Chapter Three: Surface Faults
I can’t believe I just asked that.
However, the boy didn’t seem offended. He nodded instead. Ron sat up, blinking. So it was true! This was the Boy Who Lived! He wasn’t at all like Ron had pictured him… not that Ron had thought about Harry Potter that much, but when he had, he’d pictured someone popular and charismatic, whereas the real Harry seemed quite… normal. Wait, no, not normal. He was a little too thin and a little too small to qualify as normal. Ron belatedly realised how his question must have sounded.
“Oh – well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George’s jokes. And have you really got – you know…”
Harry Potter silently lifted his messy fringe, and Ron saw a red-pink lightning bolt etched on his forehead, standing out quite clearly from the white skin around it. It looked painful. Well, of course it would look painful, idiot, it came from the Killing Curse, he berated himself.
“So, that’s where You-Know-Who –?”
“Yes,” Harry answered frankly, “but I can’t remember it.”
“Nothing?” Ron asked eagerly, before remembering what his mum had said and kicking himself again.
Harry seemed to consider something. “Well – I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else.”
“Wow,” Ron murmured. You couldn’t say much else really. Certainly now ‘Cool!’ because this was You-Know-Who and he’d killed Harry’s parents. This brought Ron back to the puzzle of why Harry had been alone on the platform – and not just on the platform, but in the Muggle part of the station too. Kings Cross was a huge station, Mum would never have let Ron go through it alone. Harry’s guardians must be really cool. Ron realised he was staring again and looked out of the window. They were rushing through grey suburbs, strings of laundry providing the only colour. Ron was concentrating so hard on not staring that Harry’s voice made him jump.
“Are all your family wizards?”
“Er…” Ron thought. “Yes, I think so – I think Mum’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.” Their family was so large, it was difficult to keep track of the members with magic, let alone a Squib.
“So you must know loads of magic already,” said Harry Potter, looking slightly envious.
Ron didn’t want to talk about magic, because that meant talking about wands. He could see Harry’s wand lying beside him, brand new and shiny, made of a dark wood that was vaguely familiar. Yew? Holly? Ron couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that it was best to change the subject.
“I heard you went to live with Muggles,” he remarked. “What are they like?”
“Horrible,” Harry said immediately with a twist of the mouth, and then straight afterwards, “well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I had three wizard brothers.”
“Five,” Ron corrected. It was hopeless: Harry was already more interested in them than him. Well, he should have known. Might as well tell him about the whole family. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to,” he added, thinking that was an understatement. “Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a Prefect.” He made a face before continuing. “Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others,” he said, unable to stop the misery from leaking into his voice, “but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers,” he added bitterly. “I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand and Percy’s old rat.”
He pulled out Scabbers, who was asleep of course. Typical. “His name’s Scabbers,” he told Harry, “and he’s useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a Prefect, but they couldn’t aff– I mean, I got Scabbers instead.”
Nearly slipped up there. Cool people are not poor. Don’t let Harry Potter, of all people, know that you’re poor. Well, he’s probably guessed already, considering you just told him all about your hand-me-downs! You are such an idiot, Ron Weasley! Ron stared out of the window, his ears and eyes hot from humiliation.
“You know,” Harry Potter said quietly, “it’s okay to have a rat. I may have all this nice new stuff now, but I certainly didn’t grow up like that! In fact, up until my eleventh birthday, I didn’t have any money at all.”
Ron couldn’t resist a hook like that. He turned. “You what? But… you’re Harry Potter!”
“Exactly,” said Harry with a shrug. “Being Harry Potter’s a crime as far as my uncle and aunt are concerned. They made me live in a cupboard under the stairs. They made me do all the cleaning and the cooking. If I did one little thing wrong, they punished me. I had to wear Dudley’s – that’s my cousin – old clothes, and he’s gigantic! He’s like a human whale, so I looked completely ridiculous! Not that Aunt Petunia cared of course. She always said I should be grateful that they gave me any clothing at all, it was so expensive to care for me.”
