Chapter Seventy: For the Sake of Hogwarts

“Dad, Mom, and Godfather, you don’t need to come any further. I’m about to board the train now.” Hermione wheeled her suitcase as she spoke to the Grangers and Carn, her godfather. She could have used an Undetectable Extension Charm on her bag, but after Kettle’s reminder that first-years shouldn’t stand out too much, she decided against it. Besides, once she arrived at Hogwarts, the house-elves would help settle her trunk, so Hermione simply brought her suitcase along. Still, she had equipped herself well, bringing the best items she owned, such as dragon-hide gloves and a top-quality cauldron, thanks to her generous godfather.

“Godfather, I’ll deliver your letter to Professor Dumbledore, please don’t worry,” Hermione said, lifting her chin to Carn. After a month of studying under Kettle, she felt no nervousness at the prospect of going to Hogwarts alone—in fact, she looked forward to it. Kettle had told her that, apart from needing to memorize some theoretical knowledge, her skills were already on par with a second-year student.

“Thank you, Hermione. I may be traveling abroad for a while, so if you need anything, write to Phil or Isaac, or you can contact Kettle as well.” Carn gave her careful instructions. Matters concerning a first-year could be handled by the house-elves or Kettle. With his approval, Hermione would be their second mistress in his absence.

Kettle had also been hired by Carn as a shop assistant, as his application for a general store had passed the Ministry of Magic’s review. Only a few steps remained before they could officially open, and Carn had even bought an extra property in Diagon Alley as a shopfront.

Currently, their main business was buying and selling potions and magical materials, along with some of Kettle’s own brews. Carn wished to expand into other valuable alchemical products, but lacking a professional appraiser, he was wary of being swindled by unscrupulous wizards. Kettle could at least ensure the quality of potions and ingredients, which was reassuring for now. Carn hoped to research and discover the value of magical creature materials, so obtaining a variety was crucial. Kettle’s potions provided some comfort—if they didn’t sell, Carn could always use them himself.

What Carn most desired, however, was the blood and genes of a phoenix. He had made many preparations for this. To increase his chances of acquiring phoenix blood and genes, Carn had even visited bookstores to inquire about Newt Scamander’s address. Since Newt was a published author, the shopkeepers would surely know his whereabouts.

Although the booksellers refused to reveal Newt Scamander’s address, Carn didn’t give up. Instead, he left a letter, hoping they would forward it to Newt. The letter conveyed greetings and included a donation, hoping Mr. Scamander would use it for the protection of magical creatures. At the end, Carn inquired about the ways to obtain phoenix blood and genes.

...

Once aboard the Hogwarts Express, Hermione found an empty compartment and settled in. Before long, a chubby boy knocked on the door to ask if he could join her. Although Hermione had grown up enjoying a life of privilege thanks to Carn, her love of helping others and showcasing her knowledge hadn’t changed.

She immediately offered him a seat and welcomed Neville in. As they grew more familiar through conversation, Hermione’s display of knowledge left Neville increasingly in awe. Naturally timid, Neville admired Hermione’s confidence and ability to express herself.

Their conversation quickly grew lively—one eager to express, the other happy to listen.

When Neville realized his toad was missing, Hermione even volunteered to help search. Neville was a wonderful listener, and when she spoke about something exciting, he would even applaud, making Hermione all the more willing to assist him. Together, they went from compartment to compartment, asking passengers. Although it might have seemed intrusive, Hermione’s impeccable manners prevented any annoyance—something she had learned from her godfather: even if you wanted to strangle someone, you could always do it with a smile.

In the next carriage, Hermione spotted three students about her height gathered outside a compartment. She stepped forward and asked, “Excuse me, may I interrupt? Have any of you seen a toad? It’s Neville Longbottom’s pet.”

“Neville? The one who’s nothing like the rest of the pure-blood Longbottoms? Seems this time he’s lost his pet—maybe next time he’ll forget how to get home,” sneered the pale-faced first-year boy in front. The two beside him snickered. Neville bristled with anger, but his timid nature prevented any retort; he simply lowered his head in silence.

“Why mock Neville? From your tone, you must be one of those pure-blood wizards who enjoy belittling others. Allow me to tell you—even outside the wizarding world, such behavior is considered rude and ill-mannered,” Hermione replied, undaunted by the three before her, lifting her chin slightly as she addressed Draco Malfoy. She had discreetly gripped her wand inside her sleeve. She couldn’t quite embrace her godfather’s advice to strike first, but if the others meant harm, she was ready to defend herself.

“Rude, am I? Clearly you know nothing of pure-blood history, you ignorant mud–” Draco Malfoy’s furious retort was cut short as Hermione’s expression shifted and she swiftly drew her wand, pointing it at him and shouting,

“Silencio!”

A jet of magic flashed, and Draco Malfoy suddenly found himself unable to speak a word.

“If you can’t say anything worthwhile, best not to open your mouth at all—Mr. Pureblood,” Hermione declared. She paused, unsure of his name, but the boy inside the compartment—Harry Potter—helpfully supplied, “Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione continued smoothly, “Mr. Malfoy, of the pure-blooded Malfoy family.”

Finding himself completely silenced, Draco looked to Crabbe and Goyle for help, but they were at a loss. In the end, they hauled Draco off back to their compartment.

“Well, it seems your toad isn’t here either, Neville. Let’s keep looking elsewhere,” Hermione said, her mood somewhat soured. Although she’d long heard from her godfather about the disdain pure-bloods showed for Muggle-borns, this was her first real encounter with it. After nodding to Ron Weasley and Harry, Hermione and Neville moved on, but even after searching nearly the whole train, Neville’s toad was nowhere to be found.

It wasn’t until they had disembarked, crossed the lake, and arrived at Hogwarts Castle that Neville finally found his toad—thanks to Hagrid’s reminder.

Seeing Neville reunited with his toad improved Hermione’s mood, though it quickly soured again at the sight of Draco, also a first-year.

But at present, Hermione’s main concern was delivering her godfather’s letter to Professor Dumbledore. Carn would not be staying in London long, so she wanted to help him settle this matter as soon as possible.

The next day in class, thanks to her outstanding performance, Hermione found an opportunity after the lesson. She handed the letter to Professor McGonagall, explaining the situation. With McGonagall’s assurance, Hermione felt a great weight lifted from her shoulders and could now devote herself fully to her studies.

...

“Albus, I think you should take a look at this letter. It’s from a student’s godfather, forwarded to you through me. He didn’t seem to know your address,” Professor McGonagall said as she entered the Headmaster’s office, placing the letter on the desk.

“A student’s godfather? I… I think I might know who this gentleman is,” Dumbledore replied, slowly opening the letter after seeing the name on the envelope. As he read its contents, his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Would you care to see this, Professor McGonagall? It appears that Mr. Pent has met you before, and he’s also written to Newt Scamander…”

“Mr. Pent?” Professor McGonagall took the letter from Dumbledore’s hand, and after reading it, she was equally surprised. Adjusting her glasses, she said, “So that’s why he mentioned Scamander. I remember now—I thought he was a relative of Miss Granger’s, but only yesterday did I learn that Mr. Pent is apparently a Squib.”

“Well, Albus, what do you think? Only you can decide on this matter, after all…”

He was, after all, the master of the phoenix, and Dumbledore was hoping she might offer her opinion—but McGonagall would never presume to do so.

“Yes, only I can decide. Fudge may support me, but I can sense his fear of me. I am not Tom…” Dumbledore stroked Fawkes’s feathers, and after a long silence, once Professor McGonagall had left, he finally made up his mind.

“This will help Hogwarts thrive, won’t it, Fawkes?”