── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ── HADRIEN P.O.V ── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Today is the day. The day we hop on the train to Hogwarts: new world, new classes, new faces… and probably a bunch of new ways to get in trouble. We're standing in the middle of King's Cross, hunting for Platform 9¾.
Dad's first reaction when Hagrid mentioned it was classic: "Are you sure that thing even exists? Nine and three-quarters? That's not a real platform." And honestly? He wasn't wrong. How the hell do you hide an entire wizard train and its tracks in a station this packed with normal people?
I kept my mouth shut back then, but I was thinking the exact same thing. Pocket dimension? Like the trunks we bought? Do they just stretch the space that's already there? Or is the wall some kind of secret portal?
Now that we're actually here… I still don't get it. The magical platform should be layered over the regular one, right? Or if they're using barriers, it should at least be visible to witches and wizards. Clearly neither Hermione nor I can see a damn thing. I can tell from the look on her face.
I give up trying to figure it out for now. Maybe it'll make sense later.
What actually surprises me is how much magic is just… out in the open.
People dressed all weird—not "weird fashion" weird, but "you are clearly not from around here" weird. Parents with kids, trolleys piled high, owl cages, trunks banging around. All of it mixed in with regular Muggles rushing past like nothing's happening.
I glance at my family and can't resist. "Don't you think they're not even trying to hide?" I say, then add, "I mean… wouldn't this look completely mental on a normal Tuesday?"
"You're right," Hermione says, and points. "And their clothes are weird even compared to each other. Look at that guy with the pointy hat and the cloak dragging on the floor…"
She says it with this tiny, desperate edge, like her brain is desperately trying to file away something that refuses to fit in any category.
Dad sighs. "I wouldn't know what to tell you… but I'm pretty sure they've got ways to keep normal people like me and your mum from noticing. Busy folks don't pay much attention anyway."
I hate how much sense that makes. But Merlin… I'm becoming more and more convinced that a lot of witches and wizards are either thick or completely blind. Or both. Magic's made them lazy.
Mum, on the other hand, gives Hermione that calm-but-firm look. "I don't know what to think either, but you can't just point at people, love. It's rude."
Hermione drops her hand like it burned her. "Sorry, Mum," she says, and she actually means it.
We're right in the middle of Platform 9 now, watching families with kids of every age just walk straight through a solid wall—like it's not even there. Knowing about it and seeing it in a movie is one thing. Watching it happen in real life? Totally different.
"Are they… actually going through the wall? Right here, in the middle of the station, with all these people around?" Hermione asks, her voice just a tiny bit louder than normal, but not loud enough to draw stares.
"That's not our problem, and it's definitely not yours," Dad says, sounding tired. "Just go with the flow." He pauses, staring at the wall again. "Still… that wall thing is pretty incredible."
"So exciting!" Mum suddenly bursts out, eyes lighting up. "I wish I could go learn magic with you two." She doesn't even pause. "But for my babies to have this chance…" Her voice cracks just a little. "I'm so incredibly happy and proud of you."
She pulls us both into a quick, tight hug that feels heavier than it should.
"Exactly what your mother said," Dad adds in that dad-lecture voice. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Don't waste it. And no matter what happens or what you choose, we've got your backs. Always."
His voice softens at the end, like he's trying not to make it sound too much like a speech.
"Now… go on," he says simply.
And just like that, he starts pushing my trolley toward the wall.
Mum does the same with Hermione's, and we follow right behind them.
Dad, Mum, and Hermione all squeeze their eyes shut on instinct. Fear, pure and simple.
I don't.
I already know we're not going to smack into anything.
We step through the wall.
Yeah. That's it.
I'd expected… something. A tug in my stomach, a flash of light, some weird tingle. Anything that would make walking through solid brick feel special.
But nope. Nothing.
At least not the way I thought.
The only thing that changes is the sound.
On this side the Muggle station noise just fades away, like someone turned the volume down. And here… the noise hits you all at once: a living, breathing crowd, owls flapping, cages clunking, trolleys squeaking, kids yelling, parents calling out last names that sound way too posh.
The red train is right there, massive, steam pouring out like it owns the whole platform. The Hogwarts Express. They didn't even try to be subtle.
Dad freezes for half a second. He doesn't say "wow," but I see it in that tiny pause—an adult brain realizing reality just broke its own rules. Mum smiles, but it wobbles a bit, like she's trying not to look too impressed. (Spoiler: she does.)
Hermione's already in full Hermione mode. "How…?" she murmurs, mostly to herself. "Where does the smoke even come from? Real coal? An enchantment? And the tracks—are they connected to the normal system or…?"
