Sunlight poured into Clark Kent's guest room at Privet Drive, casting golden rays over his packed trunk. Anticipation buzzed through him, keeping sleep at bay. Today, he'd board the Hogwarts Express, stepping into a world where his wand's power and Kryptonian strength would shape his destiny.
He checked his supplies with care—robes folded, books stacked, Black Dragonwood wand tucked in his pocket, its dual cores humming faintly. The pocket universe ring on his finger glowed softly, holding Petunia in a crafted room, her submission from last night a testament to his dominance. The Dursleys' public scorn—calling him a freak—had crumbled under his private control, freeing him to claim his future.
After a quick breakfast, Clark left the quiet suburb, navigating London's bustling streets to King's Cross Station. The terminal thrummed with commuters, the air thick with coffee and newspaper ink, their mundane lives blind to the magic around them. His sharp senses caught clacking heels and train whistles, but he played the lost first-year, a strategic choice to scout allies.
His gaze settled on Molly Weasley, a red-haired woman herding a group of children. Perfect. He approached with a polite smile, his tone innocent yet calculated. "Excuse me, ma'am, I'm looking for Platform 9¾. Not sure where to go."
Molly turned, her brown eyes warm with concern. "Oh, dear! First time at Hogwarts?"
Clark nodded, feigning eagerness. "Yes, ma'am."
She smiled, her matronly warmth softening her worn robes. "Not to worry, love. We're crossing now. Come along."
Clark followed, his eyes sharp, noting her every move. A young girl, Ginny Weasley, peeked at him, her red hair falling past her shoulders, her brown eyes curious. She blushed when he smiled, her shyness a spark he noted. Molly led him to a brick barrier, saying, "Walk straight through, Harry. Don't hesitate." Clark nodded, pretending uncertainty, and passed through, the wall parting like a curtain.
The Hogwarts Express loomed, a scarlet vintage train billowing steam, its golden lettering glinting under the platform's lamps. The air carried hot metal, parchment, and the sweet scent of nearby candies. Students swarmed, lugging trunks, their chatter a lively hum.
"There you are, Harry," Molly said, her voice fond. "Have a wonderful term."
Clark gave a respectful nod, his smile disarming. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. You're very kind." He noted her warmth, marking her as a future ally, perhaps more, for his harem.
She turned to her children, unaware of his plans. Clark boarded the train, his smirk deepening, the platform's energy fueling his ambition.
Clark moved through the Hogwarts Express's narrow corridor, glancing into compartments filled with chattering students and fluttering owls. The scent of leather seats and pumpkin pasties filled the air, the train's sway a steady rhythm. Finding an empty compartment, he settled in, placing Hedwig's cage beside him. The snowy owl blinked, tucking her head under her wing.
He leaned back, his mind racing. Hogwarts was a stage, and he'd play every role—hero, charmer, conqueror. The Dursleys' chains were gone, Petunia's submission proof of his power. Now, he'd build alliances, starting here.
The compartment door slid open, revealing a bushy-haired girl clutching a heavy book. Hermione Granger. Her untamed curls framed a tanned face, her brown eyes sharp with intelligence. Her oversized robes and stuffed bookbag marked her as studious, her stance confident yet cautious.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice brisk. "Everywhere else is full. May I sit?"
Clark met her gaze, his smile easy, calculated. "Sure. I'm Harry."
She hesitated, then stepped inside, her movements precise. "Hermione Granger," she said, settling across from him, smoothing her robe.
Silence fell, Hermione opening her book, her eyes scanning the pages with fierce focus. Clark watched discreetly, amused by her relentless drive—a bookworm, sharp and determined, a potential asset if guided right.
Minutes passed, the only sound in the compartment being the rhythmic turning of pages.