The rhythmic clatter of the Hogwarts Express filled the corridor, echoing faintly through the compartment where Elias sat alone. His reflection in the glass looked calm—hands folded, legs crossed, posture elegant and quiet. But behind that calm, his mind stirred endlessly.
Ministry officials, House alliances, timeline variance…
He had already mapped half the train by watching who passed in the hallway.
A door slid open beside him.
"Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."
The voice was quick—educated, polite, but not self-conscious. A girl with bushy brown hair stepped in, already clutching a book tight to her chest.
Hogwarts: A History.
Elias knew the title instantly. The corner was frayed—secondhand, maybe. She wore no makeup, no jewelry, and her eyes darted, absorbing the room faster than most adults.
He didn't need to guess her name. He already knew it.
"Go ahead," he said, nodding slightly.
"I'm Hermione Granger," she said, with that same eager clarity. "Are you first year too?"
Elias offered a handshake—a gesture he'd seen work well on her in multiple timelines. "Elias Blake."
"Blake?" She blinked. "Cassian Blake's son? The one in the Department of Mysteries and International Magical Cooperation?"
She said it as though quoting a textbook—probably was.
Elias nodded faintly. "That's the one."
"I read about him," she added quickly. "He was cited in Modern Magical Diplomacy for his work on wand neutrality laws. Very cutting-edge stuff. Kind of cold, though."
"He's colder in person," Elias replied dryly.
Hermione looked slightly taken aback, then smiled politely.
She glanced again at the book in her lap. "I've read this twice. Well—three times, really. The enchantments around the castle are just… amazing. And did you know that Helga Hufflepuff created the food charms still used in the Great Hall today?"
Elias nodded, his tone neutral. "I've heard."
She was trying—desperate, maybe, to share knowledge. He didn't interrupt her again, nor did he encourage her to stay. He had seen this play out before—hundreds of times in fanfics, movies, forum discussions in his past life.
Hermione Granger.
In his old world, she had been… everywhere.
Not just in the books, but in the hearts of millions. Idolized. Paired romantically with Harry, Ron, Draco, and more than a few self-insert protagonists. Always described with phrases like "hidden beauty" or "brilliant but misunderstood."
The truth?
Most people didn't fall in love with book Hermione.
They fell for Emma Watson.
The actress had been the face of a generation's childhood crush. Her intelligence, her charm, the way she aged gracefully into global fame—it changed how fans saw Hermione. People projected her into the fiction. Which, Elias supposed, was fair. Everyone wants to rewrite their favorite stories. He was literally doing it now.
But this Hermione was… different.
No makeup. No camera angles. No celebrity polish. Just a clever, awkward girl with a head full of books and no idea how the world would soon shift around her.
And somehow, that made her more real.
More interesting.
Elias was still processing that when she excused herself politely—something about helping a boy find his lost toad.
She left, book clutched in one hand, robes slightly askew. He watched her go, thoughtful.
The face is the same…
🚂 Arrival at Hogsmeade Station
The train began to slow around twilight. Shadows lengthened across the seats. The mountains outside had risen like giants in the fog.
A deep voice boomed outside the windows, carrying over the noise of students shifting in their compartments.
"Firs'-years! Over here! This way, now!"
Elias stepped off the train and into the sharp Highland air. It bit at the tips of his fingers, cool and bracing after the stuffy compartment. Lanterns floated in midair above the platform, bathing the gathering students in warm light.
He breathed in deep, taking in the moment—not as a tourist. As someone returning to a place he had once only known through paper and dreams.
Hogsmeade Station was quieter than he remembered it being described—more fog than sound, more presence than pageantry. Around him, first-years whispered, pointing toward the lake. Elias followed their gaze.
There it was.
Hogwarts Castle.
High above the dark waters, perched on a cliff like a watching sentinel, its towers rose into the mist, each window glowing with golden firelight. A living monument. A place built not just of stone and magic, but myth.
And for once, Elias didn't think about strategy. Or divergence.
He just stood there, gazing upward.
This is where it all begins.