Nobody answers. Obviously.
I push my trolley and try to look calm. I fail miserably.
"Okay," I mutter under my breath, "so they really hid a whole train inside a regular station. Sure. Normal."
Hermione ignores me, laser-focused. "And if someone messes up and goes back through the wall? Does it drop you on the Muggle side again? Is there a return button? Do you get stuck?"
"Hermione," I say, "you're asking questions that only a manual that clearly doesn't exist could answer."
She frowns. "It should exist."
We keep moving through the crowd, dodging families, trunks, and way too many animals. An owl gives me a look like it's already judging my entire future. Thanks, mate.
Dad leans in close. "You sure you know where to board? Are there… assigned seats or anything?"
That "assigned" is loaded with pure Muggle dad panic.
"I think it's more like 'find a spot and pray,'" I answer.
Dad nods like that's actually reasonable. That worries me.
Mum smooths Hermione's hair. "You okay, love?"
"Yes," Hermione answers way too fast. "I'm just… trying to understand it all."
(Spoiler: she won't. Nobody really understands this stuff, and anyone who says they do is lying.)
We're almost at the carriages when a shout cuts through the noise:
"FIRST YEARS! FIRST YEARS!"
We turn. Down at the end of the train a witch is waving her arms like she's directing traffic at an airport. She points at a door and keeps yelling, determined to make sure no kid ruins their destiny by getting on the wrong carriage.
"FIRST YEARS! THIS WAY!"
Hermione blinks. "Why the back? Is there an order? Do they separate us by year? Safety? Logistics? Or just… tradition?"
"Yes," I say.
"Yes what?"
"Yes to all of it. Probably. In that order."
"Looks like there really was an order, Mione," I tell her as we push down the corridor like we're swimming through a crowded market. "Older kids up front, younger ones at the back."
Hermione doesn't even look at me—she's too busy dodging a cage that nearly takes her nose off and a boy wrestling a trunk like it personally insulted him.
"That doesn't prove it's 'order,'" she mutters. "It just proves someone decided to shove everyone one direction."
We pass a compartment with two older boys laughing loudly at something I don't get. One of them glances at us like we're part of the furniture. Charming.
Farther down, a bunch of little kids are crammed into another compartment, their mums still leaning in the doorway giving last-minute war instructions.
Mum and Dad trail behind us in full "don't get lost but also don't let go" parent mode. Dad's doing that tiny silent inhale that means this whole thing is completely mental. He doesn't say it out loud. He doesn't have to.
Hermione presses against my side. "What if we don't find an empty compartment?"
"We merge with the wall. We're experts at that now."
She glares daggers at me.
"Don't joke."
"Okay. Then we sit on the roof."
"Hadrien."
"Fine, fine, fine. We look like normal people."
We keep going. The train is alive: kids shoving, parents fixing scarves, someone yelling "mind the owl!", and this weird mix of smells—old wood, steam, hot metal, and something sweet.
By some miracle of showing up early, we find an empty compartment.
"That one," I say, like I just discovered gold.
We pile in. Hermione immediately claims the window seat like it's part of the Sorting Ceremony. I drop down next to her.
Mum and Dad take advantage of the fact the train hasn't left yet to hoist our trunks onto the rack. Dad does it like the trunk might bite him. When he's done he shakes out his hands like he just carried bricks.
"All set," he says.
Mum leans in a bit more, smiling with that little tremble because she's happy and terrified at the same time. "Eat well, study hard, behave… and look after each other, okay?"
She crouches and hugs us—short but heavy, the kind that leaves your chest feeling funny afterward.
Dad leans in too, more awkward but just as sincere. Then he looks straight at me. "Take care of your sister, yeah? And keep the bad boys away."
He says it like a joke… but his face says he's only half joking.
"Dad!" Hermione squeaks, going bright red.
I grin. "I promise, Dad."
Hermione shoots me a look that clearly says I'm dead the second they leave.
Dad clears his throat, swallows whatever else he was going to say. Mum ruffles our hair quick, like she's scared she'll start crying if she thinks about it too long.
"Behave," she repeats, trying to sound strict.
"And write," Dad adds.
We both nod.
"And Mum, please don't cry—it's not like we're never coming back," I say. They both laugh.
"Forgive your sentimental mother who loves you and worries," Mum adds, half ironic, half affectionate, as she tugs Dad out.
I watch them head toward the door through the sea of people and goodbyes.
