Chapter 24: A Farewell Under the Morning Sun
The golden morning light spilled through the tall windows of Montclair Manor, illuminating the grand entrance hall in soft hues of amber and silver. The mansion, always exuding an aura of nobility, felt different today—not with the weight of duty, but with an unspoken melancholy.
For today, Celeste de Montclair and Atharv Mishra were leaving for Hogwarts.
At the heart of the hall, a golden pocket watch rested atop a velvet cushion—their Portkey to Britain. The moment they touched it, their lives would change.
The preparations had been meticulous. House-elves had ensured that every last item was packed, every travel robe perfectly arranged. The Montclair stewards stood by, offering silent respect, knowing that this day marked something far greater than just a school departure.
Celeste stood near the grand staircase, her golden-blonde hair cascading in soft waves over her deep sapphire traveling cloak. The Montclair family crest gleamed in silver embroidery at her chest. Her sapphire-blue eyes, usually alight with mischief, held a quiet, bittersweet emotion.
Beside her, Atharv stood tall, dressed in an elegant midnight-blue robe embroidered with delicate silver threads that matched Celeste's. His ethereal white hair shimmered under the soft morning light, and his crimson eyes reflected a mixture of anticipation and understanding.
Resting on his shoulder was Ignis, his newborn phoenix, its fiery feathers flickering like embers. Nearby, Astrella, Celeste's snowy owl, hooted softly from her golden cage, sensing the emotions in the air.
Across from them, Laurent and Vivienne Montclair stood watching.
Laurent, the ever-dignified Duke of Montclair, was dressed in deep navy robes, his piercing sapphire gaze unreadable. Vivienne, in a flowing silver gown, exuded elegance, though her lightly clasped hands betrayed the silent worries of a mother.
Laurent stepped forward first. His gaze lingered on Celeste, his only daughter, memorizing every detail of her. Then, he turned to Atharv, the boy who had, in a short time, become one of their own.
"You both know what this means," Laurent spoke, his deep voice even, yet laced with the weight of expectation and trust. "You are not just students attending a foreign institution. You are Montclairs. And wherever you go, the world will watch."
Celeste's grip on her cloak tightened slightly, but she lifted her chin with quiet confidence. "We understand, Père."
Laurent nodded, satisfied, before stepping toward Atharv.
For a moment, he studied the boy—not just as a guardian, but as a man acknowledging another. Atharv had already proven himself in Laurent's eyes. He had seen his power, his intellect, his unwavering devotion to Celeste.
Finally, Laurent placed a firm hand on Atharv's shoulder.
"You have always been an anomaly, Atharv Mishra," Laurent murmured, his voice quieter now, meant only for Atharv to hear. "But you are no longer just a boy of unknown origins. You are one of us now."
Atharv met his gaze with unwavering crimson eyes. "And I will always honor that."
There was a beat of silence before Laurent gave a small nod—a rare moment of unspoken approval.
Vivienne, however, had no such reservations about sentimentality. She stepped forward gracefully, cupping Celeste's face in her hands before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
"My darling girl," she whispered, smoothing down a stray golden lock. "Be careful."
Celeste swallowed, her usual composure wavering for just a moment. "I will, Mère."
Vivienne turned to Atharv, and for the first time, the cold steel of her noble demeanor softened completely. "And you," she said, reaching forward to adjust the collar of his robe with the same tenderness she would show her own child, "must take care of each other."
Atharv, taken aback by the quiet warmth in her voice, inclined his head respectfully. "Always."
Celeste smiled softly at his words, and without hesitation, her hand found his. Their fingers intertwined, their grip natural and unbreakable.
Laurent watched the silent exchange before exhaling quietly. "Then let us not delay."
He gestured toward the golden pocket watch, their Portkey.
"You will arrive at the British Ministry of Magic first," Laurent continued. "From there, we will ensure your safe passage to King's Cross."
We.
Atharv blinked. "You're coming with us?"
Laurent gave him a look of mild amusement. "Of course."
Celeste let out a breath of relief, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "It wouldn't feel right if you weren't there."
Laurent merely smirked, while Vivienne chuckled softly. "It is not every day we send our children into a foreign land," she said. "Besides, I would like to see this British Ministry of Magic for myself."
A warmth spread through Atharv's chest. They were coming with them.
With a final glance at their home, Celeste, Atharv, Laurent, and Vivienne stepped forward.
Laurent took the golden pocket watch first, gripping it firmly. Celeste and Atharv reached out, their hands still entwined. Vivienne's fingers brushed against the cool metal last.
And then—
A sudden force yanked them forward, twisting space around them. Colors blurred, the weight of the Montclair estate vanishing in an instant.
The last thing they heard was the soft, familiar chime of the pocket watch—before they were gone.
