Chapter 11: The Secret Testing Ground in the Manor
By the time the Malfoy family returned to Malfoy Manorfrom Diagon Alley, dusk had already fallen.
The green flames of the Floo Network flashed four times in the fireplace as the four of them stepped out one after another. Draco was the last, stumbling and nearly tripping on the rug in front of the hearth.
Narcissa went to arrange dinner. Draco ran upstairs clutching his hawthorn wand, shouting that he wanted to write to his friends about everything that had happened today.
Lucius and Cassius remained in the study.
The fireplace was lit. The firelight cast Lucius's shadow long across the floor covered in a deep green carpet.
Lucius sat behind the desk, his snake-headed cane propped up beside it. He watched Cassius, who was sitting on the sofa opposite him flipping through a book, and pondered for a moment.
"By tomorrow morning, the entire Wizarding World will know what you did today."
Cassius turned a page.
"Setting aside the damage to the street in Diagon Alley—that's a minor matter, I've already had Dobby send a thousand Galleons to the municipal department," Luciussaid, his fingers interlaced on the desk. "But that matter with Hagrid—Dumbledore will know."
"Of course he'll know," Cassius said without looking up. "The first thing Hagrid does when he gets back is file a complaint."
"You aren't worried?"
"Worried about what?"
"Dumbledore is not an easy man to deal with, Cassius."
Cassius closed the book.
He looked up at his father. The firelight from the hearth danced in his grey-blue eyes.
"Father."
"Yes."
"Dumbledore governs Hogwarts. I haven't even stepped through Hogwarts' gates yet. He currently has no legitimate reason to do anything to me."
Lucius thought about it. That was true.
"As for after I enter the school—" Cassius placed the book on the sofa's armrest, "as long as no one bothers Draco, I'll be a good student who follows the school rules."
Lucius looked at him.
"And if someone does bother him?"
Cassius didn't answer. He picked up the book again and continued flipping through it.
Lucius waited a few seconds, and seeing that he didn't intend to speak, stood up and walked to the door.
As his hand touched the doorknob, he looked back once.
"Don't tear the school down."
"I'll try my best."
Lucius went out.
The study fell silent, save for the sound of wood crackling in the fireplace.
The book Cassius was reading was titled 'Ancient Runes and Magical Orientation,' which he had pulled from the highest shelf of the Malfoy Family library. The gold-leaf lettering on the cover had mostly faded, and the pages were yellow and brittle, requiring great care when turning them.
He wasn't studying runes.
He was researching a problem—how to expand the range of magic's effect from a 'point' to a 'plane' without using a wand.
The move he used on Hagrid in the ice cream parlor—Gravity Suppression—worked well, but its coverage was only ten meters. Moreover, it was indiscriminate, affecting both friend and foe. It was enough for one-on-one situations, but with more people, it would cause accidental injuries.
He needed more refined means of control.
Not for the sake of being elegant.
But to be able to handle more targets simultaneously when necessary.
In the margins of the page, Cassius wrote down three words:
Instant-cast.
Rapid-fire.
Coverage.
These were the training goals he set for himself.
There was still a month before school started.
That was enough.
—
At the same moment.
Hogwarts. Principal's Office.
Albus Dumbledore sat in his high-backed chair. On the desk before him sat a bowl of lemon sherbet, half-melted.
The fireplace flames turned green. Hagrid's large head emerged from the fire.
"Professor Dumbledore! You have to hear what happened in Diagon Alley today!"
Hagrid spent a full twenty minutes recounting his encounter. His narrative style was as chaotic as ever—the timeline was a mess, the relationships between people were tangled, and his emotions were overflowing. But Dumbledore understood.
Every single word.
After Hagrid finished speaking, the green flames in the fireplace died out.
Dumbledore did not move.
He sat in his chair, his right index finger gently tapping the desk.
The office walls were covered with portraits of past Principals. A few had been woken up by Hagrid's booming voice, but they simply rolled over and went back to sleep.
In the corner, a man with black hair and a hooked nose stood in the shadows. He had been there the whole time, ever since Hagrid started talking.
Severus Snape.
"What do you think?" Dumbledore spoke.
Snape's expression looked as if he had eaten an entire jar of expired Cockroach Clusters.
"A spoiled, extremely dangerous fanatic," Snape's voice was low, each word sounding as if it had been chewed before being spat out. "Eleven years old, Wandless Magic, magical suppression of a Half-giant—if even half of what Hagrid said is true, then this child is the prototype of another Dark Lord."