When they step off, Hermione stays glued to the window, following Mum with her eyes until she disappears into the crowd.
"I didn't see Harry," she murmurs suddenly. "Wasn't he supposed to be here too?"
I shrug, scanning the chaos. "We got here stupid early. Maybe he hasn't shown up yet. Or maybe we lost him somewhere between fifteen owl cages, twenty trunks, and three family breakdowns."
Hermione gives me the "not the time" look.
"What?" I whisper. "It could happen…"
She turns back to the window.
More students keep arriving—trolleys, parents, pure chaos. Some goodbyes are quick. Others look like the end of the world.
Hermione decides that waiting should be productive. She stands, opens her trunk, and starts digging with that terrifying Hermione efficiency that always makes me feel vaguely guilty for existing.
"What are you looking for?" I ask.
She doesn't answer. She just keeps going like her life depends on it.
Finally she pulls out Hogwarts: A History. Of course.
She sits back down and drops the book between us on our laps—half on her, half on me.
"As usual, I'm the one who reads for you. Your turn. Read to me," she says, dead serious, like it's a Ministry decree.
"Okay," I sigh. "I take the left page, you take the right?"
"Deal."
We've only been reading a few minutes when the door slides open.
Two girls stand there. Twins, not identical but clearly from the same mold: warm brown skin, long shiny black hair, sharp dark eyes. One smiles right away—confident, like she's already decided we're going to like her. The other looks around calmly, taking everything in.
"Hi," the smiling one says. "Is this taken?"
Hermione looks up fast. "No! Come in."
"Can we sit?" the quieter one asks.
"Yeah, of course," I say, shifting the book. "Plenty of room."
They step in, close the door, and sit across from us. The smiling one settles like she's ridden this train a hundred times.
"Thanks. Everywhere else is full."
Hermione nods, all proper. "We got lucky—we came early."
The smiling twin leans forward, friendly. "I'm Parvati Patil. This is my sister, Padma Patil."
Padma gives a small, polite wave. "Hi."
"I'm Hermione," Hermione says right away. "And he's Hadrien."
"Nice to meet you," I say, nodding.
"Nice to meet you," they both reply, almost in sync—Parvati with a big smile, Padma calm and serious.
Hermione glances back at the book like she just remembered it existed, but she's already in conversation mode.
"Are you from London too?" she asks.
"We live in London," Parvati answers, "but our family's from India."
Hermione sits up straighter, genuinely interested. "What part?"
"Maharashtra," Padma says.
Hermione's eyes go wide. "Oh… sorry, I've just never met anyone from there before."
Parvati laughs softly. "It's fine. Most people haven't until they read about it in a book."
"Do you go back often?" Hermione asks.
"When we can," Padma says. "Holidays mostly."
I look at Hermione. "I'll give you five minutes before you start asking about the food."
Hermione glares. "I wasn't going to—… okay, yes I was."
Parvati laughs for real this time. "I prefer Indian food. Way better than English food," she declares like it's an undisputed fact.
"Okay, we can definitely be friends," I grin.
Padma and Parvati both smile.
Hermione circles back to the main point, inevitably.
"Did you already know about magic before the letter?"
Padma nods.
"Yes. We come from a wizarding family."
Hermione lowers her eyes to the book for a second, like the answer lands heavier than she wants to show.
"That must be easier."
Parvati tilts her head.
"Maybe."
I catch Hermione's expression and jump in before she can start spiraling.
"Well, that doesn't apply to her," I say, jerking my chin at her. "Hermione is already three steps ahead of everyone. Me? I'm just surviving by clinging to her shadow like an academic parasite."
Hermione taps me lightly with the edge of the book.
"Don't be ridiculous."
But she doesn't look quite as weighed down anymore.
Parvati laughs again. Padma only smiles a little, barely there.
Hermione taps me with the edge of the book. Parvati laughs again; Padma gives the tiniest smile.
Hermione glances at the book, then at them. "We're reading about Hogwarts. Want to join?"
Parvati leans in to see the cover. "Is that one of those 'how not to die in your first week' books?"
"I wish," I say. "They should reprint it with that title."
"Hadrien," Hermione mutters, but she's smiling now.
Padma looks genuinely interested. "We can read together."
"Perfect," Hermione says, satisfied. "Hadrien does left page, I do right."
Parvati blinks. "Is that a system?"
"It's the only way to stop him pretending he didn't understand," Hermione answers without shame.
"That's slander," I protest, all dramatic. "I explain loads of stuff to you. I'm older and wiser."
