Silan opened his eyes and saw a round-faced boy sitting across from him.
He looked distinctly familiar.
“Hello there.
I’m Silan Prewett.
How should I address you?” Hearing Silan take the initiative to strike up a conversation, Neville let out a massive sigh of relief.
Because Silan had been sleeping earlier, Neville hadn’t dared to utter a word for fear of waking him.
Having held his breath for so long, he had finally found a chance to catch his wind.
“Hello, I’m Neville Longbottom.
I live with my grandmother.
I hope I didn’t disturb you.” As Neville spoke, he nervously rubbed his palms against his trousers before extending a hand across the gap, seemingly offering a handshake.
Silan sat up straight and shook his hand, feeling a bit surprised in spite of himself.
He certainly hadn’t expected that the future Sword Saint of Gryffindor would pop up right in front of him the moment he woke up.
“And this is?” Neville looked toward the girl next to Silan.
“Hermione.
Hermione Granger.” Once the three of them exchanged introductions, silence settled back over the carriage.
The atmosphere within the compartment became a bit stifling for a brief moment.
Fortunately, a dimpled woman with a beaming smile slid the door open, inquiring warmly, “Anything off the cart, dears?” “Could we have some Chocolate Frogs, please?” Neville blurted out, treating the vendor like an absolute savior as he hurriedly pulled out his coins to purchase some sweets, desperate to break the lingering awkwardness.
“Please, have some,” Neville offered, holding a handful of Chocolate Frogs out toward Silan and Hermione.
“Thank you, Neville.” The two of them voiced their thanks and each took a couple before buying a few items of their own.
Hermione opted for some Licorice Wands, while Silan bought three Pumpkin Pasties.
His choice of pasties was entirely practical; they looked dense, filling, and far better suited for keeping hunger at bay.
After all, this vintage steam train wouldn’t arrive at Hogwarts until late in the evening.
The steam engine clattered along, racing past fields dotted with grazing cattle and sheep.
Soon, it cut across the vast expanses of meadows and pastures, plunging into a dense pine forest.
The sunlight flickered intermittently through the gaps in the leaves, splashing against the carriage window and casting a shifting pattern of light and shadow across the compartment.
The three of them gathered their treats to share, eating and chatting along the way.
The atmosphere quickly grew warm and harmonious.
Silan cast a glance toward the toad tucked snugly inside Neville’s pocket and offered a friendly reminder.
“Mr.
Longbottom, you might want to keep a close eye on your toad.” In his memory, Neville’s toad, Trevor, was a creature that harbored a fierce love for freedom, constantly plotting escapes from his master to explore the wider world.
Silan even harbored a lingering suspicion: *Did Trevor represent Neville’s latent courage in some roundabout way?
Was it a subtle hint from the very beginning that Neville’s bravery was far from ordinary?
After all, for a mere toad, it was remarkably audacious.* “Oh, you mean Trevor?
My Great-uncle Algie actually gave him to me,” Neville explained.
“He bought him for me out of sheer excitement when my Hogwarts acceptance letter finally arrived.
You see, my family had spent years worrying I might be a Muggle.” “Though, to be honest, I’m not much different from one.
I haven’t managed to successfully cast a single spell yet…” Neville slid the compartment door tightly shut before retrieving Trevor from his pocket to let the creature catch some air.
“What about you two?
Do you both come from wizarding families?” “No,” Hermione said, shaking her head.
“Neither of my parents are magical.
They were absolutely shocked when the Hogwarts letter arrived.” At this point, Hermione glanced back at Silan, remembering that it was that exact evening she had invited him over for dinner.
Silan unpeeled a Chocolate Frog, glancing at the Albus Dumbledore card he had just scored.
“My mother was a Muggle, but my father was a wizard.” As the three of them conversed, a loud commotion suddenly echoed from the corridor outside.
A few older students were aggressively shoving past people, their voices dripping with arrogance.
“Out of the way, half-breed!” “How dare you…” “You clear off too, you filthy little Mudblood!” The soundproofing of the Hogwarts Express compartments wasn’t particularly grand, allowing their crude insults to filter clearly through the door.
Hermione frowned slightly upon hearing the exchange.
“What’s a ‘Mudblood’?” “It means both parents are…” Before Neville could finish his explanation, Silan smoothly cut in to interrupt him.
“It’s a derogatory term used to insult a wizard’s lineage–a thoroughly archaic and crude habit.
No polite person would ever utter it.
