Not long afterward, the Potter family made their way onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Progress was slow.
James and Jim kept stopping to shake hands and exchange pleasantries with friends and admirers.
A shy, round-faced boy named Neville Longbottom stood nearby with his formidable grandmother—whose hat appeared to feature a stuffed vulture—and a rather unsettling uncle who kept lecturing him about not losing his toad.
Harry initially assumed this was some peculiar magical idiom until Neville sheepishly produced an actual toad from his pocket.
Harry simply shrugged and looked away.
The red-headed boy from Madam Malkin’s was also present, surrounded by a large, boisterous family.
Among them were a pair of identical twins who clearly idolized James for his youthful misdeeds, and a young girl whose eyes were fixed on Jim with open adoration.
Of course, they had to pause for photographs.
The Daily Prophet was on hand to document the Boy-Who-Lived’s departure for Hogwarts, and the photographer wanted several shots of Jim with his parents beside the scarlet engine.
The Potters were so accustomed to this ritual that they once again forgot Harry entirely.
A photographer nearly knocked him over in the process.
After a few minutes, Harry leaned toward Neville’s grandmother—who at least had the decency to look appalled on his behalf—and quietly asked her to tell his parents he had gone ahead to find a compartment.
Once aboard the Hogwarts Express, Harry deliberately chose a compartment near the rear, hoping it would take Jim some time to locate him.
After the train departed, he spent twenty peaceful minutes reviewing Dilworth’s Guide to Wizarding Etiquette before the door slid open.
A bushy-haired girl stepped inside.
“Blond first-year? Yes, I saw them both on the platform. Haven’t seen either since.” Harry considered for a moment.
“You might want to ask a prefect. There’s a Summoning Charm—Accio—but I don’t know the wand movements yet. Or they may know a detection spell.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea. Thank you.” Her eyes brightened as she noticed his book.
“Is that a guide to wizarding etiquette? How interesting!”
And just like that, she was off—listing facts about herself in a single breathless rush: how much she loved reading, that she was the first witch in her family and hoped it wouldn’t put her at a disadvantage, that she had already read all their textbooks and practiced a few spells, and that her parents were both dentists.
She finally paused.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Hermione Granger.”
“Harry Potter. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Potter?” She tilted her head.
“Are you related to Jim Potter?”
Harry drew in a slow breath and slipped his polite mask back into place.
Unlike the Potters, Hermione seemed surprisingly perceptive; a flicker of concern crossed her face, as if she sensed she had said something potentially rude.
“Yes. He’s my brother.”
“Really? I’ve read several books about him, but none of them mentioned a twin.”
I’ve been living with relatives since I was a baby… for reasons.” “…Reasons?” Harry sighed.
“Two things, Miss Granger. First, I only learned about my parents, my brother, and this whole Boy-Who-Lived business about a month ago. It’s still a rather sore subject, and I’d rather not discuss it with someone I’ve just met. No offense.”
Hermione blushed.
“None taken. I’m sorry.”
“And the second thing?” Harry hesitated.
“I’m a little worried I might offend you. You’ve clearly read all the textbooks already—have you read anything on wizarding etiquette?”
Hermione stiffened slightly at the gentle warning but looked intrigued.
“No, I haven’t. It wasn’t on the reading list, and it didn’t occur to me to look. I thought Hogwarts would be like any other British boarding school, just with magic. Not like moving to Japan or Dubai or somewhere completely different.”
“Actually, from what I’ve gathered in the last month, it’s very much like moving to a foreign country. There’s the Statute of Secrecy—nearly three hundred years old—which keeps the wizarding and Muggle worlds almost entirely separate. Most wizards know almost nothing about Muggle technology, culture, or current events. With magic able to fix teeth instantly, many would probably assume your dentist parents yank teeth out with rusty pliers and no anaesthetic.” Harry offered a small smile.
“I’m not saying the wizarding world is backward. In some ways it’s more progressive than the Muggle one. But it’s also strangely formal. For example, witches in positions of power are completely normal, yet many Purebloods become quite upset if you don’t address a married woman as ‘Madam’ and an unmarried one as ‘Miss.’ In many respects, moving to Japan or Dubai might involve less culture shock.”
Hermione sat down, looking thoughtful.
“I suppose that makes sense. Is that why you called me Miss Granger?”
Harry lifted Dilworth’s.
“There’s an entire chapter on when it is and isn’t appropriate to use someone’s first name. To most people it won’t matter, but to the old families who run the country, it matters a great deal.”
She nodded slowly.
“But why did you think I might be offended?”
“You’re obviously intelligent and proud of your Muggle heritage—which is good. My mother is Muggle-born and teaches Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. As a half-blood raised among Muggles, I have no problem with Muggle-borns. But the last war—the one that ended when Jim defeated You-Know-Who—was started by Pureblood supremacists who wanted to exterminate Muggle-borns because they believed they were stealing magic. The war before that was about conquering the Muggle world outright. I’m not suggesting you hide who you are. I certainly won’t. But our time at Hogwarts will be much smoother if we remember that, in this world… we’re the outsiders.”