Compared to the magical Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, this steam train looked far too ordinary.
Ordinary doors, ordinary windows, ordinary carpeting—and even its driving core was nothing more than a standard steam engine, burning coal and puffing out smoke.
Walking down the corridor, Leonard studied the train's layout. There wasn't the slightest trace of magic; it hadn't been altered into a magically powered train.
This was clearly a steam locomotive "borrowed" straight from the muggles. It probably had to be sent back regularly for muggle maintenance, and of course no magical traces could be left behind—otherwise, the muggles would be terrified.
Still, the muggle mechanics might find it puzzling. Their workload didn't seem that heavy, yet once they started repairs, it must have felt like they were servicing two trains instead of one.
There weren't many passengers yet. Leonard checked his pocket watch—it was ten forty. Departure was in twenty minutes.
Apparently, wizards had no real sense of time.
Snapping the watch shut, Leonard considered which compartment he should sit in.
Since he planned to steer Harry Potter onto the right path, the best choice would be to share a compartment with him. With his own studious nature, he could balance out the negative influence Ron Weasley was bound to bring.
Leonard took everything seriously. After all, a self-indulgent mindset was dangerous. The last thing he wanted was the so-called Savior constantly wandering around him, asking if he wanted to play wizard chess.
If Harry ever asked about the basic applications of Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration or the selection and handling of potion ingredients, Leonard might have reluctantly answered.
But unfortunately, unlike the punctual Leonard, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were not so reliable.
Maybe it was just the Weasley family. That family was just like Ron himself—or perhaps it was more accurate to say Ron was exactly what one would expect of a Weasley.
Warm, kind, hospitable, and full of justice—undeniably true Gryffindors.
But scatterbrained, careless, and always running late. On the first day of school, it was almost impossible to imagine a year when they weren't rushing at the last minute.
So, if Leonard wanted to share a compartment with them, he would have to wait. If that failed, the best alternative would be Hermione Granger—that slightly bossy girl who loved showing off the knowledge she'd just learned.
Going out of his way to seek out the Savior, Harry Potter, by himself felt embarrassing, maybe even creepy. But following Hermione Granger around? That was perfectly fine.
By tagging along with her, he'd naturally get introduced to Gryffindor's swordmaster Neville Longbottom. And while helping search for Neville's missing toad, he'd inevitably cross paths with Harry Potter.
But first, he had to get to know Hermione Granger.
Just meeting her, though, felt a little too plain...
Leonard strolled down the corridor, letting his eyes pass over the glass doors of each compartment.
Before long, he found his target.
Hermione Granger, her thick hair frizzy and untamed.
She was buried in a hefty book titled Hogwarts: A History.
Leonard tapped politely on the door, enough to draw her attention. When she looked up, he gave a courteous smile.
"Hello. May I sit here?"
"Of course." Hermione Granger studied his face carefully. "Haven't we met before?"
"That's right. At Ollivander's Wand Shop, when you were buying your wand," Leonard replied with a nod.
"It really was you!" Hermione Granger's eyes widened. "Mr. Ollivander mentioned you. He said you're a muggle-born wizard too, very talented—his assistant."
So, under what circumstances did Mr. Ollivander bring me up?
Leonard hesitated briefly, then smiled. "Mr. Ollivander has helped me a great deal. I just didn't expect you to remember me. After all, we only met once."
"I thought your wand seemed special, so I remembered you. Oh, I'm Hermione Granger. And you?"
"Leonard William."
"Then I'll just call you Leonard. So, how many spells have you learned? I've already mastered every charm in the Standard Book of Spells, Grade One," Hermione Granger said proudly, her expression practically demanding praise.
It was clear she had grown up in a loving household where her parents showered her with endless encouragement for every achievement.
That was wonderful, but for someone as gifted as Hermione Granger, reaching milestones came easily. All that constant praise had ingrained a habit in her: achievement meant recognition.
This was fine when dealing with parents or elders, but among peers, such boasting came across as grating—especially at an age when showing off was everything.
In plain terms, Hermione's way of showing off was clumsy and low in emotional intelligence, easily annoying others.
If her accomplishments had been minor, it wouldn't have mattered much. Failing to impress her peers every now and then, even at the cost of a little embarrassment, could have been laughed off and even strengthened friendships.
