"Is anyone sitting here?" the Black boy asked, pointing to the seat opposite Albert.
"No one. Go ahead and sit down," Albert said with a smile. "I'm Albert Anderson."
"Lee Jordan," the Black boy replied, flashing a wide grin. He glanced curiously at the books on the table before saying earnestly, "I have a feeling you'll be sorted into Ravenclaw. I've heard that people who love to read usually end up there."
"As long as I don't end up in Slytherin, I don't really care," Albert said, pulling a few chocolate-flavored candies from his pocket. "Want one?"
"Thanks, this is good," Lee Jordan said, taking a candy, unwrapping it, and popping it into his mouth. "I love chocolate."
"Great. Help yourself to whatever you want," Albert said, placing a variety of hard candies on the table. Sharing food was an effective way to build rapport, a trick he'd used successfully at school many times before.
"I think I should go to Gryffindor," Lee Jordan continued, talking with a candy in his mouth. "I've heard it's the best. Headmaster Dumbledore was in Gryffindor, you know. He's the greatest wizard of all time."
However, his rambling was soon interrupted.
A pair of red-haired twins were knocking on the door.
"You don't mind squeezing one more in, do you?" one of the twins said, feigning shyness. "We're late, and all the other compartments are full. The girls aren't exactly welcoming us."
Before Albert could answer, the other twin spoke up. "I'm George. George Weasley."
"If I were you, I'd try to dry off," Lee Jordan advised kindly. "I'm Lee Jordan."
"Albert Anderson." Albert closed his book, put it back in his trunk, and gestured to the empty seat beside Lee Jordan.
"See you later, George," the other twin said, turning to leave.
In truth, the other twin returned quickly, bringing his own trunk with him.
The train compartment naturally accommodated four people, as it was originally designed for six.
However, some students preferred to share compartments with their friends, even if there were empty seats, and weren't keen on letting others join them. This was why the late-arriving Weasley twins had struggled to find a compartment.
"This is Fred, my twin brother," George introduced.
"Even if you hadn't said anything, we could tell," Lee Jordan remarked. "I can't tell you two apart at all. Maybe you should get matching tattoos or something."
"Want a sweet?" Albert asked again.
"Oh, thanks. Mum always hates us eating too much of this stuff." The twins each took one, unwrapped it, and popped it into their mouths.
"This is really good."
"Is that your owl? She's beautiful." One of the twins reached out to pet her, but Shera glared fiercely, and he quickly withdrew his hand, not wanting to get pecked.
"She doesn't like strangers," Albert explained casually. "But you could try feeding her some nuts. Maybe she'll let you pet her then."
Lee Jordan tried, but Shera ignored him completely, continuing to rest with her eyes closed.
The train started moving, slowly accelerating as it pulled away from the platform.
"What's the magical world like?" Albert asked, just to start a conversation. "You're all from there, right?"
"How did you know?" Lee Jordan asked, surprised.
"Your clothes and appearance are clearly unsuitable," Albert said, pointing at their outfits. "Ordinary people don't dress like this. Only wizards who don't understand the Muggle world would make such a mistake, just as we don't understand the wizards of the magical world."
"Impressive," Lee Jordan said, giving a thumbs-up. "By the way, there seems to be something at the window."
Albert turned his head and saw an owl perched on the windowsill. He quickly opened the window to let it in.
The gray owl entered, shook itself, and splattered raindrops everywhere.
Shera let out an indignant squawk and leaped onto Albert's shoulder, glaring fiercely at the uninvited guest, clearly displeased that her nuts had been stolen.
"Don't be angry," Albert said, watching the owl fly away. He patted Shera's head to comfort her. "It was just a few nuts. I'll buy you more when they're gone."
"I still don't think you act like a Muggle-born wizard," Lee Jordan muttered quietly. "Muggle-borns wouldn't know about this. Can I take a look?"
"Please do," Albert said, lifting Shera off his shoulder. He didn't like having an owl perched there—the little creature was surprisingly heavy.
"Any news?"
"Millicent Bagnold, the Minister of Magic, has announced her retirement after 1990," Lee Jordan said, spreading the newspaper on the table. "Rumor has it that Headmaster Dumbledore is likely to be the next Minister."
"My dad says Dumbledore could have become Minister of Magic long ago if he'd wanted to," Fred said, clearly skeptical.
"Who do you think has a better chance?" George countered. "Oh, the Daily Prophet is even running a betting pool."
"I don't know, but I'm a bit interested in that betting pool," Albert replied, already knowing who would become the next Minister. "If I wanted to participate, how would I go about it?"
Why turn down free Galleons?
"Gambling isn't a good idea, Albert," Lee Jordan said earnestly.
"A small wager won't hurt," Albert countered, taking out his wand and balancing it vertically on the table. He let it fall freely to one side, casually explaining, "Ollivander said my wand brings me luck. So, I'm going to bet on... hmm, Cornelius Fudge. I'm betting he'll be the next Minister of Magic, provided this betting pool is legitimate."
The three in the compartment were stunned. What kind of crazy move was this? It was downright audacious.
"Are you really going to enter the betting pool?" Fred swallowed hard, finding the whole thing absurd.
"I haven't decided yet. After all, I don't know much about the magical world," Albert replied, unwilling to throw his pocket money away.
"No, the Daily Prophet's betting pool is quite reliable. Plenty of people have won in the past. But there are fifteen wizards favored to win. Are you sure you want to...?" George pointed out, "Fudge's odds are only 4 to 1. He's not even the frontrunner."
"Exactly. The frontrunner usually doesn't win. They're typically the sacrificial lamb—you know, the poor sod used to distract everyone," Albert said, taking the newspaper to study the betting instructions. He pulled out a quill from his trunk, wrote his name on a piece of parchment, selected his chosen candidate, and specified his wager. Then he counted out twenty-five Galleons and placed them in his money pouch.
Seeing Albert count out twenty-five Galleons, the three couldn't help but swallow hard. It was a substantial sum of money.
This guy's loaded, they thought, their envy palpable. When have we ever seen so many Galleons? If we had even one Galleon in our pockets, we'd be grinning for days.
Even after Shera disappeared into the rain with the money pouch and envelope, the three remained stunned.