Chapter Seven: Aboard the Hogwarts Express
The rest of the week after the Diagon Alley trip passed in a whirl of last-minute activity—furious Quidditch practises, frantic packing, marathon review sessions. And then it was time to go. By some miracle—Harry was sure that Professor Trelawney would have attributed it to a highly rare planetary alignment—on the morning of the start of term, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys all found themselves sitting in the kitchen, packed, dressed, and ready to go with time to spare. Mr. Weasley was taking them in his new car, which he had bought the week before, but which he hadn't managed to bring home yet. He claimed that he was "having some work done" on it before he brought it home; Harry suspected that he was actually keeping it somewhere where he could "do some work" on it himself—work like magically enlarging the interior and the trunk.
Looking up from her cup of tea, Hermione suddenly asked, "Harry, the other day, in the Quidditch store, you said you were getting an idea. What was it?"
All the Weasleys focussed their attention on Harry, who felt himself flush. Maybe it was a stupid idea. But, since they all seemed to be waiting to hear, he replied, "I was just thinking about replacing the school brooms. It's not fair that the Slytherin team has these great broomsticks and everyone else either has to use junk or buy their own. It would, you know, level things out a bit if I …." He trailed off. It was a stupid idea.
"Oi, Harry," said George, "That'd be great!"
"Awfully expensive, though," Hermione said.
Harry shrugged, turning redder still, and answered, "My mum and dad left me … well, really quite a bit of money. And it's not doing anybody any good just sitting there in Gringotts." Harry didn't add that, with the most evil wizard in history trying to kill him, he might not live to spend it later, so he might as well use some of it now, although that thought did cross his mind. "And this seems like a good way to use it."
"But there has to be a better way than replacing the school brooms; if you replace those, then the Slytherins will get to use the new ones," Fred said.
"I could just get team brooms for Gryffindor, but I kind of want to get them for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, too."
"Why?" Fred looked baffled, as though the thought of wanting to help out other House Quidditch teams was completely beyond his comprehension.
"Because I don't want those Slytherins winning any games because their brooms are better."
"You know, Harry, if you bought brooms for every House team except Slytherin, they might start thinking you didn't like them." George said this quite innocently, but Harry could see him fighting a grin.
"So they might," Harry said, grinning back. "Anyway, it was just an idea."
"And a very sweet idea, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said. "You're so thoughtful, dear."
Harry blushed, and the Weasley boys all snickered. Their mother, choosing to ignore them, rose and gathered their teacups. "That sounds like a car," she said, looking out the window. "Oh, dear!"
Fred, George, and Ron raced to the window to see what had caused their mother to exclaim "Oh, dear!" All three burst into gales of laughter. "Oi, Harry, you have to come see this!" George said between guffaws. Harry joined the trio at the window and looked out. It was indeed a car. A van, actually—a late-model Volkswagen van. And it looked to be in very good condition. But it was … "rainbow-colored" was a bit of an understatement. "Explosion at the paint factory" was closer to accurate.
Harry grinned. Leave it to Mr. Weasley to find the most garish vehicle in all Britain. Hermione, who, along with Ginny, had joined the boys at the window, remarked, "Not exactly understated, is it?"
Harry snickered along with the Weasleys, but he managed to compose himself before a beaming Arthur Weasley entered the kitchen. "Isn't it a beauty?" he said. "Drives like a dream, and plenty of room." He looked around the group, waiting for a reply.
"It's very, erm, colorful," Harry said. The others nodded in agreement.
Mr. Weasley seemed to take this statement as gushing praise, for he beamed even more and started enumerating the car's wonderful features. Mrs. Weasley cut him off in mid-sentence, reminding him that it was time to go. Harry, Hermione, and the four Weasley children gathered their trunks and various pet cages and headed out to the lurid van.
All the trunks fit behind the back seat with surprising ease, and Harry hid a grin. His guess about the nature of the work that Mr. Weasley was doing on the car was confirmed. Everyone piled into the van (where they had a suspicious amount of room left over), and they set off for King's Cross.
After a few miles, Harry noticed that Ron had been awfully quiet. Hermione, Ginny, and the twins were carrying on a very lively conversation, but Ron hadn't said a word.
"Sickle for your thoughts?" Harry asked in an undertone.
Ron snorted quietly. "Where'd you hear that one? It's got whiskers on it, that does."
