September 1st, 1991

King’s Cross Station teemed with life that morning, the air filled with the steady hum of voices and the echoing clatter of train wheels on tracks. Muggles swarmed about, navigating the maze of platforms with hurried strides, their faces set in the mundane rhythm of daily travel. Above, the announcer's voice crackled through the loudspeakers, directing passengers to various destinations. The sound, layered with the occasional screech of a departing train, enveloped the bustling terminal, creating a symphony of movement and sound that was as chaotic as it was ordinary.

Nicholas moved through the crowds of travelers, his eyes wide with curiosity, taking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds. King’s Cross was unlike any place he had ever seen—a vast iron and glass cavern filled with people hurrying in every direction. It seemed almost as strange to him as Diagon Alley had been on his first visit but in a different, more chaotic way. There was a rough charm to it, with the polished stone floors glinting under the morning light that streamed in through high-arched windows, despite the occasional piece of litter that marred the scene.

He pushed a trolley before him, loaded haphazardly with a trunk, a birdcage containing a very indignant tawny owl, and a few other odd-shaped packages wrapped in plain brown paper. His small hands gripped the trolley’s handle tightly as he wove through the crowds, careful not to collide with the unsuspecting Muggles rushing past him. The weight of his belongings was substantial, but he bore it with the enthusiasm of a boy on the brink of adventure.

Trailing behind Nicholas were his parents, Marilyn and Arthur Gryff, moving with the kind of quiet grace that suggested they were used to passing through the shadows when necessary. Despite their usual aura of prestige, today they appeared uncharacteristically inconspicuous, blending effortlessly into the sea of Muggle travelers swarming through King’s Cross Station. Each wore simple, well-tailored overcoats that concealed the finer fabrics beneath. Their hair was styled differently from the usual, a subtle disguise to deflect undue attention.

Beside Nicholas walked his grandfather, Godfrey Gryff, whose imposing figure would have stood out more if not for the careful enchantments woven into his attire. Even in a stately suit woven with golden threads that hinted at ancient family wealth, Godfrey moved through the crowds with an ease that belied his years and his status. It was as though he carried a subtle charm that nudged the eye away from him, a quiet suggestion that here was nothing more than another elderly gentleman out for a stroll with his family.

As they navigated the crowded terminal, Nicholas’s mind brimmed with questions, his excitement barely contained. He turned to his grandfather, who had paused to examine the enormous clock that loomed over the bustling concourse. “Grandfather,” Nicholas asked, his voice bright with wonder, “Is the platform hidden like Diagon Alley? Must we tap a sequence of bricks to find it?”

Godfrey’s expression softened into a rare smile, a hint of amusement dancing in his sharp, gray eyes. “Not quite, my boy,” he began, his voice carrying the cadence of a seasoned storyteller. “But there is a certain... flair to accessing it. Let us say, you shall witness a different sort of magic today. All in good time.” He punctuated the last words with a knowing tilt of his head, the kind that always seemed to conceal a deeper secret.

Nicholas couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration at his grandfather's cryptic response, though he tried to mask it with a polite nod. He had grown accustomed to Godfrey’s penchant for riddles, a habit that seemed as old as the Gryff family itself. Yet, it remained as vexing as ever. Why couldn't his grandfather just explain things plainly for once? It was clear that his parents were in on whatever mystery lay ahead; they exchanged amused glances as if they were all part of some grand conspiracy to leave him guessing. Nicholas decided to let it go—after all, he knew he would find out soon enough.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a neatly folded pamphlet, smoothing out its creases with deliberate care. The Ministry of Magic’s emblem shimmered faintly on the corner, and the heading read, A New Journey Begins: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Below it, a few lines provided instructions for accessing “Platform 9 ¾,” the words sparking a fresh wave of curiosity. He read them under his breath, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of the directions.

“Platform Nine and Three-Quarters...” he muttered, scanning the signs above the bustling platforms. “There’s Platform 8...” He pushed the trolley a few steps forward, his gaze shifting to the next marker. “And there’s Platform 9... and Platform 10 just beside it. But where, in Merlin’s name, is this three-quarters?”

Nicholas’s voice rose in mild exasperation as he repeated, “That damnable three-quarters! Why must wizards always speak in riddles?” His complaint earned a soft chuckle from his grandfather, but Godfrey offered no further explanation, only gesturing subtly for Nicholas to continue on.

