The comfortable chaos of their increasingly crowded compartment was temporarily interrupted by the cheerful sound of the trolley witch making her rounds.
"Anything from the trolley, dears?" came a warm voice from the corridor, accompanied by the distinctive rattle of wheels and the mouth-watering scent of magical confections.
The response was immediate and unanimous—fifteen heads turned toward the door with the sort of coordinated enthusiasm usually reserved for Christmas morning or the announcement of unexpected holidays.
"Oh, thank Merlin," Sirius declared dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "I was beginning to think we'd have to resort to cannibalism before we reached Scotland."
"Cannibalism?" Alice raised an eyebrow with dangerous sweetness. "How very optimistic of you to assume any of us would be tender enough to make decent eating."
"I'd be stringy," James announced cheerfully. "All that Quidditch training. Nothing but muscle and nervous energy."
"I'd probably taste like books and anxiety," Remus added with self-deprecating humor, though his amber eyes were bright with amusement.
"Right then," Hadrian said with the sort of natural authority that made even simple decisions sound like military operations, "tactical assessment time. How much collective pocket money do we have, and what's our strategy for optimal trolley decimation?"
What followed was a surprisingly efficient coordination of resources that would have impressed professional quartermasters. Fifteen eleven-year-olds managed to pool their pocket money, assess available options, and develop a systematic approach to magical confectionery acquisition that ensured everyone got something they wanted while maximizing variety and sharing potential.
"Chocolate Frogs for everyone," Natalia declared with the precision of someone who had clearly given this considerable strategic thought. "Standard requirement for train travel. Plus Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans for entertainment value, Pumpkin Pasties because they're traditional, and enough Licorice Wands to use as either snacks or emergency wands if we encounter any mechanical difficulties."
"Emergency wands?" Ted asked with obvious amusement.
"You never know," she replied with perfect seriousness. "Better to be prepared."
"Liquorice Wands don't actually work as emergency wands," Severus pointed out with characteristic precision.
"Have you tested that hypothesis thoroughly?" she challenged back.
He paused, clearly considering the scientific implications. "...No, I haven't actually conducted controlled experiments on the magical properties of confectionery-based wand substitutes."
"Then we can't definitively rule out their emergency applications," she said with satisfaction.
"I love how your brain works," Bellatrix declared with fierce approval. "Practical paranoia combined with scientific skepticism. That's going to serve us well at Hogwarts."
Twenty minutes later, their compartment looked like a sweet shop had exploded in the most delightful possible way. The trolley witch, a pleasantly plump woman whose eyes had lit up with mercenary delight at the sight of fifteen children with coordinated purchasing power, had been more than happy to provide them with enough magical confections to stock a small shop.
"I haven't seen enthusiasm like that since the Prewett twins discovered my inventory," she'd told them with obvious fondness. "You lot are going to be trouble, aren't you?"
"The very best kind of trouble," Hadrian had replied with that devastating smile, and she'd cackled with laughter before moving on to the next compartment with considerably lighter trolley and considerably heavier purse.
Now they were settled in comfortable sugar-induced contentment, passing around Chocolate Frogs and debating the relative merits of different Every Flavour Bean flavors while the Scottish countryside rolled past their windows.
"Right," James said around a mouthful of Pumpkin Pasty, "important question time. House predictions. Where do we all think we're going to end up?"
"Gryffindor," Sirius announced immediately with the sort of absolute confidence that brooked no argument. "Obviously. Red and gold, courage and chivalry, standing up for what's right even when it's dangerous or inconvenient. It's basically written in the stars."
"The stars don't determine Sorting," Andromeda observed with elegant precision, delicately nibbling a Cauldron Cake. "The Sorting Hat analyzes personality traits, magical signatures, and personal values to determine optimal House placement."
"Fine," Sirius amended cheerfully. "It's basically written in my personality, magical signature, and personal values. Better?"
"Marginally more accurate," she conceded.
"What about you?" Lily asked, turning to Andromeda with genuine curiosity. "Where do you think you'll be Sorted?"
"Ravenclaw, most likely," she replied with thoughtful consideration. "I value knowledge, intellectual precision, and creative problem-solving above most other considerations. Though there's always the possibility of Hufflepuff—I do appreciate loyalty and hard work."
"Hufflepuff gets unfairly dismissed," Alice said firmly, her green eyes flashing with protective indignation. "People act like it's the 'leftover' House, but dedication, loyalty, and fair play are incredibly valuable qualities. Some of the most successful witches and wizards in history have been Hufflepuffs."
"Hufflepuff for you then?" Frank asked with warm interest.
"Almost certainly," she confirmed with satisfaction. "Though I wouldn't be devastated by Gryffindor. Courage and justice are important too."
