Running into Neville here had taken Qin Yu a bit by surprise.
Poor Neville—his life was nearly as tragic as Harry Potter's.
When Neville was just a year old, his parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom—both members of the anti-Voldemort resistance, the Order of the Phoenix—were captured by Death Eaters and tortured into madness with the Cruciatus Curse. For over a decade, they'd languished in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Neville had been raised by his formidable grandmother, Augusta Longbottom. Maybe it was the trauma of witnessing his parents' fate—or the Memory Charms cast on him—but Neville had always been forgetful, shy, and slow to react. For a long time, even his own family suspected he might be a Squib—a wizarding child with no magic.
To make matters worse, his great-uncle Algie and great-aunt Enid were forever "testing" his magical abilities—pushing him off piers or pretending to toss him from second-story windows (and, once, actually letting go by accident). The poor boy had it rough.
Luckily, Neville wasn't a Squib after all. Otherwise, he might not have survived childhood.
In the original timeline, Neville never showed much magical talent after starting school. He struggled in most subjects—except Herbology, where he excelled. But over the years, he grew steadily braver. In the end, it was Neville's courage that won him the right to wield the Sword of Gryffindor, allowing him to slay Voldemort's final Horcrux, the serpent Nagini. With that, he cleared the last obstacle for Harry Potter's victory.
It was no wonder that, in some circles, Neville was hailed as "Neville the Sword Saint" or "The Serpent-Slaying Swordsman!"
Well, those titles were hardly official—more like the way Dudley Dursley was called "the best boy in the world" by his mother.
Thinking of "Neville the Sword Saint," and then picturing the chubby-cheeked little boy he'd just met, Qin Yu couldn't help but smile.
"Qin, what's got you grinning?" Hermione asked, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
"Oh, I was just thinking about that Neville kid. I have a feeling he's going to be someone really extraordinary one day," Qin Yu replied, putting on his most serious face.
"Really?! I didn't see that at all… Is this one of those mysterious Eastern prophecies?" Hermione leaned in, her face alight with excitement. "Then look at me! Tell me what I'll become!"
Qin Yu took her face gently in his hands, studying her features with exaggerated solemnity—her brow, her nose, her "twelve palaces"—then announced, "You'll grow up to be someone truly remarkable."
"How remarkable?" Hermione pressed, wanting details.
"Well… the sort of person who's second to none, but above all the rest!" Qin Yu improvised.
"That sounds impressive. But what does that actually mean?" Hermione persisted.
"Hmm… someone like the Minister for Magic, perhaps," Qin Yu said, grinning.
"Really?" Hermione's eyes widened, almost shining.
"Absolutely. And if you don't make it, you can come find me," Qin Yu promised, hand on heart.
Hermione wriggled free from his grasp, thinking it over. Suddenly, she asked, "But isn't the Minister for Magic the highest position in the wizarding world? Is there anyone above them?"
Trust the little scholar to dig into the details of "second to none."
"Of course! Above the Ministry is the International Confederation of Wizards. The President of the Confederation is even higher!" Qin Yu replied, pleased with his own quick thinking.
"Oh! I see!" Hermione seemed to be imagining herself as Minister for Magic, a happy smile blooming on her face.
Then, perhaps to comfort Qin Yu, she patted his shoulder and said, very seriously, "Qin, I think you'll become someone even greater than me. If I become Minister for Magic, you'll definitely become President of the Confederation!"
And just like that, the two of them had divvied up the two most powerful jobs in the magical world.
Qin Yu laughed and ruffled her hair. "Alright, time to wake up from your daydream! We've got robes to buy."
"Hehe, I was just imagining things," Hermione said, giggling.
Then she grabbed his hand and tugged him toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.
…
"Three sets of plain black work robes, one black winter cloak, one pair of dragon-hide gloves… Qin, what are dragon-hide gloves?" Hermione read from her supply list, then glanced up at him in puzzlement.
"You don't really need to worry about the details. Just tell them you're a first-year at Hogwarts—they'll sort everything out for you," Qin Yu reassured her.
"That's a relief." Hermione looked visibly more relaxed.
The two of them stepped into the robe shop.
"Welcome, dears! Shopping for Hogwarts uniforms?" came a warm greeting from a short, plump witch with a broad smile.
This was Madam Malkin herself.
"Yes, Madam Malkin. But I bought mine last year—today my little sister's here for hers," Qin Yu said, giving Hermione a gentle nudge forward.
The little girl shot him a look, muttering under her breath, "Hmph, sister… you're just Crookshanks's uncle…"
What on earth…? Qin Yu couldn't help but tap her nose in mock reproach.
"Oh, I remember you! You're the Eastern boy who came in last year—on your own, if I'm not mistaken?" Madam Malkin recalled.
It wasn't unusual for young wizards to shop alone, but one as composed as this boy was rare. No wonder she remembered.
"That's right. Someone was supposed to come with me, but he had to step out for a bit," Qin Yu shrugged.
Back then, Hagrid had left him to shop solo while he arranged transport for the three-headed dog, Fluffy.
"Well then, my lovely young lady, let's get your measurements. Don't worry, it won't take long at all," Madam Malkin said, beckoning Hermione to the back fitting room.
Qin Yu settled into the waiting area at the front of the shop, sipping tea brought by a friendly witch assistant—who also offered him a plate of chocolate biscuits.
A little while later, after two cups of tea and every last biscuit, Hermione emerged from the back.
She looked quite different from when she'd gone in. Now she wore a crisp white blouse, a red-and-gold striped tie, and a loose, elegant black robe. The tie and accessories were probably Madam Malkin's handiwork.
In her hand, she waved a slim wooden ruler—pretending it was a wand.
She looked positively radiant and utterly adorable.
"How do I look? Pretty?" the little girl asked, smiling at her companion, who'd been caught staring.
"Beautiful," Qin Yu said, nodding.
"I meant… the clothes…" she stammered, cheeks turning pink.
"I meant the clothes, too," Qin Yu replied solemnly.
"…I—I'm going to ask Madam Malkin to adjust the sleeves. They're too long," the girl blurted, then hurried back into the fitting room.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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