The rhythmic clack-clack-clack of the Hogwarts Express wheels on the tracks was hypnotic, a steady percussion to the awkward silence that had settled over the compartment. Outside, the Scottish countryside was becoming wilder, the rolling green fields giving way to craggy purple moors and dark, huddled forests.
Inside the compartment, the air was thick with Draco's sulking. He sat with his arms crossed, staring out the window, his foot tapping an erratic, irritated rhythm against the floor. He was clearly still processing Orion's lecture regarding Neville Longbottom, and judging by the furrow in his brow, he hadn't quite decided if Orion was a genius or a traitor to the cause of pureblood supremacy.
Orion, for his part, was enjoying the quiet. He had returned to The Art of Warding, specifically a chapter on "Passive-Aggressive Boundary Charms," which felt thematically appropriate.
The silence was broken by the rattle of a cart outside.
"Anything off the trolley, dears?" a kindly voice called out.
Draco's head snapped up. Food. A distraction.
"Finally," Draco muttered, standing up and sliding the door open. "I'm starving. Crabbe, Goyle, wake up."
The two boys, who had been dozing with their mouths open, snorted awake at the mention of food.
Orion joined them at the doorway. The trolley was laden with the usual suspects: Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, and Cauldron Cakes.
"Two Pumpkin Pasties," Draco ordered, throwing a couple of Sickles onto the pile. "And a box of Beans."
"Four Cauldron Cakes," Goyle grunted, his eyes wide.
"I'll take a Licorice Wand," Pansy piped up from behind Orion.
Orion scanned the cart. "Do you have any Sugar Quills? The deluxe kind?"
"Fresh batch, dear," the witch smiled, handing him a bundle.
Orion paid and sat back down, unwrapping a quill. He liked them because they lasted. It was efficient snacking.
They ate in a slightly more amicable silence for a few minutes. The sugar seemed to improve Draco's mood, or perhaps it just gave him the energy to be annoying again. He finished his pasty, wiped his hands on his robes, and stood up abruptly.
"Right," Draco announced, straightening his tie. "I'm going."
"Going where?" Pansy asked, looking up from her Licorice Wand. "The bathroom?"
"No," Draco scoffed. "To find Potter. The rumor is he's in a compartment near the front. Everyone was talking about it on the platform. I want to see if he really has the scar."
He looked at Crabbe and Goyle. "Come on. We need to make an impression."
The two heavyweights lumbered to their feet, cracking their knuckles as if preparing for a boxing match rather than a social call.
Draco turned to Orion. "Coming, Orion? It's Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Don't you want to see if he lives up to the hype?"
Orion didn't look up from his book. He slowly turned a page.
"No," Orion said simply.
Draco blinked. "No? But... it's Potter! We talked about this! Making allies! Assets!"
"Draco," Orion sighed, lowering the book to look his brother in the eye. "Think about ii. We are going to be in the same castle as him for seven years. We share classes. We eat in the same hall. We will inevitably cross paths."
"So?"
"So, why would I march down the length of the train, pushing through crowds of Hufflepuffs, just to knock on his door like a fan?" Orion raised an eyebrow. "It screams desperation, Draco. It says, 'I am fascinated by you.' It puts him on a pedestal and puts you in the audience."
"I am not a fan!" Draco spluttered, his pale cheeks flushing pink. "I am a Malfoy! I am going to see if he is the 'right sort'! Don't you want to see it too?"
"He is a half-blood who happens to be celebrity," Orion drawled. "I can tell you right now, he is not your definition of the 'right sort.' He probably thinks Quidditch is played with a tennis ball. He is beneath my notice until he proves otherwise."
Orion leaned back, looking bored. "Why would I waste my time hunting for a celebrity when I am currently seated in excellent company?"
He gestured vaguely to the seat beside him.
"I would much rather spend the journey conversing with someone of breeding. Someone with wit. Someone... beautiful, like Pansy."
Pansy Parkinson choked on her licorice. Her eyes went wide, and her face turned a shade of crimson that matched the Hogwarts Express upholstery. She looked at Orion, then at Draco, a smug, delighted smile spreading across her face.
"Oh, Orion," Pansy giggled, smoothing her skirt. "You are terrible." She shot a glare at Draco. "He's right, Draco. Why go chasing after some scar-head when we're having a perfectly nice time here?"
Draco looked between Orion and Pansy. He looked confused. He looked jealous. But mostly, he looked stubborn.
"I can spend time with Pansy whenever I want," Draco scoffed, trying to regain control of the situation. "She's always around. Potter is... a curiosity. I'm going. You're boring, Orion. You just want to read your dusty book."
"Guilty," Orion shrugged. "Have fun. Try not to insult anyone's dead parents. It's gauche."
"Hmph." Draco spun on his heel. "Crabbe, Goyle. Move."
They marched out of the compartment, sliding the door shut with a bit more force than necessary.