"Justice-focused Hufflepuff," James mused thoughtfully. "That's actually a terrifying combination. All that dedication and hard work, but directed toward making sure everyone gets what they deserve."
"Terrifying for people who deserve unpleasant things," she corrected sweetly.
"See?" he said with obvious appreciation. "Absolutely terrifying."
"Slytherin," Narcissa announced with pristine confidence, as though any other possibility was beneath consideration. "Family tradition, obviously, but also personal compatibility. I value strategic thinking, ambition, resourcefulness, and the ability to achieve one's goals through whatever means are most effective."
"Whatever means?" Natalia raised an eyebrow with dangerous interest.
"Within reasonable ethical boundaries," Narcissa clarified with the sort of precision that suggested she'd given considerable thought to where those boundaries lay. "I'm ambitious, not sociopathic."
"What's the difference?" Bellatrix asked with genuine curiosity rather than mockery.
"Ambition serves long-term goals and considers consequences," Narcissa replied promptly. "Sociopathy serves immediate gratification regardless of consequences. One is strategic, the other is simply destructive."
"Practical ethics," Severus observed with obvious approval. "Very Slytherin indeed."
"Speaking of which," Lily turned to him with genuine interest, "what's your prediction?"
Severus was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes distant as he considered the question with characteristic serious thought. "Slytherin, almost certainly. I'm ambitious, I value cunning over straightforward approaches, and I have no problem using whatever methods are most effective to achieve my goals. Plus, family background and social expectations point in that direction."
"Do you want to be in Slytherin?" Remus asked gently, picking up on something in Severus's tone that suggested ambivalence.
Another pause, longer this time. "I want to be wherever I can develop my abilities most effectively and form meaningful connections with people who understand my priorities. If that's Slytherin, then yes. If it's somewhere else..." He shrugged with studied casualness. "The Hat will decide."
"Diplomatic answer," Hadrian observed with quiet approval. "Very mature approach to House assignment."
"What about you?" Peter asked, turning to Hadrian with obvious curiosity. "Where do you think you'll end up?"
Hadrian leaned back in his seat, silver-grey eyes thoughtful as he considered the question with the kind of careful analysis that suggested he'd been thinking about this for some time.
"Honestly? I could see arguments for three different Houses," he said finally. "Gryffindor for the courage and justice aspects, Slytherin for the strategic thinking and ambition, Ravenclaw for the intellectual curiosity and love of knowledge. The Hat will have to decide which qualities are most dominant."
"Three different Houses," James repeated with obvious amazement. "That's either incredibly well-rounded or completely indecisive."
"Can't it be both?" Hadrian replied with that trademark grin.
"Gryffindor," Bellatrix declared with passionate certainty, as though she'd just solved a particularly complex puzzle. "Definitely Gryffindor. I'm brave to the point of recklessness, I believe in fighting for what's right regardless of consequences, and I have absolutely zero patience for injustice or cowardice."
"Zero patience for injustice," Andromeda repeated with fond exasperation, "and unfortunately, zero patience for diplomacy, strategic thinking, or considering consequences before acting."
"Consequences are what happen after you've already done the right thing," Bellatrix replied with characteristic intensity. "I'd rather face consequences for acting than live with regret for not acting."
"Very Gryffindor indeed," Remus said with gentle amusement.
"What about you?" Rosmerta asked him. "Ravenclaw?"
"Probably," he confirmed with that soft smile. "I love learning for its own sake, I approach problems through research and analysis, and I genuinely enjoy intellectual challenges. Though there's always the possibility of Hufflepuff—I value loyalty and friendship quite highly."
"Loyalty-focused Ravenclaw or knowledge-focused Hufflepuff," Xenophilius mused thoughtfully, his dreamy eyes bright with interest. "Either way, you're going to be the person everyone comes to for help with homework."
"I don't mind," Remus replied with genuine warmth. "I enjoy teaching almost as much as learning."
"Saint Remus," Sirius declared dramatically. "Patron saint of study groups and late-night research sessions."
"Don't mock study groups," Amelia said firmly. "Collaborative learning is significantly more effective than individual study for complex subjects."
"Ravenclaw for you then?" Ted asked with obvious interest.
"Undoubtedly," she confirmed with satisfaction. "Knowledge, logic, systematic analysis, and the pursuit of truth above all other considerations. Though I do appreciate the Hufflepuff values of hard work and dedication."
"Ravenclaw with Hufflepuff work ethic," Pandora observed with approval. "That's a powerful combination."
"What about you?" Alice asked her. "Where do you think you'll be Sorted?"
"Ravenclaw," Pandora replied with serene confidence. "Though probably the unconventional kind of Ravenclaw that makes the more traditional members uncomfortable. I'm interested in knowledge, but specifically the kind of knowledge that other people dismiss as impossible or impractical."