But Hermione Granger was undeniably a prodigy. Few could match her learning ability, and as her knowledge grew far beyond her peers, it only drove her further away from making friends.
Unless she found someone equally talented, someone who could compete and grow alongside her, the gap would only widen. Leonard felt that such people were exceedingly rare in all seven years of Hogwarts.
With a personality like hers, if it hadn't been for Harry Potter—the Savior with no ill intent—Hermione might easily have drifted into isolation, unable to connect with others until it turned into a genuine psychological burden.
It was only natural. As a Muggle-born witch, the deeper she delved into magic, the less she'd have to share with her parents. And if she couldn't make friends at school, madness would only be a matter of time.
Leonard even wondered if wizards had potions for mental illnesses.
That was why, in his previous life, he never understood it when watching the Harry Potter films. Harry Potter clearly saved Hermione Granger, so why on earth did she end up with Ron Weasley instead?
Was it because Harry Potter only cared about looks? Didn't find Hermione attractive?
From Leonard's perspective, the real Hermione certainly wasn't as pretty as Emma Watson from the films.
After all, this was reality, not the polished illusions of a camera. People here weren't actors; they were themselves.
Just one sentence from Hermione Granger sent Leonard spiraling into all these thoughts. Still, he didn't tell her how unpleasant her behavior could be when dealing with others.
The worst mistake in any new relationship was being too blunt too soon. Pointing out someone's flaws right after meeting them was about as revolting as having a stranger stick their finger up your nose.
Even so, Leonard thought he could drop a subtle hint to this little peacock who loved flaunting her knowledge—that getting along with others was important.
"You mean the Charms textbook? That's amazing. You managed to master so many spells without anyone teaching you?" Leonard said in feigned surprise.
Hearing his praise, Hermione lifted her chin proudly.
"Don't feel discouraged," Hermione said smugly, forcing herself not to smile too broadly. "You could do it too if you just studied properly. So, how many spells have you learned?"
"I've learned everything in the books," Leonard replied.
"Really? That's not bad at all," Hermione said, genuinely surprised.
"Besides what's in the books, I also had Mr. Ollivander teach me a few spells. They're usually for upper years—like the Disarming Charm, Shield Charm, and Disillusionment Charm." Leonard grinned as Hermione's face changed color. "Mr. Ollivander's an excellent teacher, and I'm doing pretty well."
"Upper-year spells?" Hermione bit her nail unconsciously. "So that's possible? You can get other wizards to teach you magic? But how did you manage that?"
She knew her talent wasn't lacking; if someone taught her, she was sure she could master them too. But how could she get anyone to teach her? They weren't Hogwarts professors.
"Well, it takes some skill," Leonard explained. "First, you have to make friends. Only after you've built a certain level of trust will someone be willing to help you. And it's not just about studying—having someone to help can matter a lot in other ways too."
Hermione frowned, nervously switching to another nail to chew on.
This was a gap in her knowledge. She had never read a book on making friends, and to her horror, she realized she didn't actually know how to do it.
Should she just tell people how smart she was, so they'd admire her and want to be friends?
Hermione fell deep into thought.
It felt awkward.
Watching her sink into contemplation, Leonard quietly turned his gaze away to the window—just in time to see a family rushing through the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The whole family had flaming red hair. Leading them was a plump, kindly faced middle-aged woman, her voice booming as she urged the children to hurry aboard. At her side was a younger red-haired girl, along with four red-haired boys.
Among the boys, one looked the eldest—steady and composed. Two identical twins were bursting with energy, still chasing and roughhousing even though they were nearly late. The youngest boy seemed timid, his face tense with worry, as if something weighed on his mind.
And following behind them was none other than the Chosen One, Harry Potter.
So, the Weasleys had finally arrived. The woman was Molly Weasley, the mother of the family, and the young girl at her side was Ginny Weasley—Harry Potter's future wife in the original story.
In reality, though, she looked far more charming than her film counterpart—clearly a beauty in the making. Not like in the movies, where she was cute as a child but grew into a face squarer than Superman's.
The boys had already scrambled onto the train, but Leonard knew exactly who they were.
The eldest was Percy Weasley, the oddball of the family—an ambitious overachiever with no sense of humor.
The twins were Fred and George Weasley, the notorious pranksters forever experimenting with joke products.
