Right now all she could focus on was the fact that she hadn’t even started running and someone was already two years ahead.
Two whole years.
At this rate, before she even set foot in Hogwarts she’d be three years behind.
One slow step and every step after would be slower.
The girl who had always been top of her class in primary school was suddenly staring at the very real possibility of becoming the bottom of the pack at Hogwarts.
Worry, anxiety, and fear crashed into her all at once.
She clutched Hogwarts: A History to her chest and burst into loud, helpless tears.
She hadn’t wanted to cry in front of everyone.
She really hadn’t.
But she couldn’t hold it in.
Watching someone her own age calmly discussing advanced study plans with an adult while she was still struggling with first-year spells felt like the cruelest punishment imaginable.
Isaac quickly gave the manager his address so the books could be delivered by owl later, then turned to comfort Hermione—only to meet Mr.
Granger’s sharp, protective glare.
“Mrs.
Granger, lovely to see you again.
And this must be Mr.
Granger.” Isaac nodded politely to Hermione’s mother, who was trying to soothe her daughter, then greeted the wary father.
“Oh—Isaac.
May I call you that?
Do you know what’s wrong with Hermione?” Mrs.
Granger asked, clearly at a loss.
“Of course, ma’am.” Isaac nodded, keeping his expression neutral.
“Hermione overheard me mention that I finished the entire Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration this month.
She got a little… emotional about it.” He didn’t need to say more.
The Grangers understood immediately.
Their daughter wasn’t just competitive—she was a born overachiever.
A little perfectionist who poured her whole heart into everything.
They had never tried to stop her.
If “grinding” was what she wanted, they supported it completely.
That was why they had waited a full month before bringing her to Diagon Alley, letting her obsession with the books burn itself out a little first.
Now that they knew the real reason for the meltdown, Mrs.
Granger’s comfort became much more targeted.
Mr.
Granger’s gaze toward Isaac softened into something almost sympathetic.
The boy’s talent wasn’t his fault.
Hermione’s sudden breakdown must have startled him too.
“Isaac, I’ve heard about you.
Come on—let’s leave the ladies to it.
How about we grab something a man should be drinking?” In the Leaky Cauldron, Isaac and Mr.
Granger each held a tall glass of butterbeer.
They clinked glasses and took long swallows.
Isaac had been curious about the drink he’d read about so many times in his past life.
It wasn’t bad.
Not as good as he’d imagined, but perfectly drinkable—sweet, creamy, with just enough alcohol to make it interesting for teenagers.
Mostly it was the name that sold it.
If it had been called “buttery sparkling water,” nobody would have cared half as much.
Mr.
Granger set his glass down and leaned in with a friendly but serious expression.
“So, Isaac… where are your parents?
Didn’t they come with you today?” “I don’t have any.
I’m an orphan.” Isaac’s answer was calm and matter-of-fact.
Mr.
Granger, however, looked like he’d been punched in the stomach.
Bloody hell.
What kind of question had he just asked?
He’d heard from his wife about the fortune-telling stall.
He’d assumed Isaac was just some rich kid playing at independence.
He never imagined the boy was actually supporting himself.
And now he’d gone and blurted it out like an idiot.
The calmer Isaac acted, the worse Mr.
Granger felt.
“Don’t worry about it, Mr.
Granger.
It’s not your fault.
I’ve been an orphan for a long time.
I’m used to it.” Mr.
Granger wanted to slap himself.
Hard.
But he was afraid it would scare the boy.
“Then… where are you living now?” he asked, forcing himself to stay calm.
“12 Medway Street.
A kind gentleman sponsored me and gave me a place to stay.” Mr.
Granger blinked.
He knew that address.
It wasn’t far from their own house—and the houses there were significantly nicer.
More expensive.
Whoever this benefactor was, they were very generous.
But then a new worry hit him.
Isaac and Hermione were in the same situation—both Muggle-raised, both about to enter a completely new world.
What if this mysterious sponsor decided Isaac wasn’t studying hard enough and threw him out?
Not every adult was as open-minded as the Grangers.
He voiced his concern carefully, offering to come over and vouch for Isaac if needed.
He even mentioned that their own house had spare rooms if Isaac ever needed somewhere safe to go.
Isaac smiled.
In just two short meetings he had already decided the Grangers were genuinely good people.
Even when offering help to a stranger’s child, they were careful not to bruise his pride.
“Relax, Mr.
Granger.
The man who sponsors me is a wizard too.
Because of some painful history he doesn’t come to Britain very often.
Right now it’s just me and Anthony—the butler—at the house.
And Anthony’s a Muggle, same as you.” Mr.
Granger let out a long breath.
The guilt eased a little.
For an orphan—especially one with no family at all—Isaac had been incredibly lucky.
Most kids, even from normal families, never met that kind of quiet generosity when they stepped out into the world.
“Well… you seem to be doing all right, then.
To life.” Mr.
Granger raised his glass again.
They drank in companionable silence for a moment before he spoke once more, voice lighter now.