The Hogwarts Express chugged along, its vintage rhythm lulling some students into soft chatter while others stared at the rolling countryside. The air hummed with excitement, but in one cozy nook of a compartment, silence held sway.
Clark Kent leaned back, arms crossed, his sharp senses catching the faint tension of the girl across from him. Hermione Granger, her bushy hair framing intense brown eyes, peeked at him over a thick book, her curiosity barely hidden.
He smirked, his voice casual. "Hi."
Hermione stiffened, her fingers gripping the page tightly, her social unease clear. She hesitated, then snapped the book shut. "Are you… Harry Potter?" she asked, her tone mixing uncertainty and excitement.
Clark—Harry to the Wizarding World—tilted his head, feigning surprise. "Yeah, that's me."
Hermione's face lit up, her words tumbling out. "I thought so! I read about you in Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. You're practically famous! Everyone knows about the night You-Know-Who disappeared and—"
Clark chuckled, shaking his head. "You really shouldn't believe everything you read, you know."
Hermione blinked, startled. "But… all those books said—"
"They said a lot," Clark cut in, leaning forward, his voice low, conspiratorial. "Do you know how governments work, Hermione?"
She frowned, caught off guard. "Well, I suppose they—"
"They need heroes," Clark said, his tone simple but sharp. "After the war, people were scared. They needed someone to rally behind. So, the Ministry created one."
Hermione's skepticism flickered, but her sharp mind churned. Clark liked that—she was clever, a potential ally if molded right.
"But," she said slowly, "there were witnesses that night. Dumbledore—"
"Only three people were there," Clark interrupted, his voice quieter, somber. He held up three fingers. "One is dead. One is in a coma." He lowered a finger. "And the last one's sitting right in front of you."
Hermione's breath caught, her eyes searching his face.
"My mother—Lily Potter," Clark continued, gazing out the window, his expression crafted to seem lost, "was hit with a curse that didn't kill her, but left her in a state no one could fix. My father… he didn't make it."
The words hung heavy, their weight deliberate. Clark sighed, turning back to her. "I was sent to my mother's sister—Petunia Dursley. You'd think family would treat me well, right?"
Hermione nodded, hesitant.
"They locked me in a cupboard under the stairs," Clark said, his voice flat, emotionless. "Barely fed me. Hit me. Called me a freak every day."
Hermione's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, Harry…" she whispered, her voice thick.
"The Ministry didn't care," Clark pressed, his tone bitter. "Dumbledore didn't care. I was just 'The Boy Who Lived'—a symbol, not a person."
Tears welled in Hermione's eyes. She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. Clark froze, sensing the warmth of her embrace, then let a satisfied smirk flicker before softening his expression into vulnerability.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione murmured against his shoulder.
Clark waited a beat, then gently pulled away. Hermione flushed, stammering, "I—I didn't mean to—I just… I can't believe they treated you like that. That's awful."
"It is what it is," Clark said, shrugging, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.
Hermione took a shaky breath, steadying herself, then extended a hand, formal despite her nerves. "Hermione Granger. It's nice to meet you."
Clark chuckled, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you too, Hermione."
She smiled hesitantly. "I guess we'll be in the same year at Hogwarts."
"Looks like it."
Hermione bit her lip, then pushed forward. "So… you knew you were a wizard this whole time?"
Clark leaned back, amused. "Not exactly. I knew I was different. Weird things happened—things I couldn't explain. But the Dursleys made sure I never thought about it. Punished me if I asked questions."
Hermione's face darkened. "That's disgusting. No child should be treated like that."
Clark shrugged, nonchalant. "What about you? When did you find out?"
Hermione paused, then smiled fondly. "My parents are Muggles, so we didn't understand why strange things happened around me. I turned my teacher's wig blue once, by accident. Another time, I fixed a broken cup just by touching it."
She shook her head. "My parents didn't believe in magic, but they knew I was different. Professor McGonagall visited and explained everything. Said I'd control my powers at Hogwarts."
Clark raised an eyebrow, his smirk teasing. "And now you want to be the best at everything, don't you?"
Hermione blushed. "W-Well, I just want to do my best. I like learning."
He chuckled. "That's not a bad thing. Just don't let it control your life."
Hermione huffed, but her smile lingered. "We'll see about that."
A knock interrupted them. The trolley lady, a kind-eyed witch, peeked in. "Anything from the trolley, dears?"
Hermione's eyes lit up, but she hesitated. "I—um, brought food from home…"
Clark seized the chance, pulling out coins with a grin. "I'll take the lot."
Hermione's eyes widened. "What?! Why would you—"
He winked. "You've read about me, Hermione. Might as well live up to the reputation."
The trolley lady chuckled, handing him a pile of sweets like carnival treats. Clark tossed a Chocolate Frog to Hermione. "Go on, try it."
Hermione hesitated, then unwrapped it. The frog leaped free, landing on the seat. She yelped, startled, as Clark laughed. "Better be quick next time."
Hermione glared, then giggled, her guard lowering.
Just as the two settled in to enjoy their snacks, the compartment door slid open again—this time, revealing an unexpected visitor.