The Portkey to King's Cross
A pull—swift and absolute—yanked them from the Montclair estate. The ground beneath them ceased to exist, replaced by a swirling golden mist that wrapped around them like threads of celestial silk. Their forms twisted, weightless yet steady, as the spell guided them across the vast distance between France and Britain.
For a brief moment, Celeste felt as though she were drifting among the stars, the golden mist parting like curtains of light. Time itself seemed to pause, stretching infinitely—before it all collapsed inward.
And then—
They landed.
Gracefully, their feet touched the polished marble floor of a hidden wizarding sector in London. The golden mist dissipated in delicate tendrils, fading into the air like whispered stardust.
They stood within the British Ministry of Magic, just beyond a concealed arrival chamber reserved for international diplomatic entries. The architecture, though grand, was darker and heavier than the elegance of France's Ministry. High ceilings loomed overhead, enchanted candlelight flickering in suspended chandeliers of obsidian and gold.
A hushed silence settled over the chamber.
Every wizard present froze, their conversations halting mid-sentence as their gazes snapped toward the newcomers.
Laurent Montclair—the Duke of Montclair, one of the wealthiest and most powerful figures in wizarding France—stood at the center of the chamber. At his side, Vivienne Montclair radiated a regal aura, her piercing gaze sweeping the hall with effortless poise.
But it was the two figures between them that truly captured everyone's attention.
Celeste de Montclair—heiress to one of the most distinguished wizarding bloodlines—was a vision of nobility, her golden-blonde hair cascading in flawless waves. Her sapphire-blue eyes, like rare gemstones, shimmered beneath the enchanted glow of the chandeliers.
And beside her stood Atharv Mishra, the boy who had already begun to leave his mark upon the world.
His white hair, his crimson eyes, the Phoenix perched on his arm—it was an image that seemed almost legendary. Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire.
"Is that… a Phoenix?"
"Who is he?"
"That's Atharv Mishra—the one who was betrothed to Lady Montclair!"
"He has a Phoenix—impossible! How can someone so young…"
The murmurs grew, but neither Celeste nor Atharv flinched. They were used to such attention—born into it, molded by it.
Laurent, unfazed, merely let the weight of his presence command silence once more.
"Let us proceed," he said, his voice carrying authority and finality.
The Ministry officials snapped to attention, rushing to assist in escorting the Montclair party toward King's Cross Station.
Celeste let out a soft breath, her hand slipping into Atharv's.
His grip was warm and steady.
With quiet amusement, he leaned toward her. "Did you expect anything less?"
She turned to him, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Of course not."
And with that, they walked forward together—toward the next step of their journey.
Toward Hogwarts.
The Hogwarts Express – A Grand Entrance
King's Cross Station was unlike any place Celeste had ever set foot in before. The rhythmic hustle of Muggles, the hurried calls of station attendants, and the distant echoes of train whistles wove together a world so utterly different from the one she knew.
She held herself with effortless poise, her sapphire-blue eyes flitting across the sea of moving bodies with quiet curiosity. She had read about the Muggle world in books, seen glimpses of it from afar, but being in the heart of it was an entirely different experience.
Atharv, in contrast, moved through the crowd with familiar ease. Having spent much of his life among Muggles, this place felt normal to him. He navigated the station with a quiet confidence, his white hair peeking from beneath his enchanted cloak, which subtly dampened the attention he would have otherwise drawn.
Behind them, Laurent and Vivienne Montclair walked with measured steps.
Their expressions were unreadable—not disgusted by the Muggle surroundings, but clearly unimpressed. They belonged to a society that had no need for this world, and it showed in their dignified restraint.
Vivienne adjusted the folds of her elegant traveling cloak, glancing at a passing Muggle man fumbling with his luggage. She did not sneer or scoff—she merely observed, uninterested.
Laurent, ever the composed patriarch, murmured to his wife, "It is fascinating how they manage with so little."
"A world without magic," Vivienne mused, her voice neutral. "A life half-lived, in a way."
"They survive in their own way," Atharv interjected lightly, a small smirk playing at his lips. "You have to admit, it's impressive."
Laurent gave him a sidelong glance, neither agreeing nor refuting his words. "Perhaps," he admitted. "But what is impressive does not always concern us."
It was a pureblood's perspective, yet not one of hatred.
Celeste remained silent, taking in the experience rather than forming an opinion just yet. This world was so different from her own—yet it was Atharv's. And for that reason alone, she wanted to understand it better.
As they reached the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, Celeste finally turned to Atharv.
"We walk through?" she asked, eyeing the solid-looking wall.
He nodded, extending his hand toward her. "Together."
She instantly took his hand.
With Laurent and Vivienne watching, their fingers intertwined, and they stepped through the barrier in unison.