Parvati laughs. Padma just looks at us like she's already decided we're a mess… but a likable one.
"Welcome to the club," I say, opening the book again. "'Survive Hogwarts.'"
"With Hermione in charge," Parvati adds.
"And Hadrien as the bad example," Padma finishes, completely deadpan.
I freeze.
Hermione hides her smile behind the book.
"I like them," I mutter, defeated.
We keep reading. The kind of stuff that makes you raise an eyebrow even when you're pretending you're only reading to be supportive.
The Hogwarts motto, for example.
Hermione reads it out loud in that solemn voice she saves for Important Things. "Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus." She says each syllable carefully. "It means 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.'"
Parvati blinks. "That's the official motto of the most prestigious wizarding school?"
Padma leans in. "It's… very specific."
I stare at the words. "Okay, that doesn't sound like deep symbolism. That sounds like someone did something really stupid once and they had to make a rule about it."
Hermione frowns. "Mottos are usually symbolic, Hadrien."
"Nope. This one's literal. This is 'someone got hurt and now it's carved in stone forever.'"
Parvati laughs. "How do you think it happened?"
"Easy," I say. "First year, some kids find a 'tame' dragon, one says 'it's asleep, it's fine,' another says 'what if we tickle it?' and the punishment wasn't detention—it was rebuilding half the castle."
Hermione gives me the "stop making things up" look.
Padma raises an eyebrow. "Why tickling?"
"Because idiots always choose the most embarrassing way to die," I answer without thinking. "Nobody dies heroically. They die doing something stupid like that."
Parvati covers her mouth, trying not to laugh too loud. "That makes way too much sense."
Hermione huffs but doesn't argue. Which means she's picturing it too.
We keep going.
And yeah, Parvati is basically a walking radio. Social, chatty, collecting information like she's building a mental map of Hermione. She asks about dresses, Muggle makeup, whether accessories are important or if you can survive without earrings.
That stuff goes in one ear and out the other for me. I'm physically here, but my brain is on airplane mode.
Padma isn't quiet exactly—she's just efficient. She only talks when it's worth it, and when we read out loud you can tell she's actually listening.
We get to the part about the Houses.
Hermione lights up. "It says Hogwarts is divided into four Houses… Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."
Parvati tilts her head. "We didn't know that."
Hermione turns, surprised. "What do you mean?"
"Our parents only told us the basics," Parvati says. "Hogwarts, magic, wands… they kept the rest secret. Said it was better to experience it."
Padma nods. "They said it would be more fun that way."
Hermione opens the book wider. "There's something here about the Sorting…"
And then the wild speculation starts.
"Maybe we'll have to perform spells," Hermione says, already planning.
"What if it's a ritual?" Parvati adds, eyes wide. "Candles, symbols, dramatic oaths?"
Padma, quiet as ever: "What if it's a test?"
"What kind?" Hermione asks.
Padma shrugs. "Magic. Character. Something like that."
"What if they release a magical creature and you have to survive?" Parvati suggests.
Hermione goes stiff. "That would be illegal."
"In the wizarding world?" I say flatly. "Sweetheart, the school motto is literally 'don't poke the dragon.' I wouldn't bet on 'illegal.'"
Hermione glares at the "sweetheart."
I keep reading like nothing happened.
The book gets all dramatic about belonging and destiny.
Parvati leans closer. "It has to be something big."
Hermione is in full theory mode. "Maybe a personality test, or magical affinity, or—"
Padma points at a line. "'The method of sorting has remained the same for centuries.'"
"Centuries?" Hermione repeats.
Parvati hugs herself. "Definitely a ritual."
I listen for a second, let the snowball roll…
Then I drop it casually: "Or maybe… a magic hat will sort us."
Silence.
Parvati laughs. "That would be ridiculous."
Padma, deadpan: "Extremely ridiculous."
Hermione frowns, thinking. "…But not impossible."
I look down at the book so they can't see my face. "Uh-huh. Ridiculous. Totally ridiculous."
The conversation keeps rolling. At some point the book somehow ends up in Padma's lap. Not because anyone handed it to her. It just… happened.
Parvati and Hermione are deep in a very serious discussion about whether Muggle earrings count as "sad metal." Hermione is answering with full academic seriousness because that's just who she is.
Me? I'm nodding along, half present.
Padma just reads, calm as anything, turning pages like the world being weird is no big deal.
"Mione… look," I say.
Hermione turns and sees the book in Padma's lap.
Parvati giggles. "I think Padma adopted it."
Padma doesn't look up. "I'm reading," she says, like that explains everything.
