Chapter 1 — First Meeting, Miss Malfoy
Harry sat restlessly on the train bound for Hogwarts. In the compartment beside him, the other occupant wore a perfectly practiced social smile as she looked at him. Yet instead of feeling reassured, Harry felt anything but at ease.
What had just happened earlier was already bad enough—he had been incredibly lucky not to miss the train altogether. But compared to his current situation, Harry would rather have been thrown off the train entirely. When exactly had things started spiraling out of control? He clearly remembered that everything had gone smoothly after finishing his shopping and receiving the ticket marked Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
"Platform Nine and Three-Quarters? Hagrid, you didn't get it wrong, did you…"
The giant who had introduced him to the magical world was a good man—kind, certainly—but not exactly sharp. There were clearly things he hadn't explained before rushing off to handle whatever Professor Dumbledore had instructed him to do.
Harry had wandered helplessly around King's Cross Station, searching for the so-called platform. He had even gone to the information desk and nearly been mistaken for some drug-addled kid. As the clock hands crept closer to departure time, Harry clung to hope like a drowning man grasping at straw, pacing anxiously between Platforms Nine and Ten, desperate for a miracle.
And then, at the very last moment, he saw a witch.
Or rather, someone dressed very much like one.
In the crowded chaos of King's Cross Station, she stood out starkly—wearing the same black robes Harry had bought in Diagon Alley, topped with a pointed wizard's hat. She looked utterly out of place in this era.
Beside her stood a woman in her twenties, dressed in a maid's uniform.
Strangely, despite how out of place they appeared, no one around them seemed to notice. Muggles passed by as if the two didn't exist at all.
"With a simple Muggle-Repelling Charm, you won't be noticed by Muggles. So why do those half-bloods insist on wearing Muggle clothes? Utterly tasteless, wouldn't you agree, Emma?"
The speaker was a girl about Harry's age, wearing standard Hogwarts robes. Beyond her conspicuous attire, what stood out most was her pale golden hair, shimmering like the first light of dawn. Her youthful face carried a maturity far beyond her years, and every gesture embodied composed elegance.
A princess—that was Harry's first impression.
Unlike Harry, whose early maturity had been forged through neglect and abuse, the girl's refinement was clearly the product of aristocratic upbringing.
At some point, Harry had unconsciously stepped close enough to draw their attention. The princess tilted her head in confusion, locking eyes with him.
"Uh… hi?" Harry greeted awkwardly.
Only then did she seem to realize he could see her.
"Miss Malfoy, the young man before you would appear to be the 'tasteless half-blood' you were just referring to," the maid said calmly.
"Hmm…" The girl named Malfoy swept her gaze over Harry from head to toe, then frowned and sighed before finally turning her eyes away in apparent disgust.
Harry was wearing Dudley's old clothes and a pair of worn-out jeans. He was well aware they didn't look good, but this was the first time anyone had expressed such blunt disdain for them. So much for thinking she was like a princess—where were her manners?
"How pitiful. It is the duty of those of noble standing to give alms. Emma, hand it over."
Malfoy snapped her fingers. The maid immediately produced a small pouch and handed it to her. Malfoy then extended it toward Harry.
"Ten Galleons. It's not much. Buy yourself some proper clothes before school starts. Entering Hogwarts looking like a beggar would only disgrace the school."
Harry didn't take the Galleons. Instead, forcing patience into his voice, he asked, "I'd like to know how to get to the platform."
Malfoy's eyes lit up at his question, and a faintly mocking smile curved her lips.
"Oh my, are you a Muggle-born? Honestly, why does Hogwarts keep admitting those of impure blood? Very well, I'll be generous and tell you. See the pillar between Platforms Nine and Ten? Don't hesitate—just run straight at it, and you'll reach the platform."
She was undeniably cute, but her attitude was infuriating. And her answer sounded like a joke. Harry looked at the pillar she indicated—it looked perfectly solid. If he ran into it, best case scenario his luggage would break; worst case, he'd injure himself.
"Don't believe me?" Malfoy's smile grew smug at his hesitation. "That's how uncultured Muggle-borns are. Would you like this lady to demonstrate?"
"Thank you." Harry bowed politely. Never reject someone's goodwill.
Malfoy clearly hadn't expected that answer. She stared at him blankly.
"Milady, is that wise?" the maid asked softly, sensing her hesitation.
"It's fine!" Malfoy insisted stubbornly.
She walked up to the pillar. Though she had heard countless stories about Platform Nine and Three-Quarters growing up, today would be her first time entering it herself. Standing before the solid stone column, she faltered. She knew it was only a magical barrier—but she still couldn't bring herself to step forward.
Meanwhile, Harry, ever eager to learn, watched her intently, afraid of missing a single detail.
Feeling his gaze on her, Malfoy stiffened. She couldn't back down now—not in front of a Muggle-born. To retreat would disgrace her family name. Yet she still lacked the courage to step forward.
Just as she hesitated, her trolley suddenly lurched forward on its own, dragging her straight toward the pillar.
