The Hogwarts Express was bathed in warm light.
The front carriages were reserved for Prefects, while the back were for the rest of the students. Each compartment was larger than it appeared from the outside, and the corridors were wider than those on ordinary trains, easily allowing more than just trolleys and attendants.
Nietzsche counted: there were probably five carriages in total.
"Oh, you must mean You-Know-Who, from Twentieth-Century Magical Events?" Hermione quickly pieced together Neville's meaning.
"Yes. Many people lost their lives because of him." Neville's hand stilled on the compartment door and his eyes filled with fear. "Even my parents only… only just survived."
Nietzsche placed an arm around his shoulders with practised ease.
The empathy he displayed was so natural that, had Hermione not known him, she would not have spotted the faint trace of performance beneath it.
"They are heroes, Neville. So tell me, what about these Malfoys you mentioned?"
Hermione glanced at him sidelong. It was the same way Nietzsche had spoken on his first day at her school.
Neville, comforted, straightened a little. "They're You-Know-Who's lackeys. There's a saying in the wizarding world: even if you know a Malfoy killed someone, you'll never find their fingerprints on the weapon. And it's true."
To Hermione, it sounded like the sort of shadowy mastermind from a political thriller, or a lawyer skirting the law and sickening everyone in the process.
Neville slid open another door, voice low again. "Excuse me… have you seen a toad? It's my pet, Trevor."
Some of the girls inside were about to shut the door in annoyance, but when they noticed Nietzsche behind Neville, they hesitated, managing small smiles.
In his black trench coat, with plain cane and dark hair brushing his ears, he looked both like a miniature adult and oddly mature for his age. Few people disliked such a sight.
Nietzsche gave a polite smile, then drifted into thought.
Hermione tugged him back sharply and whispered, "You can't just use Neville as a tool."
"Isn't that your business?"
He looked genuinely puzzled. His matter-of-fact tone made Hermione bristle. She instinctively reacted as her mother did with her father: she yanked his ear hard.
"Nietzsche!"
"I, Nietzsche Holmes, gather information. You, Hermione Granger, assist me. It's a flawless plan—"
"Don't talk to me like your father."
She stood on tiptoe, biting his ear with a little growl.
"All right, I get it!" he hissed.
Neville and the others, oblivious to the sting in Nietzsche's ear, only looked on with envy. By the time Neville chuckled and closed the door, Hermione and Nietzsche had composed themselves, smiling faintly as if nothing had happened.
"Oh, by the way, have you heard? Harry Potter is starting this year too!"
Harry Potter again.
Since Diagon Alley, they had seen his name in newspapers, overheard it from passing wizards, even found it in history books. Strange that the boy so celebrated had once been bullied by Dudley.
Nietzsche studied Neville's excitement. "How did he become the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"Well, you wouldn't know… you're Muggle-born." Neville cleared his throat, lowering his voice. "It was Potter who brought about You-Know-Who's downfall."
"A prodigy then?"
"I don't know. My gran says You-Know-Who died after breaking into their house. That's all I know."
"Couldn't it have been Potter's parents?"
Neville flinched, his eyes distant. The sun streamed through the window, warming his face, but he shivered.
"No. Harry's called the Boy-Who-Lived because he was the only one who survived. That curse was an Unforgivable. No one can survive it."
Nietzsche said nothing. He watched Neville's expression shift from fear to pride, as though he himself had witnessed it.
But Nietzsche did not see cause for celebration.
"What's wrong?" Neville faltered at his silence. "Did I say something wrong?"
"Neville…" Nietzsche hooked an arm around his shoulder and whispered, "Don't rejoice at another's pain. Boy-Who-Lived means his parents aren't here. At least don't congratulate him."
So that was it.
Harry was only famous for surviving a murderer. Nothing more.
That thin boy, tormented by Dudley, bore this fame as a curse. And the wizarding world, blind to the tragedy, celebrated it.
Hermione felt a chill trace her spine. The irony was brutal.
"But the wizarding world is celebrating…" Neville trailed off, unsettled. His joy had been for the fall of You-Know-Who, for victory. Perhaps Harry's legend was not so dazzling after all.
"Politicians, Neville," Nietzsche said, echoing his fathers' conversations. "Never believe the newspapers entirely."
Like those cases mislabelled as religious murders.
"You'd fit Ravenclaw," Neville muttered after a moment.
…
Trevor was not hard to find. In the third carriage, he was discovered amid a snack trolley. Two girls in the compartment mentioned seeing him.
"I saw one by the trolley when I bought lunch."
"Oh, would you like a Chocolate Frog?" one offered.
Neville accepted eagerly. Soon he was laden with chocolate as well as his toad.
Hermione reached out, but Nietzsche caught her wrist. "You haven't had lunch."
Hermione frowned, finding his remark odd. But Nietzsche only scratched his head and declined Neville's offer.
"Trevor was probably after company," he said. "That witch seemed very kind… but imagine where the toad has been. Even if it didn't touch the chocolate, would you still want to eat it?"
Hermione paled. She nearly warned Neville, but he was already chewing, the frog's leg twitching in his mouth. She fell silent.
Nietzsche asked softly, "Not going to tell him?"
"Forget it. He's eaten it. Why disgust him now?"
She told herself it was kinder. Better for him to be content than sickened.
When they passed the trolley again, Nietzsche's guess was confirmed. Trevor was wriggling among the sweets, convinced his fellows were trapped inside.
"Accio Trevor!" Hermione drew her wand.
The toad shot into the air, propelled through the corridor. But Hermione's aim was poor; Trevor veered off course and smacked squarely into the face of a blond boy stepping out of a compartment.
The toad slid down in a mess of slime and chocolate.
Nietzsche winced, shoulders hunched. He counted silently.
Three… two… one—
A roar exploded. The boy flung Trevor aside, splattering muck everywhere.
"Ah! Trevor!" Neville scooped him up in relief.
Hermione, mortified, heard the roar echo down the corridor. Doors opened. Dozens of eyes turned on them.
"Oh no. We've caused trouble."
"How was I to know they'd come out just then?!" Hermione muttered frantically.
The stares bore down on her. She had never felt so exposed, not even at school when standing before a room of teachers.
"Longbottom!"
"Malfoy?"