'You're not seriously thinking about letting Sigmund out on the train,' Draco said, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. 'You could lose him, he might jump out the window…he might attack someone.' The boy added, swallowing dry.
Dia Crabbe shook her head decidedly and took the transport case down from the luggage compartment. The cat was now growling, a low menacing sound, like that of a mechanism winding itself to explode.
'Say something, Goyle!' the blonde child urged, nervously fidgeting in his seat; not completely sure of what was going on and why his intervention was needed, Goyle contented himself on a grumble.
'One vote for, one against and one abstention. I say Sigmund goes free,' Dia shrugged, and with a swift gesture released the delicate mechanism holding the transport's case door in place. Draco braced himself, fingers digging into the thick scarlet velvet of the seat's armrest – and the animal darted out, meowing as if the world's greatest hook had been tearing out its intestines.
To the blonde boy's joy, as soon as he was free, Sigmund dashed out the compartment door, surprised screams from fellow passengers announcing that he was traveling down the train's corridor at some great speed. Thumps were heard, as frightened children rushed out of the black feline's way, then all became quite calm, and Draco sighed with great relief.
'He'll be back,' she snickered, feeling thoroughly avenged for Draco's earlier prodding.
'If his friends from the second circle of hell don't ask him to stay for tea and raw liver,' Malfoy said to Vincent Goyle, and both of them started chuckling.
'Sigmund is a nice cat,' Goyle reasoned a few seconds later, which made Draco laugh even harder.
'Been reading up, Vince? Can identify animal species now?'
Goyle did not catch the irony, but smiled nonetheless.
'Have candy?' he asked, then quickly reconsidered. 'I have candy.'
'Give here!' Draco commanded, suddenly growing interested and leaning forward in his seat. Nodding merrily, Vincent stood and brought his heavy trunk down from the baggage compartment with remarkable ease; within a few seconds, the trunk was opened to reveal multicolored treasure.
Mrs. Goyle, it seemed, had taken great care her son would not go hungry on the trip to Hogwarts; either that, or she had packed sweets for an entire quidditch team. Four boxes of Botts Every Flavor Beans, ten or twenty chocolate frogs and three dozen packs of liquorish wands were soon pulled out and spread throughout the compartment.
'No fizzies?' Dia inquired, with some disappointment.
'Must be in there, somewhere… I'm sure mom packed some, because I told her you like them.'
'If there's Honeycombs chocolate, I want it.' Draco intervened.
'There you go, Malfoy.' The girl responded, tossing a blue and gold hexagonal box over her shoulder. Draco caught it effortlessly, then started opening it. He stopped before the package had been completely torn, though, and sniffed at the wrapping carefully.
'Has this been anywhere near his socks?' he asked.
'It is better not to ask questions which might have disturbing answers…' Dia began slowly. 'Not his socks,' she conceded to Draco's scowl. 'It was hidden in a boot.'
'Mom says chocolate is bad for me,' Vince shrugged apologetically.
'Ew, Goyle!' the blonde child exclaimed and grimaced. He sighed, and set the box aside, as his companions settled and began munching on their sweets. 'What's this you've been saying about Harry Potter, Dia?'
'…warts this 'ear. Prolly on the train, too.' He made out from the girl's words, which were significantly slurred by the fact that she was trying to eat and speak at the same time. '…s wrong?' Dia asked, at her companion's frown.
'Well,' Draco replied, carefully picking at the blue box and trying to extract a chocolate bar without touching the package too often, 'I am sure my parents expect me to make an impression in school – not that I don't expect it of myself, really. But I can bet that good old Dumbledore will have his eyes on the boy hero, which will make it just a tad harder.'
'I don't see what the fuss is about with this Potter,' he continued, a touch of spite in his voice. 'For all we know, You-Know-Who's wand might have simply misfired.'
'I mean, if he was the boy I saw at Malkin's, he was confused and silly and he did not look like much of a…'
At a loss for words, Draco used unwrapping a Honeycombs chocolate bar as an excuse to remain silent. He did not know what exactly Harry Potter was supposed to be; he doubted anyone actually knew. All that was known was that as a baby, Potter had survived the great evil that had killed his parents, by chance or by miracle… Yet somehow, his survival did not mean Potter had qualities – it did not mean that Potter was better than Draco. Perhaps he had just been lucky. Still, being lucky was not a talent or a learned skill, and it most certainly did not show on one's face.
Commotion in the corridor announced that Sigmund had turned around; a girl screamed, there was more thumping and rushing to the sides. A couple of children pressed themselves against the compartment's sliding door in fright as the cat passed by and quickly disappeared again, running like mad towards the back of the train.
