Hermione settled into the train compartment, the rhythmic rumble of the Hogwarts Express lulling her into a rare moment of quiet reflection. The year had been long and eventful, but she felt a small sense of relief now that it was over. Cho Chang had just left to rejoin her friends, and though Hermione liked her well enough, she was glad for the shift in atmosphere. Cho was kind, but her presence often kept conversations from diving deeper into the kind of topics Hermione craved.

Her gaze shifted to Harry, who sat by the window, staring out at the passing countryside with a quiet intensity. He had a way of observing without drawing attention to himself, but Hermione knew his mind was rarely idle. He was always watching, listening, processing. Across from him, Fred and George were engaged in their usual banter.

"Wandless magic is all well and good," Fred said with a grin, "but I reckon the real test is whether you can summon a full treacle tart from the kitchens—without a wand."

George snickered. "Maybe summon a brain for yourself while you're at it, Fred. Probably less of a challenge."

Their laughter was infectious, and even Hermione found herself smiling. But her natural instinct to correct misinformation kicked in before she could stop herself.

"You can't just summon things willy-nilly with wandless magic," she said, trying to keep her tone polite. "It's not about brute force. It's about precision. Control."

Fred leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "So, no pie, then?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she was still smiling. "No pie."

Anthony Goldstein, sitting beside her, nodded in agreement. "She's right. I've read about magical communities in South America where wandless magic is common. It's not about doing flashy spells. It's about intention, channeled through discipline."

Hermione turned to Anthony, impressed. She hadn't expected him to know so much about magical practices outside the standard curriculum. "Exactly! They've been trained from childhood to do it. Wizards in Britain wouldn't be able to replicate it without years of practice."

Michael Corner, sitting next to Anthony, added, "Yeah, but even a basic jinx without a wand could catch someone off guard in a duel. It doesn't have to be something big."

Fred grinned. "Or it could be flashy. Imagine summoning a bunch of dungbombs at the perfect moment—now that would catch someone off guard."

Hermione shook her head at that, though Michael had made a valid point. Even small spells, used wisely, could make all the difference. As the conversation turned back to practical jokes, her gaze shifted toward Harry again, wondering what he thought.

He hadn't said much, but Hermione knew better than anyone that Harry had more experience with magic than most of their peers realized. She had witnessed it firsthand—his extraordinary control over telekinesis during the troll incident, and the way he held his own in magical theory even in advanced subjects.

Finally, Harry spoke, his voice calm and measured. "In most cultures where wandless magic is practiced," he began, his tone so casual it seemed almost effortless, "it's not just about casting a spell. They don't rely on a wand as a conduit—they are the conduit."

The room grew quiet as his words settled. Fred and George exchanged glances, the usual joking momentarily forgotten. Anthony, intrigued, leaned forward.

"Becoming the conduit?" Hermione echoed, curiosity piqued. "You mean they merge their will with the magic itself?"

Harry nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Exactly. In places like South America, or parts of Africa, magic is woven into every part of life. It's not about memorizing spells. It's about understanding the flow of magic around you and letting it move through you."

Fred tilted his head, his curiosity clearly piqued. "So, it's not just about control, then?"

"Control is a part of it," Harry said, meeting Fred's gaze. "But it's more about sense. Awareness. Feeling how your magic responds to your intent. The best practitioners don't ever force their magic. They guide it."

George whistled softly. "Sounds like a lot more work than waving a stick around."

Harry's eyes flicked back to the window, his voice casual as ever. "It is. That's why very few wizards ever master it. It takes years of practice, discipline, and a lot of failure before you succeed. And even then, most only manage small spells without a wand."

Hermione watched him closely, still trying to reconcile the boy she had met at eleven with the one who now spoke with such quiet authority. His education had clearly been different—broader and deeper in ways she couldn't quite fathom. She knew he'd been raised abroad with private tutors, but there were moments, like now, when it felt like he had lived a whole other life before Hogwarts.