They reached the area between Platforms 9 and 10, and Nicholas’s frustration gave way to curiosity as he noticed a peculiar sight. Standing just ahead of them was a girl around his age, her bushy brown hair bouncing as she turned to speak to the two adults at her side. Her front teeth, slightly prominent, glinted in the morning light as she spoke with a determined expression. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a clarity that reached Nicholas's ears despite the noise of the station.

“We just need to walk straight through this wall,” the girl explained earnestly, pointing toward the solid brick barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. Her two companions—clearly her parents—exchanged bewildered looks, their faces a mix of disbelief and concern. Her mother, dressed in a sensible brown trench coat, had short, curly hair tucked neatly under a hat, her expression one of worry as she clutched a handbag. Her father, a tall man with thinning hair and round glasses, adjusted his coat nervously, glancing from his daughter to the wall as if expecting it to suddenly become transparent.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow at the scene, finding it both odd and intriguing. The girl’s confidence contrasted sharply with her parents’ confusion, and for a moment, he wondered if she, too, was heading to Hogwarts. He edged closer, pretending to adjust the straps on his trunk, his ears tuned to their conversation.

“It’s what the professor told me,” the girl insisted, her voice filled with an earnest determination that belied her youth. “We just have to believe it will work.” Though her words were resolute, a faint flicker of uncertainty glimmered in her brown eyes as she cast a cautious glance back at the solid brick barrier, as if half-expecting it to rebuff her bravado.

Nicholas, observing from a short distance, couldn’t help but let a faint smile curl the edges of his lips. Well, at least I am not the only one perplexed by the peculiarities of the magical world, he mused, feeling an unexpected twinge of camaraderie towards the girl. She, like him, seemed caught between the strangeness of their new world and the allure of its mysteries. He stole a glance at his grandfather, who stood nearby, his expression patient but tinged with amusement at the unfolding scene.

Just as the girl squared her shoulders to push her trolley forward, she caught sight of Nicholas and the figures standing behind him. Her eyes widened slightly with curiosity, and she hesitated for a moment, her previous resolve wavering as she considered the newcomers.

Nicholas, seizing the moment, offered her a friendly smile, hoping to set her at ease. It couldn’t hurt to make an acquaintance before the term began, after all. “Hello there,” he greeted, his tone warm and polite. “Do you mind if I join you in crossing through the barrier?” He gestured towards the brick wall with a casual sweep of his hand, though his curiosity was anything but casual.

The girl blinked at him in surprise before returning his smile, her uncertainty softening. “I don’t mind,” she replied, her voice carrying a hint of relief, as though grateful not to face the mysterious barrier alone.

Nicholas wheeled his trolley alongside hers, stepping into position beside the girl as they prepared to approach the barrier together. His parents and Godfrey hung back slightly, allowing the two young witches and wizards to take the lead. There was a subtle look of approval in Godfrey’s eyes as he watched his grandson navigate this small but significant social step.

With a shared breath of determination, Nicholas and the girl began their walk towards the seemingly solid brick wall. Nicholas’s heart pounded in his chest, a wild mixture of excitement and trepidation coursing through him. The closer they got, the more his mind filled with doubts. Surely, this cannot work. I’m about to crash straight into this thing. But he steeled himself, trusting in the strange words of the girl beside him and in the knowing smiles of the adults who watched them.

As the two trolleys rolled steadily forward, Nicholas braced for an impact that never came. Instead, the air seemed to ripple and shift around them, as if the bricks were dissolving into mist. There was a gentle tugging sensation, like stepping through a thin veil, and then the world beyond the bricks opened up before him.

Nicholas blinked, his breath catching as he took in the sight that greeted them. Gone were the sounds of bustling Muggles and the echoing announcements of King’s Cross Station. Instead, they found themselves on a cobbled platform stretching wide beneath a wrought-iron archway, upon which a gleaming sign declared, Platform 9¾. The place was filled with steam billowing from a grand scarlet steam engine—the Hogwarts Express. Its polished brass fixtures gleamed in the flickering light of the platform lanterns, casting warm, golden glows that mingled with the cool morning mist. The train’s windows caught the first rays of sunlight, turning them into shimmering panes of amber.

