The sun was dipping lower in the sky when Nicholas and Hermione resumed their search for Neville’s toad, Trevor. They combed through every compartment they passed, glancing into each as they questioned their occupants. Along the way, they met a variety of other students—some their age, eager and wide-eyed, and others older, exuding a casual confidence as they leaned back in their seats, robes already settled comfortably on their shoulders. Yet despite their efforts, every answer was the same—no sign of Trevor.
The two exchanged a weary glance as they reached the end of yet another corridor. It was becoming clear that their quest was likely in vain, yet Nicholas could see the determined set of Hermione’s jaw, the way she clung to the hope of helping Neville. He admired her persistence, though he himself was beginning to feel the tug of impatience. After all, he had his own friends to find—Draco, Pansy, and the others would surely be wondering where he had disappeared to, and there was much to catch up on.
Nicholas hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat. “Say, Hermione,” he began, keeping his tone as light as he could. “I think I might take a break for a while. My friends must be getting a bit impatient by now.” He had mentioned Draco and the others in passing to her before, though he had been careful to keep certain details vague—like Draco’s penchant for looking down on Muggle-borns, and some of the others’ less savory views. There was no need to trouble Hermione with those matters just yet; after all, if things took a turn, she needn’t become involved with them at all.
Hermione regarded him thoughtfully, her expression softening after a moment. “That’s all right, Nicholas,” she replied with a small, understanding nod. “I’ll carry on for a bit longer on my own, and we can meet back at our compartment later.” Despite her words, he could see the hint of disappointment in her eyes, but she masked it with a determined smile.
Nicholas offered her a grateful wave before turning on his heel, making his way further down the train. It was in the tenth compartment that he finally found who he was looking for. As he slid open the door, he was greeted by the sight of Draco lounging comfortably in his seat, surrounded by familiar faces—Pansy Parkinson, with her perpetually haughty expression; Blaise Zabini, ever the picture of aloof elegance; and Hannah Abbott, who seemed somewhat out of place among the others. Two unfamiliar boys were seated as well, their bulky frames crammed into the seats.
“Nicholas, where have you been?!” Draco’s face lit up with a smile as he jumped up from his seat, his silver-blonde hair catching the light streaming through the window. Their conversation halted abruptly as all eyes turned to Nicholas, but there was an unmistakable warmth in the welcome, a sense that he had been missed. Nicholas returned the smile, offering a nod to Draco before turning to greet the others.
“Pansy, Blaise, good to see you both,” Nicholas said warmly, shaking Blaise’s hand before turning to Pansy with a small bow. Pansy smirked slightly, tilting her head in acknowledgment, while Blaise merely offered a cool smile in return. But when his gaze shifted to Hannah, he caught the faint furrow of discomfort in her brow, the way her fingers fidgeted slightly with the hem of her robes.
“She isn’t fond of Crabbe and Goyle,” Pansy whispered to him quietly, leaning close so only Nicholas could hear. “Draco’s old friends.” There was a hint of amusement in her tone, though she kept her voice low.
Nicholas turned his attention to Hannah, offering her a reassuring smile as he greeted her. “It’s been a while, Hannah. I trust you’re well?” he said with genuine warmth. Her tense expression softened, and she managed a small but sincere smile in return, some of her unease slipping away.
Draco, eager to direct the attention back to himself, stepped forward with a flourish. “Oh, Nicholas, you must meet Crabbe and Goyle. They’re good sorts, even if they don’t talk much,” he said with enthusiasm, gesturing to the two boys seated by the window.
Nicholas stifled a chuckle as he took in the sight of the newcomers. Crabbe and Goyle were both large and stocky, with broad shoulders that seemed to strain against their Hogwarts robes. Crabbe, with his square jaw and vacant expression, was currently eyeing a chocolate frog as though it were a puzzle he could not quite solve, while Goyle, slightly taller but just as dense-looking, stared blankly out the window, as if the passing landscape held some hidden secret he could not grasp.
Crabbe stood up first, lumbering over with a heavy step. “Er... ‘ello, I’m Crabbe,” he mumbled, extending a meaty hand toward Nicholas. His voice was low and slow, each word seeming to require effort.
