rendered that Matthew could distinguish clouds passing beneath the stars. Golden plates waited upon the tables. Ghosts drifted among the students. The staff sat upon a raised platform at the far end of the hall beneath the largest windows.
Every face turned toward the first-years.
The attention pressed against Matthew from all sides.
Whispers followed them.
Some concerned family names. Some concerned the scar across his cheek. Many concerned the clothing.
Two voices rose from the Gryffindor table, pitched precisely loudly enough to carry.
"Fred, is that first-year wearing armour?"
"I believe he is wearing warded armour, George."
"A Knight wearing warded armour seems traditional."
"Does that mean Hogwarts is expecting a siege?"
"Perhaps a dragon."
"Not during the first week."
"Give it time."
Matthew did not look toward them.
Aidan nearly laughed aloud.
Katie whispered, "Those are Fred and George Weasley."
"Are they always like this?" Elara asked.
Katie considered the question.
"My older neighbour says they become worse when encouraged."
Matthew stored the information.
At the staff table, reactions were quieter but more important.
Professor Flitwick leaned forward with open curiosity. Professor Sprout's eyes moved appreciatively across the living seams of Matthew's ward-cloth. Professor Snape became completely still, his expression unreadable beneath curtains of black hair.
The Defence professor, Helena Wardwell, looked at Matthew as if she recognised the shape of a map he had not known existed.
Professor McGonagall remained controlled.
At the centre of the table sat Albus Dumbledore.
He looked older than the man in Matthew's hospital memory. His hair and beard were silver-white, his robes deep purple, and his expression warm enough to make the entire hall feel as though it had been welcomed personally.
His blue eyes found Matthew.
The silver arms of Matthew's glasses became hot against his temples.
The warning enchantment activated without hesitation.
A faint mirror sheen passed across both lenses.
Something had pressed along the path of eye contact.
It had not broken through.
Matthew looked down.
The warmth faded.
He did not call it Legilimency.
The glasses reacted to focused magical intent. Dumbledore might have used a diagnostic charm, a subtle attempt at mental contact, or merely a form of magical observation strong enough to trigger the warning. Hermione would insist upon the distinction.
Matthew recorded the exact sensation in memory.
When he looked toward the staff table again, Dumbledore's smile remained unchanged.
Only the angle of his head had shifted.
Professor Wardwell was watching him instead.
McGonagall placed a three-legged stool before the teachers and set an old, patched hat upon it.
The hat sang.
Its voice filled the Great Hall, speaking of courage, curiosity, loyalty, ambition, choice, and the way children brought more to the school than any single House could claim. Matthew listened for structure beneath the rhyme. The song described the Houses as traditions rather than destinies, which improved his opinion of it.
When the applause ended, McGonagall unrolled her parchment.
The Sorting began.
Katie Bell went to Gryffindor after a thoughtful pause. Cho Chang went to Ravenclaw. Cassian Flint received Slytherin so quickly that the Hat appeared to have reached its conclusion before touching his hair.
Then McGonagall reached the letter K.
"Knight, Matthew."
The hall changed.
It was not a sound so much as a shift in attention.
Professor Flitwick sat straighter. Snape's face lost the smallest remaining trace of indifference. Wardwell's fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
Dumbledore continued smiling.
Matthew walked forward.
The ward-cloth moved silently around his legs. Every step placed him closer to the man he had entered into the Knight Grimoire as an enemy, but Matthew did not look at Dumbledore again.
He sat upon the stool.
McGonagall lowered the Hat over his head.
Darkness covered his eyes.
A voice spoke inside his mind.
Those glasses cannot help you here, Matthew Knight. I do not enter through the eyes.
Matthew's hands tightened against the stool.
That is not reassuring.
The Hat chuckled.
No, but it is honest. Honesty and comfort are often distant cousins in this castle.
Matthew felt the Hat's attention move through him.
It did not tear into his memories. It moved like a reader walking through a library whose doors had been labelled but not opened without permission. Matthew felt it notice the dream records, the carefully ordered evidence, the anger held behind manners, the curse pain threaded through his body, and the sealed places in his earliest memories.
