We arrived at the station early. They saw me off as if I were going to war. Hugs, kisses, and two hundred reminders to report on parchment morning and evening that I was alive and well. Mom was crying, and I almost cried in response.
My parents left, and I leisurely headed toward platform nine. And then I see HIM! Small, shorter than me by half a head, skinny, disheveled, and wearing clothes that didn't fit. In his hands was a cage with a white owl, and beside him a trunk so large that three boys his size could easily fit inside with room to spare. A sight to behold. He stands there, turning his head in confusion. Poor child.
I can't help but approach him. His eyes are the greenest green. And the scar is well hidden under his bangs. Well, I knew his distinguishing features, but how did everyone else recognize him? Was the scene in the Leaky Cauldron a planned spectacle? Although I don't know yet, maybe in this world it didn't happen, I'll have to clarify that sometime.
"Hi, are you going to Hogwarts too?" Harry looks at me in surprise. "I guessed from the owl," I smile at him.
"Hi, yes!" Surprise gives way to hope. "But I don't know how to get to the platform."
"It's simple, you need to walk through the wall between platforms nine and ten. If you're scared, you can run through it. Let me help you with the cage."
We approached the barrier and stopped:
"Ready to run?" I extended my hand to him. He's stronger than he looks—he grabbed on tight. Before we disappeared into the wall, I caught a glimpse of a redheaded clan.
Potter stopped, his mouth open. The Hogwarts Express wasn't exactly crimson, but it was still impressive. A sort of Victorian-era steampunk. The platform was packed with students and well-wishers, people saying noisy goodbyes, owls hooting in cages, the locomotive huffing. I don't understand why people drag owls with them on the train when a magical owl can fly to Hogwarts from anywhere in England much faster on its own. It's almost animal abuse.
We choose a carriage somewhere in the middle of the train. Harry is huffing, trying to drag his enormous trunk up the steps. I subtly assist the trunk with telekinesis, otherwise we'd be stuck here forever. Lord, how did he even lug it here? That's the power the Dark Lord knows not. We settle into a compartment.
"Well, let's introduce ourselves. I'm Hermione Granger."
"Harry Potter," he looks at me cautiously. Is he expecting me to pounce on him too?
"Nice to meet you," don't be afraid of me, Harry, I won't eat you. "You have a beautiful owl."
"Her name is Hedwig," Harry smiles. "Hermione, where's your luggage?"
"It's all here," I pat my backpack. "Undetectable Extension Charm—it's quite handy. Though expensive. When my parents found out such bags existed, they bought some too. Want to see?" I open the book section for him.
"Wow, why didn't Hagrid tell me about these bags?!" the child exclaims indignantly. "And your parents..."
"My parents are ordinary people, dentists. I only learned about the wizarding world recently."
"Me too," Harry sighed, "my parents were wizards, but I lived with my aunt. She hates anything abnormal."
"I'm sorry... Your parents were real heroes," the child looked at me in surprise. Of course, until now everyone in the wizarding world had called him the hero, at least in the book. I explain:
"Whatever the books say, no one knows exactly what happened that night, as there were no witnesses. But I think your parents managed to perform some ritual that protected you from the killer. They saved you and all of magical Britain in the process."
He clearly likes this version better, and Harry nods seriously.
What kind of person am I? I wanted to keep a low profile, and here I am—riding in a compartment with the hero of the wizarding world and discussing dangerous topics. Everything always goes sideways with me.
The locomotive wheezed hoarsely and slowly started moving. We looked out the window.
The compartment door opened, and a redhead entered. Well, hello, Ron. Damn, I completely forgot to ask the goblins who exactly are blood traitors.
"Is it free here? Everywhere else is completely full."
Harry nodded uncertainly. Ron dragged in his trunk, the same size as Harry's, and landed beside him.
"I'm Ron Weasley. Are you really Harry Potter?" he blurted out. "And do you really have... you know," Ron pointed to his forehead.
Harry showed the scar, which caused a storm of delight. With the delicacy of a hippopotamus, Ron questioned Harry about the night he acquired the scar and lost his parents, then talked about his large family and the hand-me-down rat, mentioned an accountant uncle they don't speak to...
Oh yes, more hypocrites. Although maybe I'm wrong, and this accountant just has a nasty character?
"And this is Hermione," Harry introduced me. I smiled slightly and nodded.
"Oh, hi," Ron nodded back.
After that, the conversation developed following the canon. I was reading another textbook and didn't intervene. After a couple of hours, I offered to the boys:
"I was so nervous this morning that I barely had breakfast. Want to have a snack? My mom packed me enough food for ten people."
I reached into my bottomless backpack, pulled out sandwiches, a thermos with tea, and napkins. I transfigured two napkins into additional cups—the pinnacle of my craftsmanship!
"Wow! You're doing magic!" Ron jumped up from his seat. "Yesterday I found a spell to turn Scabbers yellow, but it didn't work. I'll show you!"
"Are you sure you want to use untested spells on your pet? What if you harm him?" I think the rat looked at me gratefully. Peter, I wonder, is it you, or is this just a regular rat, and you'll appear later?
"He's useless anyway," Ron grumbled.
"Actually, rats are very intelligent animals," I said.
There was a knock at the door, and it was timidly slid open.
"Excuse me," a chubby boy asked us in a distressed voice, "have you seen a toad?"
Well, here's another unfortunate child who deserves pity. What's with me today? Is it maternal instinct that won't leave me alone?
"Hi," I smile at him, "we haven't seen a toad, but I think I know how to find it. Let's go to the corridor."