"From your dad," Harry replied. Ron grinned and rolled his eyes. "So, what do you think?" Harry asked. "About the broomstick thing. Should I do it? I mean, would people like it, or would they think I was being, you know, like Malfoy? Showing off. Flaunting the fact that I have … a little more money than a lot of students."
Ron looked uncomfortable, and Harry guessed that his oh-so-casual question had hit the mark. Ron was jealous. Well, not jealous, exactly, but not thrilled with the idea. "If it looks like showing off, I won't do it. I don't want people to think that I think money matters. Because it doesn't. It's easier to have it than not to, I guess, but having more doesn't make you better. Right?"
Ron's jaw was set dangerously, and he looked like he was about to snap at Harry, but then he sighed, and his shoulders relaxed. When he spoke, there was no anger in his tone. "I know. And I know it's stupid to be jealous. I'm not jealous of you. You know that, don't you? It's not about you." Harry nodded, and Ron continued, "I'm just … I dunno …"
"You don't wish that I had less," Harry supplied. "You just wish that you had a little more."
Ron nodded. "Is that bad? Does it make me a lousy friend?"
"No. It makes you normal. Most people wish they had a little more than what they've got."
"You don't," Ron said softly.
"Yeah, but I grew up sleeping in a cupboard and wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs. I never had anything of my own 'til I got to Hogwarts." He shrugged.
Ron nodded. "I forget sometimes, you know? I forget that you didn't grow up knowing that you were Famous Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. It's weird to think about you being so … cut off … from everything." He sat for a moment, apparently lost in thought, and then gave himself a little shake. "Anyhow, mate, I think you should buy the broomsticks if that's what you want to do." He added, in a tone reminiscent of Hermione at her most lofty, "And anyone who doesn't like it doesn't have to ride one."
Harry grinned. "That's just what I'll tell them," he said, in an equally lofty tone. He and Ron grinned at one another, and Harry felt worlds better. He was glad that he and Ron were finally able talk about these things. Ron used to get so touchy when money was mentioned at all that a serious conversation about it hadn't been possible. Ron would get touchy, and Harry would get bewildered and withdrawn, and things would sort of fester. But now they could talk about it. Harry supposed they must be growing up.
Harry forced the grin from his face and said in his gravest tone, "There's something very important we have to discuss, Ron."
"What?" Ron looked terrified.
"What kind of brooms?" The boys looked at on another for a moment and then burst into laughter.
Hermione tore her attention from her chat with Ginny and the twins to ask what could possibly be so funny, but Harry and Ron found themselves unequal to the task of explaining. Hermione rolled her eyes, muttered "Boys!" and returned to her conversation. And Harry and Ron spent the rest of the ride discussing the relative merits of the current broomstick models.
*
The ride to King's Cross passed uneventfully, and Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys arrived with time to spare. Harry wasn't sure where they attracted more stares: outside the station, where Mr. Weasley's van was the most conspicuous vehicle on the street, or inside it, where the sight of an oversized luggage cart piled precariously with old-fashioned trunk and surrounded by a large family, with odd pets in tow, who kept muttering about Muggles, baffled passersby. Despite the stares, they arrived unscathed at the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. Two by two, they made their way through the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The Platform was its usual flurry of activity. Owls flew about (Harry wondered why people didn't keep them caged; you just had to catch them again when the train came, and some—particularly the ones belonging to new first-years—were singularly uninterested in coming down from the rafters and back to their cages), students ran from group to group, finding old friends and yelling across the huge expanse of the terminal to people on the other side, parents hugged their children, mothers looked misty-eyed, fathers tried not to look misty-eyed, and, dominating the scene, the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express blew steam like some giant tea kettle. Mrs. Weasley cautioned her children to behave—looking particularly hard at the twins when she said this—implored Harry to be careful, and asked Hermione to try to keep "the boys" in line. "Although I know it's an impossible task, dear." Mr. Weasley simply beamed at them and told them to study hard, do their best, and have fun. Then both Weasleys hugged all of their brood extra-hard and sent them on their way with instructions to write often and to stay out of trouble.
Once on the train, the group had to split; Harry, Ron, and Hermione had the Prefect's meeting to attend, so Fred, George, and Ginny were on their own. "Stick with the twins, okay, Gin?" Ron said in as off-hand a way as he could manage. "Just, you know, to be safe."
"Safe? With those two?" Ginny replied in a tone of mock disbelief.
