[Third Person's PoV]
"You both seem to be well-versed in magic and spellcasting…" Gwyneth said, glancing between Arthur and Merlin with wide, curious eyes. "I mean, Merlin—you turned Arthur into a cat without uttering a single word. And the spell Arthur just used was a summoning charm, which is pretty advanced."
"I've been studying magic since I was a toddler," Arthur explained with a modest shrug. "I've always looked forward to the day I'd get my wand and start casting spells. So, when that day finally came, I was more than ready."
"I get that," Gwyneth said with a faint smile. "Since we couldn't really use wands or magic growing up, I just did whatever I could to feel connected to it. That's why I love potion-making so much—it was something magical I could do, even without a wand."
"Are you well-versed in the art of potion-making, then?" Merlin asked, tilting her head, one brow raised in genuine curiosity.
"I'm not sure how good I really am," Gwyneth replied modestly, then her voice brightened with pride. "But I'd like to think so. Both of my parents work at Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and everything I know about potions came from them. They're the best potion-makers I know!"
She puffed out her chest with pride, her face wearing a smug grin.
Arthur couldn't help but smile warmly at her expression. In that moment, it was clear just how much she admired her parents—and how proud she was to be their daughter.
"What about you guys?" Gwyneth asked, tilting her head with curiosity. "What do your parents do?"
Arthur's smile faltered slightly, growing more awkward. "I… I'm an orphan."
Gwyneth stiffened, her eyes widening. "Oh… I'm so sorry for your loss."
Arthur waved it off with a small laugh and a dismissive gesture. "It's alright. You don't need to worry about it."
Lance, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow in silent thought. 'Does this have anything to do with that expression he made earlier?' he wondered.
"I mean, I'm not the only one," Arthur added casually, jerking his thumb toward Merlin. "Mer-lynn here is too."
"No, I'm not," Merlin said flatly, giving Arthur a confused look.
"Wha—Huh?!" Arthur exclaimed, eyes wide. "What do you mean you're not?!"
"My mother's dead, yes," Merlin admitted with a sigh. "But not my father. That bastard's still out there somewhere. I have a rough idea where he is, but that's about it."
Arthur threw his hands up in disbelief. "But I thought—how has it never occurred to me that you still have a father?!"
"Don't worry," Merlin muttered dryly. "I act like I don't have one most of the time anyway. So honestly, it's not all that different from being an orphan."
Gwyneth lowered her gaze, her hands tightening into fists over her robes. Guilt weighed on her heavily for bringing the topic up so carelessly. Slowly, she turned her eyes to Lance.
Lance, sensing her gaze, turned to meet it—and froze. Her expression was twisted in guilt, her eyes watery and brimming with regret.
"Lance…" she said softly, her voice cracking. "Please tell me you're… normal?"
"Normal?" Arthur and Merlin both echoed, raising their brows at her with confused expressions.
"No! Wait! That's not what I meant!" Gwyneth cried, flailing her arms in panic. "I didn't mean that you guys aren't normal! I just meant—when I asked the question, I expected normal answers like 'they work at a shop' or 'they're professors.' Not— not that you were orphans or had complicated family situations! I just wanted to make sure I didn't mess up by asking, so I asked if Lance was 'normal'—ahhh!" she wailed, burying her face in her hands.
"I suppose you could call it 'normal,'" Lance replied after a pause. "I don't know who my father is, but my mother…"
His brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Actually…I'm not really sure what my mother does, to be honest. All I know is she governs some… spaces."
"Wouldn't that make her a governor then?" Arthur asked, blinking.
Lance blinked back, then slowly shrugged. "I… suppose so. Then yeah, I guess my mother is a governor."
"Finally, a normal answer," Gwyneth sighed, placing a hand to her chest and exhaling in relief.
"You really can't help yourself, can you?" Arthur said, his tone filled with amused disbelief.
Gwyneth visibly flinched and winced, looking as though she wished the ground would swallow her whole.
To quickly change the subject, Gwyneth blurted out, "Uhh, so what do you guys think Hogwarts is like? I tried asking my parents about it, but all they told me was that it's a secret. The only thing I really know is that you get sorted into houses—but I don't even know how the sorting happens."