"Ahhhhhhh—!"
Miss Malfoy's first entrance into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was accompanied by a most inelegant scream.
"She really went through…" Harry stared in amazement at the pillar where she had disappeared, marveling at the wonders of the magical world. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the maid slip her wand back into her pocket.
"Alright."
Harry took a deep breath and prepared to follow. He had no intention of screaming like she did.
Just as he steeled himself to run forward, the maid addressed him with a title he had never heard before.
"The Boy Who Lived."
Harry looked at her in confusion.
The maid gave a small nod. "Miss Malfoy means no harm. She simply hides her unease behind arrogance. This is her first time leaving home without anyone to care for her. I hope that at Hogwarts, you might get along with her. I leave Miss Malfoy in your care."
Harry scratched his head awkwardly. After only a few minutes with her, Miss Malfoy struck him as a more refined, female version of Dudley—spoiled, pampered, and arrogant. The only difference was that she hadn't tried to hit him yet.
He couldn't promise anything. Instead, he asked what felt like a very foolish question.
"You know who I am?"
The maid smiled, clearly amused.
"In the magical world, there is no one who doesn't know your name, The Boy Who Lived—Mr. Harry Potter."
Of course.
Harry waved goodbye to the maid, still feeling troubled, and then entered Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Though he had been told to get along with her, by the time he reached the platform, Miss Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. He didn't intend to look for her either. After wandering about casually, he boarded the train and searched for an empty compartment.
"Please let go of my toad."
As he passed one compartment, Harry heard a timid boy's voice.
"This compartment is reserved for Miss Malfoy. How dare someone like you bring such a filthy thing in here and dirty it? Do you want me to make you lick it clean with your tongue?"
"I'm just looking for my toad…"
Curious, Harry slid open the compartment door.
Inside, a burly boy stood with his foot planted on the face of a round-faced boy their age, holding a toad in his hand.
"Huh?" Harry recognized the one doing the stomping. They had briefly spoken in the robe shop earlier. His name was Crabbe—one hundred percent Dudley material.
Harry looked at the boy pinned beneath him. He didn't recognize the face—but he recognized the sound.
It was the same sound Harry used to make when Dudley bullied him. Every time he made that sound, he had hoped someone would come to save him.
No one ever had.
Not once.
"What are you looking at—"
Before Crabbe could finish, Harry slammed his head upward into the boy's chin, then shoved him deeper into the compartment and slammed the door shut. He launched himself forward, delivering punch after punch to Crabbe's already injured jaw.
Crabbe was bigger and stronger—winning in a fair fight was impossible. So Harry's only option was to inflict as much damage as possible before being beaten himself.
Back when he lived under someone else's roof, Harry had never been able to fight back. But this was a stranger. There were no restraints now.
He attacked with everything he had, even grabbing one of his newly purchased, brick-thick textbooks and smashing it against Crabbe's head again and again—almost as if he were trying to hammer the knowledge inside the book straight into the boy's skull.
The round-faced boy who had been bullied stood frozen, too stunned by Harry's ferocious assault to either run or help. He simply stared in shock as Harry went wild.
"Miss, this way please. Crabbe and I have already prepared everything. We guarantee you'll have a comfortable journey," another voice called from outside the door.
"Ugh—are you expecting me to sit with you and Crabbe, two smelly boys, all the way to Hogwarts?"
"Of course not! We'll stand guard outside the compartment. Anyone who dares approach Miss will die at our—"
The speaker opened the door.
What he saw was the round-faced boy trembling in fright, Harry panting and casually tossing aside the book he had used as a weapon, a half-dead Crabbe sprawled on the floor, and a once carefully decorated compartment now littered with scattered luggage.
"—die at your what?" Malfoy looked at Crabbe with disdain.
"Sorry to disturb you." Harry straightened his messy hair, adjusted his glasses, and pulled the round-faced boy along, preparing to leave.
At that moment, the scar on his forehead caught Malfoy's attention.
"Goyle. Stop them."
Goyle hesitated at the order. Though Harry and the round-faced boy didn't look like they could beat him, the sight of Crabbe barely clinging to consciousness made him reluctant to take the risk. But he also dared not defy Malfoy. So he simply planted himself in front of the compartment door, blocking their exit with all his might.
"Please, sit down. I believe it's necessary for us to have a proper chat—and perhaps make a friend."
Malfoy offered Harry a courteous smile and extended her right hand.
"I feel obligated to teach the hero of our magical world a bit of wizarding etiquette. Consider it compensation for Crabbe's injuries. Stay and have some tea?"
And so the compartment ended up crammed with five people: Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Harry, and the round-faced boy. Malfoy refused to sit squeezed between her two lackeys, so she took a seat beside Harry instead. The poor round-faced boy was left clutching his toad, sandwiched tightly between two large boys.
