Hello and welcome to chapter nine of The Memento! Another longer chapter again today as Harry makes his way to Hogwarts and meets a host of new characters along the way!
I want to say a big thank you to everyone who favourited and followed this story, as well as to Princesakarlita411, Soulinvoker, Gime'SS, Cat Beats, DNA2337, xXxblacklilyxXx, Iesh, floraly, Cered, Trougue, Sam est classe, setokayba2n, and my non-grumpy guest for your kind reviews. Reading them brightens my day! As for my disgruntled guest, I'm sorry the inclusion of the Dursleys caused you so much displeasure. I wish you luck finding or writing a story more to your tastes.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but the handshake thing is all mine. :)
~Chapter Nine: The Hogwarts Express~
The ride to King's Cross was only slightly less jarring than the station itself.
Stan Shunpike was manning the Knight Bus's door once more, and he tripped over himself like an overexcited puppy while stowing Harry's trunk on board. It drew curious looks from the other passengers, but it seemed Stan wanted to keep Harry all to himself because he spoke his name only in whispers where the others couldn't hear. Harry didn't complain, it was enough having to deal with Stan throwing awed looks at his forehead every few minutes. A bus full of admirers would have been too much to bear.
They arrived at King's Cross in the middle of morning rush-hour. The station was packed with muggles who shoved past him as he navigated the atrium, knocking his head with their elbows and tripping over the end of his heavy school trunk. He lost hold of the handle twice during his hunt for the correct platform, and if the trunk hadn't been as long as he was tall it would have been carried away in the jostle. As it was, he managed to lose himself and spent ten minutes wandering in circles until he found a walkway that led to platforms nine through eleven.
Immediately upon arriving at a big plastic number nine bolted to an abutment he realized he had a problem. On the far side of the arch was a big plastic number ten — in the middle was nothing at all. Harry pulled his trunk through and walked along the platform until he came to a wide brick pillar. Setting his trunk down he dropped onto the lid, stomach curling unpleasantly. He pulled out his ticket and read it over, looking for any clues he might have missed. Nothing. He flipped it over, but the back was completely blank.
He glared at the curling bronze calligraphy. How was anyone supposed to get to Hogwarts if there wasn't a train? It was as bad as expecting him to know the magical world used owls as carrier pigeons, or that Diagon Alley was hidden behind a seedy bar. He looked down the platform, determined to solve this puzzle the same way he had the others — by looking for something that seemed out of place.
The sleek silver train humming at platform ten opened its doors wide, beckoning a throng of humanity into its yellow-lit belly. Through the gaps between legs Harry caught sight of spilled cups of coffee and overflowing trash cans, their scents mingling with perfume and aftershave in the stale air trapped beneath the domed glass roof.
A smoking cigarette butt landed next to his left foot, flicked away by a man running for the train. Harry watched him jam an arm in the gap and pull hard on the doors' lips, forcing them apart enough to slip inside. The shrill whistle of a guard chased him onboard, a sharp reprimand in the three short blasts announcing the train's departure.
As the train clattered out of the station the guards pivoted on their heels, turning to face the opposite track. One pulled a silver pocket-watch from his jacket and checked the time. He said something to the female attendant at his side that made her snort with laughter.
It's all so… ordinary, Harry thought as he watched the platform refill with regular, mundane people who'd never conjured flames in the palm of their hand or made paintbrushes float. There was no obvious magic here and he wondered whether there was a trick to it, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. His wand was in the pocket of the new vest hanging from his thin frame, and he fiddled with the handle, letting it warm his fingers.
"Do you taste any magic nearby?" he asked Basil quietly. She poked her head out the top of the kerchief, lapped the air twice with her long tongue, and then recoiled with a hiss of displeasure.
"I taste many things," she grumbled, eyeing the smouldering cigarette on the ground. "Most of them bad. I do not like it here. Can we leave?"
"Soon, but we need to find the platform first and they've hidden it with magic. Can't you taste it?"
She hissed a complaint that made the tips of his ears flush bright red, but obliged him by probing the air once more. "There is something," she said after a long moment. "It is here, yet not here. Like winter seeping through a burrow's mouth."
"Can you tell where it's coming from?"
"It is all around, but maybe…" Her coils shifted across his shoulders as she slipped around the back of his neck. "Behind us?"
He twisted and looked past the barrier, back towards the walkway that had brought them to this part of the station. There wasn't much there, just rows of trolleys in metal corrals and the soft artificial glow of the arrivals board. Of the two, the board was the most promising, and as he contemplated giving it a few sharp taps with his wand a posh, drawling voice reached his ears over the low rumble of a train pulling up to the platform.
"I don't see why we had to come through this filthy muggle station," it said, and Harry leaned over further to see a boy in rich green robes step out from a shadowy space behind the arrivals board. His angular face was scrunched in a pout as he navigated the grimy flagstone floor, carefully dodging candy wrappers and waxed paper bags. When he came to a small river of coffee spilling from an overturned cup he hitched up his robes, revealing gleaming leather loafers, and hopped daintily over the milky stream. Once he was safely on the other side, the boy smoothed his clothes with a flick of his wrist and checked that his platinum blond hair — which was gelled back off his face — hadn't come loose.
"Honestly," he said. "You'd think they like living in a sty the way they don't pick up after themselves." The boy was complaining to a tall man who could only be his father, for he had the same aristocratic cheekbones and pale hair, though the man's was long and tied back with a black ribbon. The man's robes were velvet, and he carried a black cane that tapped against the flagstones in time with his right foot.
"Now, now, Draco," he said, a hint of wry amusement in his voice. "It would be unseemly for you to appear sick in front of your new schoolmates. Whatever would they think of you?"
The boy, Draco, grimaced. "Apparating doesn't make me sick!"