“And I’m Goyle,” the other boy added quickly, following Crabbe’s lead. His handshake was equally clumsy, his grip too tight, as though he believed it was some sort of test of strength.
Draco quickly gestured to an open spot in the compartment, practically pulling Nicholas into the center seat. “Come, Nicholas, sit here! You must tell us all about your summer,” he urged, sliding into the seat beside him with an eagerness that caused his blond hair to fall slightly out of place. The rest of the group shifted around, and soon enough, Nicholas found himself surrounded, with Draco to his left and Pansy, Hannah, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle scattered on the other side.
As the train rumbled on, the conversation turned lively. Draco was the first to launch into a tale, leaning back in his seat as if holding court. “Father took me to France this summer,” he began with a dramatic air. “We toured the wizarding châteaux and attended a private soirée hosted by the Delacours— The main line, not Louis’. Magnificent place, you should have seen it, Nicholas—enchanted chandeliers, champagne that refills itself... Nothing quite like the usual gatherings in Hogsmeade.” He paused, clearly expecting admiration.
Nicholas nodded appreciatively, though he had already grown used to Draco’s flair for embellishing stories. “Sounds impressive, Draco. I’ve heard the Delacour estate is known for its protective enchantments and their charming Half-Veela daughters.”
Draco smirked, pleased with Nicholas’s reaction. “Oh, yes. Mother was particularly interested in those half-bloods. My father, however… Well, my Mother did say it’s important to acquaint with such people, you know, to keep up with the proper circles in France.”
Pansy, who had been listening intently, rolled her eyes slightly. “My summer was dreadfully dull compared to yours, Draco. Just the usual—Father trying to set me up with all sorts of pure-blood families. But I did manage to slip away to Diagon Alley more than once, got some new robes tailored from Madam Malkin's.” She adjusted the sleeve of her crisp new robe, showing off the silver embroidery.
Blaise, lounging elegantly with his arms crossed, smirked. “And I spent most of my time at home, avoiding Mother’s suitors. She has a new one every week, it seems. But I did manage to study some of the more obscure potions—found a fascinating recipe for an elixir of euphoria. Might come in handy during a particularly dull lesson.” His dark eyes glinted with mischief as he spoke, and even Pansy chuckled at the thought.
Nicholas, having listened with polite interest, finally took his turn. “My summer was a bit different, I suppose,” he began, drawing their attention. “My family arranged for me to have some lessons—spell casting with an old family tutor. He wasn’t easy to impress, but I managed a few charms and even practiced some defensive spells. It was... enlightening, to say the least.”
Draco’s eyes widened, and he leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. “Spell casting lessons, you say? I didn’t think most tutors would bother before Hogwarts... What sort of spells did you learn?”
Nicholas gave a modest shrug, though he couldn’t hide the hint of pride in his voice. “Mostly basic charms—Levitation, Wand-lighting, and some simple defensive hexes. But I did manage to perfect Lumos Solem and even a little Transfiguration.”
Draco’s competitive nature flared, and he pulled out his wand with a flourish. “Well, let’s see if I can manage something too,” he declared, waving his wand towards Crabbe. “Mutare Auris!” he incanted with a flourish, aiming for something impressive. Instead, Crabbe’s ears transformed into twitching, pink rat ears, and the poor boy reached up in confusion, feeling the new appendages with wide eyes.
Blaise snorted, and Pansy couldn’t suppress a laugh, her shoulders shaking with amusement. Even Hannah, despite her earlier unease, giggled behind her hand, while Goyle looked on in baffled surprise. “Very impressive, Draco,” Blaise drawled, raising an eyebrow as he surveyed Crabbe’s predicament. “I’m sure the Professors would be thoroughly... perplexed.”
Draco’s cheeks reddened slightly as he fumbled with his wand, trying to reverse the spell. “Oh, just you wait, Blaise—I’ve nearly got it—”
But Nicholas, chuckling softly, decided to step in. With a swift flick of his own wand, he muttered, “Finite Incantatem.” The rat ears shrank back into their normal shape, and Crabbe touched his head again with visible relief, his expression dazed but grateful.