Dumbledore did not answer immediately.
He picked up the bowl of half-melted lemon sherbet from the desk and put a spoonful into his mouth.
"No, Severus," he said. "He is not like Tom."
Snape's brow furrowed.
"Tom Riddle had already learned to hide his power by the age of eleven," Dumbledore set down the spoon. "He knew how to appear harmless, intelligent, and likable in front of adults. His danger lay in his disguise."
He paused.
"But this child—according to Hagrid's description—he doesn't deign to disguise himself at all. His power is public, his attitude is direct. He does not plot."
"And so?" Snape's tone did not soften in the slightest. "Is he not dangerous just because he doesn't plot? A dragon that doesn't know how to hide is more dangerous than a snake hiding in the grass."
"And also easier to predict," Dumbledore said.
Snape was not convinced. But he did not continue to argue. He turned toward the door, stopping for a moment by the entrance.
"He is Lucius's son," Snape said. "Regardless of what he is like personally, Lucius will use him."
"I know."
Snape went out.
Dumbledore sat alone in the office, the lemon sherbetbefore him having completely melted into a puddle of yellow liquid.
His gaze fell on a piece of parchment on the desk. It was this year's list of new students.
His finger moved to the section starting with 'M'.
Malfoy, Draco.
Malfoy, Cassius.
Dumbledore looked at the second name for a long time.
Outside the window, an owl flew past in the twilight.
"Interesting," the old man whispered.
Behind Malfoy Manor, there was a stretch of wasteland, originally intended for raising some mild-tempered magical creatures or as a place for successive heads of the family to practice large-scale spells.
Now, this place belonged to Cassius.
In the center of the wasteland stood dozens of thick stone pillars, each reinforced with a triple Permanent Sticking Charm. Such pillars could usually withstand ten consecutive Reducto attacks from an adult Wizard without collapsing.
Cassius stood thirty meters away from the pillars, wearing only a simple white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing well-proportioned forearms.
Draco crouched behind a dirt slope in the distance, holding a pair of binoculars and wearing a specially made Malfoyfamily defensive amulet around his neck.
"Are you ready, Cassius?" Draco shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing across the open wasteland.
Cassius did not answer.
He closed his eyes and looked inward at the [Dual-Soul Furnace] within his body.
After the battle in Diagon Alley, the furnace's operation had become much smoother. If magic before was like a heavy object he had to strain to pull, now it was like preheated hydraulic oil—with just a thought, it could instantly gush to his fingertips.
The first things he needed to solve were 'precision' and 'frequency.'
Wizards casting spells in the original world was like playing a turn-based game. Recite an incantation, wave a wand, and out comes a light. Even high-level duels didn't stray from this logic.
Too slow.
Cassius raised his right hand, fingers splayed.
He didn't need to chant "Diffindo."
He directly stripped away the magical shell of the Reductocurse, extracting only the core logic of 'destroying molecular structures.' Then, he compressed this logic into tiny points of magical power.
"Phase one, single-point instant-cast."
Cassius's index finger twitched slightly.
A blue light burst from his fingertip.
The speed was even faster than that time in Diagon Alley. The blue light was like an armor-piercing shell, instantly striking the foremost stone pillar.
There was no explosion.
A fist-sized hole appeared in the very center of the stone pillar, the edges as smooth as if they had been cut by a high-temperature laser. Immediately after, the entire pillar began to disintegrate from the inside, turning into the finest stone dust, silently piling up into a cone-shaped mound of powder.
"The power is sufficient, but it's still too monotonous."
Chapter 12: Defensive Capabilities Met
Cassius frowned.
He wanted to turn this thing into a "heavy machine gun".
He took a deep breath, raised both hands simultaneously, and traced his ten fingers through the air.
The rotation speed of the [Dual-Soul Furnace] increased sharply.
The air began to hum.
It was the sound produced by high-frequency magicoscillations, sounding like thousands of wasps flapping their wings by his ears.
"Phase two, saturation bombardment."
Cassius's fingers began to dance violently.
It was not a chaotic, disorganized movement, but rather one with a specific rhythm, like a pianist performing a frantic concerto.
"Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang—"
Dense blue light poured out from his ten fingertips.
Every beam of blue light was a Reducto compressed to the extreme.
