Self-study, after all, had its limits.
So Nietzsche went to the Grangers; that way, he was no longer studying alone.
"Chapter Fifteen of Defence Against the Dark Arts Theory defines the Dark Arts. This book is the dullest thing I have ever read. I don't know how you can stand it."
Hermione sat in the living room, sipping tea and watching the yellowing leaves in the garden, with a copy of Hogwarts: A History on her lap.
"So now you are a practical person?" Nietzsche savoured the aroma of the tea and the sweetness of honey, stretching lazily like a cat. "Although Defence Against the Dark Arts Theory is full of theory, it is still the foundation."
The book, written by Wilbert Slinkhard, was unpopular among wizards. From Chapter Two, Defence Theory and Origins, it was clear why: the work was overly abstract, like a lighthouse floating in mid-air. No wonder it was poorly received.
Yet Nietzsche found it useful for strengthening the foundations of Muggle-born wizards.
"Counter-curses just make curses more acceptable. So any aggressive charm is considered Dark Arts." He read the dry lines aloud, flipping to the chapter Hermione had mentioned.
The author even stated explicitly that wizards should not use offensive defensive spells.
"But some protective charms are still classified as jinxes, curses or hexes. So what about your wand?"
Unicorn hair, while stable, could not be used effectively for spells with Dark properties. That weakness prevented such wands from being overly powerful.
But Nietzsche was not as worried as Hermione.
"This only means I cannot use them as smoothly. Do not forget there is white magic, and the standard charms."
"It's fine, my wand can manage those defensive charms," Hermione said with pride. "At worst, if you get bullied in the future, just come to me. After all, I am a year older than you."
Nietzsche's eye twitched.
When would school begin? He could not stand Hermione strutting about like a triumphant peacock any longer. Her competitiveness was stronger than he had ever imagined.
He crawled across the sofa, snatched a handful of biscuits, and stuffed them into her mouth.
"Eating won't even shut you up."
At that moment Mrs Granger entered, ready to call them for dinner. She froze when she saw the two of them grappling at the wrists, wrestling on the sofa.
"Although I didn't mean to interrupt…" She looked at her daughter. "At least don't let your parents see you like this."
Hermione spluttered, "Mum! It's all Nietzsche's fault!"
Nietzsche snapped, "It's all Hermione's fault!"
The two glared at each other, then turned away in unison.
…
Days passed quickly. On the morning of September 1st, Nietzsche and Hermione arrived at King's Cross Station, searching desperately for Platform 9¾.
Hermione darted back and forth with her luggage like a headless chicken, but there was no sign.
"Do you think wizards would hang a sign in full view of Muggles?" Nietzsche scanned the platforms. "Four pillars per platform…"
Hermione's eyes lit up. "So it must be the first pillar at Platform Nine?"
"That should be it."
But how to get through?
Nietzsche, carrying a birdcage, followed Hermione as they inspected the pillars. After a while, even she began to doubt his reasoning.
Fortunately, help arrived.
"It's all Muggles here…"
A short, stout woman was speaking to four red-haired boys, each with an owl, while a red-haired girl followed behind.
The word "Muggles" caught their attention at once.
The Grangers and the Watsons watched as the four boys pushed their trunks straight at the dividing pillar between Platforms Nine and Ten and vanished.
Aha. That was it.
"Well then… I'll be off?" Nietzsche looked back at the Watsons.
"Go on. Be careful." Watson raised an eyebrow at the trunk and coughed deliberately. "If you need help, open your chest."
There was less sentiment than with the Grangers. Mary and John Watson were simply hoping their child would behave and not cause trouble on the first day of term.
Hermione turned to her parents. She was far more anxious than Nietzsche; for a twelve-year-old to leave home for an unknown world was daunting for both parent and child.
"I'll be back for Christmas."
Mrs Granger would never have let her go if not for the danger of untrained magic.
"Protect yourself, and don't fall out with your classmates…" she began fussing.
Mr Granger only hugged Hermione gently, then turned to Nietzsche and gripped his shoulder. "She's not very good with people. If anything happens, write to me."
He knew his daughter's nature. When upset, she bottled things inside. Adults might do that, but he wished his child could be spared.
"Be a man. Don't let a lady stand in front of you."
"That's capitalist nonsense, Watson. Don't forget the Vanishing Bride case." Nietzsche mimicked Sherlock's voice, pulling a face at his father. "Besides, she's a year older than me."
