Solim took his own box down from the shelf, aligned the ring on his right hand with the card slot, and pressed it upward.
Click.
Then his right hand turned slightly, as though unlocking something, and the lid of the box opened.
"This is… stairs?" Hermione gasped, staring in disbelief. She couldn't understand why a small box would open to reveal a staircase descending into what seemed like another world. For a girl who had only just been introduced to magic, the sight was incomprehensible.
"Come on, Neville—and… well, Hermione," Solim said, catching himself before calling her by the nickname he'd already given her in his mind. Then, without hesitation, he stepped through the box and began descending the stairs.
"My goodness! What is this place? How is it even possible? Why is there so much space inside your trunk? That's a bookshelf! So many books! Oh—there's even a door!" Hermione's voice was filled with astonishment. She was completely overwhelmed by what she saw.
From the stairs, the entire space below was clearly visible: a room of at least eighty square meters. To the left of the stairs stood four rows of tall bookshelves packed with books. Near the far corner was an area clearly meant for reading, complete with a table and several chairs.
To the right stood a four-poster bed draped with gauzy curtains, and beside it was a closed door.
"A permanent Traceless Extension Charm," Solim explained briefly before interrupting Hermione's flood of questions. "But let's not get into that now. Hermione, please—don't tell anyone about my box."
He led the two of them down the stairs toward the reading area, the only place furnished with tables and chairs.
"All right, have a seat," Solim said, gesturing politely. "Help yourselves—the tea's good."
Three cups of black tea appeared on the table before them. Clearly, a well-trained house-elf had prepared everything in advance.
"Neville," Solim began, looking at the boy seriously, "I know your grandmother hopes you'll be sorted into Gryffindor. But what do you think?"
"I… I also hope to be like my parents," Neville said nervously, twisting his hands together. Solim had already asked him to leave his toad inside the box, locking the door so it couldn't escape.
"Neville, I just want to make sure that's your choice—not something you're saying because of pressure from your grandmother. Do you understand?"
"I do, but… I mean… I'm scared I won't get into Gryffindor. I know I'm timid, and I…" Neville trailed off, looking close to tears.
Hermione glanced from Solim to Neville, completely lost about what they were discussing.
"Just be honest with the Sorting Hat," Solim said calmly, taking a sip of tea. "Tell it you want to be in Gryffindor. Don't worry—you'll be sorted there. You meet the requirements."
"Um, excuse me," Hermione interjected. "What's the Sorting Hat you're talking about?"
"The Sorting Hat, of course," Solim replied naturally. "It sorts new students into their houses. You'll wear it during the ceremony, and it will tell you which house you belong to."
"You can tell it where you want to go?" Hermione asked, puzzled. "Then why even have a Sorting Hat? That seems pointless."
"Not quite," Solim said, leaning back. "The hat sorts young wizards into the house that suits them best."
He glanced at Neville. "Take Neville, for example. He's shy and a little cowardly—it seems like Hufflepuff would fit him. But deep down, he has courage, buried and waiting to be awakened. That's why the Sorting Hat will place him in Gryffindor."
Then, after a pause, Solim added, "But don't forget, Neville's also a pure-blood wizard. He could be placed in Slytherin—just like Goyle or Crabbe. The thing is, he's never even considered Slytherin. So the possibilities for him are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin. That's where personal choice matters."
"So, if a young wizard has multiple options, their own choice decides?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"Exactly," Solim said with a faint smile. "You won't find all that written clearly in A History of Hogwarts, though."
Hermione's eyes sparkled with interest. "Then which house are you going to? Ravenclaw, I suppose?" She gestured vaguely toward the shelves, clearly impressed by his knowledge and organization.
"No," Solim replied. "Slytherin."
Hermione's expression shifted instantly. "Slytherin? But I heard that house produces dark wizards! Why would you want to go there?"
"Honestly, Hermione," Solim sighed, "where did you, a Muggle-born witch, even hear such nonsense?" He rolled his eyes despite knowing she'd say something like that.
It was true—Voldemort's reputation cast a long shadow. People thought of Gryffindor and immediately imagined Dumbledore: the legendary headmaster, chief of the Wizengamot, leader of the International Confederation of Wizards, Order of Merlin First Class, the great Albus Dumbledore.
But Slytherin? To most people, it meant one name—Voldemort, the Dark Lord, the most feared wizard in history.