Witches and wizards bustled about the platform, their voices carrying a distinctive hum of excitement. Parents clutched their children in parting embraces, and owls hooted from their cages, their sounds mingling with the faint hiss of the train’s steam. Luggage trolleys clattered over the stones, and the smell of polished wood and freshly inked parchment hung in the air, mingling with the sweet scent of chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes from a nearby vendor’s cart.

Nicholas took a moment to drink it all in, his wide eyes reflecting the vibrant scene. He turned to his companion, finding her wearing a similar expression of wonder. Her earlier uncertainty had melted away, replaced by an awe-struck smile that made her seem younger, a fellow adventurer now fully immersed in the magic of this new world.

“It’s... incredible,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath. Her gaze swept across the platform with the wide-eyed reverence of someone glimpsing magic for the first time. She seemed captivated by every detail, from the billowing steam to the clusters of wizarding families bidding each other farewell.

Nicholas nodded in agreement, feeling a swell of kindred wonder rise within him. “Yes, it truly is,” he replied softly, his words carrying the weight of this shared discovery. He glanced back towards the barrier, where a moment later, their companions emerged into view.

Godfrey, Nicholas’s grandfather, appeared first, striding forward with an air of nonchalance. His expression was as composed as ever, showing little of the excitement that Nicholas felt. Clearly, this place held no surprises for him. His long coat, lined with fine gold thread, shifted gracefully as he moved, observing the platform with the detached familiarity of one who had seen it all before.

Nicholas and the girl's parents followed closely, their faces illuminated by the same look of fascination that the young wizards shared. Arthur and Marilyn Gryff, despite their efforts to blend in, couldn’t completely hide their amazement. Arthur’s eyes lingered on the architecture of the platform, while Marilyn’s gaze darted from one whimsical scene to the next, a small smile playing on her lips. It was clear that, for all their worldly experiences, this magical world still held an undeniable charm.

As they gathered together, Nicholas turned back to the girl beside him. Her eyes twinkled with a newfound curiosity. “Did you know,” she began, her voice taking on a slightly didactic tone, “that it was in 1852 when Minister Evangeline Orpington commissioned the creation of this platform? It was part of her grand plan to improve transportation to Hogwarts, though it remains hidden from Muggles, of course.”

“I read about it in Innovations in Magical Travel: A Historical Compendium,” she interjected eagerly, cutting him off mid-question. Her tone was earnest and precise, a habit that hinted at a thirst for knowledge and a passion for sharing it. “It’s quite a fascinating read, actually. The book details the creation of various magical gateways, including secret passages and enchantments used to conceal wizarding transport hubs from Muggle eyes.”

Nicholas’s thoughts wandered to the extensive shelves of the Gryff family library, trying to recall if he had ever seen that particular title among the many leather-bound volumes. He couldn’t remember coming across it, though he found himself rather amused by the girl’s sudden dive into trivia. “I’m Nicholas Gryff,” he said, introducing himself with a polite smile since he found himself unable to chime in her trivia. He watched her face closely, curious to see if the mention of his family name would elicit any recognition.

But to his mild surprise, she showed no flicker of recognition, her expression remaining as open and polite as before. Instead, she took his outstretched hand and shook it firmly. “Hermione Granger,” she replied, her voice steady, though there was a hint of curiosity in her gaze as she studied him. Her grip was firm for someone so small, a reflection of her confidence.

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Together, they began walking toward the gleaming scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express. The sounds of steam hissing and the chatter of families saying their goodbyes surrounded them, creating a backdrop that made their conversation feel like a small, private bubble amidst the bustling platform.

Nicholas cast a sideways glance at her, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “So, what house do you hope to join at Hogwarts?” he inquired, his tone light, but the question held genuine interest.

Hermione considered the question, her brow furrowing slightly as she gathered her thoughts. “Well, I’ve read quite a bit about the different houses,” she began, her voice taking on a familiar, lecturing tone that came naturally when she spoke about things she had studied. “Gryffindor does seem to produce many notable witches and wizards, and the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore himself was one, I think. But then, Ravenclaw values intelligence and learning, which appeals to me as well. I suppose I would be content in either, though I’m not sure where I’d fit best.”