And then, of course, there was Ron Weasley—the bane of Leonard's patience.
The family hadn't realized yet that the boy following them onto the train was Harry Potter. After all, the Weasleys only joined the Order of the Phoenix later, and they had never met Harry's parents.
Leonard checked his pocket watch. Ten fifty-six—cutting it close.
Still, missing the train wasn't the end of the world. An owl with an explanation was enough to catch the next Hogwarts Express to the castle.
If the story unfolded as it had before, next year Harry—still tangled up with Ron Weasley—would end up sabotaged by a house-elf while rushing for the train, missing it entirely.
At exactly eleven o'clock, the train departed. With a deep rumble, it rolled out of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Leonard snapped his pocket watch shut and turned his gaze to the window. Soon he saw the rails stretching out from King's Cross Platform Nine.
He studied the tracks beneath the train and suddenly understood.
The line running out of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters had been carved between two parallel rails.
A seamless Undetectable Extension Charm had created a space wide enough for the train to pass without leaving any visible gap.
The Undetectable Extension Charm lasted far longer than any Muggle-Repelling Charm.
One of Leonard's lingering doubts was finally resolved, filling him with ease and lifting his mood. Casting a glance at Hermione Granger, who was still frowning in thought, he asked cheerfully,
"What's on your mind?"
"I'm thinking about how to make people want to be my friends," Hermione answered without hesitation. "Maybe if I helped more, gave them some support, they'd accept me."
"Interesting idea. I'm not sure it'll work, but you can try," Leonard said with a smile.
With Hermione Granger's personality, such a method would likely backfire. Her unconscious tendency to flaunt her ability could make others feel belittled. But Leonard didn't say so. After all, in dealing with people, the worst mistake was being too blunt too soon.
It was far better for her to realize her mistakes herself—that lesson would stick a hundred times better than if someone else pointed them out.
Still, Hermione's idea wasn't completely hopeless. With someone timid by nature, it might even work. For example...
"Hello, have you seen my Trevor?" A round-faced boy stood hesitantly at the compartment door.
Neville Longbottom—a boy raised under the shadow of an overly domineering grandmother.
Normally, parents shape their children in different ways, but Neville's parents had been tortured into insanity by Voldemort's Death Eaters not long after his birth, leaving them as little more than living husks.
Without his parents' guidance, Neville was left to face his formidable grandmother.
Mrs. Longbottom was a strong-willed woman. With her son and daughter-in-law confined long-term to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, she held up the Longbottom family with nothing but her own aging strength.
An admirable elder, no doubt, but a disastrous guardian.
She piled all her expectations onto Neville, endlessly reminding him to bear the glory of the Longbottom name.
The crushing pressure slowly smothered him. His grandmother's iron-handed control left no room for his own thoughts, shaping him into a boy who struggled to speak his mind.
He grew anxious easily, and once nervous, he would forget things, developing the bad habit of being scatterbrained.
All of this was forced on him by his grandmother.
If not for the toughness he carried deep inside, he might have broken down long ago.
That thought made Leonard's expression twist oddly.
Hermione Granger was one. Harry Potter was another. And now Neville Longbottom made three.
One troubled child after another—was he really about to turn into some kind of therapist?
Just then, Hermione Granger jumped up, startling Neville out of his wits. She had been waiting for a chance to test out her new "making friends" strategy.
"What are you looking for?" Hermione asked, fixing Neville with an intense stare.
Neville shifted nervously. The girl's sudden assertiveness unsettled him—he was far too used to being told what to do.
"Tre… Trevor," Neville stammered.
"Trevor? What's that?"
"My toad. He's gone."
"A toad? Why would you keep one of those? They're not pretty, and not cute either," Hermione said, frowning in confusion.
"Well… my gran gave him to me. She said toads are easy to care for and don't take up much time," Neville muttered.
"Come on then! I'll help you look. If we ask enough people, we'll find him."
Hermione grabbed Neville by the sleeve and dragged him out of the compartment. Just before leaving, she glanced back.
"Leonard, are you coming?"
"I'll tag along," Leonard said, rising to follow them.
Time to see how the Chosen One was getting along with Ron Weasley. Surely a few minutes weren't enough to wear down the Savior's drive already?
If that was the case, Leonard would turn right around and leave—pretend he'd never even seen Harry Potter's face.