Chapter 106: Turmoil
"Ah—! That's my—!"
Crabbe's face went from red to deathly pale as he staggered backward and collapsed onto the floor.
Scabbers hadn't actually bitten him—perhaps out of sheer disgust—but he had still gone above and beyond Ron's expectations.
Every boy present instinctively felt a chill shoot through their bodies at the sight.
Russell looked at Crabbe with a hint of sympathy. To suffer such a devastating groin strike at such a young age—who knew whether it would affect his future development? Even if it didn't, the psychological trauma alone would be bad enough.
Even if Ron and Harry teamed up, they still didn't seem to be a match for Goyle. The difference in strength was simply too great.
Goyle could easily grab Harry by the hair with one hand and choke Ron with the other, lifting both of them off the ground.
Just as Goyle's lips curled into a feral grin and he prepared to demonstrate a full double-arm swing, a voice rang out from the far end of the corridor.
That sound made Russell abandon his plan to step in.
"Make way—what's going on here?"
The commotion had drawn the prefects.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
With a flick of his wand, Russell lifted Neville off Malfoy, then leaned toward Malfoy and spoke in a low voice.
"The prefects are here. You don't want detention on your very first day, do you?"
Malfoy stiffened. He immediately signaled Goyle to release Ron and Harry.
If word got out that Draco Malfoy—the sole heir of the Malfoy family—had earned detention on his first day at Hogwarts for fighting, it would be an unbearable disgrace.
"Reparo. Scourgify."
Russell cast the Repairing Charm and Cleaning Charm in quick succession. The wrecked compartment and their torn clothing were restored to pristine condition, spotless as if nothing had happened.
By the time the prefects arrived, everyone was already on their feet. Aside from the bruises on their faces, nothing seemed amiss.
Except… Crabbe appeared to be walking bow-legged.
Had he always walked like that? Percy wondered.
"Were you fighting?" Percy asked sternly. "Ron—were you involved too?"
"No, no," Ron replied, his speech slightly slurred. "We were just messing around. Accidentally bumped into the table."
The others nodded in agreement—Malfoy included.
"It had better be," Percy said. "We'll be arriving at Hogwarts soon. You should start getting yourselves ready."
He didn't press the issue and turned to leave.
Russell suddenly felt a gaze full of malice boring into his back. He spun around sharply, only to catch sight of a troll-like student turning away.
He frowned.
Marcus Flint.
A fifth-year Slytherin. Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.
Was it him?
Russell wasn't entirely sure.
"You'd better change into your school robes quickly," Russell said casually, giving them a mild scare. "Otherwise, you might get left on the train."
Even Malfoy looked startled.
"This isn't over," Malfoy spat, tossing out a final threat. Clutching his hair in anguish, he led Crabbe and Goyle away, looking utterly miserable.
Crabbe's gait was still noticeably crooked, drawing bursts of laughter from nearby students who had no idea what had really happened.
Malfoy glanced sorrowfully at the clump of blond hair in his hand.
The Malfoy family wasn't exactly blessed in the hair department. His father, Lucius, wasn't that old, yet his hairline had already retreated significantly.
Draco himself had inherited slightly better genes—his hair was thicker than most Malfoys', but still sparse compared to normal people.
And now, thanks to Harry's savage yank, what little advantage he had was gone.
Snow on thin ice—made worse.
Malfoy briefly wondered whether Hogwarts had any kind of hair-regrowth remedy—but then again, he was still too young. If such a method truly existed, wouldn't Lucius have used it on himself long ago?
"Hey, Russell," Ron said as he straightened his clothes and walked over. "If I hadn't been worried about them getting seriously hurt, I'd have already turned their boogers into bats and had them stick to their faces."
Russell didn't doubt him for a second. That was almost certainly something the Weasley twins had taught him. Young wizards might take ages to master proper spells, but when it came to prank magic—minor jinxes like the Bat-Bogey Hex—learning speed skyrocketed.
Hermione, however, looked unconvinced. If Ron really knew magic, he wouldn't have resorted to fistfighting earlier.
"What spells do you actually know?" she asked, returning to her earlier air of superiority. "Show me."
"Fine—watch closely," Ron said stubbornly.
He retrieved Scabbers, the rat who had just rendered outstanding service.
"Thanks to you, we managed to take Crabbe down," Ron said, completely ignoring the fact that Crabbe's collapse had more to do with Goyle crushing his 'family heirloom.'
Ron placed a whole Chocolate Frog in front of Scabbers.
"Here. You earned this."
Scabbers lifted his head and stared at Russell in disbelief. Heaven knew what his life had been like all these years—Chocolate Frogs were practically mythical to him. Even regular chocolate had been a rare luxury.
As if afraid Ron might change his mind, Scabbers climbed on top of the frog and began devouring it with frightening enthusiasm.
Hermione frowned. "You don't seem to treat your pet very well."