The Hat became quieter.
Someone closed doors inside you before you were old enough to know they existed.
Dumbledore.
You have given the wound a name. Names are useful, but they are not always complete explanations.
I have records.
Yes, you do. You also have the rare discipline to distinguish a record from a conclusion, although your anger occasionally attempts to help.
Matthew did not deny it.
The Hat's attention moved deeper.
There you are. The golden current.
Warmth travelled through the scars along Matthew's right side.
Do you know what it is?
It kept me alive. The portraits call it the Knight survival current.
That is what it became when a dying child asked his body to remain whole. It is not the full art.
Matthew's heartbeat quickened.
The Grimoire contains more.
The Grimoire contains the Knight Body Art, or what remains of it after generations of secrecy, war, and overly confident heirs. Your survival current is instinct. The older discipline is deliberate. It teaches breath to guide magic, magic to reinforce structure, structure to support healing, and the body to become a living ward rather than a container someone else may break.
Why has the Grimoire kept it locked?
The Hat gave a small, approving hum.
You asked why rather than demanding access. That is progress.
That is not an answer.
You are certainly Samuel's grandson.
Matthew waited.
The Hat continued.
The body art is dangerous when learned by someone who thinks pain and effort are the same thing. You have survived by enduring more than a child should. That endurance is admirable, but it also makes you likely to remain inside damage long after wisdom would tell you to stop. Before the Grimoire opens those pages, you must understand healing, anatomy, magical circulation, ward release, emotional regulation, and the difference between strengthening a structure and forcing it to stand while it collapses.
How will it decide that I am ready?
You will read. You will understand. You will submit to those irritating portraits and their examinations. Samuel will question your principles. Eleanor will make you repair what you thought was correct. Gareth will change the problem while you are solving it. The Grimoire will observe what you do when no one praises you. Eventually, if knowledge and restraint become stronger than urgency, the next door will open.
Matthew thought of the locked shelves beneath the house.
There is no shortcut?
There are always shortcuts. Most lead downward.
The Hat's attention shifted through his family memories.
Samuel Knight sat beneath me with a mind arranged like a warded archive. He wanted Ravenclaw, considered Slytherin, and chose Gryffindor after arguing that courage without analysis was merely an efficient route to a funeral.
Matthew almost smiled.
That sounds like Grandfather.
He argued for nine minutes after I announced the decision.
The Hat moved to another memory.
Gareth Knight possessed courage large enough to fill this hall and patience small enough to fit inside a thimble. He considered the Hat an obstacle between himself and dinner.
He would be proud of that description.
He was. He quoted it incorrectly for six years.
Warm grief moved through Matthew.
Eleanor Knight could have thrived in any House. Ravenclaw wanted her mind, Hufflepuff her devotion, Slytherin her ability to see five consequences ahead, and Gryffindor the quiet courage that made her remain when every sensible instinct said to leave. She chose the place where she believed she could do the most good.
Gryffindor.
Yes.
The Hat became gentler.
I never sat upon Robert's head.
Matthew's thoughts went still.
Hogwarts had no invitation for a Squib child. That was a limitation of the school, not of your father. Do not allow any House, institution, wand, or old object—including me—to persuade you that magical recognition is the same as human worth.
Matthew swallowed.
I will not.
Good. Jessica never stood beneath me either, but her choice behind that wall required no enchanted hat to name it.
The Hat saw the memory.
Jessica's hands pressed against Matthew's chest.
Robert stood before the curse without a wand.
The wall rose between the child and death.
The Hat was silent for several seconds.
You carry both of them.
I know.
You carry Hermione Granger as well, although she is not here yet.
Matthew's thoughts sharpened instinctively around her name.
The Hat laughed softly.
There is no need to hide her from me. She is present in half your structures, most of your caution, and every thought that begins with the words "Hermione will object."
She often does.
She also remains.
Matthew thought of the linked book.
Yes, she does.
The Hat turned toward the Houses.