Ron knew that his mouth was gaping but he couldn’t close it. “How… how…”
“They hate magic,” Harry explained. “Any time I did something magical, even though I didn’t know what I was doing myself, even though it was a complete accident, they used to get terrified. Then they got really angry. They didn’t even give me proper birthday presents half the time – I mean, I was lucky if I got a card! Dudley used to get loads of birthday presents, well, he still does, and I wasn’t allowed to touch any of them. They always threw him huge parties, and I had to sit there and watch him get more presents from all his friends. And if I ever won any party games, Dudley would throw a huge tantrum and I’d be sent outside. The only reason I’m here is that the Hogwarts letter kept following me no matter where we went, and eventually someone was sent to rescue me – that was Hagrid, he’s the Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts – and until Hagrid told me, I didn’t know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort -”
Ron nearly had a heart attack right there in the train. Harry stopped and stared at him as if he had no idea what was going on.
“What?”
What?! What does he mean “what”?! Oh well, I suppose growing up with Muggles-
“You said You-Know-Who’s name!” he almost yelled, his heart still pounding. Harry looked quiet, but he had nerves of steel! “I’d have thought you, of all people-”
“I’m not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name,” Harry said quickly. “I just never knew you shouldn’t. See what I mean? I’ve got loads to learn… I bet – I bet I’m the worst in the class.“
Ron thought that was highly unlikely. After all, he’d vanquished You-Know-Who, there was no way he was a crap wizard. “You won’t be,” he assured him, stating the obvious. “There’s loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough.”
Harry seemed a little reassured, and they both sat back to recover from the conversation and digest each other’s information. No wonder he’s so small, Ron thought. Living in a cupboard under the stairs! Ugh, all dusty and smelly – and probably infested with spiders! Harry’s relatives weren’t cool at all. They didn’t leave him alone because they trusted him: they had left him alone because they didn’t give a damn about him. Gits. If I ever meet them – if MUM ever meets them… And no wonder his clothes look so weird and his glasses are battered. Dudley sounds like a right pig. How could anybody survive that? How could they let him live like that? There must have been other people who could take him in… What loony decided to put him with magic-hating Muggles? He should be in St. Mungo’s!
Ron pursed his lips like his mother often did, and then noticed the owl which was sitting in the cage at Harry’s side, a beautiful snowy owl with golden eyes. It looked as if it knew it was beautiful too.
“That’s Hedwig,” Harry said, noticing his longing gaze. “Nice, isn’t she? My first proper birthday present, ever! Well, for ten years, anyway,” he added. “I’m sure my parents must have bought me something for my first birthday, but if they did, it’s long gone.”
Ron didn’t know what to say. “She’s a great present.”
Harry nodded, smiling fondly at his owl, who clicked her beak at him.
There was a clattering sound and the door slid open. The lady smiled at them both and said, “Anything off the trolley, dears?” She gestured to a cart that seemed to hold all the sweets you could ever want. Ron’s mouth watered, and then he remembered how much money he had, namely none.
“No thanks, I’ve got sandwiches,” he muttered.
Harry was gaping at the spread. Ron realised he’d never seen anything like this before. Then Harry stood up and reached around his neck. A little leather pouch emerged from his jumper, but Ron wasn’t fooled. He could see from the silver-green colour that it was made of Moke skin. Moke skin purses contracted at the touch of a stranger, so only their owner could get money out of them. Not only that, they could hold as much money as possible, yet feel weightless. Ron shook his head. Even if the wand and the pouch hadn’t stated the obvious, the amount that Harry spent on his sweets would have made things clear.
“That’ll be 11 Sickles and 7 Knuts, dear.”
ELEVEN SICKLES?! On sweets?! Ron couldn’t believe it. It seemed like Harry had bought everything on the trolley, as he shut the door with difficulty and sat back down, dumping his treasure on the empty space beside him. You, Ron said to Harry silently, are loaded.
“Hungry?” he asked out loud.
“Starving,” Harry answered fervently, tearing a piece off a pumpkin pasty. And then Ron remembered that the Dursleys had never let him eat a full meal, and that Harry had been told he was poor until just recently. He unwrapped his sandwiches with a new mind, and then his heart sank. Oh no, she didn’t, not after I reminded her… yep, she did. A mashed pink slab stared up at him. “She always forgets I don’t like corned beef,” he told Harry quietly. Even if I remind her while she’s making the sandwiches.
“Swap you for one of these.” He looked up to see Harry holding out a golden pumpkin pasty. Ron’s mouth watered.
“Go on,” Harry said engagingly.
