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Little Hermione didn’t have the capacity to consider the broader socioeconomic landscape; right now, her mind was entirely consumed by the crushing reality of being two full years behind before the race had even begun.
That was two whole years!
Before they had even set foot inside the school, someone else was already two years ahead of the curriculum.
If she attended school for just one year, would she immediately have to master six years of Hogwarts knowledge just to catch up?
One step slow meant every step slow.
Was Miss Granger, who had effortlessly maintained her position at the absolute top of her class throughout primary school, truly destined to become the tail-ender of the wizarding world the moment she arrived at Hogwarts?
Anxiety, worry, and sheer panic struck Hermione’s heart all at once.
In the end, the little girl tightly clutched Hogwarts: A History to her chest and burst into a loud, wailing sob.
She had never wanted to do something so deeply embarrassing in front of a crowd of strangers, but she simply couldn’t help herself.
Watching a peer discuss advanced learning plans with adults—concepts she couldn’t even begin to comprehend—was, for the intensely competitive Hermione, nothing less than the most terrifying punishment imaginable.
Hearing Hermione’s crying, Isaac quickly gave his delivery address to the bookstore manager.
The manager would arrange for the advanced volumes to be delivered to his residence via owl later.
Isaac had intended to step forward and comfort Hermione himself, but he suddenly found his path blocked by Mr.
Granger’s highly protective, wary gaze.
“Mrs.
Granger, it’s a pleasure to see you again.
And I believe this must be Mr.
Granger.” Isaac offered a polite nod to Mrs.
Granger, who was currently kneeling to soothe her daughter, before turning to greet Mr.
Granger, whose expression remained distinctly unfriendly.
“Oh, Isaac!
May I call you that?
Do you happen to know what has upset Hermione so terribly?” Mrs.
Granger asked.
She was desperately trying to pacify her daughter, but she had absolutely no idea what had triggered this sudden, hysterical weeping.
Left with no other choice, she turned for assistance to Isaac Valdore, who had left an exceptionally favorable impression during their first meeting.
“Of course, ma’am,” Isaac replied, carefully adopting a look of mild, innocent bewilderment.
“Actually, Miss Granger became rather emotional just now after she overheard me mentioning to the manager that I had finished reading the entirety of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration this month…”
Isaac didn’t offer any further elaboration.
He merely provided the catalyst, and the Grangers instantly understood exactly why Hermione had lost her composure.
Their daughter was not merely competitive in the ordinary sense; she was a chronic, deeply entrenched overachiever.
Neither Mr.
nor Mrs.
Granger believed there was anything inherently wrong with Hermione’s perfectionism.
Since this relentless drive sprouted entirely from their daughter’s own inner desires, they viewed it as their duty as parents to offer absolute support.
It was the exact reason why, after Hermione had locked herself away to study her textbooks for a solid month, they had actively suppressed their own immense curiosity regarding the magical world, waiting patiently until her initial academic fervor had cooled just enough before suggesting this family trip to Diagon Alley.
Now equipped with the precise reason behind Hermione’s sudden breakdown, Mrs.
Granger’s words of comfort became far more targeted.
Simultaneously, the hostility vanished from Mr.
Granger’s face, replaced by a sudden look of shared sympathy.
Isaac’s academic excellence certainly wasn’t a crime, and his daughter’s explosive emotional outburst had undoubtedly given this polite young man quite a fright.
“Isaac, I’ve heard a great deal about you from my wife,” Mr.
Granger said, clapping a hand onto the boy’s shoulder.
“Come along, let’s leave some space for the ladies to sort things out.
How about the two of us go grab a proper gentleman’s drink?”
A short while later, inside the Leaky Cauldron, Isaac and Mr.
Granger were sitting at a wooden table, each holding a foaming tankard of Butterbeer.
They clinked their glasses together and took a hearty gulp.
Isaac had harbored a fair amount of curiosity regarding this famous wizarding beverage, given its legendary status in the fiction of his previous life.
However, upon actually tasting it, he found it to be merely decent.
It wasn’t quite as extraordinary as he had imagined, though it certainly wasn’t bad either; it was a perfectly standard, sweet drink.