Hermione blinks, half offended, half fascinated. "And… what does it say now?"
Padma turns the page. "That the Sorting reveals something about you."
Parvati leans forward. "Reveals what?"
Padma shrugs. "Dunno yet."
"Perfect," I mutter. "I love when a school decides to peek into your soul before handing you a timetable."
Padma keeps reading, unbothered.
The train lets out a loud metallic sigh, then a long whistle. The floor vibrates and the platform starts sliding past the window.
Inside, Parvati refuses to let silence happen for even five seconds. Hermione keeps up. Padma reads on. The book is officially hers now.
The door slides open again.
A boy comes in dragging a suitcase that looks heavier than he is. He's chubby, messy brown hair, red cheeks from the effort, and this shy, apologetic expression like he's sorry for taking up space.
And the weirdest part? There's a frog just chilling on his shoulder like it's his co-pilot.
I stare for a second because… what do you even say to "frog on shoulder"?
"S-sorry…" he stammers. "I-is this taken?"
Hermione turns instantly. "No, come in! You can sit."
"Yeah, of course," Parvati adds with a big smile. "Everywhere's almost full."
I stand up before he can bolt. "Come on, get in. We'll help with that."
He steps in carefully. The suitcase bangs the doorframe.
"S-sorry," he mumbles.
"It's fine," I say. "The door survived."
I grab one end and we heave it up onto the rack. The frog doesn't even flinch.
"Okay," I mutter, "your frog has better nerves than I do."
Parvati giggles. Hermione smiles softly. Padma gives the tiniest micro-smile without looking away from the book.
The boy sits like the seat might file a complaint. Hands on his knees, staring at the floor.
I hold out my hand. "I'm Hadrien Granger."
He blinks, looks at my hand, then finally shakes it. "N-Neville… Neville Longbottom."
I shake firm but gentle and give his shoulder a light tap. "Relax, you're good."
"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione says, kind and proper.
"Parvati Patil," Parvati says brightly. "And that's my sister Padma."
Padma dips her head politely.
Neville turns bright red and glances at the frog like it might rescue him.
"That…" Hermione starts, careful not to point (Mum would kill her), "is that your pet?"
Neville nods quickly. "Y-yes."
Trevor just sits there like he's at a formal dinner.
"He's way too calm for Hogwarts," I say.
Parvati giggles again. Hermione gives me the "don't scare him" look, but she's smiling.
Padma goes back to the book like nothing happened.
I look at Neville. "Were you hunting for a compartment? This train's packed like they advertised free seats."
Neville nods. "Y-yes… and I didn't want to bother anyone."
"Well, you already did," I say, grinning so he knows I'm not serious. "So sit down and breathe. You're here."
Hermione steps on my foot under the seat—soft but pointed.
"Ow," I whisper. "It was a joke."
Parvati laughs louder. Neville looks confused… but not uncomfortable. More like he doesn't know what to do with people being nice.
"I-I'm not very good at talking," he admits quietly.
"Perfect," I say. "We talk too much. You just exist, nod, and survive. Solid plan."
Padma, without looking up, slides the book a little toward the middle so he can see too.
Hermione notices and smiles. "We're reading about Hogwarts. Want to join?"
Neville blinks. "R-really?"
"Really," I say, tapping his shoulder again. "Nobody bites."
Hermione opens her mouth, offended.
"Don't start," I tell her.
"Okay, okay. Nobody bites… without prior notice."
Hermione glares. Parvati laughs. Neville lets out a tiny, surprised laugh.
He relaxes just a bit.
Padma turns the page calmly. The frog stays statue-still.
I decide that's enough socialising for one day. "I'm gonna take a nap. Wake me when we're close… or when something explodes. Whichever comes first."
Without asking, I lean over and rest my head on Hermione's shoulder.
"Hey, I'm not a pillow," she says, but there's no real annoyance in it—just the tired acceptance of "this is my life."
I mumble one last thing before I drift off. "I'm your pillow whenever you want, Mione… now it's your turn."
Parvati covers her mouth to hide a giggle. Padma side-eyes her, amused but not full-on laughing.
Neville sits there like he's not sure if that was a joke, a confession, or advanced magic.
Hermione makes a little sigh-defeat sound.
"Thanks…" I murmur, already half gone.
And I sleep.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ── HERMIONE P.O.V ── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Parvati looks at me with that smile that says she's already figured everything out.
"So… Mione, huh?" she says, teasing.
My ears burn. I don't say a word because opening my mouth right now would be dangerous.
