And there you were. Standing at the edge of it all with a single trunk and the sort of stillness that made people glance twice—once for the beauty, and once for the way you seemed to be listening to something far away that no one else could hear.

The auror escorting you gave a polite nod and disappeared back toward the muggle world without a word. Good riddance, I thought. Your father's men had been watching you like hawks since the moment you'd landed in Heathrow, but they hadn't expected you to walk so calmly onto platform nine and three-quarters. They hadn't expected anything, really. They never did.

The barrier shimmered at your approach, and then— chaos.

A loud, screeching laugh split the air as a small red-headed boy shot past on a toy broom, narrowly missing your shoulder. His mother's voice cut through the din, sharp and frazzled.

I could feel their gazes, of course. I always felt them. You didn't flinch. You never did.

A girl with sleek blonde hair and a face like a winter's morning broke from the crowd, her robes already buttoned, her expression unreadable. She looked you up and down and then, to her credit, didn't blink.

None of them spoke. They just watched, like you were a puzzle box they were dying to take apart.

The train whistled. Daphne glanced back at it, then at you, something flickering in her eyes— not quite curiosity, not quite pity.