"Like magical energy resonance patterns?" Severus asked with genuine scientific curiosity.
"Exactly," she beamed. "The magic that exists in the spaces between official magical theory and acknowledged impossibility."
"That sounds either brilliant or completely mad," Frank said with obvious fascination.
"Most brilliant things sound completely mad at first," Xenophilius replied with authority, "which is why they're dismissed until someone proves they work."
"Ravenclaw for you too?" James asked.
"Oh, absolutely," Xenophilius confirmed with dreamy certainty. "Knowledge, creativity, original thinking, and the courage to explore ideas that make other people uncomfortable. Though I suspect I'll be the type of Ravenclaw that makes the professors either love me or want to ban me from the library."
"Why not both?" Natalia asked with that sharp smile.
"Probably both," he agreed cheerfully.
"Speaking of unconventional Ravenclaws," Ted said with obvious amusement, "what about you, Natalia? Your analytical skills suggest Ravenclaw, but your strategic thinking and ruthless precision suggest Slytherin."
Natalia was quiet for a moment, her green eyes distant as she considered the question with the kind of careful analysis that suggested multiple factors were being weighed.
"Slytherin, I think," she said finally. "I value knowledge, but primarily as a tool for achieving practical goals. I'm ambitious, I'm willing to use whatever methods are most effective, and I have no problem with moral ambiguity when it serves a greater purpose."
"Moral ambiguity in service of greater purpose," Lily repeated thoughtfully. "That's either very mature ethical thinking or a sophisticated rationalization for questionable behavior."
"Can't it be both?" Natalia replied with that trademark smile.
"You two are definitely related," Severus observed dryly. "Same approach to avoiding definitive answers."
"It's not avoiding definitive answers," the twins replied in unison, then looked at each other with obvious amusement at their synchronized response.
"It's acknowledging complexity," Lily continued.
"And refusing to oversimplify nuanced situations," Natalia added.
"See?" Severus said with satisfaction. "Definitely related."
"What about you, Lily?" Rosmerta asked. "Gryffindor? Ravenclaw?"
"Gryffindor, most likely," Lily replied with thoughtful consideration. "I believe in standing up for what's right, I'm willing to take risks to protect people, and I have very little patience for injustice or cruelty. Though I do value knowledge and learning quite highly."
"Justice-focused Gryffindor with academic interests," Peter observed. "That's going to make you formidable."
"Formidable is the goal," she replied with a grin that made her look suddenly dangerous.
"What about you, Peter?" Alice asked warmly. "Any predictions?"
Peter shifted uncomfortably, his blue eyes uncertain. "I honestly don't know," he admitted. "I'm not particularly brave like Gryffindor, I'm not ambitious enough for Slytherin, I'm not brilliant enough for Ravenclaw, and I'm not... I don't know, loyal enough for Hufflepuff?"
"Peter," Ted said firmly, his brown eyes warm with genuine conviction, "you've been sitting here for the past hour contributing thoughtful observations, asking intelligent questions, and being genuinely kind to everyone in this compartment. You're absolutely loyal enough for Hufflepuff, and you're significantly more intelligent than you give yourself credit for."
"Plus," Frank added with quiet support, "loyalty isn't about being the most loyal person in the world. It's about sticking by the people you care about when it matters. And you've already shown you can do that."
"When did I show that?" Peter asked with genuine confusion.
"When you helped Severus defend his philosophical approach to magical theory," Remus pointed out gently. "When you supported Alice's point about Hufflepuff being undervalued. When you offered to share your sweets with everyone even though you barely know us. Those are all acts of loyalty and friendship."
"Oh," Peter said quietly, his cheeks flushing with pleased surprise. "I hadn't thought of it that way."
"Most people don't recognize their own good qualities," Hadrian said with quiet authority. "But that doesn't make them any less real."
Their comfortable discussion was interrupted by a sharp knock on the compartment door—not the hesitant tap of another nervous first-year or the cheerful rattle of the trolley witch, but the sort of confident, demanding sound that suggested someone who expected immediate attention and automatic deference.
"Well, well," came a smooth, cultured voice from the corridor, dripping with the sort of aristocratic arrogance that could freeze summer air, "what have we here? Such an... interesting collection of students."
The door slid open without invitation to reveal a tall boy who was clearly several years older than their group—perhaps thirteen or fourteen—with platinum blonde hair so pale it was almost white, cold grey eyes, and the sort of sharp, aristocratic features that suggested generations of careful breeding. He wore his Hogwarts robes like royal regalia, and his entire bearing radiated the kind of casual superiority that came from never having been told 'no' about anything important.
Behind him stood two other boys who looked like they'd been specifically designed to serve as intimidating backup—one round and thick-set with small dark eyes, the other tall and brutish with the sort of face that suggested his primary talents lay in the direction of physical intimidation rather than intellectual discourse.
