CHAPTER THREE:

THE HELPFUL PROFESSOR

Harry waved at the Hogwarts Express until the train had disappeared behind other buildings in London. He was abuzz with curiosity about which Hogwarts House Abigail would be Sorted into. It was so good to feel a little bit of joy for Abby amongst all of the sadness of losing his mother-in-law. They had had the funeral just ten days ago. Adonna had been murdered less than a week before that.

Back at his office, Harry perused old lists of Death Eaters and other supporters and former supporters of Lord Voldemort. Most of them had either been incarcerated or killed. And most of those who had been killed were killed by their own cohorts. Harry found it sad how, even now, he was still dealing with these very old issues of his past. Would he never escape the influence of evil? This job had certainly led him to experience the very lowest dregs of society. Harry sighed. He supposed it came with the territory, what with being an Auror and all. What do you expect, Potter? Tea and crumpets? he chided himself.

Several names stood out to him. Alecto and Amycus Carrow (Unknown). He shuddered just thinking about them. Barty Crouch Jr. (Deceased.) Now there was a name he was happy to cross off the list. Harry had killed the man in self-defense approximately six years previously. After coming back from the dead, Harry reminded himself. Antonin Dolohov (Unknown.) He found himself wondering where Dolohov had got off to after fighting with him in the Department of Mysteries all those years ago. The man was a real piece of work. Severus Snape (Deceased.) Harry paused on that name for a long time, remembering what Snape had done by rescuing his friends during the war with the vampires. Lucius Malfoy (Defected.) I wonder what old Lucius has been up to lately, Harry thought. He seriously doubted the man had entirely severed his loyalties with those who were rich and powerful. Harry just may have to pay the man a visit, as he had just may have become a prime suspect in Adonna's murder.

Abigail and Rose climbed aboard the train, looking for a compartment in which to sit. They found one that was occupied. It contained other first years who had yet to be Sorted: Lionel Longbottom and Wesley Weasley.

"Hello Wes," Rose greeted her cousin half-heartedly. Abby knew that Rose did not like him at all. He was rather bossy and a bit of a know-it-all, like his father, Percy.

"All of our parents went to Hogwarts together, so we have a connection," Wesley said.

The four of them looked at each other, unsure of what to say.

"Uhm, so what?" said Rose with a hint of annoyance. "Lots of kids have parents who went to Hogwarts."

"That's true," said Lionel, "but Abigail's parents, your parents, my father, and Wesley's father were all in Gryffindor House."

"Wow. That's a whole lot of Gryffindors," Abigail said, hoping to change the subject. "So has anybody read through their textbooks?"

Lionel's, Wesley's, and Rose's hands shot into the air as if they were already seated in a classroom. Abigail giggled. "We're not in class!" she said.

"You don't have to raise your hands, you know," Abby smiled. "And I was only asking because I didn't think anybody else would have. We'll probably have loads of Ravenclaws from this car."

Wesley sniffed. "Only the most intelligent students get Sorted into Ravenclaw."

"That's not true," protested Rose.

"It is so," Wesley said stubbornly.

Abigail rolled her eyes. "So, who here likes Quidditch?" She changed the subject again.

Three of four hands shot into the air this time. Wesley sniffed again. "Quidditch," he said, "is for meatheads."

"Okay, now I know you're wrong! I'm really good at Quidditch, and do I look like a meathead to you?" Abigail said. The blonde girl stood up, all 4' 9" of her, and she twirled in a circle in the compartment.

"That's right—she's a Seeker!" Lionel said proudly. "Abigail's got the perfect build for being quick and hard to catch, you know." Abby beamed at him.

"There's no such thing as a primary school who lets their students play Quidditch," Wesley argued.

"But there is!" Abigail yelled. "My mother runs it!" Wesley was really beginning to annoy Abby to pieces. She could certainly understand why Rose found him so infuriating. The boy seemed to contradict everything anybody said.

"That," continued Wesley haughtily, "is not Quidditch. They don't even let you play with real Bludgers."

"Oh, what do you care anyway?" Rose rejoined. "You don't even like Quidditch!"

"You're right, I don't like Quidditch," Wesley agreed for the first time in the entire conversation. The rest of them stared at him, waiting for him to drop the other shoe. "But I do like being right," he finished. The other three all groaned in exasperation.