“You don’t want this, it’s all dry,” Ron told him firmly. “She hasn’t got much time, you know, with five of us.”
“Go on, have a pasty.” Ron couldn’t believe it. He’d have been wolfing down the food like there was no tomorrow, and here was Harry, offering to share it with him. His heart warmed a little. He reached out and took the pasty and ate it. They smiled at each other. Harry’s smile transformed his face, lighting up his eyes and making him seem suddenly so much more… Alive. That’s what he looks like when he smiles. Properly alive.
Harry divided up the pasties and cakes fairly, and they both munched their way through the pile, grinning at each other occasionally. You’re nice, Harry Potter, Ron thought, surprised, then wondered why he was surprised. Probably because the last thing he’d expected Harry Potter to be was “nice”. Daring, powerful, popular, charismatic – but not nice. Ron preferred the reality to the fantasy. Eventually, they finished all the pasties and pastries and Harry held up a familiar purple packet.
“What are these?” He smiled hesitantly. “They’re not really frogs, are they?”
“No,” Ron said with a smile, “but see what the card is, I’m missing Agrippa.”
“What?”
“Oh, of course you wouldn’t know,” Ron murmured, kicking himself for forgetting again. “Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, you know, to collect – Famous Witches and Wizards. I’ve got about five hundred,” he boasted, “but I haven’t got Agrippa or Ptolemy.”
Harry quickly unwrapped the sweet and picked up the card. Ron waited anxiously.
“So this is Dumbledore!” Harry exclaimed in a wondering voice.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Dumbledore!” Ron said, reaching over. He was sure that Harry had, since he sounded intrigued rather than surprised. “Can I have a frog?” he asked shyly. “I might get Agrippa.” Harry nodded. “Thanks.”
He was just unwrapping his own Frog when Harry exclaimed, “He’s gone!”
“Well, you can’t expect him to hang around all day,” Ron told him. “He’ll be back. No,” he sighed, as a beautiful woman dressed in deep green with curling black hair gazed up at him, “I’ve got Morgana again and I’ve got about six of her…” The woman raised one dark eyebrow, daring him to insult her. Ron didn’t take the bait, he’d seen what had happened to Fred, it didn’t do to insult Morgana Le Fay, even if it was just a photograph. Her descendants were still around. “Do you want it?” he offered, holding out the card to Harry. “You can start collecting.” He glanced at the huge pile, wondering if Harry would get through that all by himself.
“Help yourself,” said Harry, reading his mind, or perhaps just his face. “But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos.”
Ron almost dropped his Chocolate Frog. “Do they? What, they don’t move at all?” He tried to imagine a still photograph and couldn’t. “Weird!” he said, shaking his head.
Harry seemed fascinated with the moving photographs. He would gaze at each one intently before putting it down and opening another one. He was so intrigued that he sometimes forgot about the chocolate, so that Ron had to remind him. Eventually, Harry grew bored of the photographs and opened a Bertie Botts bag.
“You want to be careful with those,” Ron said quickly. “When they say every flavour, they mean every flavour – you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a bogey-flavoured one once,” he added, wondering as always how George knew what bogeys tasted like. He’d never seen George picking his nose. Just to demonstrate the point, he picked up an innocent green bean (green could mean so many flavours) and bit off a corner. The taste almost made him retch. “See?” he said, spitting and dropping the bean into a bin under his seat. “Sprouts.”
Harry looked shocked and glanced at the beans a little more closely. But it wasn’t long before he tried one, a sludgy brown that revealed itself to be coconut. After that, they took turns, picking a new colour and tasting it, then helping the other to find all the similar ones. Harry was even brave enough to try a grey one – Ron was afraid it would be dust, but Harry shook his head and said pepper. One sniff confirmed it, as Ron was sneezing for the next five minutes. Harry grinned, but didn’t laugh or tease as Fred and George would have done. Ron was both surprised and relieved about this.
The door slid open again. It was a small, heavy boy who looked on the verge of tears. The memory of Ginny hit Ron like a punch in the chest. I haven’t thought about her since I came in here, he thought guiltily. I must remember to send her that owl.
The boy sniffed. “Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?”
They both shook their heads, although Ron doubted they would have noticed if a toad had hopped in, they’d been so engrossed in their conversation, then their meal.
