"It seems," the girl's expressionless voice, her eyes still fixed outside the window pane, broke the silence, "that they had nothing left to do for you, Harry Potter. They already had their fun."
"Harry," Hermione repeated again, her voice panicked and trembling. She was unable to make out anything out of the situation.
Harry, on the other hand, chuckled at the girl's harsh words.
"Why do you assume I am here for some fun?" he asked evenly.
The girl turned her head, her icy blue eyes locking onto him.
"Are you not?" she shot back, her voice laced with venom.
Harry reached into his robes, drew his wand, and gave it a single smooth wave. In an instant, the chaos that had been spread around them shifted.
The torn books, the crumpled clothes, the spilled ink, all lifted gently and arranged themselves neatly into the trunk. The trunk shut with a soft click before floating up and resting perfectly on the upper berth.
Not only that, the girl's torn, dishevelled robes were repaired in seconds. The fabric had mended itself, smoothing over the scratches and creases as though nothing had ever happened. Her blonde hair which had been roughened and dishevelled, fell in perfectly straight waves around her shoulders.
Seeing all this, for the first time, her composure of the blonde haired girl faltered. A flicker of shock crossed her face. Whether it was because of the precision of the magic or because of the unexpected kindness behind it, only she knew.
"Take a seat, Hermione," Harry said quietly, sitting down beside the window opposite the girl.
Hermione hesitated, uncertain, but finally trusted Harry enough to sit beside him.
"No, Miss Greengrass," Harry said at last, answering the question she had asked moments earlier. "I am not here to have fun, certainly not in the way you were assuming."
The girl was none other than Daphne Greengrass, the arrogant, aloof, and infamously cold ice princess of Slytherin.
"Then what are you here for?" Daphne asked coldly. Though her venom had faded, her voice still carried the weight of resentment.
"To make fun of my house? Mock me? Call me evil?" she spat bitterly. "Call me the Dark Witch?"
"My image definitely precedes me," he said with a mock laugh.
Even so, he could not truly blame her. Once, in his previous lifetime, he had shared that same narrow view which had been shaped by Ron's words, by Gryffindor prejudice, by ignorance.
For years, he had hated Slytherins, lumping every one of them with Death Eaters. Only much later had he learned how wrong he had been. How blind he had been of the truth?
"Should it not?" Daphne snapped.
"Four years at Hogwarts, and you," her eyes darted toward Hermione, sharp as daggers, "and your friends have done nothing but cause chaos and spew hatred toward Slytherin."
Hermione flinched. Shame flickered across her face before she looked away. She knew that Daphne was speaking the truth.
Harry only smiled, calm and amused.
"Well," Harry said, his tone low, "I would not deny that, a lot of your bunch are really hateful. Even you cannot deny this. This is the truth."
Daphne snorted, but even she could not bring herself to refute the truth. Nearly ninety percent of Slytherin House were arrogant, cruel, or outright vile. And she accepted that.
Harry continued, his voice calm but cutting, "After all, the condition you were in proves my words, if they were not true before."
The expression on Daphne's face turned fierce. Her cold blue eyes blazed as she glared at him with pure fury.
"Do not comment on what you do not know," she hissed, venom returning to her voice.
It was at that moment Hermione finally spoke, breaking the tense silence.
"Harry, what happened here?" she asked, her tone trembling with concern. "Why would someone do that to her?"
Daphne's anger spiked again. Her lips parted, ready to unleash all her bitterness, to mock Hermione for her naive belief in goodness and fairness, for living so far removed from reality. For being so ignorant.
But before she could speak, the compartment door slid open again. Three boys entered, all wearing Slytherin robes. Judging by their height and appearances, they were likely seventh years. Harry did not know their names, and frankly, he did not care either.
Their eyes immediately locked onto Daphne. But then, when they noticed Harry and Hermione sitting there, surprise flickered across their faces.
"Well, is this not something," sneered the one in the middle, clearly the leader. "Harry Potter himself. What are you doing here?"
He did not wait for an answer before turning his attention toward Hermione.
"And look," he laughed mockingly, "the famous boy who lived is keeping company with his filthy little Mudblood friend."
The word had barely left his mouth when Harry moved.
He was on his feet in a flash, too fast for anyone to follow and his hand clamped around the back of the boy's head. Before the Slytherin could react, Harry applied his force and slammed his skull against the compartment wall.
The wood wall of the compartment cracked under the force, splintering slightly. The boy screamed as blood smeared down his face, dripping from a nasty gash at his temple.
Hermione gasped in horror, as a loud scream escaped her lips. "Harry!"
Daphne, though equally startled, said nothing, her eyes wide with disbelief.
The other two Slytherins froze in terror, stumbling backward as they fumbled for their wands.
Harry, however, remained unnervingly calm. His emerald eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light as he turned to face them.
"Want me to break your heads too?" he asked softly, with a smile that was not a smile at all.
By the time he finished his sentence, both the Slytherins had their wands shakily pointed at him. But their owners were trembling, frightened and terrified.
Behind them, the boy Harry had struck was now on his knees, clutching his bleeding head and whimpering in pain.
Harry smirked. It was an evil smile.
"Looks like I used a bit too much force," he said lightly as if talking about the weather. "Hopefully, he does not die from blood loss."
The two lackeys froze at his words, then, realizing the truth of them, dropped their wands and scrambled to lift their fallen friend, dragging him toward the door in a panic.
Outside, the noise of the impact and the screams had already drawn attention. Curious faces were beginning to gather near the compartment door, whispering and staring in alarm.
Inside, Harry straightened his robes as though nothing had happened. His calm was terrifying.
Hermione was still pale, her eyes wide with disbelief. Daphne stared at him too, this time, not in resentment, but in something closer to shock and perhaps, reluctant curiosity.
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