A/N: I just want to correct a mistake in the previous chapter. I said that the Statute of Secrecy was in 1619. It was in 1692. No idea where I got 1619 from. Oh well.

Chapter 3

A Boy Named Bert

It was disdain or something like it. Perhaps mixed with suspicion and curiosity. Not hatred, but its cousin.

"Just try and pretend they aren't there, love," her mother said as they walked down Platform 9 ¾, Mary pushing her trolley along the way.

The moment they had passed through the barrier, most eyes that met them shadowed over with contempt. Still others looked curious. It was not as if the Poppinses were a family of particular renown, but none-the-less the witches and wizards shuffling their children onto the train continued to throw them looks of mistrust.

"Here's a car for you," she continued when her daughter did not respond. "It's filling up quickly. Let's get you on before it's full."

A baggage hand with a pointy face heaved Mary's things into the luggage compartment. She looked at her mother, whose eyes were tear-filled, only Mary did not know if they were tears of happiness or sadness.

"Just remember, darling, we both know he did the right thing, even if everyone else says otherwise." Her mother's face creased with concern and she swept a loose lock of hair out of Mary's eyes, bringing her hand around to cup her daughter's cheek gently and smiled. It was rare for Mary to see such a display of emotion from her mother—especially after the news several years ago—who was usually proud and withdrawn. Indeed, in the next moment, the tenderness on her mother's face retreated, and she brought her hand down from Mary's cheek to her pocket, from which she pulled out a hairpin and secured the loose lock of hair back with the rest.

"Write to me and tell me what house you're in, will you? You might use Percival if he is trained for such a thing. It would be a shame were he not, or he would be such a useless creature."

"Yes, Mamma," she said, stepping onto the train. "I will."

"Be good, Mary," her mother said as the train began to pull away. Underneath her rigid demeanor, she wanted to promise Mary years of friendship and camaraderie. But in the state of things, in truth, she could not.

::

The car was still a jumble of people as the train started moving. There were friends trying to find compartments to themselves, lone first-years hovering in the corridor wondering to themselves if it would not be too much of a bother if they were to sit in this or that compartment because everywhere else was full.

Mary, however, with her carpetbag that looked disproportionately large in comparison to her small, thin frame, stumbled upon a compartment empty but for one, which she thought odd, considering the scramble for space not feet away.

Mary heaved the sliding door open to find a tall, thin boy inside sitting alone. He had a long face and great blue eyes that still appeared quite large even though he was squinting in concentration. He wore a shirt and vest with a rather sick-looking orange tie, and a worn pair of knickerbockers. He did not seem to notice her as she stepped into the compartment. The boy was hunched over a pad of paper, and the seats next to him were covered in a hodgepodge of what appeared to be thoroughly well-used oil pastels.

Mary cleared her throat so that she might gain his attention, and he looked up at her. He had been so entrenched in his work that she thought he might be annoyed with her for disturbing him, but instead he regarded her with a welcoming smile.

"Excuse me," she started, "are you waiting for anybody else to come and sit with you or could I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

His smile faltered as she said this.

"No, I'm not waiting for anybody. Probably would've been sitting here all by myself if you hadn't have popped in."

She too frowned at this, only she couldn't think of the reason for it. All the same, she perked her lips back into a smile and sat down on the opposite seat.

"I'm Mary," she said, setting down her bag next to her.

"I'm Herbert, Herbert Bones. But most people just call me Bert." He laid down his pad of paper and held out his hand to shake, which she took shyly.

"Are you a First Year, too?" she asked.

"Oh, no. This will be my second year at Hogwarts."

Mary wondered why he wasn't sitting with any of his friends; her father had always told her that there were such great friendships to be made at Hogwarts. She chose not to press the issue.

"What House are you in, then?" she asked instead.

"Oh, me? I'm in Hufflepuff. Best House there is in my opinion."

"My mother was in Hufflepuff when she was at Hogwarts. My father was in Gryffindor. I expect I'll be in one of those—that's how it works a lot of the time, right? That's what I've heard. What Houses were your parents in?"

He promptly broke her gaze and looked out the window. "My parents didn't go to Hogwarts," he said, and ran his hand through his hair nervously. "I'm a Muggle-Born, you see."

Ah, now she was beginning to understand.

