Julien gave the wand a few experimental waves. It felt like an extension of his arm—far smoother and more responsive than the old French willow he'd been practising with.
"How much?" he asked eagerly, already reaching for his money pouch.
"Seven Galleons," Ollivander replied, then added with a mischievous glint in his silver eyes, "but you must promise me one thing. If you ever come across a lost wand, bring it back. They… get homesick too."
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. You'll understand when it happens." Ollivander was clearly a master of cryptic answers.
The girl stepped closer then, staring at his wand for a long moment. "...It's quite special," she admitted at last, then added with a small huff, "Mine will still be better, though."
"We'll see when you find it," Julien said with a grin.
"I will." She lifted her chin, but the hostility had vanished from her eyes, replaced by quiet curiosity.
As they passed each other at the door, she murmured, "Isabella Rosier. See you at Hogwarts."
"See you at Hogwarts, Isabella Rosier," Julien answered.
Neither of them knew that years later—one studying ancient runes in a Gryffindor tower, the other brewing antidotes in a Slytherin dungeon—they would become each other's most trusted allies.
---
September 1st, 1991. King's Cross Station, London.
Morning sunlight poured generously over Charing Cross Road and lit up Caelum Julien Black's brand-new tailored suit.
He hadn't worn the "tactical" Hogwarts robes today. First impressions mattered, and Julien considered himself a low-key, understated kind of person.
(His primary-school classmate Léa: "Show-off!"
His friend Thomas: "Total poser!")
He pushed a modest-looking suitcase. It appeared smaller than twenty inches, but Grandpa had somehow acquired a surplus model reinforced with an Undetectable Extension Charm. Inside were his school robes, textbooks, cauldron, guitar, vernier callipers, a few "regulated" knives, and other personal items.
He'd also packed Grandpa Alphard's special "anti-motion-sickness mints" (allegedly soaked in moonlight) and three of Grandma Élodie's sandwiches—"Train food is all magically conjured; it won't keep you full!"
His parents stood nearby. Clara's eyes were a little red, while Altair kept his back ramrod straight, trying to hide his reluctance behind a businessman's calm.
They had read enough in the past few weeks to know their son was heading to a castle full of biting books, talking hats, ghosts, and possibly trolls that might crawl out of the dungeons at any moment.
"You really don't need to worry," Grandpa Alphard said softly. "Hogwarts is the safest place in all of Europe. Dumbledore is there."
"Remember, Julien," his father whispered one last time, making sure Grandpa couldn't hear, "I don't trust that Dumbledore fellow. If anyone bullies you, forget the magic Grandpa taught you—use the fighting moves I showed you."
"Got it, Dad." Julien patted his slim chest. "Don't worry."
"At least one letter every week!" Clara called after him as he started walking, her voice cracking slightly.
Julien smiled, shook his head, and waved. He was just about to head toward the famous barrier between platforms 9 and 10 when his peripheral vision caught a figure that didn't belong.
In the middle of the bustling crowd stood a girl about his age, completely out of place.
She wore a thick cloak made of dark animal hide and coarse linen, edged with tiny bone charms and feathers. It covered her from head to toe. Her skin was almost unnaturally pale, with a faint flush on her cheeks as if from cold wind. Long silver-white hair was braided in an intricate Nordic style and fell over her chest.
But what truly stood out were her eyes—ice-blue, clear, wary, and a little lost, like a snow fox that had wandered into human territory.
She clutched a long, hide-wrapped bundle to her chest, glancing around nervously, obviously searching for something but too afraid to ask anyone for help.
Julien's steps faltered. Ever since the Magical Resonance Library had appeared in his mind, he could sense magical fluctuations around him.
This girl radiated a strange aura—not the contained power of a normal witch, but something wild and ancient that blended with the air, the light, even the emotions of the crowd. It felt primal, old, and carried a faint chill.
He walked over, keeping his smile friendly and non-threatening. "Hello," he said clearly but gently. "Are you looking for platform 9¾?"
The girl's head snapped up. Surprise flashed in those ice-blue eyes, quickly replaced by caution. She studied him carefully, gaze lingering on the Hogwarts crest already pinned to his chest.
"…Yes." Her voice was cool, with the faintest Nordic accent—like a stream flowing under ice. "But I can't find the entrance. The… heat here is confusing me." She frowned uncomfortably, as if the warmth radiating from all the Muggles around her was almost unbearable.
"Don't worry, it's simple. See that barrier between platforms 9 and 10?" Julien smiled. "Just push your trolley and run straight at it. Trust me—you won't crash."
"Run at the wall?" The northern girl's eyes filled with doubt. "You've done this before?"
"Actually… first time for me too," Julien admitted, scratching his head sheepishly. "But I'm pretty sure it works."
Her suspicion deepened. She took a small step back.
Just as the awkward silence stretched, a bright voice called from behind them.
They turned. An East Asian girl had appeared. She had a graceful, athletic build, pulling a sleek silver-grey leather suitcase. Her hair was soft light gold, like wheat kissed by sunlight, tied in a low ponytail with a few strands framing her smooth forehead. Gentle brows, slightly upturned eyes, and a warm smile that created faint dimples.
She wore a simple white blouse, light-blue jeans, and a beige knit cardigan, with a delicate cherry-blossom pin at the collar that perfectly matched her serene, quietly elegant Eastern charm.
Julien noticed colourful stickers on her suitcase—raven patterns and a tiny winged golden ball (a Golden Snitch?).
"Are you two first-years heading to Hogwarts?" Her voice was clear and musical, like wind chimes. "Having trouble finding the platform?"
"Y-yes… we… we're both new here." For the first time in either of his lives, Julien found himself slightly tongue-tied in front of an East Asian girl. (Definitely not because she was beautiful.)
"I'm Cho Chang." She smiled and extended her hand, fingers cool. "You look like you could use some help. Come on—follow me."