"Of course," his father drawled, looking thoroughly unconvinced. Draco's cheeks flushed pink and he looked about to say something nasty back when they rounded the pillar and caught sight of Harry sitting on his trunk. Harry expected them to pass him by on their way to the platform and was caught off guard when they stopped in front of him.
"What are you staring at?" Draco asked, his eyes narrowing like Dudley's always did before he started a round of Harry Hunting.
"Umm…" Harry was torn between asking for help and running for cover. Draco's father was looming over him and he could feel the weight of the man's scrutiny like lead weights strapped over his shoulders. It made him feel tiny, and his heart fluttered with the first seeds of panic.
Draco groaned and rolled his eyes. "Well, what are you waiting for? Move, you're blocking the gate."
"I'm what?" Harry looked at the wall he'd set his trunk against. It looked completely solid.
"The gate! Merlin, first muggles and now mudbloods!" Draco spat the word like venom. "It's a wonder our entire world hasn't gone to the dogs."
Harry didn't know what a mudblood was, but he knew an insult when he heard one and bristled, irritation chasing away his fear. If the boy had been larger he might have held his tongue, but Draco was a wisp of a child, small and slender as a branch of willow — no match for a thunderstorm. "Are you always this rude?" he asked.
Draco sneered. "Rude? You're the one whose filthy muggle blood is polluting our—"
A serpent, gleaming like silver, struck Draco's shoulder. He flinched, his words dying in his throat. It took Harry a moment to realize that it wasn't an actual snake that had attacked the boy, but the head of his father's cane.
"Draco," the man warned, using the cane to pull his son back a few steps so Harry had space to breathe. Then, much to Harry's surprise, the man crouched down in front of him so they were eye-to-eye.
"I don't believe we've been introduced," he said, extending a black gloved hand. "Lucius Malfoy."
Harry could see Draco gaping at his father's back, so he took the offered hand with as much dignity as he could muster and gave it what he hoped was a firm shake. "Harry Potter," he replied.
"What?" Draco yelped.
Mr Malfoy's lips curled in a tight smile. "I thought as much," he said. "You do have the Potter look about you. It's the hair I expect, much like your father's was."
Harry blinked in surprise and studied the man in front of him. He looked to be in his thirties, and Harry wondered if his parents would have been the same age had they lived through the war. "You knew my father?"
"Not well." Mr Malfoy sounded sympathetic, but his expression remained mild. "He was several years my junior in school and we didn't run in the same social circles. I saw him in passing, but I'm afraid I never saw need to speak with him."
Harry let this sink in. "Did you know my mother as well?" he asked.
"Ah, yes. Lily Evans. I had a young friend who was rather fond of your mother, despite her… unfortunate parentage."
Harry wrinkled his nose as he thought of his aunt Petunia and the quality of parents needed to create such a spiteful, cruel woman. 'Unfortunate' was probably putting it kindly. At least he had finally learned his mother's name. Lily, like the flower. It sounded much prettier than 'Petunia'.
"She was a powerful witch," Mr Malfoy continued. "Quite skilled at charms and potions, if I recall correctly. It broke my friend's heart when they had a falling out. He pined for months, it was rather pitiable."
This was all news to Harry, and he found himself fascinated with the life of this woman he couldn't even remember. "Why did they have a falling out?"
"It is not my place to say," Mr Malfoy replied. Harry's disappointment must have shown on his face because Mr Malfoy leaned in and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial hush. "I can, however, tell you that it involved him saying something rather regrettable in the heat of the moment." He shot a sharp look over his shoulder at Draco, who looked mortified at the comparison.
"Did they ever make up?"
Mr Malfoy shook his head. "No. She carried a grudge until her death. A pity, really. They'd been the best of friends for years, but even when he begged for forgiveness she wouldn't bend."
"Well, that wasn't very nice of her," he said, while thinking that his mother and aunt may have shared more than a maiden name. It seemed petty to hate someone because they'd said something mean once — it had taken Harry several years of mistreatment to bring that level of hatred to bear on the Dursleys — and Mr Malfoy's friend had even apologized afterward, something the Dursleys never did.
"Indeed," Mr Malfoy agreed, triumph shining in his eyes. He rose back to his full height. "Now, I'm afraid my son has made a rather poor first impression on you, and for that I apologize. I expect him to be on his very best behaviour from now on. Isn't that right, Draco?"
Draco shrank under his father's gaze. "Yes, father," he said, and then froze, as if uncertain what came next. Mr Malfoy inclined his head in Harry's direction, and this must have meant something to the boy because he straightened his shoulders, walked up to Harry, and extended his own hand.
"Draco Malfoy," he said. "I'm also starting my first year."
Harry stood and took the offered hand, eager to prove he wouldn't hold a grudge for something as petty as name-calling. His skin still crawled at the contact, but the instinctive urge to pull away was fading with each hand he shook. "Harry Potter," he replied. "I'm sorry about blocking the… gate?" He glanced back at the barrier, still puzzled over how it worked.
Mr Malfoy raised one thin eyebrow. "Were you not informed of the platform's location? I thought Dumbledore would have explained everything to you by now."
"Dumbledore?" Harry asked, bemused. "I've never met him. All my letters were from the Deputy Headmistress."
"He didn't send a representative from the school to meet with you during the summer?"
"No. All I got were some letters."
"How very Dumbledore," Mr Malfoy sneered, and Harry got the impression he didn't much care for the Headmaster. Draco was nodding along, in complete agreement with his father.
Mr Malfoy brushed the collar of his cloak. "As a member of the Board of Governors, I suppose it falls to me to rectify the old man's mistakes — again." He pointed at the barrier with the top of his cane, the silver serpent head lunging forward as if to strike down the bricks with its needle-thin fangs.
"To access the Hogwarts Express, you need merely walk into the northern face of the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten."
"I don't need to tap anything?"