Pretending to be hurt, Fred and George led her away, enumerating all of the dangers that they would protect her from.
"Bad apples on the trolley, and Neville's toad running amok…"
"…and Slytherins, and soot, and spilled tea, and spiders—no, wait, that's Ron…." Their voices trailed away in the distance as they laid claim to a compartment and shut the door behind them.
The other three shook their heads and grinned. "Reckon we should put these badges on," Harry remarked, pulling the silver P from his pocket and pinning it to his robe. Ron and Hermione did the same, Ron complaining all the while that he could never wear "this thing" in front of the twins. The three then picked up their trunks and cages and strolled through the train toward the front car. On the way, they met up with several other new Prefects—Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, and Justin Finch-Fletchley of Hufflepuff and Terry Boot, Kevin Entwhistle, and Padma Patil of Ravenclaw. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had been in double Herbology lessons together in the past, so Harry knew those students fairly well, but the Ravenclaws were relative strangers; by some fluke of the schedule, the fifth-years in those two Houses had never had a class together. Aside from Ron's disastrous Yule Ball date with Padma, the Harry and his friends hadn't had many dealings with the Ravenclaws. The Hufflepuffs, who shared Potions lessons with the Ravenclaws, introduced the two groups, and they all talked amongst themselves as they made their way forward. Harry knew they had to be getting close to the front when a drawling voice stopped the group in their tracks.
"Poor ickle first-year, crying over his mummy. Need a handkerchief, baby Mudblood? Ooo, and what's this?" Sounds of a mild struggle ensued.
Harry rolled his eyes. Typical Malfoy. "Excuse me," Harry said to his fellow Prefects. He knocked at the door of the compartment from which the drawl was issuing and then walked in without waiting for an answer. Malfoy and Goyle were standing over a very small boy ("Were we ever that small?" Harry wondered) whose arms were being pinned behind his back by Crabbe. Malfoy was holding a piece of parchment in one hand and a kitten, held by the scruff of the neck, in the other. "Dear Mum," he started to read from the parchment.
"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" Harry inquired in his most official tone, putting a slightly sarcastic emphasis on the last word.
The three Slytherins whirled towards him, and Crabbe let go of the boy's arms. The boy took advantage of their inattention and snatched his letter. Then he demanded furiously, "Give me back Socks!" Harry was impressed; the boy was fast for such a little fellow, and spunky, too.
"What do you want, Potter?" Malfoy said, ignoring the boy.
"I want you give that young man's kitten back to him and then take your goons and shove off," Harry replied mildly.
"Who's going to make me?" Malfoy asked insolently.
Harry felt the familiar rush of anger. He managed, though, to take a mental step back and look at the situation calmly. "Whose going to make me?" was, he realised, pretty lame. Nothing worth fuming over. He grinned inwardly and rolled his eyes. "How original," he said dryly. "I hope no one will need to 'make' you once you bother to notice that there are nine Prefects witnessing your misbehaviour." Harry took a step forward into the compartment so that Malfoy and his bodyguards could see, just behind him, the small army of Prefect badges.
Malfoy, looking murderous, shoved the black-and-white kitten at the boy. Then he jerked his head at the door for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him. As he walked past Harry, he made as if to put his hand on Harry's chest; his hand stopped in mid-gesture when he saw Harry's wand aiming at his heart. "Don't touch me, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, "And don't say a word. You're in enough trouble already." Malfoy hurried away, his goons in tow, throwing angry looks over his shoulder. Harry pocketed his wand and grinned; he was getting better at dealing with Malfoy. He turned to regard the boy.
He was very small—short, skinny, and small-boned—with a mop of brown curls, hazel eyes, and a tear-stained face, none too clean. His tears seemed forgotten, though, for he was gazing at Harry with awe.
"That was cool!" he said fervently. "Thanks!"
"You're welcome," Harry said, keeping his voice gentle and calming since the boy had been upset earlier. "I'm Harry … Harry Potter. What's your name?"
"Matthew. Matthew Williamson."
"Nice to meet you, Matthew. What was the problem with those three?"
Tears welling up again, Matthew explained that he had been feeling homesick. "They found me in here writing to Mum. They teased me and pestered Socks." He added darkly, "I think they're mean."
"They are," Harry assured him. "But don't worry; not everyone at Hogwarts is like that."