"Lucius Malfoy," the blonde boy announced with the sort of theatrical precision that suggested he'd practiced this introduction in mirrors, his cold eyes sweeping across their group with calculating assessment. "Third year Slytherin, heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy."
His gaze lingered on certain members of their group with obvious approval—Hadrian, James, Sirius, the Black sisters, Frank, Alice, Amelia, Xenophilius, Pandora and Rosmerta—while passing dismissively over others and settling with visible disdain on Lily, Natalia, and Ted.
"I couldn't help but notice," he continued with silky precision, "that this compartment contains some of the finest young magical blood in Britain. The Potter heirs, the Black heir, daughters of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, the Longbottom heir, the Bones heir, the Rosier heir, the Lovegood heir..." His voice carried the sort of reverent appreciation usually reserved for discussing priceless artifacts. "Such promise. Such potential."
He paused dramatically, allowing his words to sink in before his expression shifted to one of concerned superiority.
"Which is why," he continued with the sort of patronizing tone usually reserved for explaining simple concepts to very small children, "I feel obligated to offer some friendly advice about... appropriate social associations."
The temperature in the compartment seemed to drop several degrees as fifteen pairs of eyes fixed on him with varying degrees of attention, amusement, and growing hostility.
"You see," Lucius continued, apparently oblivious to the shift in atmosphere, "Hogwarts can be quite challenging for young people who haven't learned to distinguish between suitable companions and... well, less suitable influences."
His gaze moved deliberately to Severus, Remus, and Peter with the sort of dismissive assessment usually reserved for examining particularly disappointing livestock.
"Half-bloods, while occasionally useful for specific purposes, lack the natural refinement and breeding that comes with pure magical heritage. They can be... adequate associates for certain limited interactions, but one must be careful not to confuse temporary convenience with genuine friendship."
Several people in the compartment went very still, though not with fear—with the sort of dangerous quiet that usually preceded volcanic eruptions or controlled explosions.
"And as for Mudbloods—" His eyes settled on Lily, Natalia, and Ted with the sort of casual contempt usually reserved for discussing particularly unpleasant varieties of vermin. "—well, I'm sure you understand that blood purity exists for very good reasons. Magical ability may occasionally manifest in non-magical families, but it's always diluted, always inferior to magic from proper wizarding bloodlines."
The silence that followed was the kind that usually preceded either natural disasters or someone's complete social annihilation.
Hadrian was the first to speak, his voice carrying that particular brand of British politeness that could strip paint and had historically preceded diplomatic incidents that required international mediation.
"Mr. Malfoy," he said with devastating courtesy, rising from his seat with the sort of fluid grace that made simple movements look like choreographed elegance, "I'm afraid there's been some confusion. You seem to be under the impression that any of us are interested in your opinions about our friends."
His silver-grey eyes fixed on Lucius with laser precision, and his smile was the sort that made intelligent people take several steps backward and begin reconsidering their life choices.
"Allow me to clarify," he continued with silky precision. "These people—all of these people—are my friends. They are also some of the most intelligent, talented, and genuinely impressive young people I've ever met. Their blood status is considerably less relevant to me than their character, their abilities, and their worth as human beings."
"Furthermore," Natalia added, rising beside him with predatory grace and fixing Lucius with the sort of smile that had historically preceded the systematic destruction of much more dangerous people, "your casual use of a racial slur in our presence suggests that either your parents failed spectacularly in teaching you basic manners, or you're too stupid to understand that using hate speech as an opening conversational gambit is generally considered poor form."
"I beg your pardon?" Lucius's voice rose slightly, his composure cracking for the first time.
"You used a slur," she repeated with crystalline clarity, each word delivered with surgical precision. "In civilized company. While insulting me and my friends. Either apologize immediately, or remove yourself from our compartment before we demonstrate exactly why blood purity is irrelevant when compared to actual competence."
"How dare you—" he began, but was interrupted by Sirius rising with the sort of theatrical flourish that had made him famous in certain social circles.
"Oh, this is rich," Sirius declared with delighted laughter, his storm-grey eyes dancing with malicious amusement. "Lucius Malfoy, lecturing people about blood purity and appropriate social associations. Tell me, Lucius—does your father know you're wandering around the train insulting fellow purebloods and their chosen companions?"
"My father—" Lucius started again.
"Your father," Sirius continued with ruthless momentum, "who attended school with my parents, who knows perfectly well that the Black family doesn't tolerate anyone insulting people we consider family. Which, incidentally, now includes everyone in this compartment."
He gestured grandly at the assembled group, his dramatic flair making everything sound like a royal proclamation.
"So when you insult Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Evans, Natalia Evans, and Ted Tonks, you're not just insulting random students—you're insulting people under Black family protection. People we've claimed as ours."