"No. The wall is an illusion, of sorts. The barrier will act solid should a muggle lean or brush against it, but will let a witch or wizard through directly. Like so." Mr Malfoy struck the floor with the foot of his cane and Harry's trunk lurched into the air.
Harry made a grab for the handle, worried it would drift away, but the magic guiding its movement merely shifted it to the side and set it up on one end.
He kept a hand on it. Just in case.
Obstacle cleared, Mr Malfoy turned to his son. "Draco, show Mr Potter how to cross the barrier."
Draco smirked at Harry as he sauntered towards the pillar. His right foot made contact with the bricks and sunk out of sight. Another step and he'd vanished straight into the wall.
So it really is a gate, Harry thought as he maneuvered his trunk around until it was pointing towards the spot the other boy had vanished. At least I was in the right place.
He tightened his grip on the trunk and pressed all his weight against the end. The wheels clacked over the floor, and then he was nosing at the barrier. There was a moment of resistance, like pressing against a membrane, before he stepped into the bricks.
Passing through the barrier felt like walking through a sheet of water. The magic slid over his skin, thicker than air, but lighter than stone. He held his breath until he stepped out the other side.
Draco was waiting impatiently for them, but Harry's eyes were immediately drawn past him to an old scarlet steam engine puffing gently next to a platform buzzing with activity. A sign overhead read: Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock.
Harry looked back in time to watch Mr Malfoy step through a wrought iron archway decorated with runic symbols and carved leaves. "How did everyone else get here?" he asked, bewildered. He didn't recognize any of the witches or wizards in front of him from the station, which he should have seeing as how he'd been unintentionally blocking the door.
"Apparated, probably," said Draco, turning to look over the crowd. "Or they woke up at an ungodly hour— Is that Goyle?" Draco was looking in the direction of a large, burly boy currently lifting a trunk into the train single-handed. Harry was impressed, if that trunk was anywhere near as heavy as his own the boy must have been very strong.
"A moment before you leave, Draco," his father said, drawing his son away. He moved his cane in a small circle and the air around them shimmered. It reminded Harry of what Mrs Longbottom had done in Ollivanders, and it must have had the same effect because even though the Malfoys' lips were moving Harry couldn't hear so much as a whisper. He tried not to stare at what was meant to be a private conversation, but from the corner of his eye he saw Draco glance in his direction and nod once.
So they're talking about me, he thought. He was used to people gossiping behind his back. His classmates had done it all the time when they thought he wasn't listening, and he'd grown accustomed to shouldering their disdainful looks. Yet, there was no malice in Draco's face, merely a look of great concentration as he listened to his father, and Harry let himself hope they weren't discussing anything bad. The elder Malfoy had been decent — for an adult. He'd been polite, had answered Harry's questions without mocking him for his ignorance on how the magical world worked, and had even apologized for the actions of his son. No one ever apologized to Harry, no one cared about his feelings enough to bother.
Well, he reflected, that wasn't entirely true. Basil cared, and Neville had made sure he was okay after his grandmother's rant in the apothecary. He wondered if Neville was already here and made a new sweep of the platform looking for him.
The shimmering barrier separating him from the two Malfoys dissipated and Draco rejoined him. "We should hurry," he said. "Most of the good compartments should still be open."
Harry wasn't sure how he knew if a compartment was good if this was his first year at Hogwarts but, not wanting to sit on his own in case he didn't find Neville, he said a polite goodbye to Draco's father and followed the boy towards the back of the train. It was fortunate he did as his ability to levitate objects was limited to the size and weight of a can of paint, and he never would have managed to get his trunk up the narrow stairs if Draco hadn't commandeered the burly boy from before.
"Harry, this is Gregory Goyle," Draco said with a lazy wave in the direction of the boy once they were safely in the narrow corridor running the length of the carriage. "He's in our year. Goyle, this is Harry Potter."
Goyle's heavy brows drew together and Harry was reminded of the gorilla he'd seen at the zoo. The boy grunted in acknowledgement, doing nothing to dispel the unflattering comparison. He didn't move to shake hands, which was expected, Harry supposed, given that they were presently occupied with two heavy trunks. He almost regretted the lost opportunity to practice what was quickly becoming a common form of greeting new people.
Almost, but not quite.
Draco didn't seem to expect any more from Goyle, because he swept Harry off down the carriage despite his protests at leaving the boy behind to lug both their trunks down the narrow passage.
"It's fine," Draco assured him. "He's more muscle than brain anyway. Aha!" They'd come to a compartment at the end of the carriage, and after poking his head in to check it was empty, Draco held the door open and motioned Harry through. "After you."
The compartment had two cushioned benches done in a moss green fabric that was decorated with small winged boars. Sturdy overhead racks, long enough to hold three trunks each, ran above each bench, their undersides padded to keep students from knocking themselves unconscious if they forgot their surroundings and stood up too quickly. Harry was much too short for this to be a concern. However, this also meant he'd never get his trunk on or off the rack without aid.
Across from the compartment door was a window looking out over the platform. He walked over and watched as students and their families said goodbye. Some cheeks were wet with tears, and hugs and small parcels were exchanged all around while owls bobbed on shoulders and sleek cats wove underfoot. It was so… busy. Rather than stoking his excitement, the bustling crowd left him feeling detached and numb. If his life had played out different, he would have been out there with his parents, saying farewell for the first time.
There was nothing he could do about that now. The prophecy had been uttered and the dark wizard had acted to eliminate a threat. He wasn't happy with the man's decision to hunt him down, but he understood why he felt it was necessary. It must have been frightening to learn that his death was assured at the hands of a child, and Harry couldn't blame him for doing everything in his power to stay alive.
If wanting to live made one evil, then they were all cursed.
A loud thunk brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked over to where Goyle had lifted his trunk into the overhead rack. Draco was sprawled out on the bench across from the boy, wisely putting himself out of range in case he dropped something.
