The Hogwarts Express gave a sharp whistle, and with a long hissss, its wheels began to turn. Steam rolled thickly along the platform as the train slowly pulled away amid final waves and hurried goodbyes.
"Don't forget to write!" someone called.
"Mind your trunk!" shouted another voice.
A chorus of farewells followed as the engine settled into a steady chuff—chuff, growing louder, then more distant.
Inside the train, Victor had already settled into an empty compartment. He sat by the window with a third-year Charms book open in his hands, completely absorbed, the soft clatter-clack of the tracks fading into the background as the train gathered speed.
Draco was not with him.
His brother had claimed another compartment almost at once, loudly announcing his presence to two familiar figures—Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe.
Both came from pure-blood families of far lesser standing than the Malfoys, and both looked far too eager to agree with everything Draco said.
It was a dynamic Victor recognised well. Goyle and Crabbe had hovered around Draco since childhood, products of the same pure-blood gatherings and family meetings, where hierarchy was learned early and obedience rewarded.
Victor watched the scene for exactly three seconds.
That was enough.
He had no intention of babysitting a trio of fools. A book was far better company.
As he was reading, the compartment door slid open.
Victor lifted his head, mildly annoyed—and then paused.
Standing in the doorway was a girl about his age, struggling slightly with a large, overpacked trunk. Bushy brown hair framed her face in every direction at once, as though it had never once agreed with a brush.
It was none other than Hermione Granger, the future brain of the Hogwarts trio.
She looked exactly like what he remembered.
"Sorry," she said quickly, peering into the compartment. "All the others seem to be full. Is this one taken?"
Victor glanced around the empty seats, then back at her.
"No," he replied calmly. "You can sit."
It was better, he decided, to have company—especially company that didn't mind being quiet, and especially when that company happened to be a rather cute girl.
Her face brightened at once.
"Oh, good."
She dragged her trunk inside with a determined grunt, struggling with it like a beaver trying to haul an oversized log. The trunk scraped loudly along the floor before finally tipping upright with a dull thud.
Victor hid a faint smile and returned to his book.
He had to admit—she looked rather cute when she was concentrating that hard, especially with her slightly chubby cheeks puffed out in effort. He resisted the entirely unnecessary urge to pinch them and focused instead on the page in front of him.
Hermione straightened, brushed her hair back in a way that didn't improve its situation at all, and took a seat.
"There," she said, satisfied.
Hermione settled into her seat—then immediately noticed the book in his hands.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but in pure, unmistakable academic curiosity.
"Wait," she said, leaning forward. "Is that Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three?"
Victor glanced down at the cover. "Yes."
She blinked. Once.
"That's a third-year book."
"Yes," he repeated calmly.
Victor lowered the book, which until then had been covering half his face.
Hermione finally got a clear look at him—and paused.
For a brief moment, she simply stared.
He didn't look like what she'd been expecting. His platinum-blond hair was neatly combed, his pale grey eyes calm and observant, lending him an oddly mature air for someone their age.
Hermione blinked and quickly looked away, a faint colour rising to her cheeks.
"Ahem—" she said, straightening. "I'm Hermione Granger. First year."
"Victor Malfoy," he replied with a small nod. "Same."
A short silence followed.
Hermione adjusted the strap of her bag, clearly regaining her composure. Victor returned to his book—though he couldn't help noticing that his presence seemed to have caused… unexpected complications.
"If you're a first-year like me," Hermione asked at last, unable to hold back, "why are you reading third-year books?"
"I've already completed the first- and second-year syllabus," he said simply. "So I moved on."
Hermione stared.
"…All of it?"
"Yes."
She took a moment to process that.
"So—you're from a wizarding family?" she asked. There was still wonder in her voice; after all, she had learned magic existed barely a month ago, when her Hogwarts letter arrived.
"Yes," Victor said. "My family's been part of the wizarding world for generations."
Hermione nodded slowly. "That must make things easier," she said. "Knowing about spells and books already, I mean."
"In some ways," Victor replied. "In others, it just means expectations."
She considered this, then hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose I wouldn't know. My parents are dentists. They were very confused when an owl arrived with a letter."
Victor glanced up. "Mine would have been offended if it hadn't."
Hermione laughed quietly before catching herself.
"So wizarding families really do start teaching early?" she asked.
"Mostly theory," Victor said. "Wands come later."
"So children like you get a head start?" Hermione pressed.
"In some ways," Victor said. "But do you really expect everyone our age to share the same enthusiasm for books?"
At their age, most children disliked books with impressive consistency—even magical ones.
"True," Hermione admitted.
Back at her primary school, whenever she'd tried to talk about books, she'd received polite smiles at best and avoidance at worst. It hadn't mattered how fascinating the subject was; most simply didn't care.
For the first time since boarding the train, Hermione felt genuinely at ease. She had found someone her age who enjoyed learning—someone who didn't look at her strangely for caring so much.
"I'm a bit relieved, really," Hermione said. "I was worried Hogwarts might be the same. My parents were terribly anxious about sending me here."
"That's understandable," Victor said.
"They didn't know what to expect," she continued. "Neither did I."
She smiled, softer now. "But I think it'll be all right."
After a brief pause, she added more hesitantly, "I hope we end up in the same house."
"It would make things easier," Hermione said quickly, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. "At least we'd know someone on the first day."
Victor smiled—but only to himself.
He didn't say what he was thinking.
He was quite certain where he would end up. Slytherin suited him far too well—ambition, calculation, and the habit of planning several steps ahead came naturally to him.
All signs pointed in the same direction.
Hermione, on the other hand, would almost certainly be sorted into Gryffindor.