Every second, at least twenty beams of blue light flew forward.
The dozens of stone pillars that had been standing still were subjected to a devastating blow within three seconds.
The blue light wove into a web of death, completely covering every stone target in sight.
Stone debris flew everywhere.
Those stone pillars reinforced with solidification charms did not even last a second before being torn to pieces by the high-frequency magic impact.
Draco was stunned behind the earthen slope.
Through the telescope, what he saw was not magic; it was a one-sided massacre.
Those stone pillars were not "blown up"; they were "eroded away".
Under the extremely high-frequency strikes, the hard stone was like blocks of tofu placed on a grinding wheel, rapidly shrinking and disappearing.
Five seconds later, Cassius withdrew his hands.
The wasteland was terrifyingly quiet.
The stone pillars that had stood there were gone.
In their place was a ground that was overly smooth, covered in a thick, even layer of gray powder.
Cassius looked at his fingertips.
A slight burning sensation had developed at his fingertips due to the high-frequency magic friction.
"There is still some wear and tear." He muttered to himself.
While this "spell machine gun" mode felt great, it placed a heavy load on his body's meridians.
If not for the powerful physique he possessed after the Dual-Soul fusion, that last burst of fire would have caused all the blood vessels in his fingers to rupture.
He needed a protection mechanism.
"Dobby!"
Cassius called out.
With a "pop," the House-elf appeared beside him.
Dobby was wearing a clean pillowcase, his large eyes filled with awe and fear.
"Young Master, Dobby is here."
"Go to the warehouse and bring a bundle of refined iron rods.
The thickened kind, the ones used to reinforce the cellar."
Dobby did not dare to ask questions, and after disappearing for a second, returned holding a bundle of heavy iron rods.
Cassius picked one up casually.
The iron rod was as thick as an adult's wrist and heavy.
"Dobby, hold this.
Use all your strength and smash it against my arm."
Dobby was so scared that he knelt directly on the ground, his long nose touching the floor.
"No! Young Master! Dobby cannot! Dobby will hurt the noble Young Master!"
"This is an order." Cassius's voice was cold, "If you do not smash it, I will make you wash all the smelly socks in Malfoy Family until you die of old age."
Dobby shivered.
He stood up tremblingly and grabbed the iron rod.
"Phase three, melee enchantment test."
Cassius closed his eyes.
He did not cast a "Shield Charm".
The Shield Charm was a spherical defensive field that hung outside the body; it took up too much space and was easily broken with targeted attacks.
What he wanted was "magic Armor".
He mobilized his magic, letting it flow against his skin.
The magic formed a dense membrane between his subcutaneous tissue and epidermis.
This membrane not only possessed the defensive power of the Shield Charm but also incorporated the rebound properties of a stunning spell.
"Smash."
Dobby closed his eyes, let out a scream, swung the iron rod, and used all his strength to smash it down onto Cassius's left arm.
"Clang—!"
A piercing sound of metal colliding.
Draco, in the distance, was so scared he dropped his telescope.
Dobby felt as if this strike of his had not hit an eleven-year-old child, but rather a solid diamond reinforced by magic.
A huge reactionary force traveled back along the iron rod to the web of his hand.
With a "snap," the refined iron rod, as thick as a wrist, actually shattered into two pieces right at the point of contact.
The top half of the iron rod flew off and landed on the ground in the distance.
Dobby held the remaining half of the rod, his entire hand twitching.
Cassius looked at his left arm.
The shirt sleeve had shattered into cloth strips due to the impact, but the skin underneath did not even have a red mark.
That layer of magic membrane had perfectly absorbed the impact and rebounded it back.
"Defensive capabilities met."
He flexed his wrist.
This kind of "melee magic armor" could usually be maintained at a low-power state, and once an attack was encountered, the [Soul Furnace] would automatically charge instantly.
This was a basic requirement for a Wizard.
One must not be closed in on.
If one was, then they had to let the opponent know what a "humanoid dragon" meant.
"Cassius... are you still human?"
Draco finally ran over from behind the earthen slope.
He circled Cassius three times, staring at that unharmed arm for a long time.
"What spell did you use just now? Protego? No, Protego is not that sturdy.
And you did not even have a wand."
"I modified the spell a bit." Cassius replied casually.
He could not explain the concepts of "magic micro-manipulation" and "Dual-Soul Furnace".
In Draco's understanding, magic was simply one spell corresponding to one effect.