"Where's your trunk?" Harry asked Draco, who pointed at the rack above him where a dark green chest rested securely. Harry was certain it hadn't been there when they arrived.
"How…?"
"I had my house elf drop it off," Draco said, picking at a manicured nail. "Well, I suppose it's my father's elf, but it still has to obey me."
Neville had mentioned house elves while they waited in Madam Malkins, they were magical beings who served the old pureblood families. "The Malfoys are an old family, then?"
Draco looked affronted. "Of course we are! And I'll have you know that we're one of the most influential and well established wizarding families in the British Isles!"
"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly. "I only found out magic was real a bit over a month ago and there's still lots of things I don't know. I didn't mean to insult you or your family."
Draco was giving him a strange look, and even Goyle had paused in the act of raising the second trunk overhead. "You didn't know about magic?" he asked.
"No. Not really. I mean, I could do magic accidentally, but didn't know that's what it was. I thought I was a—" He nearly said 'a freak', but stopped himself at the last moment. "That I was strange."
Draco shook his head in disbelief. "But you're a Potter! You're from one of the old families. There are traditions to uphold, and rituals, and alliances and…" He shared a look with Goyle, who seemed just as perturbed. "What are you going to do when you turn seventeen? It isn't like they teach any of that stuff in school!"
Nerves fluttered in Harry's stomach. "What stuff? What happens when I turn seventeen?"
"You become head of the Potter household, of course! You'll need to manage your family's finances and properties, make contracts, and fill the Potter seat on the Wizengamot, among other responsibilities."
Harry dropped onto the bench across from Draco. It seemed that as soon as he figured out one aspect of the magical world another sprung upon him. "But I don't know how to do any of those things," he said, overwhelmed. "Do you know how to do them?"
"My parents have been teaching me since I was little," Draco replied. "You should have learned this ages ago. What incompetent fools were you living with all these years?"
"I was sent to live with muggle relatives after my parents were killed," Harry replied.
"Muggles!" Draco sneered and Goyle made a sound of disgust. "No wonder you're so far behind. It must have been terrible living there. I think I would have run away as soon as I could!" He paused, frowning. "At least they let you come to Hogwarts."
"They were terrible!" Harry agreed, leaning forward on the bench. "And… they don't actually know I'm here right now. They would have tried to stop me if they did."
"What do you mean they don't know?" Draco asked. "Didn't they see your letters?"
"No. I knew they wouldn't let me come, so I handled everything on my own." He leaned back and looked out the window at the platform full of families. "Though I wish the school would send out maps or something, because I wouldn't have found Diagon Alley if I hadn't bumped into Neville and his Grandmother."
Draco laughed and looked at Harry in astonishment. "You went looking for Diagon Alley on your own? I'm not sure if that's brave or stupid."
Harry huffed. It wasn't as though he'd had a choice in the matter!
"And with a Longbottom!" Draco continued to chuckle.
"You know Neville?"
"I've seen him at seasonal celebrations and Ministry events." He shrugged. "They're a good line, at least. It could have been a lot worse."
"Worse?"
He nodded towards the window. Out on the platform a train of children with bright red hair were being herded past their carriage by a plump witch in a patched robe. The woman was looking around frantically, as though she'd lost something important. Another child, perhaps. "See all those redheads? Weasleys, the lot of them. They have more children than they can afford, and they can't afford a lot."
Having spent most of his life without a pound to his name, Harry couldn't fault someone for doing the best they could with what they had. "Not having money doesn't make you a bad person."
Draco scoffed and Harry got the impression that, as far as he was concerned, money went a very long way in his estimate of a person's inherent goodness.
"They're not just poor, you know," he said. "They're blood traitors. Father says they're trying to get a new Act passed that will make muggles untouchable."
"Act? Like a law?"
"Yes," Draco drawled. "The Muggle Protection Act, I believe they're calling it. Fat load of good it will do if the muggles ever find out about us. Father says there are places where they still burn witches and wizards alive! Can you imagine?"
Harry shuddered and leaned closer to the window to watch the red-headed family's progress down the platform. He didn't need his imagination to know how badly muggles reacted to magic, he had ample first hand experience.
The Weasleys were loading trunks into the next carriage over while laughing at the antics of a pair of twin boys. They were pretending to steal each other's noses and then showing them to the youngest child, and only girl, who looked to be trying very hard not to cry as she clung to her mother's hand.
Harry's eyes trailed along the rest of the platform, losing themselves in the vibrant wash of colours, when he caught sight of a very memorable hat. He jumped to his feet and fumbled with the window latch. Pushing it open, he squeezed as much of his head and shoulder out as would fit.
"Neville!" he called, waving his arm to catch the other boy's attention. Neville's head whipped around, looking every which way before finally spotting Harry.
"Who is it?" asked Basil, poking her head up to see what had caused all the excitement. She gasped. "He has a toad! Is it a present for me? Can I eat it?"
Neville was holding a toad — rather tightly — against his chest. The amphibian was beating its long legs back and forth in a valiant escape attempt that was going nowhere fast.
"You can't eat him!" Harry said. "The toad is his friend."
"Like you are my friend?"
"Yes!"
Neville waved back. "Harry!"
Several curious heads turned his way so Harry motioned Neville to come to the compartment and then quickly ducked back inside.
"You're inviting him in?" Draco asked as Harry shut the window. He didn't sound altogether pleased.
"Is that a problem?"
"I suppose it's fine."
A few minutes later there was a loud thunk outside followed by the sound of Neville stammering an apology. Harry walked to the door and slid it open.
Outside, Neville was clutching his toad like a lifeline and looked close to tears as a tall boy with large teeth, coarse black hair, and a green-trimmed school robe thrown casually over his street clothes loomed over him in a towering rage.
"Look what you've done!" the boy snarled, throwing his arm towards where two trunks were jammed between the narrow walls. "If there's a single scratch on my trunk from this I'll take it out of your hide!"
