The two of them boarded the train and found an empty compartment to sit in.
As for their luggage, it had already been taken by the staff to the baggage car and would later be sent directly to their dormitories.
"The opening feast requires everyone to wear robes. You might want to change into them now, so you won't be scrambling when you get off the train,"
a staff member reminded them.
Once inside, Hermione held out her hand to Arthur.
Without hesitation, he pulled two sets of robes out of his system backpack right in front of her.
"No matter how many times I see it, Cousin, your innate magic is just too enviable."
Ever since Hermione had "accidentally" caught him putting things into his mysterious backpack, Arthur had become her personal storage cabinet.
(Hermione: What do you mean 'accidentally'? I just wanted more chances to learn from him.)
At first, the little witch thought she had finally uncovered the secret to why her cousin's room never seemed to have many books, yet he could always produce new ones from nowhere. She pestered him to teach her this storage magic.
But what could Arthur say? He brushed it off as his "talent magic," something others simply couldn't learn.
Later, he even went so far as to pretend to write letters to a fictitious pen pal, while in reality controlling his avatar to spend a small fortune in Diagon Alley on a "school trunk."
That was the only thing that managed to pacify her.
What? If she had her own trunk, why still rely on him?
Heh. Ever since Mrs. Granger found out about Arthur's trunk, she had been trying to fill it with food every single day—terrified that the two cousins wouldn't get used to school meals and might starve at Hogwarts.
"If you're that envious, I'll try to get my hands on a book about the Undetectable Extension Charm. Then I can make you a space bag."
"Better not. I read that the Ministry strictly controls that spell and doesn't allow private use."
Arthur scoffed.
"As if. We'll just use it quietly—nobody's going to know. And don't believe that official nonsense. Every old pure-blood family has plenty of things enchanted with extension charms."
"Think about it. Those wizarding families are rich, right? You think they really walk around with giant sacks of coins slung over their shoulders when they go shopping?"
Hermione imagined a noble-looking wizard in fine robes, lugging around a bulging burlap sack of coins down the street. The image made her burst out laughing.
They had just finished changing into their robes when there came a knock at the door.
A bespectacled boy with sandy blond hair and vivid green eyes poked his head in. His features were handsome—second only to Arthur, of course, whose looks were on the same level as the readers themselves.
"Excuse me, may I sit here? The compartments up front are all full."
"Of course, please come in," Arthur replied.
He hadn't expected to run into this boy, someone he had already glimpsed once in Diagon Alley.
Yes—the newcomer was none other than the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter.
Perhaps because of Arthur's presence, Neville didn't show up in this carriage. Instead, Harry had chosen this one.
"My name's Arthur—"
"I'm Harry—"
Before they could finish, Hermione burst out excitedly:
"Oh! You're Harry Potter, the boy who—"
"Forgive us," Arthur quickly cut in, "we're from a Muggle family. We've only read about the wizarding world in books. This is Hermione's first time seeing you, so she got a bit carried away."
Harry relaxed. "It's fine. You two seem very close. I've got a cousin too, but… well, he doesn't really like me much."
He was relieved that Arthur wasn't gushing over him like all the other wizards he'd met at the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone there had wanted to chat, some even asked him how he had defeated Voldemort. How was he supposed to know that? And when he asked about his parents, nobody could give him real answers.
"Sorry, but my cousin treats me really well," Hermione said apologetically, then added proudly, "better than anyone."
Arthur reached over and ruffled the little witch's bushy hair again. He had discovered recently that it was surprisingly pleasant to the touch—he could hardly keep his hands off it.
At that moment, another knock came at the door.
This time it was a freckled, red-haired boy.
Seeing him, Arthur couldn't help marveling at fate's strange pull.
Even with his butterfly effect, the Golden Trio was still destined to meet on the train.
Not that nothing had changed—at least Hermione was far stronger than in the original.
"Mind if I join? Looks like there's still a seat left."
"Of course," Arthur said.
"Sure," Harry nodded.
"I don't mind," Hermione added.
"I'm Ron—Ron Weasley."
They all introduced themselves in turn.
When it came to Harry, however, the routine interruption returned.
"You're Harry Potter? The one who—" Ron gaped in disbelief.
"Oh, sure," Harry said, lifting his fringe to reveal the scar on his forehead.
He did it so smoothly that it was almost heartbreaking—you could tell he'd already been asked about it far too often.
Knock knock.
"Anything off the trolley, dears?"
The snack trolley rolled by.
"No thanks, I brought my own," Ron said quickly, his pockets clearly too light.
Arthur and Hermione declined as well. Before leaving home, Arthur had prepared two lunchboxes and tucked them into his system space, knowing the ride would be long.
Harry, however, glanced at Ron's corned beef sandwich, then pulled out a handful of Galleons and bought nearly the entire trolley.
Arthur watched with great amusement.
For Ron, wasn't this essentially: say three words, and Harry will buy out the whole snack cart for you?
Harry shared his pile of sweets with the others.
Arthur, not to be outdone, pulled out some Muggle snacks from the "school trunk" and passed them around.
Hermione refused Harry's treats, though. Instead, she stretched out her hand to Arthur, who knowingly "fetched" the bento box from the trunk.
Taking it, she began eating happily.
What sweets could compare to her cousin's cooking?
The delicious smell from their lunchboxes wafted through the compartment. Across from them, Ron and Harry suddenly found their own snacks rather tasteless.
As they ate, the conversation drifted naturally to magic.
"Fred taught me a spell that can turn Scabbers yellow. Want to see?" Ron asked eagerly.
The others nodded. Harry and Hermione looked curious—especially Hermione, who had never seen this particular spell in any of her books. Arthur, on the other hand, already knew the result and wasn't impressed.
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow!" Ron incanted, waving his wand at Scabbers.
A flash of light crossed the rat's body—then nothing happened.
"Are you sure that's a real spell? It doesn't look very effective," Hermione said, her scholar's disdain flashing in her eyes.
Arthur knew better. The spell might be real, but that wasn't a real rat—it was Peter Pettigrew in Animagus form.
"Actually, I've tried lots of spells at home, and they worked fine," Hermione said proudly, pulling out her wand.
"For example… Reparo!"
In Harry's shocked gaze, his cracked glasses were instantly restored to factory condition.
Hermione looked at Arthur expectantly, waiting for praise.
"Not bad. Good casting. But remember—never point your wand at someone for no reason. It's considered a provocation." Arthur reminded her.
"I know. Sorry, Harry," she said quickly.
"That's okay. Thank you for fixing my glasses. That was amazing," Harry said, genuinely impressed.
"It's nothing. My cousin is the truly amazing one."
Hermione raised her brows at Arthur, clearly nudging him to show off.
With a helpless smile, Arthur drew his wand and cast Scourgify on their empty lunchboxes.
Hermione still couldn't quite master this spell. It required the caster's intent to decide exactly what to clean, and her control wasn't there yet.
Last time she tried to use it for washing dishes, the Grangers had ended up with an entirely new set of tableware.