Ravenclaw would welcome you. You love knowledge, language, runes, and the architecture beneath ideas. Yet knowledge is not your throne. You use it to build.
Matthew waited.
Slytherin would sharpen your strategy, your patience, and your talent for finding paths around stronger opponents. You can conceal, plan, negotiate, and wait. Yet ambition does not sit at your centre.
Hufflepuff would understand your labour, loyalty, and refusal to abandon wounded people. You would value the fairness of its best traditions, but you would not endure injustice quietly enough to preserve harmony.
The Hat settled more firmly around his head.
Gryffindor would recognise the boy who stepped between a bully and a smaller child, even before he understood restraint. It would recognise the child who crossed a wall because his mother pushed him, the survivor who learned how to stand again, and the young warder who wants strength not to rule others but to become shelter.
Gryffindor also produced Gareth.
Yes. That is both recommendation and warning.
Matthew understood.
I do not want to die proving I am brave.
Then learn the lesson your family too often learned late. Courage is not measured by how long you remain in a burning room. Sometimes courage is leaving before the people who love you must enter the fire after you.
Hermione would approve of that sentence.
The Hat noticed.
She does not need to be here to supervise you, does she?
Apparently not.
The Hat's laughter warmed his mind.
Then it became unexpectedly thoughtful.
One more thing, Matthew Knight. One of your family once punched Albus Dumbledore.
Matthew nearly shifted off the stool.
Who did it?
The timing was terrible, the conviction excellent, and the right hook surprisingly competent.
Why did they hit him?
Ask the portraits where the walls belong to you. This hall has listened to too many children for me to pretend it has no ears.
That is not an answer.
It is a very old answer. Now, where shall I place a shield-maker with a dangerous quantity of curiosity?
Matthew thought of Vivian, Hermione, Robert, Jessica, Samuel, Gareth, Eleanor, Sirius in a cell, and Peter somewhere beneath an ordinary shape.
He thought of the promise he had made beneath the framed article.
Place me where courage is allowed to ask questions.
The Hat smiled inside his mind.
Then take your questions to—
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The table on the left erupted.
Matthew removed the Hat with hands that felt steadier than the rest of him. Professor McGonagall accepted it, but her eyes lingered upon his face as though the length of the Sorting had confirmed something she had hoped not to wonder about.
Matthew looked toward the staff table.
Dumbledore's eyes met his.
The glasses became warm.
Not hot enough to darken fully, but enough.
Matthew broke contact and turned toward Gryffindor.
As he walked, the ward-cloth responded to the House magic filling the hall. Gold and red thread appeared above his left breast, weaving itself through the existing silver seams. A lion formed within a small shield, not placed over the Knight key but beside it.
The designs did not replace one another.
They stood together.
Katie noticed first.
"Your tunic has sorted itself."
The Weasley twins leaned forward so far that one nearly placed his sleeve in an empty goblet.
"It changed, Fred."
"I saw it change, George."
"The armour is alive."
"The dragon probability has increased."
Matthew sat beside Katie.
"There are no dragons."
One twin placed a hand over his heart.
"He said are, Fred."
"He did not say will never be, George."
"An important distinction."
Matthew examined them properly for the first time.
They were identical in the way matching knives were identical: alike in shape, dangerous in different hands, and much more interested in the world than their joking suggested.
"Which of you is Fred?"
Both pointed at the other.
Matthew looked between them.
"The question was diagnostic. You have both failed."
For one full second, the twins were silent.
Then they grinned.
"I like him," said the twin on the left.
"He may survive," agreed the one on the right.
The Sorting continued.
Cormac McLaggen joined Gryffindor with visible satisfaction. Julian Quill went to Ravenclaw. Aidan punched the air when the Hat shouted Gryffindor, earning a narrow look from McGonagall. Elara's Sorting took longer, but she eventually joined them as well.
Aidan sat opposite Matthew.
"The Hat kept you for ages. Did it tell your entire future?"
"It discussed my family, my flaws, and several matters requiring research."
"That sounds worse than a troll."
"It was more useful than a troll."
