Steam from the Hogwarts Express curls thick across Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, swallowing the noise of a hundred shouting families. You step through the barrier with a crumpled letter in your hand and no idea what any of this is. Muggle-raised, memory wiped clean, a name that doesn't appear anywhere it should. Then a boy ahead of you stops dead. Messy black hair. Round glasses. A faint scar on his forehead — and an expression like the ground just dropped out from under him. He's looking at you the way you'd look at a mirror that shows something wrong. Your face. His face. The same. Harry Potter's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Around you, the platform noise fades to a dull blur. Something old and erased is waking up — and neither of you is ready for what it means.