Hylan opened his eyes and found a round-faced boy sitting across from him.
The kid looked familiar.
“Hey.
I’m Hylan Prewett.
What’s your name?”
Neville exhaled with relief.
He’d been sitting there, too nervous to speak, afraid of waking Hylan.
Now he finally had an opening.
“Hi.
I’m Neville Longbottom.
I live with my grandmother.
Hope I’m not bothering you.”
He wiped his palm on his robes and stuck his hand out.
Hylan sat up straight, shook it, and felt a small jolt of surprise.
He’d just woken up, and here was the Gryffindor Sword Saint, right in front of him.
“And this is?”
“Hermione.
Hermione Granger.”
The three exchanged names, then fell silent.
The compartment went a little flat.
A smiling woman with dimples saved them, sliding the door open.
“Anything from the trolley, dears?”
“Some Chocolate Frogs, please.”
Neville grabbed the chance like a lifeline, fumbling for coins to cover the awkwardness.
“Please, help yourselves.” He held out a handful of Frogs.
“Thanks, Neville.”
They each took some, then bought a few things of their own.
Hermione got Licorice Wands.
Hylan picked up three pumpkin pasties.
He chose the pasties purely because they looked dense and filling.
The old steam train wouldn’t reach Hogwarts until evening.
The train clattered along through fields dotted with sheep and cows, then cut across open pasture and plunged into a pine forest.
Sunlight flickered through the gaps in the leaves, flashing against the window in a restless rhythm.
They pooled their snacks and shared.
Talking and eating, the mood loosened fast.
Hylan glanced at the toad in Neville’s pocket.
“You should keep an eye on him.”
“Trevor?
Oh, he was a gift from my Great-Uncle Algie.”
“When my Hogwarts letter came, he was so pleased he bought him for me.
They all thought I didn’t have enough magic to get in.”
“Honestly, before my first bit of accidental magic, they thought I was a Muggle.”
“Not that it’s much different.
I still haven’t learned a single spell.”
Neville shut the compartment door, then pulled Trevor out for some air.
“What about you two?
Wizard families?”
“No.” Hermione shook her head.
“My parents are both non-magical.
They were terrified when my letter arrived.”
She glanced back at Hylan, remembering the day she’d invited him to dinner.
Hylan studied the Dumbledore card he’d pulled from his Chocolate Frog.
“My mother’s a Muggle.
My father’s a wizard.”
A commotion broke out in the corridor.
Several students shoved past, swaggering.
“Out of the way, half-breed!”
“How dare you…”
“You too, filthy Mudblood!”
The Hogwarts Express compartments weren’t well soundproofed.
Every word came through.
Hermione frowned.
“What’s a Mudblood?”
“It means both parents are…”
Hylan cut Neville off.
“It’s a slur about wizarding blood.
A nasty old habit.
No one with manners uses it.
And don’t worry.
Hogwarts doesn’t judge a student by their blood.”
“Those types usually end up in Slytherin.”
Neville took the hint and dropped the subject.
“My gran says nearly every dark wizard came from Slytherin.
I’ll probably go to Hufflepuff.
My parents were both Gryffindor, but Gran always says I don’t take after them.
I’m too timid.
Hufflepuffs are supposed to be friendly.
Maybe they’d put up with me.”
Once he relaxed, Neville’s words came faster.
Then he deflated and added, “Though some people say Hufflepuffs are a bunch of duffers.”
“Hufflepuff’s not bad at all.
They’re hardworking, loyal, fair.
The duffer thing is definitely a rumor.
Probably jealous their common room isn’t as close to the kitchens.”
Hylan cracked the joke lightly, easing the tension.
“Thanks, Hylan.
That actually makes me feel better.” Neville meant it.
Hermione shot Hylan a surprised look.
He already knew so much.
She’d have to study harder.
She couldn’t let him get ahead.
Hylan smoothed his expression into a practiced, pleasant smile.
“If you’re nervous about it, I could do a reading for you.
Three silver Sickles.”
“What?”
Neville blinked at the sudden sales pitch.
After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded.
“Let me see…”
Hylan moved beside Neville, stared intently into his eyes, and put on a show of deep concentration.
“The reading says Gryffindor.
Neville, your courage is every bit your parents’ equal.”
“That’s impossible!”
Neville nearly shouted.
“No way!
Hylan, you don’t understand.
I’m hopeless.
A coward.”
“My gran always says I’m not fit to be their son.
I didn’t show any magic until I was eight.”
“Before that, they were terrified I’d never get into Hogwarts.”
Hylan just smiled.
“No need to panic.
You don’t pay if I’m wrong.
We’ll settle up after the Sorting.
Then we’ll know.”
“You’re going to be disappointed, Hylan.” Neville slumped back against the seat.
Hermione shifted over, making room for Hylan to sit back down.
“What about my house?”
Hylan settled beside her again.
He repeated the routine, all theatrical mysticism, then announced with total certainty, “Gryffindor as well.”
“Really?
I thought I’d be in Ravenclaw.”
Hermione looked surprised.
“I’ve already memorized all the textbooks.
I heard Ravenclaw is full of students like me.”
Neville stared at her, stunned, and muttered under his breath, “I wish I had your memory.
Gran’s always on me about forgetting things.”
Hylan already knew exactly where they’d end up.
He was painting the target around the arrow.
Of course he was right.
“Your intelligence is brilliant.
But it doesn’t outshine your courage.” He explained it smoothly.
Hermione believed him.
A small screen popped up in front of Hylan’s eyes.
[Silver Tongue: Proficiency +1]
[Silver Tongue: Proficiency +1]
[Silver Tongue: Level 1 (36/100)]
What he’d said wasn’t exactly false.
Just not entirely true.
The results were correct.
The fortune-telling routine was pure nonsense.
But Silver Tongue was about making people believe a lie.
They believed the results came from his reading.
That counted.
Neville asked, “Did you ever read your own house?”