The boy looked devastated. “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”
Ron braced himself for an explosion.
“He’ll turn up,” Harry said comfortingly, and Ron almost fell over in relief.
“Yes,” the boy agreed miserably, although obviously not believing him. “Well, if you see him…” He slid the door shut and carried on.
Ron let out a breath. “Don’t know why he’s so bothered, if I’d brought a toad, I’d lose him as quick as I could. Mind you,” he added with a sigh, gazing down at the grey lump on his lap, “I brought Scabbers so I can’t talk.”
Harry grinned, and reached through the cage to stroke the fluffy feathers on Hedwig’s chest. The owl opened her eyes slightly at the touch, then closed them again, a rumbling hoot signifying her pleasure. Scabbers didn’t even budge.
“He might have died, and you wouldn’t know the difference!” Ron snapped, suddenly furious at his tacky life. “I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn’t work. I’ll show you, look…” He opened his trunk and pulled out his wand. Harry’s story about his upbringing and his eagerness to share his sweets had shown that he understood what it was like to have things that weren’t the best of the best, and the way he had dealt with the toad boy had been kind and completely lacking in malice.
The sight of the wand made Ron even angrier. He should have had a sleek, clean wand all his own. Instead he had this beaten old stick. It’s just junk, he thought angrily. Everything I own is junk! Before he could repeat the words, the door slid open again. It was the tearful boy, but this time he wasn’t alone. There was a girl with him.
Ron froze. The last thing he wanted was some girl watching him fail at magic. This one was already in her robes, reminding Ron unpleasantly of Percy.
“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”
Ron bit back a sharp reply. Neville obviously thought they had lied to him, so he’d got this girl to come along and ask instead. Either that, or he’d forgotten that he’d asked them, but that wasn’t possible, they’d seen him only a few minutes ago. “We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” he replied, quite pleased with his voice, neutral but slightly impatient.
The girl didn’t respond. She was looking at his wand, interested. Ron resisted the urge to slam it back inside his trunk.
“Oh, are you doing magic then?” said the girl, sounding a little more friendly.
Why else would I be holding my wand? Ron wanted to ask. The next moment he nearly leaped aside as the girl sat down next to him saying, “Let’s see it then.”
Reminded more than ever of Percy, Ron was tempted to reply, “Why should I?” or even more childishly, “Not in front of you.” If she was like Percy, however, she’d just go on badgering him until he did what she wanted, so the best thing was to go ahead and then she’d disappear.
“Er – alright.” Seems I am destined to make a fool of myself in public after all. He cleared his throat, knowing already what would happen. “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow/ Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.” He flicked the wand, but as he had expected, there was nothing. Not even a little spark. The girl raised an eyebrow and Ron prepared himself.
“Are you sure that’s a real spell? Well, it’s not very good, is it?”
Any more obvious statements, Miss Know-It-All? Ron asked silently.
“I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me.”
Of course it would. You’re lucky you didn’t have the Ministry down on you, but they don’t concern themselves with Muggle-borns until they’re enrolled at Hogwarts.
“Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”
Ron couldn’t believe it. All of the books? Who did she think she was? She’d already got into Hogwarts, there wasn’t an entrance exam… He glanced at Harry, who seemed rather shocked, and wondered if Harry would say his real name or give a false one.
“I’m Ron Weasley.”
“Harry Potter.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Are you really?”
No, actually, he’s Marvin Allbright, Ron longed to say.
“I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”
“Am I?” Harry asked, blinking and looking amazed. Ron felt sorry for him.
“Goodness, didn’t you know, I’d have found out everything I could if it was me,” Hermione exclaimed, pushing back her hair, which seemed to grow in every direction except down.
Ron gave her his worst glare. Find out everything indeed! “Well,” he said under his breath, “maybe that’s because he knows all he needs to know about You-Know-Who killing his parents and trying to assassinate him.” Harry didn’t hear, but he thought Hermione had done, because she went a little pale and quickly changed the subject. “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad…”
Please, whatever decides our houses, put her in Ravenclaw! She’s obsessed with books, she’s practically got it written all over her! Ron prayed.