Parvati keeps going, delighted. "Are you two always like this?" She gestures wildly like she's describing an exotic creature. "Nicknames, leaning on each other like it's normal, and then those weird lines right before he falls asleep. You're really close. Not as close as me and Padma, though."
Padma lets out a dramatic exhale. "Please, Parvati. I barely tolerate you and your gossip. Leave Hermione alone."
I laugh, trying not to move too much because Hadrien's heavier than he looks.
"We've always been like this, as far back as I can remember," I say softly. "And the nickname… I don't even know where 'Mione' came from. He just started calling me that."
I glance at Hadrien. He's out cold, face completely relaxed. Zero guilt, of course.
"I've tried to come up with one for him too," I add, "but nothing ever sounds right."
Then, for some reason, I do my best Padma impression just to annoy her. "And yes… I can't stand him sometimes either. He doesn't take anything seriously and he jokes constantly."
Padma actually laughs, surprised. "Your impression is terrible. I don't sound like that."
Parvati jumps in instantly. "It was perfect. You captured the serious eyes and the grandma voice exactly."
"I do NOT have a grandma voice!" Padma protests, but she's smiling.
Parvati turns back to me, still buzzing with energy. "Yeah, he jokes a lot… but he's actually funny. And he's pretty handsome, too."
I go still.
It's not a big reaction on the outside, but inside something just… clicks shut.
Padma nods like she's stating a scientific fact. "Yeah, actually. And he doesn't seem dumb… even when he acts like it."
I bite my tongue so I don't say something that sounds exactly like Hadrien.
Neville, who's been quiet the whole time, leans forward a little. "I… I'm jealous," he whispers. "Having a brother like that."
He turns scarlet the second the words are out, like he regrets existing. It's sweet and a little heartbreaking at the same time.
Parvati spins on Padma. "See? Why can't you be like that?"
Padma looks at her calmly. "Because you're annoying."
Parvati opens her mouth, offended.
Padma adds, still calm, "And don't worry. I love you. But from a distance."
Parvati makes a dramatic wounded noise like she's been stabbed.
"You're so cruel, Padma."
"I'm efficient at staying sane."
I laugh harder than I meant to. Hadrien shifts on my shoulder but doesn't wake up, just settles in like the whole world is his personal pillow.
I take a deep breath and look back at Parvati, trying to steer the conversation before she writes fanfiction about us on the spot.
"He… is my brother," I say slowly. "And he's an idiot."
Parvati smiles like that proves her point. "Uh-huh."
"But he's my idiot," I add, quieter than I planned.
Half a second of silence.
Padma raises an eyebrow. Parvati's eyes go wide with triumph. Neville stares out the window like it's his emotional support object.
Heat rushes up my neck. "I mean—that… I take care of him because he's family. That's all."
Parvati leans back, satisfied, already filing that sentence away for later.
"Sure. That's all."
Padma opens the book again with perfect calm. "Let's keep reading. Before Parvati turns Hogwarts into a soap opera."
"It is a soap opera," Parvati replies instantly. "Just with wands."
But the words "he's pretty handsome" are stuck in my head like a stubborn fly.
And I don't like it. I don't know why.
"Neville," I say gently, "what's your family like? Are you from a wizarding family or Muggle-born like us?"
Neville blinks like I asked something dangerous. He adjusts the frog carefully, like it's the only steady thing in his life, then looks at me.
"Uh… I'm from a wizarding family," he says, like he's asking permission to say it. "My gran… my gran is… very… strict."
Parvati makes an interested "mm," but Padma gives her a look and she actually stays quiet. Miracle.
"Strict how?" I ask, keeping my voice soft.
Neville shrinks a little. "About everything. How I talk… how I walk… and… what I'm supposed to be."
That last part is barely a whisper.
I nod slowly. I remember Mum telling me to straighten my back when I was nervous.
"Are your parents wizards too?" I ask.
Neville looks down at his hands. "Yes… but… I don't live with them. I live with my gran."
There's a careful silence.
"I understand," I say, and I really do.
Neville lets out a shaky breath like I just gave him permission not to explain more.
"And you?" he asks quietly. "You said… you're Muggle… I mean… you come from…"
"Muggle parents," I finish with a small smile because it still feels ridiculous. "Yeah. They're both dentists. They had no idea until the letter came."
Neville's eyes widen. "Dentists?" Like I said "dragon tamers."
"Yeah. Teeth. Cavities. Cleanings. The real magic."
Parvati laughs under her breath. Padma's mouth twitches like she's fighting a smile.
