"Let's change the subject."
"All right, then. Let's talk about Quidditch."
Ron's endless enthusiasm took over. The two chatted—mostly Ron talking—while sharing the snacks and pies Harry had bought, as well as the corned beef sandwiches Mrs. Weasley, Ron's mother, had prepared in advance.
"I don't really like beef," Ron admitted.
Harry tasted it. For British cuisine, it was surprisingly good—slightly salty, though he suspected it was the seasoning, not the meat.
"Wait a moment… someone's coming," Ron said, pausing mid-bite.
"Who? I didn't hear anything."
Before he could finish, the compartment door banged open. But this time it wasn't Neville or Hermione. Three boys stood in the doorway.
One was the young noble Harry had noticed in Diagon Alley, the one who had flinched at his gaze for speaking carelessly. The other two flanked him like bodyguards, tall and bulky with pointed heads.
"Oh, sir, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle," the pale boy said quickly, noticing Harry's stare.
"My name is Malfoy—Draco Malfoy," he announced proudly. "I've heard about you. The whole train is talking. So you're the famous Harry Potter?"
Ron coughed to suppress a laugh. Malfoy shot him a glare.
"You think my name is ridiculous? Never mind. My father told me all Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and too many children to support," Draco continued, turning to Harry. "You'll soon find some wizard families are much better than others."
Ron shot Harry a glance, suppressing his anger.
Malfoy extended his hand, but Harry ignored him.
"First, go out, close the door, knock, and apologize to my friend Ron. Then we can discuss friendship," Harry said coldly, gesturing for him to leave.
Draco's pale cheeks didn't flush crimson, only a faint pink, yet he remained rooted to the spot.
Ron blushed with excitement. He cares about me, he thought.
Harry's left hand moved slightly. The suppressed darkness and chill from the King's Power flickered, lowering the temperature in the compartment.
"Do I need to repeat myself?" Harry asked, his voice calm but edged with warning.
Malfoy didn't comprehend Harry's restraint. Not tearing him apart immediately was a display of mercy and righteousness. He felt insulted instead, itching for a duel. With Crabbe and Goyle at his side, he felt safer.
"Goyle, Crabbe, go! Take down Harry Potter!"
The two bodyguards hesitated, exchanging worried glances. Us? Fight Harry Potter? they thought. Then they looked at Malfoy. Maybe you should reconsider. This Harry Potter is clearly extraordinary. Even a fool knows better than to provoke him.
Considering the upcoming Sorting Ceremony, Harry didn't strike them in the face. Children deserved mercy—though Joffrey Baratheon was an exception. When a child starts killing, can he still be called a child?
Ron wanted to intervene, but Harry's speed was unmatched.
As soon as Goyle fell, Malfoy fled, leaving Harry disappointed. Yet he quickly judged the boy—there wasn't much malice, just cowardice.
Hermione, curious about the commotion, rushed in.
"What happened?" she demanded.
"Nothing," Harry said, tossing the two fallen bodyguards aside as if they were mere nuisances. "It's handled. Let's change clothes. Miss Granger, please step out for a moment."
"You fought? Caused trouble before even arriving! Even if you are famous—"
"There was no fight," Harry interrupted. "A fight requires both sides to strike. They weren't qualified. At most, it was a small lesson. How could I fight children? I was educating them."
Ron's eyes narrowed at Hermione. "They were rude first. Then they dared to touch Harry!"
Before any more arguing, Harry said again, "We're almost at the station. Step out for a moment, please."
Hermione complied. She wasn't afraid of stern-looking Ron, but Harry's presence was overwhelming. Meeting him felt like encountering a Principal, a School Board member, a Ministry official—or even royalty—though he was the same age as her.
Even so, her boldness earned Harry's respect. Hermione's courage marked her as someone exceptional—a strategist worthy of consideration as an 'external brain.'
As she left, Ron's gaze lingered loyally on Harry.
Harry dispersed the chill surrounding him and glanced out the window. Darkness had fallen. Below the deep purple sky, mountains and forests stretched endlessly. The train slowed, and leaves drifted past.
"What a cool autumn day!" Ron exclaimed.
The new students chattered about Hogwarts' imminent arrival. Harry, already acquainted with junior high life, felt slightly out of place.
The two changed into their uniform black robes. Ron's were slightly old and ill-fitting, but the uniform masked it.
"The train will reach Hogwarts in five minutes. Leave your luggage here; it will be delivered to the school," a voice announced.
Harry instructed Ron to stow the remaining candy and moved forward with the crowd.
Above the bobbing heads, a familiar voice called: "First-years! First-years over here! Harry, over here, how are you?"
Hagrid's bearded face appeared, smiling broadly.
"Come on, follow me! Any more first-years? Watch your step!"
Following Hagrid along a narrow path, the group emerged before a black lake. On a high slope across the water stood a majestic castle, its spires and windows twinkling under the starry sky.
"Is this Hogwarts? The place where destinies intertwine, my promised land," Harry murmured to himself.