"What's your toad's name?"
"Trevor."
I point my wand into the distance:
"Accio toad Trevor!"
We wait a minute, nothing happens. Neville looks sad again.
"Well, it seems it didn't work," I turn to him, "But don't worry, let's find a prefect, they can definitely cast this spell successfully."
"Splat!" Something heavy and wet hits me hard on the ear, and I almost fell from surprise.
"Holy sh—!" I don't usually swear around children. Good thing no one here knows Russian. Note to self: wait longer for the results of Accio. Or put up a shield.
"Oh, Trevor!" Neville joyfully clutches this slimy creature to himself. "Thank you, thank you so much!"
The boys look at us curiously from the open compartment.
"Meet Harry and Ron, and I'm Hermione."
"Neville Longbottom, very pleased to meet you."
"Likewise, Neville. Would you like to stay with us in the compartment?" Ron seems displeased with my initiative. "I'll go wash up first, as I'm covered in Trevor."
Returning, I discover that Harry appears to have bought everything from the sweets trolley.
"Help yourself, Hermione," the boy offered happily.
"Thank you, Harry." What's the most harmless thing here? I reach for a cauldron cake. Well, it's edible. I won't try Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans; I'm not that much of a risk-taker. I chew and think about how to convince Neville to join me in Hufflepuff—that's where I'm planning to go, away from the administration, closer to the kitchen. There's no question about Harry and Ron, they've got Gryffindor brains through and through, but Neville would have a hard time there.
"Have you decided which house you want to be in? I'm planning on Hufflepuff."
"Why?!" Ron's eyes bulged, "They say only dummies study in Hufflepuff. The best house is Gryffindor."
"Are you saying that Amelia Bones, the Head of the DMLE, and Newt Scamander are dummies?" I widen my eyes, "They studied in Hufflepuff."
"Dumbledore himself studied in Gryffindor!"
"And Merlin himself studied in Slytherin, but you're not planning to go there, are you?"
"No way, all Slytherins are dark wizards!"
"Including Merlin?" I asked slyly. Ron puffed up and began to breathe heavily.
"My parents studied in Gryffindor," Neville said timidly, "and Grandmother says I must not tarnish their honor. I'm afraid they won't take me there." Great, he's about to cry again.
"Neville, Hogwarts: A History says that the Sorting Hat always listens to the student's wishes, so if you really want to, you'll definitely get into Gryffindor. But why do you think that being worthy of your parents is only possible there?"
"Mom and Dad were Aurors, and Grandmother says I should follow in their footsteps."
"I don't know your parents, but all parents primarily want their child to be happy and to do what they enjoy and are good at. Even if they choose their own path. However, you can become an Auror after graduating from any house; the curriculum is the same everywhere. I want to go to Hufflepuff because it's the most friendly and peaceful house. Hufflepuffs don't quarrel with anyone, don't participate in inter-house rivalries, and always support the members of their house." Come on, Neville, think.
The compartment door opened again. Who's next on the schedule? Malfoy with his minions?
"Is it true?" asked the blonde boy. "Everyone's saying Harry Potter is in this carriage. So it's you?"
I already understood that the canon is inevitable. Ron giggles, Malfoy comments on his family's financial situation, and Harry of course rushes to defend his new friend.
I decide to intervene:
"Don't be hasty to reject friendship, Harry. After all, you and Draco are relatives. Even if you had an unfortunate start, don't be so quick to judge—blood is thicker than water."
"What?" Three pairs of eyes stared at me in surprise; only the minions don't care. And Malfoy too, though I thought aristocrats knew their genealogy back to the 25th generation by heart. "Well, Harry, your grandmother Dorea Potter was born a Black. And Malfoy is a Black through his mother."
Malfoy had already opened his mouth, clearly intending to use my words to his advantage, but Harry beat him to it:
"I have relatives among wizards?"
"Well, to some extent, all pureblooded wizards are related to each other."
"Then why did I live with Muggles who hate magic?!" Harry jumped to his feet in indignation.
"That I cannot know," great, the conversation has gone in the wrong direction again. What if Dumbledore looks into Harry's mind and sees me in all my glory?
"My mother wanted to adopt you when You-Know-Who disappeared," Malfoy is back on his high horse, "but she couldn't find any information about you."
"As if anyone would entrust the Boy Who Lived to vile Death Eaters?!" Ron steps in. I sense a fight is inevitable.
"That's not true!" squealed Malfoy, losing all his arrogance, "my father was under the Imperius Curse!"
"Harry, don't listen to him, my father says there was no Imperius!"
"If I were you, Potter, I'd be more careful," Malfoy said slowly. "If you hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys or that horrible Hagrid, it'll rub off on you."
And he proudly walks away, accompanied by his bodyguards.
"Who are Death Eaters?" asked Harry.
"They're dark wizards! Those who fought on You-Know-Who's side! My father says that Lucius Malfoy was his right-hand man," Ron was eager to share information.
"Hermione, is it true that Malfoy's father served You-Know-Who?" Harry looks at me with hurt.
"Harry, I'm Muggle-born, I only know about the wizarding world what's written in textbooks. Malfoy was acquitted at his trial, but I have no idea how fair the courts are in the wizarding world. In any case, you know the saying: a son is not responsible for his father's actions," although there's also the saying that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but we won't mention that for now. Both boys would save themselves a lot of stress if they didn't act like fighting roosters for the next seven years. Ron definitely doesn't agree with me; he's already taken a breath to object...
To my relief, I'm saved from continuing the conversation by the train conductor, who announces that we're approaching the final station.