Hermione tossed and turned in bed for a long time, unable to fall asleep. Again and again, her thoughts went back to McGonagall's fascinating stories about the magical world and the lessons that awaited her at a school for witches and wizards. Transfiguration, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts: all of it was as mysterious as it was exciting. She could hardly wait to begin studying all these magical subjects. At the same time, though, she was plagued by doubts. What if she turned out to be a terrible witch and was expelled from Hogwarts in disgrace?
The thought of meeting other witches and wizards troubled Hermione just as much. Would she be able to make friends with them? How would they treat her? She wondered whether they all wore strange robes like McGonagall, or whether some of them looked no different from ordinary people. 'What if one of my neighbours has magical abilities too? It would be wonderful to have a wizard living nearby,' the thought flashed through her mind. All of this kept going round and round in her head until, at last, she fell into an uneasy sleep.
Hermione's dream turned into something utterly bizarre. Exotic plants floated towards her through the air, growing rapidly as they tried to bite her with their predatory petals. Around her feet wound cups with long tails, meowing and purring loudly.
Suddenly, unicorns rushed in. Their sharp horns sliced through the predatory plants and scattered the tailed cups. But the animals' eyes were full of alarm. They neighed, and the sounds seemed to form words, though Hermione could not make out their meaning. Only out of the corner of her eye did she notice wavering shadows. They trembled at the edge of her vision and vanished the instant she turned towards them.
Professor McGonagall appeared from somewhere. She was riding an incredible creature: a donkey with the head of a fish. Every breath it exhaled produced huge soap bubbles that shimmered with all the colours of the rainbow. With a cowboy whoop, McGonagall waved her wand, and the bubbles burst, turning into shining nets, flying trunks and puffing teapots, which shot off with a whistle towards the unicorns' elusive enemies.
Suddenly, thick fog covered the whole world, and Barbara Grayson stepped out of it. Putting on an innocent, angelic expression, she smiled mockingly and began to make fun of Hermione. Then she shouted:
"Only cursed witches can do magic! You're evil!"
Her friends appeared beside her. They took up the accusations, shouting that Hermione had to be burned at the stake. Barbara raised her hands to the sky and called out:
"Who must we burn?"
A chorus of voices burst out:
"Hermione! Hermione!"
Hermione woke because someone was shaking her by the shoulder and urgently calling her name.
"Hermione! Hermione, wake up!"
She opened her eyes and saw her mother's face above her. The room was already light. Emma Granger, seeing that her daughter was awake, said, sounding a little bewildered:
"Hermione, there's… er… some man here. He says he's from the Ministry of Magic and that it's time for you to go shopping."
Hermione's head was splitting. She covered her face with her hands and lay still for a few moments, trying to drive away the remnants of the confused dream. Then she slowly lowered her hands, opened her eyes a little and whispered:
"Just a moment, Mum… my head hurts terribly."
"Oh, darling," Emma exclaimed, throwing up her hands, and hurried off to fetch the medicine box.
Hermione felt completely shattered. After a night of anxious thoughts, she no longer knew whether she should be glad she was a witch at all. More than once during the night, it had occurred to her how much simpler everything would have been if nothing strange had ever happened to her, and if Professor McGonagall had not appeared on their doorstep the day before.
But the moment of weakness did not last long. Once she had taken the medicine, Hermione quickly came back to her senses and pushed all her doubts aside. She was a witch, and that was now a settled fact. So there was no point even thinking about what might have happened if...
When she came into the living room, she found her parents sitting silently on the sofa, both looking rather worried. Their eyes were fixed on the unusual visitor, who was sitting in the armchair opposite them.
He was a middle-aged man with an olive complexion and a striking appearance. His once-black hair was now streaked with silver, giving him an air of mature wisdom. His beard was neatly trimmed and well-groomed, and went perfectly with his slightly dandyish moustache, whose ends curled elegantly upwards. He was wearing a formal robe decorated with mysterious symbols and signs, and a cane rested across his knees.
A slightly condescending smile played on the stranger's lips as he surveyed the Grangers' living room. When he noticed Hermione, he straightened a little and, turning to her, said in a deep voice:
"I presume you are Miss Granger?"
"Yes," she replied. "That's me."
"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gareth Bridge," he said, slowly rising from the armchair. Leaning on his cane, Bridge inclined his head with aristocratic dignity. "I have come on behalf of the Ministry of Magic. Today I have the honour of being your guide through Diagon Alley and helping you choose the school supplies you will need."
