Hermione Granger sat alone in one of the few empty compartments in the last carriage of the train, its door deliberately left open in case someone wanted to ask her for help. No one did—and that was the problem.
Students chattered, snacked, or crowded together to observe a spider with eight long, hairy legs tapping against its box. Yet not a single person sat down to read, which meant she couldn't sit down beside them and open her own book.
Even when she bravely claimed the first empty seat she found to reread Hogwarts: A History for the third time, no one thought to join her.
Beyond helping others with homework or offering practical assistance, Hermione had no idea how to make friends. She didn't consider herself shy. She was the kind of girl who took initiative, who did what was expected of her. And yet, unless someone approached her with a question like "I forgot how to calculate the surface area of a cylinder," she had no idea how to start a conversation. What did one say when walking up to someone?
Hermione simply couldn't understand it. There was no correct answer—no clean, logical solution. She found the entire ordeal absurd. Why did adults insist this was something she was meant to do alone? Why couldn't someone simply walk up to her and say, "Hermione, the teacher wants me to be your friend."
She wasn't sad, or lonely, or cold. She was simply reading Hogwarts: A History again, harbouring a faint, subconscious irritation at the irrationality of the world.
A round-faced boy entered suddenly, eyes brimming with tears. "I—I'm sorry. My name is Neville. I wanted to ask if you've seen my toad?"
"I haven't, but I'd be happy to help you look," Hermione said at once, delighted to have a purpose—and perhaps a friend.
But was he being far too trusting? Hermione watched as a tall, dark-haired boy effortlessly convinced Neville to follow him to the next carriage. She prepared to expose his deception—only to overhear the alarming declaration:
"I want you to help me rule the world."
"Th-thank you. I'm not a bad person. I just need the loo—please wait here!" Hermione stammered, already preparing to find a prefect or professor. She clearly needed to report that a would-be tyrant had boarded the train.
But Kevin Goldsmith said, "I'm sorry—that was only an analogy. 'Dominating the world' isn't quite accurate. What I truly want is to optimise the world: bring magic into the realm of science, combine the strengths of wizards and Muggles, improve living standards, propel humanity forward by centuries, uncover immortality, leave the solar system, and step into the sea of stars."
"Then why me? And what do you want me to do?" Hermione asked. (The strange symbols she had heard were clearly a trick of her nerves.)
Kevin, of course, couldn't admit, Because you're one of the four main characters of Witch Trainer.Instead he answered the second question. "Only one small difficulty stands in the way of this grand vision, and it requires your intelligence."
"What difficulty?" Hermione straightened, intrigued. With my wisdom, this all sounds rather reasonable…
"I need you to help cultivate my sense of humour so I can laugh out loud at specific goals."
Hermione stared at him, unsure whether he was mad—or whether the world was mad.
"Don't look at me like that—I'm not lying. If you don't believe me, let's see whether Neville has found his toad."
Neville had indeed recovered Trevor, much to everyone's relief. On the way back, as they passed a compartment with two boys inside, Hermione halted. "Someone's about to cast a spell. We should observe—it will be good practice."
A red-haired boy looked miserable, while the thin boy beside him offered pies with polite warmth. Kevin's mouse, hidden in his belt, made its hunger known yet again.
The red-haired boy raised his wand over a motionless rat. "Daisies, sweet cream, sunshine—turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!" He waved dramatically. Nothing happened. The rat sat as still as ever.
"Are you sure that's an actual spell?" Hermione asked, sounding deeply relieved. "It doesn't follow the format from the textbooks. I'm Hermione Granger. What are your names?"
"Ron Weasley," said the red-haired boy, pointing to the rat. "This is Scabbers."
"I'm Kevin Goldsmith. Think positively—maybe your spell doesn't work because it was meant for rats, and Scabbers is, well… the size of a hamster." Kevin fed his own mouse a piece of pie. "This is my pet—Jerry."
"Harry Potter," said the skinny boy quietly.
"Is it really you?" Hermione gasped. "I know all about you—you're mentioned in A History of Modern Magic, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century and of course in the chapters about—you know who."
"Voldemort," Harry said. "His name is Voldemort."
Harry admitted, "I only learned last month that an evil wizard tried to kill me as a baby, and for some reason failed and died instead. Now strangers thank me for something I don't even remember."
Suddenly the compartment door slid open. A pale, blond boy entered as though he owned the train, flanked by two burly boys who looked like living shields.
"Is it true?" he asked. "Everyone says Harry Potter is in this compartment. So that's you?"
"Yes," Harry answered.
"My name is Draco Malfoy," the boy declared. Ron snorted, failing to hide his laughter. (The name Draco did sound like naming a child after a constellation.)
Malfoy sneered at him. "My father told me all about the Weasleys—red hair, freckles, too many children to support."
He turned to Harry. "I'm not saying they're bad, but I can't see the point of them. You don't want to make the wrong sort of friends. I can help you with that." He extended his hand arrogantly.
Harry ignored it. "I can tell who the oddballs are on my own, thanks."
"So you've already chosen your side: one Weasley, two Mudbloods. Be careful, Potter—or you might end up like your parents."
The insult landed with a hateful sting. Ron and Harry both leapt to their feet, Ron's face matching his hair. But Kevin moved first.
"Grease," he muttered.
Malfoy and his cronies found no friction beneath their feet. The result was inevitable—especially on a moving train. They slid, tumbled, and collided gracelessly.
"You—you! My father will—will—AH!"The train lurched around a bend, sending Crabbe crashing into Malfoy with comedic precision.
"We'll meet again!" Malfoy snarled, rolling away in fury and indignity.
"He comes from a rich, pure-blood family," Ron muttered. "They were early supporters of You-Know-Who and the quickest to switch sides when he fell. Malfoy's father claims he was under the Imperius Curse—but my dad says that's rubbish."
Only Hermione noticed Kevin still hadn't used a wand to cast his spell. She kept that detail to herself. Whether Kevin was unhinged or not, at least he was her madman.
Kevin, meanwhile, was astonished to discover that defeating an opponent granted him 100 experience points, enough to level up.
Delighted, he invested his new stat point into Intelligence.Then he wondered whether he should pick fights with all his classmates.In the end, he decided to first test whether repeatedly defeating the same opponent granted additional experience.