Nicholas couldn’t help but smile at the thoroughness of her response. “You certainly sound like a Ravenclaw, Hermione,” he remarked, though his tone was gentle. He then puffed out his chest slightly, a playful glint in his eye. “As for me, I’m certain it will be Gryffindor. It’s practically in the name, after all.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, glancing at him with a smile. “Well, your last name is rather fitting,” she noted, a touch of teasing entering her voice. “Gryffindor might find it hard to resist accepting a Mr. Gryff into its ranks. Though, of course, the Sorting Hat will make the final decision.”

Nicholas chuckled softly, a dry note slipping into his laughter. “Yes, I suppose it would be quite the scandal if I were sorted anywhere else.” He paused, then shot her a friendly, more earnest look. “But if we do end up in the same house, we’ll at least have each other for company, don’t you think?”

Hermione’s expression softened, a trace of something wistful crossing her face. “A friend…” she repeated, her voice quieter, as if she were tasting the word. It seemed to carry a weight for her that Nicholas couldn’t quite place. But then she shook her head slightly and flashed him a playful look. “I haven’t agreed to be your friend yet, Mr. Gryff,” she countered, though her tone held a lightness that took the sting out of the words.

Nicholas matched her playful tone, his smile widening as he met her gaze. “Come now, Ms. Granger,” he said, his voice adopting a faux formality. “We’re the first people each of us has met here. Surely, you wouldn’t mind making an exception for me?”

Hermione hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully, then let out a small sigh, though the corners of her mouth lifted into a smile. “Well, if we both get sorted into the same house, then perhaps... perhaps we could be friends,” she said, a touch of warmth creeping into her voice despite her best effort to sound aloof.

Nicholas offered her a grin in return, his expression turning sincere. “I shall hold you to that, Friend,” he replied, emphasizing the last word with a flourish. And though Hermione rolled her eyes slightly at his dramatics, the smile that lingered on her face told him that she didn’t mind the prospect as much as she pretended.

It was time for farewells, and the platform seemed to grow a touch quieter as Nicholas and Hermione parted ways temporarily. They had made a promise to reunite before boarding the train, but now each had the solemn task of bidding farewell to their families. As Nicholas approached his parents and his grandfather, a swell of emotions tightened in his chest. Despite the excitement of beginning his journey at Hogwarts, the looming separation brought an unexpected heaviness. He knew it would be many months before he could see them again—before he could hear his grandfather’s steady words of wisdom, see his mother’s warm smile, or share quiet moments with his father.

Nicholas stood before his family, his hands gripping the handle of his trolley a bit too tightly. He glanced up at his mother, Marilyn, who met his gaze with a tender smile that barely masked the mistiness in her eyes. She would soon return to her life in the United States, a world away from the solace of the Gryff estate. Although Aunt Betty would keep her company, Nicholas couldn’t help but worry. The estate felt different without the daily bustle of her presence, her laughter echoing through the halls. He had seen the way her smile softened when they were all together, a brightness that seemed dimmer when she was alone.

When Marilyn leaned closer, and matched his level, Nicholas hugged her as tightly as he could. “Now, now, Nicholas,” Marilyn said, her voice gentle, though she tried to keep her tone light. “You mustn’t worry about me. This is your time, and Hogwarts is going to be the adventure of a lifetime.” Her hand reached out, smoothing a stray lock of his dark hair back into place. “Just promise me you’ll keep up with your studies—and if you can manage it, please refrain from any fighting, not every victory is achieved by your fists.”

Nicholas managed a small, wry smile at her last words, knowing all too well that mischief often found him, even when he wasn’t looking for it. “I’ll try, Mum,” he replied, his voice wavering slightly. “And you’ll write, won’t you? Often?”

“As often as the owl can carry,” she promised, her fingers lingering on his cheek before she finally let her hand fall away. “You’ll do wonderfully, my boy.”

Arthur stepped forward next, clearing his throat, though Nicholas caught the faint shimmer of pride in his father’s eyes. The man but in this moment, Nicholas could feel the unspoken encouragement. "I've been very neglectful in the past, Nico," he spoke with a tinge of guilt. "But I'll make up for it and I’ll always support you in whatever you do."

“Yes, Dad,” Nicholas replied, nodding as he tried to absorb the weight of his father’s words.

Godfrey, who had remained a silent observer up to this point, took a step closer, his gaze steady and appraising. “Hogwarts has seen many Gryffs walk its halls before you,” Godfrey remarked, his voice carrying an almost ancient cadence. “But remember, it is not the past that defines you—it is the choices you make. Keep your wits about you, and do not be afraid to stand on your own.”