“Better luck next time, Draco,” Nicholas teased gently, though there was a warmth to his tone. He turned his attention back to the group, wanting to lighten the mood further. He took out a small pumpkin pasty from their snack stash, placed it in the air before him, and raised his wand. “But let me show you something a bit more controlled. Wingardium Leviosa.”
The pasty floated gracefully into the air, rising and spinning slowly as Nicholas guided it with a steady hand. It hovered between them, gliding back and forth like a miniature broomstick, the light from the window catching its golden crust. The others watched with fascination, leaning closer as the pastry floated past their noses.
Draco’s earlier embarrassment faded, replaced by grudging admiration. “Not bad, Nicholas,” he admitted, though he tried to sound unimpressed. “Though I could probably do the same with a bit more practice.”
“Oh, of course, Draco,” Nicholas replied, a playful twinkle in his eye. He guided the floating pasty toward Blaise, who eyed it with a bemused expression before plucking it delicately from the air. “But let’s leave the transformations for when we’ve got a bit more experience, shall we?”
Pansy rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Honestly, boys, always trying to one-up each other,” she muttered, though her tone held more amusement than irritation. Blaise took a bite of the pasty, offering a smirk in agreement.
Hannah, now more at ease, leaned forward slightly, her gaze lingering on Nicholas. “That was very impressive, Nicholas. My father never let me try much magic at home—they said it was better to wait for Hogwarts. But seeing this makes me wish I’d tried a bit more.”
Nicholas offered her a kind smile. “We’ll have plenty of time to learn all sorts of magic at Hogwarts, Hannah. And perhaps we can practice together.”
“Speaking of practicing together,” Draco interjected, his tone shifting to a more ambitious note, “I truly hope we all find ourselves sorted into Slytherin. Just imagine the possibilities! With Nicholas among us, I’m certain we’d become the most formidable group in our year.” His voice brimmed with childlike ambition, painting vivid pictures of their potential reign over Hogwarts. He leaned forward, excitement bubbling over. “We could outwit everyone in Potions, dominate Quidditch, and forge alliances with the other Slytherins. Just think of it!”
“I’m sure of that as well,” Blaise chimed in, leaning back with a smirk, “but I’m not certain these two would be included.” He tilted his head in a dismissive manner towards Crabbe and Goyle, who were sitting to the side, their faces blank as they attempted to process the conversation.
“Ey!” they both exclaimed simultaneously, their voices rising in indignation. Crabbe's expression contorted in confusion while Goyle's brow furrowed, clearly not appreciating the jab at their expense.
“It’s just the truth,” Blaise replied, his tone teasing but laced with an edge of sincerity. He seemed to take pleasure in needling the two, though it was clear that his remarks had struck a nerve.
As Crabbe and Goyle began to rise from their seats, clearly angered by Blaise’s words, Draco shouted, “Calm down!” His voice carried authority, but it did little to quell their rising tempers. The two boys stood with fists clenched, eyes blazing as they glared at Blaise.
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Seeing the impending confrontation, Nicholas sprang to his feet, positioning himself between the two angry boys and Blaise. “You two better sit down,” he warned, his voice steady yet firm. He locked gazes with Crabbe and Goyle, channeling every ounce of his courage. There was a moment of tense silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Slowly, the anger ebbed from their expressions, and they sank back into their seats, looking somewhat defeated by his unwavering stare.
Nicholas turned back to Blaise, his expression softening. “Your provocation was uncalled for,” he chastised gently. “They are still Draco’s friends, and our group needs to stand united.”
Blaise met Nicholas’s gaze, a hint of surprise flickering in his dark eyes. He let out a resigned sigh, leaning back in his seat with an air of mock defeat. “Fine, fine. I suppose I was a bit too harsh,” he conceded, though the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was fighting back a grin.
“Do not cause a fight, Blaise,” Nicholas warned, his tone serious but his demeanor relaxed. “It wouldn’t do us any favors on our first day.”
With a reluctant roll of his eyes, Blaise acquiesced. “Alright, alright. I’ll apologize,” he muttered, turning his attention to Crabbe and Goyle, who were still sulking in their seats. “Sorry, you two. Didn’t mean to offend. Just trying to keep things interesting, you know?”
