"Is anyone sitting here?" a cheerful voice asked, accompanied by a knock on the compartment door. A boy with a broad grin and dark skin pointed to the seat across from Albert.
"Nope, it's free," Albert said, returning the smile. "I'm Albert Andersson."
"Lee Jordan," the boy replied, flashing white teeth as he settled in. His eyes landed on the book Albert had been reading—Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. "Mate, you're practically a Ravenclaw already. Word is, bookworms always end up there."
"As long as it's not Slytherin, I'm fine," Albert said, pulling a handful of chocolate-flavored hard candies from his pocket. "Want one?"
"Cheers, love chocolate," Lee said, unwrapping one and popping it into his mouth. "Tastes great."
"Help yourself," Albert said, placing a small pile of assorted candies on the table—lemon, peppermint, and more chocolate. Sharing food was a tried-and-true way to break the ice, a trick he'd perfected at his Muggle school.
Lee grabbed another candy, his enthusiasm undimmed. "You should aim for Gryffindor, though. It's the best house—Dumbledore's from there, you know. Greatest wizard ever."
Before Albert could respond, another knock interrupted them. Two red-haired boys stood at the door, their robes damp from the drizzle outside.
"Mind if we squeeze in?" one asked, a sheepish grin on his face. "We're late, and the other compartments are packed—or full of girls who don't want us."
Albert gestured to the seats. "Plenty of room."
"I'm George Weasley," the first twin said, brushing wet hair from his eyes.
"And I'm Fred," the other added, returning moments later with his suitcase. "Got to grab this first."
Lee chuckled, eyeing their identical faces. "I'm Lee Jordan. You two need name tags or something—I can't tell you apart."
"Albert Andersson," Albert said, closing his book and sliding it into his bag. The compartment, designed for six, easily accommodated the four boys, though many students preferred to stick with friends, leaving latecomers like the Weasleys scrambling.
"Even without you saying, we can tell you're twins," Lee said, grinning. "But seriously, a mark or something would help."
"Want a candy?" Albert offered, pushing the pile toward them.
"Thanks," Fred said, grabbing a peppermint. "Mum's always on us about eating too many sweets."
"Tastes brilliant," George added, unwrapping a chocolate one.
"Is that your owl?" Fred asked, eyeing Shira, who was dozing in her cage. He reached out but froze when she opened one amber eye and glared. "Er, maybe not."
"She's not big on strangers," Albert explained. "Try feeding her some owl nuts. Might win her over."
Lee tried, offering a few nuts, but Shira ignored him, closing her eyes again. "Tough crowd," he muttered.
The train's whistle blew, and the Hogwarts Express lurched forward, picking up speed as it left Platform 9¾ behind. The drizzle outside blurred the windows, casting a cozy glow over the compartment.
"So, what's the wizarding world like?" Albert asked, steering the conversation. "You're all from magical families, right?"
"How'd you guess?" Lee asked, surprised.
"Your clothes," Albert said, nodding at their mismatched, slightly outdated robes. "They're not exactly Muggle fashion. Wizards don't always know how to blend in, just like Muggles don't know much about your world."
"Sharp," Lee said, giving a thumbs-up. "You're not wrong."
A flutter at the window caught Albert's attention. A gray owl, soaked from the rain, tapped at the glass. Albert opened the window, letting it in.
The owl shook itself, spraying droplets everywhere, and dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet on the table. Shira hooted indignantly, hopping onto Albert's shoulder to avoid the intruder, her eyes fixed on the stolen nuts.
"Easy, Shira," Albert said, stroking her feathers. "I'll get you more nuts when we're at Hogwarts." He shooed the gray owl out and handed the newspaper to Lee. "What's the news?"
Lee spread the paper out. "Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, is retiring in 1990. Rumor is Dumbledore might take the job."
Fred snorted. "Dad says if Dumbledore wanted it, he'd have been Minister ages ago."
"Who's got the best shot, then?" George asked, scanning the article. "The Prophet's running a betting pool on it."
Albert's interest piqued. He knew from his previous life's knowledge that Cornelius Fudge would become Minister. "How do you enter the pool?"
"Betting's not a great idea, mate," Lee said, his tone serious. "Could lose a lot of Galleons."
"A small bet's harmless," Albert countered. He pulled out his wand, balanced it vertically on the table, and let it tip over. "Ollivander said my wand brings luck, so I'm going with… Cornelius Fudge." He grinned, playing up the theatrics. "I bet he'll be the next Minister."
The three boys stared, dumbfounded. "You're picking based on that?" Fred asked, incredulous.
"Just a hunch," Albert said, shrugging. He grabbed the Prophet and studied the betting details. Fifteen candidates were listed, with Fudge's odds at four-to-one—not the favorite, but not a long shot either.
He took out a quill and parchment, writing his name, Fudge's name, and a bet of 25 Galleons. Counting out the golden coins from his pouch, he sealed them in a small bag for Shira to deliver later.
"Twenty-five Galleons?" George choked, eyes wide. "That's a fortune!"
"You're loaded," Fred added, half-jealous, half-awed. The Weasleys, with their large family and modest means, rarely saw such sums. A single Galleon in their pockets was cause for celebration.
Albert smirked, unfazed. "It's a calculated risk. Favorites rarely win these things—they're just there to draw attention. Fudge has a decent shot."
The twins exchanged a glance, clearly impressed by Albert's confidence. Lee shook his head, amused. "You're mental, but I like it."
As the train rattled through the countryside, the boys fell into easy conversation. Albert shared a bit about his summer—learning spells, dodging Ministry trouble with Truman, and outsmarting Nat Li.
The twins, in turn, regaled him with tales of pranks they'd pulled at home, including a disastrous attempt to enchant their brother Ron's teddy bear into a spider. Lee, a self-proclaimed prankster, promised to join their antics at Hogwarts, already scheming ways to liven up the castle.
Albert's interface pinged softly: New Mission: Win the Prophet Bet. Reward: 500 experience points, 100 Galleons. He suppressed a grin. The bet was a gamble, but his foreknowledge gave him an edge. If Fudge won, the payout would be substantial, and the experience points would boost his growing skill set.
Outside, the rain thickened, drumming against the windows. Shira dozed, unperturbed by the chatter, while Albert unwrapped another chocolate frog, careful to catch it before it leapt away.
The card inside featured Dumbledore, his twinkling eyes moving in the photograph. Albert tucked it into his pocket, a reminder of the wizard he'd met briefly and the world he was about to enter.
The corridor buzzed with students settling in, their laughter and shouts filtering through the closed door. Albert leaned back, content to let the journey unfold.
He'd found his first Hogwarts allies in Lee and the Weasleys, and with his wand, his interface, and a knack for turning odds in his favor, he was ready for whatever the castle had in store.
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