Nicholas swallowed hard, feeling the familiar blend of awe and respect that his grandfather’s words always invoked. “I’ll make you proud, Grandfather,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper.

Godfrey’s expression softened, just slightly, and he gave a small nod. “I have no doubt that you will.”

With the farewells exchanged, the air felt thick with unspoken emotions. Marilyn reached out, pulling Nicholas into a tight embrace once more, and he clung to her for a moment, savoring the warmth and comfort of her presence. Arthur clapped a firm hand on his son’s shoulder, offering a final nod of encouragement, while Godfrey, ever composed, simply tipped his head.

Nicholas stepped back, his eyes lingering on their faces for a moment longer before he turned, pushing his trolley towards the waiting Hogwarts Express. He glanced back just once, catching sight of his mother waving, her smile brimming with both pride and sadness. His father stood tall beside her, and Godfrey watched him with that ever-measured gaze.

As Nicholas stepped onto the train, he immediately spotted Hermione waiting by the corridor, her small, tentative wave accompanied by a smile. He felt a sense of relief wash over him, knowing that amidst the unknowns of this new chapter, he wouldn’t be entirely alone. He returned her wave with a friendly grin, adjusting the grip on his trolley as they joined the flow of students making their way through the narrow, bustling corridor of the train. They were told to leave their trolley inside a large compartment, leaving theirs beside many others.

They wandered past compartment after compartment, each one filled with lively chatter and laughter as friends reunited and newcomers found their places. The windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside, contrasting sharply with the cool September air outside. Nicholas kept an eye out for familiar faces—Draco, Blaise, and the others with whom he had already shared the early threads of camaraderie. They had all talked of claiming a compartment for themselves, and he hoped to find them before the train started moving. Yet, as they moved deeper into the train, doubts began to surface.

He stole a glance at Hermione, who was peering curiously into the compartments they passed. Would his friends be as welcoming to her as they had been to him? He knew how certain families prized bloodlines—how much emphasis they placed on the so-called purity of magical heritage. Hermione, with her Muggle-born status, might not be greeted with open arms, especially by those like Draco. Hannah Abbott, though half of her blood came from her muggle mother, still held ties to the prestigious circles of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But Hermione... she was different, and he could already sense that it would be a hard-won battle to integrate her into their circle.

Yet a thought struck him as they continued walking, his mind briefly drifting to the lore surrounding his own lineage. If these families prided themselves on pure blood, then his own bloodline was one of the purest, tracing back directly to Godric Gryffindor himself. It was almost laughable—this obsession with pedigree when he, perhaps more than any of them, carried the weight of an ancient name. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, the absurdity of it all amusing him.

Nicholas, caught off guard by her question, blinked rapidly. He hadn’t realized that his musings had become so evident. For a moment, he was at a loss, then quickly masked his surprise with a more composed expression. He offered her a casual shrug, trying to brush off the matter with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, nothing much,” he replied lightly, as if it were an idle thought not worth mentioning. “Just something that crossed my mind.”

Hermione didn’t look convinced. She studied him with a shrewd expression, her head tilting slightly as if she could dissect his thoughts just by peering more closely. “Why don’t you tell—” she began, but her question was abruptly swallowed by a new sound that filled the corridor.

The train suddenly jolted into motion, the wheels clattering against the iron tracks below, sending a deep, rhythmic rumble reverberating through the carriages. It was a sound both ancient and alive, as if the Hogwarts Express itself were waking from a long slumber, eager to carry its newest passengers towards their destiny. The steady chug of the engine built into a low, powerful hum that vibrated through the floor beneath their feet, making the glass panes in the compartment doors shiver with anticipation.

Nicholas steadied himself against the wall, feeling the sway of the train as it gathered speed, pulling away from King’s Cross with a lurch that made everything in the corridor shift ever so slightly. Outside the windows, the red-bricked walls of the station blurred, giving way to glimpses of the city beyond, which rapidly fell behind them as they journeyed northward. The train’s whistle pierced the air, a triumphant note that seemed to echo far beyond the mundane world they left behind, beckoning them into realms unknown.

Hermione, momentarily distracted by the movement, grasped the hems of Nicholas’s sleeve tightly to keep her balance. Her earlier interrogation was forgotten, her expression turning to one of awe as she felt the train's magic—almost tangible energy in the air, as if the very walls of the carriages were alive with enchantment.

