After Harry stepped onto the train, he unexpectedly ran into the Weasley twins again. He had only met them briefly earlier, yet they called out his name—Harry Potter—with such familiarity that he was momentarily stunned. They were even more fascinated by the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, leaning in with sincere curiosity.
Just a month ago, Vinson had already told Harry about the rather unbelievable story of him defeating Lord Voldemort as a baby. At the time, Harry found it ridiculous and assumed Vinson was joking. He had lived an ordinary, neglected life for so long that the idea of being famous felt impossible. But as the twins excitedly examined his scar, he now realized the truth—he was indeed well-known in the wizarding world.
Yet the title of "Savior" stirred nothing but discomfort. Harry felt resistant, even faintly disgusted by the idea of being treated like a hero for something he didn't even remember doing. Vinson's warning echoed in his mind: "The more attention you receive, the more trouble will find you." Harry had thought it was just another one of Vinson's playful remarks, but now it felt more like a prophecy.
After Harry found a seat in a compartment and settled in, Vinson also boarded the train. Rather than staying with the students, he walked toward the very front of the Hogwarts Express. In front of the prefects' carriage was an additional compartment—one students rarely noticed. It served as the staff lounge, where the conductor and the trolley witch rested when they weren't working.
Despite having taken the Hogwarts Express for years, Vinson had never once seen the train's mysterious driver. This trip was no exception. When he slid the door open, the only person inside was the plump, familiar trolley witch. She was arranging the assortment of sweets on her cart, humming quietly to herself. Vinson noticed a box near the top hopping energetically—undoubtedly a Chocolate Frog.
Vinson had always been fond of chocolate. The only exception was Cockroach Clusters, which he considered an insult to the concept of sweets.
The witch jumped slightly when he entered. "Oh! Goodness, you startled me," she said, hand pressed to her chest.
"My apologies," Vinson replied, offering a polite smile. "I was actually looking for the driver. Is he here?"
"He's at the very front. The train is about to depart," she said automatically. Then she gave him a puzzled look. "Are you a student's parent? Parents aren't allowed on the train once it's leaving."
Vinson shook his head. "I'm a professor."
Her confusion only deepened. She squinted at him, examining him from head to toe, then from toe to head. Finally, a spark of recognition lit her expression.
"Adrian Vinson? If I'm remembering correctly…" She clicked her tongue and shook her head ruefully. "I used to be able to remember every student's face. Ah, that's what age does to you. Only a few years pass, and I nearly forgot."
"Your memory is excellent, madam," Vinson said honestly.
He truly was surprised. So many years of students rode this train, yet she still remembered his name.
"You spent quite a few Galleons here, that's why," she chuckled. "Big customers tend to stick in my memory. Not many students can afford to buy half the cart's sweets at once. I never imagined you'd return as a Hogwarts professor."
Vinson remembered those days clearly—how he bought sweets simply because he enjoyed sharing them with younger Hufflepuffs. There was no deeper reason; he just liked seeing their faces brighten.
"So," Vinson asked gently, "may I use the lounge for a bit?"
The trolley witch blinked, seemingly surprised by the request, but nodded. "Of course, Professor—on one condition. Buy something from me."
Vinson smiled and reached for the nearest treat. "Then I'll take this." It was a Chocolate Frog.
At that moment, a whistle blared outside, and the train began to move.
"Oh, I must get to work," the witch said as she guided her cart forward. "Have a pleasant rest, Professor Vinson."
Once she left, the lounge quieted. Vinson reclined casually in his seat and opened the box of Chocolate Frog. As always, a collectible wizard card slid out with the frog.
Unsurprisingly, it was Albus Dumbledore.
For some inexplicable reason, Vinson received Dumbledore cards far more often than probability allowed. At one point, he even wondered whether the Chocolate Frog Company simply had a fondness for the Headmaster—or perhaps Dumbledore had charmed the cards himself for amusement.
The picture of Dumbledore gave him a playful wink. Vinson chuckled, tucked the card into his pocket, and gazed out the window. The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels soon lulled him into a peaceful doze.
When the trolley witch returned later, Vinson had already fallen asleep.
At the very end of the train, another kind of meeting was taking place. Ron Weasley was enthusiastically demonstrating magic to Harry and Hermione. Harry watched with interest, wondering what impressive spell Ron would show. A Levitation Charm? Lumos? Maybe Reparo? Those felt too simple. Surely someone from a wizarding family would know something more advanced.
Ron raised his wand dramatically and recited:
"Daisy, sweet butter, and sunshine,
Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"
Harry blinked. He had never heard of such a spell in any of the textbooks Vinson had given him. And the strange, almost poetic incantation sounded suspiciously like something copied from a shop name Vinson once mentioned.
In any case, the spell failed completely. Ron's rat remained stubbornly gray.
Hermione, however, proudly claimed she had already practiced several spells at home—and they all worked. Hearing this, Harry realized something surprising: perhaps first-years who could successfully cast magic before school were the minority.
If that was true, then maybe he wasn't doing so badly. After all, he had spent only one summer at Vinson's home and had already previewed every spell in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. He still struggled with a few, but he had mastered many more than he expected.
Vinson's voice echoed in his head: "Your spells are just for show right now, Harry. Don't get complacent."
Hermione also delivered more inconvenient news—his name appeared in multiple textbooks:
History of Magic, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century…
Harry felt his stomach twist. Being recognized by strangers on the train was one thing, but being written about in history books made him feel like some kind of museum exhibit. And as everyone knew, most people in history books were… well, no longer alive. It was an eerie thought.
After Hermione left the compartment, Ron muttered in irritation, "No matter which house I'm sorted into, I hope I'm not in the same one as her."
Harry couldn't help silently agreeing. Hermione Granger had struck him as proud—maybe even a little arrogant—with the way she spoke as if reading from a rulebook. She lifted her chin when she talked, correcting people with a confidence that felt uncomfortable to him.
Sure, she was undeniably capable. But who went around saying things like, "I've memorized all the textbooks"? Was that even humanly possible?
To Harry, she embodied every stereotype of a "perfect student," and while he respected her dedication, he wasn't sure he liked her.
Still, little did any of them know how much their relationships were about to change once the Sorting Hat made its choices.
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