Hermione, unused to being addressed so courteously, suddenly remembered scenes from films in which ladies made graceful curtsies. She tried to do something similar, but the result was, to put it mildly, clumsy. Blushing, she said quietly:
"Thank you. I'll get ready now."
Bridge noticed the attempt, but held back a smile and kept a polite expression on his face.
"There is no hurry, Miss Granger," he said gently. "Today, I am entirely at your disposal."
Then, turning to Hermione's parents, he added in the same friendly manner:
"Mr and Mrs Granger, I am sure Diagon Alley will interest you as well. Besides, Hermione must prepare for her studies at Hogwarts, and I have no doubt you will wish to accompany her as she chooses school supplies that must seem very unusual to you."
Half an hour later, the Granger family, accompanied by Mr Bridge, left the house and set off towards London. The car journey passed in tense silence. Hermione's parents felt awkward in the presence of a wizard from the Ministry, and she decided to put off her many questions for Gareth, though inside she was bursting with curiosity. Mr Bridge, too, said little, only occasionally giving directions to Hermione's father, who had no idea where he was supposed to be going.
When they reached a busy shopping street, they got out of the car. Gareth led the way with confidence, setting the pace, and the Grangers had trouble keeping up with him. At the same time, John and Emma deliberately fell a little behind and argued about something in low voices.
At last they came to an unremarkable pub called 'The Leaky Cauldron'. Hermione would never have noticed it if Mr Bridge had not stopped right in front of the door.
Turning to Hermione and her parents, he said:
"Hermione, take your parents by the hand and follow me. Mr and Mrs Granger, just stay close to your daughter, even if it seems to you that there is no way forward."
Following the Ministry official's instructions, Hermione stepped after him. Just before the entrance, she felt her parents' hands tense, as if they were trying to hold her back. But, overcoming their slight resistance, Hermione took another step, and the whole family found themselves inside.
The smell of old wood, smoke and spiced ale hit them at once. Hermione's parents looked around in bewilderment, as if trying to understand how they had ended up there.
"I was absolutely certain we were going to crash straight into the wall," John Granger muttered, still not quite believing his eyes.
The pub was not especially crowded. People in robes and other unusual clothes sat at several tables: some were reading newspapers, while others talked over heavy mugs.
Dim oil lamps hung from the ceiling. They gave off little light, and the room was half-dark. The walls, covered with faded portraits and yellowing notices, made the place feel even smaller and gloomier.
'Why don't they have electric lights?' Hermione wondered.
Behind the bar, a thin man with a bald patch and a worn waistcoat was polishing glasses. When he saw Gareth, he gave him a friendly nod, glanced at Hermione and her parents, and went back to his work.
Gareth raised his hat in return, then led them across the room towards the far door without wasting time.
"What is this place?" Hermione asked, looking around with interest.
Slowing his pace a little, Mr Bridge turned to her and replied:
"As you may have noticed, Miss Granger, this place is known as The Leaky Cauldron. Wizards of all sorts meet here to rest and share the latest news among their own kind."
"So ordinary people don't come here?" Hermione asked, looking around again.
"If by 'ordinary people' you mean Muggles, then no," Mr Bridge replied, glancing at Hermione's parents. They were watching some of the pub's customers with obvious caution. "With rare exceptions, such as today."
The witches and wizards sitting at the tables also noticed the new arrivals. Some looked at them with interest; others merely glanced their way. But a few reacted differently: one man pressed his lips together almost imperceptibly, and by the window a young witch's mouth twitched into a faint, disgusted smirk. Hermione felt a slight chill. 'Had we done something wrong? Did we look improper, somehow not the way we were supposed to?'
As they made their way through the room, Hermione caught a quiet voice, barely audible over the general noise.
"The Ministry's dragged those Muggles in here again. No respect for pure blood."
"Keep your voice down, someone might hear you," whispered a second voice. "Our time will come."
Hermione slowed without meaning to and looked round, trying to work out who had said it. At the tables, everything looked as usual: people were eating and talking, and someone was laughing. Her eyes caught on an old man sitting alone a little way off. He was picking at his food, then suddenly raised his eyes to her. They were so empty and lifeless that Hermione gave an involuntary shiver.
"May I help you, miss?" a voice suddenly said beside her.