“Anyway,” Hermione said, after neither Harry nor Ron responded, “we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad.” She frowned. “You two had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”
Fortunately, she left before Ron could snap back at her that she wasn’t their mother. “Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it,” he exploded, throwing the wand back into the trunk and slamming the lid down. Scabbers’s nose twitched, but he remained asleep. “Stupid spell,” Ron went on, biting his lip to keep himself from crying tears of frustration, “George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud.”
“What house are your brothers in?” Harry asked, obviously interested by this bit of Hogwarts life.
“Gryffindor. Mum and Dad were in it too.” Ron sighed. “I don’t know what they’ll say if I’m not. I don’t suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.”
“That’s the house Vol– I mean, You-Know-Who was in?” Harry whispered.
“Yeah.” Ron sank back into his seat. Just when I thought I’d be rid of Percy, I’ve got a female version of him in my very own year! Why me?
“I think the ends of Scabbers’s whiskers are a bit lighter,” Harry remarked. Even Ron could see such through an obvious attempt, but he appreciated the comment. “So what do your oldest brothers do now they’ve left, anyway?”
“Charlie’s in Romania, studying dragons, and Bill’s in Africa doing something for Gringotts,” Ron answered. He sat up suddenly, remembering something. “Did you hear about Gringotts? It’s been all over The Daily Prophet, but I don’t suppose you get that with the Muggles.”
Harry shook his head, also leaning forward.
“Someone tried to rob a high-security vault.”
“Really? What happened to them?”
“Nothing,” Ron said, raising his eyebrows, “that’s why it’s such big news. They haven’t been caught.” He could see the shock on Harry’s face. Encouraged, he carried on. “My dad says it must’ve been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don’t think they took anything, that’s what’s odd.” Harry nodded. They both knew how much treasure was stored in that bank. “’Course,” Ron added in a softer voice, “everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who’s behind it.” Harry leaned back, looking worried, and Ron, realising how tactless he had been, again, changed the subject.
“What’s your Quidditch team?” he asked, settling on a nice neutral topic.
“Er – I don’t know any.”
“What!” Ron stared at him. Apparently, living with Muggles was even worse than he’d thought. “Oh, you wait, it’s the best game in the world,” he promised and began to explain everything to Harry, the rules and the different positions, the balls. Unfortunately, he could see that Harry’s eyes were glazing over slightly. Ron couldn’t blame him: it had been a long day, and Quidditch was much easier to understand if you could actually see what was going on. An explanation always sounded so complicated compared to what actually occurred on the pitch.
The door slid open again and three boys came through. Two of them looked as if they were Transfigured gorillas or trolls in disguise, and were obviously acting as guards for the third, a slim pasty boy who was staring at Harry with an almost greedy look in his colourless eyes. Ron immediately thought of Mr. Ollivander for some reason.
“Is it true?” demanded the boy in a drawling voice. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment. So, it’s you, is it?”
Hermione Granger, thought Ron immediately. She’s gone and told everyone. Then he remembered that Fred and George had seen him first, so they’d probably had a hand in spreading the news. He doubted Neville had said anything except if someone asked him if what Hermione was saying was true.
“Yes,” Harry replied shortly, surprising Ron with the coldness in his voice. He didn’t seem surprised, like he had been with Hermione Granger; there was a closed look on his face, and he was looking at the gorillas on either side of the boy.
“Oh this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,” the boy answered carelessly, pointing to one, then the other. “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”
A Malfoy! Ron should have known. Only a Malfoy would have such a ridiculous name. He knew a bit of Latin from Percy, and Draco looked nothing like any dragon he had ever seen. He coughed into his hand, wondering who’d decided to name him. Draco shot him a look with his pale eyes.
“Think my name’s funny, do you?” he demanded.
Funny? No. Bloody hilarious, more like.
“No need to ask who you are,” Draco went on scornfully. “My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford.”
Ron’s fists clenched. And you wanna know what my father told me about the Malfoys? All of you Slytherins, bad blood from the start, rotten to the core-
“You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter,” Draco went on, ignoring the way Ron was glaring at him. “You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong crowd.” He didn’t even bother to glance at Ron. “I can help you there.” He held out a slim hand that had probably never done an honest thing in its life.
