Chapter 37 — The Day of Departure
September 1st arrived with a quiet finality.
Thomas stood by the small mirror in the corner of the boys' dormitory, adjusting the collar of his shirt. His suitcase was already packed—he had triple-checked everything last night: his wand, his books (all labeled and marked with scraps of notes), his cauldron, robe, even a modest pouch of coins carefully exchanged at Gringotts.
He remembered the moment Sister Mary handed him that pouch. He had initially refused—he knew their finances were limited—but she had insisted.
"It's already done," she had said firmly. "And this money's useless in the non-magical world anyway. You'll need it there, Thomas. Please."
He hadn't argued further. He knew better than to try to out-stubborn Sister Mary. Still, he handled the pouch with care, aware that every coin in it came from sacrifice and love.
Outside the room, the familiar murmur of the orphanage was slowly building into excited whispers. Word had spread—Thomas was leaving.
He stepped out, suitcase in one hand, his other holding the strap of his secondhand satchel. Sister Mary was already waiting by the doorway, her posture composed, though her eyes betrayed the emotion she was trying to contain.
"Is everything packed, Thomas?" she asked.
"Yes, Sister. Nothing left behind," he said, giving her a small smile.
They began walking toward the front of the orphanage, where a small group had already gathered. The morning light filtered through the high windows of the corridor, casting long beams over the worn stone floor. The familiar creak of every step felt heavier today.
Daisy and Johnny were already by the front door, practically bouncing with unspoken feelings. As soon as they saw Thomas, they rushed forward.
"Are you really going today?" Daisy blurted, trying hard not to cry.
"To that private school you got a scholarship for?" Johnny added, his voice trembling despite his effort to act cool.
Thomas gave them both a warm look. "Yeah. But I'll be back for Christmas. That's what they promised," he said reassuringly.
"You better be," Daisy muttered, suddenly hugging him hard. Johnny followed suit, patting him on the back with a little more restraint.
Behind them, several staff members had gathered. Mr. Renwick gave him a long, assessing nod. "Don't waste this chance, Thomas. It's not every day a boy from here gets a scholarship to a school like that. You've always been clever—but cleverness still needs hard work."
"I won't waste it, sir," Thomas said, his tone sincere.
The final round of hugs came with a strange silence—one made of love and memory and hope. Thomas felt it sink deep into his chest, heavier than the books in his bag.
Then it was time.
Sister Mary hailed a taxi—just like they had done when they visited Diagon Alley. The vehicle pulled up in front of the old brick building, and Thomas turned for one last wave at the group gathered in the doorway.
The children shouted his name as he climbed into the back seat.
The ride to King's Cross was peaceful. Thomas and Sister Mary sat side by side, the suitcase between them. She glanced at him occasionally, and finally asked, "Nervous?"
Thomas nodded slightly. "A bit. Not about the school, though. Just... the Sorting thing. I still don't know what it means."
Sister Mary smiled. "Then maybe that's the first thing you'll learn there."
They shared a quiet laugh.
Thomas looked out the window at the familiar streets of London rolling past. He thought of the weeks leading up to today—how every night he studied until his eyes ached. He didn't just read about the magical world in the History of Magic textbook—he had practiced wand gestures, studied the linguistic structures of incantations, and memorized the alchemical relationships between ingredients. He had explored the theory behind transfiguration, trying to understand what governed the transformation of matter.
He hadn't tried actual magic yet—he knew better. Magic, to him, was like a sharpened knife in a child's hands. Dangerous without proper guidance. He would only try real spells once under the supervision of experts at Hogwarts.
And still, despite all the studying, one thing lingered in his mind.
The Sorting.
What exactly would be sorted? Was it a test of skill? Of power? Of knowledge? He doubted they would have given him all these books and tools only to turn him away. But still—what did it mean? What was it sorting?
He would find out soon enough.
King's Cross Station was bustling as always. Trains arrived and departed, luggage clattered across the stone floors, voices overlapped in a hundred conversations.
Sister Mary and Thomas walked side by side through the station toward Platform Nine.
Eventually, they reached the area between Platforms Nine and Ten.
"This is it," Thomas said.
Sister Mary looked around. "But... I don't see Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."
He nodded toward a seemingly solid pillar.
Professor McGonagall had explained this part in their last meeting. "Just walk straight at the barrier," she had said. "Confidently. Don't stop."
"Do you trust me?" Thomas asked, turning to Sister Mary.
"With everything," she replied.
He offered his hand. "Then hold on tight."
They stepped forward, and at the last moment—just before the panic could rise in Sister Mary's chest—they passed through. The sound changed first: the echo of magic humming in the air, the smell of steam and soot.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was alive with motion. A bright red steam engine—the Hogwarts Express—stood waiting, elegant and impossible. Students bustled about, wearing wizarding robes, hugging parents, lifting cages with owls and cats.
Sister Mary stared in awe, her hand still clutching Thomas's. "This place... it's real."
He nodded. "I told you."
She blinked back the emotion in her eyes.
They walked together toward the train. Then Sister Mary pulled something from her coat pocket: a carefully folded handkerchief with delicate embroidery. "It's nothing much, but... if you ever need to feel like you're home, this will help."
Thomas took it with reverence. "Thank you."
They stood for a moment, unsure what to say next.
Then she took a breath and cupped his cheek. "Find out who you are. But never forget who you've been."
Thomas nodded. And then,
"It's time," he said, his voice soft.
And then Thomas Space— once a man from a world far older—stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, toward a future he could not predict, in a world that had yet to learn who he really was.