Hearing Harry so calmly utter Avada Kedavra and that man's name, Ron felt a bit dazed.
"So… that's how it is, Mr. Potter," he said.
He'd been so excited to meet Harry that when the conversation turned to Voldemort, he suddenly found himself tongue-tied.
It felt like, despite talking face-to-face, there was a thick barrier between them.
"I've always been curious," Harry continued, "why do you all call Voldemort 'You-Know-Who'?"
Ron gasped, barely able to catch his breath.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked.
"You said You-Know-Who's name!" Ron exclaimed, both shocked and oddly touched. "I always knew, out of everyone, only you—"
"It's just a name," Harry interrupted. "What's the big deal? Is his name cursed or something?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, a thought struck Harry. Maybe it was cursed.
But with his own near-divine power shielding him from all evil, any curse would likely be suppressed outright. Besides, with Voldemort dead, any such curse would surely have weakened significantly.
"Forget it," Harry said, waving a hand. "Let's talk about something else."
The two chatted about many things. Ron was even more straightforward than Hagrid—well, perhaps a bit less tactful. He couldn't keep anything to himself, spilling every detail. It was normal, though; he was still a kid.
Harry liked being around people with such open, honest personalities. It meant he didn't have to overthink things.
He learned that Ron came from the pure-blood Weasley family and had five brothers. The eldest two, Bill and Charlie, had already graduated. Bill had been Head Boy, and Charlie had captained the Quidditch team. The third brother, Percy, was a prefect and rather stiff. The younger two, Fred and George, whom Harry had just met, were outgoing and lively.
This wasn't the first time Harry had heard of Quidditch. He thought of it as wizard football. In his past life, shaped by Chinese parenting values, he'd avoided drawing attention to his extraordinary abilities to steer clear of trouble. That meant he couldn't lead China's football team to glory. His greatest achievement had been winning the basketball gold medal at the 2008 Olympics, along with a slew of individual awards. Basketball had been a desperate attempt to gain special admission to a top school, but unless there were stat points to be gained this time, he wasn't playing again.
The Weasley family, raising so many kids, seemed to struggle financially. Ron wore Bill's old robes and used Charlie's old wand—which Harry thought was a bit much. Wizards were bold; magic was dangerous enough, and letting a first-year use someone else's wand seemed reckless. What if something went wrong?
Ron also had an old rat that Percy had discarded. Harry could tell at a glance that this rat was inherently sinister, practically a bully among rodents. A king among beggars is still a beggar, and a lord among rats and cockroaches is still a pest. If it didn't have an owner, Harry would've stomped the vile creature on sight.
The rat had a name—Scabbers—and it was surprisingly strong, possessing at least one full point of magical power. Was it some kind of magical breed? Or perhaps a Weasley family guardian beast, meant to protect the younger wizards?
Whatever. Harry had learned enough about Ron's situation. Keeping a magical rat wasn't worth digging into. Some wizards kept toads, after all—like the round-faced boy he'd seen before boarding, who was telling his grandmother he'd lost his toad. Wizards had strange tastes.
At noon, Harry bought a pile of snacks, and the two shared them. Chocolate Frogs came with collectible cards featuring famous witches and wizards from history. Ron had nearly five hundred cards, missing only Agrippa and Ptolemy. It reminded Harry of collecting Water Margin hero cards from instant noodle packets.
Harry opened a Chocolate Frog and pulled out a card. It showed a man's face, wearing half-moon spectacles, with a crooked nose and flowing silver hair and beard. The name beneath read: Albus Dumbledore.
The back of the card had text:
Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Widely regarded as the greatest wizard of our time, Dumbledore's notable contributions include defeating the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, discovering twelve uses for dragon's blood, and achieving remarkable success in alchemy alongside his partner, Nicolas Flamel…
Dumbledore. Harry had heard the name countless times—the most powerful wizard alive. If Voldemort was the Dark Lord, then Dumbledore was surely the White Lord, a king by virtue of his strength.
Just then, someone knocked on their compartment door.
The round-faced boy Harry had passed at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters stepped in, his eyes brimming with tears.
"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen my toad?"
Harry, curious, asked, "Didn't your grandmother help you find it?"
Wizards should have ways to track down their pets, after all.
"I found it, but I lost it again!" the boy wailed, running off in tears.
Harry, a bit speechless, called after him, "Have you considered setting that toad free and getting a new pet, like a kitten or something?"
No response. Apparently, he really liked his toad.
"I don't get why he's so upset," Ron said. "If I'd brought a toad, I'd lose it as fast as I could. Though, I suppose I can't talk, since I've got Scabbers."
Harry inwardly roared with laughter. So that rat's got such a high status in your heart? You're not much better!
Still, Scabbers seemed cleaner than most rats. If you ignored its malicious thoughts, it might pass as a pet… barely. It was too old and ugly. A hamster would've been better.
Ron, perhaps sensing its lack of charm, grumbled, "I tried turning it yellow yesterday to make it more fun, but the spell didn't work. Let me show you…"
He rummaged through his trunk and pulled out a worn wand, chipped in places, with a bit of unicorn hair poking out from one end.
"The unicorn hair's practically falling out, but…"
Before he could raise the wand, the compartment door slid open again.
The toad-losing boy was back, this time with a girl. She had bushy brown hair and large front teeth.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said, her tone haughty and dismissive.
Harry felt a spark of irritation. She might be a kid, but her lack of manners—barging in without knocking—was grating.
"We already told him we haven't seen it," Ron said, but the girl ignored him, staring at the wand in his hand.
"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see, then."
She sat down.
Ron, clearly caught off guard, stammered, "Er—alright."
He cleared his throat.
"Daisy, sweet cream, and sunlight,
Turn this silly fat rat yellow!"
He waved his wand, but nothing happened.
"Is that really a spell?" the girl asked. "It doesn't seem very good, does it?"
"It just didn't work this time, rude girl," Harry shot back.
Drawing his own wand, he cast the same spell, his high charisma overpowering the magical rat, forcing it to accept the transformation.
————
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