Chapter 12 — Malfoy Picks the Wrong Compartment

Changing clothes in a moving compartment required more cooperation than any of us had expected. Ron caught an elbow in his robe, Harry had to rescue his trousers from the seat beneath him, and I discovered that attaching a brush-shaped wand to my belt invited comment. Unfortunately, both of my companions had opinions ready.

‘It looks like a paintbrush,’ Ron said. He had freed his arm and was now leaning forward to inspect it. ‘Is that really what Ollivander sold you?’

‘After two and a half hours. I prefer to think of it as a highly specialised instrument.’ I adjusted the belt so the fibres wouldn’t catch on my robe. Harry had heard the explanation before and appeared determined not to assist with it.

‘It works,’ he told Ron. ‘It also looks like a paintbrush.’

I was considering whether introducing them had been a mistake when the door opened without a knock. Three boys stood outside, one pale and sharp-faced in front, with two broader companions behind him. His attention passed across the compartment and stopped on Harry. Nothing in his expression suggested he was about to ask politely for a seat.

‘Everyone’s saying Harry Potter is in here,’ he said. ‘Is that you?’

Harry’s shoulders tightened. ‘I’m Harry,’ he replied. ‘What do you want?’

‘Draco Malfoy.’ The boy indicated his companions with the confidence of somebody whose name ought to complete an explanation. ‘Crabbe and Goyle.’

Malfoy brought a faint association with him: blond hair, Slytherin, something unpleasant connected with his family. None of it was clear enough to be useful. Ron made a small noise at the introduction, and Malfoy turned towards him before I could ask whether we were all meant to introduce our luggage next.

‘A Weasley,’ he said. His gaze moved over Ron’s hair, robes and case. ‘I should have known.’ He began describing the family’s money troubles as though Ron had invited a public assessment. I wondered how often he had heard the same remarks at home before deciding to practise them on strangers.

Ron went red about the ears. Harry became still, watching Malfoy with the sort of attention that rarely led to friendship. Malfoy apparently mistook the silence for encouragement and turned back to him.

‘You ought to be careful who you associate with, Potter,’ he said. ‘Some wizarding families are worth knowing. I could help you choose.’ He held out his hand, leaving Ron sitting there as the obvious example of a poor choice.

‘I think I can decide that myself,’ Harry said.

Malfoy’s hand remained between them for an uncomfortable moment. They stared at each other across the compartment, and a remembered tune chose that instant to surface in my head. It belonged to absurdly sentimental internet edits from my old life. Before good judgement could interfere, I hummed a few notes into the silence.

Harry turned towards me. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked. Ron had covered his mouth, which didn’t conceal much.

‘Trying to improve the atmosphere,’ I said. The attempt had certainly changed it. Malfoy withdrew his hand and looked at me as though he couldn’t decide which part of the compartment was most offensive.

‘That sounded romantic,’ Harry said. He didn’t look grateful for the contribution. ‘Was that supposed to help?’

‘Wrong atmosphere, then.’ I stopped humming and looked towards the open door. ‘You’ll have to excuse us. We were talking before the inspection began.’

Malfoy called us all mental. I told him that at least we were managing it inside our own compartment, and he apparently decided the visit had gone as badly as it could. He left with Crabbe and Goyle following. Once the door closed, Harry returned his attention to me.

‘You knew exactly what that tune sounded like,’ he said. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t.’

‘It seemed funnier before I started.’ I had to admit that much, although Ron was still laughing. ‘Next time I’ll see whether silence improves it.’

Ron wanted me to teach him the tune for the next occasion Malfoy made a speech. I declined to expand the damage and asked what he knew about the family instead. That changed his expression. The stories he had heard at home weren’t simply complaints about Draco’s manners.

Lucius Malfoy had been accused of supporting Voldemort. According to Ron, he had claimed afterwards that magic had forced him to act, and the Ministry had accepted the explanation. ‘Dad doesn’t believe him,’ Ron said. ‘Not for a second.’

‘And the Malfoys are Slytherins?’ Harry asked. He had been listening closely, with rather less interest in the remaining sweets than before.

‘Always,’ Ron said. ‘That’s where he’ll go. You can tell.’

I disliked what Draco had said as much as either of them. Treating it as a description of everybody in a House seemed less useful. ‘They’re sorting children,’ I said. ‘I don’t think that settles what everyone there will be like for the rest of their lives.’

‘My family’s been going to Hogwarts for years,’ Ron replied. ‘I’ve heard what they’re like.’

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‘And we’ve known Malfoy for five minutes.’ I could see why he wanted the argument after being insulted, so I made the important part clear. ‘That was enough to dislike Malfoy. If he keeps talking to you that way, I’ll have no trouble continuing. I’m just not making a decision about everybody else for him.’

I remembered what I had been like before the army. Plenty of adults had thought I was heading for prison, and the way I settled arguments hadn’t given them much reason to reconsider. Training, rules and consequences had changed what I did with the same stubbornness. Later, police work had shown me other people changing, sometimes for the better and sometimes not.

None of that excused Draco. He was responsible for the way he had treated Ron, and he could expect objections if he returned to try again. I simply wasn’t prepared to turn an unpleasant eleven-year-old into a prediction of everything he would become. Harry seemed to appreciate the distinction more than Ron did; at least the conversation moved on without requiring anyone to defend Malfoy’s visit.