Elara took the seat beside Katie.
"Did it say anything you are willing to share?"
"It said courage is not measured by how long someone remains in a burning room."
Elara considered the sentence.
"That sounds important."
"It is."
The food appeared.
Aidan made a sound of pure joy.
Roast chicken, potatoes, vegetables, pies, bread, gravy, and more dishes than Matthew could name filled the golden plates. Hogwarts appeared to believe hunger was a hostile force requiring overwhelming retaliation.
There was no curry.
Matthew accepted the tragedy with dignity.
During the feast, the Gryffindor ghost introduced himself as Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. Aidan asked whether Sir Nicholas could remove his head completely. Elara kicked Aidan beneath the table before the ghost could answer.
Matthew took notes.
Katie noticed.
"You write during dinner?"
"People often say useful things while eating because they believe no one is treating the meal as evidence."
Elara nodded.
"That is reasonable."
Aidan looked appalled.
"There are three of you now."
After dessert, Dumbledore rose.
The hall quieted.
Matthew listened without looking directly into the Headmaster's eyes.
Dumbledore welcomed the students, introduced Professor Wardwell as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, reminded everyone that the Forbidden Forest remained forbidden, and relayed Mr Filch's list of prohibited objects.
Then he warned them away from an old east gallery beyond a disused armoury. He described unstable floors, disagreeable portraits, and a lower staircase that had developed a habit of leading students somewhere from which they were difficult to retrieve.
Older students laughed.
Matthew did not.
A thousand-year-old castle did not accidentally preserve unused galleries without collecting older purposes around them. Dumbledore had presented the warning as humour, which made students more likely to remember the danger and less likely to ask why the area had not been repaired or sealed properly.
Matthew recorded the words exactly.
He would not enter.
He would first ask maps, portraits, ghosts, older students, and the castle itself what the warning concealed.
Hermione would underline the first sentence and place three question marks beside the rest.
The moving staircases offended Matthew immediately.
They were impressive, ancient, and structurally irresponsible.
Percy Weasley led the Gryffindor students upward with his prefect badge shining beneath the torchlight. Fred and George followed at an unreliable distance, offering contradictory advice.
"The third stair bites if you hesitate."
"It only bites people it respects."
"Do not trust the landing with the knight statue."
"The statue gives excellent directions."
Percy turned.
"Fred and George, stop frightening the first-years."
"We are educating them."
"Through misinformation."
"Fear improves memory."
Matthew examined the stairs while they argued.
The castle's movement was not random. Each staircase waited for weight to settle before changing direction. Several wall portraits seemed aware of the next movement before it happened. The arrangement might follow timetable, traffic, magical load, personality, or some combination.
He would need records.
The entrance to Gryffindor Tower was concealed behind the portrait of a large woman in a pink dress.
"Caput Draconis," Percy said.
The portrait swung open.
Matthew looked at the doorway.
A recognition system based entirely on a spoken password seemed insufficient, although he suspected the portrait performed more judgement than it admitted.
Gryffindor common room was warm, crowded, and saturated with red and gold. Armchairs surrounded the fire. Tapestries covered the walls. Older students spoke, read, argued, and played games while behaving as though a room hidden behind a painting was completely ordinary.
Matthew wondered how long it would take before he stopped noticing magic.
He hoped the answer was never.
Aidan, Cormac, Matthew, Oliver Dunstan, and Peter Alderton were assigned to the same dormitory.
The name Peter tightened something behind Matthew's eye.
He looked at the boy.
Peter Alderton was small, freckled, and visibly nervous. He spoke quickly about an uncle who had once seen the skeleton of a dragon.
Matthew breathed until the old association released.
A name was not guilt.
A frightened boy was not Peter Pettigrew.
Aidan pointed triumphantly.
"You see? Dragons have already entered the conversation."
Cormac rolled his eyes.
Matthew expanded his trunk at the foot of his bed. The briefcase unfolded into a dark leather travelling chest with brass fittings and the Knight shield set into the lock.
Aidan stared.
