Ron glances over at the mound of blanket, lowering his voice even more, freckles standing out against his pale face as he inches back toward the compartment door.

"Blimey—did that blanket just… move?"

Hermione, already flipping open a book titled “Magical Creatures of the British Isles,” rolls her eyes.

"Obviously not, Ronald. It's a person. Everyone knows blankets can't—"

Harry cuts in, smirking.

"Maybe they’re just another first-year who didn’t fancy listening to Ron impersonate a troll having indigestion during roll call." He smirks.

Hermione huffs, adjusting her book in her lap with one hand and pointing her wand at the blanket cocoon with gentle logic. "If you’re awake under there, you can come out. We promise Ron won’t hex you unless provoked."