"I heard it's a battling tournament," Arthur replied calmly, almost too casually.
"What?!" Gwyneth gasped, eyes wide with disbelief and panic.
"Yeah," Arthur nodded seriously. "From what I've gathered, the result of the tournament determines which house you're sorted into. That's why Hogwarts is considered one of the best wizarding schools in the world. As soon as you walk through the doors, you're thrown into the ring to be tested. They want to see who's been practicing with their wand and who has real talent. Those who land at the bottom…" he paused for dramatic effect, "well, their admission letters are revoked. They're sent back home before the feast even starts."
Gwyneth's jaw dropped. She stared at Arthur, utterly horrified. He sounded so confident—so precise—that she didn't doubt a single word. "A… battle tournament? And if I fail, I'm sent home?! That's terrifying!"
Even Lance, who was typically more skeptical, looked intrigued. His eyes lit up at the idea of combat and competition.
Meanwhile, Merlin had to press a hand against her mouth to hide her growing smile. Her eyes twitched with amusement, clearly holding back laughter.
"We're getting closer to arriving," Merlin said, smoothly steering the conversation away as she looked out the window. The sky had begun shifting into a deep violet hue, casting a soft glow over the train's interior.
Arthur followed her gaze, then stood and gave Lance a small nod. "Let's give them some space to change into their Hogwarts robes."
Lance nodded silently and followed Arthur out. The two boys stood guard outside the compartment door, their backs straight, arms folded across their chests like seasoned knights on duty.
After a moment of silence, Lance glanced sideways at Arthur. "So… about that tournament. Can you tell me more?"
Arthur blinked before laughing. "Wait, you actually believed that?" He bent forward slightly, chuckling heartily. "Oh man, sorry! I totally made that up to mess with Gwyneth. There's no tournament. That was just a joke!"
Lance's face dropped in disbelief. "Seriously? You're kidding."
"Nope," Arthur said, still shaking with laughter. "I made the whole thing up just to freak her out. And it worked beautifully."
"Unbelievable," Lance muttered, rubbing his temples. "I actually got excited… Do you even know how the sorting works?"
Arthur finally calmed down and gave him a sincere look. "I do. They put this enchanted hat on your head—called the Sorting Hat. It looks into your thoughts, your personality, and your heart, then chooses the house that best fits you."
Lance looked skeptical again. "A magic hat?"
"Yup. As weird as it sounds, it's true," Arthur replied with a sigh. "There's Hufflepuff, which values loyalty and hard work. Ravenclaw, for wisdom and intellect. Gryffindor, which values bravery and courage. And Slytherin, which values cunning and ambition."
Lance stared at him blankly. "Are you messing with me again?"
"Unfortunately, I'm not," Arthur said with a chuckle. "As ridiculous as it sounds, the Sorting Hat is a real thing."
Lance groaned. "Honestly, I think I preferred the battle tournament. At least then I could fight my way in."
Arthur laughed again. "Yeah, I get what you mean. A tournament would've been epic. All of Hogwarts watching as we duel to prove ourselves? That would've been a sight to see."
At that moment, the compartment door slid open and Merlin stepped out, now dressed in her school robes. Gwyneth followed close behind, her expression distant and almost shell-shocked—still processing the terrifying lie Arthur had fed her.
"Alright, boys," Merlin said, gesturing inside. "Your turn."
Lance entered and Arthur followed behind as he crossed his arms over his chest and he walked past Merlin. "No peeking," he said, feigning sternness.
Merlin gave him a flat, unamused stare as the door slid shut behind them.
Inside, the two boys began to change. They removed their travel robes, revealing toned physiques that spoke of intense training and discipline. Both their bodies bore fading scratches—long, pale lines that could only be made by sharp blades.
Arthur glanced over and gave a grin. "Well, it looks like you weren't lying when you said you trained with a sword."
Lance gave a small, knowing smile. "And it looks like neither were you."
Arthur's build was solid and muscular, forged for strength and resilience. Lance's, on the other hand, was leaner—crafted for speed, agility, and precision. It was a clear contrast: power versus finesse.
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