Sean, scribbling notes on the side: Actually… not quite.
[Give the wrist one swish and one flick.
Getting the pronunciation right matters—do NOT say "f" like "s."
It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long]
He looked over what he'd written and, satisfied, set the quill back. As long as he put it away quickly, the ink wouldn't dry out, so he could write a bit longer.
"I practiced fifteen whole times, Hermione… I'm not the dimmest first-year, am I?" Justin's voice held a twinge of worry; faced with a brand-new field, even the upbeat boy sounded a little deflated.
Sean, putting away his notes: Actually… not quite.
"I don't know either. With only my own experience to go by, I can't judge…" Hermione frowned and shook her head—then her eyes lit up. "Sean, you… can do the Levitation Charm too, right?"
Called on out of the blue, Sean nodded. His wrist gave a swish-and-flick.
"Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa!"
[You practiced the Levitation Charm once at Novice standard. Proficiency +3]
At his incantation, the feather rose and floated, wobbling gently.
"Cool!" Justin breathed. Compared with his own one-second hover, Sean's casting was clearly a touch more polished.
"You must've picked it up fast—since you're… you know, from a wizarding family." The end of Justin's sentence made Sean tip his head, puzzled.
Seeing those big, questioning eyes, Justin blinked wide himself. "You're not from a wizarding family? You're Muggle-born? That means you only started learning magic this summer… and in two months you've learned a hard spell like Transfiguration?"
Sean nodded calmly.
"What's that phrase again—Mer… Mer—?" Justin groped for the word and stalled.
"Merlin," Hermione prompted softly.
"Merlin…" Justin echoed under his breath, then looked at Sean with sudden warmth. "Hermione and I—we're both Muggle-born. Our parents aren't wizards. Which means all three of us in this compartment are Muggle-born. Wild… I heard there were more pure-bloods in the wizarding world."
As he marveled, the racket outside grew louder. There was a faint "clang-clang," and unlike other bursts of noise, it didn't fade—it swelled.
A moment later, the compartment door slid open and a plump witch in an apron pushed in a trolley that drew all three gazes.
"Dears, anything off the cart?"
She smiled, dimples showing; even her voice felt friendly.
Sean gave the heaped shelves a single look and forcibly dragged his eyes away.
It had been a long while since morning; he was hungry. He knew the Hogwarts Express ran for hours—from morning into the night—but he hadn't been allowed to bring food. Matron Anna wouldn't let him take so much as a slice of toast.
It'll be fine once we reach Hogwarts, he told himself.
"One of… two of each, please." Justin had barely said "one" before the trolley witch's smile brightened even more.
"Lovely, dear. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, liquorice wands… That'll be one Galleon and five Sickles."
She warmed to the moment, launching into a cheerful spiel. The price made Hermione jump; she was about to object—then Justin's gleaming Galleon stopped her cold.
He paid quickly, cheeks a little pink. "This was meant for Eton. But the very next day my Hogwarts letter arrived. Mum thinks Hogwarts isn't as good as Eton, but—come on—learning magic? That beats law or business any day…"
He tucked a fistful of Galleons into his case. Only then did Sean place him: Justin Finch-Fletchley, a sincere, kind Hufflepuff; joined the Dueling Club and Dumbledore's Army; the one who, after realizing he'd misjudged Harry as the Heir of Slytherin, walked up and apologized with a handshake—braver and more honest than those who pretended nothing had happened. And the boy who'd turned down Eton to attend Hogwarts.
In Britain, grades alone won't get you into Eton; it's a school of the aristocracy.
"My aunt's son's classmate's uncle's nephew got into Eton! Hah—jealous, you country bumpkins? Brats like you shouldn't even dream." That was Matron Anna's favorite jibe—telling enough about Eton's status.
In other words, Justin was Hogwarts' hidden rich kid.
Verdict: purebred… financially speaking.
By the time Sean had thought all that, the trolley witch had trundled off, muttering about "two generous young wizards," and vanished down the corridor.
Inside the compartment, Justin piled the snacks into a little mountain.
"Help me eat some?" came his voice from behind the heap. "I'll never finish—please."
"You're laying it on too thick," Hermione muttered, grabbing a pumpkin juice all the same. She leaned toward Justin and whispered.
"Shhh." He put a finger to his lips, and both of them sneaked a glance at a certain boy. His clothes were worn and pilled, a seam fraying at the sleeve. If not for the pale, handsome face, he'd look like any unwanted orphanage kid.
"Try this Chocolate Frog? I hear wizard kids love them." Tempted by Justin's devilish whisper and the proffered Frog, Sean took it at once.
"Thanks," he said softly.
No hardship can beat me—but temptation can.
Sean fell to capital's sugary shell.
"My Chocolate Frog!" As Justin happily tore into wrappers, his Frog suddenly leapt, bounding for the window—
"Wingar—dium—Leviosa!"
The calm voice sounded as Sean, ready for it, flicked his wand. The Chocolate Frog dropped neatly back into Justin's hands.
"They jump once," Sean explained, then took tiny bites of his own Frog while reading One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.
Outside, the light was slowly fading.