"Boys," Millicent Bulstrode muttered, shaking her head.
"Draco is just... spirited," Pansy defended him, though she scooted imperceptibly closer to Orion. "So, Orion... what are you reading?"
"Advanced boundary theory," Orion said, popping the sugar quill back into his mouth. "Fascinating stuff. Did you know you can ward a door to electrocute anyone who knocks on it three times?"
"Oh," Pansy blinked. "That sounds... painful."
"That's the point," Orion smiled around the quill.
Twenty minutes passed. The train rattled on. The sky outside began to darken as evening approached.
Orion was just finishing a chapter on 'Repelling Charms' when the door to the compartment was thrown open.
Orion looked up, expecting a triumphant Draco.
What he saw was a disheveled mess.
Draco stood in the doorway. His robes were rumpled. His hair—usually plastered down with enough gel to withstand a hurricane—was sticking up in a chaotic tuft on the left side.
But the most prominent feature was his left eye. It was already swelling shut, turning a vivid, angry shade of purple.
Behind him, Goyle was clutching a finger that looked bitten, and Crabbe looked confused, as if he wasn't sure what had just happened.
Orion stared. Pansy gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Draco!" Pansy shrieked. "Your face! What happened?"
Draco, however, was grinning. It was a manic, adrenaline-fueled grin that looked bizarre beneath the swelling bruise.
"You should see the other guy!" Draco laughed, stepping into the compartment and collapsing onto the seat. "I think I broke his nose! I felt the cartilage crunch!"
"Whose nose?" Orion asked, his voice dangerously calm. "Potter's?"
"No, the Weasley!" Draco crowed. "The red-headed pauper! He was sitting with Potter. I went in there, just to introduce myself, offered Potter a hand—you know, saving him from the riff-raff—and Weasley laughed! He laughed at my name!"
"So you punched him?" Orion clarified.
"Well, not at first," Draco recounted breathlessly. "We exchanged words. I told him his family has more children than they can afford. Then Goyle reached for their food—just to inspect it, obviously—and this rat! This disgusting, hairy rat bit Goyle's finger!"
Goyle held up his finger, which was indeed bleeding. "Bit me right to the bone," he grunted.
"It was chaos!" Draco continued, eyes shining. "The rat was screaming, Weasley jumped up, and I just... I swung! Bam! Right in the snout! Then Potter and Weasley both jumped us, and we sort of... tumbled out into the corridor."
"A fistfight," Orion said slowly, closing his book with a snap. "You got into a fistfight."
"I won!" Draco touched his eye and winced. "Mostly."
Orion looked at his brother. He looked at the black eye. He looked at the pure, unadulterated stupidity radiating off him.
"Draco," Orion said, rubbing his temples. "We are wizards. We carry wands. Sticks that channel the fundamental forces of the universe. We can boil blood, levitate bodies, and turn people into ferrets. And you... you punched him?"
"It was instinct!" Draco defended. "Besides, Scabbers—the rat—was hanging off Goyle's finger. It was distracting!"
"You are not just a joker, you are a circus," Orion sighed, looking out the window. "A complete, traveling circus. We haven't even arrived at the school yet, and you're already brawling like Muggles in a pub parking lot."
"It sends a message!" Draco insisted. "Don't mess with Malfoys!"
"It sends the message that Malfoys don't know how to duel," Orion countered. "Wait until Father hears about that eye. He's going to ask why you didn't hex him."
Draco paled slightly. "I'll tell him... I'll tell him I was disarmed! By... by sheer numbers!"
"There were two of them," Orion pointed out. "And three of you."
"The rat counted as a third combatant!" Goyle argued.
Orion waved his hand dismissively. "Just... sit down. Pansy, do you know a healing charm? Or at least have some foundation to cover that up?"
"I have powder!" Pansy immediately dug into her bag. "Hold still, Draco. Oh, you poor brave soldier."
Draco preened under her attention, wincing as she dabbed at his eye.
"Achievement Unlocked: Witness to Stupidity," Sparkle chimed in. "Reward: The realization that your brother is going to be a liability in any physical confrontation."
"He punched a Weasley," Orion thought back. "I suppose that counts as... initiative? Misguided, barbaric initiative."
Just then, a voice echoed through the train—a disembodied, magical announcement.
"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."
"We're here," Millicent said, standing up to smooth her robes.
"Finally," Orion stood up. He looked at Draco, who now looked like a raccoon with one powdered eye. "Fix your hair, Draco. If you walk into the Great Hall looking like you just lost a boxing match, the Hat might put you in Gryffindor just for the reckless bravery."
Draco horrified, immediately pulled out a pocket mirror and comb. "Don't say that! I'm a Slytherin! A battered, victorious Slytherin!"
"Keep telling yourself that," Orion muttered.
He checked his pocket. The shrunken trunk was there. His wand was holstered on his arm.
The train began to slow, the pistons hissing as they pulled into a small, dark station.