"The same Black family," Bellatrix added with sweet venom, rising with fluid grace and fixing Lucius with the sort of smile that would have made professional torturers proud, "that has considerably more political influence than the Malfoys, significantly more wealth, and a much longer tradition of dealing with people who threaten our interests."
"Plus," James said cheerfully, bouncing to his feet with infectious enthusiasm, "the Potter family has been defending people from bullies and bigots for centuries. It's practically a family tradition. My father would be absolutely delighted to hear that his son was continuing the proud Potter legacy of making life miserable for pretentious arseholes with superiority complexes."
"Language, James," Lily said automatically, though her green eyes were bright with fierce approval.
"Sorry, Evans. Pretentious arseholes with superiority complexes and delusions of grandeur."
"Better," she confirmed with satisfaction.
Lucius looked around the compartment with growing alarm as more people rose to their feet, his cold grey eyes taking in expressions that ranged from amused contempt to dangerous hostility.
"You can't possibly be serious," he said, his voice climbing toward something approaching panic. "You're all from respectable families. You can't actually prefer the company of... of half-bloods and Mudbloods to proper wizarding society."
"Watch us," Narcissa said with pristine disdain, rising from her seat with the sort of aristocratic grace that made simple movements look like state occasions. "You see, Malfoy, some of us were raised to value intelligence, character, and genuine worth over arbitrary circumstances of birth."
"Plus," Andromeda added with elegant precision, "some of us were raised with actual manners, unlike certain people who think barging into other people's private conversations and insulting their friends constitutes acceptable social behavior."
"Not to mention," Frank said quietly, though his voice carried the sort of steady authority that made people pay attention, "the fact that magical ability is magical ability, regardless of where it comes from. Anyone who's actually studied magical theory knows that power and skill have nothing to do with blood status."
"Everything to do with talent, training, and dedication," Alice agreed warmly, though her green eyes held dangerous glints. "Which, coincidentally, our friends here have in abundance."
"More abundance than certain third-years who think throwing around their family names makes up for lack of personal merit," Amelia observed with clinical precision.
Ted, Remus, and Severus had remained seated, watching this defense with expressions of amazement and growing gratitude. Finally, Ted spoke up, his brown eyes bright with determined dignity.
"You know what, Malfoy?" he said with quiet conviction, rising from his seat with the sort of steady confidence that came from being genuinely supported. "I don't need to justify my existence or my worth to someone whose only accomplishment is being born into the right family. But I will say this—I'd rather be a Muggleborn with real friends than a pureblood with nothing but blood status to recommend me."
"Beautifully said," Remus agreed gently, though his amber eyes held steel. "And I'd rather be a half-blood surrounded by people who value me for who I am than a pureblood who needs to tear others down to feel superior."
"As for me," Severus said with deadly quiet, his dark eyes fixed on Lucius with laser precision, "I'd rather be a half-blood with actual magical talent than a pureblood who thinks his family name will compensate for mediocrity."
The silence that followed was absolute and devastating.
"Right then," Hadrian said with cheerful finality, settling back into his seat with casual authority, "I believe that concludes today's lesson in 'Why Blood Purist Ideology Is Both Morally Repugnant and Practically Stupid.' Mr. Malfoy, unless you have anything constructive to add to our conversation, I suggest you return to whatever rock you crawled out from under."
"This isn't over," Lucius said with the sort of cold fury that suggested he wasn't accustomed to being dismissed so thoroughly.
"No, it really is," Natalia replied with sweet finality. "You see, you've just demonstrated to fifteen highly intelligent, well-connected, and increasingly influential young people that you're a bigoted fool with delusions of grandeur. Word of this encounter will spread, and your reputation will suffer accordingly."
"Plus," Sirius added with malicious cheerfulness, "you've managed to unite people from four different Houses and multiple different backgrounds in shared contempt for you personally. That's actually quite an achievement—it takes real talent to make that many people dislike you simultaneously."
"Congratulations," Bellatrix said with wicked delight. "You've just made yourself legendary for all the wrong reasons."
Lucius looked around the compartment one final time, taking in expressions that ranged from amused contempt to active hostility, before apparently deciding that tactical retreat was the better part of valor.
"This conversation isn't finished," he said with as much dignity as he could muster.
"Yes, it really is," Hadrian replied with devastating finality. "Close the door behind you."
After Lucius and his cronies had retreated with whatever remained of their dignity, the compartment fell silent for a moment as everyone processed what had just happened.
"Well," Rosmerta said finally, breaking the tension with cheerful observation, "that was educational."
"Educational and entertaining," Pandora agreed with serene satisfaction. "Nothing like shared opposition to strengthen group bonds."
