With the Weasleys’ help, a few older students led them into a Hogwarts train compartment, got them settled, and then went off to handle their own business.
They really were a kind, warm family.
Once they learned that Harry was the Harry Potter, their attitude grew even more curious and attentive.
The Weasleys’ youngest daughter kept stealing glances at Harry, as if she had a hundred things she wanted to say.
In the end she only blushed and hid behind her mother.
Even the first-years near the Weasleys who were about the same age couldn’t help looking at Harry several times once they heard his name.
The Weasley twins stowed the luggage, shoved their younger brother into the compartment, and left in a noisy tangle of limbs and laughter.
Their eyes were still on Harry as they went.
Harry noticed none of it.
Vincent quietly filed the details away.
Even now, Harry probably still had no idea what any of it meant.
Harry might not understand, but he could feel that his name carried weight in the wizarding world.
When something this strange happened, the first person he thought of was still Vincent.
He remembered the look Vincent had given him that day—half disdain, half pity.
“Besides the covers, you didn’t actually read a single book you bought at Flourish and Blotts, did you?
Harry, sometimes I really envy that attitude of yours.
No matter how amazing the knowledge is, you stay perfectly calm.
You never wolf it down and choke on it.” Harry: “…You’re just mocking me.” Vincent: “I’m glad you caught that.” The path had been a little unexpected, but Harry finally understood why people treated him this way.
Hogwarts: A History told the story.
He was the golden boy the entire wizarding world praised, supposedly blessed by Merlin himself, the child who had survived the Dark Lord’s killing curse.
Thinking about it again, Harry felt a strange flicker of gratitude for Vincent’s sharp tongue.
At least the irritation had kept the ache from settling too deep.
He had only just learned the truth on the edge of entering this new world: his parents hadn’t died in a car crash.
They had died protecting him.
He had been loved.
The surge of feeling wrapped around Harry’s heart and began to reshape the long, cold years that had come before.
Ron stole another look at Harry.
He had clearly noticed the scar, but he swallowed every question.
The compartment had been loud and lively a moment ago.
Now the silence felt thick.
Vincent stared out the window, expression flat.
Harry had gone quiet again, lost somewhere inside his own head.
Ron felt the air turn heavy and sticky, hard to breathe.
It was the kind of quiet that grief leaves behind.
The trolley witch’s call outside the door finally cut through it.
Harry’s eyes brightened.
Ron started describing the snacks with perfect timing.
Harry listened to two or three suggestions, then pulled out a single Galleon and bought the entire cart.
Vincent opened a Chocolate Frog.
A small card fluttered out—Albus Dumbledore.
“Chocolate Frogs come with these character cards.
I’ve never managed to collect them all, but I’ve already got several of the Headmaster.” Vincent studied the short biography with mild amusement.
It read almost like a résumé, listing every achievement.
Apparently Dumbledore had once defeated the dark wizard Grindelwald.
Vincent thought of the kindly white-haired man he had met.
The old wizard still looked solid enough, but it was hard to picture him dueling anyone.
“Is Headmaster Dumbledore really that powerful?” Vincent asked.
Hagrid had called him the greatest white wizard alive.
What exactly earned someone that title—discovering the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, or defeating the man who once tried to conquer Europe?
Vincent drifted back into his own thoughts while Harry and Ron warmed to each other over the snacks.
“Have you two decided on a house yet?
Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin.
Hogwarts has four.
There’s a Sorting when we get there.
No idea how it works—my family refuses to tell me anything.
But I’m definitely going to Gryffindor.
Whole family’s Gryffindor.” “You’ve got a big family,” Harry said.
“Must be nice, all of you getting along like that.” He remembered the noisy red-haired crowd on the platform—parents, older brothers, the whole lively pack of them.
Real family.
Ron gave a small, not-entirely-sincere laugh.
“Too many people isn’t always great either.
My wand’s still Percy’s old one.
And my pet—” He dug into his pocket and produced a rat.
It was ancient, listless, patchy with thin spots, one paw looking like it had been injured a long time ago.
Vincent barely glanced at it.
“Scabbers is pretty old.
He wasn’t always mine, but he is now.
Having a pet’s better than having nothing, right?” Harry didn’t know what to say.
Vincent stepped in smoothly.
“Having a pet is always a good thing.
Not like me—I can’t take care of one, so I didn’t bring anything.
People who can look after a pet properly are impressive.
Your family’s clearly close if you can keep even a rat this well.” Ron laughed.
“Speaking of which, Fred and George taught me a spell before school started.
Changes a rat’s color.
Want to see?” He lifted his wand, eyes bright with anticipation.
Harry was still turning the houses over in his mind when a soft knock sounded on the door.
A bushy-haired girl pushed it open.
“Hello.
Have any of you seen a toad?
Neville’s lost his, and he’s looking everywhere.” She carried an easy, almost aggressive confidence.
Her chin was slightly raised, wand already in her hand.
She had changed into full school robes and looked every inch a young witch.
Which made sense.
Everyone on this train would be a witch or wizard soon enough.
Harry shook his head.
“Haven’t seen a toad.
You might try the other compartments.” Vincent followed the others’ gazes, gave the girl a brief glance, then turned back to the window as if the passing countryside were far more interesting.
The girl’s eyes lit up when she noticed Ron’s wand.
“Are you practicing spells?
I taught myself a few at home.
Can I watch?” She didn’t wait for an answer.
She simply sat down beside Ron and fixed her attention on his hand.
“I’m Hermione Granger.
Nice to meet you.” It was a little late for introductions after she had already claimed a seat, but they still went around and gave their names.
In the world of eleven-year-olds, exchanging names was usually enough to count as friendship.
“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow.
Turn this stupid fat rat yellow.” Light flared at the tip of the wand.
The previously half-dead rat gave a violent start, shot upward, and vanished into the pile of snacks.
Harry felt a small pang of regret—the Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans had only just been opened and he’d barely tasted a few.
Hermione looked distinctly unimpressed.
“Is that even magic?
I’ve learned a couple of spells at home myself.
Let me show you.” She raised her wand and pointed it at Harry’s broken glasses.
Dudley had smashed them.
Vincent had gone with Harry to buy a replacement pair, which was currently buried somewhere in the luggage.
Harry had decided to wait until Hogwarts to switch; if the Dursleys ever found out he had money for new glasses, there would have been no end of trouble.
Now the wand tip was aimed straight at the cracked lenses.
Harry couldn’t look away.
“Oculus Reparo.” The string-tied frames repaired themselves in an instant, glass whole and clear again.
Only then did Vincent give the slightly arrogant girl a real look.
“You’re a very clever little witch.” A new research subject.