Hermione started and turned towards the voice. The speaker was a good-looking dark-haired man sitting at the nearest table. He had a pale face and thin red lips, which stood out sharply against that pallor. He was smiling politely, but there was still something unsettling about the smile.
"You look as if you're searching for someone..."
"I..." Hermione faltered. She quickly looked round and saw that Gareth and her parents were already leaving the pub through the opposite door. Another second, and she would be left here alone. The thought made her feel uneasy.
"No, no... it's all right, thank you," she said quickly, and hurried after them.
They came out into a small, unremarkable courtyard. Hermione and her parents exchanged puzzled looks. There was absolutely nothing to see. But Mr Bridge did not stop. He went up to the wall surrounding the courtyard, took out his wand and touched several bricks.
Then, before Hermione's eyes, the brickwork suddenly came to life: the seams shifted, and the bricks slowly began to slide apart, opening a gap that widened until it became a large passage. Her parents stared wide-eyed at this new wonder.
Through the opening, Hermione saw a street paved with cut cobblestones. The shops stood close together, and bright, strange, sometimes downright ridiculous signs swung in the wind.
Mr Bridge gestured for them to follow him. Hermione went first. Her parents followed cautiously. Emma clung tightly to John's arm, while he stretched his free hand out in front of him, as if checking how real the street itself was. After passing through the entrance to 'The Leaky Cauldron', he clearly trusted his own eyes less than before.
They stepped into the alley, and the passage behind them began to close. Hermione took a step forward, but suddenly felt someone watching her. She turned sharply, but at that very moment the last bricks closed together. In front of her stood a blank wall once again.
Unease stirred somewhere deep inside her. But she did not want to think about it. Everything around her looked so bright, so magically alive, and besides, Mr Bridge immediately caught her attention.
"Well then, Miss Granger," he said in a businesslike tone, "this is Diagon Alley. Here you can buy everything you need for school. But first, you'll need to exchange your money —"
"Just a moment!" John Granger suddenly cut in sharply and stepped forward. Emma tried to hold him back by the arm, but he gently freed himself. "I think we need to stop this," he said, a little more quietly, then turned to the Ministry official and added, "I'm sorry, Mr Bridge. Everything has happened too quickly, and we haven't even had a proper chance to discuss it."
Then he turned to his daughter.
"Hermione, you don't have to go to this school for wizards. Yes, right now it all seems unusual and exciting, but think about what happens later. They don't even teach mathematics there! How are you supposed to get into university afterwards?" He said the last words with particular emphasis.
Seeing no clear reaction on his daughter's face, he went on:
"We always thought you would follow in our footsteps and become an excellent doctor. But with this strange school..." He broke off, throwing a quick glance at the Ministry official, and hurriedly added, "Mr Bridge, please don't think I have anything against wizards."
Hermione stood there hesitating, looking from her mother to her father. This new life frightened her a little, especially after that unpleasant whispering in the pub. She could brush it all aside and forget it like a bad dream. But the feeling that something truly wonderful was waiting for her ahead still pulled her forward. And could she really forget something like this?
At that moment, Gareth Bridge cleared his throat and said:
"Miss Granger, you may, of course, refuse to study at Hogwarts. That is your right. But before you make your decision, you should know a few important things. If you cannot control your magical power, it can be dangerous both for those around you and for yourself. You need to learn at least the basics, so you can understand what is happening and avoid sudden magical outbursts like the ones you have already experienced."
He paused briefly, then added:
"And one more thing. An invitation to Hogwarts comes only once. If you refuse now, I am afraid the chance may not come again." He spread his hands.
Gareth fell silent, and all eyes turned to Hermione. She looked at him for a second, then glanced around at the bright, tempting signs of Diagon Alley and turned to her father.
"Dad, I've weighed everything up, and I want to try. I'm going to study at Hogwarts. And if I don't like it there, or if something goes wrong, I can always come back home and continue my education at an ordinary school."
After saying this, she turned to the Ministry official.
"Lead the way, Mr Bridge."
Gareth smiled and nodded.
"I think that is a perfectly sensible decision. Now, let us go to the bank and exchange your money."
John opened his mouth, about to object. His face made it clear that he was far from happy with his daughter's decision. But Gareth had already set off towards the bank, and Hermione followed him. Emma took her husband by the arm and pulled him forward, and he, still frowning, reluctantly followed them.