"I still believe that trunk is cheating."
"It is storage."
"It is impossible storage."
"That is a more accurate description."
Matthew unpacked only what he needed. His school books went into the upper compartment. The Auror token remained inside the concealed evidence drawer. The linked book rested on the bedside table beneath a privacy fold.
His ward-cloth robe hung beside the bed.
Aidan touched his own sleeve.
"Could you make these cuffs stop falling into soup?"
"You asked that on the train."
"The requirement remains urgent."
"What kind of fastening do you prefer?"
Aidan stared.
"I do not know."
"Then you are not ready to commission anything."
Cormac laughed.
"You cannot seriously make clothes for students. You are a first-year."
"That affects my legal ability to trade independently. It does not erase the design."
Cormac's amusement faded.
Aidan grinned.
"I want black with red lining."
"All school robes are black."
"Then I am already halfway finished."
Matthew opened a notebook and wrote:
Aidan Rookwood: sleeve management during meals. Anti-dip cuff. Requirements incomplete.
Aidan leaned over his shoulder.
"You are actually recording it."
"I record problems before deciding whether they deserve solutions."
"That sounds like how you make friends."
Matthew looked at him.
Aidan's grin softened.
"I meant that as a good thing."
The dormitory quieted gradually.
Oliver drew his curtains early. Peter Alderton fell asleep while holding a dragon book open across his chest. Cormac continued speaking about Quidditch until even he became tired of hearing himself.
Aidan's breathing settled last.
Matthew waited another ten minutes.
Then he touched three runes on the inside of his trunk.
The visible compartments folded away. A narrow inner cabinet emerged, protected by a First Seal shaped like an interlocking shield, book, and key.
Matthew traced the correct sequence.
The cabinet opened.
Inside rested the Study Leaf, a folded training mat, and three miniature portrait frames.
Samuel entered the centre frame first.
Eleanor appeared on his right.
Gareth entered the left frame already looking pleased.
"Gryffindor," Gareth said. "Excellent."
Matthew kept his voice low.
"You expected Gryffindor."
"I expected the Hat to recognise good material."
Eleanor ignored him and studied Matthew's face.
"How severe is the pain behind your eye?"
"It became sharp twice after visions and remained a pressure during the feast. The movement form on the train reduced it."
"Did the glasses activate?"
"Yes. They warmed when Dumbledore looked directly at me before the Sorting and again afterward. The first response reached the reflective threshold."
Samuel's expression tightened.
"Did you feel contact?"
"I felt focused magical pressure along eye contact. I cannot prove it was Legilimency."
"Good," Samuel said.
Gareth frowned.
"Good that Dumbledore may have tried to enter his mind?"
"Good that Matthew has not converted warning into certainty."
Matthew opened the linked book.
Hermione's writing was already waiting.
You have been inside the dormitory for forty-three minutes. Are you safe?
I am safe. I have been sorted into Gryffindor.
Her response arrived so quickly that the ink thickened in one place.
I knew it.
Matthew looked at the sentence.
The Hat considered the other Houses.
That does not prevent me from being correct.
He wrote a detailed account of the glasses, Hagrid vision, black-water vision, Sorting, staff reactions, and the Hat's recognition of the Knight family.
Hermione answered each part methodically.
The glasses' reaction should be classified as probable focused magical attention and possible attempted mental contact. It is not confirmed Legilimency.
Agreed.
The Hagrid vision supports a sequence in which Sirius went to the Potter home, believed himself Harry's godfather, lent Hagrid the motorbike, and left to find Peter. It remains prophetic evidence until corroborated.
Agreed.
The Hat's testimony regarding the Knight family is independent magical testimony, but we need to establish how Sorting Hat memory functions before treating every statement as historically precise.
Matthew paused.
It said a member of the Knight family punched Dumbledore.
Hermione's answer took longer.
Do not tell Gareth until Vivian has removed anything breakable from the sanctuary.
Matthew smiled.
Gareth leaned closer in his frame.
"What did she write?"
"That information is private."
Gareth looked deeply suspicious.