"I didn't mean to get homesick," Matthew said. "I'm really excited about learning magic and being a wizard and all that. I didn't even know there were wizards until I got the letter. And it's been so much fun buying the stuff and reading the books and finding out. But I hadn't thought about the being away part. I've never been away from home before."
Harry looked out into the hallway in a silent plea for guidance. He wasn't very good at comforting. He caught Hermione's eye, and she patted Ron's shoulder. Ron looked startled. She gestured at Harry, then patted Ron's shoulder again. Oh! She wanted him to….
Harry patted Matthew on the shoulder. "There, there," he said. Where had that come from? He supposed that "there, there" went so naturally with pats on the shoulder that it had come automatically. "You're, erm, you won't be the only person who hasn't been away before. I had never been away when I came to Hogwarts. You'll be just fine." Harry cast about briefly, but he was out of encouragement. Then, a brilliant thought struck him. "Does your kitten like other animals?" Matthew nodded. "Well, all of us are on the way to a Prefects' meeting, and we need someone to watch our pets. Could you do that for us?"
Matthew looked like Christmas had come early. "Yeah! And I can watch your trunks, too! I'll take really good care of them."
Harry glanced out into the hall, where the other Prefects were regarding him with a mixture of amusement and admiration. He gestured for them to bring in their trunks and cages. They did, and they all shook Matthew's hand and thanked him for keeping an eye on their things. The boy's chest swelled with pride, and Harry grinned. "See you later, Matthew," he said, and he and the other Prefects hurried on toward the next car, not wanting to be late.
"Nice job with that kid, Potter," Justin said as they walked along. "I have scads of little cousins, and that's just how you have to handle them: If you don't know what to say, distract them."
"Hang on," Harry said with mock sternness. "You have little cousins. That means you've actually talked to a child before. But you left me—me, who has never spoken to anyone that small since I was that small—all on my own in there."
Justin grinned unashamedly. "Thought you needed to learn," he said. Harry and the others laughed.
Moments later, the group arrived at the front car. Just as they stepped into it, the train began to move; they were on their way.
Most of the other Prefects had already arrived, so the car was pretty full—full and noisy. Instead of compartments, this car was open, arranged rather like a long, narrow classroom with red plush train seats instead of desks and chairs. There was a podium at the front and two seats behind it, facing the others; Harry reckoned that those were for the Head Boy and Girl. Most people weren't sitting in the seats yet, though; instead, they were milling about the edges of the car and chatting with their friends. Bidding Harry, Ron, and Hermione goodbye, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fifth-years dispersed to talk with their older counterparts. The Gryffindors simply stood for a bit, taking in the scene.
"Harry, who's that?" Ron asked, indicating a burly boy in the corner.
"Slytherin. Sixth year. I think his name's Bode."
"He wasn't a Prefect last year," Hermione said. "The Slytherin fifth-year Prefects were Samantha MacNair and Cassius Flint."
Harry looked around for the students that Hermione had mentioned. "I don't see either of them."
"They got sacked," came a voice from behind them. They turned to see Angelina Johnson, seventh-year Chaser and Gryffindor Prefect.
"I didn't know Prefects could get sacked," Ron said. Harry nodded. He hadn't known that, either. He had never heard of it happening before.
"Well, they did. And so did Tobias Rosenfeld. Cavendish McBane and Caxton Sanders are taking over as seventh-year boys' Prefects for Slytherin." Seeing the inquiring looks on the trio's faces, Angelina looked around to make sure that no one else was listening and added quietly, "Rumour is that Dumbledore himself insisted on their removals."
"Why?" Hermione asked.
"What did they do?" Ron sounded extremely eager to hear, and Harry grinned. There were few things that Ron enjoyed more than hearing dirt on the Slytherins.
"Nothing unusual, so far as anyone knows. Maybe we'll find out here. If anybody here knows, it'll be Charles and Sylvia. They're Head Boy and Girl this year, and they'll run the meeting." Angelina indicated a dark-haired boy of medium build and a tall girl with brown curls and a mischievous expression.
Harry grinned at the girl, wondering how Sylvia Fawcett had managed to be named Head Girl in spite of her behavioural record. She wasn't in the twins' league as a troublemaker, but she'd lost her share of House points over the years. Ravenclaws had a reputation for scholarship, though, so her marks were probably very good, and she was well-liked and well-respected by the other students.