'Sigmund is having fun,' the large boy observed blandly.
'Maybe we should go make friends,' Draco said, ignoring both Goyle and Sigmund's antics, and biting down on the chocolate bar.
'With Harry Potter?' Vincent asked. 'But you just said you didn't like him.'
'... didn't say that. 'ust that he didn't look like much,' Dia explained patiently and as clearly as her candy filled mouth allowed.
'But Draco just said Potter is silly!' Goyle stubbornly repeated.
'No, Vince,' the girl responded, as Draco rolled his eyes at the large boy's confusion. 'He said Potter looks silly. The problem is that we don't know what someone who survived You-Know-Who is supposed to look like. Because no one else lived. See? Maybe he looks like a dolt, and he is a dolt. But maybe he looks like a dolt, and is in fact a very smart guy or a very talented wizard. And maybe being friend with the boy who lived will make our life in school much easier.'
'And we won't know until we make friends,' Draco completed for her. 'I'm trying to think what I said to him at the tailor's. I think I was reasonably nice; I even said I was sorry his parents are dead, though now that I think about it, he lied to me and said that they were both purebloods, which they weren't.'
'Potter's mother was a mudblood. I wonder if…'
'Yes, but she was a witch, in the end. I don't think Mr. Malfoy would mind.' The girl interrupted, guessing what Draco was about to say. 'Must be sad not to have one's parents around,' she added, softly, and blondee boy nodded, not sure what to respond. His own parents were seldom around, and he wasn't sad at all.
'What if he doesn't want to make friends?' Vincent almost timidly inquired.
'Don't be stupid, Goyle,' Draco replied, his angelic face a perfect image of honest indignation. 'Who wouldn't want to be friends with us?'
A train car away from Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, the legendary Harry Potter listened with fascination as his new friend, Ronald Weasley described the intricate and interesting rules of the quidditch game. Much like everything that he had learned in the past two days, the two days that had passed since he had read the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry letter, the tale fascinated him, so he nodded eagerly and urged Ronald on.
Harry had liked the red-haired boy instantly. There was something wonderfully genuine about his freckled face and wide blue eyes.
He did not care that Ron worse somewhat tattered and worn clothes; they were clean, and the boy was quite happy with himself. After he had seen the legendary scar of Harry's forehead, Ron had exclaimed 'Wicked!' without even a trace of envy - it seemed Ron was very happy to have met Harry, and for some reason, Ron's excitement meant more to Harry than all the other awed gasps he had heard at the mention of his name.
The Dursleys, Harry's guardians from the time of his parents' deaths, had always gone out of their way to show Harry how strange and out of place he was, and how much they resented his presence. Receiving the Hogwarts letter, Hagrid's visit and the manner in which he had whisked Harry away, Diagon Alley – everything was a beautiful and miraculous dream come to life. What more could a child have wanted?
Harry wondered, smiling wide and twisting the picture of Albus Dumbledore he had found in a chocolate frog's wrapping between his fingers.
A world of magic and fantasy where everyone knew his name and was kind to him, new knowledge of his past, the bittersweet but tangible traces of his parents' lives…
Even the sweets tasted better, Harry decided, blowing upwards through his glasses, in a vain attempt of keeping his unruly brown hair from getting into his eyes. He had bought a lot of candy from the service cart, but it had been more for Ron's benefit than for his own; still, now he was very happy that he had. Candy wrappings lay scattered all around the compartment, to the delight of Ron's rodent pet.
Of course, Harry did not know how to work wand magic yet, but it didn't seem to be a problem; Ron, who apparently came from an all wizard family was not much better than him. He had proved it by failing to turn his rat, Scabbers, yellow – besides reassuring Harry that he was not much behind wizard children his age, seeing the poor ragged rat squeak in fright as the carton box he had been chewing on had flown clearly across the room had been wicked fun.
Meeting Hermione Granger, a pretty auburn haired girl had had the exact opposite effect. She seemed to know wand magic pretty well and had even made a demonstration of her powers by fixing Harry's cracked glasses. Still, in spite of the fact that she was a little haughty and intimidating, she seemed nice and very intelligent, and Harry had liked her too. In fact, of all the people had met since Hagrid had introduced him, there was a single one had had not liked.
At the tailor's on Diagon Alley, where Harry had gone to buy himself a cape and have it fitted, there had been a blonde, pale boy. Just a few moments spent in the blonde child's company had left Harry feeling sad, uninteresting and inadequate – what had been perhaps worse of all was the fact that the blonde had cared more whether Harry's parents had been a witch and a wizard than for the fact that they were dead. His opinion of Hagrid had been most unpleasant as well – all in all, the blonde seemed nothing more than an overly spoiled, rich and arrogant child who only whished to speak of himself.
