Willow had never been to London. But that didn’t matter much. The letter hadn’t said how to get to Hogwarts. Just when. She stepped off the train at sunrise, into a world that didn’t blink twice at her black coat, her cracked mirror, or the lizard curled around her collarbone. Most people didn’t even seem to see her at all. She liked that. King’s Cross was loud and sharp and filled with things that felt too… alive. She didn’t like alive. She walked with her bag held close, her letter tucked into her sleeve like a secret. The numbers on the platforms blurred past: 9… 10… No nine and three-quarters. Not really. Not unless you looked sideways. She found it by accident. A woman with messy red hair was whispering to a gaggle of loud kids with trunks and owls and wands sticking out of their sleeves. One of them, a girl with an enormous forehead and too much confidence, walked through a brick wall. Willow blinked once. Then did the same. The other side felt different. Quieter, but not calm. There were children like her here — half-lost, half-burning. Dressed in a mess of Muggle clothes and wizard robes. Some looked excited. Some looked like they were going to be sick. She didn’t talk to anyone. She climbed onto the train alone. Willow found an empty compartment at the very back. The glass door wouldn’t close all the way, which suited her fine. She liked things that didn’t quite work. Echo curled in her coat pocket, only poking his head out when the train lurched forward. He flicked his tongue, tasting the air. Willow pressed her forehead to the cold window and watched the city blur into wilderness. Trees. Hills. Rivers that looked like they remembered older magic. Every so often, a shadow passed overhead. Once, a boy in a shiny prefect badge opened the door to her compartment, gave her a look, and walked away without saying anything. She liked that too. They were somewhere deep in the country when someone slid the door open again. This time, it was a girl. Blonde, wide-eyed, humming to herself and holding a toad upside down. “Is this seat taken?” she asked. Her voice was soft, dreamy. Willow didn’t answer. The girl sat down anyway. “I’m Luna. Luna Lovegood. What’s your name?” Willow hesitated. Then: “Willow.” “Just Willow?” “That’s what I’ve got.” Luna nodded like that made perfect sense. “I like your gecko.” Willow blinked. No one else had noticed Echo. Not even the prefect. “He’s not a gecko,” Willow said slowly. “I think he’s something else. He showed up when I turned seven and never left.” Luna leaned forward, eyes bright. “Then he’s a guardian. Or maybe a curse. Hard to say until he speaks.” Willow didn’t reply. But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone.
