Chapter Two: The Hogwarts Express
"Potter!"
Harriet spun around, finding the source of her surname. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or annoyed, but sure enough, Malfoy had broken away from his parents and was pushing past Muggles to get to her.
He was smartly dressed, looking every bit as haughty as she had remembered from the robe shop.
"Malfoy," she returned neutrally. "Where are your school things?" He smirked, gesturing behind him. Harriet peered around and saw that Mrs. Malfoy was pushing his trunk, talking comfortably to his father.
"And where are your...guardians?" he asked, making a point to look around her. Harriet could only guess that he was looking for Snape.
"They dropped me off," she said, trying to appear as unconcerned as possible. "They had more important things to do." Like get the hell away from me.
"Well, I suppose, they are Muggles, aren't they?" Malfoy said, his hands in his pockets. Harriet thought frantically to how he knew that, wondering if she had told him after all, and found that her gaze lingered suspiciously on the nearing figure of Mr. Malfoy. "I can't imagine how dull it must be to grow up with Muggles. What do you do, anyway? I suppose it's all good, in the end, that they aren't here with you; they don't belong in our world. Shame, really. The Potters were quite prominent in their day, and here you are, in Muggle rags."
"I'd shut up if I were you, Malfoy," she hissed warningly, her hands bunching up into fists. He looked alarmed for a moment before he gathered himself again, his eyes glinting.
"Or what, Potter?"
She didn't get to answer, however, because his parents arrived at his side, and she still had no idea how to get onto the platform.
"Hello, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy," she greeted the adults, hoping she looked pleasant and presentable. Mr. Malfoy was still regarding her like she was too far below him to be noticed, but Mrs. Malfoy's eyes flickered from her son back to Harriet with interest.
"Harriet Potter," she said softly, thoughtfully. "Surely Severus told you how to get onto the platform?"
She was benign enough that Harriet chose not the lie, but the presence of her husband and son drove Harriet to blush furiously, crumpling the ticket further in her hand. She shook her head discreetly, eyes averted to the ground. Mrs. Malfoy sighed.
"No matter, no matter," she murmured. "Just go through the wall between Nine and Ten. You'll pass right through. Draco, why don't you walk through with her?"
"Of course, Mother," he agreed, puffing out his chest slightly. He took over his cart, and lined up with Harriet. "It's easy," he told her, but when he looked at the brick wall, Harriet was satisfied a trace of fear was betrayed on his face.
"You aren't scared of a stupid wall, are you?" she taunted him as they came nearer. Malfoy scowled, but his pace hastened. In a matter of seconds, they were running at the barrier.
Naturally, Harriet was not very settled with it at all. She felt herself tense and close her eyes seconds before they made impact, holding her breath, just waiting -
Except -
"We made it through," Malfoy exclaimed just as Harriet opened her eyes. Her eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs as she looked at him.
"What? You didn't think we would?"
"Of course I knew we would."
Harriet looked around. The platform was bustling with students and their parents. They hovered about in Muggle and Wizard clothes alike, lifting trunks and animal cages onto a gloriously red train. Steam spewed from the engine, concealing most of the crowd. The noise seemed to come from nowhere, and people stepped out of the mist who could have easily just appeared out of thin air.
Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy arrived behind them. Without a word, they led the way for the two eleven-year-olds to one of the passenger cars where dwelled two bulkish boys with sour faces. Their parents had similar brutish builds, except for a black-haired witch with a rather terrible overbite.
"Crabbe, Goyle," Malfoy said to the boys, who turned around like stunned animals. "This is Potter. She'll be sitting with us. Potter, this is Crabbe and Goyle."
"How do you do?" she said, trying to mask her disdain. No one offered a hand, and for that, Harriet was grateful. Instead, the boys looked at her blankly, and then to Malfoy.
It occurred to her, perhaps too late, that she did not want to sit with Malfoy, and especially his new company. But looking around, she didn't know who else would actually want to sit with her. Resigned, she watched with veiled interest as Mr. Malfoy drew a wand from his cane, muttering something inaudible under his breath, and his son's trunk floated delicately onto the train.
He then took care of Crabbe's things, and then Goyle's. Mrs. Malfoy was distracted, talking to the black-haired witch, while her son discussed the highlights of some Quidditch game to his dumb companions.
Mr. Malfoy hadn't bothered with her trunk at all.