The World of Magic – Platform 9
The moment they emerged on the other side, it was as though they had stepped into another world entirely.
The Hogwarts Express, a magnificent scarlet steam engine, sat proudly on the tracks, hissing tendrils of white smoke into the air. The platform was alive with students and families, voices mingling in an excited cacophony. Trunks were being loaded, owls hooted from their cages, and young witches and wizards laughed, hugged, and hurried about.
Yet, the moment Celeste and Atharv arrived, the atmosphere shifted.
Whispers began immediately.
Heads turned, eyes widened, and hushed voices rippled through the crowd like wildfire.
"That's Celeste de Montclair!"
"The Montclair heiress? What's she doing here?"
"And who is he? He's… different."
"That's Atharv Mishra—the boy from France! The one who tamed a Phoenix!"
And indeed, sitting regally on Atharv's shoulder was a creature of legend.
The Phoenix.
Its brilliant red-and-gold feathers shimmered under the light, its eyes burning with intelligence. The creature's presence alone was enough to command awe and reverence, for Phoenixes were exceedingly rare—and even rarer still was the bond between man and beast.
The murmurs grew. Older students exchanged glances, recognizing the weight of the Montclair name. Pureblood families whispered amongst themselves, some with admiration, others with envy. Even a few Hogwarts professors, standing near the train, took immediate notice.
Laurent and Vivienne stood back, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement. They had expected this.
Celeste, ever the composed aristocrat, merely lifted her chin with quiet confidence, maintaining an air of effortless grace.
Atharv, however, sighed. "It's going to be like this all year, isn't it?"
Celeste glanced up at him with a soft smile. "You were the one who brought a Phoenix."
Atharv chuckled. "Fair point."
Despite the attention, Celeste tightened her grip around his arm, as if anchoring herself to him.
Atharv glanced down at her. "Are you alright?"
She met his gaze, sapphire eyes meeting crimson. "I have you by my side."
The words settled something deep within him, grounding him amidst the weight of so many eyes.
Laurent finally spoke, placing a firm but warm hand on Celeste's shoulder. "You should board. The train will leave soon."
Celeste hesitated for a brief second before stepping forward. She turned to her parents, her expression softening ever so slightly.
Vivienne smoothed a strand of golden-blonde hair from Celeste's face, a rare motherly gesture. "Write often."
Celeste gave a small nod, then turned to her father. "I'll make you proud."
Laurent's lips curled in a knowing smirk. "You already have."
Vivienne's Unspoken Love
Atharv, meanwhile, turned toward the Montclair patriarch and matriarch.
Laurent regarded him with sharp eyes, but this time, there was something deeper than simple calculation. There was approval. Pride.
Atharv had proven himself worthy in many ways—his strength, his magic, his presence beside Celeste. He was not just some foreign boy who had entered their lives. He was family.
Laurent's firm hand landed on Atharv's shoulder, an uncommon gesture from the head of the Montclair family.
"Watch over her," Laurent said, his voice softer than usual.
"I always do," Atharv replied simply.
For a long moment, Laurent said nothing, but then, a rare flicker of warmth touched his gaze. "Then go—and make the world know your name."
Vivienne, who had been standing quietly, suddenly stepped forward. She had always been the more distant of the two, more reserved in her affections, but now—she did something entirely unexpected.
Without hesitation, she cupped Atharv's face gently, her cool fingers resting against his porcelain skin.
Atharv froze.
Her touch was warm. A mother's touch.
She gazed at him for a long moment, her icy blue eyes uncharacteristically soft. Not calculating, not distant—soft.
Her hands smoothed over the folds of his cloak, adjusting them as though he were a child preparing for his first day of school.
"You must take care of yourself too," she murmured. Her voice, always refined and elegant, held something rare—tenderness.
Atharv felt something tighten in his throat.
It had been so long since someone had done this for him.
The smallest things—fixing a crease in his robes, touching his face with care—they had been his mother's gestures once.
The weight of memory struck him with quiet force. He could still remember his mother's hands, soft and delicate, adjusting his scarf in the winter, brushing back his hair when he was tired, holding his face between them when she reassured him.
She was gone.
Yet here, in this moment—Vivienne reminded him of her.
Not in looks, not in voice, but in the way she held him as if he were her own.
Because to her, he already was.
Atharv swallowed thickly, his crimson eyes flickering with emotion.
Vivienne studied him, her gaze unreadable for a moment before she leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
It was brief, fleeting—but it was enough.
Atharv stiffened.
His heart clenched.
Vivienne stepped back as if nothing had happened, resuming her usual elegant posture, but her eyes—they held a silent promise.
Laurent said nothing, but the faintest of smirks played at his lips. He had known for some time now—Vivienne had claimed Atharv as hers.
A mother's love. Reserved for him and him alone.