It looked remarkably like a standard glass of bubbly beer and contained a very negligible trace of alcohol, making it immensely popular among the youth.
It owed its success primarily to an exceptional marketing name—if the beverage had been officially dubbed “Butter Soda,” it undoubtedly wouldn’t enjoy even a fraction of its current popularity.
Mr.
Granger set his tankard down on the table, offered Isaac a friendly wink, and inquired casually, “By the way, Isaac, where is your family today?
Didn’t anyone come along to Diagon Alley with you?”
“I don’t have a family, Mr.
Granger.
I’m an orphan,” Isaac answered, his tone entirely even and placid.
He was perfectly calm, but Mr.
Granger, who had posed the question, froze entirely.
He stared at the boy, privately cursing his own big mouth.
What on earth had he just asked?
Mr.
Granger had previously learned about Isaac’s street-vending setup from his wife, but he had assumed the boy was simply participating in some eccentric, upper-class character-building exercise.
He had never imagined that the child was actively struggling to feed himself at such a tender age.
The fact that he had carelessly pried into such a sensitive topic made him feel terrible inside, especially given how thoroughly nonchalant Isaac appeared about the whole matter.
“Please don’t look so distressed, Mr.
Granger,” Isaac added gently, picking up on the man’s immediate panic.
“It really isn’t your fault.
Besides, I’ve long since grown accustomed to being an orphan.”
Mr.
Granger felt an overwhelming urge to punch himself in the jaw right then and there, though he refrained out of fear that a sudden display of self-flagellation might traumatize the poor boy further.
“Then…
where exactly are you living now?” Mr.
Granger forced his voice to remain steady as he asked.
“Twelve Medway Street.
A very kind gentleman took an interest in my situation and sponsored me, providing me with a proper place to stay.”
Mr.
Granger blinked in surprise.
He recognized that specific neighborhood; it was situated a relatively short distance from their own residence, though the properties lining Medway Street were considerably more upscale and expensive than their own home.
Whoever this benefactor was, they were clearly an exceptionally wealthy and charitable individual.
However, a sudden wave of parental concern hit Mr.
Granger as he considered Isaac’s future.
Young Isaac was about to completely withdraw from ordinary Muggle society to attend a hidden boarding school in the wizarding world; would this mysterious benefactor assume the boy was simply abandoning his education to run amok, thus rescinding their support?
Not every guardian could be as open-minded and accepting of magic as the Grangers.
Steered by these protective instincts, Mr.
Granger subtly voiced his concerns, ensuring Isaac knew that if he ever required official character references or academic documentation to appease his sponsor, the Granger family would happily step in to assist.
Furthermore, he explicitly hinted that if Isaac ever found himself displaced from 12 Medway Street, they possessed a perfectly comfortable, vacant bedroom at their house.
Isaac couldn’t help but marvel internally.
Despite having only interacted with the Grangers twice, he had found both parents to be genuinely, profoundly good people.
Even when extending charity to a lonely orphan, they took immense care to safeguard the child’s dignity and self-esteem.
Isaac offered Mr.
Granger a warm, reassuring smile.
“You can rest entirely easy, Mr.
Granger.
The gentleman who sponsors me happens to be a wizard himself.
It’s just that due to some rather tragic events in his past, he won’t be returning to the borders of Great Britain for a very long time.
Currently, the residence is occupied only by myself and Anthony.
Mr.
Anthony is the butler who oversees the estate; he is a Muggle, just like yourself.”
Hearing this, the heavy weight of guilt finally lifted from Mr.
Granger’s chest.
For an orphan—or rather, for anyone at all—Isaac’s luck was remarkably good.
Forget about parentless children; even youths hailing from perfectly ordinary, stable families rarely encountered such a powerful, hands-off benefactor upon entering society.
“Well, it sounds as though you are in excellent hands, Isaac.
To life, then!”
His spirits entirely recovered, Mr.
Granger raised his tankard once more, drinking heartily alongside the boy.
However, he did not lose sight of his original motive for pulling Isaac aside.
Faced with the vast, deeply mysterious reality of the magical world, Mr.
Granger still possessed an insatiable desire to understand exactly what his daughter was stepping into.