Samuel cleared his throat.
"We must establish your Hogwarts routine before you sleep."
The Study Leaf opened.
A schedule appeared across the page.
Matthew's ordinary Hogwarts classes came first. The Knight curriculum had been placed around them rather than above them.
He would continue physical training before breakfast for no more than forty-five minutes on school days. He would record pain, movement restriction, magical circulation, and any change in the curse scars.
Three evenings each week would be reserved for Knight study. Ordinary evenings were limited to one hour. Weekends could include longer sessions, but only if schoolwork, sleep, and recovery remained adequate.
The portraits would conduct examinations through the travelling frames whenever the trunk's privacy ward was active. The frames would appear blank if anyone opened the cabinet without Matthew's permission.
The reading sequence remained fixed.
Matthew could not open a second-level text because a subject interested him, because a Hogwarts lesson mentioned it, or because he believed he already understood the first-level material.
Each book required four demonstrations of mastery.
He had to explain the material without using the author's language, apply it to an unfamiliar situation, identify a convincing but incorrect interpretation, and teach the central principle clearly enough that Hermione or another authorised student could use it safely.
Practical books required an additional controlled demonstration.
The Grimoire reserved the right to add unexpected tests.
Gareth looked particularly pleased by that clause.
Matthew read the schedule twice.
"The Hat spoke about the Knight Body Art."
The three portraits became still.
Eleanor answered first.
"What did it tell you?"
"It said the golden current is instinct and that the body art is deliberate. It said the art teaches breath to guide magic, magic to reinforce structure, and the body to become a living ward."
Samuel looked toward the Study Leaf.
The pages turned by themselves.
A sealed section appeared at the back. A golden hand had been pressed into the parchment, surrounded by runes representing breath, bone, blood, movement, memory, boundary, and release.
Beneath it, the Grimoire had written:
THE BODY IS THE FIRST WARD.
THE SURVIVAL CURRENT IS ACTIVE.
THE KNIGHT BODY ART REMAINS LOCKED.
REQUIRED FOUNDATIONS: MAGICAL ANATOMY, CURSE-CIRCULATION THEORY, HEALING DISCIPLINE, CONTROLLED RELEASE, EMOTIONAL REGULATION, AND DEMONSTRATED RESTRAINT.
Matthew placed his hand over the golden mark.
The page remained closed.
He felt no rejection.
Only patience.
Gareth leaned against the edge of his painted frame.
"The body art can make someone very difficult to injure."
Eleanor looked at him.
"That is not the purpose Matthew needs to hear first."
"It can also strengthen healing, increase magical circulation, stabilise damaged pathways, and allow wards to be carried through movement," Gareth amended. "It still makes someone difficult to injure."
Samuel spoke before Matthew could ask another question.
"The body art cannot remove what the curse destroyed, but it may eventually help your magic repair what remains capable of healing. It may strengthen the pathways around the damage and allow the family current to reach places Dumbledore's seal kept isolated."
"Then I need it."
"You need to become ready for it," Eleanor corrected. "Those statements are not the same."
Matthew looked at the sealed page.
"What happens if someone forces it?"
"The body attempts to carry more power than its structure can contain," Eleanor said. "Bones can fracture. Nerves can burn. The heart can lose rhythm. Curse scars can reopen as magical channels. In your case, the residue near your eye and heart makes forced circulation particularly dangerous."
Matthew removed his hand from the page.
"I will follow the progression."
Gareth raised his eyebrows.
"That was surprisingly easy."
Matthew looked at him.
"I want the art because I intend to heal. Damaging myself to reach it sooner would defeat the purpose."
Eleanor smiled.
The sealed page warmed.
A small line appeared beneath the requirements.
CORRECT PRINCIPLE RECOGNISED. READINESS NOT YET ESTABLISHED.
Gareth laughed quietly.
"The book gives praise like Father."
Samuel looked offended.
"I praise people."
"You once told me my shield had become less structurally embarrassing."
"It had."
Matthew closed the Study Leaf.
Samuel's expression softened.