"Uh…" Ron's face turned bright red. After a long pause, he stammered, "Maybe I just forgot to feed him today. He's not usually like this."
"I see," Hermione said suspiciously, but she nodded, choosing to believe him—for now.
"You wanted to see magic, right?" Ron snapped, embarrassed. "Then watch this!"
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,
Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"
Ron swung his wand.
Nothing happened.
Scabbers remained stubbornly gray, though half the Chocolate Frog was already gone—an impressive appetite for a rat, and one that showed no sign of slowing.
Hermione shook her head. "Are you sure that spell actually works?"
"Well… it did at home," Ron said defensively. "I tried a few simple ones. Just for practice. They all worked—"
He suddenly stopped mid-sentence, eyes locked onto Scabbers.
The tip of Scabbers's long, bald tail had turned yellow.
The color spread rapidly upward.
The spell worked beautifully—so beautifully that even the Chocolate Frog Scabbers was holding had turned yellow as well.
Scabbers squeaked in alarm, flinging the suddenly suspicious-looking frog away.
"I told you it worked!" Ron said, his voice rising with pride.
"Alright," Hermione said seriously. "I apologize for doubting you."
Ron muttered something unintelligible, suddenly feeling more embarrassed by the apology than the insult.
"I'm Hermione Granger," she said. "And you are?"
"Ron Weasley."
"I'm Harry Potter."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Harry Potter? Of course I've heard of you—everyone knows what that name means."
"Me?" Harry said, suddenly feeling a headache coming on. He would have preferred an ordinary, happy family over bearing such a heavy title at the cost of his parents' lives.
"You didn't know?" Hermione asked, shocked. "If it were me, I'd hunt down every book that mentioned my name."
"Harry's amazing," Ron cut in quickly, "but I think Russell here is just as impressive."
"I know," Hermione nodded. "Completely."
"Really?" Ron asked suspiciously.
"You know Russell is the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin, right? Do you even know what that is?"
"Ahem—just a Third Class Order," Russell said quickly, waving his hand. "No need to shout it from the rooftops."
"Of course I know," Hermione said indignantly. "The Order of Merlin is named after the greatest wizard in history and honors outstanding contributions to wizard–Muggle relations."
She paused, then stared at Russell in disbelief. "But is it really true?"
"It is," Ron said proudly, as if he were the one who'd earned it.
"Wait a moment," Ron suddenly said, rummaging through a pile of snacks.
"Found it!"
He pulled out a crumpled copy of The Daily Prophet, smeared with crumbs and candy—clearly used as a placemat. Russell's earlier cleaning charm hadn't reached it.
Just as Ron was about to hand it over, Russell stopped him and tapped it lightly with his wand.
The crumbs vanished instantly, and the creases smoothed themselves out.
"There you go."
"So cool!" Hermione said, staring at the front page—Russell's photo splashed across the headline.
"You're incredible," she said earnestly. "You must've held back earlier because it wouldn't have been fair to bully weaker students, right?"
"Something like that," Russell replied vaguely. He wasn't about to admit that he'd simply been enjoying the show too much.
"Neville," Harry said gently, stepping closer. "May I call you that? You can call me Harry."
"Of course," Neville said, nodding nervously.
"Thanks for standing up for us," Harry said with a sincere smile. "We're friends now."
"And me too!" Ron added quickly.
"Yeah," Neville said, grinning shyly. He didn't mention that his charge had been fueled mostly by anger toward Malfoy—but he didn't want to lose his first real friends.
Having grown up under the strict control of his grandmother after his parents' tragedy, Neville had always been timid and sensitive. Hardly anyone wanted to befriend him.
But today, he suddenly had two friends. No—three. Or maybe four.
He glanced at Hermione and Russell and stood a little straighter.
"Ron," Russell said suddenly, staring at Scabbers, "your rat's pretty brave. Where'd you get him? I'm thinking of buying one myself."
"Oh… him," Ron scratched his head. "Percy gave him to me. Percy got him from Charlie. And Charlie…"
His eyes lit up as he slapped his palm. "Right! Charlie said he found him near Hogwarts Castle."
A good reminder never to pick things up randomly—but then again, you never know what you might get.
"Well then," Russell said with a gentle smile. Hermione had the distinct feeling of a fox plotting to steal a hen's egg.
"Ron, how about we make a deal?"
"What kind?" Ron asked.
"If you want Scabbers, you can just have him," Ron blurted out. "I mean—after the wand you gave me, it only feels fair."
"No, no," Russell shook his head. "A gentleman doesn't take what others love."
He paused, then revealed his true plan.
"Scabbers clearly has exceptional bloodlines. I'd like to buy a group of rats from the pet shop and have Scabbers breed with them. Of course, I won't use him for free—one silver Sickle per pairing."
He very deliberately did not mention buying female rats.
Ron swallowed hard and began calculating.
One Sickle per time… ten times would be ten Sickles… a hundred times would be—
His eyes slowly widened.
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