Atharv lowered his head slightly, not in submission, but in acknowledgment.
"…Thank you," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Vivienne said nothing, but the slightest, rarest of smiles graced her lips.
And then, with one last look, Atharv turned and stepped onto the grand Hogwarts Express beside Celeste.
The journey to Hogwarts had officially begun.
Aboard the Hogwarts Express – A Bond Eternal
The moment Atharv and Celeste stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, it felt as though they had stepped into another chapter of their story—one that carried the weight of both expectation and excitement.
Inside, the soft hum of chatter, the scent of aged wood, and the rhythmic chugging of the train created an atmosphere of warm anticipation.
They walked through the narrow corridor, their presence impossible to ignore.
Eyes followed them.
Whispers lingered in their wake.
"That's Celeste de Montclair…"
"The Montclair heiress? Here?"
"Who's the boy with her? He looks… different."
"That's Atharv Mishra—the one with the Phoenix!"
Atharv exhaled softly, his grip tightening slightly around Celeste's hand as they walked, the train swaying gently beneath their steps.
"Do you think this will ever stop?" he murmured.
Celeste glanced up at him, her sapphire-blue eyes shimmering with amusement.
"Not when you insist on making an entrance."
A smirk tugged at his lips. "So it's my fault?"
"You did bring a Phoenix."
He chuckled, shaking his head, but there was warmth in his gaze when he looked at her.
Eventually, they found an empty compartment bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun.
Atharv slid the door open with a small flourish, his crimson eyes gleaming mischievously.
"After you, princess."
Celeste rolled her eyes but gracefully stepped inside, her every movement fluid and refined.
Atharv followed, closing the door behind them before settling onto the seat. Instead of sitting across from her, he sat beside her, their shoulders brushing, a silent promise of companionship in the foreign land they were stepping into together.
The train jerked forward, beginning its journey toward Hogwarts.
Celeste let out a small breath and instinctively leaned against Atharv, her golden-blonde hair cascading over his shoulder.
For a moment, there was only the rhythmic chug of the train, the world outside rushing past in a blur of green fields and open sky.
Atharv glanced down at her, watching as her delicate fingers curled around his own, their hands now intertwined.
There was nothing forced or hesitant about it.
It was as natural as breathing.
A silent confession. A quiet truth.
She felt his warmth against her skin, the steady strength in his touch, and she knew—she had always known—that she belonged nowhere else but by his side.
Atharv squeezed her hand gently, his thumb running over the back of her fingers in a soft, absentminded motion.
It was a small gesture, but it meant everything.
Celeste lifted her gaze, sapphire-blue eyes meeting his crimson ones, a soft smile playing on her lips.
"You're mine, you know."
His smirk softened into something more sincere. "Always."
And with that, they let the world fade around them, finding comfort in each other's presence as the train carried them toward their destiny.
An Unwelcome Guest
The soft hum of the train, the rhythmic motion of the Hogwarts Express, and the warmth of their intertwined hands made the world outside their compartment fade away. Atharv and Celeste sat close, their bond unshaken by the murmurs and whispers of others.
However, peace is often short-lived in a world where names and bloodlines carry weight.
The door to their compartment slid open abruptly, revealing a pale-haired boy dressed in fine wizarding robes, his gray eyes sharp with curiosity. Draco Malfoy.
Behind him stood Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, his usual companions, though their presence was secondary to the intense gaze Draco fixed upon the pair before him.
For a moment, he simply stared—not in disdain, but in awe.
Celeste de Montclair, the perfect embodiment of aristocracy, sat poised yet comfortably against Atharv, her golden-blonde hair cascading like spun sunlight, her sapphire-blue eyes carrying an icy elegance.
Beside her, Atharv Mishra, the boy of two worlds, exuded an unshakable presence, his crimson eyes piercing, his very aura demanding respect.
Draco knew exactly who Atharv was.
"The famous Muggleborn singer from India—the one even purebloods secretly admire."
Yet, he hadn't expected this.
His gaze flickered between them, his curiosity turning into interest—then something else entirely when he noticed the way Celeste's fingers remained firmly intertwined with Atharv's.
A spark of realization struck him.
"She isn't just sitting with him. She's... close to him."
His lips parted slightly as he composed himself, stepping forward with the air of pureblood confidence.
"Celeste de Montclair." He gave a polite nod, before his gaze landed on Atharv. "And you—Atharv Mishra. I've heard of you."
Atharv leaned back lazily, his crimson eyes unreadable, though there was a knowing amusement beneath his gaze.
"Good things, I hope?"
Draco gave a smirk, but his focus remained on Celeste.
"It's fascinating, really. A Montclair at Hogwarts. My father will be pleased to hear that such an esteemed house still values our traditions." His voice was smooth, clearly rehearsed.
