Chapter 13

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Harry and Ron sat in their cozy compartment, the train swaying gently as it carried them farther from London and closer to Hogwarts. Hedwig dozed in her cage by the window, while on the seat beside Harry lay his MushTech GigaGear, powered off for the time being.

Ron turned to Harry, his wand in hand. "So, d'you follow any Quidditch teams?"

Harry paused, recalling how Bowser and the Koopalings were all about go-kart racing, not broom-based sports. "Uh, not really," he admitted. "I've heard of Quidditch, but I don't know any teams."

Ron's mouth fell open in apparent shock. "Seriously? It's the best game ever! Four balls, seven players… Let me explain."

Harry listened, genuinely curious as Ron launched into a passionate rundown of Quidditch. The conversation drifted from famous matches to broomstick models Ron's brothers owned. Harry found himself quietly amused by how Quidditch reminded him of the high-energy matches of Koopa Kart Races back home—though he held that thought to himself, not quite ready to explain the full details of his Koopa background.

Eventually, Ron's chatter turned to family again. "We're not well-off," he said, his ears going a bit pink. "I've got five older brothers, so almost everything I own's been passed down. Including this git." He reached into his coat, pulling out a sleepy, fat gray rat.

"His name's Scabbers. Pretty useless, actually—doesn't do much except sleep."

At that moment, the compartment door slid open again, revealing an elderly witch pushing a trolley laden with sweets and snacks. "Anything off the cart, dears?" she asked kindly.

Ron shook his head glumly, patting his pockets. "No, thanks," he mumbled, clearly lacking the money for treats.

Harry, recalling how Bowser had insisted on him having the funds needed for Hogwarts—and a bit more besides—stood quickly. "I'll take some, please." He bought a generous variety: Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, and Pumpkin Pasties. After paying, he turned back to Ron with a grin.

"Help me finish these. No way I can eat it all by myself."

Ron's face lit up with gratitude. "You sure?"

"Positive," Harry said. "Dig in."

They had barely begun sampling the sweets when the compartment door slid open yet again. This time, three boys stepped in. Leading them was the pale, pointed-faced boy Harry remembered from Madam Malkin's robe shop—a boy who'd made less than a sterling impression. He was flanked by two thickset companions who looked far meaner than they were intelligent.

"Is it true?" the pale boy drawled, eyes fixed on Harry. "They're saying all up and down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. That's you, is it?"

Harry nodded slowly, feeling a flicker of Koopa-born excitement in his chest. "Yeah, that's me."

The boy smirked, revealing a thin, superior smile. "Name's Draco Malfoy. These are Crabbe and Goyle." He gestured lazily at the two thickset boys, who eyed Harry and Ron with hostility.

Ron coughed awkwardly, and Malfoy's gaze snapped to him. "Weasley, right? Red hair, freckles… father can't even afford to keep half of you clothed properly. I've heard all about you." He turned back to Harry. "You want to hang around with the right sort, Potter. Some wizarding families are better than others. I can help you if you're not stupid enough to get mixed up with riff-raff like the Weasleys."

He held out a hand, but Harry made no move to take it. A memory of Bowser's harsh training sessions flashed in his mind—learning to hold his ground, to never let bullies push him or his family around. Slowly, he stood up, towering over Malfoy by a few inches. Years of wrestling with the Koopalings had given him a wiry strength beyond most eleven-year-olds.

"I can figure out who the wrong sort are myself," Harry said calmly, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice. "I don't need your help."

Malfoy's pale cheeks tinged pink, and he narrowed his eyes. "Careful, Potter. Don't want to end up like your parents—didn't know what was good for them, did they?"

Ron stood too, ears aflame. "Shut your mouth about his parents!"

Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward menacingly, one of them eyeing the pile of sweets on the seat. "We're hungry," he sneered, reaching out for a handful of Chocolate Frogs.

Harry moved with a fluid quickness—faster than anyone might expect. He grabbed Goyle's thick wrist in a firm grip, stopping his hand cold. The muscle memory of sparring with Bowser Jr. clicked in; with a practiced twist, Harry turned Goyle's arm aside. Goyle grunted, eyes widening in shock.

Malfoy and Crabbe looked stunned at the raw strength Harry displayed. For a moment, Goyle tried to pull free, but Harry held on like iron.

"You lay one finger on Ron's stuff," Harry said, voice low and carrying a note of danger, "and you'll regret it."

Goyle's face twisted in pain and confusion. Malfoy's pale features flushed. "Don't be stupid, Potter," he snapped, but the tremor in his voice betrayed his surprise.

"We're not leaving," Crabbe snarled, stepping closer.

Harry released Goyle's arm only to stand squared, his posture radiating confidence. A faint grin—just a shade of a Koopa's savage smirk—curved his lips. "Yes, you are," he said coolly.

Ron watched, half in awe, as Harry seized the initiative. He pushed Crabbe backward with surprising power, sending him stumbling into Malfoy, who nearly toppled. Goyle, nursing his bruised wrist, shot Harry a glare but clearly thought twice about tangling again.

Malfoy tried to recover, straightening up and adjusting his robes. "You'll pay for this, Potter," he spat, but his words lacked venom now that he'd seen Harry's strength. He gestured angrily at Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them backed out of the compartment, slamming the door behind them.

Ron dropped back into his seat, staring at Harry with wide eyes. "Mate… that was… brilliant! Where'd you learn to do that?"