Ron waited, tension vibrating in his body. He didn’t know what Harry was going to do. As far back as he could remember, the famous people, the important people, had always remarked on the generosity of the Malfoy family, their charm and wit. They blinded people with their money and power. They were seen as philanthropists. Harry knew nothing of this; nor did he know that the Malfoys were seen by some as too powerful or that Lucius Malfoy had been suspected of being You-Know-Who’s right-hand man. He was staring at Draco as coolly as ever. Then he opened his mouth and said with a poise that made Ron want to applaud, “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.”
Ron could have jumped up and down and danced around the compartment. He could have yelled, “ONE IN THE EYE FOR YOU, MALFOY! HARRY POTTER DOESN’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOUR MONEY, HE LIKES ME!!” Instead, he just looked out of the window and felt a grin spreading all over his face.
Draco was obviously as surprised as Ron. “I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he said, resentment making him bite the words off short. “Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents.”
Word of advice, Malfoy, brush up your grammar before you try threatening people, Ron jeered silently before suddenly hearing the rest of the sentence. His vision blurred with fury, but Draco hadn’t finished.
“They didn’t know what was good for them, either,” he went on softly. “You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it’ll rub off on you.”
Ron and Harry both leaped up at the same time. Ron couldn’t decide which was worse – the insult to his family or the fact that Malfoy had the gall to drag Harry’s parents into this.
“Say that again,” he growled.
“Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?” Malfoy asked with a contemptuous smile. Somewhere in Ron’s mind, a voice was saying that this was playing into Malfoy’s hands, but he ignored the voice. He couldn’t let Malfoy get away with those words.
“Unless you get out now,” Harry answered, cool as ice.
“But we don’t feel like leaving, do we, boys?” Malfoy asked, glancing at his two goons, who grinned nasty grins and shook their heads. “We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.”
You greedy spoiled pig, Malfoy, can’t confront him on your own, you gotta get your bully boys to back you up – what the hell?
Goyle seemed to be executing a dance, yelling in pain and swinging something from his fingers. It took Ron a moment to realise that what he was trying to shake off was Scabbers, and even then he couldn’t quite believe it. Scabbers hung on for a surprisingly long time before letting go – Ron was quite sure he had decided to let go rather than been thrown off – then he crashed against the window. Ron hurried over and picked him up by the tail, something Percy had always told him was very wrong, but Ron couldn’t care less at that moment.
“What’s going on?” Hermione Granger demanded behind him.
None of your beeswax. “I think he’s been knocked out,” Ron murmured, then glanced closer. “No – I don’t believe it – he’s gone back to sleep.”
Harry shook his head, torn between amusement and relief. They both sat down.
“You’ve met Malfoy?” Ron demanded. It turned out his instinct had been right. Harry had indeed met Malfoy in Madam Malkin’s robe shop, and Malfoy hadn’t been half so interested in him back then. Harry confessed that Malfoy reminded him of his cousin Dudley. “Only, he’s like a stick and Dudley’s like a whale,” he added and they both laughed for a moment. The thought of Draco Malfoy as a stick went some way towards drawing the sting out of his words.
“I’ve heard of his family,” Ron told Harry. “They were the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.” As always, he wondered what his father meant by that, then realised Hermione Granger was still standing in the doorway.
“Can we help you with something?” he enquired sarcastically, echoing his mum when she found one of them lurking where they shouldn’t be.
“You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up to the front to ask the driver and he says we’re nearly there. You haven’t been fighting, have you?” she added disapprovingly, reminding Ron so much of Percy, it was as if his elder brother was standing there. “You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!”
Well, that would make Fred and George happy. “Scabbers has been fighting – not us. Would you mind leaving while we change?” he added pointedly when she didn’t move.
She looked offended. “All right – I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors.” More like you wanted the opportunity to tell us off, Ron thought angrily. Hermione turned around, then glanced over her shoulder. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?”
Ron didn’t deign to reply, he only glared, and she left. He closed the door, slipped Scabbers inside his jacket again, and they both changed into their robes. Harry’s were new, jet black and perfectly made. Ron’s were threadbare, and short enough to show his trainers. Just as they finished, a voice announced, “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.” Panicked, they glanced at each other, relieved to see the other looked nervous. The only thing left to do was fill their pockets with the rest of the sweets, and leave.
VOCAB CHECK
Bin: British English for ‘trash can’
Fringe: British English for ‘bangs’
Sweets: British English for ‘candy’
Trainers: British English for ‘sneakers’
