Cain and Draco sat across from each other in the small cabin, the steady click-clack of wheels on rails, the low rumble of the engine, and the distant whistle filling the silence between them. Draco studied Cain for a while, still curious about the boy in front of him, who seemed both reserved and oddly composed for someone his age. Most heirs were taught such composure—but Cain was clearly not of noble blood, something Draco had already confirmed from his name.
"So," Draco finally said, leaning forward, "do you know any spells?"
Cain hesitated.
"I do," he answered truthfully. "But… I don't think I'll be able to use any right now."
Draco nodded knowingly. "Makes sense. The Ministry's watching the train like hawks this year, anyway. They're on high alert because of Potter. They think some crazed fan might try boarding the Express in secret."
Cain blinked, confused.
I didn't know that, Cain thought. He wasn't even sure if sorceries and incantations could be cast without the proper catalysts—and whether a wand could safely handle them was another issue entirely.
Draco, having misunderstood him completely, suddenly brightened with excitement.
"Actually—why don't you come with me to look for Potter?" he said eagerly. "He's got to be somewhere on this train. Might as well get a look at the boy everyone's obsessing over."
Cain shook his head almost immediately.
"I don't think that's a good idea," he said calmly. "Potter would probably think we approached him because he's famous."
Draco froze. A faint scowl tugged at the edges of his mouth—not from anger, but from mild embarrassment at being seen through so easily.
"Well…" Draco muttered, glancing away, "I suppose he might think that."
He huffed and crossed his arms, trying to reclaim his usual aloofness. Cain simply offered a small shrug.
Draco watched him for another moment, then sighed.
"You sure you don't want to come? Not even just for a look?"
"I'm good here," Cain replied, noticing Draco's barely hidden, child-like curiosity.
Well… he is a child, Cain thought.
Draco snorted. "Suit yourself. I'll go have a look, then."
He slid the compartment door open and stepped out. Just before leaving completely, he paused and glanced back at Cain with lingering curiosity.
"You really should read a bit before we get to Hogwarts," Draco advised. "First-years are expected to at least pretend they know something."
Cain nodded—though not for the reason Draco assumed. He wasn't Harry. He wouldn't be targeted anyways.
---
Draco strode down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express with a faint smirk on his lips. Cain's refusal still puzzled him—most first-years would have jumped at the chance to see Harry Potter.
Strange boy. Mysterious. But interesting, Draco thought.
He would figure Cain out later.
For now, more important matters awaited.
He spotted Crabbe and Goyle a few cabins down, both slouched awkwardly against the windows, clearly bored.
"There you two are," Draco snapped. "Come on. We're looking for Potter."
Crabbe perked up. "The Harry Potter?"
"Yes, the Harry Potter," Draco drawled, rolling his eyes.
The three of them began working their way down the corridor, peering into compartments as they passed. Draco kept his posture tall and his pace confident. He wanted to make an impression if they found Potter—preferably one that proved he wasn't just anyone.
As they passed a group of older Ravenclaws, Draco caught fragments of whispered conversation.
"—did you see his scar?"
"He's with a redheaded boy—"
He quickened his pace.
Two younger Hufflepuffs ahead of them whispered excitedly near a compartment door.
"—Potter's in there—"
"With another boy—he looks like a Weasley—"
Draco didn't hesitate. He straightened his robes and slid the door open.
Inside sat a boy with messy black hair and round glasses—and beside him, a lanky red-haired boy covered in freckles. A Weasley, unmistakably.
Draco smiled, smooth and composed.
"So it's true," he said. "Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."
Harry blinked, uncertain. Draco extended his hand.
"My name's Draco Malfoy. You'll soon learn that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort."
He glanced pointedly at Ron.
Ron flushed crimson.
Harry, however, didn't take the offered hand.
"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself," Harry said calmly.
Draco's face hardened. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He lowered his hand slowly, wounded pride slipping through the cracks of his composure.
"Suit yourself, Potter," he said coolly.
Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles, but Draco lifted a hand.
"No need."
With a stiff flick of his cloak, Draco stepped back into the corridor, his guards stumbling after him.
As they walked away, Draco muttered,
"Cain was wrong. Potter isn't touchy because he's famous. He's just rude."
Yet Cain's calm words echoed in his mind:
Potter would probably think you approached him because he's famous.
Draco scowled.
Maybe Cain had been right after all.
---
Draco slid the compartment door open with far less flair than before. Cain looked up at once, sensing the shift in mood. Crabbe and Goyle trailed in behind him, confused and disappointed.
Draco dropped into his seat with a huff.
Cain raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Draco muttered—though the irritation in his voice betrayed him. He gestured toward his companions. "You two can go. I'll… talk to you later."
The cabin fell into quiet once more.
"You met Potter," Cain said mildly.
Draco shot him an annoyed look. "I said nothing happened."
Cain didn't push. He simply turned back to the window, respecting Draco's wounded pride. Draco appreciated that more than he would ever admit.
The rest of the journey passed in silence. Before either could restart the conversation, the shrill whistle of the train cut through the air, followed by the gradual slowing of wheels on rail.
Students began hauling down luggage and crowding into the corridors.
"We're here," Draco muttered, standing and smoothing his robes.
Outside, the station was dim, chilly, and alive with excited chatter. Cain followed Draco onto the platform, the cool night air brushing his face. The scent of moss, damp stone, and distant forest drifted through his senses—oddly familiar, like Mistwood.
"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!"
The booming voice echoed across the station.
Cain turned.
A massive figure stood beneath a lantern—broad as a boulder, bearded, and towering over the students. Cain could tell immediately: raw strength, but also warmth. A comforting presence.
"That's Hagrid," Cain heard Harry whisper nearby. "Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts. Don't stare too much."
"Right, this way! Boats! No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called.
The first-years gathered beside the dark, moonlit lake. Dozens of small boats rocked gently at the water's edge, lanterns swaying at their bows.
Crabbe and Goyle rejoined them as the four climbed into a boat together.
As soon as they were seated, the boat glided forward on its own, drifting silently across the black glass of the lake.
The night sky shimmered above—but it wasn't the stars that caught Cain's attention.
It was the silhouette of a castle rising ahead.
Hogwarts Castle.
Golden light burned in its countless windows. Towers stretched into the mist. The enormous fortress looked ancient—powerful, yet softened by centuries of magic and memory.
Draco inhaled sharply beside him.
"It's… incredible."
Cain nodded.