Neville makes a face that's half laugh, half horror. "That must be… weird."
I pause for a second.
Excuse me? How is being a dentist weird? What do wizards do—pray their teeth clean? My brain tries to picture a wizard with a rotten tooth going "it'll sort itself out" and I almost lose it.
I decide not to go there right now. For my own sanity.
"But… I don't know. My parents are excited, scared, proud—all at once. It's a weird mix."
"My gran is proud…" Neville says, then corrects himself fast. "I mean, she would be if… if I…"
He trails off.
I lean forward a little. "If you… what?"
Neville turns red. "If I were… better," he says, voice cracking on the word. "My gran always says I… I should have shown magic earlier. And I… I was late."
Something tightens in my chest.
"And because of that she treats you like you're behind?" I ask, unable to keep the indignation out.
Neville shrinks more. "She's not mean. She just… wants me to be strong. She says I can't be weak."
I bite my tongue. What I want to say is that's not how you make someone strong, that's how you break them. But I don't say it like that.
I breathe. "Neville, you got into Hogwarts. Not everyone does."
He looks at me like he's not sure he's allowed to believe it.
"I guess…"
"No. Not 'I guess,'" I say, firmer but still soft. "You did it. End of story."
Neville swallows. The frog croaks like it's agreeing with me. Perfect. Amphibian backup.
"Thanks," he murmurs.
I smile a little. "Also, if I've learned anything lately, it's that the wizarding world has weird rules. Sometimes you're late, sometimes you're not, and it doesn't say anything about who you are."
Neville looks at me like I just spoke a new language.
"Hadrien says stuff like that…" he whispers. "Like he's sure about everything."
I glance at Hadrien, still asleep on my shoulder, completely at peace.
"Hadrien is sure about everything even when he's wrong," I say dryly.
Neville lets out a nervous little laugh.
"But… it feels good," he adds. "Someone talking like that."
That softens me. "Then hold onto it. And if your gran ever makes you feel small… remember that here, at Hogwarts, nobody knows what you 'should have been.' They'll only know what you do now."
Neville nods slowly.
"Do you think… I can do it right?"
I'm surprised by how direct it is. Like it cost him, but he still said it.
"Yes," I answer without hesitation. "And if you mess up? So what. We're all going to mess up. It's literally school."
Parvati can't resist. "And if not, we can always blame the castle."
Padma finally looks up. "Or blame Parvati."
Parvati looks offended with dignity.
Neville smiles a little more.
I shift so Hadrien doesn't slide off.
"What's your frog's name?" I ask, glancing at his shoulder.
Neville freezes.
"I… I don't know," he admits, ashamed. "My gran just said 'take a pet' and… gave me this."
Parvati opens her mouth to joke, but Padma steps on her foot. Literally.
I feel like the situation needs fixing.
"Then we name him," I say, completely serious, like this is official business.
Neville blinks. "Now?"
"Now," I confirm. "Hogwarts has Houses, hats, invisible trains. Naming a frog is the most normal thing we'll do today."
Neville looks at his frog like he's been given a sacred quest.
"And how…?"
I think for a second. "Something simple. Something strong."
I look at the frog again.
"Trevor?" I suggest.
Padma nods like it's acceptable.
Neville stays still… then, very slowly, smiles.
"Trevor," he repeats.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ── HADRIEN P.O.V ── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
I wake up to someone nudging me. I sit up before my brain even boots.
"Hopefully the train's being robbed," I mumble as everything comes back online.
It takes me half a second to realise: at some point Hermione shifted me and now my head is in her lap—the legendary lap pillow. She's looking at me like "don't make a big deal out of it."
"Good morning, sleepyhead~," Parvati sings, dragging it out like we're in a musical.
"The train isn't being robbed," Hermione says, shaking her head. "But an older student just came by and said we're nearly there. We should change into our uniforms and robes."
"Okay," I say, still running at half speed. I stand and look at Neville. "Come on, Neville. Let's wait in the corridor. The girls need to change."
"Ah… y-yes, yes," Neville stammers, standing like the uniform might demand an interview.
"Thanks, Hadrien. You're a gentleman," Parvati and Padma say almost together.
I turn and give them an exaggerated medieval bow. "An honour, ladies," I say in my best posh voice, even though it comes out half-broken with this kid throat.
Neville and I step out. I close the door and hover for a second like I'm on guard duty.
The train still hums under our feet.
I glance at Neville. "So… how are you feeling? Excited? Nervous about Hogwarts?"
Neville stares down the corridor like a teacher might appear and scold him for breathing.
