It was the first time Sean had ever seen a Chocolate Frog card, and naturally the other two first-years in Compartment Two were just as curious.
So, the conversation quickly circled around the cards again.
"Whoa—Derwent Shimpling!"
"You know him?"
"I don't. But I deeply admire what he did."
Hermione arched an eyebrow and took the card from Justin's hand.
"Derwent Shimpling—famously ate an entire Venomous Tentacula for a bet and survived, though his skin has been permanently purple."
She finished reading and immediately shot Justin a glare.
"Idiot."
"All right, fair enough," Justin admitted without the slightest protest.
Their eyes drifted to Hermione's own card.
"Godric Gryffindor," Hermione announced proudly, her chin lifting and her lips curving upward.
"One of the four founders of Hogwarts. A sword he wielded is said to remain somewhere within the castle."
"That's brilliant," Justin breathed. "I read about him in Hogwarts: A History. They say the sword can reveal itself to worthy Gryffindors."
Hermione's eyes narrowed in satisfaction.
By then, the train had long since left London behind.
Outside the windows, rolling hills and vast grasslands stretched endlessly, flocks of sheep dotted across the greenery.
Riders in white jockey uniforms cut across the fields on horses, like figures painted into an oil landscape.
"He's very quiet," Hermione murmured after a moment, not naming names—but both of them knew exactly who she meant.
"Not necessarily," Justin replied with a soft laugh, a dimple appearing on his cheek.
"Sean—please do us a favor and rescue this pumpkin pasty for me, yeah?"
A pale hand shot over the fortress of sweets and claimed one.
"Thank you."
The voice came several seconds later from behind a thick brown-spined textbook.
Justin's dimples deepened.
"My mother says that people who are truly capable are often quiet.
Even if a mountain collapses in front of them, they don't flinch.
But," he glanced at Sean's worn, fraying sleeves and fiercely focused expression,
"they're often not very lucky."
His tone softened.
"Mum always told me I needed friends like that. She was right at Samfield Preparatory—
I found friends I know I'll have for life. We promised that even if we went to different schools, we'd never stop writing."
As he spoke, Justin flipped open his trunk.
Neatly stacked envelopes filled half the space, and scattered photographs showed laughing children in school uniforms.
Hermione watched in surprise—until a wavering voice suddenly cut through the hum of the train.
"Trevor! Trevor, where are you?!"
A round-faced boy burst into the compartment, on the verge of tears.
"Sorry—have any of you seen a toad? I've lost him!"
Neville Longbottom.
Sean blinked as the warm yellow lights flickered overhead. He must have been studying for far longer than he realized—
when he looked up again, the compartment was empty.
Outside, daylight was fading into steel-blue dusk.
Sean closed One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and found a folded note atop it:
Sean— We went to help a boy named Neville find his toad.
If you want to join us, look for us in the corridor.
Sean considered it for a moment, then wrote on the back:
Train's nearly at the station. Don't forget uniforms.
Then he picked up his school robes and left the compartment.
The Corridor
The hallway was chaos—significantly louder than before.
The first-years had clearly become comfortable enough to shout over each other.
As Sean passed one compartment, he overheard a dispute:
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow—turn this stupid fat rat yellow!"
"Are you sure that's real magic?"
"That sounded awful. I've already tried some simple spells at home—just for practice—and they worked."
"Watch this then—Reparo!"
Sean had a clear idea of what was happening.
Before he could move on, a pale blond boy strode in, flanked by two hulking companions like bodyguards.
Draco Malfoy.
Sean didn't need to look to know what came next.
Soon enough, a sharp, icy voice rang out:
"If I were you, Potter, I'd be careful.
You might end up the same way as your parents—they didn't know what was good for them either.
If you hang around riff-raff like the Weasleys or Hagrid, you'll regret it."
Poisonous.
Sean's internal judgment was silent and dry as he slipped toward the changing room.
The next moment, shouting erupted—and Sean didn't need to see it to know Scabbers had just bitten Goyle.
Probably the only time Peter Pettigrew ever helped Harry Potter.
Hogwarts
By the time everyone regrouped in Compartment Two, the thunderous rumbling of the engine signaled their arrival.
Outside the window, mountains and dense forest loomed beneath a dark violet sky.
The train slowed. Steam roared across the platform.
Hermione and Justin could barely contain their excitement as they climbed down, joining the mass of first-years onto a small, shadowy platform.
A towering figure waited with a lantern in hand—half giant, half myth.
He looked like something out of a fairy tale that ate children.
But Sean didn't shiver.
For the first time, he wasn't wearing threadbare cast-offs or clothes riddled with holes.
He wore real Hogwarts robes—warm and heavy enough to shield from the night wind.
"Firs'-years! This way! Firs'-years, follow me!"
Hagrid's booming voice cut through the night as they followed him down the slope, through the trees—
And then the forest opened.
The boats rocked gently on the lake, and beyond, across the black mirror of water, stood the castle.
Glowing windows, floating torches, towering spires—majestic and unreal in the moonlight.
"Woooow—!"
Justin's voice out-yelled everyone else, earning an exasperated glare from Hermione.
"Forgive me, Hermione! Eton was hard to walk away from—
but just look at it! The floating lights—those moving statues—
If Mum ever saw this, she'd be proud of me, I swear!"
They crossed the lake by boat, feet landing on the stone dock beneath the cliff.
Up twisting staircases and through carved archways—
Until at last they stood before the vast wooden doors of the Great Hall.
Professor McGonagall waited, stern and regal, ready to speak about the Sorting Ceremony.
Advance Chapters available on Patreon