She watched as more families flooded onto the platform. A woman with flaming red hair, her daughter, and four sons seemed to create quite a fuss around them. Harriet caught Mr. Malfoy observing them darkly before they disappeared behind the steam.
"Mother!"
Harriet barely registered that Mrs. Malfoy had pulled her son into a tight embrace, and kissed his forehead affectionately. "I know you'll do wonderfully," she said, her eyes sparkling. She kissed him again, and Malfoy's cheeks were tinged with pink. "Write tonight, after you've been Sorted."
Mr. Malfoy was far less fussy about his whole leaving, and instead drew him off to the side, speaking to him in low tones. Mrs. Malfoy took this opportunity to realize that Harriet was still loitering in front of the train with her trunk; Crabbe and Goyle had already disappeared.
"I apologize for my husband," she said, her voice touched with something grim. She whipped out her wand, and Harriet watched as her trunk floated up, onto the train. "But a word, if you don't mind, Miss Potter?"
Harriet nodded silently. Mrs. Malfoy lowered herself slightly so that her face was inches from her own. Her eyes were just like her son's, except more radiant and fierce. Harriet found that she feared the beautiful woman more than she thought anything else of her family.
"What do you know of the war?" she asked quietly, never letting her gaze wander from Harriet's eyes.
"Which war?"
Mrs. Malfoy sucked in a breath suddenly, and slowly exhaled. "Never you mind, then. You'll learn in time." She still searched Harriet's eyes, and it was making the girl feel uneasy. "But I must confess something to you, Miss Potter."
Harriet waited.
"My loyalties are to the well-being of my son. Do you understand me?" Harriet nodded mutely, and Mrs. Malfoy relaxed. "Then you must understand the consequences of..."
But she was suddenly distracted; Malfoy had reappeared, and dutifully allowed his mother to coddle him again. Harriet scrambled onto the train while she had the chance, avoiding Mr. Malfoy's glare.
As the whistle blew, Malfoy hurried up beside her, waving sheepishly back to his mother, who was blowing kisses in his direction. His father had wrapped a protective arm around her waist, and all in all, the boy looked rather embarrassed.
On a certain level, Harriet understood Malfoy's reaction. On another, she found that something in the depths of her was dreadfully empty, and that Malfoy was a selfish git.
Harriet had no sooner settled into the compartment she shared with the three boys than she was drawn out of it on a quest.
"The Boy-Who-Lived, don't you know?" Malfoy was gawking at her. "He's the only person who's ever survived the Killing Curse. Come on! The Dark Lord couldn't kill him? The lightning-scar? No? Wow, you're ignorant."
"Wow, you're rude," Harriet muttered, but Malfoy pretended not to hear her.
They went from compartment to compartment, inquiring about this Boy-Who-Lived, getting students young and old riled up about the idea. Most of the time, though, Malfoy said something mean, but just as someone looked like they were going to confront them, they caught sight of Crabbe and Goyle.
As they went along, Harriet acquired a decent amount of useful information. For one, there were four Houses at Hogwarts to which students belonged. One of them was Slytherin, Malfoy's goal, and was apparently either the worst House or the best one, depending on who you asked. There was also Hufflepuff, for all the "leftovers," and Ravenclaw which passed as "acceptable." Harriet didn't know what the fourth was. Each House had a Quidditch team, and on each team, there was a position called Keeper. Also, the Dark Lord was also called You-Know-Who, but she still didn't know what his actual name was. Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster and also one of the most powerful wizards alive. There was a giant squid in the lake on the school grounds, dragons were illegal to keep as pets, and, no, they had no idea that the Boy-Who-Lived was even on the train.
"Why do you even care?" Harriet asked as they were nearing the end of the train. "If he's famous, he's probably sick of people trying to get a good look at him."
"Because," Malfoy said, licking his lips, "it's the Boy-Who-Lived. Imagine having him as an ally! We can't let him be friends with - with - with someone like Weasley, can we?"
He looked at Harriet imploringly as she rolled her eyes. Weasley had been a gangly, freckled kid their age, and the youngest son of the redheaded witch she had noticed on the platform. He'd been sitting with two other boys, and after a heated exchange, Harriet was thankful they were able to get out of the compartment without a fight.
