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[PLATFORM 9 3/4, KINGS CROSS STATION, SEPTEMBER 1ST 1987]
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It was in this turbulent period of his life, in moments of inevitable change, between rolling hills and glimmers of sunlight on fresh water that Dylan Adam James was consumed by the same loneliness he felt when his parents were murdered but ten thousand times worse. No friends, no sister, all alone just like he was on that day... the day his life changed forever because of something he barely believed in.
Magic. Who would've thought it even existed? It defied the laws of physics that he'd been taught in the year 6 science lessons he loved so much, it went against biology and maths and everything that he had learnt in the past few years of his life (debatably not History or English, they were enough to make him believe in anything). He was told there was others worse than him by the grey, ageing Headteacher, students with stricter parents who refused to acknowledge it even existed, those who spoke the word of God against the realities of life.
"But I don't understand." Dylan had told him after he had tried to explain the world to him, meeting his crystal blue eyes with a furrowed brow, "How am I even—"
Eve, his aunt, wrapping her arms around his shoulders so he was safe within her arms. She thought they'd have more than even years with the nephew she had grown to love as a son. "Your mum and dad." she answered instead, "I know I should've told you but I couldn't."
"Told me what?"
For a second, he'd seen her eyes meet the professors and him give a single shake of his head. "Later, I promise." She pressed a kiss lovingly to the top of his head, oozing love and forgiveness back into him.
"I assure you, Mr James—"
"Dylan." he corrected. "I'm not Mr James, that was probably my dad."
Dumbledore's gaze softened in his direction, "I assure you, Dylan, you will get ample care and protection at Hogwarts." His smile was warm but there was a twinkle in his eye that Dylan didn't trust.
It took a few seconds but Dylan finally spoke again. "It's not me I'm worried about." His eyes moved to where a figure was watching from the stairs, a seven year old girl with her face pressed against the wooden banisters of the staircase. She had pigtails on her raven-black hair with hair bands of bright pink. He pressed a quick finger to his lips as the rest were briefly distracted. She smiled like sunshine.
"Ah, a Miss Lyra James, I believe." Dumbledore smiled a knowing smile that Dylan definitely didn't trust. How did he know them? He didn't like this, he really didn't like this. "She will come too, when it's her time but now it is yours if you agree, of course."