Thinking of the boy he had met at madam Malkin's brought another question to Harry's thoughts, but just as he was turning towards Ron in order to ask more about how students were sorted into houses, the compartment door slid open. With much displeasure, Harry noted that the boy who had entered was the very same one he had been thinking of only seconds before. This time he was not alone – another boy and a girl were with him.
'Is it true?' the blonde boy inquired, with considerably more interest than he had shown Harry at madam Malkin's. 'They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, isn't it?'
'Yes,' Harry answered, a bit cautiously. He had an awfully bad feeling about the encounter, as he did not like the expression on the blonde child's face in the least. He was sure that the boy who had just entered meant to be arrogant, and indeed, everything in the blonde's posture – the crossed arms, the casual position of the legs, the inquisitively raised eyebrows - demonstrated that he intended to make Harry feel inferior and unsafe. Still, behind of all the façade of self assurance, somewhere lurking in the soft shadows of the boy's silver eyes, there was a dangerous fire of envy – not a spark, but high, roaring flames. This boy, Harry understood, perceived his fame in a manner different than all the rest; this boy perceived Harry's fame as a direct threat to himself.
What was even more unpleasant was that the two standing to each side of the blonde child looked especially nasty. The girl had a malicious twinkle in her eyes, as if she had been thoroughly enjoying her companion's unpleasant attitude, and the other boy…well, he looked just thick and mean, small dark eyes beneath a narrow brow.
'This is Dia Crabbe,' the blonde boy said, carelessly waving his slender fingers in the girl's direction. 'And this is Vincent Goyle. And my name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.'
Behind Harry, Ron Weasley snickered – and perhaps Harry would have smiled too, was it not for the instantaneous change in Draco's demeanor.
'Think my name's funny, do you?' Malfoy snarled, taking a step towards Ron, and completely wavering all pretense of civility. 'No need to ask who you are – my father told me that all Weasleys have red hair, freckles…'
'…and more children than they can afford.' He added, appraising Ron's robes with an expert eye. Flushed and embarrassed, Weasley remained silent, so, with a smirk of triumph, Draco once again turned towards Harry. 'You'll soon find out 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.'
With that, Draco extended his right hand towards Harry, but Harry didn't take it.
'I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,' he said, with a certain amount of satisfaction. Malfoy had been simply horrible to Ron, and it felt good to leave him with his hand hanging in mid-air.
A red twinge ascended to Draco's pale cheeks, and he paused for a moment, thinking of what he could possibly say to somewhat lessen the humiliation he had just taken. 'I'd be careful if I were you, Potter,' he said slowly, remembering what Dia had said just before they had left their compartment. 'Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you.'
Both Harry and Ron darted to their feet, facing the three intruders, whose expressions were growing more menacing by the minute.
'Say that again!' Weasley exclaimed, clenching a fist.
'Oh, you're going to fight us?' Draco sneered, as his two acolytes took a step forward. Given the fact that none of them was particularly slender, and that they were already wearing their school uniforms, the motion made it seem as if a solid dark wall had been moving in on Harry and Ron. In spite of this, however, both boys were far too angry to consider consequences.
'Unless you get out now,' Harry said, which, strangely, made Dia Crabbe laugh.
'But we don't feel like leaving, do we, guys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some; we've wasted a trip down the train, at least we should have something to show for it.' Draco responded, with a wide grin. As if on a mark, Vincent Goyle reached for one of the chocolate frogs next to Ron, but yelped and withdrew his hand, with Weasley's rat still attached to one of his fingers.
Much to Ron and Harry's relief, Malfoy and Crabbe backed away, as Goyle yelled and shook his hand, desperately trying to get rid of the pesky rodent; still, just when Draco and his two companions looked ready to break and run, a sleek, dark shadow darted from the corridor, collided with the flying rat detaching it from Goyle's hand, and landing noiselessly on one of the seats.
Ron and Harry turned in perfect synchronicity, and Ron gave a little yell of fright. Scabbers hung limply in the jaws of a huge black cat – or, more precisely, of a huge, horrible looking, almost black cat. The animal's hair was long at places, but reddish patches of short fur appeared from place to place, making the cat's coat look like an old and torn hat. The cat's left ear was missing, as was its right eye, but the one eye the feline had left, huge and yellow, was shining with malice and rolling madly in its socket.