Diagon Alley was full of wizards in robes of every colour. Some were arguing heatedly, some carried bulky boxes under their arms, and one was loudly boasting about an owl he had bought for next to nothing. Hermione slowed without meaning to, staring at both the people and the shops. All of it looked as if it had stepped straight out of the pages of her childhood fairy tales.
In a small square, a crowd of excited, chattering wizards had gathered. Hermione moved closer and stood on tiptoe, trying to see what had caught their attention. In the very centre stood a witch in a blue robe, the fabric shimmering with every movement like the surface of the ocean. She bowed to the crowd, then gave a wave of her wand, and a bright line flashed above the spectators' heads. The line curved, closed in on itself and turned into a small dragon. It fluttered in the air for a couple of seconds, then burst into sparks, which at once became tiny fluttering birds. With another wave, a new magical creature soared higher than the rest.
All of this was accompanied by music and flashes of light, and Hermione stared at it with her mouth wide open. She could probably have watched for much longer, but then Emma touched her arm and pointed to Mr Bridge, who was already walking away. Hermione took one last regretful look at the magical shapes soaring above the crowd and hurried after the Ministry official.
As they walked, she kept being drawn to the shop windows they passed. Behind the glass she saw wands, robes, books and quills. It seemed as if every shop was trying to surprise passers-by with something of its own. Among the bright and unusual goods, there were also things that looked rather old-fashioned, such as cauldrons of every size. Stopping by one such window, Hermione could not resist asking:
"Why do they only sell cauldrons here? Don't wizards use ordinary saucepans? Or frying pans?"
Mr Bridge gave a barely noticeable smile at her question.
"Cauldrons are not used for cooking, Miss Granger," he said good-naturedly. "They are used for brewing potions. The size, shape and material of a cauldron are very important. The wrong cauldron can spoil a potion or cause trouble for the person brewing it. You will study all that at school, but to begin with, a standard cauldron will do." He waved a hand towards one of those displayed in the window. "You will need it for Potions lessons."
Hermione imagined herself in an apron and a cook's hat, busily stirring a bubbling green sludge in a cauldron. The image was so funny that she could not help smiling, and then went on looking for other strange things.
"And what are brooms for?" she asked, noticing them in the window of the next shop. "Is there some special kind of rubbish that can only be swept up with them?"
Mr Bridge laughed.
"I'm afraid cleaning with brooms like those would be a rather expensive way to do it," he said once he had stopped laughing. "No, brooms are not for sweeping. They are for flying."
"Flying?" Hermione said in astonishment, her eyebrows rising. "Just like in fairy tales about witches?"
"Exactly," Gareth confirmed. "I am sure that in a few months you will be able to handle a broom very well. Incidentally, few people know," he added in a lower voice, "that brooms were invented by wizards purely as a way of travelling through the air. And here is a curious fact: that absurd idea about sweeping up rubbish was invented as an excuse for overly curious Muggles who wanted to know what brooms were for. Imagine the surprise of the magical community when Muggles believed the story and soon began making brooms of their own. Or rather, imitations of them, since real brooms can fly."
As they talked, they moved on, and the bank building gradually rose before them. Compared with the smaller shops, it looked especially imposing: massive, stone-built, and rather like a stern guardian keeping the secrets and treasures of the magical world.
Her gaze slid towards the entrance of the magnificent building. There stood an enormous, rather untidy-looking man. Until today, Hermione could have sworn that giants like that existed only in fairy tales, but now she was seeing one with her own eyes. Beside him, as if for contrast, stood a short boy with a mop of unruly black hair. They lingered at the entrance for a moment, then passed through the tall bronze doors and disappeared inside the bank.
Once the strange pair had vanished from sight, Hermione noticed another unusual figure by the entrance, standing there like a doorman. The creature looked even shorter than the boy who had just gone inside, and reminded her of a cartoon dwarf. He wore a bright red uniform embroidered with gold, and his eyes moved carefully over everyone who approached the doors.
"Who is that?" Hermione asked in surprise, turning to the Ministry official.
Gareth did not immediately understand who she meant, but after following her gaze, he nodded.
"Ah, that is a goblin."
Hermione's mouth fell slightly open.
"Gringotts Bank is run by goblins," Gareth continued. "So don't be surprised when you go inside. There are quite a lot of them in there."