A knock came on the door. "Trolley," an older woman said. The children quickly forgot their argument, bought some sweets, and happily tore into them. Abby absolutely loved Pumpkin Pasties, Rose loved Sugar Quills, Lionel loved liquorice, and Wesley loved Ice Mice.

"Leave it to Wes to like eating vermin," Rose mumbled into Abby's ear. Abby nearly choked on her pasty, she started laughing so hard. Wesley looked at them reprovingly, even though he had no idea what had just been said. The girls let Lionel into the joke, and he began laughing too.

Lionel had brought a game of Exploding Snap, and he and the girls played the game together to pass the time. Wesley refused to play, saying something about how it was "too noisy" and how the only gentleman's game was Wizard's Chess.

Rose quickly began arguing again, saying how Wizard's Chess was anything but noise-free, and apparently the two cousin's voices carried down the hall enough to be noticed. Another knock came at the door.

"What seems to be the problem?" asked a tall and handsome fifth year. He had a very deep voice, and he was wearing a Prefect badge. He ran a hand over his chocolate brown hair. Abigail couldn't take her eyes off him.

"Who are you?" she blurted.

"I'm Bryan Vandergard," he smiled as he shook her hand, and Abigail's heart melted a little. Rose was now staring at him too.

"I'm Rose Weasley, and she's my friend Abby Potter," Rose shook Bryan's hand. He didn't look at all how Abigail would've thought a Prefect would look. Abby had always thought a Prefect would be more like Wesley—uppity with glasses and a serious bossiness problem.

"I heard a lot of noise," Bryan continued, "is there anything wrong?"

"No," the four of them piped up. Even Wesley didn't appear to want trouble.

"Okay," said Bryan uncertainly. "If anything does come up, don't hesitate to let me know. I'll be in the Prefect car at the head of the train." He flashed them one last smile before he walked away.

"Did you see him?" Rose squealed after he walked away.

"I know!" Abigail agreed.

"And I thought girls didn't notice boys until they were older," Lionel said dejectedly, as he put his head in his hands and sulked. Wesley sniffed, yet again.

The girls continued talking about Bryan for quite some time until someone tore open the doors to their compartment.

"Here you are, Potter," seethed the boy who had run into Abigail at the train station. He twisted little face looked positively furious. He pointed his wand at Abby threateningly. "I'm challenging you do a duel."

"For what?" Abby demanded. "What have I ever done to you? I don't even know who you are!" She was terrified but she refused to show it. Nobody had ever pointed a real wand at her before. Abigail didn't even know how to do real magic, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

"First years can't even do real magic," Wesley piped up, quite unhelpfully.

"That's what you think," said the boy, now leveling his wand at Wesley. Tears quickly sprang to Wesley's eyes.

"Don't hurt me!" he wailed.

"It's not you I want anyway," said the boy with disgust, "it's Potter. Now MOVE!" he yelled. Abby, not knowing what else to do, slowly held her hands up and moved out of the compartment and into the corridor.

"Draw your wand," he ordered. Abigail did so. She refused to point it at him, however.

"Defend yourself!" the boy demanded. Abby would not do it.

By now, the boy had caused such a racket that other boys and girls were peeking their heads out of their compartments. Murmuring and fear quickly spread throughout the car.

At the last possible second, right before it looked like the boy was about to curse Abigail, somebody walked into the train car and yelled, "STOP RIGHT NOW!"

It was a man with white-blonde hair. He was tall and wore a long regal black robe. And he marched straight up to the dark-haired boy and yanked his wand right out of his hand.

"That's quite enough of that, Dolohov," he said sternly. "You are being confined to the detention compartment with me," he continued. "And if I ever feel like it, you might get your wand back in a week." The boy called Dolohov jammed his hands in his pockets and stalked out of the car. Just before the blonde-haired man followed him, he turned to Abigail.

"You all right then, Potter?"

Abby blinked. "Yes, sir. How do you know my name?"

"I'm a professor," he said. "It's my job to know who you are." Then he turned and followed Dolohov to the detention car.

For all Abigail knew, this man had just saved her life, and she didn't even know his name yet. And for once, she was glad that Wesley seemed to know everything.

"That was Professor Malfoy," he said, "the head of Slytherin House."