"You've really studied this, haven't you?" she asked, more to herself than to him.

Harry shrugged, his eyes distant. "I've had good teachers."

There was more to it than that, Hermione knew, but she didn't press. The others seemed equally absorbed in Harry's words. Anthony, in particular, looked like he was reevaluating everything he'd read on wandless magic.

"You know," Anthony said slowly, "that makes a lot of sense. If you think about how wands work, they're really just amplifying your intention. So if you didn't need the amplification…"

Michael nodded. "You'd just know how to do it. Instinctively."

Hermione leaned back, her mind racing through the implications. Magic had always been more than just memorizing spells—she'd understood that for a while now. But the idea of becoming the magic, of not needing a wand to control it, was an entirely different level of understanding. And Harry, in the way he spoke about it so easily, made her wonder just how much more he wasn't telling them.

Fred broke the silence, a grin returning to his face. "Well, if wandless magic means I can summon food without moving, count me in."

"Start small, Fred," George added with a chuckle. "Maybe try for a sandwich before a treacle tart."

The compartment lightened with laughter again, but Hermione's mind was still turning over Harry's words. He wasn't just smart, she realized—he was something else entirely. And while she wasn't quite sure what that meant yet, she couldn't help but be intrigued by the quiet power he didn't seem to flaunt but couldn't fully hide.

—

Neville stumbled slightly as he entered the compartment, red-faced and awkward, clutching his bag with both hands. His gaze immediately found Hermione, like a lifeline in unfamiliar waters. "Er—sorry, I was looking for you, Hermione…"

She smiled warmly. "Hi, Neville! You can stay if you want. We're just talking about some... interesting things."

Neville hesitated, his eyes flicking between the faces in the compartment. Two Prefects, Ravenclaws, as well as Terry and Anthony chatted together amiably on one side, while Fred, George, and Harry were having a more animated discussion. He shifted on his feet, clearly unsure if he belonged. Harry caught his eye, offering him a calm, encouraging nod.

"Sit with us, Neville," Harry said quietly, sliding over to make room.

Fred grinned. "Yeah, pull up a seat. We were just debating whether it's possible to prank an entire forest into chasing after Slytherins. Might need your expertise with dangerous plants for this one."

George chuckled. "Yeah, something with fangs or venom, preferably. You know, for... educational purposes."

Neville's nervous smile flickered, but he shuffled inside, his movements still hesitant. He sat down carefully, his bag resting on his lap like a shield. "I'm not sure you'd want to mess with venomous plants. They're… tricky. And some of them aren't easy to control."

Fred leaned over and nudged him with his elbow. "Sounds like a challenge to me!"

Hermione shot Fred a warning look but turned back to Neville, her voice full of encouragement. "Actually, Neville's brilliant at Herbology. He could probably teach us all a thing or two about dangerous plants."

Neville flushed, his hands gripping his bag tighter. "I wouldn't say brilliant... I just really like plants."

Harry, who had been quietly observing Neville, leaned forward slightly. "What about Devil's Snare?"

Neville blinked in surprise. "Devil's Snare?"

Harry's tone remained calm, thoughtful. "Could it be trained to defend, rather than attack?"

Neville paused, his brow furrowing as he considered the question. "Well... in theory, yes. It responds to light and warmth, so you could charm it to avoid friendly fire, so to speak. But it'd take practice. And you'd need to be really careful not to—"

"—strangle yourself," George finished with a grin.

"Exactly," Neville said, smiling faintly as the tension eased from his shoulders. "You'd have to cast the right spells to charm it, layer them carefully."

Hermione leaned in, her eyes lighting up with curiosity. "Layer them how?"

Neville glanced at her, then at Harry, who was listening intently. His grip on the bag loosened slightly, and he sat a little straighter. "Well... you'd start with a basic protective charm to identify who you don't want it to attack. Then you could add a trigger charm for warmth, so it stays dormant unless it feels cold."