Harry hesitated in the doorway. The boy in green was clenching his fists and looked ready for a brawl, but friends were supposed to help each other and he dearly wished to be Neville's friend. He cleared his throat and stepped into the hall, drawing the older boy's ire. His scowl was ferocious as he pivoted, crooked teeth bared and a bestial growl rumbling in his chest.
Despite his initial bravado, fear born of a hundred beatings lodged in Harry's throat, rendering him mute.
A crowd was gathering on the far side of the trunks as the commotion drew students out of their compartments. They whispered together, standing well back as the older boy took a menacing step towards Harry. "And who do you think you are?"
Harry licked his lips, the lump in his throat refusing to budge. "Harry," he whispered. Then, louder, "Harry Potter."
Silence rang through the carriage at his pronouncement. For a heartbeat it stretched, heavy and tangible below the low ceiling. Then the whispers began anew.
'Did he say Potter?'
'The Harry Potter?'
Harry withdrew into himself as heads craned to better peer at him from across the trunks. The older boy looked surprised for a moment, but his scowl soon returned stronger than ever.
"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" he spat.
"It should," said a cool voice from behind Harry's shoulder. Draco had risen and was now leaning against the doorframe. He looked casual, elegant, and not in the least bit threatening on his own, but Goyle was at his back like a burly guard-dog and it made Harry feel a little better about their odds should things come to blows.
"You're a Malfoy," the older boy said, staring straight at Draco.
Draco raised his brows. "Indeed. And you're a Flint, if I'm not mistaken."
To Harry's astonishment, Flint dropped his hostility and smiled. The expression didn't look natural on him. "Marcus Flint," he said. He held out his hand and Draco shook it.
Harry felt lost as Draco and Flint exchanged pleasantries. Something had just happened, he was sure of it, but he didn't have a clue what it was.
"So, you'll be starting in Slytherin this year?" Flint asked Draco.
"Naturally," Draco replied.
While Flint was distracted, Harry caught Neville's sleeve and tugged him through the compartment door. He looked to be in shock, his eyes too wide and a refrain of stuttering apologies falling from his lips. In his hands, Trevor the toad was in peril of being crushed. His legs had stopped flailing and his long, sticky tongue was lolling from the side of his mouth.
"Can I eat the toad now?" Basil whispered.
Harry sighed and smacked Neville across the face.
He didn't put much force behind the blow, just enough to snap Neville out of his panicked daze. Despite his restraint, moisture gathered in the corners of the boy's eyes and his jaw dropped open. "Did you slap me?"
In response, Harry pointed at Trevor, who was twitching feebly and looked seconds away from expiring. Neville's face stretched in horror as he took in the state of his pet. "Trevor!" He rested the toad on the palm of his left hand and half-stroked half-prodded his back until he let out a sullen croak.
"Stay here," Harry instructed, pointing at the bench.
"But, my trunk..."
"I'll get it, just try to stay calm."
Harry gathered his courage and marched back to the door, sliding past Goyle and Draco to step fully into the corridor. There he stumbled as a wall of curious faces met his. Students were crammed into the narrow space on the other side of the trunks. They peered over each others shoulders and hung from the doorway of the next compartment, all eager to catch a glimpse of him.
Another round of whispers broke out, and Harry fought the urge to slink back into the safety of the compartment. He kept his eyes glued to Neville's trunk as he moved up beside it.
The trunks were truly stuck, he decided after a moment of careful tugging and twisting. Physically forcing them apart would leave scuff marks no amount of buffing would erase, and Harry wasn't keen to find out whether Flint's threats had teeth. He glanced up at the students across from him, but they seemed far more interested in watching him puzzle out a solution than in lending a hand, and he didn't dare interrupt whatever trick Draco had used to distract Flint in order to ask the older boy to unstick his trunk himself.
This left Harry with only one solution: magic.
He knelt next to the trunks and rested a hand on each lid. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine the space between the walls expanding until the trunks could slide free, but each time the vision began to solidify in his mind he was distracted by an errant whisper or the hair-raising feeling of being watched. His concentration thus shattered, both the walls and the trunks remained where they were.
"Need a hand, mate?" asked a cheeky voice from behind him.
Harry's eyes flew open and his heart jumped into his throat as he found himself pressed between a pair of identical redheads. Their shoulders bumped his sides as they worked in perfect synchronization to tip the trunks on their sides, freeing up enough space to slide them apart.
He squirmed away from them, stumbling over their legs as he put some distance between them. He pressed his back against the wall to the side of his compartment's door and tried to calm down.
"Thanks," he said when his heart had stopped pounding. The twins turned to him with identical cheshire grins.
"No problem," said the twin on his right. "We had to do something since old Flinty here was too smitten to lend a bloke a hand."
"Love at first sight," the second twin sung, clapping a hand to his chest. Some of the students in the crowd giggled.
Flint must have been listening because his face turned red. "I am not smitten!" he snarled.
Unrepentant, the twins made kissy faces at him until Flint yanked his trunk from their hands and, with a final murderous look in their direction, stormed off to gales of laughter.
"I'm not sure that was a good idea," Harry said once the door to the next carriage had slammed shut behind Flint.
The twins shrugged.
"Old Flinty doesn't like us much anyway—"
"We play Quidditch against him see—"
"And always make sure to send him some nice presents—"
"So there's no helping it really."
Harry dug up what he remembered from Neville's description of the sport played on broomsticks. He didn't know that there were people who played at the school, it sounded awfully dangerous for casual play. "You play Quidditch?"
"Yeah, for Gryffindor—"
"Which is the best house, by the way."
Draco scoffed. He'd resumed leaning against the doorframe and was watching the twins as a meerkat would a scorpion. "The house of reckless fools, you mean."
The twins ignored him.
"You're really Harry Potter?" asked the one on Harry's right.
