Just like last Christmas, the train was far from crowded this year.
Qin Yu led Hermione down the corridor, and it didn't take long to find an empty compartment. After stowing their luggage, the two of them settled in—each pulling out a book, sitting opposite one another, and quietly reading.
The journey was long; they needed something to pass the time. For them, reading together had always been a comfort—library or not, a change of scenery was all.
Of course, there were some differences. Here, in the privacy of their compartment, there were no other students, no patrolling librarian to hush them. The air felt lighter, more relaxed.
It wasn't long before Hermione slipped off her shoes, propping her feet—clad in thick woolen socks—on the seat across from her. For Qin Yu, this proved a bit of a challenge. Sometimes her feet rested on the seat, sometimes on his legs; they'd wiggle, poke, and fidget, toes tapping or nudging him with a mischief that far surpassed anything she'd dare in the library.
When he finally couldn't take it anymore, Qin Yu grabbed one of her feet and delivered a merciless tickle to her sole as punishment.
It made no difference. A few minutes later, both feet were sneaking back over, as restless as ever, impossible to guard against.
He could only surrender to fate.
Whenever someone knocked at the door, though, Hermione would instantly tuck her feet back and slip them into her dainty, strapless shoes, adopting an air of studious innocence—though, to be fair, she really was reading diligently.
After all, as Qin's "little sister," her persona was set: well-behaved, clever, gentle, and wise. She couldn't let the mask slip.
"…So that's it! I always thought I was messing up the potion's proportions, but it turns out the two ingredients need to be added at intervals… Thank you, Qin, I've really learned a lot!"
"You're welcome, Elvis. If you ever have questions, just come ask."
"Mm, I will."
"Would you like a cup of tea, Elvis?"
"No need, Qin—I've already interrupted your reading long enough. I should get going. Bye, Qin! Bye, Hermione!"
"Goodbye, Elvis!"
"Goodbye, Elvis!"
Qin Yu's roommate, Elvis, finally left after half an hour of potion-related questions, waving as he disappeared down the corridor.
Qin Yu took a sip of tea, moistening his throat, and set the cup down. He couldn't help but think that the subtle "offering tea to send the guest on their way" worked just as well in the West.
When he reached for another sip, the cup was snatched away by Hermione, who tipped her head back and gulped several mouthfuls—her "well-behaved" image nowhere to be seen.
"So thirsty… Elvis really does have a million questions!" Hermione grumbled, setting the cup down.
"You looked pretty interested yourself," Qin Yu shot back, unable to hide a smirk.
—He'd noticed: while he explained, a certain little witch had tiptoed closer, neck craned, listening intently. When she got excited, she'd nod so enthusiastically she'd bumped his head more than once.
Qin Yu reclaimed the cup and took a few more sips of his own.
He smacked his lips. Why did it taste like strawberries?
Oh—she'd eaten two pieces of candy earlier.
Seeing only a bit of water left, Qin Yu finished it off. Better that than risk the train jolting and spilling it everywhere.
Yep, definitely a hint of strawberry sweetness.
…
Over the next hour, a steady stream of acquaintances dropped by: Monnie, asking for autographs for her friends; Wood, wanting to discuss post-holiday Quidditch training; and a handful of classmates popping in to chat and share their excitement.
By the time they'd seen off Cedric from the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, it was already past two in the afternoon. After that, the compartment finally quieted down.
Qin Yu and Hermione unpacked their snacks, bought a few treats from the trolley, and settled in for a late lunch.
After eating, Hermione's eyelids began to droop. She fought to stay awake, but sleep was winning.
She crawled over to Qin Yu's seat, curled up, and rested her head on his lap.
After a bit of squirming, she found the perfect position and drifted off, her face relaxed and peaceful.
Qin Yu gave her delicate nose a gentle squeeze, resigning himself to being used as a pillow.
He wasn't tired. After a short rest, he picked up his alchemy book again.
Ever since receiving Professor Swinton's letter, Qin Yu had felt less urgency about researching "alchemical communication." Nowadays, he only browsed related books in his spare time, rarely experimenting with that alchemical longsword—the progress was just too slow.
Today's book wasn't some ancient, profound tome, but rather a theoretical notebook—one from Headmaster Dumbledore's personal collection, bought years ago during his travels in the north and lent to Qin Yu for reference.
"Sigh, Old Dumbledore was right. This book is nothing but lofty platitudes. Not a single useful recipe. At least give me an alchemical formula or two, so I can whip up a Philosopher's Stone by hand," he muttered.
A drowsy voice mumbled from below: "Where are we~ Are we there yet, Qin~ Has Daddy come to pick us up~?"
Clearly, his muttering had woken her.
Qin Yu reached down, covering her fluttering eyelids with his hand. "It's still early. Go back to sleep."
"Mmkay, I'll sleep a bit longer~ Mua~" she mumbled, barely awake.
A soft, damp kiss brushed his palm. When he withdrew his hand, it felt a little moist.
Obviously, turning pages now would just get the paper wet. Qin Yu rubbed his fingers together, spreading the moisture so it would evaporate faster.
Once his hand was dry, he returned to his book.
His eyes drifted across a sentence he'd read a dozen times before—a perfectly ordinary line:
Rather than forge a hundred pounds of scrap iron, it's better to make an ounce of good steel!
Scrap iron, good steel… What a cliché, he thought.
A pound is sixteen ounces, so a hundred pounds is sixteen hundred ounces. That means refining a hundred pounds of scrap iron into a single ounce of steel—a reduction by a factor of sixteen hundred.
Qin Yu found himself absentmindedly doing the math, picturing a massive iron lump shrinking to the size of a thumb.
The comparison was oddly striking—visually memorable.
Letting his mind wander, Qin Yu felt as if he were on the verge of grasping something important, but couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"…The method Stephen described, combining alchemy with meditation, is essentially a form of 'mental alchemy'…"
Dumbledore's words echoed in his mind.
Mental alchemy… a hundred pounds of iron, shrunk to an ounce of steel… alchemy… shrinking… concentrating… "Concentrate and you get the best… Stop, stop, Pan Changjiang, get out of my head…"
Qin Yu muttered to himself, his thoughts growing clearer, his excitement building.
Could it really be… that simple?
He wasn't sure if he'd hit on the answer, but it was worth a try. The thought filled him with anticipation.
Glancing down, he found a pair of eyes gazing up at him—Hermione was awake again.
She hadn't made a sound, just quietly watched him, afraid to interrupt his train of thought.
So well-behaved, it was almost heartbreaking.
Qin Yu couldn't help but cup her face and press a gentle kiss to her smooth forehead—a perfectly normal gesture in the West, he reminded himself.
"Did you figure out your problem?" Hermione asked, blinking up at him.
"Not entirely, but I think I have a lead now," Qin Yu replied, his tone light.
"Oh, that's great!" Hermione smiled, genuinely happy for him.
She stretched, hooking her arms around his neck to help herself sit up.
"You just said a whole string of Eastern words—I didn't understand a thing. But I caught something like 'Pong Chen Jang.' What does that mean? Is it alchemy-related?" she asked curiously, stretching her stiff joints.
Qin Yu paused, then realized she meant "Pan Changjiang"—her accent had just mangled the pronunciation.
How could he possibly explain? He couldn't say the man was a comedy actor—most people back home couldn't understand his skits, let alone a Londoner.
"Right. He's a mysterious Eastern alchemist. People call him 'The Never-Ending Spinning Top,'" Qin Yu fibbed smoothly.
"Oh, what a strange nickname." Hermione didn't press, just found it amusing.
Qin Yu shrugged, letting the subject drop.
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