Fred exchanged a look with George, his eyebrows raised. "Told you he knows his stuff."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still on Neville. After a pause, he asked, "Ever heard of the manchineel tree?"

Neville's eyes widened in surprise. "Isn't that one of the most dangerous trees in the world? I read about it."

Harry gave a slight nod. "It is. Touch its sap, and it burns. Stand under it in the rain, and you'll blister. But it's not just dangerous. It can be useful."

Neville leaned forward, the faint trace of nervousness replaced by genuine interest. "Useful?"

Harry's words were measured, giving just enough to keep the conversation going. "In potions. If you handle it properly, the sap can be used to make powerful antidotes. Wizards in South America use it all the time."

Neville's posture relaxed further, his hands now resting at his sides as the conversation drifted into his area of expertise. "I didn't know that... but it makes sense. Something so dangerous being turned into something good."

Harry tilted his head slightly, watching Neville. "It's all about understanding something's fundamental nature. You work with the nature of the thing, rather than against it."

Neville's eyes lit up as he nodded eagerly. "Exactly! That's what I've always thought. Like with venomous tentacula—people think it's just dangerous, but if you know how to handle it, you can use its venom for healing salves. It's all about understanding the plant first."

Fred grinned. "Maybe we should start growing some of those. Could come in handy for future... educational experiments."

George laughed, shaking his head. "Or maybe we'll leave the dangerous stuff to Neville."

Neville chuckled, the sound more genuine now, a flicker of pride in his eyes as he realized the others were listening—really listening—to what he had to say. His hands, once clenched tightly around his bag, now rested easily on his knees. He wasn't just sitting with them anymore. He was part of the conversation.

Hermione, watching him, smiled warmly. "See? You do know your stuff, Neville."

The compartment filled with laughter, the mood light but companionable. For the first time, Neville didn't feel out of place. He had found his footing, and as he glanced around the compartment, he realized he was being listened to—and respected.

—

Percy straightened his prefect badge as he strode through the narrow train corridor, his eyes scanning each compartment. Where were they? Fred and George hadn't been in their usual spot near the front of the train, and when his twin brothers weren't immediately in sight, it usually spelled trouble. After a successful year as a prefect, Percy had been looking forward to a peaceful journey home. Yet the nagging feeling that Fred and George were up to something gnawed at him.

And then there was Penelope Clearwater. He found himself thinking of her often these days. They'd spent time together studying for exams, and he admired her intellect—and, well, other qualities as well. He wouldn't mind running into her on the way, though he couldn't let that distract him now.

As Percy approached the back of the train, he paused outside one compartment. Laughter filtered through the door—not the wild, chaotic kind he usually expected from Fred and George, but something more conversational, almost... engaged. Curious, Percy peeked in.

To his surprise, Fred and George were seated on either side of Michael Corner, deeply involved in a discussion. Terry Boot was lounging comfortably, listening with interest, while Anthony Goldstein flipped through a book on charms. Robert Hilliard, the Ravenclaw prefect, sat across from them, nodding in agreement. And there, next to Hermione, sat Harry Potter, his expression calm but focused.

Penelope was there too, leaning forward as if caught up in the conversation. Percy blinked. What on earth was going on here? This wasn't the usual mayhem his brothers orchestrated.

"Ah, Percy!" Fred called out, noticing him at the door. "Come to join us for a bit of intellectual discourse, have you?"

George grinned. "We're behaving, we swear. Wouldn't want to disappoint our esteemed prefect of a brother."

Percy cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "Yes, well, I'm... just checking in." His gaze shifted to Penelope, who smiled briefly before turning back to the discussion. He stepped inside, hovering by the door, trying not to let his curiosity show too much.

He glanced over at Robert, his fellow prefect. "Didn't expect to find you all discussing... enchantments," Percy remarked, attempting to sound neutral as he sat next to Penelope. After all their shared prefect meetings this year, he and Robert had grown fairly familiar with each other. Still, this was far from the kind of mischief he'd braced himself for.