"Yes."
"Wicked!" they said in perfect harmony.
"Fred and George Weasley," said the twin on the left. "I'm Fred. He's George."
Harry wondered if this was where they were supposed to shake hands, but much like Goyle they didn't offer.
"So do you really have the scar—"
"From where You-Know-Who attacked you?"
Harry was already having trouble keeping the two straight in his head, so he just nodded. Their eyes went wide with anticipation and they stared at him, waiting. Harry stared back.
The silence between them stretched on and Fred began to bounce on the balls of his feet. "Do you remember what he looked like?" he blurted out. As soon as the question left his lips an eerie hush fell over the carriage.
Harry crossed his arms. He was tired of being interrogated and just wanted to go back into the compartment, shut the door, and hide. "Why would I remember what he looked like?" he said. "I don't even know what his name was!"
"What?" exclaimed George. "But everyone knows his name."
"What is it then?"
The twins shifted nervously. They weren't the only ones, even Draco looked uneasy.
"Well?" he pressed after a minute went by where no one spoke.
"It's… it's just that—"
"People don't say it, you know?"
Harry huffed. "That's stupid." He looked over the gathered faces once again, feeling bold when none of them would meet his eyes. Then he grabbed Neville's trunk and pulled it after him into the compartment, shutting the door firmly behind him.
"It was Voldemort," Neville said quietly. Both Draco and Goyle flinched.
"Huh?"
Neville licked his lips. "The name of the Dark Lord. It was Voldemort."
"Voldemort." The name felt sleek and powerful as it rolled across his tongue, and he wondered about the man it had belonged to. Why did he become a dark lord? What was he fighting for?
"Stop saying it out loud!" Draco hissed, his eyes darting around the compartment.
Realization dawned slowly on Harry. It had been ten years since Voldemort's death, but Draco was still afraid, and so were all those people in the corridor.
"It's just a name," he said. "Now help me get Neville's trunk up. I think I just heard the train's whistle."
As the clock over the platform finished tolling eleven the train let out a low whistle and rumbled out of the station, picking up speed. Soon they'd left the grey and silver skyline of London behind, trading it for green fields dotted with sheep, cattle and the occasional tractor.
They were joined by another hulking first year boy who Draco introduced as Vincent Crabbe, and who turned out to be as loquacious as Goyle. The two of them sat on either side of the door, communicating in a private language of grunts and waggling eyebrows, and glaring at anyone who passed by in the corridor.
Word that Harry Potter was on the train had spread like wildfire. Not ten minutes after pulling out of the station there was a constant stream of gawkers pausing outside their door and peering in through the glass.
Draco soaked up the attention like a sponge. He looked completely at ease sprawled across one of the window seats, positioned so every passerby would be sure to recognize him. Harry wished he could have even half the boy's confidence, but every time he tried to emulate Draco his mind returned to the snakes at the zoo who were stared at just like this, prompting him to retreat behind Neville, who seemed as uneasy at being the centre of attention as he was.
"I hope they don't plan on doing this all year," Harry said when a frizzy-haired girl passed by the window for the third time.
"They'll settle down eventually," Draco replied. "Right now they're all excited because you haven't been sorted yet." He paused, and his expression became pensive. "They're probably betting on the outcome."
"Betting?" Harry sputtered. "With real money?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course with real money. It isn't every day the famous Harry Potter comes to Hogwarts. Whichever house gets you will have bragging rights for the next seven years."
Harry paled at the prospect of his unasked for fame never fading. He didn't think he could cope with being the centre of attention for seven entire years.
"What house do you think you'll be in anyway?" Draco asked.
"I haven't really thought about it. You're aiming for Slytherin, right?"
"Not just aiming. I know I'll be in Slytherin. All my family has been; it's traditional. Besides, the sorting ceremony will take your preferences into account if you're determined enough."
Neville had been very quiet since he'd taken his seat and seemed to be watching the young Malfoy with distrust, but at this he perked up. "It will?" he asked.
"Of course it will. The hat won't sort you into a House you'd be miserable in."
"The hat?" Harry asked.
Draco grinned. "It's supposed to be a secret until the ceremony starts, but my father's on the board of governors and he told me all about it. Want to hear?"
"Yeah!" Harry said, and then listened with rapt attention as Draco described how the school's founders had enchanted a hat to judge which of the four houses they'd be best suited for. Neville was equally engrossed, though he also looked vaguely guilty at hearing something that was supposed to be kept secret. Crabbe and Goyle showed no reaction and kept scowling at the people outside the door.
"Are you worried about your sorting?" Harry asked Neville once they'd had time to digest this new information.
Neville cast a nervous glance Draco's way. "Well, I want to be in Gryffindor like my dad… but I'll probably end up in Hufflepuff."
True to form, Draco scoffed.
"What about me?" Harry asked. "What house do you think I'll be in?"
"You're real brave," Neville said immediately, then flushed pink. "I bet you're a Gryffindor. I asked my Gran and she said both your parents were."
"My parents were Gryffindors?"
"You didn't know?" Draco asked.
Harry shook his head. "Raised by muggles, remember?"
Draco shuddered. "That still feels wrong on so many levels. But I guess it proves you're resourceful, or else you wouldn't have made it here today. That's a Slytherin trait." He glowered at Neville, who pursed his lips.
Harry could feel an argument brewing. "I'd be happy with any house as long as I can learn magic," he said, and it was the truth.
At a quarter-to one there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and the ever-present crowd was pushed away by a trolley piled high with sweets in bright packaging. Crabbe and Goyle jumped to their feet and flung open the door as though the little old witch manning the trolley were their saviour.
She smiled wryly at their enthusiasm. "Anything off the trolley, dears?" She directed the question to Harry, Neville and Draco, for it was obvious by the way Crabbe and Goyle were digging through their pockets that they intended to buy something off the trolley. A great many things, if the amount of silver sickles that appeared in their hands was anything to go by.
