The only thing more humiliating than being late for the Hogwarts Express was being late because a walking houseplant decided to dance with squirrels for twenty straight minutes.
"A giant, living stick," Ares muttered under his breath, cloak flapping behind him as he sprinted through King's Cross Station. "A six-year-old with bark and moss for brains. This is my life now."
Beside him, bouncing with giddy excitement on his tiny legs, was Groot—a child-sized Flora Colossus, clapping and spinning as he chased a floating candy wrapper like it was enchanted treasure.
"I am Groot!" he squeaked proudly, waving the wrapper in the air like he'd found the staff of Merlin.
"Marvelous," Ares replied dryly. "Do remind me to engrave this heroic moment on your tombstone when I kill you."
Overhead, a massive black Raven with deep violet shimmer to its feathers glided low, croaking once.
Nox.
Ares didn't need to look up. He could see through Nox's eyes whenever he wanted—one of the few perks of having a magical raven bound to his soul. But he didn't need a bird's-eye view to confirm that time was running out.
9:56.
Four minutes until the train left. Four minutes before Ares Thorne—the ever-poised, ever-composed, totally noble and respectable Ares Thorne—became the boy who missed the train because his tree baby found a squirrel cult.
He skidded to a halt at the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10, snatching Groot by the scruff of his leafy neck before the tiny creature could chase a pigeon.
"Alright," Ares muttered. "Brace for impact, you little cryptid."
Groot grinned. "I am Groot!"
"Yes, yes. You're Groot. We're all Groot. Let's go."
He took a breath and sprinted through the barrier, just as the whistle of the Hogwarts Express howled like the last laugh of Fate.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters
The scarlet engine was already beginning to pull forward, smoke billowing from its chimney. Students were shouting, owls hooting, trunks floating through the air.
Without a beat of hesitation, Ares launched himself into a sprint again, cutting past confused onlookers. His long blonde hair whipped behind him, his raven dove overhead, and his boot slammed into the side step of the last carriage.
He hauled himself up with a huff, dragging Groot behind him, who had latched onto his belt like a viney backpack.
The train lurched forward.
He was on.
Ares leaned against the doorway, catching his breath. He blinked once. Twice.
Then he smirked and whispered, "Well. That went smoothly."
Three Minutes Later – Somewhere in the Corridor
Ares was strolling down the corridor now, cool and collected, as if he hadn't just leapt onto a moving train like a particularly sarcastic action hero.
Behind him, Groot trotted happily, carrying a chocolate frog box as if he'd conquered Honeydukes.
A third year peeked out of a cabin and did a double take at the sight of a pale, silver-haired boy with ice-blue eyes , followed by a walking plant holding stolen chocolate.
Ares raised an eyebrow at her.
"Yes," he said smoothly. "It's my emotional support shrub."
Then he winked and kept walking.
Ares Theodore Thorne walked down the narrow corridor of the Hogwarts Express with the elegance of a young royal and the patience of a grumpy old ghost.
He was calm. Poised. Regal.
His cloak was slightly singed from nearly tripping over a first-year's cat.
Groot sat on his shoulder, chewing loudly on a chocolate frog, legs kicking in rhythm like a leaf-covered gremlin riding a king.
He paused and glanced into a cabin—full.
Next one—full.
The third one—someone was snoring. Loudly. Possibly unconscious. He didn't want to know.
Click. Slide. Step. Peer.
"Full again," he muttered, adjusting the Thorne crest on his sleeve. "Apparently no one told Hogwarts I prefer dramatic entrances to crowded peasant cabins."
Groot offered him half of the frog's head with a chirp of, "I am Groot!"
Ares glanced at the offered chocolate, looked into Groot's wide, hopeful bark eyes… and took it.
"Thanks. I do love sharing meals with the thing that caused me to nearly get flattened by a train today."
Groot gave him a happy nod. "I am Groot."
"Stop pretending that means something wise," Ares sighed. "You're not Dumbledore. You're made of mulch."
Nox cawed overhead from the luggage rack, clearly amused.
After passing what felt like the 37th overly crowded cabin, Ares finally spotted it—a compartment with no one in it. A pristine, untouched space, bathed in sunlight and smelling faintly of old magic and carpet glue.
He slid the door open like a prince entering a throne room, stepped inside, and sat with all the grace of someone who believed chairs should be grateful to hold him.
Groot hopped off his shoulder and climbed onto the seat across from him, chocolate smeared across his face.
Ares raised a brow. "Are you proud of yourself?"
"I am Groot!" the plant declared, throwing his twiggy arms in the air.
"I'd be more impressed if you hadn't nearly gotten me deported from the Wizarding World this morning," Ares replied, wiping chocolate off his shoulder with an expression of long-suffering dignity. "You can't keep dancing on top of Muggle mailboxes. It's suspicious."
Groot responded by eating the rest of the chocolate frog. Wrapper included.
Ares stared.
"...You are a crime against cuisine."
Minutes later
Ares slumped gracefully into the corner seat, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the passing countryside. The golden fields blurred past like brushstrokes on a living canvas, and for a brief moment… he let himself enjoy the peace.
Groot, meanwhile, was attempting to stack Chocolate Frog cards like a house of leaves. Every few seconds, he'd chirp, "I am Groot," with either triumph or devastation depending on whether the whole thing collapsed.
"Clearly," Ares said without looking up, "you're the architect of our age."
"I am Groot," Groot said smugly.
"Yes, yes. The world trembles at the feet of your twelve-card tower. Shall I alert the Ministry?"
Groot blinked at him, then stuck a jellybean to his forehead like a gemstone.
Ares didn't even flinch. "Majestic."
Outside the compartment, students passed by occasionally, slowing down just enough to double-take at the strange boy with the regal aura sitting with what looked like… a potted Ent child and a massive raven perched like a gargoyle above him.
One Hufflepuff girl pressed her nose to the glass for a second too long.
Ares turned, lifted one eyebrow, and said without moving his lips, "It's rude to stare."
She squeaked and disappeared down the corridor.
"Excellent," he muttered. "The mystique lives another day."
As the train rolled on, Ares stretched slightly and let his fingers trace the edge of the window. The sunlight caught in his silver-blonde hair, casting a halo over his ice-blue eyes. But even in that light, there was a shadow behind them—buried deep, untouched by warmth.
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a worn leather book — Les Misérables. The cover was bent, its spine cracked from love, not neglect. He flipped to a dog-eared page and began to read, his voice barely above a whisper:
"Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise…"
Groot curled up beside him, using the collapsed card tower as a pillow. Nox fluttered down from the luggage rack and tucked her head beneath her wing.
Peace.
For now.