"Plus," Xenophilius added thoughtfully, "now we know what we're up against at Hogwarts. Bigotry, entitlement, and people who think family names are more important than actual merit."
"Good to know early," James said with grim satisfaction. "Gives us time to prepare adequate responses."
"Adequate responses?" Alice asked with dangerous sweetness.
"Oh, you know," he replied with that trademark grin, "the usual. Superior academic performance, devastating wit, strategic alliance-building, and the occasional perfectly timed public humiliation."
"Sounds like a solid seven-year plan," Sirius agreed with obvious enthusiasm.
"Right then," Hadrian said with satisfaction, looking around at their group with obvious pride, "anyone else feeling like we just passed some kind of test?"
"Definitely," Lily confirmed warmly. "Though I have to say, watching all of you rally to defend people you barely know was... that was really something."
"Barely know you?" James protested with mock indignation. "Evans, we've shared sweets and philosophical debates and survived our first encounter with Hogwarts bigotry together. At this point, you're practically family."
"Family," Peter repeated quietly, his voice carrying wonder and gratitude in equal measure. "I like that."
"Family it is then," Hadrian said with quiet authority, looking around at their assembled group with obvious satisfaction. "Fifteen against the world, if necessary."
"Fifteen against the world," they chorused back, and somehow, it sounded less like a boast than a promise.
Outside the window, the Scottish Highlands rolled past in shades of purple and gold, carrying them toward their destiny. Inside Compartment 7C, fifteen eleven-year-olds who had found each other by chance and been forged into alliance by opposition settled in for the rest of their journey, already planning the adventures that would define the next seven years of their lives.
—
Outside Compartment 7C, two identical redheads were doing their absolute best impression of casual corridor loiterers while conducting what they would later describe as "essential reconnaissance operations in the national interest."
Fabian and Gideon Prewett, third-year Gryffindors with matching grins and an impressive talent for being exactly where they weren't supposed to be, had been making their routine patrol of the train when they'd spotted Lucius Malfoy and his junior death squad heading toward the first-year compartments with obvious malicious intent.
"Should we intervene?" Gideon had whispered, his brown eyes bright with the kind of protective instincts that had gotten them into trouble with bullies since their own first year.
"Let's see how the firsties handle it," Fabian had replied with matching concern. "If they need backup, we'll provide it. But they might surprise us."
They had not been prepared for the systematic verbal demolition that followed.
Now, fifteen minutes later, they were practically racing through the train corridors toward the seventh-year prefects' compartment, their identical faces bright with excitement and what could only be described as professional admiration for superior tactical execution.
"Molly's never going to believe this," Gideon said with breathless enthusiasm as they navigated through crowds of returning students. "I mean, we've told her stories about impressive first-year performances before, but this..."
"This was legendary," Fabian agreed with obvious awe. "Absolutely legendary. Did you hear the way that Evans girl just casually mentioned that Malfoy's parents had failed at teaching basic manners? I thought he was going to spontaneously combust."
"And when young Black announced that they were all under Black family protection?" Gideon shook his head with obvious admiration. "Brilliant tactical thinking. Instant escalation from personal insult to political incident."
"Plus the way they all coordinated without any apparent planning," Fabian added, dodging a group of second-years who were engaged in animated discussion about summer adventures. "Natural alliance formation under pressure. Those kids are going to be formidable by seventh year."
They reached the prefects' compartment and immediately began the complicated knock sequence that would identify them as family rather than random students seeking authority figures for complaint resolution.
"Enter, you ridiculous twins," came their sister's fond voice from inside, "and whatever chaos you're about to report, I probably don't want to hear about it."
Fabian and Gideon exchanged identical grins before sliding open the door to reveal the most organized compartment on the entire train.
Molly Prewett sat with perfect posture beside Arthur Weasley, her red hair arranged in neat waves and her prefect badge gleaming with obvious pride. At seventeen, she already possessed the kind of natural authority that made younger students automatically behave better in her presence, combined with the warm maternal instincts that would make her legendary among her peers.
Arthur, meanwhile, was bent over what appeared to be a detailed schematic of some kind of Muggle mechanical device, his own red hair falling across his forehead as he traced circuits with obvious fascination. Even at seventeen, his genuine enthusiasm for non-magical innovation was already well-established among the Gryffindor population.
"Molly, Arthur," Fabian announced with dramatic flair, "you're going to want to hear this."
"We've just witnessed the most spectacular first-year performance in Hogwarts Express history," Gideon added with matching theatrical enthusiasm.
Molly looked up from her own prefect notes with the kind of patient attention that came from years of managing her brothers' various adventures and discoveries. "Define spectacular. Are we talking 'impressive magical display' spectacular or 'someone needs medical attention' spectacular?"
"Political warfare spectacular," the twins replied in unison.