"Well, that's all right. My father was a Muggle-Born. I don't really know what all the fuss is about with Muggle-Borns, you know. My father was just as good a wizard as my mother was a witch, and she was a Pureblood. "

"Your mother was a Pureblood and she married a Muggle-Born?" he asked, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"I don't think it was without protest from her family. She doesn't talk to them anymore, except for her brother, my Uncle Wigg. He gave me a parrot for my birthday." She thought it a very silly way to end what started as a very serious sentence.

He smiled at her and she blushed, which she never did.

"Is that why no one will sit with you? Because you're Muggle-born?"

"You're hardly 'no one,' Mary…" he broke off.

"Poppins," she supplied.

"Mary Poppins," he said it with relish, savoring the consonants of her surname. "But yes, I don't think the fact that I come from a Muggle family really helps matters for me. But it's other things, too. I don't know; I don't think about it too much." As he finished speaking he scratched his chin with this fingers, which were covered in oily pigment.

"You've got…" she trailed off, pointing to her own chin.

"Oh!" he yelped. Bert rummaged through his bag for a kerchief. His face reddened deeply as he moved to wipe his chin clean. After he put the kerchief away, he continued speaking.

"Plus, there are only two other Muggle-Borns in my year, one in Ravenclaw and one in Gryffindor. Slytherin doesn't have any. I'm not surprised, really. Seems to me like Hogwarts is trying to fulfill a quota or something. It just seems that there must be a lot more Muggle-Born witches and wizards out there."

Mary didn't know one way or the other, nor had she ever really thought about it. She wasn't a Muggle-Born, her father was, and she had never really given thought to just how many other Muggle-born witches and wizards existed. In any event, her father seemed to do quite well for himself, even if she'd never met her grandparents on her mother's side because of it.

Mary shrugged. "So the other Muggle-Borns, you aren't friends with them?"

"Not really. But it's not because they're mean-spirited you see. I just don't think that blood status is the best thing to base a friendship on, Pureblood or otherwise."

There was silence for a moment and Mary looked out the window, watching the countryside whip by before she could look at any of it properly. Bert picked up his pad and a pastel and began to draw again.

"Drawing, do you do that a lot? Are you any good?"

Bert set down his things and looked at her, not annoyed, but with a confused look on his face.

"I love drawing. I do it all the time. The professors don't really like it, I suppose. They seem to think it a very Muggle sort of pastime."

"But there are lots of wizard artists."

"Maybe they just think its Mugglish when I do it. I don't draw pictures that move, but I don't really care what they think, anyway."

"Could I see," she asked, "what it is you're drawing?"

He eyed he suspiciously.

"You really want to see? You're not just going to laugh at me?"

"Why would I laugh at you?"

He shrugged noncommittally and handed her his pad of paper. On it he had drawn a crimson, smoke-chugging pastel sketching of the Hogwarts Express.

"You did this?" Mary asked, bewildered.

"It really isn't anything special."

"Are you joking? This is amazing!"

Bert reddened again and Mary handed the bad back.

"Well, I don't think it's foolish that you draw, Bert. I think that you might be a real, proper painter one day. Perhaps they'll have you painting murals on the walls of the Ministry. I should like to see those."

"You think so? You think they'd let a Muggle-Born do something like that?" Bert had a shy look about him as he shoved his sketchbook into his bag.

"I don't see why not. I'd imagine that by the time we've finished at Hogwarts, there won't be any nonsense about blood status and everybody will realize just how stupid they've been."

"I hope so," replied Bert.

Mary smiled at him as the trolley arrived at their compartment. A little, plump witch took their money and handed them the cakes and sweets they'd requested, before pushing forward to the next compartment.

Soon night fell around the train as Bert and Mary talked. They talked about silly, unimportant things. Bert answered her questions about Hogwarts and she tried to explain The Tales of Beetle the Bard once she realized an offhand comment she'd made about Babbity Rabbity and Her Cackling Stump left him with a confused expression.

Eventually they changed into their robes and Bert peeked out the window.

"There it is," he said. "There's Hogwarts."

Mary leaned over to look out the window and saw the great silhouette of Hogwarts castle. She had never seen it for real, only in drawings in her parents' books.

"It's amazing," Mary said.

"It really is, isn't it?"

The train began pulling into Hogsmeade Station and the other students in the car began making their way into the corridor so that they might be the first off of the train.

"I hope you're in Hufflepuff like me," Bert said quietly, almost in a whisper, as Mary grabbed her carpet back and stood up to exit the compartment. He heaved the strap of his bag over his chest, and placed a grey newsboy hat on his head despite the fact that he was in his Hogwarts uniform.

"Me too," she replied, and they stepped off the train together for the first time.

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