"I'll try something," Harry said, standing and making his way to the door. He'd been too nervous to eat more than a piece of plain toast that morning, and though his nerves were still strung taut with anticipation he knew he should try to eat something at least.
The trolley was full of candies: Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands and many other strange things he'd never heard of in his life. He picked out a Pastie, and then because it would no doubt amuse Basil, a chocolate frog.
Crabbe and Goyle loaded the benches next to them with mountains of sweets, and Harry wasn't sure how they intended to finish it all without making themselves sick. As he returned to his seat, Neville bought a Cauldron Cake and something in a mint green package with Ice Mice written in frosty lettering.
Despite his claim to overwhelming wealth, Draco didn't buy anything at all. Instead he seemed content to nick sweets from Crabbe and Goyle's piles, neither of whom so much as blinked at the theft.
"Look Basil," he whispered while the others were occupied with their own snacks. "I've bought a frog."
Her head bumped his left earlobe as she peeked over the kerchief. "You bought me a frog?"
"No. This one's made of chocolate. It would make you sick."
"I want a frog," she said. "And I still can't eat the toad?"
Harry looked around quickly for Trevor and found him cowering next to Neville's foot, as though he could sense Basil was nearby. "No, you can't eat him. He's still Neville's friend, remember?"
"I don't know why he wants to be friends with a toad," she said. "They aren't very smart. Though, they're smarter than frogs. Frogs will jump down your throat if you let them."
"What are you whispering about over there?" Draco asked. Harry jumped, worried he'd been overheard.
"Oh, just talking to myself," he said, then held up the Chocolate Frog package. "These aren't real frogs, are they?"
Neville answered him. "No, but they've been enchanted to hop around." He suddenly turned serious. "Be sure not to swallow them whole. I swallowed a leg once and it nearly choked me it was kicking so hard."
Harry looked down at the box in his hands. "That seems… dangerous."
"It's not so bad," said Neville. "Just remember to chew them first."
As Neville struggled to open his Ice Mice, Harry pulled the rip-cord sealing the Chocolate Frog package and lifted the lid. The chocolate inside certainly looked like a frog, and as soon as the packaging was open it came to life, blinking globular eyes and coiling its long hind legs for a jump. Not expecting his sweet to attempt a sudden escape, Harry was a hair too slow grabbing it. Basil, however, was not.
As the frog launched itself towards the headrest behind him, Basil's head shot from his kerchief and snagged it out of the air. She withdrew just as swiftly, but the damage had already been done.
Across from him, Draco was staring wide-eyed, a Cauldron Cake frozen halfway to his open mouth. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand.
"It does taste funny," Basil remarked before dropping the frog unceremoniously into Harry's lap where it lay still, enchantment already worn off.
"Was that a—" Draco started to say, but Harry cut him off with a ferocious glare. He caught the message and rearranged his face into a mild expression, but he couldn't hide the bright gleam of curiosity in his eyes. When Neville excused himself to go to the washroom, he slid onto the bench next to Harry and leaned in close.
"You have a snake?" he whispered, and Harry thought he sounded a little jealous.
"I know what you're going to say," Harry whispered back, praying that Draco wasn't as biased against snakes as Neville's grandmother had been. "They aren't allowed as pets. But she's my friend and I wasn't leaving her behind!"
Draco groaned. "And here I was begging my parents for an owl!"
"Are you going to tell on me?"
"What would you give for my silence?" Draco asked, smirking.
Harry bit his lip. He felt like he was back in primary school, with Dudley standing over him waving a fist-full of stolen pencils in his face. 'Give me your lunch and I'll give these back,' he'd say.
"What do you want?"
"A favour," he replied. "To be called in at a time of my choosing."
Harry supposed that was fair enough, even though imagining what Draco might ask of him made him nervous. He hoped it wouldn't be embarrassing. "Okay, it's a deal."
Draco grinned. "You'd make a good Slytherin." He slid back into his own seat when Neville returned, and though his eyes were over-bright as the afternoon wore on, he kept his word.
In spite of the train's magical origin, the journey to Hogwarts took close to six hours.
When the snacks had run out, Draco jumped into the role of zealous tutor and began instructing Harry on various points of proper pureblood behaviour and etiquette.
He demonstrated how to sit and stand with the casual elegance Harry had admired earlier; chin up, back straight, shoulders relaxed, and one foot slightly ahead of the other. Aware of the gawkers still crowding the compartment window, Harry was reluctant to get up and try for himself until Crabbe reached over and pulled the blind down, giving them some privacy and eliciting a chorus of muffled complaints from the other side of the door.
"A Malfoy must always be composed," Draco said as Harry attempted to mimic his posture. "The very picture of aristocratic elegance and charm." He demonstrated by giving a winning smile, which Harry admitted was effective and only slightly ruined when the train his an uneven patch of track, causing Draco to wobble.
Harry's back cracked in protest as he straightened up and raised his head. The posture was more open than he was used to and it left him feeling exposed, but he soldiered through and grinned broadly back at Draco. The blond boy studied him, then shook his head and had Goyle take down his trunk. He retrieved a hand mirror from inside and held it up to Harry's face.
"You need to practice smiling to get it right," he explained. "Try again, and this time relax the muscles around your eyes. You're going for open and inviting, not like you're contemplating world domination — though hold on to that one too, you never know when it might come in handy."
The boy in the mirror looked back in bewilderment, and Harry slowly coaxed his reflection into another smile. The range of expressions his face could convey startled him. He'd never been one for primping in front of a mirror as his appearance had mattered little at the end of the day. The realization that people may have been able to read his thoughts and feelings on his face worried him, and he admitted as much aloud.
"Don't worry," Neville said, piping up for the first time in over half an hour. "I can't tell what you're thinking most of the time. You even kept it together when Gran was ranting about snakes in Diagon Alley."