Harry's grin died on his face when he met the eyes of Charles Stebbins, a Hufflepuff. He got an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach—a feeling like he had just gone down a step that he didn't know was there and was unexpectedly caught in mid-air for a split-second. It should have been Cedric. Harry knew that Stebbins was feeling Cedric's absence, too, for he gave a small grimace and a half-shrug as if apologising to Harry for being there, for being in the place that was not rightfully his. Harry returned the gesture, and Stebbins nodded gratefully and turned away quickly. Harry swallowed hard and turned to look out the window.
"You okay, Potter?" Angelina asked.
Her tone was offhand, but Harry saw the not-quite-hidden concern on her face. He appreciated that concern, but he wasn't up to dealing with it at the moment. "Yeah," he replied. "I'm fine."
Angelina clapped him roughly on the shoulder and made her way on down the length of the car. Harry grinned ruefully. "Is everybody going to be worrying about me this year?"
"Probably," Hermione answered.
"Great." All he wanted was to blend in, to be anonymous, to be left alone to have a normal life. Harry felt himself slipping toward self-pity, and he gave himself a mental shake. A normal life isn't going to happen any time soon, and you'd better get used to it, he told himself sharply.
"All right, then, everyone pay attention!" Sylvia Fawcett's hearty voice boomed over the babble of talk, and all of the conversations in the car immediately ceased. In a slightly quieter but still very commanding voice, she continued, "Take a seat, folks; time to start the meeting."
The Prefects hurried to take seats; Sylvia gave them a bit of time to get settled, then began the meeting in earnest. She introduced herself and Charles and then had the Prefects introduce themselves with their names, years, and Houses. When introductions were done, she said, "You'll probably have noticed by now that there are more new Prefects than usual, and you're probably wondering why. Charles is going to tell you about that." She stepped away from the podium and took one of the seats behind it, and Charles took the floor.
Charles's style was much more formal than Sylvia's had been, and Harry could tell that the formality was the Head Boy's tool for masking his nervousness. "With the rebirth of You-Know-Who, safety is now a more serious priority than it has been for the past few years. In the past, Prefects were mostly there as rule enforcers. Now that You-Know-Who is back, we're expected to be, not just rule enforcers, but watchers. We're supposed to keep an eye on our fellow students, particularly the younger ones, and especially ones who, for whatever reason, are likely to be targets of Dark forces—Muggle-borns, or ones whose parents are known for working against You-Know-Who during his last reign. That job requires extra people—and extra people who have been chosen with particular care. Some of last year's Prefects were determined to be unfit for the new role, and they have been replaced. Each House now has three Prefects from each year of the top three years instead of just two, and all of those people were hand-picked by Professor Dumbledore. Everyone in this room has the Headmaster's trust, and he hopes—and I hope with him—that we will all take his trust as a sign that we can trust one another. Prefect meetings are no place for suspicions or House prejudices. You are all good people, and I look forward to working with you this year."
Charles sat back down, his hands trembling slightly. Harry was impressed; that speech had to have been a difficult one to make, and Charles had pulled it off beautifully, managing to sound firm and serious without sounding pompous or lecturey.
Sylvia took the podium again. "Now that Charles has done the hard part, I get to tell you more about the role of the Prefect—what our jobs are, what we're expected to do, what we're not expected to do. What we aren't expected to do is handle everything by ourselves. We have one another, and we have the teachers, and that means that no Prefect ever has to handle an uncomfortable situation on his or her own. Asking for help from your fellow Prefects or from the teachers is not a sign of weakness; it's a sign of maturity." Was it Harry's imagination, or did Sylvia look particularly meaningfully at the Slytherins when she said this? He couldn't tell. "We also aren't expected to be whip-cracking, rule-book-quoting heavies. If a student is two minutes late for curfew, be reasonable. Pick your battles." Ron was shooting Hermione very significant looks, and Harry smothered a chuckle. "On the other hand, there are some rules that we do have to take very seriously." Sylvia continued in this vein for a while, carefully covering the Prefect's duties. By the end of her presentation, they knew the expected response to nearly every kind of infraction, from rude talk to dueling in the hallways to being found in unauthorised areas. They knew when to take House points on the spot, when to talk to a teacher, and when to let things go. It was quite informative, and Harry wondered for a moment why only Prefects ever heard these things. Knowing the usual penalty for, say, wandering the corridors at night for no good reason would have come in handy for him many times. He decided that these penalties weren't common knowledge for the same reason that there was no published list of Quidditch fouls: you might give people ideas. Harry, for instance, had never considered bewitching a classroom so that the members of the next class all came out smelling like … at any rate, it wasn't the sort of thing that you'd want mentioned on a list of rules to be made available to everyone.