"Modified it a bit?" Draco's voice went up an octave, "You call this modifying it a bit? You turned Reducto into a Gatling gun, and the Shield Charm into a bulletproof vest?"
Although Draco did not understand these Muggle terms, he expressed the meaning quite accurately.
He suddenly felt that his practice of that damn "Expelliarmus" for the past month was simply a waste of time.
He held that hawthorn wand, waving it for ages just to produce a single beam of red light.
And his brother?
His brother was manufacturing weapons of mass destruction.
"Don't space out, Draco." Cassius patted his brother's shoulder, "Go practice your spells.
If you get disarmed at school, I will not have time to save you every single time."
Draco shrank his neck.
He looked at the ground full of stone powder and broken iron rods, silently vowing to himself: at school, he must stick closely behind his brother.
Whoever provoked him, he would unleash his brother.
——
In the study of Malfoy Manor.
Lucius stood by the window, holding a glass of red wine in his hand.
His gaze was fixed in the direction of the back mountain.
Although it was far away, he could still feel the waves of magic fluctuations coming from the air.
That frequency, that intensity, made even him, an adult Wizard, feel a sense of trepidation.
"What is he doing?" Narcissa walked in and asked softly.
"He is redefining 'magic'."
Lucius turned around, the firelight reflecting on his slightly pale face.
"Narcissa, have you ever seen anyone capable of casting Reducto in rapid succession? Like rain?"
Narcissa was stunned for a moment and shook her head.
"He did it." Lucius took a sip of wine, his voice somewhat hoarse, "I originally thought he just had an astonishing reserve of magic.
But I was wrong.
His brain contains a combat logic we have never seen before."
"This is a good thing for him, is it not?" Narcissa said, somewhat worriedly, "He can protect himself well."
"A good thing?" Lucius gave a bitter smile, "It is a good thing for Malfoy Family.
But for Hogwarts... that school is likely about to welcome an uncontrollable monster."
He walked to the table, took out a Gringotts check, and wrote down an astonishing number on it.
"Go and send another sum of money to the municipal administration department.
Tell them that Malfoy Manor is currently undergoing geological reinforcement, so if there are any vibrations or noises, they do not need to be alarmed."
Lucius put down the pen.
His only thought now was to provide this youngest son with every resource he needed.
Whether it was magic materials or forbidden books.
As long as it could make this "tyrannosaurus" stronger, he did not care what price he had to pay.
——
A month passed in the blink of an eye.
The night of August 31st.
Cassius sat in his bedroom, organizing his "magic arsenal" one last time.
After a month of violent training, his Wandless Magicsystem had already begun to take shape.
[Ranged Firepower]: magic-modified Reducto, Cutting Curse.
Characteristics: Instant cast, high-frequency rapid fire, ballistic correction.
[Defense System]: Melee magic Armor.
Characteristics: Passive trigger, dual physical and magicdefense, rebound damage.
[Mobility]: magic explosive displacement.
Principle: Instantly releasing a directional magic stream through the soles of the feet, producing an effect similar to rocket propulsion.
Although he still had some "fear of insufficient firepower," at least when facing an adult Wizard, he was confident that he could blow the opponent to smithereens within three seconds.
He glanced at the Hogwarts acceptance letter on the table.
September 1st.
King's Cross Station.
Cassius stood up and walked to the window.
The moonlight shone on the manor's lawn, and the places he had flattened had already grown new, tender grass.
"Hogwarts."
He whispered the name.
In his eyes, there was no longing for the unknown, only an excitement about stepping into a new hunting ground.
"I hope those Professors and upperclassmen can be a little more durable."
Chapter 13: Platform 9 3
September 1st. London. Overcast.
The whistle of arriving trains and the footsteps of travelers echoed under the dome of King's Cross Station. Muggles dragged their suitcases from Platform One to Platform Eight, none of them noticing the inconspicuous brick pillar between Nine and Ten.
The Malfoys arrived early.
Lucius led the way. Black cloak, snake-headed cane, blond hair combed meticulously. His pace was consistent—unhurried, each tap of his cane on the ground as precise as a metronome. This stride wasn't practiced; it was in his bones. The men of Malfoy Family only ever walked at one speed: let others adapt to them.
Narcissa leaned on his arm, her other hand carrying an exquisite handbag. Her expression was the same as it had been in Diagon Alley—the standard face of a pure-blood noblewoman, neither cold nor warm, neither distant nor close.