Celeste raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And why would Lord Malfoy care?"
Draco let out a small chuckle. "Because, dear Celeste, our families are alike in many ways. We come from the best of wizarding blood, and we must ensure that legacies such as ours remain... untainted."
His meaning was clear.
Atharv said nothing, but his grip on Celeste's hand tightened slightly.
Draco took a step closer, his voice lowering into a suggestive tone.
"In fact, I'm sure my father would be more than willing to arrange something—perhaps a betrothal?"
Celeste's expression turned cold in an instant.
Draco mistook her silence for consideration and smirked. "I believe we would make quite the pair, don't you think?"
That was his mistake.
Celeste's sapphire-blue eyes flashed dangerously as she spoke, her voice sharp as a blade.
"I am already betrothed."
Draco's smirk froze.
"…What?"
His gaze snapped toward Atharv, disbelief clouding his expression.
"To him?" His voice had an edge to it now, no longer charming—just irritated.
Atharv stayed silent, merely watching, waiting.
Draco's face twisted in anger.
"A Mudblood? How does a filthy Muggleborn get betrothed to a pureblood heiress?"
Celeste shot to her feet, fury radiating from her like an untamed storm.
"Do not—and I mean never—disgrace my love in my presence."
Draco flinched, the sheer force of her words slamming into him like a physical blow.
"He is mine, and I will always be his!" Celeste declared, her voice unwavering, carrying the weight of centuries of Montclair pride.
Draco's fists clenched, but before he could utter another insult, Atharv finally moved.
He rose to his feet with a slow grace, his crimson eyes gleaming with something dark and ancient.
The air in the compartment shifted.
A sudden pressure settled over Draco, heavy and suffocating—an unspoken command of dominance.
Atharv wasn't angry.
He was calm.
And that was precisely what made it so terrifying.
"I suggest you leave." His voice was quiet—deadly quiet.
Draco's breath caught.
For the first time, he felt something he would never admit aloud—fear.
His pride refused to let him back down completely, but his instincts screamed at him to leave.
With one last glare, he scoffed, stepping back.
"You'll regret this, Montclair."
Celeste laughed softly, but there was no humor in it—only disdain.
"Run along, Malfoy. Before you embarrass yourself further."
Draco whipped around and stormed off, his two lackeys following quickly behind.
The moment he was gone, Celeste exhaled sharply, her body still tense with rage.
Atharv reached for her hand, gently pulling her back onto the seat beside him.
His fingers brushed against her cheek in a comforting gesture, his voice soft, yet steady.
"He's not worth your anger."
She stared at him for a moment, then sighed, resting her forehead against his shoulder. "I just hate that people like him exist."
Atharv chuckled, pressing a light kiss against her temple. "Then it's a good thing you have me, isn't it?"
She smiled, her fingers finding his once more, entwining them like they were always meant to be.
And just like that, peace returned to their world—for now.
A New Companion
The rhythmic chugging of the Hogwarts Express filled the air, a steady, soothing sound that accompanied the distant hum of students laughing, chattering, and calling out to friends. The train was alive with excitement, yet for one boy, it was a struggle to find a place to belong.
Harry Potter wandered down the corridor, dragging his heavy trunk behind him, his small frame barely managing its weight. Every compartment he peeked into was full or too loud, occupied by groups of children who already seemed to know one another. He had never been surrounded by so many people before—at least, not people who looked at him with recognition, with whispers on their lips.
It was overwhelming.
Then, just as he was about to give up, he saw them.
Through the glass window of a quiet compartment, two figures sat together, bathed in the soft golden glow of the afternoon light.
They were unlike anyone he had ever seen.
The boy had porcelain-pale skin and white hair so pure it shimmered like silver silk, his crimson-red eyes holding a quiet depth that made it impossible to look away. Perched regally on his shoulder was something that could only be described as legendary—a Phoenix. Its resplendent red-and-gold feathers seemed to glow, its intelligent gaze surveying the world with ancient wisdom.
Beside him sat a girl so breathtakingly beautiful that she seemed almost unreal. Her golden-blonde hair cascaded in perfect waves, framing a face so ethereal it could have belonged to a painting. Her sapphire-blue eyes gleamed with quiet confidence, and the way she sat—graceful, poised—made her seem untouchable, like a princess from a storybook.
The air in the compartment felt different.
Something about them was… otherworldly.
For a moment, Harry hesitated. Would they even want him there?
Then, just as if the boy had sensed him, he turned—crimson eyes meeting green.
And he smiled.
A warm, genuine smile.
"Looking for a seat?"
Harry blinked, caught off guard by the kindness in his voice. "Yeah… everywhere else is full."
The girl studied him for a moment, then gave a small nod, as if silently deciding something.
"Then you're welcome here."