Nicholas couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her, and a sense of warmth welled up in his chest. He realized that, like him, she was caught between the excitement of the unknown and the wistfulness of leaving behind what was familiar. At this moment, their differences faded; they were simply two young wizards stepping into a world of wonder, side by side.

Just then, a timid voice interrupted the quiet of their shared thoughts. “H-Hello, have you seen a toad?” The voice quivered, hesitant, like a breeze struggling to make itself known.

Nicholas and Hermione turned in unison to see a boy standing behind them. He had a round, slightly chubby face, with cheeks that were flushed a shade of pink. His light brown eyes held a look of desperate hope, but his voice wavered, unsure of itself. As he realized he now had the attention of both Nicholas and Hermione, he swallowed hard and tried to steady himself. “It... It’s about this size,” he continued, holding out his hands to indicate something small. “And it has brown... brown skin.” His hands trembled slightly as he measured the size, and his expression suggested he might burst into tears at any moment.

Nicholas nearly let out a chuckle at the boy’s earnest attempt, but he caught himself just in time when he felt Hermione’s stern gaze on him. She raised an eyebrow in silent admonition, her lips pressed into a thin line. Turning back to the boy, her expression softened into one of gentle reassurance. “Take your time when speaking,” she advised kindly, her tone reminiscent of a young professor already in the making. “Neither of us is going to bite, are we, Nicholas?” She nudged him sharply with her elbow.

“She’s quite right,” Nicholas added, adjusting his expression to something more encouraging. “There’s no need to be nervous, just tell us what you’re looking for. I’m Nicholas Gryff, by the way.” He gestured toward Hermione with a nod.

“And I’m Hermione Granger,” she said, offering the boy a small, encouraging smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The boy took a shaky breath, as if gathering what little courage he had. “I’m... Neville Longbottom,” he replied, his voice still trembling slightly. He hesitated, glancing down at his shoes as though they might hold the answers he sought. “And it’s my toad. He... he’s gone missing. He’s small, about this big,” Neville repeated, demonstrating with his hands again. “Brown skin... I-I’m really worried about him. His name’s Trevor.”

Hermione’s expression softened even further. There was something earnest and endearing about Neville, even in his obvious anxiety. “We’ll help you find him, won’t we, Nicholas?” Hermione offered, determination gleaming in her eyes as she turned to Nicholas, already assuming his agreement.

“Of course, Neville,” Nicholas said, nodding firmly. “We’ll help you find Trevor. Don’t worry, we’ll search every compartment if we must.” He gave Neville what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and was relieved to see the boy’s expression brighten, if only slightly.

Neville’s gratitude was evident as he managed a small, hopeful smile. “Th-thank you,” he stammered, his relief palpable. “I—I really appreciate it.”

Nicholas exchanged a brief glance with Hermione, who nodded in quiet agreement. She stepped forward, her voice adopting a brisk but kind tone. “Why don’t we get settled in a compartment first?” she suggested. “We can gather our thoughts and have a bite to eat before setting out on the search for Trevor.”

“That sounds sensible,” Nicholas agreed. He turned back to Neville, offering a reassuring smile. “We’ll find you once we’re settled, and then we can resume the search together. Trevor won’t remain hidden for long.”

Neville nodded and with a parting wave, Nicholas and Hermione continued down the corridor, leaving Neville to his search for the time being. They walked together, scanning the compartments, their footsteps mingling with the rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks. Finally, after passing many compartments, they came upon one that was blissfully empty.

“Here we are,” Nicholas remarked, sliding open the door and stepping inside. Hermione followed, and they both settled into the cushioned seats opposite each other, positioning themselves by the window to enjoy the passing view.

The countryside rushed by in a blur of greens and golds, the fields stretching out like a patchwork quilt under the afternoon sun. The rolling hills and distant clusters of trees seemed to dance in the train’s wake, and for a moment, Nicholas and Hermione were both silent, enraptured by the beauty of the journey.

Nicholas leaned back against the seat, allowing the gentle sway of the train to lull him into a sense of calm. “It’s quite breathtaking, isn’t it?” he remarked, his gaze still fixed on the scenery outside.

Hermione, who had been equally transfixed by the view, turned to him with a small smile. “Yes, it really is,” she agreed, her voice soft with wonder.