The corridor of the Hogwarts Express felt like a dead-end tunnel. Hermione Granger walked along, dragging her heavy suitcase, her knuckles white and her vision blurred by the tears she refused to let fall. She had already been kicked out of two compartments. She didn't understand what "mudblood" meant, but the venom in the voices of those boys in impeccable robes had hurt more than any insult she had ever heard in the muggle world.
Desperately seeking refuge, she reached a carriage near the end of the train. Through the glass, she saw a boy sitting alone. He wasn't wearing robes, nor the bulky sweater she herself was wearing. He was focused, moving a brush with hypnotic precision over a parchment that looked much older than the ones she had bought in Diagon Alley.
Hermione knew it was rude to interrupt, but the fear of being left alone in the corridor took over. She knocked softly on the glass.
"Come in," the boy said without looking up.
Upon entering, the atmosphere changed. The compartment smelled of sandalwood and a strange, metallic ink. The boy finally looked up and gave her a brief, but strangely warm smile, before immediately returning to his task.
Hermione stood frozen for a moment, observing him. He looked like he had stepped out of a rock magazine her older cousin used to hide. He wore a weathered leather jacket, a *Sex Pistols* t-shirt with a slightly stretched collar, dark jeans, and combat boots that looked like they had traveled halfway around the world. In his right ear, a silver earring glinted with a curious shape: a circle inscribed in a triangle, pierced by a straight line. But it was his eyes that took her breath away. They were a green so intense they seemed to have a light of their own.
Seeing her struggle to lift her enormous suitcase, the boy leaped to his feet.
"Uhhh... Hello. I'm Hermione Granger," she said, extending her hand out of pure instinctual courtesy.
"Hello. Harry Peverell. Let me help you with that," he replied.
Harry took the suitcase, and Hermione noticed he must be truly strong; he lifted it without the slightest effort, while her own father had complained about the weight during the entire trip to the platform. Harry returned to his seat and retrieved his brush, which had remained levitating exactly where he had left it.
Ten minutes of a somewhat awkward silence passed. Hermione tried to be discreet, but her eyes constantly jumped toward the table. The books Harry had open had titles on silk spines with symbols she couldn't decipher; something that seemed to come from Asia. Finally, Hermione's curiosity—that force of nature that always ended up getting her into trouble or earning her the best grades—was about to break the silence.
But just as she was about to open her mouth, the door burst open.
A girl with vibrant pink hair entered, dressed in a leather jacket, a *Ramones* t-shirt, a skirt, and combat boots. Hermione thought for a second that perhaps this was some kind of official fashion at Hogwarts given the way both of them were dressed.
"Wotcher, Harry! I was looking for you," the newcomer exclaimed with an energy that filled the carriage.
Hermione saw Harry's brush stroke deviate barely a millimeter from the paper. One of his eyebrows twitched in a gesture of resignation.
"Tonksie," Harry greeted, setting the brush aside.
Tonks looked at Harry for a few moments, studying him, and nodded with satisfaction. "Yeah, those clothes suit you much better. You don't look like a pompous pure-blood anymore."
Harry smiled with resignation. "You know, since Tikki came back from your house, she put together a new wardrobe, and now I also own a record store."
Tonks just smiled at him and shifted her gaze to the table, picked up one of the books, and flipped through it briefly with total confidence. "What's this, Harry?"
"They are books on Japanese Ofuda," he replied calmly, reclaiming the volume.
"Ofuda?" Hermione jumped in, unable to contain herself any longer. "Are you referring to the paper amulets? I read in a supplement of the *Encyclopedia of International Sorcery* that Eastern calligraphic magic requires an extremely precise control of energy flow. Is that what you're doing with the brush? Is it some kind of sealing magic or ancient runes?"
Tonks let out a clear laugh and looked at Hermione with amusement. "Wow, Harry! You've found yourself an encyclopedia with legs. I'm Tonks, by the way. Just Tonks."
"I'm Hermione Granger," she replied, regaining a bit of her composure. "And... I was wondering if those clothes are the uniform of a particular house. It doesn't look like what the books say."
"Let's just say Harry and I share a taste for what pure-bloods call 'muggle rags'," Tonks explained as her hair changed from pink to an electric violet. "Though he's more serious. Have you told your new friend yet that your books are older than the castle itself?"
Harry cleaned the tip of his brush with a dark cloth. "Ofuda is more efficient for certain seals. Here at Hogwarts, they focus a lot on the wand, but sometimes power needs a physical anchor, something that remains. Magic is a much broader language than the textbooks believe, Hermione."