Outside, the light deepened towards blue. Ron checked on Scabbers and finished what remained of his food while the train gradually slowed. A voice announced that we were nearly at Hogwarts and that our luggage would be taken on for us. I looked into the corridor, curious about how it had carried so clearly without any visible speaker.

‘Amplification Charm,’ Ron explained. ‘Dad uses one sometimes when everyone’s shouting at home.’

‘Does that settle it?’ I asked. The idea sounded useful, though I was beginning to suspect that magic didn’t automatically improve family arguments.

‘It makes him louder too,’ Ron said. The train gave a last shudder as it stopped, and we followed the movement of students towards the doors.

Cold air met us on the platform. Beyond the crowd, a lantern moved high above the level where anybody ordinary could comfortably hold it. Hagrid’s voice called for first-years, and Harry and I made our way towards him with Ron close behind. Finding somebody I already knew made the dark station feel less unfamiliar.

Ron stopped to look up. Hagrid noticed his red hair and greeted him as a Weasley before Ron had offered his name. When he asked how Hagrid knew, the answer involved two older brothers and considerable effort spent chasing them away from places they shouldn’t have been. Ron didn’t ask which two.

Hagrid gathered us into a group and led us down a steep path between trees. The narrow footing discouraged conversation. I kept enough distance from the boy ahead to avoid walking into him if he slipped, listening to footsteps and the occasional warning passed backwards through the line.

‘First look at Hogwarts round this bend,’ Hagrid called. We followed him out of the trees, and the path opened above a black lake.

The castle stood across the water, its towers uneven against the night. Hundreds of lit windows reached down into the reflection until the wind broke them apart. I stopped with the others, forgetting what I had been about to say. Diagon Alley had contained marvellous things in shop windows; Hogwarts looked large enough to spend years discovering what it held.

Harry stood beside me. ‘That’s it,’ he said, quietly. ‘That’s Hogwarts.’

My parents had come this way. Before the war, before the notebooks and the house I knew, they had crossed this lake to learn what I was coming here to learn. I tried to imagine them among a crowd like ours, without quite managing to picture them young enough. For a moment the castle belonged more firmly to their lives than to any fragment of a story I remembered.

I asked why only first-years were taking this route. Hermione, behind us with another girl, explained that crossing the lake was a school tradition; some histories connected it with the founders’ original arrival. Ron had been looking unusually tense, and her answer seemed to surprise him.

‘That’s all?’ he asked. ‘Just crossing?’

‘What else would it be?’ Hermione replied. She looked towards the boats as Hagrid began arranging us. ‘That’s the tradition I read about.’

Harry asked what Fred and George had told Ron. After some reluctance, he admitted that their version involved fighting something in the lake. I laughed before I could help it. Ron reminded me that I had once trusted a dentist, and I decided to leave the subject alone before he developed the comparison.

Hagrid directed us into boats, no more than four students in each. Harry, Ron and I shared with Neville, who looked nervously between the water and the castle. Trevor was still missing, which couldn’t have improved his enjoyment of the journey. He kept his hands close while I settled where I could avoid knocking the others as we moved.

The boats set off without oars. Water lapped against the hull, and Hogwarts grew steadily larger until the cliffs beneath it filled our view. We passed under hanging ivy into a concealed waterway, leaving the open lake behind. The harbour beyond lay within the rock, with steps leading up from the landing place.

Everyone had gone quiet again by the time we reached the top. A witch in emerald-green robes waited by enormous oak doors. Hagrid greeted her as Professor McGonagall and told her that the first-years had arrived. I found myself standing straighter before she had addressed us.

‘Thank you, Hagrid. I’ll take them from here.’ She surveyed the group while he gave Harry and me a small wave and went on his way. Her silence outlasted ours. When the final whisper stopped, she welcomed us to Hogwarts.

The Houses, she explained, would form much of our school life: where we slept, the people we lived among and the teams we belonged to in the competition for the House Cup. Good work earned points. Breaking rules lost them. Ron shifted beside me at that part, and I murmured a question about whether he was thinking of Fred and George.

‘The family reputation,’ he whispered back. McGonagall’s gaze moved towards us before I could suggest that these might be the same concern. We gave the rest of her explanation our full attention.

Before the feast, we would be Sorted. She left us waiting while she went to prepare, and the moment she was gone, Harry asked how that happened. Ron didn’t look ready to provide a reassuring answer. Hermione explained that we would put on the Sorting Hat, which chose a House for each student.

‘A hat?’ Ron asked. ‘That’s really all we have to do?’

‘It’s enchanted,’ she said. ‘You sit down and let it sort you. There isn’t a test to prepare for.’

Harry glanced at Ron with an expression which suggested another discussion of the twins was approaching. Before it could begin, a croak came from beside a suit of armour. Neville cried Trevor’s name and hurried across the room, scooping up the toad so quickly that the armour rattled. Several students laughed, and he turned red just as McGonagall returned.

‘Mr Longbottom,’ she said. ‘Back to the line, please. Keep hold of him this time.’

Neville apologised and obeyed, holding Trevor firmly. I caught Hermione’s eye and congratulated her on the search ending successfully. She pointed out that I hadn’t helped, which was accurate enough that I could only say Neville looked pleased. McGonagall cleared her throat before the exchange could distract us again.

The doors opened onto warm light and the sound of hundreds of voices. I checked the strap of my pouch, an unnecessary movement which gave my hand something to do. Then McGonagall led us forward, and the place I had spent the summer trying to imagine began opening around us.