"You have completed the first door, Matthew. You arrived, observed, resisted acting upon incomplete evidence, and made contact with home. That is enough for tonight."
"I still need to practise the breathing sequence."
"You will practise it in the morning."
"I could complete ten minutes now."
Eleanor shook her head.
"You are tired, your eye has been strained by two visions, and the castle has filled your senses with unfamiliar magic. Rest is part of training."
Matthew did not like stopping.
That was precisely why he needed to.
He closed the portrait cabinet.
Before the frames went dark, Gareth lifted one hand.
"For courage with working knees."
Eleanor sighed.
Samuel said, "Sleep well, Matthew."
The cabinet sealed.
Matthew returned to the linked book.
The portraits have established my school routine. The Grimoire confirmed that the Knight Body Art remains locked until I complete several foundational subjects and demonstrate control.
Hermione's response appeared after a brief pause.
Good.
Matthew frowned.
You do not know what the body art can do.
I know that it is powerful, connected to your injuries, and locked by several people who want you alive. That is enough information for me to approve of the lock.
It may help heal the curse damage.
Then you will learn it properly rather than turning yourself into an experiment because healing is involved.
Matthew looked at her handwriting.
You make me sound reckless.
You created an intelligent ribbon lock because someone bent my essay.
That project worked.
After eleven failures and thirty yards of uncontrolled ribbon.
Matthew had no useful response.
Hermione wrote again.
Go to sleep. Train in the morning. Record the pain first.
You are not at Hogwarts.
The book is.
Matthew closed the cover.
He extinguished the small light and lay beneath the curtains of his bed.
The castle moved around him.
Pipes murmured in the walls. Wind pressed against the tower windows. Somewhere far below, doors opened and closed without visible hands. Portraits whispered after students passed. Staircases changed their minds.
Hogwarts did not feel asleep.
It felt as though it were deciding what to do with him.
Matthew rested one hand over the linked book.
For the first time since leaving Dartford, the distance felt survivable.
He woke before dawn.
Years of training had taught his body to recognise the hour even in an unfamiliar room. The dormitory remained dark, and the other boys slept behind their curtains.
Matthew dressed quietly in the simpler training layer of his ward-cloth. He left his school robe folded inside the trunk, placed his wand in the inner bracer, and checked the route Tonks had drawn.
The common room fire had fallen to embers.
The Fat Lady opened after Matthew gave the password in a whisper and complained that no civilised student should be awake at such an hour.
Matthew followed Tonks's directions through silent corridors.
Hogwarts before sunrise felt different. Without students, the castle's age became more visible. Torchlight rested against worn steps. Stone figures watched from alcoves. Paintings slept with curtains drawn across their frames.
The eastern courtyard lay beyond a narrow arch beside the Charms staircase.
Tonks had described it accurately.
The floor was level. A stone roof sheltered most of it from the rain. Ivy climbed the outer columns, and the first grey light of morning touched the open side facing the grounds.
A weathered statue stood in one corner holding a stone apple.
Matthew regarded it cautiously.
The statue did not move.
He placed his folded training mat upon the ground.
Before beginning, he recorded the condition of his body in a small notebook. The pressure behind his right eye was moderate. His right shoulder remained tight after the journey. His leg carried stiffness but no sharp pain. The curse line near his heart was warm rather than burning.
Matthew stood in the centre of the mat.
He breathed.
The castle's magic pressed around him, immense and layered. It did not feel like the family current beneath the Knight house. Hogwarts held thousands of spells, generations of emotion, old protections, forgotten repairs, and the residue of everyone who had ever believed the castle belonged to them.
Matthew did not attempt to draw upon it.
He began the form.
His hands rose slowly as his weight settled through his feet. He turned, allowed the movement to pass through his centre, and guided it into the damaged right side without forcing range that was not there.
The golden current answered.
It moved more strongly than it had on the train.
Warmth travelled from beneath his ribs, crossed his shoulder, descended the arm, and returned through his centre toward the weakened leg. The current followed the paths martial discipline had built across years of repetition.