Crabbe crossed his arms, still looking slightly peeved but not unyielding. “Just… don’t say stuff like that again,” he grumbled, shooting Blaise a wary glance.
Goyle nodded in agreement, albeit more slowly, as if processing the apology required more thought. “Yeah, we get it.”
Nicholas couldn’t help but find amusement in Crabbe and Goyle’s antics. Their simplemindedness reminded him of some of the characters he’d seen in old gangster films, like the goons in The Godfather. In fact, they even brought to mind a pair of rowdy twins he used to know back in America, who would talk tough as if they were straight out of a mobster movie, leaning heavily into their Italian heritage. What a bunch, he mused to himself, hiding a smirk as he glanced between Crabbe and Goyle.
Despite their occasional clashes, Nicholas genuinely enjoyed the time spent with his friends. There was an easy camaraderie in the compartment, and he felt like the group's unspoken leader—his wit and well-timed jokes often lightened the mood, while his moments of seriousness shifted the atmosphere to a more contemplative tone. It seemed as though the others followed his lead, the dynamics of their conversation flowing in response to his shifts. Blaise would lean back, offering his sarcastic commentary, while Draco’s competitive nature flared in response to Nicholas’s stories. Even Hannah, who often remained on the quieter side, would join in with a bright smile when the banter grew particularly lively.
Just as Nicholas felt the conversation reaching a comfortable rhythm, there was a sudden knock on the compartment door. He turned to see a familiar figure through the glass—a girl with bushy brown hair, looking slightly flustered. Nicholas’s expression softened into a smile as he recognized her, and he watched as Hermione stepped into the compartment, her cheeks slightly flushed from the effort of her search.
“Have you se—” she began, but then paused as she spotted Nicholas. Relief mingled with mild irritation on her face. “Nicholas, you’re here.”
Nicholas stood, still maintaining his polite demeanor, though he could see that Hermione’s patience was wearing thin. “I suppose you still haven’t found Trevor?” he inquired gently, knowing full well that the search had likely been fruitless.
Hermione let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “Not yet,” she admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. “If only my help hadn’t abandoned me, then I’m sure that poor Neville’s toad could have been found by now.” Her tone held a note of reproach, her eyes flicking towards Nicholas, as if chiding him for leaving her to search on her own while he seemed to be enjoying himself.
The group’s reaction to Hermione’s familiarity with Nicholas was immediate. Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly, while Pansy leaned closer to Blaise, her expression openly skeptical. Their whispers, though hushed, reached Nicholas’s ears. “Hey, Hannah, does she seem familiar to you?” Draco murmured.
“No,” Hannah responded, glancing at Hermione with curiosity but no recognition.
Pansy’s voice was sharper, dripping with disdain. “She’s definitely a Mudblood, Draco,” she hissed, her words cutting through the compartment like a blade.
Draco’s gaze darted back to Nicholas and Hermione. “It looks like she’s Nicholas’s friend,” he observed, his tone incredulous.
“No way,” Pansy countered with a huff, her eyes narrowing. “She probably thinks so, but I doubt Nicholas would associate with her willingly.”
Nicholas could feel his anger rising, simmering just beneath the surface. I can hear you, you know, he thought darkly, glancing toward Hermione to see if she had caught any of their cruel remarks. To his relief, she seemed too preoccupied to notice the undercurrent of hostility. But the indignation burned inside him, and he decided to address it in his own way.
Rising from his seat, Nicholas forced a smile onto his face, though it did little to mask the irritation in his eyes. “I’ll be returning to my compartment, everyone. I’m looking forward to talking with the lot of you later.” His words were pleasant, but the cold edge beneath them was unmistakable. His gaze swept over Draco, Pansy, Blaise, and the rest, and the shift in their expressions told him they understood his displeasure. Shock registered in their faces, and for a moment, even Draco seemed uneasy under Nicholas’s stare. Just wait. I have much to say to you all later.
With that, he turned to Hermione, offering her a small, apologetic smile. “Oh, Hermione, these are my friends,” he said, his voice deliberately casual, glossing over the introductions as he gestured vaguely toward the group. He made no effort to introduce each of them by name, making it clear that he didn’t feel their identities were worth sharing at the moment.