Draco pushed a luggage cart stacked with two trunks. He had originally wanted Dobby to push it, but Cassius said bringing a House-elf out in Muggle territory was asking for trouble. Draco reluctantly accepted the arrangement, but he kept his posture stiff while pushing, terrified that some Muggle might see him doing manual labor.
Cassius walked at the very back.
He didn't bring much luggage. A standard-sized leather trunk containing school robes, textbooks, and a few changes of clothes. No wand box—unnecessary. No pet cage—superfluous. The weight of the trunk felt like an empty box in his hand.
Passing through the brick pillar between Platforms Nine and Ten, Cassius felt a thin magical barrier slide over his body. The sensation was light, like passing through a damp gauze curtain.
On the other side of the barrier was Platform 9 3.
A scarlet steam engine stood on the tracks, billows of white steam puffing from the funnel. A brass plate on the side of the train was engraved with the words "Hogwarts Express," the font ancient and the patina mottled. The platform was crowded—students dragging large trunks, parents repeatedly reminding them to "remember to write," owls reaching out of cages to scratch people, and cats darting between the feet of the crowd.
Noisy. Crowded. Chaotic.
The moment Cassius stepped out of the brick wall, the circle of people nearest the entrance fell silent.
No one did anything. Cassius didn't do anything either. He simply walked out. But the constant overflow of the [Soul Furnace]—that tiny, persistent seepage of magic—was more noticeable in a closed platform space than in the open streets of Diagon Alley.
The first to react were the parents of pure-blood families. Their perception of magical fluctuations was far more acute than that of ordinary Wizards, and over the past month, countless versions of the "Tyrannosaurus of Diagon Alley" story had circulated through their social circles.
A middle-aged Wizard in dark green robes was helping his daughter arrange her luggage when his movements stopped. He inconspicuously turned his head, glanced toward where the Malfoys were coming from, and then pulled his daughter two steps to the side.
The movement was natural, as if he had suddenly remembered that the other spot was more convenient.
But the direction he moved happened to clear a path for the Malfoys.
Then a second person gave way. A third. A fourth.
It wasn't a dramatic "parting of the Red Sea." No one gasped, no one pointed. They just collectively and subtly adjusted their positions.
By the time the Malfoys reached the middle of the platform, the path before them was twice as wide as it had been.
Draco puffed out his chest. He enjoyed this kind of display, even though he knew this awe wasn't directed at him.
Lucius noticed it too. He said nothing, but the rhythm of his cane tapping the ground seemed a bit more composed.
Cassius noticed nothing. Or rather, he didn't care to notice.
His gaze scanned the platform. Not looking at people, but at the structure.
The platform's ceiling was a cast-iron arch, Industrial Revolution style. The load-bearing points were on the pillars on both sides, with each pillar spaced about six meters apart. The ground was flagstone, not the bluestone of Diagon Alley, but a thicker granite. The train carriages were of standard British passenger design—wooden frames, iron shells, and single-pane glass windows.
Not sturdy.
This was his first assessment of the Hogwarts Express. If a battle were to break out on this train—regardless of the level—the structural strength of the carriages could only withstand about three to four of his standard Reductocurses.
The occupational hazard of someone with "Insufficient Firepower Phobia": evaluating the structural integrity of buildings wherever they went.
"Cassius."
Lucius's voice came from ahead. The family stopped near the carriage entrance. Narcissa had already begun saying goodbye to Draco, crouching down to adjust her eldest son's collar, telling him to eat well, keep warm, and not to talk back to the teachers.
Draco complained about her nagging, but his ears turned red after his head was patted.
Lucius walked up to Cassius.
The father and son locked eyes. Lucius was a head and a half taller than Cassius, but strangely, when the two stood together, an onlooker's gaze would fall on the shorter one first.
"Hogwarts is not like home," Lucius lowered his voice. His tone lacked the pure pride he had shown in Diagon Alley, replaced by something else. "Dumbledore has run that school for decades; the entire faculty is his. When you cause trouble outside, he can turn a blind eye. But once you're on his turf, he has a hundred ways to make life difficult for you, and every single one of them is perfectly legal."
Cassius listened without interrupting.
"I'm not telling you to swallow your pride," Lucius added. "A Malfoy doesn't need to endure. But you must know when to hold back and when to let loose. Don't give that old man any openings."