Robert glanced up from a parchment he had been reading. "It's fascinating, really. We've been debating the ethical implications of advanced enchantments. It's not something we typically cover until NEWTs, but everyone's bringing in their own perspectives."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "Ethical implications?"

Penelope nodded, her eyes alight with interest. "Yes, we've been talking about how far we should go with enchantments—whether certain kinds of magic should be restricted, and if regulations actually hinder progress. It's been quite enlightening."

"Yeah," Fred chimed in, "turns out you can get away with a lot if you know the right loopholes."

"That's not quite what we were saying," Harry cut in, his voice calm but firm. "It's about knowing when rules become a barrier to advancement, and when they serve a necessary purpose."

Percy's attention turned to Harry. The younger boy's quiet presence commanded respect without being forceful, and yet there was something about Harry that made Percy uneasy. Not disrespectful, but not entirely bound by the same rules Percy valued, either.

"Rules are there for a reason," Percy said, leaning forward slightly. "Without them, there would be chaos."

"And sometimes chaos is the birthplace of innovation," Fred countered with a wide grin.

Percy gave his brothers a pointed look. "I'd hardly call your pranks innovative."

"They do require a level of creativity," Penelope added with a teasing smile.

Percy felt his ears heat up but kept his composure. "I'm sure the professors don't appreciate your brand of 'creativity' as much as you think."

"It's more than just mischief," Anthony Goldstein spoke up, finally pulling his attention from the book of charms in his lap. "Fred and George are right in one respect—enchantments, even simple ones, have the potential for great power if used creatively. The real question is, should we always follow the rules just because they're there?"

"Exactly," George said, leaning back in his seat. "Take broomsticks. When they were first enchanted, there were no rules. Wizards just did it because it made sense. But now? There are rules for everything—from the speed you can fly to the materials you use."

"And some of those rules are useful," Terry added, nodding. "But sometimes they just limit us."

Percy frowned. "And what about when those rules protect people? Flying too fast or using dangerous materials could seriously hurt someone."

Harry nodded slightly, acknowledging the point. "That's true. But it raises a question of control. Who gets to decide what's too dangerous? Wizards who understand magic deeply—those of us who study it—should have more freedom to experiment, as long as we understand the consequences."

"And if you don't?" Percy asked, his tone sharper than intended. "What if someone goes too far?"

"There's always a risk," Harry said, his voice steady. "But wizards who shy away from taking risks are usually the ones left behind."

Robert leaned in, intrigued. "It's about responsibility. If you have the knowledge and skill, it's not just about blindly following the rules. It's about knowing when to break them and take calculated risks."

Percy glanced around the compartment, feeling the weight of the conversation. This was... different. He wasn't used to Fred and George being so serious, and that unsettled him. And Harry—there was something about him, something unspoken, that suggested he wasn't just talking about magic. Percy could feel a depth in Harry's words that made him uncomfortable, but also curious.

"Calculated risks," Percy repeated, feeling the tension in the room. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. "That's not how the Ministry sees things."

"No," Harry agreed, his tone calm but firm. "But sometimes the Ministry's view is... limited."

Percy bristled at the subtle dig but didn't rise to the bait. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Penelope watching the conversation with interest, a small smile playing on her lips. Percy straightened in his seat, feeling the need to contribute more meaningfully.

"I'm not saying rules should never be bent," Percy said carefully, aware of the eyes on him. "But we can't disregard them entirely. There's a reason for structure—without it, we'd have chaos."

"True," Harry replied, his tone thoughtful. "But chaos, as Fred said, can also bring about progress. It's about balance."

The conversation shifted again as Fred and George dove back into their usual banter, though there was more depth to it than Percy had expected. He sat back, listening, though his thoughts lingered on the discussion.