Solim, however, knew better. As the illegitimate child of the Selwyn family, he had access to knowledge most wizards never encountered. Voldemort wasn't the most terrifying dark wizard of all time—not even close. Solim knew of others far more powerful. But they had all been killed or sealed away, watched over by a special magical organization.
That was one of the real reasons Hogwarts existed—to train and provide manpower for that organization.
"I don't deny that maniac's influence on Slytherin," Solim continued, meeting Hermione's gaze. "But don't paint everyone with the same brush. Yes, some Slytherins became dark wizards—but calling them that flatters them. Most were simply arrogant and ignorant."
He turned briefly toward Neville. "Many Slytherins became Aurors too. During the darkest years, countless Slytherins died fighting that lunatic. No one tells you that, do they? And it's not as if Gryffindor never produced dark wizards. So, Hermione, don't believe every rumor you hear. Not all Slytherins are evil."
With that, Solim stood and walked to a nearby cabinet. Hermione and Neville watched in silence. Then Solim returned with a slender wooden box and placed it before Neville.
"Neville, this is for you. Open it—you'll be using it from now on. Cherry wood, unicorn tail hair. It should suit you perfectly."
"I… I already use my dad's wand," Neville said softly, glancing up at Solim. "Gran said I should."
"That wand isn't meant for you," Solim replied firmly. "Trust me—use this one."
He tapped the wand box lightly. "A mismatched wand wastes your potential. I understand your grandmother's intentions—she wants to strengthen your will. But right now, you don't need toughness, Neville. You need confidence."
Neville's hands trembled as he opened the box. He had never received a gift of his own before. His toad had been given to him by an uncle when his magic first manifested. The candy wrappers from his mother, collected after visits to St. Mungo's, were the only treasures he'd ever had.
Now, for the first time, someone had given him something valuable—because they believed in him.
"Thank you," Neville whispered, eyes red. "I'll use it well."
Hermione watched, speechless. She wasn't sure what to feel.
"After term begins," Solim said, "come to me every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday evening. I'll make sure you don't fall behind. When you've caught up, I'll teach you a few extra things."
Neville nodded silently, clutching the wand.
Solim knew Neville's grandmother had paid him a good sum of Galleons to tutor her grandson. Family or not, if Neville didn't improve, that trust—and that payment—would vanish.
So, he decided to push the boy hard.
"Don't forget, Neville," Solim added quietly. "The man who tortured your parents—the reason your family suffers—is still in Azkaban. That monster isn't dead. One day he'll get out. Don't you want to be strong enough to face him?"
Neville's head jerked up, his eyes burning now with anger instead of fear.
"Good," Solim said. "Then it's settled. Remember—Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. Now, let's head back."
He turned to Hermione. "If you'd like, you can borrow a book from the first row of shelves on the left. They're the only ones without spellwork on them. Just make sure you return it when you're done."
"Really? That's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed, already moving toward the shelves.
"All right, Hermione, let's go," Solim said, finishing his tea in one gulp.
He packed away the box and removed the locking charm. Hermione sat down immediately with a book, absorbed within seconds.
"Neville—what are you doing under the seat?" Solim asked, raising an eyebrow.
"R- Raffle's gone!" Neville cried, bumping his head on the table as he stood.
"Your toad? Impossible. The door hasn't been opened." Solim checked the window. "That's closed too. Strange… let's have a look."
To be honest, Solim had never understood why Neville's uncle gave him a toad. An owl would have been more practical—or even a bag of candy. But a toad?
"It's really gone!" Neville said in panic. "I've checked under the shelves, the floor—Solim, please help!"
"I locked the door," Solim muttered. "So if the toad was left outside when we went down… but that's impossible. The window's sealed. Don't tell me it can pass through walls."
"Don't worry, Neville," Hermione said quickly. "We'll help you find it. You won't be able to relax until you do."
"Thank you, Hermione," Neville murmured, blushing slightly as the two of them left the box to search.
Watching them go, Solim shook his head with a faint smile and turned back to his book. "So, that was the first meeting of our little trio," he said quietly.
If he remembered correctly, Neville wouldn't find his toad on the train until much later—when it simply appeared beside him again.
Come to think of it, Solim was certain the toad had been inside the box when they entered, but gone when they left. That piqued his curiosity.
"Interesting," he muttered. "Maybe I should study it later. Could it have a special bloodline… or perhaps…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…perhaps it's like that mouse."