Harry's heart was still pounding with adrenaline, but he shrugged, trying to play it off. "My dad made sure I could handle myself. Let's leave it at that."

Ron shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. "Malfoy's a git, but I've never seen anyone knock his goons around like that. You've got some serious moves."

Harry felt a rush of satisfaction—part Koopa pride, part relief. "They'll think twice before messing with us again."

They settled back down, both boys trying to process the tension that had flared and died so quickly. As the train chugged onward, fields flashing by in green blurs, Harry realized he felt more at ease than ever. If Malfoy was any indication of Hogwarts troublemakers, then so be it—he had Bowser's tenacity to back him up.

Ron sighed, glancing at the scattered sweets. "Right. Now that that's over, any chance I can still get one of those Chocolate Frogs?"

Harry laughed, tossing him one. "Sure thing. Help yourself."

The air quickly dissipated of the confrontation and the two young wizards talked and laughed until the compartment door slid open yet again. Hermione Granger appeared, surveying the scene with a concerned frown. Her gaze flicked to the scattered sweets on the floor, then to Ron's slumbering rat in his hands.

"What happened in here?" she asked sharply, brown eyes darting between Harry and Ron. "I heard shouting—have you been fighting?"

Harry spoke first, before Ron could get a word out. "Some uninvited guests decided they'd help themselves to our food. We… took care of it. Nothing major."

Hermione scanned their expressions. "That Malfoy boy? I saw him storming down the corridor with those two lumps. Did they—?"

Harry nodded, keeping his tone casual. "They tried to pick a fight, so we showed them the door."

Hermione sniffed, the tension easing from her posture but replaced with a hint of disapproval. "Well, you'd better be careful. We haven't even reached Hogwarts, and I'd hate to see anyone in trouble before classes start." She paused, eyeing Ron's dozing rat. "Anyway, if that's sorted, you should put your robes on. We'll be arriving soon. I just asked the driver and he said we're nearly there."

Ron rolled his eyes, adjusting Scabbers gently on the seat. "We will. Don't worry. Nothing to report here."

Hermione gave them a last assessing glance. "All right then. And—Ron, you've got dirt on your nose. Did you know?"

Ron turned a little pink. "Thanks," he muttered.

Hermione shook her head, backing out of the compartment. "And do hurry—people are already acting like children, running up and down the corridors." She slid the door shut.

As soon as she left, Ron blew out a breath, scowling after her. "She's a bit bossy, isn't she?" he said under his breath.

Harry merely shrugged. "At least she's not trying to break the door down like Malfoy and his goons."

Outside the window, dusk deepened, the sky shifting into moody purples over distant mountains and forests. The train let out a long whistle, the coach rocking gently as it began to slow.

"We're close," Harry noted, standing up and tugging his robes from his trunk. "About time."

Ron followed suit, pulling out a set of hand-me-down robes that were clearly short for him. "Ugh. I'm going to look like I'm wearing a tent that's too small," he grumbled, shoving his feet into them. "But at least it's better than nothing."

Harry, slipping into his own robes, thought about how, back home, Koopa tailors would adjust practically anything. He pushed the memory aside, feeling a pang of longing. Bowser and Peach would want me focused, he reminded himself.

A voice crackled overhead: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry and Ron shared a tense smile, each swallowing nerves and excitement. They stuffed the remaining sweets into their pockets and joined the throng of students crowding the corridor.

At last, the train juddered to a stop, the doors sliding open to reveal a small, dimly lit platform under the cool night sky. Harry shivered at the sudden drop in temperature, drawing his robes tighter around himself. Ron was right beside him, looking pale but determined.

Beyond the sea of heads, a familiar lamp bobbed in the darkness, and a booming voice—one Harry knew all too well—cut through the chatter: "Firs'-years! Firs'-years, over here! All right there, Harry?"

Hagrid's bearded face appeared above the crowd, lantern held high. Harry felt a wave of relief at the sight of the friendly half-giant. "Firs'-years follow me—mind yer step!" Hagrid called.

Ron shot Harry a questioning glance, as if to say, How do you know him so well? Harry just gave him a grin. "That's Hagrid," he murmured. "He's helped me and my family a lot with helping get us sorted when we first went to Diagon."

They followed Hagrid away from the chattering crowd, down a steep, winding path that cut through the dark. With every footstep, Hogwarts loomed larger against the star-strewn sky, its turrets and towers promising both wonder and mystery. Yet Harry's thoughts drifted back to the chaotic and loving home he'd left behind—Bowser's castle, which had been his since he was four years old.

He could almost hear the echo of Bowser Jr.'s laughter, the Koopalings' rowdy cheers, and Princess Peach's warm, patient voice scolding them for knocking over yet another tower of Goomba-stacked crates. Then there was Mario and Luigi, dropping by to keep the peace or join in friendly sparring that somehow always ended in raucous laughter. Bowser himself, with his fierce roar and fiery temper, had never let Harry doubt he was part of their strange, makeshift family. It was an upbringing that taught Harry to handle any challenge—and to stand tall, whether racing karts or wrestling rowdy Koopalings.

Now, with each step away from the station, the memory of that castle gave him fresh resolve. If he could survive the boisterous chaos of the Koopa Kingdom, Hogwarts felt like just another exciting arena. His heart pounded with anticipation, a confident spark in his eyes hinting at the years of training and family love that stood behind him—ready to see him through whatever awaited in the looming castle beyond.