Arthur's head snapped up immediately, his brown eyes bright with sharp intelligence. "Political warfare? On the train? Who was involved?"
"Lucius Malfoy," Fabian began with obvious relish, settling into the compartment with practiced ease, "decided to pay an educational visit to Compartment 7C, which apparently contains the most impressive collection of first-years we've ever encountered."
"Fifteen of them," Gideon continued seamlessly, "from multiple Houses and family backgrounds, who'd somehow managed to form what can only be described as a perfectly coordinated alliance system."
"Fifteen first-years?" Molly's eyebrows rose with obvious surprise. "In one compartment? How did they even fit?"
"Expansion charms, probably," Arthur said absently, though his attention was clearly focused on the political implications. "What did Malfoy do?"
"Oh, the usual," Fabian said with disgusted contempt. "Barged in uninvited, started lecturing about blood purity, used the M-word while insulting three of them directly, and generally demonstrated why the Malfoy family reputation for arrogance and bigotry is well-deserved."
"He used a slur?" Molly's voice went dangerously quiet, her brown eyes flashing with the kind of maternal fury that had made her famous for defending younger students. "In front of first-years? On their way to school for the first time?"
"Gets better," Gideon said grimly. "He specifically targeted the Muggleborn students while trying to convince the purebloods to abandon their 'unsuitable associations' for 'proper wizarding society.'"
"What happened next?" Arthur asked with obvious concern, his mechanical schematic forgotten as he focused entirely on the family politics implications.
"They destroyed him," the twins said simultaneously, their identical grins returning with renewed intensity.
"Completely, systematically, professionally destroyed him," Fabian continued with obvious admiration. "It was like watching fifteen individual precision strikes coordinated into one devastating assault."
"The Potter heir—Hadrian, not James, though James was brilliant too—opened with perfect diplomatic courtesy that somehow made Malfoy sound like a fool just for existing," Gideon reported with the enthusiasm of someone recounting a legendary Quidditch match.
"Then one of the Evans twin—Natalia—followed up by pointing out that using slurs in civilized company suggested either parental failure or personal stupidity," Fabian added with obvious appreciation for superior tactical thinking.
"Meanwhile, Sirius Black escalated the whole thing to a political incident by announcing that anyone who insulted their chosen companions was insulting people under Black family protection," Gideon continued, his voice carrying the sort of awe usually reserved for discussing professional Quidditch strategies.
"The Black sisters backed him up with family influence reminders," Fabian said, "James Potter invoked family tradition about defending people from bigots, and then the Muggleborn students finished it off by demonstrating exactly why blood status is irrelevant when compared to actual character and intelligence."
"By the end," Gideon concluded with satisfaction, "Malfoy was in full retreat, his reputation was in shambles, and fifteen first-years had formed bonds that are probably going to last decades."
Molly and Arthur sat in stunned silence for a moment, processing the implications of what they'd just heard.
"Fifteen first-years," Molly said slowly, "managed to coordinate a successful defense against a third-year Slytherin with established social connections and family influence, while simultaneously establishing themselves as a unified political entity capable of invoking multiple family protections."
"That's..." Arthur shook his head with obvious amazement, "that's incredibly sophisticated for eleven-year-olds."
"It gets better," Fabian said with renewed enthusiasm. "They didn't just defend themselves—they made it clear that this kind of behavior wouldn't be tolerated, they demonstrated superior wit and intelligence, and they essentially declared themselves a family unit that will support each other regardless of blood status or House assignment."
"Plus," Gideon added with obvious admiration, "they did it all while maintaining perfect courtesy and never actually breaking any school rules. Malfoy couldn't even report them for misconduct because everything they said was technically polite."
"Devastating politeness," Molly mused with growing appreciation. "Very advanced social warfare technique."
"Very Gryffindor, but executed with Slytherin precision and Ravenclaw intelligence," Arthur observed thoughtfully. "What Houses do you think they'll be sorted into?"
"Mixed," the twins replied immediately.
"Definitely mixed," Fabian confirmed. "Which is either going to be fantastic for inter-House unity, or it's going to create the most complicated political situation Hogwarts has seen in decades."
"Probably both," Gideon agreed cheerfully. "Though honestly, after watching them handle Malfoy, I'm not worried about their ability to manage complicated political situations."
"What about the other implications?" Arthur asked with obvious concern, his strategic mind already working through the broader consequences. "If Lucius Malfoy is already targeting first-years with this level of aggression, it suggests the blood purity movement is becoming more active."
"And more confident," Molly added grimly. "Attacking children on the train, in front of witnesses, using explicit slurs—that's not the behavior of someone who's worried about consequences."
"Which means," Fabian said with growing seriousness, "those fifteen first-years may have just painted targets on themselves by standing up to him so effectively."