Harry hesitated, but when the boy stood up and reached for his trunk, his hesitation melted away.
"Here, let me help."
With surprising ease, he lifted the heavy trunk and placed it in the overhead rack.
Harry let out a breath. "Thanks… uh—"
"Atharv," the boy introduced himself smoothly before gesturing to the girl. "And this is Celeste."
Celeste inclined her head slightly, offering a small but elegant smile.
Harry sat opposite them, still processing everything.
Now that he was closer, he could see them even more clearly—and they looked even more unreal up close.
"Are all wizards this beautiful?"
His eyes flickered between them, trying to make sense of it.
Then, Celeste's gaze landed on his scar.
Her sapphire eyes widened slightly before she leaned in toward Atharv, her voice a soft, knowing whisper.
"It's him."
Atharv arched a delicate brow. "Him?"
Celeste nodded subtly, her voice almost reverent.
"Harry Potter."
Atharv's expression shifted, his crimson eyes studying Harry with renewed interest. "The one from the books in our library?"
Celeste nodded. "The Boy Who Lived."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Er… yeah. That's me."
Atharv tilted his head slightly. "Fascinating."
Celeste, ever perceptive, noticed the way Harry winced at the title.
"You don't seem fond of it."
Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't even know about any of this until yesterday."
Atharv and Celeste exchanged a glance.
The white-haired boy leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his legs. "So you grew up with Muggles, then?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah… my aunt and uncle. They never told me anything about magic."
Atharv exhaled softly, his gaze thoughtful. "That explains a lot."
Celeste, ever observant, caught the way Harry was still staring at them, as if trying to figure them out.
She smiled slightly. "You have questions, don't you?"
Harry hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I mean… you two… you look…"
He gestured vaguely, trying to find the words.
Celeste chuckled softly. "Like we belong in a different world?"
Harry nodded sheepishly.
Atharv smirked. "Technically, we do."
Celeste, sensing his curiosity, decided to explain.
"I am Celeste de Montclair, heiress to the Montclair family, one of the most powerful pureblood families in France."
Harry's eyebrows lifted slightly.
Atharv followed, a small, amused smile on his lips. "And I am Atharv Mishra—" he tilted his head, "Musician, Muggleborn, and recently betrothed."
Harry blinked. "Wait, betrothed?"
Celeste's fingers subtly intertwined with Atharv's, their hands resting comfortably between them.
"Yes. To him."
Harry stared at them for a long moment. "But… you're ten."
Atharv chuckled. "Eleven, actually."
Celeste's expression softened. "In our world, noble houses arrange engagements young. But ours is more than an arrangement. It's a choice."
Harry didn't fully understand, but there was something in the way they looked at each other—a silent understanding, an unbreakable bond.
"They act like they already belong to each other."
Then, something clicked in Harry's mind.
"Wait… Atharv Mishra? As in… the Atharv Mishra?"
Atharv blinked, confused. "Depends. How many do you know?"
Harry's eyes widened. "You're famous! Even in the Muggle world! I used to listen to your songs on Dudley's radio when he wasn't home. I—" He hesitated before finishing, "They always made me feel… at ease."
For a moment, Atharv was still.
Then, a genuine, heartfelt smile crossed his lips. "Thank you, Harry. That means more than you know."
Celeste, watching him, felt her heart swell with even more love for him—though she hadn't thought that was possible.
"Everything Atharv does… heals people in some way."
She squeezed his hand slightly, warmth in her sapphire gaze.
"He has that effect on people," she murmured fondly.
Atharv glanced at her, amusement flickering in his crimson eyes. "You're making me sound like some divine being."
Celeste smirked. "Aren't you?"
Harry watched their interaction, feeling strangely at ease.
For the first time in a long time… he wasn't alone.
And so, as the train moved forward, so did the beginning of a new friendship—one that would change fate itself.
The Start of a New Friendship
The train rumbled along the tracks, its rhythmic motion lulling the passengers into a quiet hum of conversation. Inside the small, peaceful compartment, Harry, Atharv, and Celeste had settled into an easy discussion, the initial awkwardness melting away as they got to know one another.
Harry, still wrapping his head around the magical world, found himself hanging onto every word Atharv and Celeste said.
"So… you guys grew up in the magical world?"
Celeste nodded gracefully. "I was born and raised in it. My family has been part of magical nobility for centuries."
Atharv, resting his cheek against his hand, smirked slightly. "I wasn't. I grew up in the Muggle world… though, I suppose my life was anything but normal there."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "That's an understatement. You're huge there. Even I knew who you were."
Atharv gave a small, amused shrug. "I suppose that means my time there wasn't wasted."
Celeste, ever the observant one, noticed how Atharv's tone, despite its lightness, carried a tinge of nostalgia. She reached out, subtly squeezing his hand in reassurance.
