Sean's first time seeing a so-called Chocolate Frog card—and of course it was everyone else's first time in Compartment Two as well. Naturally, the conversation swung right back to the cards.
"Whoa! Derwent Shimpling!"
"You know him?"
"I don't, but I deeply admire what he did."
Hermione arched a brow and took the card from Justin's hand.
"Derwent Shimpling—won a bet by eating an entire Venomous Tentacula and survived, but his body is still purple."
When she finished, she shot Justin a sideways glare. "Idiot."
"Fair enough," Justin conceded without a fight. Their eyes dropped to Hermione's own card.
"Godric Gryffindor," Hermione said, chin tipped up and a wide smile tugging at her lips. "One of Hogwarts' founders; a house is named after him."
"Very cool. I read about him in Hogwarts: A History. It says he left a sword at the school." Justin's admiration was genuine. Hermione's eyes narrowed in pleased delight.
While they talked, the train had long since left London, racing across sheep-speckled pastures. They fell quiet for a moment, watching broad fields and rolling hills sweep past, riders on white mounts flashing by like white blossoms in an oil painting.
"He really is quiet," Hermione murmured, not naming names—but Justin knew exactly who she meant.
"Not necessarily." Justin's dimples appeared in a healing smile. "Sean, do me a favor with this pumpkin pasty—help me out here."
A slender hand darted out.
"Thanks." The voice came a few seconds later from behind a ridiculously thick brownish tome.
Justin's dimples deepened.
"My mum tells me the truly capable people are usually quiet—can't be rattled even if a mountain drops in front of them. But they're often not very lucky…" His gaze slid to the pilled fabric of Sean's coat and that absorbed face. "Mum says I always need friends like that. Her advice helped me find my friends at Summerfield, and she was right. I think we'll be lifelong friends. We promised we'd keep writing even if we end up at different schools. If you're interested, I'd be happy to share our letters."
As he spoke, Justin opened his suitcase. Beyond the standard school supplies, the most eye-catching things were the neatly stacked letters, with scattered photos beside them—shots of Justin and his friends.
Hermione was still taking it in when a tear-tinged voice rang out:
"Trevor! Where are you?"
A round-faced boy squeezed into the compartment, timidly asking, "Sorry—have you seen my toad?"
By then the train was about two-thirds of the way there. The warm, yellow carriage lights broke Sean's concentration. He rubbed his eyes—he was alone in the compartment. Noting the darkening sky, he started to change into his school robes, then spotted a slip of paper when he closed One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
Sean, we've gone to help a boy named Neville find his toad. If you want to come, find us in the corridor.
He thought for a moment, then scrawled on the back:
The train's about to arrive—remember to change.
He tucked the note down, grabbed his robes, and slid the compartment door open.
The corridor was a riot—much louder than before. With everyone now acquainted, the chatter had swelled. As Sean passed one compartment, he caught a snatch of argument.
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow—turn this stupid, fat rat yellow," a boy's squeaky voice intoned.
"Are you sure that's a real spell?" a girl asked.
"Looks a bit rubbish, doesn't it? I tried a few simple ones at home, you know—just for practice—and they all worked. Anyway, watch this. Reparo."
Sean more or less knew what was happening and was about to step closer when a platinum-blond boy strode the door open, two bodyguard-like lads in tow.
Sean didn't need to think hard to know what came next. Sure enough, a sneer followed:
"If I were you, Potter, I'd be careful. You'll want to be polite, or you'll end up the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, and if you hang around riff-raff like the Weasleys or Hagrid, you'll be dragged down."
What a poisonous mouth, Sean thought, and walked on toward the cloakroom without looking back.
The air in that compartment tightened—then came a yelp. Sean could guess: Scabbers had bitten Goyle and given Harry an opening. If memory served, wasn't that the only time Peter Pettigrew ever helped Harry?
By the time Compartment Two filled up with first-years again, the train's thunder was at its peak. The scarlet engine slowed. Outside, under the dark-violet sky, only an unbroken sweep of mountains and forest could be seen.
Hermione and Justin could hardly hide their excitement. The three of them disembarked onto a small, black station. In the distance stood a giant with a lantern—like one of those man-eating monsters out of a fairy tale.
The night air bit cold, but this time Sean didn't shiver. He wasn't wearing donated, hole-riddled, pilled clothes anymore. He had on Hogwarts' plain robes and underlayers.
They were warm.
Following Hagrid through the trees, the first-years all let out a ringing "Woooow!" when the castle came into view. Justin's shout was the loudest, earning him repeated glares from Hermione.
"Forgive me, Hermione—Eton isn't so easy to let go of. But I made the right choice. Look at that castle, the floating lights, the moving statues… If my mother could see this—well, she'd be proud of me."
They crossed the Black Lake by boat, pulled into the boathouse, climbed the cliffside steps, and stopped at the doors to the entrance hall—where they listened to Professor McGonagall's explanation about the Sorting.