"Don't worry, Father," Cassius said, hands in his pockets. "As long as no one messes with Draco, I'll be a law-abiding student."
Lucius looked at him.
That sentence came with a massive prerequisite: "As long as no one messes with Draco."
Given Draco's mouth and personality, the probability of him not being messed with at Hogwarts was approximately zero.
Lucius was silent for two seconds, deciding not to think too deeply about that issue.
"Go on then," he said. "Take care of your brother."
"I always do."
Narcissa also came over. She didn't crouch down to adjust his collar as she had for Draco—she knew her younger son didn't like those affectionate gestures. She simply reached out and lightly touched Cassius's shoulder.
"Stay safe."
"Mhm."
Cassius picked up his leather trunk and turned toward the carriage.
Chapter 14: Didn't You Wake Up From That Fall in Diagon Alley?
Draco had already gone up first. He was followed by two burly boys—Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. These two were the descendants of old friends of Malfoy Family, who had hung around Draco since childhood, effectively serving as his own personal bodyguards.
When Cassius passed by them, Crabbe and Goyle both stepped aside simultaneously.
It wasn't because the aisle was narrow. It was because they had known since they were little—when the young master was walking, you had best not stand in his path. No one taught them this. It was instinct. You wouldn't stand in front of a moving locomotive and ask it to give way.
Cassius boarded the train.
On the platform, Lucius and Narcissa watched as the train doors closed.
Parents around them were also watching their children leave. Some were wiping away tears, some were waving, and some were shouting, "Don't forget to write!"
Lucius did not wave. Neither did Narcissa.
They simply stood there, watching that carriage. Until the train began to move slowly.
"Do you think he can really stay out of trouble?" Narcissaasked softly.
Lucius did not answer. He turned around and tapped his cane on the ground.
"Let's go. We'll go back and reinforce the defensive wards in the basement. When he comes back for the holidays, it'll probably be blown up again."
— Inside the carriage.
Draco found a spacious compartment at the back of the train. The compartments on the Hogwarts Express seated six, with three facing three and a small table in the middle. Draco took the window seat, with Crabbe and Goyle sitting on either side of him, the three of them taking up one side of the compartment.
The three seats opposite were empty. It wasn't that no one came. It was that they came and left.
In the first five minutes after the train started, three groups of students pulled open the compartment door, wanting to sit inside. The first group was two second-year Hufflepuffgirls who poked their heads in, saw Draco and the two burly boys, hesitated, said, "Sorry, wrong compartment," and backed out.
The second group was a first-year student, a boy with brown hair, who had just pulled the door open when he met Cassius's gaze. Cassius had been sitting in the opposite window seat, eyes closed, resting, and the sound of the boy opening the door had made him open his eyes for a moment. Just for a moment. The boy closed the door three times faster than he had opened it.
The third group didn't even pull the door open. They walked to the door and walked away. They caught a glimpse of the lineup inside through the glass, changed course, and went to the next one.
Thus, this six-person compartment became the exclusive territory of the Malfoy brothers.
Draco was very satisfied with this treatment. He leaned back in his seat, crossed his legs, and began to talk at length to Crabbe and Goyle about his expectations for Hogwarts.
"I'm definitely getting into Slytherin. Every generation of the Malfoy family has been in Slytherin; there's nothing to discuss." Draco's tone carried an innate certainty. "What about you two? Crabbe, your old man was in Slytherin, right?"
Crabbe nodded.
"And Goyle?" Goyle also nodded.
Draco was satisfied. He continued his speech: "I heard the Slytherin common room is in the basement, right by the Black Lake. My father said that when he was in school, he could see the giant squid swimming past the window at night. It sounds very stylish, unlike Gryffindor—the Gryffindor common room is up in a tower, like living in a bird's nest—"
"Draco." Cassius's voice came from across the way. It wasn't loud, but Draco's mouth shut immediately. A conditioned reflex.
"You can say whatever you want at home. Once you get to school, talk less and observe more." Cassius opened his eyes and looked at his brother. "That mouth of yours will get you into trouble sooner or later."
Draco pursed his lips, wanting to retort, but after meeting Cassius's gaze, he swallowed his words. He changed the subject.
"How do you think the Sorting Hat will sort you? You don't even have a wand, and you can't demonstrate any magic—"
"The Sorting Hat doesn't look at wands. It looks at the mind."
"…Won't it be terrified by the things you have in your head?"