Just then, the door to their compartment slid open with a sudden whoosh.
A boy with messy red hair and a freckled face stood there, looking slightly awkward.
"Uh—hey. Everywhere else is full. Mind if I sit here?"
His eyes flickered around the compartment—and then landed on Celeste.
For a moment, Ron Weasley forgot how to breathe.
Bloody hell.
She was… stunning.
Not just in the normal "pretty girl" kind of way—but in an untouchable, ethereal way. Like she had stepped out of some enchanted fairy tale, and he was some peasant who had mistakenly wandered into her kingdom.
Then his gaze shifted to Atharv—and he nearly did a double take.
How the hell can a guy be that good-looking?
He looked like a prince from one of Ginny's old fairy tale books, with his flawless pale skin, silver-white hair, and those piercing red eyes. And the phoenix on his shoulder? That just sealed the deal.
Ron swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very, very plain.
Still, he forced himself to snap out of it and cleared his throat.
"Uh, so… can I sit here or…?"
Atharv, noticing his nervousness, gave him an easy smile. "Of course. There's space."
Celeste nodded politely, and Ron, feeling a bit out of place, slid into the seat beside Harry.
For a few moments, he said nothing, still processing the fact that he was sitting with two of the most unreal-looking people he had ever seen.
Then, his curiosity got the better of him.
"So… who are you guys?"* He glanced at Harry. "And how'd you end up with them?"*
Harry grinned slightly. "This is Atharv, and this is Celeste. We just met, actually, but they're really cool."
Ron turned to Atharv, squinting slightly. "Atharv… wait, Atharv Mishra?"
Atharv tilted his head, slightly amused. "You've heard of me?"
Ron snorted. "Mate, everyone's heard of you. Even my sister talks about you."
Atharv let out a soft chuckle. "I suppose that makes sense. I spent quite a bit of time in the Muggle world."
Ron whistled, shaking his head. "Not just the Muggle world, mate. Even in the wizarding world, people know about you. My mum was talking about you just last week. Something about how a 'Muggleborn boy has risen to incredible fame.'"
Atharv raised an eyebrow. "Did she, now?"
Celeste, who had been listening quietly, smirked slightly. "You are rather extraordinary, love."
Ron blinked. Did she just call him—?
Then, suddenly, it clicked.
He glanced at their intertwined hands, at how naturally Celeste leaned into Atharv, the way their presence seemed completely intertwined, like they were two halves of the same soul.
Ron let out a breath and chuckled to himself.
"Yeah, alright. I was about to ask if you had a boyfriend, Celeste, but I guess that question's already answered."
Atharv smirked. "Afraid so."
Celeste looked at Ron with a knowing look. "Were you hoping otherwise?"
Ron flushed slightly, scratching the back of his head. "I mean—look at you. Of course I was. But…" He glanced at Atharv, then back at Celeste, and exhaled in defeat. "Honestly, I don't think anyone else even stands a chance."
Harry laughed. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."
Ron shook his head. "Seriously, mate, you're so good-looking it's unfair. Like, I'm a bloke, but even I have to admit it."
Atharv chuckled, genuinely entertained.
Celeste, pleased by Ron's immediate surrender, gave him an approving nod. "You're rather perceptive, Ronald."
Ron blinked. "Wait—you know my name?"
Celeste smirked. "We know quite a bit about wizarding families. The Weasleys are a well-respected, albeit slightly eccentric, pureblood family."
Ron grinned. "That's a fancy way of saying we're broke."
Atharv chuckled. "Wealth isn't everything, Ron."
Ron huffed. "Try telling that to Malfoy."
At the mention of the name, Celeste's expression darkened ever so slightly, but she said nothing.
Ron, oblivious, suddenly turned to Harry and froze.
"Wait a second. Harry… Potter? THE Harry Potter?"
Harry winced slightly. "Er—yeah."
Ron gawked. "Bloody hell! I'm sitting with Harry Potter and Atharv Mishra? That's mental!"
Atharv smirked. "And Celeste de Montclair."
Ron blinked. "Right. And Celeste de Montclair." He shook his head, exhaling. "Merlin's beard, this is insane."
Harry chuckled, nudging him. "You getting starstruck on us, Ron?"
Ron scoffed, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. "Nah. I'll get used to it… eventually."
The four of them shared a laugh, and just like that, the tension melted away.
For the first time, it felt like they had all found exactly where they belonged.
The Beginning of Something New
The Hogwarts Express thundered along the tracks, the golden glow of the setting sun painting the sky in hues of amber and rose. Inside the small compartment, laughter and conversation filled the air as the four newfound companions exchanged stories, each of them unknowingly laying the foundation for a friendship that would stand the test of time.
Just as Ron was launching into a story about his twin brothers' latest prank, the door to their compartment slid open again.