"So that's what Prefects do," Sylvia finished. "Any questions?" There were a few, which Sylvia and Charles handled deftly. "All right, then. I'll pass out copies of class schedules for this year just so you can see where students in your House are supposed to be at various times, and that should be the end of official business. Once you get a copy of the schedule, you're free to go visit your other friends if you want, but I hope you'll all stick around here for a little while and get to know your fellow Prefects. This is probably the only time that we'll all get to meet together. Once we get to school, you'll sometimes meet with the other Prefects in your year and sometimes with the other Prefects in your House, but we probably won't ever get the chance to meet as a large group; some of us will always have to be on duty. So, yeah, take this chance to talk among yourselves; it may be a while before you get it again." With that, Sylvia closed the meeting. The room was soon filled again with the buzz of many conversations.
Harry listened to Ron and Hermione spar as they waited for copies of the schedule. Ron was baiting Hermione about Sylvia's admonishment that Prefects needn't be heavies, and Hermione was giving him her "oh, honestly, Ron!" look. Harry was content to leave them to it. He interrupted only to draw their attention to the schedule.
"Look, we actually have a class with Ravenclaw this year—Care of Magical Creatures," he said.
Momentarily distracted from their dispute, Ron and Hermione checked their copies of the schedule to verify. "Yes!" said Ron. "Aw, hell, still with Slytherin in Potions. Bloody unfair, that is."
"Language, Ron," Hermione reminded. "Prefects have to …"
"…set a good example," Harry and Ron chorused along with her. Hermione tried to look offended, but she couldn't keep it up, and soon the three were laughing together.
Ron suddenly stopped laughing, looking watchful. "Slytherins at two o'clock," he muttered, jerking his head forward and to the right. Sure enough, the three fifth-year Slytherin Prefects were heading their way. They stopped to confer briefly, and only Blaise Zabini continued on toward Harry and his friends; the two girls walked off toward a different group of students. Blaise stopped in front of Harry, looking a little nervous.
"Could I have a word, please, Potter? Alone?" Turning his attention to Ron and Hermione, he added, "No offense, you two; it's just sort of private."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had a brief non-verbal conversation in which Harry, through the facial equivalent of a shrug, indicated that he wanted to go and Ron and Hermione, through raised eyebrows and knowing looks, indicated varying degrees of scepticism but agreed that he should hear Zabini out. Harry stood and walked with Blaise to a quiet corner of the car that was well within Ron and Hermione's line of sight. "What's up?" he asked.
Zabini swallowed hard and seemed to be screwing up his courage. Finally, he spoke. "I just wanted to … to apologise. For last year." When Harry looked a little confused, he clarified, "The Tri-wizard Tournament. Those stupid 'Potter Stinks' badges. They were Malfoy's idea, of course, and he made them, but I shouldn't have worn one, and I'm sorry. Queenie and Tracey are sorry, too, but they thought the apology might be better coming from just one of us. We didn't want you to feel like…." Blaise trailed off, not quite able to find the words.
"… Like I was being ganged up on?" Harry supplied.
Blaise smiled ruefully. "Well, our House is sort of known for it. Ganging up on people, I mean. Anyway, sorry about the badges and all."
"It's forgotten," Harry said. And he meant it. It was nice of Blaise to bother to apologise. Harry had never really thought of any of the Slytherins as individuals; they were always just "the Slytherins," mentally grouped in with Malfoy and his goons. Perhaps it was time to stop thinking of them that way.
"Thanks. And, listen, Potter, I just want you to know … I can never really act like your friend. I can't strike up a chat with you between classes, or look sympathetic when Snape says something nasty, or tell Malfoy to shut his trap when he's being a git to you. I can't do that; there are a lot of people in my House who don't like you, and taking them on over you would make it harder for me to do my job as a Prefect in the House. But I want you to know that I see how unfair and nasty some of my Housemates are to you, and I don't agree them, and, in whatever very quiet way I can, I'll try to keep that attitude from spreading. And, if it's ever something important—if it's ever something to do with You-Know-Who—I'm on your side. Just so you know."
