HP: Dragon's Coffin

TThe Interiorior of the Hogwarts Express was warm and bustl,ing with students finding compartments and greeting familiar faces. The chatter and laughter felt distant to Ladon as he moved through the narrow hallway, his presence commanding attention without a word. Several students glanced his way, whispering as they caught sight of his sharp features, elegant attire, and the mysterious glow in his dragon-like eyes.

He found an empty compartment near the back of the train and stepped inside. Hesper leaped gracefully from his shoulder and curled up on the seat across from him, her wings twitching slightly as she made herself comfortable. Ladon stowed his trunk above the seat and settled into the corner by the window, his gaze drifting to the sprawling landscape outside as the train began to pull away from the station.

The platform disappeared in a cloud of steam, and the city skyline faded as they ventured into the countryside. The rhythmic hum of the train was soothing, but Ladon's thoughts were anything but calm.

This is it, he thought. The next chapter.

He traced his fingers absently over the Ophiuchus ring, feeling its ancient power thrumming beneath his skin—a reminder of who he was and what he represented. The faint pulse was steady, almost like a heartbeat.

With a quiet exhale, Ladon muttered a single word in the draconic tongue: "Shol'nara."

The air shimmered faintly, and a soft ripple spread across the compartment. The magic settled like an invisible barrier, soundproofing the room. No sound would escape, nor would any unwanted noise enter. The rest of the train might as well not exist.

Satisfied with the spell, Ladon reached into his satchel and pulled out a leather-bound book titled The Alchemist's Legacy: The Life and Research of Nicolas Flamel. The pages were edged with gold leaf, and the cover bore the faint impression of a philosopher's symbol.

He opened the book to the chapter he had left off at—the Origins of the Philosopher's Stone. Theories about alchemical transmutation filled the pages, and yet Ladon wasn't merely interested in the legends. He sought to understand Flamel's brilliance—what drove the man to defy time and become more than mortal.

Ladon shifted, getting comfortable in his seat. He crossed his left leg over his right and rested his cheek against his palm, his silver hair falling slightly over his eyes. The posture was effortless, yet regal. It was the kind of grace that wasn't practiced—it was inherited, something woven into his very being.

Hesper stirred slightly from her perch but didn't move, content to watch her master in quiet fascination.

In the soft light of the compartment, Ladon looked every inch the young prince—a boy surrounded by history, magic, and purpose, yet already burdened by a destiny far greater than his years. The scarlet curtains swayed gently with the movement of the train, but all was still and serene within his private world.

He turned the page, his dragon-like eyes scanning the ancient text with calm precision. Outside, the rolling hills of the countryside blurred past, but within the quiet confines of the spell, there was only the rustle of pages and the low hum of arcane knowledge.

No one disturbed him, and he preferred it that way. For now, there was only the journey—both within the book and toward the destiny that awaited him at Hogwarts.

"Alchemy is not simply the art of creation but the mastery of transformation," Ladon read silently, his dragon-like eyes narrowing as he absorbed the words. "One must understand the essence of all things to reshape them."

He traced his finger over a diagram of alchemical symbols, their meanings etched into his memory from previous studies. The Philosopher's Stone was a symbol of ultimate mastery over life and death.

Ladon closed the book momentarily, his gaze drifting out the window to the rolling green hills and forests beyond. If Nicolas Flamel could defy the laws of mortality... perhaps there is a way to defy fate itself.

The faint glimmer of his ring caught his eye. Its intricate, draconic design seemed to pulse faintly in response to his thoughts—a reminder of his inheritance and the responsibility it carried. The Ophiuchus family legacy was steeped in mysteries far older than even Flamel's work, and Ladon knew his journey would take him to the edges of what most wizards dared not touch.

A soft knock came at the compartment door, barely audible against the silence spell. Ladon's gaze flicked toward the sound. With a quiet word, "Fjare," the barrier dissolved. The familiar hum of the train and the distant noise of the corridor returned.

The door slid open, revealing a boy with tousled red hair and dark eyes that sparkled with mischief. He was holding a small bundle of sweets from the trolley, the faint scent of chocolate wafting into the compartment. His tie was slightly crooked, and he had the air of someone who always found trouble—or maybe it found him.

"Simeon Prewett," the boy announced, his grin wide and his voice confident. "First year. Same as you, I presume? Mind if I sit? All the other compartments are packed."

Ladon regarded him with a measured look, taking in the roguish demeanor and the slight swagger in his step. After a moment, he exhaled quietly and returned to his book. "Ladon King. You may as well come in," he muttered.

Simeon didn't need to be told twice. He plopped down on the seat opposite Ladon with a satisfied grin, unwrapping a chocolate frog and popping it into his mouth before the enchanted creature could leap away.

Hesper lifted her head, blinking at the newcomer with faint curiosity before chirping softly and curling back into her nap.

Simeon's eyes widened as he noticed her wings. "Blimey, that's not just any cat, is it?" he asked, leaning forward. "Where'd you get a familiar like that?"

Ladon didn't look up from his book. "I didn't," he replied coolly. "She found me."

