The Hogwarts Express rattled rhythmically along the tracks, the lush green countryside of England blurring into a tapestry of emerald and gold outside the window. Inside one particular compartment, the air was thick with the sugary scent of Pumpkin Pasties and the crackle of wizarding confectionery wrappers. Harry, Ron, and Timothy sat amidst a small mountain of sweets, the initial tension of meeting strangers having long since melted into the easy camaraderie of shared sugar.
Ron Weasley was still stealing occasional, wide-eyed glances at Harry. It wasn't every day you found yourself sharing a bench with the Boy Who Lived, though Harry seemed much more interested in his Chocolate Frog than his own fame. Timothy, meanwhile, watched the two with a quiet, observant grin, leaning back as he unwrapped a Licorice Wand.
The conversation had turned toward their lives before this moment. Ron spoke animatedly about the Burrow, his voice a mix of pride and exhaustion as he described being the sixth of seven children.
"It's a lot to live up to, you know?" Ron said, gesturing with a half-eaten sandwich his mother had packed. "Bill was Head Boy, Charlie was Quidditch captain, and now Percy's a Prefect. Everyone expects you to be just as good, but even if you are, it's not a big deal because they did it first."
Timothy nodded sympathetically. He'd learned that Ron's father worked at the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office—a detail that fascinated Harry, who was still reeling from the discovery that his own "Muggle" upbringing was just one side of a much larger world.
The peaceful atmosphere was suddenly broken by a frantic fluttering. Harry had just unwrapped a fresh Chocolate Frog, and the enchanted treat lived up to its name. With a powerful spring, it escaped Harry's fumbled grasp, soaring toward the open window.
"Blimey!" Ron shouted.
Before the frog could vanish into the Scottish Highlands, Timothy's hand shot out. He didn't lunge; he simply made a sharp, snatching gesture in the air. To Harry and Ron's utter disbelief, the frog froze mid-leap. It hung suspended for a heartbeat, trembling against an invisible force, before it sailed backward as if pulled by a string, landing perfectly in Timothy's waiting palm.
Timothy calmly handed the stunned frog back to Harry. "Better eat it quickly. They've only got one good jump in them."
Harry blinked, his glasses sliding slightly down his nose. "How did you... you didn't even use your wand."
Ron's mouth hung open, a stray crumb falling onto his sweater. "That was wandless magic! My dad says hardly anyone can master that—not even some Ministry wizards!"
Timothy shrugged, though a small, modest smirk played on his lips. "It's not that hard once you get the feel for it. It's like... breathing, I guess. You just have to know where the air is." He turned his attention back to his sweets, specifically a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, effectively ending the interrogation.
He popped a green one into his mouth. "Mint," he muttered, relieved. "Not bad." The next one, a brownish-grey bean, resulted in an immediate grimace. He gagged, frantically looking for a napkin to spit out what tasted unmistakably like earwax. "Spoke too soon. That's foul."
Near Ron's feet, his pet rat, Scabbers, was currently face-down in a box of Bertie Bott's, his little pink tail twitching with greed. Timothy watched the creature with a flicker of distaste. He liked animals—owls were majestic and cats were clever—but rats always made his skin crawl. He subtly shifted his legs further away from the gorging rodent.
As they ate, they examined the collectible cards. Harry found Albus Dumbledore, marveling at how the Headmaster simply walked out of the frame when he was bored. Timothy flipped his own card over to reveal the stern, legendary face of Merlin.
"Fancy," Timothy remarked, tapping the gold-bordered card. "Suppose he could do wandless magic too."
The compartment door slid open with a sharp clack. A girl stood there, already dressed in her new, plain black Hogwarts robes. She had a thick mane of bushy brown hair and an air of confidence that bordered on bossy. Beside her stood a round-faced boy who looked like he was perpetually on the verge of apologizing for his own existence.
"Has anyone seen a toad?" the girl asked, her voice high and brisk. "A boy named Neville's lost one." She gestured to the boy beside her, who sniffed disconsolately.
Timothy looked at the pair, then at Harry and Ron. A spark of mischief lit up his eyes. He leaned forward, looking solemn, and pointed a thumb at Harry.
"Actually," Timothy said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Harry here just ate a frog. Tasted like chocolate, he said, but it had a bit of a kick."
The silence that followed was absolute. Harry's head whipped around so fast his neck let out an audible crack. His eyes were wide with betrayal. Ron, who had been mid-swallow, began to cough violently into his sandwich.
"You... you ate him?" Neville stammered, his lip trembling as his eyes welled up with fresh tears.
The girl's face went pale. "That is... that is the most barbaric thing I've ever heard!"
Seeing Neville's genuine distress, Timothy's mischievous grin vanished instantly, replaced by a look of pure panic. "No! No, wait! Neville, I'm joking! I'm so sorry!"
He scrambled to his feet, gesturing wildly at the piles of wrappers. "They're Chocolate Frogs! Look, see? It's just candy. We haven't seen any real toads, I swear. I was just being an idiot."
Neville let out a shaky breath, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. The girl, however, didn't look entirely mollified. She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, it wasn't a very funny joke. Poor Neville's been frantic."
"I know, I know," Timothy apologized again, feeling a genuine pang of guilt. "Tell you what, why don't you check with one of the older students in the front carriages? They know 'Accio' or other summoning charms. They could probably bring the toad right to you."
He looked at Neville kindly. "And check near the restrooms. Toads like damp, cool places. He's probably just looking for a drink."
The girl blinked, seemingly surprised by the practical advice. "Oh. Well. That's... actually quite sensible. Thank you." She turned to Neville. "Come on, then. Let's go find a Prefect."
As the door slid shut behind them, Harry turned to Timothy with a look of pure accusation. "Ate it? Really, Tim?"
Timothy sank back into his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought it would be a harmless laugh! I didn't realize the kid was going to have a breakdown. My bad, Harry. Truly."
Ron, having finally stopped coughing, let out a weak chuckle. "You should've seen your face, Harry. You looked like you'd actually swallowed a live one."
"Shut up, Ron," Harry muttered, though he couldn't hide a small, reluctant smile.
A comfortable silence settled over the trio as the train sped further north. They had finished the bulk of the sweets and were now feeling the pleasant, heavy lethargy of a sugar crash. The sky outside began to deepen into a bruised purple as the sun dipped behind the rugged peaks of the Highlands.