Hermione seemed momentarily taken aback by Nicholas's brisk manner, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes. She had clearly expected a more detailed introduction, but Nicholas's urgency overrode any lingering curiosity she might have had. He placed a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards the door of the compartment. “You’ve been working tirelessly all afternoon, Hermione,” he said, keeping his tone warm and encouraging, though there was a steely edge in his gaze as he glanced back at his friends. “Why don’t you wait for me outside? I’ll join you shortly, and we can resume the search for Trevor together.” His smile was genuine, though his eyes carried a deeper message—one that his friends seemed to miss entirely.
Hermione hesitated, casting one last uncertain glance towards the group, but she eventually nodded and allowed Nicholas to steer her out of the compartment. As the door clicked shut behind them, Nicholas watched her disappear down the corridor, the tension in his shoulders releasing only slightly. Once she was out of earshot, he turned back to his companions, his polite demeanor fading like a mist under the midday sun.
The atmosphere in the compartment shifted abruptly, the previous camaraderie replaced by a taut silence. Nicholas's expression hardened, and his gaze swept over each of them—Draco, Pansy, Blaise, even Crabbe and Goyle—scrutinizing their reactions. He took a steadying breath, knowing that he had to address the matter directly. His voice, usually measured, now carried a simmering intensity. “I am gravely disappointed in all of you,” he began, his tone cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade.
Draco, usually quick with a retort, only blinked, taken aback by the unexpected shift in Nicholas’s demeanor. Blaise crossed his arms, arching a brow, while Pansy looked on with a mixture of defiance and unease. Even Crabbe and Goyle, often oblivious to subtleties, shifted uncomfortably under Nicholas's scrutiny.
Before anyone could interject, Nicholas’s frustration boiled over, and his voice rose, uncharacteristically sharp and raw. “Should that be how a true pure-blood conducts themselves?” he demanded, his voice tinged with an unvarnished anger. All the polished, diplomatic language he usually wielded was cast aside, revealing the fire underneath. “I don’t care if you feel the need to gossip, to think yourself better than others, but for Merlin’s sake, have the decency not to do it so brazenly, especially in front of others.”
His outburst left a ringing silence in its wake. Draco opened his mouth as if to defend himself but then closed it, looking at the floor instead. Pansy fidgeted with the hem of her robes, clearly caught off guard, while Blaise’s expression remained inscrutable, though he tilted his head slightly, as if considering Nicholas's words.
Seeing their reactions, Nicholas’s anger began to ebb, replaced by a deep, wearied resolve. His expression softened as he continued, though his voice remained firm. “She is a friend of mine, just as all of you are.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “I do not care if she’s Muggle-born, half-blood, or anything else that you might look down upon. What matters to me is the character of the person, not the blood that runs through their veins. And I would hope that, as my friends, you would respect that.”
The tension in the compartment lingered, but a subtle shift occurred in their expressions. Draco’s shoulders sagged slightly, as if recognizing that this conversation had a weight beyond mere schoolyard rivalries. Blaise offered a small, noncommittal nod, while Pansy’s gaze darted towards the window, as though reconsidering her earlier stance. Even Crabbe and Goyle seemed uncertain, looking to Draco for some sign of how to react.
Nicholas took in the scene, aware that he had stirred up something deeper than he had intended. “We’ll speak more on this later,” he concluded, his tone gentler now, though still firm. “For now, I expect you to treat any friend of mine with respect—Hermione included. Is that understood?”
As Nicholas met each of their eyes, he could see the reluctance behind their muted nods. The acknowledgment wasn’t heartfelt, but it was there, and that would suffice for now. He allowed a small, strained smile to grace his lips, feeling the weight of tension lift ever so slightly. It wasn’t a resolution, but it was a start, a line drawn in the sand. With one last glance at the subdued faces of his friends, he turned and slipped out into the corridor, closing the compartment door behind him with a soft click.
Hermione was waiting just a few steps away, leaning slightly against the window. She appeared deep in thought, her brows knitted together as she gazed out at the blurred countryside rushing past. She seemed entirely unaware of the tension that had simmered inside the compartment mere moments ago.