Standing in the doorway was a bushy-haired girl, looking slightly out of breath. Behind her, a round-faced boy stood anxiously, his face close to tears.
"Have any of you seen a toad? Neville's lost his."
The girl spoke briskly, her voice filled with an air of authority, as if she had taken it upon herself to solve the great toad mystery of the century.
Harry and Ron shook their heads.
But then—she looked up.
Her gaze landed on Celeste first, and she visibly faltered.
She had never seen someone so effortlessly elegant. Celeste's golden curls cascaded in perfect waves, her sapphire-blue eyes holding an ethereal glow that seemed almost unreal. There was something about her—something regal, untouchable.
And then…
Then she saw him.
Hermione's breath caught.
Atharv Mishra.
The Atharv Mishra.
For a second, she forgot how to function.
Her lips parted in a stunned silence, her brown eyes going impossibly wide. Her brain, which usually worked faster than anyone else's, was now struggling to process reality.
Then, suddenly, as though someone had turned on a switch—
She erupted.
"OH MY GOSH!"
Ron visibly flinched at the volume, while Neville jumped.
Hermione rushed forward, completely ignoring everyone else as she focused solely on Atharv.
"You—you're Atharv Mishra! You're—oh wow—you're real—no, of course, you're real! But—oh my gosh, you're here, on the train— with us! This is insane! Your music—your voice—your lyrics—"
She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to compose herself, but her excitement was too much. She leaned closer—far too close—into his space.
Atharv instinctively leaned back.
He wasn't used to people invading his personal space like this—especially not a girl he had just met.
His crimson eyes widened slightly as Hermione moved even closer, practically examining his face like he was a rare artifact she had just discovered in a long-lost magical library.
"I listen to your music all the time!" she continued breathlessly. "I mean, I don't usually care for music much, but yours—yours is different! It makes me feel things, you know? I listen to it while studying, and it always calms me down, and—"
Atharv had no idea how to respond. He had encountered overexcited fans before, but this was a lot.
Ron and Harry exchanged amused glances, while Neville simply looked terrified at the sheer intensity of Hermione's enthusiasm.
Celeste, however, was not amused.
With an air of unshakable grace, she reached forward and gently but firmly took Hermione's wrist, pulling her back.
"Miss," Celeste's voice was smooth, sweet, but undeniably firm—the same tone she had perfected when warding off any girl who dared to look at Atharv for more than friendship.
Hermione blinked in surprise.
"I understand that you admire Atharv," Celeste continued, her sapphire eyes unwavering, "but you're a little too close, don't you think?"
Atharv let out a silent sigh of relief as Hermione finally seemed to realize what she had done.
Her face turned deep red.
"Oh! Oh my gosh—I'm so sorry! I wasn't—I didn't mean to invade your space—I just got excited, and—"
She quickly stepped back, pressing a hand to her face in pure embarrassment.
Atharv, now that he had room to breathe again, chuckled softly.
"It's alright," he said, his voice warm but teasing. "I appreciate the support."
Hermione peeked at him between her fingers, still mortified.
Celeste, satisfied that Hermione had gotten the message, gave a small nod and looped her arm through Atharv's once more—her silent way of re-establishing what was already obvious.
Atharv Mishra belonged to her.
Hermione took a deep breath, forcing herself to recover.
She cleared her throat and, in a much more controlled tone, said, "Right—sorry about that. I don't usually lose my composure like this."
Celeste gave her a knowing look but smiled. "We all have our moments."
Hermione, grateful for the second chance, quickly changed the subject.
"Wait—hold on, you're Harry Potter!"
Harry sighed, already bracing himself. "Yeah, that's me."
Hermione gestured toward Neville. "We were looking for his toad, but we've had no luck. I suppose I'll keep looking, but—" she hesitated, then smiled hopefully. "Would you mind if I sat with you all for a while?"
Celeste glanced at Atharv, who simply nodded.
"Of course."
Hermione beamed, quickly taking a seat beside Ron.
The Beginning of Something New
And just like that, their group was complete.
Laughter and conversation filled the compartment as they got to know each other, discussing their backgrounds, their excitement (and nerves) about Hogwarts, and what little they already knew about magic.
As the chatter continued, each of them had their own thoughts.
Harry sat back, smiling to himself. For the first time in my life, I have real friends.
Ron glanced between Atharv and Celeste, shaking his head with a chuckle. Yeah, I'm over it. They're just too perfect together. No chance for anyone else.
Hermione, still recovering from her initial crush on Atharv, let out a deep breath before smiling. Well, that was embarrassing. But… I have friends now. And that's what matters.
As the train continued its journey toward Hogwarts, the golden sun began to set on the horizon.
And within the small compartment of the Hogwarts Express, five lives had become intertwined forever.