Chapter 56: That’s Just How Slytherins Are

The holidays had finally arrived. Early in the morning, Hermione boarded the Hogwarts Express to return home. Among her dormmates, only Ron stayed back at Hogwarts, while Seamus and Neville had also gone home for the break.

As Hermione read in her compartment, a knock came at the door.

"Excuse me, is anyone here?"

Initially annoyed at the interruption, Hermione looked up and was surprised to see Harry and Ron standing there.

“Harry? Ron?” she exclaimed, her mood lifting. “What are you two doing on the train? I thought you were staying at the castle!”

“Harry wanted to visit Diagon Alley and asked me to come along,” Ron explained with a shrug. “Besides, we figured we’d make sure no Slytherins gave you any trouble on the way.”

Hermione smiled. “That won’t happen. Didn’t Harry already settle things with Miss Fawley?” she asked, setting her book aside. “Speaking of which, I heard she met with you yesterday afternoon?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry replied, leaning back lazily in his seat.

Hermione and Ron’s curiosity was piqued. “What did you two talk about?” they asked in unison.

“Not much,” Harry said. “She wants to be friends with me. You know how Slytherins are.”

Indeed, in Harry’s experience, Slytherins were straightforward: they ignored those without talent but respected those who demonstrated ability. It was a far cry from the current crop of Slytherins, who clung to outdated notions of pure-blood superiority, parading their lineage like peacocks without realizing how the world had changed.

Ron scratched his head. “Is that what Slytherins are like?” he asked skeptically. To him, they’d always seemed far worse.

It was hard to blame Ron. The Slytherins he knew were mostly descendants of Voldemort’s Death Eaters—arrogant and cruel. Compared to someone like Grindelwald or Vinda Rosier, who exuded an air of sophistication, Voldemort’s followers lacked class.

And Voldemort himself? Trying to kill a one-year-old and failing so miserably? No dignity at all.

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“At least Miss Fawley seems decent,” Hermione observed. “Her earlier duel challenge was likely just her way of fulfilling her duties as a prefect.”

“Be honest, mate,” Ron said, turning to Harry. “Did she ever try to threaten you using her family?”

Harry smiled reassuringly. “Relax, she’s not like that.”

Their meeting had been uneventful—Gemma had simply expressed her desire to be friends. Harry didn’t see a reason to refuse; as the saying went, the more friends you had, the more doors opened. Who knew? She might prove helpful someday.

“Since you’re both here, why not come over to my house for a while?” Hermione suggested. “There’s plenty of space.”

“We still need to go to Diagon Alley,” Ron replied.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

“Christmas presents,” Harry explained. “It’s tradition to exchange gifts, and Ron needs to pick out his.”

“What kind of gift?” Hermione asked, intrigued.

Harry turned to Ron. “Have you noticed that learning spells feels harder for you? Like there’s resistance when you use your wand?”

Ron thought for a moment before nodding. “Now that you mention it, yeah.”

“There you go,” Harry said, draping an arm around Ron’s shoulders. “Mr. Ollivander told me wands choose their wizards. If your wand doesn’t suit you, it could be why spells feel difficult. So, your Christmas gift will be a new wand.”

Ron was speechless for a moment before muttering, “Thanks, Harry.”

“What are friends for?” Harry laughed. “Besides, you’ll need to duel Hermione when school starts again. Can’t have you blaming your wand if you lose.”

Ron grinned. “At least it’s a solid excuse if I do.”

“Oh, boys…” Hermione shook her head with a fond sigh.

As the train pulled into the station, Hermione stopped them before they parted ways.

“Why don’t you come to my house for dinner first?” she offered. “My dad can drive you to Diagon Alley afterward. It’s a long walk from King’s Cross to the Leaky Cauldron.”

Harry considered it and nodded. “Thanks, Hermione. That’s a good idea.”

As they exited their compartment, they ran into Draco Malfoy, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle.

To their surprise, Draco avoided eye contact. Upon seeing Hermione, he hastily lowered his head and hurried past, looking almost frightened.

“What’s with him?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“Nothing,” Hermione replied with a sly smile.

At the station’s exit, the Grangers were waiting. Hermione had sent word via owl. Her father, Askin, had an unmistakably English name, while her mother, Claire, was a gentle and warm woman.

When they learned that Harry and Ron were Hermione’s classmates, the Grangers warmly invited them to visit.

Ron’s eyes widened at the sight of Mr. Granger’s car. “Whoa! Is this a car?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You know what a car is?”

“Of course,” Ron replied defensively. “My dad has one, though it’s nowhere near as fancy as this. It doesn’t have that golden snitch-looking emblem either.”

Following his gaze, they spotted a winged “B” emblem gleaming on the car’s hood—a clear sign that this was no ordinary vehicle.

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