From time to time, students leaned out of the train windows to speak with their families, while others argued over seats. Phineas saw only two such scuffles.
Ignoring the commotion, Phineas found an empty compartment. After shutting the door behind him, he quietly read Transfiguration Today.
It was a scholarly journal focused on the latest developments in the field of Transfiguration. Beyond publishing advanced research articles, it also featured spell-casting techniques and practical advice, making it accessible even for beginners—one reason Phineas was drawn to it.
He understood the importance of Transfiguration in wizarding duels. While specific combat spells held their own, Transfiguration could be the decisive factor. When combined with other branches of magic, it became even more formidable.
Both Albus Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had contributed articles to this journal, and each had received its "Most Promising Newcomer" award.
As often happens during deep study, time slipped away unnoticed.
Without warning, the train began to move.
In the corridor, two red-haired boys wrestled while a Black boy watched with amusement. Further down, returning students caught up on summer adventures, and new students exaggerated tales of their flying prowess or Quidditch skills.
Some first-years, still without seats, knocked on compartment doors in search of space.
Yet no one approached Phineas.
Even before he had officially entered Hogwarts, he was being avoided. Word of his identity had spread.
A few Muggle-borns seemed curious, even eager to befriend him—but they were held back by the half-bloods around them.
"Is that him?" one whispered.
"Oh, yes. Look at the badge on his trunk. Who else would flaunt that family crest?"
"I heard he's an orphan."
"Well, that's what you get for siding with him."
"Shh! Don't say that so loud."
"Why not? You Gryffindors scared? They were traitors anyway."
The whispers grew, unrelenting. Even someone as self-possessed as Phineas couldn't ignore them.
He understood the reason for the whispers—and the isolation. It was inevitable.
To the Gryffindors, the Black family had supported Voldemort. Phineas was spared Azkaban only because of his age.
To Slytherins, the Blacks were blood traitors. Sirius Black's alignment with Dumbledore in the last war had cost them dearly.
And then Sirius's betrayal of the Potters… his imprisonment...
To both sides of the conflict, the Black family was despised. And now, Phineas—the last of them—was a convenient scapegoat.
But few dared act against him directly.
The Black family was, after all, still one of the most powerful pure-blood lines in existence. No one knew how many wizards were related to them, how many businesses, vaults, and alliances still operated in their name.
Still, the weight of judgment pressed on him.
He slammed the magazine closed and pulled out his wand. With a flick, he Transfigured the water glass on the table into a Niffler and sent it scurrying into the corridor.
Even a conjured creature obeyed its nature. Predictably, it created a delightful commotion—and gave Phineas a brief moment of peace.
He retrieved Chocolate from his enchanted trunk—its interior space vast enough for the kitten to roam freely—and cradled the cat in his arms.
Petting a cat really did soothe the soul.
"Meow!"
Chocolate, disgruntled at having his playtime cut short, voiced his protest.
Phineas ignored him. Instead, he pulled a sliver of dried fish from his coat pocket and offered it as an apology.
By now, the train had long since left London, cutting through green farmland where cows and sheep grazed lazily. Phineas watched the countryside blur past, absentmindedly stroking the kitten's back.
Chocolate, sensing his master's quietude, stopped meowing. He settled into Phineas's lap, content to receive the massage.
Time passed slowly, and around half past twelve, another noise stirred the hallway.
This time it wasn't a quarrel—it was the arrival of the trolley witch.
The door slid open, and she peered in with a polite smile, a dimple showing at the corner of her mouth.
"Would you like anything from the trolley, dear?"
Though she smiled, Phineas could see the fear behind her eyes.
He sighed quietly.
To many in the magical world, he must seem like something dark and dangerous.
Still, pushing the discomfort aside, Phineas bought everything on the cart. He kept some snacks for himself and instructed the trolley witch to distribute the rest to students who couldn't afford any.
He made no speech about it, nor asked for thanks. It was simply a small gesture—an attempt to soften his image in the eyes of his peers.
Even if the odds were slim, Phineas still wanted to try.