This was different. He hadn't expected Harry Potter to be so... thoughtful. And Fred and George—his brothers—had surprised him. Maybe there was more to them than just pranks after all.

As the train rattled on, Percy found himself wondering where this conversation might lead, and what it might mean for the future.

—

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels filled the compartment, a steady hum that allowed Harry's thoughts to drift. He leaned back, arms folded, gazing out the window at the rolling hills, though his mind wasn't on the landscape.

Cho had left first, smiling as she excused herself to catch up with her friends. Harry had enjoyed her company—she was pleasant, clever in her own way—but she wasn't central to what was unfolding here. Her presence hadn't been necessary. There were others, more important, who had stayed.

Fred and George were deep in conversation with Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein, their laughter weaving through the air as they bounced ideas back and forth. The twins had surprised him today. Everyone knew they were clever, but the way they approached problems—with creative chaos that pushed boundaries—was something Harry hadn't fully appreciated before. They weren't just pranksters; they had vision, a quality Harry respected. There was potential in that kind of unpredictable energy.

Across from him sat Hermione, her nose buried in a book, as usual. He had nudged her in certain directions before, and her intellect made her a natural fit for many of his plans, even if she didn't fully realize it yet. The challenge with Hermione was her reliance on structure, her trust in authority figures like Dumbledore. That would be something to navigate. He could use it to lead her along a safe path, one that would gradually open her eyes, making it all seem like her own personal, independent intellectual journey. But her brilliance was an undeniable asset. For now, he would guide her, carefully, until the time came for her to choose a side.

Neville sat by the window, gazing out at the countryside, his brow furrowed in quiet thought. He had grown over the past year from the painfully shy boy missing his pet toad Harry remembered from his previous trip on the Express, in ways that were small but significant. His knowledge of Herbology ran deeper than Harry had anticipated, his passion for it genuine. There was a dependable quality in Neville—loyalty rooted in conviction. Harry could sense it. With the right guidance, Neville could become something far more formidable. He wasn't a puppet, but that only made him more valuable. Harry knew he would need to handle him with care.

At one point, the compartment door had opened to reveal Percy Weasley, no doubt expecting his brothers to be causing trouble. Instead, he had found Fred and George engaged in serious conversation, much to his bewilderment. Percy had lingered longer than expected, curiosity keeping him in the room. He'd even joined the discussion, mostly, Harry suspected, to impress Penelope Clearwater, the Ravenclaw prefect. Harry hadn't needed to interfere—Percy's ambitions were harmless for now, and his preoccupation with Penelope might even be useful one day. Percy wasn't a threat, but he could be a tool.

Then there was Robert Hilliard, the other Ravenclaw prefect, who had observed the discussion in quiet thought, his sharp eyes tracking each turn of the conversation. Harry appreciated that. Robert wasn't the type to force himself into the spotlight, but his intelligence was clear. He understood power, influence, and when to speak—or more importantly, when not to. That kind of quiet awareness was rare, and Harry intended to keep him close, but at a distance for now. Robert had his place, though he didn't yet know it.

Michael and Anthony had contributed well enough. They were bright, though still finding their place in the group. Harry saw potential in them, particularly as study partners for Hermione. They didn't need to be leaders—sometimes those who worked best behind the scenes were the most valuable. Not everyone had to be at the center of the web.

Harry's gaze shifted back to the window, the fields beyond blurring into a sea of green and gold. The conversation around him became distant as his thoughts wandered briefly to Grindelwald. The summer ahead would be challenging, but in a very different way from Hogwarts. Grindelwald was waiting for him, with new lessons, new tests.

Still, there was potential in the people around him, in the alliances forming without anyone realizing it. He didn't need to push things too quickly. Everything would unfold in time. The important thing was that he had seen what he needed to. Each person had their place, their role in what was to come, even if they didn't know it yet. His path was clear, and he would let them discover theirs, at their own pace, for now.

The train rattled beneath him, the steady rhythm melding with his thoughts as a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.