Hermione could not take her eyes off the goblin, studying him as they approached the entrance. Suddenly, he looked straight at her. Embarrassed, she quickly lowered her eyes and hurried after Mr Bridge.
Once inside the bank, Hermione and her parents found themselves in a spacious hall. Long counters ran along the walls, and behind them goblins worked busily, completely absorbed in their tasks. Wizards and witches moved back and forth between the counters, and, as Hermione noticed, not all of them had come for money. Some were handing all sorts of objects over to the goblins for safekeeping, and some of those objects looked rather strange.
Gareth headed confidently towards the far-right counter and explained as they walked:
"We do not get many visitors here to exchange Muggle money, so this should not take long."
He approached the goblin sitting behind the counter, gave a slight cough to catch his attention, and said with dignity:
"Mr Bridge, on Ministry of Magic business. I have brought a young witch and her parents to exchange Muggle money."
The goblin looked up from his calculations, gave Hermione's parents an unfriendly look and asked:
"How much money would Mr Muggle like to exchange?"
Hermione did not like the way he said 'Mr Muggle' at all. She was beginning to understand that Muggles were not treated with much respect here.
"Two or three hundred pounds should be quite enough," Gareth suggested to Hermione's father.
John took the required amount from his wallet and handed it to the goblin. The goblin muttered something, pointing his wand at the money, then gave a satisfied grunt, counted out the proper coins and handed them to Mr Granger. With that, he seemed to consider his work done and returned to his calculations, completely ignoring the Grangers and Gareth Bridge.
Standing there with a heavy handful of coins, John gave them a puzzled sideways look, clearly having no idea what to do next. Gareth picked up an empty pouch from the counter and held it out to him.
"We don't use wallets. They are not well suited to coins."
Mr Granger looked doubtfully at the pouch, but still poured the money into it. Then, holding it awkwardly in front of him and not knowing where to put it, he followed the Ministry official.
First, they headed to the wand shop. When Hermione heard this, she immediately brightened up.
"Are all wands the same, or are they different?" she asked quickly. "As far as I've noticed, every wizard has one of their own. And how do you choose the right one? What should you pay attention to?"
"When it comes to choosing a wand, it is quite simple," Gareth said with a smile. "You won't be doing the choosing. The wand will choose you."
"What? On its own?" Hermione asked in surprise.
"Yes. As you rightly noticed, wands differ from one another: the wood, the core, the maker, and the way they were made. All of that affects their... er... character. Mr Ollivander, the owner of the shop we are going to, knows how to tell which wand suits a particular wizard best. He will help you too."
"And how does he do that?" Hermione pressed on.
"No one really knows," Mr Bridge said, spreading his hands. "Let's put it this way: it is part of his magic."
Hermione tried to imagine how a wand could 'choose' a person, and found herself walking faster. She could hardly wait to see it all with her own eyes.
When they entered the shop, the previous customer was just finishing, so they had to wait a little. As soon as the counter was free, Mr Ollivander focused his attention on Hermione.
"May I ask your name, young lady?"
"Hermione," she replied.
He studied her once more, as if trying to see something invisible, then took one of the boxes down from a shelf and held out a wand.
"Let us try this one. Give it a wave."
Hermione waved it and... nothing happened. She looked at Mr Ollivander in surprise. He was opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. Suddenly, she saw her mother's worried face. Emma, too, was moving her lips soundlessly. Only then did Hermione realise there was no sound at all. Everything around her had fallen completely silent.
But before she had time to be frightened, Mr Ollivander gently took the wand from her hand, and the sounds returned at once.
"No, this one does not suit you," he said, and began sorting through the other boxes.
A couple more attempts were just as unsuccessful, but soon he turned to her with another wand.
"Try this one."
Hermione took it and had barely waved it when a wonderful warmth seemed to run through her hand. Something inside her responded, as if the wand had recognised her. Delight lit up Hermione's face, and Mr Ollivander nodded with satisfaction.
"Now everything is as it should be. This wand has found its owner."
Opposite the wand shop was a bookshop. It was crowded with children, and Mr Bridge led the Grangers inside. From the outside, the place had looked rather small and unremarkable, but as soon as they crossed the threshold, they found themselves in a spacious room with countless shelves of books. There was clearly magic at work here.
Hermione immediately felt in her element. First, she took all the textbooks listed on the Hogwarts school list. But soon her hands reached for the other shelves as well.
