Chapter Text
Max, a young boy who just turned eleven, is now standing in front of his mother who’s holding a letter with an elegant handwriting which spells his name and address. He anxiously picks at his fingernails while occasionally stealing glances to check out his mother’s expression. His mother holds a neutral expression, not letting him know what her emotions are. All he knows is, he was playing with his ball in the backyard when suddenly his mother called him to get inside. This is not a once or twice occurrence, he frequently gets told to get inside the house in the middle of playing, but usually it doesn’t mean good. Usually his mother will nag him about the small pranks he did to his little sister. Well, for those moments he deserves it.
“Maxie,” his mother softly calls his name.
He looks up to see his mother, trying to not divert his eyes somewhere else.
“Do you like it here?” his mother continues.
“Well, I guess it is better than with Dad,” Max quietly replies.
His mother lets out a soft sigh and hang her head low, trying to carefully construes her words.
“This, my Maxie,” she says as she shakes her right hand which holds the letter, “is a letter from Hogwarts. You do remember Hogwarts, right?”
Of course he does. He remembers that distasteful name in his head. A place which led his mother to meet his father in the first place. His mother, a born-Muggle, had the opportunity to attend the wizarding school due to her promising potentials in witchcraft. Whenever she tells the anecdotes from her time in Hogwarts, her eyes would immediately light up, until she mentions her ex-husband’s name. Max hates it when it happens.
“Max, I believe you should take this opportunity,” her mother softly says.
“And turn into Dad?” Max scoffs.
“Honey, you will not turn into your father. As much as you hate him right now, which I understand, but he was a great wizard and a great man. He just made terrible mistakes along the way.”
“Mum, we are living greatly as muggles. You never cast any spells ever since your divorce with Dad. I don’t see why I need to learn about the thing that hurt you badly. I want to protect you,” Max argues.
“You can protect me even better once you’ve learned magic, dear. Magic is not a cruel, ruthless thing. It is only that way if you intended it to be. But, it goes both ways, Maxie,” his mother softly smiles at him. “Do this for me, Max. You will attend Hogwarts. And when you become the greatest wizard, you can protect me and your little sister from any danger.”
Max reviews his list of things that he needs to prepare before embarking on his journey as a Hogwarts student, marking his step on getting reconnected with the wizard blood in him passed down from his father. His relationship with his father is complicated to say the least. His father was present in Max’s younger days, introducing him to the world of Quidditch, taking him to Quidditch Cups, and teaching him how to ride a broom. Those memories became bittersweet ever since his father’s altercation with his mother. Max can’t exactly remember when was the first time it happened, but suddenly his home was filled with shouting and crying. A place which he called home slowly losing its sense of comfort. Until one day, everything stopped when his mother was rushed to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Max remembered the terror he felt when he watched his mother lying weak on the hospital’s bed, a memory which he wished he could erase from his mind. It would be better if his father was never present in his life in the first place.
Here he is now, standing in front of Platform 9 and 10, clutching his baggage trolley. His cat meowing from inside of its cage. His knuckles go white from how strong he’s holding his trolley. Max can’t lie, he’s kind of nervous. Now that he’s standing in front of the stacked bricks, he feels everything is becoming even more real. Everything is jumbled inside of his head, but the only thing that he focuses on is he will never turn into his dad.
“I’m going to write to you frequently, honey,” says Max’s mother.
“So do I, Max,” his little sister chirps happily with a huge grin on her face.
“Yeah, and I’ll write back as frequently,” Max smiles.
He steps forward, pushing his baggage trolley into the brick column in front of him. For a heartbeat, he falters, tempted to turn around and disappear back into his mother's embrace. Instead, he tightens his grip on the handle and quickens his pace. In the blink of an eye, the world shifts. He's through.
Platform nine-and-three-quarters stretches before him. Hurried footsteps are heard as parents pull their children into one last embrace before they are parting ways. But not Max. Although his mother had insisted on accompanying Max to the very last second before his train leaves, Max was a tad bit more stubborn. He specifically asked for his family to not see him go inside the train, for if it were to happen, Max would not be able to fulfill his mother's request.
Max steps his foot on the train, making his way to look for a compartment for him to sit. The hallway of the train is filled with loud chatters and laughter. One by one, compartments are passed by Max. In one compartment, a boy who looks older than Max is excitedly showing the Daily Prophet to his friend who looks like he's ready to fall asleep in any second. What would be so interesting to look for in the news? In another compartment, two lovebirds are chatting lovingly to one another, leaving their one friend who's looking at them with face of disgust. Poor guy.
After what felt like eternity, Max found an empty compartment for him to sit in. Well, not exactly, since there’s already one other boy sitting inside looking outside the windows.
“Mind if I sit here?” Max asks the boy.
The boy turns his head towards Max and only nodded in response. Not much of a talker I see, Max concludes to himself.
“Hi, I’m Max. Max Verstappen,” Max introduces himself to the boy as he places himself to sit on the other side of the boy.
His introduction meets with silence for a couple of minutes before the brunette boy finally opens his mouth, “I’m Charles Leclerc.”
“Hey Charles, first year?” Max asks, which again, only met with another nod from the brunette boy.
“Me too, I’m kind of nervous for some reason. Especially for the sorting hat later. I really detest get sorted to Slytherin,” Max says without getting any response from Charles.
Yet, the rest of the train ride goes away in a flash while Max yaps away and Charles only gives a nod as a response once or twice.