It did not make him stronger in the way Gareth described strength.
It made him more whole.
The ward-cloth carried the movement with him. Its seams warmed where pressure gathered, released tension around the shoulder, and allowed the lower panels to settle without twisting around his knees.
Matthew completed the first sequence.
A small stone struck the mat beside his foot.
He looked toward the statue.
Its stone apple remained in one hand. The other had shifted slightly.
Matthew returned to the form.
Another pebble flew toward his shoulder.
He turned and redirected it with the back of his wrist rather than catching it.
The statue's carved face appeared offended.
"You were warned that I intended to train here," Matthew said.
The statue threw two stones.
Matthew stepped between them.
"That does not improve your argument."
A sound came from the arch.
Aidan stood there wearing one shoe, carrying the other, and looking both exhausted and delighted.
"I knew you were going somewhere."
Matthew lowered his hands.
"You followed me."
"I woke when your trunk clicked. I waited until you left because Elara says people reveal more when they believe they are not being watched."
"That is an alarming interpretation of her advice."
Aidan entered the courtyard and looked toward the statue.
"Does it always throw rocks?"
"It appears to object to being ignored."
The statue threw a pebble at Aidan.
He ducked badly.
Matthew redirected the stone before it struck the wall.
Aidan stared.
"You moved before I saw it."
"I saw the statue's shoulder change."
"That looked like magic."
"It was observation supported by movement."
"Was the gold under your skin magic?"
Matthew looked down.
A faint line of warmth remained visible beneath the scar crossing his right hand.
"Yes, it was."
Aidan's expression lost its humour.
"Does it hurt?"
"Sometimes."
"Why do you keep doing this if it hurts?"
Matthew considered the question.
"Because not moving hurts more. The magic inside me spent years trying to keep damaged parts alive while most of it was sealed away. Martial training gives it structure. I am not learning to fight because I want to become strong enough to hurt people. I am strengthening my body so that my magic has a better chance of healing what can still be healed."
Aidan looked at the scars visible above Matthew's wrist.
"My cousins say martial arts are for winning fights."
"Winning a fight is sometimes necessary. It is not large enough to become a life."
The first light of sunrise entered the courtyard.
Aidan placed his second shoe on the ground.
"May I watch?"
"You may watch quietly. If you want instruction later, we will establish proper rules."
Aidan sat against one column.
Matthew resumed his stance.
He breathed until the current steadied.
Then he moved beneath the awakening sky while Hogwarts watched from every window, portrait, ward, and ancient stone.
He did not train to become a weapon.
He trained to become a body his magic could safely inhabit, a shield that could move, and a person strong enough to protect others without turning protection into another form of harm.
Inside his sealed trunk in Gryffindor Tower, the Study Leaf opened by itself.
A line of gold appeared beneath the locked page of the Knight Body Art.
FIRST HOGWARTS PRACTICE RECORDED.
PURPOSE REMAINS CORRECT.
THE NEXT DOOR REMAINS CLOSED.
The words did not disappoint the Grimoire.
They were not a refusal.
They were a promise that the door existed, that progress could reach it, and that Matthew would not need to break himself against it before he was ready.
In Dartford, Hermione's linked book warmed on her bedside table.
She opened it to a new message written in Matthew's hand.
I found the courtyard. The floor is level, the air is cold, and the statue throws stones when ignored. Training helped. Aidan followed me and is currently observing.
Hermione stared at the page.
Then she wrote:
You have been at Hogwarts for less than one night, and you have already found a hostile statue and acquired a witness.
Matthew's reply appeared a moment later.
The statue is not hostile. It is argumentative.
Hermione closed her eyes.
When she opened them, another line had appeared.
I am all right. The golden current moved cleanly.
Her expression softened.
She rested one hand against the page.
Then she answered:
Good. Keep moving carefully. I am still here.
The message crossed the distance between them.
Matthew read it beneath the stone arches as the sun rose over Hogwarts.
The castle had sorted him.
The Hat had remembered him.
The deeper magic of his family remained locked.
None of that made him alone.