But you needn’t worry; I highly doubt Hogwarts measures a student’s excellence based on their bloodline.” “Wizards who act like that are usually sorted into Slytherin,” Silan added quietly.
[LanLi: Cough ahem Silan….] Neville tactfully refrained from pushing the previous topic any further.
“My gran says almost all the dark wizards were in Slytherin.
I’ll probably end up in Hufflepuff.
Even though both my parents were Gryffindors, Gran always says I don’t measure up to them because I’m far too timid.
Hufflepuff students are supposed to be very cheerful and friendly; perhaps they’ll be patient with me.” Now that the three of them had grown comfortable with one another, Neville became significantly more talkative.
Toward the end, however, his shoulders slumped as he added gloomily, “Though, some people say Hufflepuff is just a house full of duffers…” “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with Hufflepuff,” Silan replied, offering a lighthearted smile to ease the tension.
“The students there are incredibly hardworking, friendly, loyal, and just.
As for the ‘duffer’ rumor, it’s purely gossip.
They’re probably just jealous because the Hufflepuff common room happens to be the closest one to the kitchens.” “Thank you, Silan.
Hearing you say that makes me feel a whole lot better,” Neville said earnestly.
Hermione, meanwhile, cast a slightly surprised look at Silan.
She hadn’t realized he already knew so much about the magical world.
*I need to study even harder,* she thought fiercely.
*I can’t let him leave me behind.* Silan smoothed his expression, flashing a perfectly crafted, warm entrepreneurial smile.
“If you’re feeling anxious about the sorting, I could always perform a quick divination for you.
The fee is quite reasonable–just three silver Sickles.” “Huh?” Neville was entirely thrown off by the sudden business pitch.
He hesitated for a second before nodding in agreement.
“Hmm…
let’s see here…” Silan slid over to sit next to Neville, staring intently into his eyes while putting on an elaborate show of focus.
“According to the signs, you will definitely be sorted into Gryffindor.
Neville, your courage is in no way inferior to that of your parents.” “How could that possibly be?!” Neville cried out in sheer disbelief.
“That’s impossible!
Silan, you don’t understand–I’m incredibly clumsy, and I’m a coward.” “My gran tells me constantly that I don’t have what it takes to live up to my parents’ legacy.
I didn’t even show a single sign of magic until I was eight years old.
Before that, my family thought I didn’t have enough magic in me to even get into Hogwarts.” Silan merely offered a quiet, knowing smile.
“No need to panic.
I have a strict ‘no results, no fee’ policy.
You can pay me the divination fee after the Sorting Ceremony is over.
We’ll know the truth soon enough.” “Well, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed, Silan,” Neville said, leaning back against his seat with a deflated sigh.
Hermione subtly nudged her side, gesturing for Silan to sit back over.
“What about me?
Which house will I be sorted into?” Silan didn’t stand on ceremony, sliding right back into his spot next to Hermione.
Repeating his mystical routine with a dramatic flair, he declared with absolute certainty, “You will be in Gryffindor as well.” “Oh?
Really?
I quite fancied I’d be placed in Ravenclaw,” Hermione said, looking rather surprised.
“I’ve already memorized all our set textbooks by heart.
I heard Ravenclaw is filled with students who love learning.” Sitting off to the side, Neville’s face twisted into an expression of pure shock upon hearing Hermione casually mention she had memorized all the textbooks.
He mumbled under his breath, “I wish I had a memory like yours.
Gran is always scolding me for forgetting things.” In truth, Silan already knew their exact sorting results perfectly well.
This was a classic case of shooting the arrow first and drawing the bullseye around it later–naturally, it was flawless.
“Your intellect is indeed brilliant and dazzling,” Silan explained smoothly.
“But even so, it cannot eclipse the radiant glow of your innate courage.” Hermione fully believed him.
Right on cue, a small system notification popped up before Silan’s eyes.
[Silver-Tongued: Proficiency +1] [Silver-Tongued: Proficiency +1] [Silver-Tongued: Level 1 (36/100)] To be fair, his words weren’t entirely false; they just weren’t the whole truth.
The sorting results were accurate, even if the entire divination process was an absolute sham.
However, since the [Silver-Tongued] trait functioned by making others believe his deceptions, and they genuinely believed these results came from a genuine prophecy, it counted as a total success.
Sitting across from them, Neville suddenly looked up and asked, “Have you ever divined which house you’ll be sorted into, Silan?” — [Total Bonus Chapters Achieved: 0]