"Or," Gideon countered thoughtfully, "they may have just demonstrated that the blood purity movement can be successfully opposed by people who are willing to work together and refuse to be intimidated."
"Either way," Arthur said with quiet determination, "we need to keep an eye on all of them. If they're going to be targeted for their principles, they deserve protection."
"And support," Molly added firmly. "No first-year should have to deal with that kind of harassment alone."
"They won't be alone," Fabian said with obvious confidence. "After what we witnessed today, I'm pretty sure those fifteen could take on half the school if they had to."
"Plus," Gideon added with matching assurance, "they've got natural leadership abilities, strong moral principles, and excellent instincts for alliance-building. They're going to attract supporters, not enemies."
"Most people, anyway," Arthur qualified with continued concern about political implications.
"Most people," Molly agreed, "but the ones who don't are going to be the dangerous ones."
They sat in comfortable contemplation for a moment, processing the implications of the afternoon's events and the emergence of what appeared to be a genuinely formidable first-year class.
"You know," Fabian said thoughtfully, "it's been a while since Hogwarts had a class this interesting."
"Define interesting," Arthur said with obvious wariness.
"The kind that makes history instead of just studying it," Gideon replied with characteristic twin synchronization.
"Oh, wonderful," Molly muttered, though her brown eyes were bright with anticipation rather than genuine concern. "Just what the school needs—fifteen first-years with the political instincts of seventh-years and the moral certainty of Gryffindors."
"Could be fun," Arthur said with growing enthusiasm, apparently having processed the potential complications and decided they were outweighed by the potential benefits. "It's been too quiet around here lately."
"Too quiet?" Molly stared at her boyfriend with obvious disbelief. "Arthur, last month we had the incident with the escaped pixies in the Great Hall, the week before that someone managed to transfigure Professor Binns into a particularly boring variety of plant, and just yesterday a group of sixth-years accidentally created a weather system in the library that required three professors and a maintenance team to resolve."
"Exactly," he replied with cheerful logic. "Quiet."
The twins exchanged identical looks that suggested they were filing this information away for future reference and possible recreational purposes.
"Right then," Molly said with the kind of decisive authority that had made her an effective prefect despite her age, "we keep an eye on Compartment 7C, we make sure word spreads about Malfoy's behavior so people know what to expect from him, and we prepare to provide backup if any of those first-years need support."
"Agreed," Arthur confirmed. "Though honestly, after what you've described, I'm not sure they're going to need much help."
"Everyone needs help sometimes," she replied with characteristic warmth. "Even people who are perfectly capable of handling themselves deserve to know they have allies."
"Especially," Fabian added with sudden seriousness, "when they're facing the kind of opposition that Malfoy represents. Blood purity politics aren't going to stop with verbal harassment in train compartments."
"No," Gideon agreed grimly, "they're not. Which is why it's so important that we have first-years willing to stand up to it from day one."
"Sets the tone for their entire Hogwarts career," Arthur observed approvingly. "And possibly for the entire school climate regarding blood status discrimination."
"Plus," Molly added with growing warmth, "it sounds like they've already figured out that the best way to fight prejudice is through solidarity and mutual support rather than individual heroics."
"Very mature approach for eleven-year-olds," Fabian agreed.
"Very hopeful approach," Gideon added. "Suggests they understand that lasting change requires community effort rather than individual sacrifice."
The train whistle blew in the distance, long and clear, signaling that they were approaching Hogsmeade Station and the end of their journey.
"Right then," Molly said with renewed energy, gathering her prefect materials with characteristic efficiency. "Time to prepare for arrival procedures. But remember—we keep an eye on Compartment 7C, and we make sure those first-years know they have seventh-year support if they need it."
"Understood," the twins chorused, already planning their approaches to casual-but-protective older-student mentoring.
"And we keep an eye on Malfoy too," Arthur added with quiet determination. "If he's willing to target first-years this aggressively, he's going to be a problem for more than just Compartment 7C."
"Definitely," Molly agreed. "Though honestly, after watching him get systematically demolished by fifteen eleven-year-olds, I'm not sure his reputation is going to recover from this encounter."
"His pride definitely won't," Fabian said with satisfaction.
"Good," Gideon added cheerfully. "Pride like his deserves regular deflation."
As they prepared to disembark and begin another year at Hogwarts, the four Gryffindors found themselves looking forward to the sorting ceremony with considerably more anticipation than usual. Fifteen first-years who had already demonstrated superior political instincts, natural alliance-building abilities, and the courage to stand up to established prejudice on their first day were going to make for a very interesting academic year.
"You know," Arthur said thoughtfully as they gathered their belongings, "I have a feeling this is going to be a year we remember for the rest of our lives."
"In a good way or a concerning way?" Molly asked with obvious fondness.
"Both," he replied with that characteristic grin. "Definitely both."
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