A small table had been set up in the compartment. Malfoy's seat had even been adorned with a tablecloth. It was clear Crabbe and Goyle had truly put effort into preparing it for her. The table was piled high with snacks they had bought at her command, arranged neatly according to Malfoy's own taste. It looked like afternoon tea at an upscale restaurant.
"Alice Malfoy."
She took a sip of black tea before introducing herself, then glanced at her two followers.
"You may introduce yourselves as well. Quickly. Don't keep our guests waiting."
"Gregory Goyle," said the taller, leaner boy.
"Vincent Crabbe," Crabbe muttered weakly, pressing an ice pack against the injuries Harry had inflicted.
"And you?" Malfoy fixed her gaze on the round-faced boy.
Like a mouse under a snake's stare, he avoided her eyes nervously.
"Neville Longbottom."
"Oh—so it's you." A cold smile curved Malfoy's lips. The chill radiating from her made Harry feel as though she might draw a blade and slit Neville's throat at any moment. "The son of the Longbottoms who were tortured into insanity by the Lestranges? I've heard the Cruciatus Curse they used was so severe that dying on the spot wouldn't have been surprising."
Neville pressed his lips together and glared at her. His face flushed red with anger, his chubby fingers clenched into fists—but he didn't dare swing.
"Your parents were brave. What a pity…"
The son, however, was not as brave as they had been. Harry could hear the unspoken implication in her words.
"Harry Potter."
As Harry introduced himself, he instinctively let his fringe fall to cover his scar. He was already tired of everyone glancing at his forehead the moment they heard his name.
"So it really was you. I didn't notice at the station." Malfoy's tone carried faint disappointment. As before, she scrutinized his clothes again. "If you are fortunate enough to be sorted into Slytherin, I'd be happy to offer some advice on your wardrobe. You have decent foundations—the clothes, however, are severely lacking."
"No thanks. I'd rather not share a House with someone who bullies the weak."
As he spoke, Harry glanced pointedly at Crabbe. He remembered that in the robe shop, Crabbe had said he was almost certainly going to Slytherin.
"By the way, would you mind explaining the cause of your conflict?"
Malfoy's sharp gaze cut toward Crabbe. The burly boy avoided her eyes, intimidated despite his size.
"Mr. Crabbe here wanted to prepare a private compartment for you. When Mr. Longbottom entered to look for his toad, Crabbe stepped on his face and tried to force him to lick the compartment clean. Is that correct, Mr. Crabbe?"
Harry shot Crabbe a challenging look. During the fight, he had realized something: aside from Dudley, he could take anyone.
"Is that so?" Malfoy folded her arms and looked at Crabbe. "Answer me. Is Mr. Potter's accusation true?"
"I was only trying to arrange things for Miss Malfoy—"
"So it's true?"
Unable to think of an excuse, Crabbe nodded weakly.
Malfoy nodded as well. Her face was expressionless, revealing nothing of her thoughts. She turned to Harry and noticed he was watching her. Instantly, she plastered on a polite smile again. Harry was genuinely impressed by how quickly she could change expressions.
"Longbottom, Potter… would you mind stepping out for a moment? Leave your luggage. I have something to discuss with Mr. Crabbe."
Harry and Neville exchanged a glance. Without another word, they rose in perfect unspoken agreement and promptly vacated the eye of the impending storm.
Once they were gone, Malfoy took out a pouch of coins—the same ten Galleons she had intended to give Harry earlier.
"You've worked hard. Take this, Crabbe."
Crabbe accepted the pouch. Seeing the gold inside, he broke into a grateful grin.
"It's nothing, Miss Malfoy. This little effort means nothing to me. Thank you for the reward."
"No. You misunderstand," Malfoy replied evenly. "That's not a reward. That's your travel fare. When the train stops, buy a return ticket and go home. You won't be attending Hogwarts."
Her calm tone was more terrifying than any shout. The compartment fell silent.
"I—I don't understand… Miss Malfoy…"
"You don't understand? I suppose that's expected. With your family's intellect, even serving as attendants to the Malfoy family is asking too much."
She stepped closer, grabbing Crabbe's face. Though she was smiling, the expression was more grotesque than any snarl.
"I'll put it simply, since I pity your intelligence. You're dismissed. And your family is dismissed from serving the Malfoys as well."
"Miss Malfoy, I—"
Crabbe looked at her helplessly, then turned pleadingly toward Goyle. But Goyle avoided his gaze.
"Thank you for your service. On my very first day of school, you've already managed to offend Mr. Potter on my behalf. I don't wish to see you or hear your voice ever again. In the magical world, watch where you walk. If you see me, step aside automatically. If I lay eyes on you one more time, I'll make sure the Crabbe family can never survive in the wizarding world again."
Crabbe stared at her in despair. Malfoy didn't even spare him a glance.
"Get out. Now."
Crabbe staggered out of the compartment.
Outside, having overheard Malfoy's fury, Harry and Neville looked at each other, both shaken.
Without speaking, they came to the same conclusion like brothers in arms.
Until the train reached Hogwarts, it would be safer to squeeze into someone else's compartment.