Draco quirked a brow and glanced at the scarf around Harry's neck. "Oh, do tell," he said, radiating curiosity.
Harry grimaced and shook his head, not willing to elaborate. Some things were better off forgotten.
Draco pouted, but had the grace to drop the topic.
Once the muscles of Harry's face were twitching from exhaustion they put the mirror away and Draco went over proper greeting and addresses, emphasizing that Harry shouldn't call anyone by their first name unless he'd been given permission to do so.
"Why?" Harry asked.
"You don't want to come across as too familiar," Draco replied. "First names are for family, friends, and close acquaintances. Would you feel comfortable calling one of your professors by their first name?"
No, Harry admitted, he wouldn't. "Should I call you Malfoy, then?"
"Hmm..." Draco's head tilted to the side and he smirked. "You can call me Draco. I have a feeling we'll get along famously. And we'll be spending a lot of time together if I'm going to teach you everything you need to know before you're seventeen."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. Draco had, in a roundabout way, just asked to be his friend. "You can call me Harry!" he chirped, then blushed furiously as Draco chuckled at his ill concealed enthusiasm. Running a hand through his hair, he turned hopefully towards Neville.
"Please, call me Neville," the other boy cut in before Harry could ask. "Longbottom is what my grandmother calls me when I'm in big trouble."
Harry nodded, too happy to speak. His chest was overflowing with warmth at the thought of having friends — real, human friends. He gave Neville permission to call him by his first name as well, then turned to the two remaining boys in the compartment. Crabbe and Goyle seemed oblivious to Harry's questioning gaze.
"Ignore them," Draco advised. "They don't give anyone permission, not even me." He looked miffed, so Harry decided to change the subject.
"What about handshakes?" he asked, hoping that Draco would have the answer to this mystery as well. "When do you offer to shake, and when do you refuse?"
"You should never refuse," Draco said. "Not unless you want to mortally offend the person offering — or if you consider that person an enemy, of course." This seemed very serious for such a common gesture, and Harry remarked as much.
"I'll give you a hint," Draco said. "What hand do you shake with?"
Harry looked down at his hands. "My right."
"And what hand do you hold your wand in?"
"Also my right." He stared harder, trying to piece together how the two were connected. "Oh! I can't do both at the same time."
"Exactly! So, if you refuse to shake hands, you're telling the other person you don't trust them not to curse you if you put your wand away — basically declaring them an enemy."
"But what if you didn't have your wand out to begin with?"
"It doesn't matter, refusing carries the same meaning either way."
Harry looked to Neville, wondering if he'd contradict Draco, but the other boy nodded. "It's true," he said, "though it's really only the pureblood or traditional halfblood families that will start feuds over it nowadays. Still, Gran's always told me it's better to be safe than sorry."
"I don't think it's quite that life or death for muggles," Harry said.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Well yes, they're muggles."
"What would you have done if I'd refused to shake your hand?" he asked out of curiosity.
"I would have been obliged to carry a grudge," Draco replied, turning up his nose. "Though I can't see why you would have."
"Well, you were a little rude," Harry reminded him, but he was smiling as he said it. From Draco's strained expression Harry guessed the other boy thought he'd been a bit more than a little rude, but Harry had been called so many other unflattering names over his life that mudblood seemed tame in comparison. Besides, he knew for a fact it wasn't true — the names his cousin and uncle called him hit much closer to home.
Harry flopped back onto his seat. He wasn't looking forward to overcoming his dislike of touching others, but it sounded like he didn't have much choice if he wanted to keep from making enemies in this world.
I'll get better at it, he promised himself as Draco turned the conversation to the proper way to address a lady. All I need to do is practice.
The sun was setting behind rolling hills when the train started to slow. Harry perched on the edge of his seat, his new school uniform rippling against his bare legs. It was the first time he'd worn his robes since buying them, and he couldn't stop comparing them to a woman's dress each time a draft worked its way under the hem. The robe had a stiff collar, higher at the back and descending in a gentle curve on either side of his neck to fasten at his collar with a silver pin emblazoned with the school crest. His kerchief had been replaced by a hooded black over-robe that laced together at chest-height and hung all the way down to his ankles.
Bereft of her normal hiding place, Basil had wrapped herself twice around his waist like a snakeskin belt. It was comforting to feel her cool scales on his skin, but he had to constantly remind himself not to lean back on the seat lest he crush her. Despite being tailored, his robes were voluminous enough to conceal the extra bulk, and as long as he kept the over-robes closed in the front, no one would be the wiser unless they patted him down.
They entered the outskirts of a quaint little village and then the train was pulling up to an open-air platform.
"You can leave your trunk," Draco said as they stood and stretched. "The school house elves will deliver it to your dorm after the sorting."
"Hogwarts has house elves too?"
"Of course, they'd never keep it clean otherwise."
That made Hogwarts sound like a very grand place, and Harry reminded himself to breathe as a wave of excitement crashed over him. It felt like his heart was trying to squeeze out of his chest every time he glanced out the window at the platform. Students were already disembarking, their black robes blending into the long shadows cast by flickering gas lamps separating the train from the village beyond.
Neville tried to smile reassuringly, but it was wobbly with his own nerves. "You'll be fine," he said. In his hands, Trevor croaked pitifully and flailed his legs.
"You too," Harry replied.
~End Chapter Nine~
So many new characters, so little time! Draco was originally meant to be one of Harry's rivals, but when I wrote the original version of this chapter he managed to worm his way into Harry's regard - the sneaky little ferret. :) I'm glad though, as it lets me introduce some of the pureblood culture and expectations I want to explore in this story. Like the handshakes. When you think of them the way Draco describes it's no surprise that he's holding a grudge against Harry in canon.
The sorting is up next! What house do you think Harry will end up in?
Until next time!
~Theine
