HP: Ravenclaw's Obscurus Prodigy

King's Cross Station stood at the heart of London, a bustling nexus for all of England's travelers.

It was still early, and the crowds had yet to swell. Wyzett made his way into the station without trouble. After asking for directions several times, he finally found the way to Platform Nine.

The closer he drew to Platform Nine, the more clusters of families appeared. They all looked like parents sending their children off—but their outfits were nothing short of extraordinary.

Some wore colors so bright they could have been borrowed from a circus. Others sported wild combinations: a thick winter coat on top, shorts on the bottom. And then there was the stubbly, balding man in a flowery dress—clearly a stranger to both fashion and occasion.

Yet, despite their outlandish looks, they all performed the same peculiar act: approaching the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, then vanishing into it as if swallowed whole.

A sharply dressed Muggle man, curiosity etched on his face, stepped forward to investigate. He reached out, fingertips brushing the stone—just as a burly wizard in a pleated skirt appeared, brandishing his wand and muttering under his breath.

A flash of magic—and the Muggle's eyes went wide with panic. He bolted from the station at a sprinter's pace, leaving only confusion in his wake.

Wyzett wiped the sweat from his brow. Where would he even begin to explain all this?

It was all so wonderfully, impossibly strange.

A cheerful voice chimed in beside him. "Honestly, Muggle Studies should be a core subject for every year—not just an elective."

The speaker was an Asian girl, her features delicate, shoulder-length black hair framing her face, a few freckles scattered across her nose. She wore a sky-blue hoodie with two dark blue T's emblazoned on the front, and she pulled a suitcase in one hand while holding an old-fashioned broomstick in the other.

The broom was in immaculate condition—clearly never used for sweeping, its handle and twigs gleaming with a fresh coat of varnish.

"You're Wyzett, aren't you? You look familiar—I saw you on the front page of The Daily Prophet nearly every day last month."

She flashed a bright smile. "I'm Cho Chang—Ravenclaw."

Wyzett nodded. "Nice to meet you, Cho Chang."

"Likewise!" she replied. "Come on, let's go. Just walk straight through—the Ministry only bothers to chase off Muggles."

"Ministry officials…" Wyzett gestured at the burly man in the pleated skirt. "That's their uniform?"

"Right? It's baffling, isn't it?" Cho shook her head, exasperated. "That's why I keep saying: Muggle Studies should be required. And someone really needs to update the syllabus."

She glanced down at her own outfit. "Look at me—I'm wearing a Tutshill Tornadoes kit and carrying a broomstick. No one even bats an eye. Muggles are much more accepting these days."

"Can you believe it? It's 1991, and the Muggle Studies curriculum still thinks Muggles live like it's the 1700s. It's honestly ridiculous."

Cho picked up her pace, chatting as she strode straight into the barrier and vanished.

Wyzett followed close behind. For a split second, darkness enveloped him—then he stumbled out onto a bright, bustling platform.

Behind him, the station hall was gone. Above, a wrought-iron archway bore a sign: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Whoo-whoo-whoo…

A deep crimson steam engine, decked out in all the grandeur of the Victorian era, stood at the platform. In truth, this locomotive really was a relic of that time—"requisitioned" by the Ministry of Magic for wizarding use.

Back then, the Minister for Magic was Ottaline Gambol. Determined to guarantee the safety of Hogwarts students, she'd spearheaded a massive operation—one that involved 167 Memory Charms and the largest Concealment Spell in British history—to create Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

The steam engine itself had been transformed, converted from coal and water to pure magical energy. It was now the legendary Hogwarts Express.

The platform buzzed with life. White magical steam curled overhead. Pets of every description darted between trunks and ankles. Parents pressed up to the train windows, showering their children with last-minute advice. The kids nodded furiously, eager to board.

Wyzett activated his Oculus Magicae—and was nearly overwhelmed. Ancient magic thrummed through the platform, silver-blue energy so thick it was almost visible.

He focused, and the tide of magic surged toward him. In his mind, The Wizard's Practical Combat Guide flipped open to the fourth page.

Ancient Magic: Refinement (Basic): Guide Ancient Magic to refine spells… increase magical power… add special spell effects…

Unlike the Shield Charm, this Refinement magic couldn't be used on its own—it had to be woven into other spells. But the effects were practical and powerful: greater strength, new magical properties.

In the weeks before school, Wyzett had spent every spare moment studying The Wizard's Practical Combat Guide, learning the intricacies of Ancient Magic.

From a Muggle perspective, this notebook was like a list of "special skills"—unique abilities or SP moves, completely unlike the standard wizarding curriculum.

From the very first Shield Charm to the Oculus Magicae he'd unlocked in Diagon Alley, everything pointed to a different kind of magic—a deeper, older force.

Especially with the appearance of Refinement magic, his suspicions were confirmed.

The notebook described two sources of Ancient Magic:

One, drawn from the Obscurus, could be wielded directly for spellcasting.

The other, even more mysterious, originated from ancient magical structures—buildings steeped in magic and time. Their power could be absorbed to strengthen his Oculus Magicae or unlock new secrets in the guide.

"Pretty breathtaking, isn't it?" Cho Chang's voice broke through his reverie. "The first time I came here, I was gobsmacked. You only see trains like this in museums."

The front carriages were already packed. Some students played in the corridors, others crammed in last-minute homework, and a few lounged about, chatting idly.

"Why'd you bring a toad? Is that the new trend?" someone asked nearby.

"He's called Trevor. My great-uncle gave him to me—he was thrilled I turned out magical…"

"Are you sure he was thrilled? Not something else? Who still keeps toads as pets these days?"

…

Cho was nothing if not energetic. She led Wyzett to the middle of the train, finding an empty compartment. Together, they hefted their trunks onto the rack.

"Anyone still doing homework now? That's a Gryffindor for you," she said with a grin.

"How can you tell?" Wyzett asked, genuinely curious.

He didn't know much about Hogwarts—he had Hogwarts: A History in his mind, but he hadn't had a chance to read it.

Cho pulled out a cloth and polished her already gleaming broomstick. "From what I've seen, Gryffindors always pack their summers full—adventures, Quidditch, you name it. Homework's always the last thing on their minds."

Wyzett couldn't help but laugh. "So the night before term, it's a choice between sleep or finishing homework?"

Cho giggled. "Exactly! That's it in a nutshell!"

Just then, a Black boy popped his head in, holding out a bulging pocket. "Hey, mate! Mind if I copy your homework? I've got a bag of African fire spiders—let you hold one if you say yes!"

[Author's note: In the original books, Cho Chang is described as a pretty Asian girl—just clarifying.]

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