"What?"
The old woman's voice climbed higher and sharper.
Neville flinched, trembling slightly. "I — I had it in my hand just now, and then… I picked up my luggage and it was gone. I think it might have fallen on the platform."
"Then go and find it."
The old woman turned to Bernadette and explained, "This is Frank and Alice's boy. You would have seen him at St. Mungo's, though he was only a newborn at the time. His memory isn't the best — always losing things, always making a scene of himself."
She cast a quick sidelong glance at Neville, who was craning his neck in every direction, then hesitated for a long moment before leaning in and whispering, "If it's… not too much trouble, Vincent — could you… keep an eye on him?"
Bernadette caught her meaning. "I'll look after him."
The old woman gave a grateful nod but said nothing by way of thanks — she had always been fiercely proud, forever projecting an air of severity and iron composure.
"Are you looking for your wand?"
A girl with an extraordinarily bushy head of hair walked over, hugging an orange cat to her chest. She pointed just past Neville's shoulder. "Maybe try turning around."
"Nothing there," Neville said, spinning in place.
Hermione pressed her lips together, stepped forward, and plucked a battered wand from the back waistband of his trousers. "Is this it?"
Neville took it from her and thanked her profusely. "Yes, that's mine — thank you so much!" He scratched his head. "Right, I remember now — I had both hands full with my trunk, so I just tucked it back there."
"Don't mention it."
Hermione turned to her parents. "Alright, I'd better get on. You two should head home."
"Darling, do you really have to go to that school?"
Mrs. Granger stepped forward and pulled her daughter into a tight embrace, eyes glistening. "This is the first time you've ever gone anywhere on your own. You're still so little — how are you going to take care of yourself? What if you fall ill? What if you get homesick? What if the food doesn't agree with you?"
"Hogwarts has a matron. If I get homesick I'll write to you. And the food is made by house-elves with incredible culinary skill — there's bound to be something I'll like."
"But I still can't help worrying."
Aware that passersby had begun to stare, Hermione turned to her father with an embarrassed look. "Mr. Granger, I really do need to board. Could you do something about your wife?"
Mr. Granger was a mild-mannered man with a pleasant face. He smiled, gently drawing his wife back. "Well then. Have a lovely journey, Miss Granger."
"Of course."
"Remember to write to your mother."
"I know, I know."
Hermione struggled with her heavy trunk and made her way toward the carriages. Neville said his goodbyes to his grandmother and hurried after her. "I — I'll help you carry that."
"Thank you."
"I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom. And you?"
"Hermione Granger."
The old woman watched her grandson board the train, then removed her hat, gave Bernadette a slight nod, and turned to leave at a brisk pace. The Grangers, though they had no idea who she was, politely nodded a farewell before making their own reluctant exit.
Only then did Bernadette allow herself a quiet breath of relief. That woman had kept her on her toes every second — she'd need to remember, when the time came to swap back, to ask the man to go over his relationships in as much detail as possible. Running into someone who clearly knew "her" well, while she herself hadn't the faintest idea who they were, was not an experience she cared to repeat.
The thought gave her pause. Was that man dealing with something similar right now?
Just as the thought crossed her mind, she spotted Harry. He was pushing his luggage trolley and gazing around at everything with wide, curious eyes — the bewilderment on his face slowly giving way to open excitement.
He didn't notice Bernadette. He simply went with the flow of the crowd and boarded a carriage near the rear of the train.
Knock knock.
Hermione and Neville stopped at a compartment door. Hermione peered inside. "Is it alright if we sit here?"
Bernadette nodded. "It's just me. Make yourselves at home."
"Thank you."
The two children helped each other stow their luggage. Hermione sat down opposite Bernadette with a book in hand and said, "Excuse me — are you a senior student at Hogwarts? I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Hermione Granger, a first-year student starting this year."
"…When I received my letter of admission from the wizarding world, I was completely stunned. My whole family thought it was a scam at first — right up until Professor McGonagall came to our house and turned a table into a cat."
"That was the moment I realised magic was real, and that it might have been around me all along without my knowing. It felt like… a brand-new world had thrown open its doors to me. Mysterious, wonderful, full of possibilities. I've been counting down the days."
She rattled all of this off in one breath, then caught herself. "Sorry — I was just so excited, I couldn't stop talking."
"Understandable," Bernadette said simply.
Hermione hesitated, then asked, "According to the books, Hogwarts only goes up to seventh year — but you look… well, you don't look like you're eighteen."
"You mean I look old for my age?"
"What? No, no, I didn't mean that at all!" Hermione waved her hands in a panic.
Neville, who had been quietly listening, offered helpfully, "Gran told me that Mr. Vincent is a professor at Hogwarts. He teaches… he teaches…" He trailed off. He'd forgotten.
"A professor?"
Hermione stared. "You're so young!"
Bernadette crossed her arms. "So now I'm too young?"
"…"
There really is no pleasing some people.
She pressed her lips together and let her gaze drift to the long staff propped diagonally against the seat behind Bernadette. "Professor — is that stick yours? Are you the Potions professor? Is it some kind of ingredient?"
"No. It's my wand."
Hermione blinked. "…"
That thing is a wand?
She looked down at her own wand, then back at what could only be described as the deluxe extended edition, completely unable to tell whether Bernadette was joking or perfectly serious.
The train whistle sounded — one long, low note — and with a great shudder the heavy locomotive began to move, slowly pulling away from the platform. On the platform behind them, families waved, shouted, and some broke into a run alongside the train. When it suddenly surged ahead, they were left behind, still waving at the vanishing carriages.
The Hogwarts Express thundered along the tracks, the countryside outside the window rushing by in a blur.
Bernadette settled back against her seat, turning the occasional page of her book, now and then gazing out at the distant landscape. Hermione and Neville chatted for a while before they too fell into their reading.
"Oh no. Oh no!"
A strangled cry broke the quiet. Neville scrambled to his feet and began patting himself all over frantically. "Trevor's gone missing again!"
"Who's Trevor?" Hermione looked up from her book.
"My gran's gift — he's a toad. A golden-backed one."
"Are you certain you brought him on the train?"
"I…"
Neville stopped. His face scrunched up in anguished uncertainty.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright, let's search the train first. Honestly, how do you lose your own pet…" She was halfway through the sentence when something struck her. She looked down at her own arms. "Where's my cat?"
To be continued…
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