Cassius didn't respond. He closed his eyes again.
The Soul Furnace inside him was maintained at its lowest power state, like an engine in standby, ready to be ramped up to full speed at any moment. The train's swaying was slight, and the clatter at the track joints had a hypnotic rhythm.
The scenery outside the window changed from city to suburbs, and from suburbs to fields. A few black-and-white dairy cows were scattered across green pastures, and a small river reflected the sunlight.
It was a very quiet journey. It remained quiet for about forty minutes.
Then the compartment door was pulled open. It wasn't the tentative, hesitant kind of opening. It was yanked open directly. The force wasn't great, but it was decisive.
A round-faced boy stood at the door. His school robes were worn crookedly, his collar was undone, and his eyes and nose were red, as if he had just been crying.
"Have you… have you seen a toad?" His voice was choked with tears. "His name is Trevor. My grandmother gave him to me, and he ran away as soon as I got on the train…"
Neville Longbottom. Cassius recognized him. A pure-blood family, the only child of the Longbottom family. The boy from the original story who grew from a coward into the wielder of the Gryffindor Sword.
The current Neville was still in his coward phase. He couldn't even keep track of a toad.
Draco's expression changed instantly. From bored to excited—the kind of excitement that comes from finally finding a target to mock.
"A toad?" Draco's mouth curled up. "Who still keeps toads? I thought only Muggle-borns would bring such disgusting things—"
"Draco." Draco's mouth shut after the word "things."
Cassius glanced at Neville. Round face, timid, standing at the door with a posture that suggested he was ready to be chased away at any moment.
"Haven't seen it." Cassius said.
Neville nodded hurriedly, "S-sorry to bother you—" then shrank back into the corridor, his footsteps hurrying away.
The compartment door closed. Draco looked at Cassiuswith dissatisfaction: "Why didn't you let me finish? The Longbottoms, pure-blood traitors, his grandmother—"
"Put away that boring sense of superiority." Cassius's voice was flat, without emotion. "If you look down on someone, either beat them into submission so they shut up, or treat them as if they don't exist. Standing there getting a thrill from your words is useless for anything other than drawing hatred toward yourself."
Draco was stunned for a moment. He thought about it. It seemed that was indeed the logic.
But making him completely get rid of his habit of running his mouth—that was harder than making him get all O's on his O.W.L.s.
The compartment returned to silence. Crabbe was gnawing on a Chocolate Frog. Goyle was gnawing on a pumpkin pasty. Draco sat there sulking, but two minutes later he got over it himself and started rambling about Quidditch again.
Cassius continued to close his eyes and rest. The train passed through a coniferous forest, light and shadow alternating across his face.
Chapter 15: The Suddenly Zealous Duo
The silence did not last long.
About ten minutes later, footsteps echoed in the corridor. Not just one person. At least two.
The footsteps stopped outside the compartment door.
The door was pulled open.
There were two people standing in the doorway.
The one on the left, black hair, round glasses, his bangs blown aside slightly by the wind, revealing a small segment of a lightning-shaped scar. His school robes were new, but the clothes underneath were not—an old sweater with a frayed, white-worn neckline, the sleeves too long, clearly hand-me-downs.
Harry Potter.
The one on the right, red hair, covered in freckles, half a head taller than Harry but as thin as a rail. Beneath his school robes was a faded hand-knitted sweater, the letter "R" on the chest already coming loose. His left hand was holding a rat by the tail—the rat was squirming in his grip, clearly unwilling to be held that way. His right hand clutched a wand, the shaft cracked, with a small piece of silver thread poking out from the fissure.
Unicorn hair.
The wand's core was exposed.
Ron Weasley.
Cassius did not open his eyes. But the [Soul Furnace]'s perception radius covered the entire compartment; the positions, builds, and even what the two people outside were holding, all formed clear outlines in his mind.
Draco saw them first.
His reaction came in two stages. The first stage was recognizing Harry—he had already seen that scar on his forehead at the ice cream parlor. The second stage was recognizing Ron—red hair, hand-knitted sweater, broken wand. Weasley. The poorest of the pure-bloods.
Draco's disgust for the Weasley family had begun in the womb. Lucius mentioned Arthur Weasley at the dinner table about once a month, each mention accompanied by a look of disdain and the phrase "a disgrace to the pure-bloods."