Of course he would help her, even if she disapproved of his methods. Sometimes, acting first and explaining later worked.
Under their families' gaze, Nietzsche carried the birdcage in one hand, dragged his trunk with the other, and charged through the barrier.
There was no obstruction. Space expanded suddenly, revealing a deep red steam train. Above it hung the words:
Hogwarts Express.
The platform was crowded and noisy, steam filling the air, cats darting underfoot, students and families bustling about.
Nietzsche was shoved from behind.
"What's wrong?" Hermione wrinkled her nose, waved away the steam and frowned.
"Nothing, I was waiting for you." Nietzsche shook his head, clearing away the flood of impressions crowding into his mind: faces, voices, Harry surrounded by red-haired boys, and a blond boy watching the crowd with arrogance.
It was a rare sunny morning in England. The two of them, luggage in hand, boarded the train to the unknown.
…
Inside, the train was more spacious than expected, with compartments lining the corridor. Wanting quiet, they walked forward until stopped by a tall student with neat short hair.
On his chest was a badge marked with a large "P" on a yellow and black background.
"This is the Prefects' carriage. Only Prefects and Professors may enter. Sorry."
"All right, this must be the end."
Hermione chose the innermost compartment, perfect for new students.
The train started. The platform slipped away, then vanished after a turn. Gradually the chatter outside lessened, though the corridor was still noisy.
To pass the time, Hermione pulled out The Rise and Fall of Dark Arts and began reading.
"Do you know that Harry you helped before is mentioned in several books?"
"If you mean Twentieth-Century Magical Events, as thick as an American history textbook, then yes. I saw Harry Potter's name."
Nietzsche was indifferent. He pulled two bottles of cola from his trunk, tapped them with his wand and muttered, "Immobulus." Frost instantly coated the glass as if they had come straight from a freezer.
Perfect.
This was the true use of a charm.
Spell names were never merely literal. For example, the Freezing Charm could cool objects, but its primary purpose was paralysis.
Nietzsche lifted the cloth from the birdcage and pointed his wand at the owl inside. Before Hermione could react, their jointly purchased pet froze in mid-flap.
"What have you done to my Mercury this time?"
"It's ours," Nietzsche corrected uncertainly. "I was testing the charm on living things. It reminds me of the Hibernation Project."
"It has 'died' twelve times since we bought it in Diagon Alley!" Hermione snatched the cage and quickly reversed the spell. The owl resumed its movement seamlessly, as though nothing had happened.
"Why so serious?" Nietzsche grinned.
"Shut up. You're not the Joker, and I am not Batman."
Hermione ignored him, returning to her book, the cage clutched firmly at her side.
Sunlight streamed through the window, catching in her brown hair. She bit her lip and murmured lines of text to herself.
Nietzsche frowned. The scene was oddly familiar. Then he realised: this was exactly how Watson looked at home with Holmes.
"Excuse me, have you seen my… toad?"
The compartment door slid open a crack. A round-faced boy peered in, looking mournful. He froze at the sight of Hermione tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes then fell on the stack of books and widened further.
Wait… were those even on the first-year list?
"No."
As the boy turned away in disappointment, Nietzsche stood.
Like Hermione, he felt uneasy about this strange new school. Knowledge did not erase uncertainty. But this was a chance.
"If you don't mind, we can help you look." His tone shifted, suddenly warm and humble.
"Thanks! I'm Neville Longbottom."
Nietzsche winked at Hermione, who understood immediately.
The Longbottoms were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. And since Mercury was now off-limits, Nietzsche welcomed an excuse to wander.
Hermione sighed and closed her book. "Really… but you're right, this is a good reason."
Neville blinked. Had they just communicated without speaking?
Still, he was grateful for the help.
Nietzsche shrugged into his trench coat, picked up his cane, adjusted his hat, and clapped Neville on the shoulder, leading him out with brisk command.
"Are you from a noble family?" Neville asked nervously.
"No. Just an ordinary Muggle-born wizard."
Neville exhaled in relief. "Good. I thought you might be like Malfoy."
"Malfoy? Wizards have nobility?" Hermione pressed forward, curiosity shining. Her genuine interest gave Neville confidence.
"Yes. Families like the Malfoys are proud pure-bloods, and many have produced dark wizards. My grandmother says my parents were heroes who stood against families like that."