"History of Magic... oh, and newspapers... and this will definitely come in handy!" she muttered, adding more and more books and magazines.
"Hermione, perhaps that's enough?" John cut in cautiously, looking at the growing stack. "We simply won't be able to carry all this."
"Dad," she said firmly, "I need to understand this world. I don't want to feel like a stranger in it."
Hermione's father sighed heavily as he watched another book being added to the stack. When they finally left the shop, poor John Granger was bending under the weight of the books. Gareth noticed this, quietly said a spell, and the load became almost weightless. Mr Granger first raised his eyebrows in surprise, then, realising what had happened, gave their guide a restrained nod, and they moved on.
A few hours later, everything needed for school had been bought. They were already walking towards the exit from Diagon Alley when Hermione's gaze caught on a small shop selling magical instruments and antique amulets. She was almost spellbound by the sight of counters crowded with amulets of every possible shape.
Above one of the counters hung a sign, with large letters engraved on it:
SALE:
Every amulet might hold a secret deep,
For just five Sickles, it's yours to keep!
Below, in smaller letters, it added:
Ancient unidentified amulets. The shop owner accepts no responsibility for any consequences resulting from the use of the amulets.
One amulet caught Hermione's attention. At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about it: just an ordinary blue stone in a simple setting. But for a brief moment, it seemed to her that a tiny star had lit up inside it, as if the amulet had winked at her. The strange impression vanished as quickly as it had appeared, but Hermione had already stopped, intrigued.
She stepped closer and took a better look at the amulet, but nothing else happened. Then she turned to the shopkeeper and, unable to help herself, immediately bombarded him with questions.
"What do these amulets do?" she asked, pointing at the counter. "Do you have to switch them on somehow, or do they work by themselves? Are they for protection? Or for something else? How do you even tell what each one is for?"
He looked Hermione up and down.
"If I knew what they did, they would cost a great deal more," he replied wearily. "I sell them so cheaply because I haven't been able to work out how to use them myself. There's magic in them, that much is certain. Whether they are good for anything, I don't know."
"I see," Hermione said slowly. She bit her lip for a second, then nodded uncertainly towards the amulet that had caught her interest. "May I see that blue one? The one with the little light inside."
"With a little light?" the shopkeeper repeated, puzzled. He picked up the amulet and examined it carefully from every side. "Strange. I don't remember this amulet." He frowned. "Perhaps one of my workers was testing it?"
He turned round and called out:
"Aurelian! Come over here!"
The shopkeeper looked closely at the amulet again, then turned it towards the sun, trying to see anything inside it, and muttered:
"A little light, you say..."
Hermione immediately realised she had said too much and hurried to add:
"Maybe I only imagined it. Perhaps it was just the sunlight reflecting off it."
The shopkeeper looked at Hermione with suspicion, still turning the amulet over in his hands. At that moment, Aurelian appeared in the doorway of the shop and, before the shopkeeper could say a word, began speaking rapidly.
"That customer with the long black hair is asking for you urgently," he said, pointing somewhere deeper into the shop. "He says he only has a couple of minutes, and he wants to discuss buying the latest version of the Magnificon."
The Magnificon was not a cheap device, and the latest version even less so. It enhanced the effect of created illusions, so the shopkeeper, already anticipating a profitable deal, quickly shoved the amulet into his worker's hand and headed towards the waiting customer.
"Did you want to buy this amulet?" Aurelian asked, looking at Hermione.
"Yes!" she answered at once, taking advantage of the shopkeeper's distraction, and held out five Sickles.
'What if it really had winked at me for a reason?' she thought as Aurelian wrapped up her purchase.
Before long, they left Diagon Alley and found themselves on an ordinary street. Mr Bridge turned to Hermione and said:
"Well then, Miss Granger, it has been a pleasure introducing you to our world." He inclined his head politely. "Your task now is to arrive at King's Cross station on the first of September by ten in the morning. A Ministry official will meet you there and help you board the Hogwarts Express."
Hermione began thanking Mr Bridge for his help, and her parents soon joined in. He had made a very good impression, and the day they had spent with him seemed to have calmed John and Emma considerably.
Accepting their thanks, Gareth added in parting:
"And be careful with that amulet, Miss Granger. Unidentified artefacts can sometimes be rather dangerous. Good luck!"
He bowed slightly once more and went off about his wizarding business with his usual dignity.