"Here to help that sniveling toad-seeker?" Draco leaned back in his chair, his tone carrying his signature drawl. "You two are quite zealous."
Harry did not answer Draco. His gaze drifted past Dracoand landed on the seat by the window opposite.
A blonde boy sat in that seat. Eyes closed. Hands crossed over his chest. His posture was very relaxed, as if he were dozing in his own living room.
Harry recognized him.
The ice cream parlor. The boy who had cornered Hagrid. That look, like he was watching ants.
Harry's hands clenched involuntarily.
Ron did not know Cassius.
But he knew the atmosphere in the compartment.
He had been to the Weasley living room and knew what a "normal place for an eleven-year-old" felt like. This compartment did not have that feeling. The air was too heavy, as if something invisible was pressing down.
But Ron had a trait: the more something felt wrong to him, the faster his mouth ran.
"Isn't this the Malfoy family?" Ron's voice was significantly louder than Draco's. His gaze swept the compartment—Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and then Cassius. "Sons of Death Eaters, the whole lot of them right here."
The air in the compartment froze.
Crabbe's Chocolate Frog fell to the floor. Goyle forgot to chew the pumpkin pasty in his mouth.
Draco sprang up from his chair.
"What did you say?" His voice spiked an octave, his cheeks flushing red. "You Weasley pauper! Say that again!"
"Sons of Death Eaters." Ron repeated, enunciating every word. He took a step forward, raising his cracked wand, the tip pointing in Draco's direction. "My dad said every single one of you Malfoys should be locked up in Azkaban."
Draco's face turned from red to white.
Not from anger. It was because when that wand pointed at him, his body had an instinctive, tightening reaction.
Draco knew how to argue. But when the person opposite pulled out a wand, the situation escalated from an "argument" to a "conflict." And Draco's practical experience in the realm of "conflict" was approximately zero.
His hand reached for the hawthorn wand in his pocket. But he didn't pull it out. It wasn't that he didn't want to. It was that his fingers were shaking, and he couldn't get a grip.
Harry stood beside Ron. He didn't draw his wand, but he had stepped over—standing at Ron's side, shoulders aligned with Ron's, making his stance clear.
Two against three. Or rather, two against one—because the role of Crabbe and Goyle in such situations was approximately equal to two chubby statues.
The atmosphere was heading in a direction of losing control.
Then Cassius opened his eyes.
The movement of him opening his eyes was very slow. His eyelids only lifted halfway. Gray-blue irises peeked out from the half-closed slits, first looking at the ceiling, then slowly turning to look at the compartment door.
Just that one movement.
The temperature in the compartment plummeted by two degrees. Not a figure of speech. It was a physical fact. Crabbe later recalled that he saw a layer of condensation form on the wall of the cup of pumpkin juice on the small table at that moment.
Ron's voice stuck in his throat.
He couldn't say why. A second ago, he was still righteously accusing the Malfoy family of their crimes. The next second, that blonde boy opened his eyes, and his vocal cords stopped obeying him.
It wasn't fear.
He didn't know Cassius well enough yet, so it hadn't reached the level of fear. It was just a warning from the depths of his body—similar to your reaction when you suddenly step on a suspiciously shaped branch in the wild. You aren't afraid of snakes before you step on it. The moment you step on it, your legs freeze on their own.
Cassius's gaze did not land on Ron.
He was looking at Harry.
"What." His voice was very flat. No anger, no sarcasm, not even any inflection. He was just stating a fact, then asking a question. "That fall in Diagon Alley didn't wake you up?"
Harry's fists clenched even tighter.
Diagon Alley. The ice cream parlor. He had been knocked to the ground by the aftermath of magic, his glasses knocked off, sitting on the cold floor, looking up at that blonde boy.
He remembered that look. The look of watching ants.
"This isn't Diagon Alley." Harry spoke up. His voice shook a little, but he didn't back down. "You can't—"
"Can't what?"
Cassius's question was simple. But Harry found he couldn't follow up.
"Can't" what? Can't hit people? Can't cast spells? Can't crush others with magic?
—He had wanted to say "You can't bully people." But after meeting those eyes of Cassius that held no extraneous emotion, the sentence suddenly became very pale.
Because Cassius was not bullying anyone. He was just sitting there, asking a question.
It was Ron who started the insults. It was Ron who drew his wand first. It was they who had pulled open the compartment door.
Logically speaking, the two people standing in the doorway were the ones provoking things.