Around noon, the comforting rattle of a trolley could be heard from the corridor, followed by a knock on their compartment door. A kind-faced woman with a dimpled smile asked if they wanted anything from the trolley. Dudley and Harry, both eager to sample the cuisine of the magical world, bought a small mountain of treats—Cauldron Cakes, Pumpkin Pasties, and several boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. For Harry, the simple act of buying a pile of sweets to share with his new friends was a novel and deeply satisfying experience.
Later, Ron's older twin brothers, Fred and George, slid the compartment door open with a dramatic flourish. Ron enthusiastically introduced Harry and Dudley, though he stumbled over Dudley's name, only remembering that he was "Harry's cousin." Dudley didn't mind. He was growing accustomed to being an afterthought in the presence of the famous Harry Potter. It was a useful form of camouflage.
In the afternoon, the door was knocked on again. This time, a small girl with a cascade of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth stood in the doorway. She had already changed into her black Hogwarts robes.
"Has anyone seen a toad?" she asked, her voice clear and slightly bossy. "A boy named Neville's lost one."
"He's already been through here," Ron said, a little defensively.
"Oh, okay," she said, but she didn't leave. Her eyes had locked onto Harry's forehead, where the heat of the compartment had prompted him to sweep his hair aside, revealing the lightning-bolt scar.
"Goodness," she breathed, her eyes widening. "You're Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. She immediately slid into the seat next to Ron, who flinched and scooted away.
"Uh… yeah," Harry nodded, taken aback.
Dudley didn't even look up from the book he was reading, his hand gently stroking the purring cat in his lap. He was a silent, contented observer.
"I'm Hermione Granger," the girl said, her words tumbling out in a rush of excitement. "And oh my goodness, I know all about you, of course. I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."
Harry was bewildered, unsure of what expression to make. He settled on an awkward but polite smile as Hermione launched into a detailed monologue covering everything from the history of Hogwarts to the specific merits of each of the four houses, concluding with her fervent hope that she would be sorted into Gryffindor.
"Right, well, I should go," she said finally, standing up abruptly. "It's almost time. You'd best change into your uniforms." And with that, she was gone.
"Whatever house I'm in," Ron grumbled after the door closed, "I hope she's not in it. She's terrifying."
Harry didn't say anything, but he had to agree that her intensity was a bit overwhelming. Dudley glanced out the window. The rolling green hills had given way to darker, more rugged mountains. The sky was turning a deep shade of purple.
"We should be arriving soon," he noted. "We must be in Scotland by now. Let's change."
Just as they finished pulling on their new black robes, the compartment door was slammed open without so much as a knock. A pale, sharp-featured boy with slicked-back platinum blond hair stood there, flanked by two thickset, brutish-looking boys who looked more like his personal bodyguards than fellow students.
"So it's true, then," the pale boy said, his voice a lazy, aristocratic drawl. "They're saying all the way up the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment." His cold, grey eyes swept over Harry, lingering on his scar.
"Is there something you want?" Harry asked, his tone frosty.
The boy ignored him. "This is Crabbe, and this is Goyle," he said, gesturing to his hulking companions. "And my name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."
Pfft! Ron let out a choked snort of laughter.
Malfoy's pale cheeks flushed with anger. "Think my name's funny, do you?" he sneered, looking down his nose at Ron. "No need to ask who you are. Red hair, hand-me-down robes… you must be a Weasley." The venom in his voice was unmistakable. He turned his attention back to Harry. "You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
He extended a pale, slender hand, an offering of alliance.
Dudley raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Interesting. It was a classic power play, a scenario he had witnessed countless times in that other, more brutal world. It was a simple calculation of self-interest. Malfoy was clearly from the wizarding elite, a boy who could offer connections and resources. Aligning with him could bring many benefits. But it would also come at a price.
Most children, faced with such a choice, would succumb to the allure of power. But Harry… Harry was different.
"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks," Harry said coolly, his gaze fixed on Malfoy's outstretched hand, making no move to take it.
Draco Malfoy's pale face flushed a blotchy pink. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly, his voice dripping with malice. "Unless you want to end up on the same path as your parents. They were meddlesome fools, too."
In an instant, Harry and Ron were on their feet. Seeing this, Dudley rose as well, a silent, imposing presence at their side.
"What? Want to fight?" Malfoy sneered, taking a nervous step back behind the looming figures of Crabbe and Goyle. "Three against three, a fair duel." His cold, grey eyes then swept over Dudley, dismissing him with a contemptuous curl of his lip. "Oh, wait. There's a Mudblood here. He doesn't count as a person."
"What did you say?" Ron snarled, his face a mask of pure fury.
The word was unfamiliar to Harry and Dudley, but its intent was unmistakable. It was a slur, a word designed to wound, to dehumanize. It was the sound of a line being drawn in the sand.
***
(End of Chapter)
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