Harry couldn't speak; Blaise's speech had disarmed him completely. Finally, he offered his hand, and Zabini shook it firmly. When he had regained the use of his voice, Harry said, "Thank you. Really, thanks a lot. I really appreciate … everything."
Blaise nodded and took his leave, and Harry returned to his friends. "What was that about?" Ron asked. He and Hermione were as dumbstruck as Harry had been when he related the conversation. "Wow," Ron said.
"Yeah. That's pretty much what I said," Harry agreed.
"Well, it looks like Dumbledore picked the right Prefects," Hermione said. The boys concurred. "Should we go and say hello to the other Slytherins?" she suggested.
Harry and Ron looked at one another uncertainly, and Harry reminded himself of Sylvia's exhortation to build trust among the Prefects. Laying his doubts aside, he said, "Yeah. Let's," and the trio made their way across the car.
The Slytherin Prefects were standing a little apart from everyone else, not mingling with the group. They all looked very surprised and several looked more than a little suspicious at being approached by a pride of Gyffindors. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all introduced themselves, and the Slytherins replied by supplying their own names. There was a moment's pause, finally broken by Cavendish McBane. "Weasley. I have Potions class with your twin brothers."
Ron's reply, a heartfelt, "I'm so sorry," caused a ripple of laughter through the group, and that broke the ice. The group chatted about classes and Quidditch, moaned about O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s, and their summer homework, and talked about what they'd done during the holiday. Harry was surprised at how, well, normal Slytherins could be when they were away from pernicious influences like Malfoy and Snape.
When the conversation lulled a bit, Harry said, "We should probably say a quick hello to the other folks and then get going. We left a first-year guarding our luggage and our pets, and I reckon we'd better make sure he hasn't done any damage." The Slytherins chuckled, and the three Gryffindors took their leave. They stopped to say a brief word to a group of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw sixth- and seventh-years who were commiserating about the summer Potions assignment, waved good-bye across the room to their fellow Gryffindors, and left the Prefect's car to check on Matthew.
Matthew's compartment was rather more full than it had been when they'd left, for he had been joined by three other boys. Harry noted that they were all notably bigger than Matthew, confirming that the boy was indeed as small as he'd looked. The four children broke off their animated conversation to look at the new faces. "He's the one!" Matthew said excitedly, pointing at Harry "The one I told you about who made the bullies go away. Will you stay and talk to us, Harry?"
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, who both nodded, and the three fifth-years joined the boys in the seats. It was a tight squeeze with the extra trunks, but they managed. They all introduced themselves. Titus Pipps, one of the boys who was born of a magical family, eyed Harry thoughtfully. Finally, he burst out, "That newspaper person said you were funny in the head. But Matthew here says you're really nice, and not funny in the head at all."
Hermione looked all set to start a tirade, but Ron broke in, "That newspaper person said a whole lot of things that weren't true. But she's not allowed to write for a while now, so she won't be able to tell any more lies about people."
"So you're not funny in the head?" Titus sounded almost disappointed.
"No more than anyone else, I reckon," Harry answered.
"Definitely not as much as Dumbledore," Ron said, smoothly changing the subject. "He's brilliant, but he's barking." The boys clamoured to know more, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the rest of the train ride regaling them with tales of Hogwarts and its inhabitants. The boys only let them take a break when the tea trolley arrived and when the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fifth-years stopped in to collect their pets (leaving their trunks, which were always delivered to the castle by some sort of magical means). The Gryffindor trio were hoarse from talking when the train finally puffed into Hogsmeade station.
Author's Notes: Thanks again to Yolanda for the beta, and thanks to all my wonderful reviewers!
This chapter was kind of transition-y; my apologies if it's a little slow. The action level pick up a bit in the next few.
Oh, about Mr. Weasley's car … Yolanda pointed out that it sounds a bit like Scooby Doo's Mystery Machine. I have in mind much less of a pattern for the Weasley van paint job. Think more Jackson Pollack-style drips than tie-dyed swirls, and much less of an identifiable color scheme. ;-)
Finally, a shameless plug: If you're reading Arabella and Zsenya's wonderful "After the End" (and, if you aren't, you should be), go check out "The Contract," my short companion piece to Chapter 31, over at The Sugar Quill (http://www.sugarquill.net/read.php?storyid=1192&chapno=1).
TSS