Simeon whistled, impressed. "Fascinating," he said, tossing a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean into his mouth. He winced. "Ugh—soap."

Ladon raised a brow but didn't comment.

Simeon shrugged and leaned back, watching Ladon with an almost lazy curiosity. "So… what's your story?" he asked after a moment. "You're not exactly blending in, you know."

Ladon finally looked up, closing his book with deliberate slowness. "There's nothing to tell," he said, his voice even.

Simeon smirked. "Everyone's got a story," he insisted, tossing another bean in his mouth and making a face. "Ugh, spinach. Anyway, you've got that whole brooding prince vibe going on. Silver hair, black eyes, the works. If I didn't know better, I'd say you walked out of some old legend."

Ladon's eyes narrowed slightly. "And if I didn't know better, I'd say you don't know when to be quiet."

Simeon laughed, unfazed. "Fair enough. I can be quiet." He paused as if considering something. "But I'm not great at it."

Ladon felt an unexpected tug at the corner of his mouth, almost a smile. Almost.

Simeon leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. "So, Hogwarts, huh? I've got a few cousins who go there. They all say it's brilliant. I'm guessing you're aiming for Slytherin with all that presence?"

Ladon tilted his head slightly. "Perhaps."

Simeon raised a brow. "Huh. I pegged you for Ravenclaw or something mysterious. But I suppose ambition suits you."

Ladon didn't reply, but something about Simeon's blunt yet warm demeanor felt… different. It wasn't forced or laced with pretense.

After a few moments of silence, Simeon spoke again, softer this time. "You know, it's okay not to be mysterious all the time."

Ladon's dragon-like eyes met Simeon's, flickering with something unreadable. "And it's okay not to fill the silence with endless chatter."

Simeon laughed again, the sound light and infectious. "Touché."

The compartment fell into a comfortable quiet after that, the train rumbling softly as it sped toward its destination. Ladon returned to his book, and Simeon quietly munched on his sweets, occasionally stealing glances at Hesper, who stretched out her wings and let out a soft purr.

For the first time in a long while, Ladon didn't mind the company.

Another knock echoed at the compartment door, interrupting the comfortable quiet. Ladon sighed inwardly, but with a calm word—"Enter"—he beckoned whoever was outside. The door slid open to reveal a girl who looked like she had stepped out of a storybook.

She had long, sleek black hair that shimmered faintly in the light, falling over her shoulders in gentle waves. Her eyes were a striking shade of bluish-purple, like twilight skies, and there was a delicate dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks that made her seem both regal and approachable. She wore her Hogwarts robes neatly, the edges slightly embroidered with silver thread—a su, subtle but elegant touch.

"Hello," she greeted with a soft, melodic voice. "I'm Philomena Avery. May I join you both?"

Simeon straightened immediately, flashing a charming grin. "Of course! More the merrier."

Ladon's gaze lingered on her for a moment as if assessing her. He nodded once and gestured to the empty seat across from him, next to Simeon. "Go ahead."

Philomena smiled warmly as she stepped in and set her bag down carefully before taking a seat. She folded her hands primly in her lap but glanced curiously at the group. Her eyes flitted to Hesper, who was curled lazily on the seat. The winged cat's ears twitched as though acknowledging her presence.

"Is that… a chimera familiar?" Philomena asked, wonder in her voice.

Ladon inclined his head slightly. "Yes," he lied. "Her name is Hesper."

Philomena's smile widened as she observed Hesper. "She's stunning. I didn't know anyone was allowed to bring chimera familiars to Hogwarts."

Ladon shrugged, returning to his book. "Exceptions can be made for the right reasons." He was told that technically, Hesper was a cat, one of the three animals allowed to accompany the students to Hogwarts. She just has something extra.

Simeon leaned in, still grinning. "Philomena, huh? That's a name you don't hear every day. Sounds posh."

Philomena chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling. "My family has a thing for traditional names. And you are…?"

"Simeon Prewett," he said, extending his hand. "First-year. Charming troublemaker. And occasional conversationalist."

She shook his hand politely but laughed. "I can see that. By any chance, are you a member of the Prewett family?"

Simeon chuckled. "Yeah, my dad was Gideon Prewett. Apparently, he was pretty famous before he died. However, I can't consider myself part of the Prewett family, since my mum and I have been staying with family in Ireland." Simeon nudged Ladon playfully. "And this mysterious bloke is Ladon King. He's quiet, brooding, and possibly royalty. Still figuring that out."

Ladon gave Simeon a sidelong glance. "Must you?"

"Yes," Simeon said cheerfully. "It's my charm."

Philomena laughed again before looking at Ladon. "It's nice to meet you, Ladon. And you too, Simeon."

Ladon inclined his head in acknowledgment but remained mostly silent. Simeon, however, took up the slack, launching into a story about his family's infamous pranks involving enchanted biscuits that turned people into canaries for five minutes.

Philomena listened, engaged but occasionally stealing glances at Ladon, as though trying to unravel the quiet boy with obsidian-like eyes who seemed so different from anyone she'd met.

The train rumbled on as the three first-years settled into an odd but comfortable dynamic.