"I… y-yeah. I think," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "My gran says it's an honour. But… it's scary too."
"Yeah, well. New place, new people. If it wasn't scary that'd be suspicious," I mutter.
Neville gives a small laugh—the kind that needs permission first.
I look at him closer. Then I notice.
"Wait… where's your frog?" I ask, because it's not on either shoulder and I didn't see it inside.
Neville goes completely still.
Then he blinks.
And his face does that slow, horrible realisation thing.
"I…" he swallows. "I lost it."
"What do you mean you lost it?"
Neville lowers his voice like the frog might overhear and get offended. "I went to the bathroom a while ago and… when I came back… it wasn't there. I thought maybe it jumped to the floor or…"
He runs out of air.
"Did you look?"
Neville nods fast. "Hermione and I… we went compartment by compartment. Asked everyone. Looked under seats. In the corridor. But… nothing."
I stay quiet for a second, staring at our compartment door like Trevor might stroll out with a suitcase.
"Okay," I say finally, keeping my voice steady. "First: I'm not going to yell at you, because life already did."
Neville looks at me, confused.
"Second: if a frog goes missing on a train full of magical kids, there are two possibilities," I continue. "Either someone thought it was theirs and took it, or your frog decided to escape before Hogwarts turns it into potion ingredients."
Neville goes pale.
"No! My gran said—"
"Joke," I cut in quickly. "Bad joke. Don't shut down on me, Neville."
He exhales shakily.
"Sorry," he mumbles.
"Don't apologise for everything," I say, giving his shoulder a light, firm tap. "Keep it simple: when we get off, first thing we do is ask a prefect or older student. And if it shows up later… it shows up. Frogs have their own schedule."
Neville tries to smile. It only makes it halfway.
"And if it doesn't?"
I shrug like I've got the universe figured out. "It will."
Neville frowns, not convinced. "How are you so sure? What if it doesn't come back? What if—"
"No." I stop him before he spirals. I lower my voice, more serious. "Listen, Neville."
He goes still.
"What would you rather do? Worry about everything you can't control and torture yourself… or focus on what you actually can do?" I pause so it doesn't sound like a lecture. "You already looked. It didn't show up. That sucks. But don't keep replaying it every thirty seconds. It doesn't help. It just crushes you. Now we do the next thing: ask, stay alert, hope for the best."
I breathe once, slow.
"If it really doesn't show up in the end…" I say, no drama, "the world doesn't end. We deal with it later. And until then you're not alone. Okay?"
Neville hesitates, then nods. "Okay."
The door behind us opens.
"We're done. Your turn," Padma says.
We step back in while the girls head out. I reach for my trunk and dig out my uniform.
I change fast, smooth my shirt, and wait for Neville to finish.
"I'd rather not wear the cloak," I tell him, eyeing the folded robe like it insulted me personally.
Neville doesn't answer. He's focused on every button like it's life or death.
When he's done I crack the door. "You can come back in."
Parvati comes in first like the compartment belongs to her by social decree. Hermione follows, fixing her collar with that "please sit right" face. Padma last, straight to her seat, zero wasted movement.
The three of them keep talking. I've already used up all my social energy for the day. Time for power-saving mode.
So I do the healthiest thing a tired twelve-year-old can do: I hide in my stuff.
I rummage through my trunk until I find something useful.
Ah. This'll do.
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
6591 Words
A/N: WHAT THE HELL! Almost 7k words… are we insane?
But yeah, you're starting to see what my chapters are like, right?
I introduce characters, I try to patch (or at least point out) J.K. Rowling's plot holes where I can, I pull things out of my ass when I have to, I pack in a lot of dialogue… (I admit I sometimes go too hard on Hadrien's jokes. Sorry. Not sorry.)
Writing Neville was a nightmare. Seriously. Keeping him from feeling out of character was like juggling grenades. And don't come at me with "that's not canon" because I invented scenes or didn't follow everything word for word. You already know: this is fanfic.
I planned to introduce more characters, but I decided it was too much effort at this point. I don't have to do it here. I can bring them in later, when I'm not fighting my patience and my keyboard at the same time.
And the whole Hermione-and-Neville-looking-for-Trevor thing was basically my way of bringing Hermione, Harry, and Ron together without writing the "classic start" exactly as-is. Because honestly… I don't really feel like writing Ron. And to be clear, I don't hate him, but I don't love him either. He's just not my priority. And I don't really know what to do with him.
Looks like you're lucky. On average, the chapters are going to be longer. Not all of them, but a bunch will be.