When she caught sight of Nicholas, her expression brightened slightly, though a shadow of curiosity lingered in her eyes. “Finished with your friends, then?” she asked, a touch of dry humor creeping into her tone, though Nicholas could sense the genuine curiosity beneath it.
He offered her an apologetic smile. “Yes, for now. I’m sorry, Hermione, I didn’t get the chance to introduce them properly,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “They aren’t particularly... welcoming to newcomers, as you might have gathered.”
Hermione’s lips twitched in a faint smile, though her brow furrowed with thought. “They seemed rather composed,” she remarked, her tone more observant than critical. “Are they, by any chance, from old wizarding families? I’ve read about the Sacred Twenty-Eight—those pure-blood families considered to be the most influential in the wizarding world.” Her voice carried the eagerness of someone eager to absorb every scrap of knowledge, and she looked at Nicholas expectantly.
Nicholas hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “You could say that, yes,” he replied, his tone measured. “Each of them comes from families that hold a certain... prestige in our world. They take pride in their heritage.”
Hermione’s curiosity deepened, and she studied him intently, as if trying to unravel another layer of mystery. “And you?” she asked, her voice softer but probing. “I assume your family is also part of that circle, considering how close you seem to be with them.”
A faint smile curved Nicholas’s lips, but there was a flicker of something guarded in his eyes. “Not quite,” he said, offering a casual shrug. “My family isn’t one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. We’re... different.”
He glanced away briefly, as if caught in a private thought. More prestigious than most of them, even if they wouldn’t care to admit it, he mused inwardly. The Gryffs were descendants of Godric Gryffindor himself, but he had no intention of sharing that with Hermione just yet. It was a secret that carried its own burdens, ones he wasn’t ready to lay bare to someone he’d just met, even if she was earnest and kind.
Hermione seemed to catch the note of restraint in his words, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she offered him a small, understanding smile. “Well, regardless of family ties, it’s nice to see that you value decency over status,” she said sincerely, a touch of admiration in her voice.
“It’s easy to get caught up in names and traditions,” he mused aloud, his tone quiet but steady, as if he were sharing a personal truth. “But I think what truly matters is seeing people for who they are, not just where they come from.” His gaze met hers, and for a moment, the two young students shared a mutual understanding—an unspoken recognition of the journey they were both embarking on, each from different worlds yet seeking the same sense of belonging.
Hermione seemed to ponder his words, her brows furrowing slightly as if trying to reconcile them with the many things she had read about the wizarding world. But before she could respond, Nicholas gestured down the corridor, a gentle smile playing at his lips. “Come on, let’s head back to our compartment. You look like you could use a break after all that searching.”
Hermione hesitated, glancing down the train corridor with a trace of reluctance in her expression. “What about Trevor?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. “Neville seemed so worried about him. We can't just leave without finding his toad.”
Nicholas let out a small, understanding chuckle. He could see the conflict in her eyes—her desire to help Neville battling with the weariness of the long afternoon’s search. “Perhaps Trevor will find his way back to Neville on his own,” he suggested gently, keeping his tone light. “Toads have a way of surprising us, you know. And besides, a little rest will help us think more clearly if we need to resume the search later.”
Hermione bit her lip, looking down the corridor once more before finally nodding. “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted with a sigh, her shoulders sagging slightly as she allowed herself to relax. “Neville will probably be searching too, and... well, it wouldn’t do any good if we’re too tired to think straight.”
Nicholas nodded in agreement, appreciating her willingness to let go, if only for a moment. As they turned back towards their compartment, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. The wizarding world might be full of challenges and old prejudices, but he was beginning to see that not everyone was bound by those expectations. And perhaps, in time, Hermione would find her place in this world too—just as he was searching for his own.
With that thought, they walked side by side down the train’s corridor, the sound of the rails a steady rhythm beneath their feet. The sky outside the window had begun to turn a deeper shade of gold, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the rolling hills. Nicholas found a strange sense of peace in that moment, and for the first time that day, he allowed himself to look forward to what lay ahead at Hogwarts.