'Sigmund!' Dia Crabbe exclaimed. 'Spit!'
The cat did not budge – except for the big, bushy tail waving rapidly from side to side – but growled instead, shaking the rat and making it squeal pitifully.
'Don't let him eat Scabbers!' Ron pleaded. 'I've had him for as long as I can remember…'
'Of course she won't let him eat Scabbers,' Malfoy quickly responded, in an exaggeratedly whiny tone, meant to ridicule Ron's plea. 'Sigmund doesn't eat junk.'
'Spit that filthy thing out!' Crabbe again commanded the cat – this time, Sigmund obeyed. When Ron rushed to recuperate his pet and see what if any damage the feline had caused, however, Sigmund hissed menacingly, revealing a surprisingly white and sharp set of canines and tearing at Ron's extended fingers with razor sharp claws.
'Bloody hell!' Weasley cried, withdrawing his badly hurt fingers. Sigmund defiantly hissed again, pointedly demonstrating he intended to defend his prey.
'You are not eating that animal, Sigmund!' Crabbe insisted. 'You don't know where it's been crawling!'
'Scabbers is clean!' Ron protested, making Draco laugh. 'I gave him a bath right before we left home,' the red headed boy added ruefully, probably understanding he was not helping his pet's defense in the least.
'But then you've touched it since, haven't you, Weasley?' Malfoy chuckled nastily, watching the red-haired boy's cheeks flush in indignation and embarrassment. The argument proved sufficient for Sigmund; the cat jumped off the seat, and strode proudly towards the corridor, rubbing itself against Draco's leg and even beginning to purr loudly before he once again darted out and disappeared.
Exchanging a surprised glance, Dia and Draco shrugged to each other, then turned to follow the cat; Goyle went silently after them, throwing Harry and Ron a menacing frown.
The Malfoys, Ron told Harry had been on the side of Voldemort, the powerful evil wizard that had killed all those who opposed his segregationist desires and who did not join him in hatred of non-magical folk, up until a few months before Voldemort's final defeat.
'Lucius Malfoy was not sent to Azkaban because he claimed he had been hexed,' Ron said, affectionately caressing Scabbers, and gently twisting him around to see if the rat was bleeding anywhere. 'But my dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoys didn't need to be hexed to go over to the dark side.'
Harry nodded thoughtfully; so, there was reason to why he had instantly disliked Draco. Draco's family had been friends with the wizard who had killed Harry's parents. And after these past few minutes…There was no way for Harry to like Draco – not in a million years.
'The sheer gall of that boy! Does he even begin to understand who he's dealing with?' Draco thundered, rapidly pacing from one corner to the other of the small compartment. 'You do realize that you have rat saliva on there, don't you, Goyle?' he asked, stopping abruptly in front of Vincent Goyle, who was sucking at his injured finger. Blushing in embarrassment, the boy removed his hand from his lips and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket.
'I've heard he's only lived among muggles. Maybe he hasn't heard of your family,' Dia shrugged.
'Well, he's certainly heard of the Weasleys!' Draco remarked, spitefully. 'Bloody red haired bunch of beggars, all of them…'
'Potter is silly. And Weasley is ugly.' Vincent interrupted, feeling he was being left out. 'What? What?' he asked in utter confusion, as Draco scowled at him and Dia Crabbe began giggling.
'They are!' Goyle affirmed, growing red in the face. 'If it wasn't for that damned rat, I would've…'
'No matter.' Draco interrupted in his turn. 'If Potter wants to hang about with Weasley…and his rat,' he conceded to Goyle, 'he's not good enough to be our friend. Let them sort him into Gryffindor for all I care.'
The child took his seat and elegantly crossed his legs, just the way his father did, when he sat in front of the fireplace after dinner; meeting Potter had been a defeat, of course, and he had not expected to be treated so horribly. But then, Potter's mother had been a mudblood and he had been raised by muggles. Such people, as Narcissa often said, could not be expected to show the least trace of proper behavior. Potter probably chewed with his mouth open, too, Draco decided, with a little smirk. Besides, the situation suited him just fine.
He had not wanted to make friends with the famous Harry Potter, not really. Draco could not have cared less that Potter had survived Voldemort; he liked the make-up of his small group.
Dia was nice and funny enough, Sigmund acted like a transmodified puma, and Vince…well, Vince was as big as a door and had occasional moments of lucidity. Best of all, he had known these two children for most of his life; they were of good families that had been loyal friends to the Malfoys for generations. And they were loyal and respectful to Draco, as their fathers had been loyal and respectful to Lucius. There was no place for an outsider like Potter, none whatsoever.