"Let's change the subject."
"Alright, how about we talk about Quidditch?"
Ron had an endless supply of topics. The two chatted—mostly Ron doing the talking—while sharing the snacks and pies Harry had bought, along with the corned beef sandwiches Mrs. Weasley had packed for Ron's lunch.
Ron said he wasn't a fan of beef.
Harry tried one. For British food, it wasn't bad.
A bit salty, though. He figured it wasn't the beef's fault—it was the salt.
"Hold on, someone's coming."
"Who? I didn't hear anything." No sooner had Ron spoken than—bang—the compartment door was flung open.
This time, it wasn't Neville, the boy who'd lost his toad, or Hermione Granger. Instead, three boys stepped inside.
One was the aristocratic-looking kid Harry had seen in Diagon Alley, the one who'd been cowed by Harry's piercing glare after running his mouth. The other two flanked him like bodyguards, both burly with oddly pointed heads.
"Oh, sir, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle," the pale-faced boy said quickly, noticing Harry's gaze.
"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. I heard the rumors—everyone on the train's talking about it. So, you're the famous Harry Potter?"
Ron let out a soft cough, barely stifling a laugh. Draco Malfoy shot him a look.
"You think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all about the Weasleys—red hair, freckles, and more kids than they can afford."
He turned back to Harry. "Sir, you'll soon find that some wizarding families are far better than others."
Ron glanced at Harry, biting back his anger, but stayed silent.
Malfoy extended a hand, expecting Harry to shake it. Harry didn't move.
"First, please leave, close the door, knock again, and apologize to my friend Ron. Then we can talk about being friends."
Harry's voice was icy, his left hand gesturing toward the door.
Draco Malfoy's pale cheeks didn't flush, though a faint pink tinge appeared. He stood frozen.
Ron, on the other hand, was flushed with excitement—"He cares about me!"
Harry glanced at Malfoy, who still hadn't shown him proper respect. His left hand opened again, and a fleeting wave of darkness and cold—suppressed by the power of his will—swept through the compartment, dropping the temperature noticeably.
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
Harry wondered: What is it about me that makes you so disrespectful?
Have I been too lenient with this kid?
Malfoy didn't see Harry's restraint as kindness or mercy. He didn't think Harry was reasoning with him gently, sparing him from being torn in two. No—Malfoy felt insulted and wanted to challenge Harry to a duel.
He didn't dare act himself, but unlike last time, he now had minions.
"Crabbe, Goyle, get him! Take down Harry Potter!"
The two bodyguards hesitated, exchanging nervous glances. "Me?! Fight Harry Potter?"
They looked back at Malfoy. "Boss, maybe you should just talk it out. Being polite wouldn't hurt. This Harry Potter guy—you can tell he's no ordinary kid. He took out You-Know-Who at one. Only an idiot would mess with him."
Harry, mindful of the upcoming Sorting Ceremony, held back from outright humiliating them. When it came to kids, he always had a sliver of mercy… though Joffrey Baratheon didn't count. The moment a child starts killing, they stop being a child.
When Crabbe and Goyle got thrashed, Ron wanted to jump in, but Harry was too quick for him to join the fray.
Malfoy, predictably, bolted the moment Goyle hit the floor, leaving Harry even more disappointed.
Harry had a knack for reading people. He sensed Malfoy didn't have much real malice—just cowardice.
Hermione Granger, ever the busybody, burst in at the sound of the scuffle.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing." Harry tossed the two fallen bodyguards out of the compartment with one hand each, dusting off his palms as if nothing had happened. "It's handled. Let's change into our robes—we're almost at the school. Miss Granger, please step outside."
"You were fighting? We haven't even reached Hogwarts, and you're already causing trouble! Even if you're the famous—"
"No fighting. Fighting implies both sides stand a chance. They didn't. It was just a minor conflict. I don't fight kids—I educate them."
Ron, glaring at her, added, "They were rude first, and then they had the nerve to try and attack Harry!"
Before the argument could escalate, Harry repeated, "We're almost at the station. We need to change. Could you step out, please?"
"Fine—" Hermione wasn't intimidated by Ron's scowl, but Harry? He gave her the same feeling she got in primary school facing a teacher—no, the headmaster, the board of governors, and maybe even some royal noble from her imagination.
It was strange. Harry was a first-year, just like her.
Yet the fact that she still argued her point impressed Harry. It showed Hermione had courage—enough to make her a candidate for his "external brain." A strategist needed guts.
As she left, Ron shot her another glare, his loyalty to Harry plain as day.
Harry let the chill in the compartment dissipate and glanced out the window.
It was dark now, the deep purple sky stretching over mountains and forests. The train slowed, and scattered leaves drifted past.
"Chilly autumn night!"
The other first-years buzzed with excitement about arriving at Hogwarts, but Harry, who'd already been through middle school, felt out of place.
He and Ron shed their jackets, pulling on the standard black robes. Ron's were a bit worn and ill-fitting, but the uniform's design hid it well—that was the point of uniforms.
"Five minutes until the train arrives at Hogwarts. Please leave your luggage on board; it will be taken to the school for you."
The announcement echoed through the train.
Harry told Ron to pack up the remaining sweets, and they joined the crowd shuffling toward the front.
Then a familiar voice boomed: "First-years! First-years, over here! Harry, this way—how're you doing?"
Amid the sea of heads, Hagrid's bearded face beamed with a smile.
"Come on, follow me—any more first-years? Watch your step, now! First-years, with me!"
Following Hagrid down a narrow path, they reached the edge of a dark lake.
On the far shore, high on a hillside, stood a majestic castle, its towers piercing the sky, windows twinkling under the stars.
"Is this Hogwarts?" Harry murmured. "The crossroads of fate. My destined place."
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