The Weasleys, according to Malfoy, were dirt-poor, dishonorable "Bloodtraitors," whatever that meant. It would be a stupid idea to associate with them.
It was a stupid idea to associate with Malfoy, but never mind that.
She watched, bored, as Malfoy thrust open the next compartment to reveal a girl with bushy, brown hair and buckteeth sitting next to a tearful-looking boy with a round face. He was startled by their arrival, but the girl was still speaking to him soothingly. "Don't worry; we'll find him." She turned to the visitors, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She was, bless her, already in her school uniform. "May I help you?"
Malfoy's gaze lingered on the boy and froze somewhere toward the top of his face. "It's true then," he said, smirking. "They're saying all down the train that Neville Longbottom is in this compartment. So it's you, then?"
The girl beside the supposed Boy-Who-Lived looked irritated, but said nothing.
"Yes," mumbled the boy abashedly. Malfoy took it as his cue to sweep in, tugging discreetly at Harriet's sleeve for her to follow suit. Crabbe and Goyle, however, loitered in the threshold like stone pillars.
"This is Potter," he said, nodding toward Harriet, who folded her arms crossly across her chest, "and Crabbe, and Goyle. My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
"I'm Hermione Granger," the girl said, straightening up while Neville Longbottom tried to shrink back into his seat. Malfoy looked her over, frowning slightly.
"Granger? I've never heard of any Grangers."
"That's because I'm Muggleborn," she quipped, raising her chin. "The first in my family."
"That's not something to be proud of around here, I'm afraid," Malfoy sneered. "The less Muggle blood, the better."
Harriet elbowed him sharply, her eyes flashing. He glared back at her. "What?"
"Would it kill you to be nice for once?"
"Being nice didn't get anyone very far," Malfoy countered. "Besides, I'm only telling her the truth." He turned his attentions back to Neville Longbottom, who suddenly didn't look very tearful at all. "You don't need to keep the company of Muggleborns all day, Longbottom. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
Malfoy held out his hand, and Longbottom did something that Harriet wished she would have done: he left it hanging there.
"I think I know the wrong sort by myself," he said thickly.
"I would leave, if I were you," Granger added coldly. "He is the Boy-Who-Lived, after all."
"C'mon, Malfoy, let's go," Harriet hissed anxiously to the blonde boy. She pulled at his arm, but he wouldn't budge.
"You'll regret this, Longbottom," he growled. "If you don't watch it, you'll meet the same end as your parents."
The temperature in the compartment plummeted, and for an immeasurable amount of time, no one moved. At last, Malfoy himself broke the spell, and with one last look of contempt, swept out of the compartment, forcing Crabbe and Goyle to stumble into the hall. The door slammed shut behind them, and as soon as it had, he turned on Harriet, livid.
"What the hell was that for?"
"What are you yelling at me for? It's your own bloody fault. If you'd been nicer - "
"You just don't get it, do you?" he cut her off. "Look, Potter: I don't know what you learned in the Muggle world, but the Wizarding world is not like it." He closed his eyes and sighed. "You can't be soft, Father says. You won't make it if you don't fight for it. Everyone will walk all over you if they get the chance, so never give it to them. That means choosing the right allies. That means...well, I thought it meant Longbottom." His expression hardened, and he brushed past Harriet, muttering under his breath.
She stood there, paralyzed, while Crabbe and Goyle took off dutifully behind their leader, looking like a pair of bodyguards. She glanced back at the compartment door, listening to the muffled voices of Granger and Longbottom.
"I'm not soft," she said to herself, looking down at her shoes. They were old and worn, the left sole slowly coming undone.
She wanted to do the right thing, whatever that was. But she also didn't want people to walk all over her, like Malfoy said, and tell her mean things about her father, like Snape, and lock her up in a cupboard for ten years, like her aunt.
She was a witch, dammit. And even Ollivander had hinted that she was going to be a great one.
And great people weren't soft, were they?
She looked doubtfully to the compartment door. It was closed.
The door was closed.
Years and years later, she would understand just what it meant when she turned her back to the door and started down the corridor in silence, unhurried, but determined.
She would know what it meant when she flung open another door, a door hiding a blonde wizard and his two cronies. She would know what it meant when she sat next to Malfoy, still bitter, but returning half a broken smile.
But for the time being, she was only thankful that they were rushing toward a world that was different from the one she'd left behind.
