"Move."
Malfoy kicked Goyle on the backside, forcing him to get up.
Then he sat down in Goyle's former seat without hesitation.
Goyle rubbed his rear but didn't dare to protest.
Crabbe asked curiously, "So what did that Professor Slughorn want with you lot?"
"He just wanted to chat. I think he's trying to cozy up to anyone with influential relatives," Malfoy said, sprawling across most of the seat.
He added irritably, "Though his taste is questionable—he even invited Potter."
In the past, he would have taken the chance to mock Ginny too, especially since Ron Weasley was such an annoying git.
"Who else did he invite?" Crabbe asked, puzzled.
"McLaggen. The bloke's got rocks for brains, but his uncle's some big Ministry official."
Malfoy snorted. "Can you believe he once bet someone he'd eat a doxy egg last year? Utterly stupid. Then again, Gryffindor's full of idiots like that."
Laughter filled the compartment as everyone agreed the man must be a fool.
John glanced up at the luggage rack, where a strap from a bag had come loose and dangled down.
Crabbe noticed and quickly tucked the strap back in place.
"I'm sure Blaise heard it too—he even claimed he and his uncle went hunting. That story was as awful as one of Potter's adventures."
Malfoy spoke with obvious disdain, though even now he couldn't leave Potter out of his complaints.
Blaise nodded, sneering. "Harry Potter's like a little quail performing tricks for his mum's approval."
Talking about Potter in Slytherin always guaranteed laughter.
As Blaise laughed, a falling umbrella smacked him on the head.
He rubbed the spot in confusion. "Whose umbrella is this?"
"It's mine," Goyle said, raising his hand. "How did it end up there?"
Annoyed, Blaise threw the umbrella back at him and snapped, "Keep your umbrella to yourself!"
"I don't even know how it got on your head!" Goyle retorted angrily.
The tension between them began to rise, and Malfoy quickly noticed. "Shut it, both of you. Goyle, hand me the umbrella."
As Slytherin's prefect, Malfoy's authority carried real weight—strength commanded respect in Slytherin House.
Goyle reluctantly handed him the umbrella. Malfoy examined it and asked, "Where did you originally put this?"
"Right here, on the luggage rack above me," Goyle said, pointing overhead.
Malfoy turned his gaze to Blaise. The two were seated two spots apart.
He handed the umbrella back to Goyle, then glanced up at the luggage rack with a faint, knowing smirk. "Potter—dear, precious Potter—the 'Savior' our new Headmaster is so eager to see in person. He really does think he's the chosen one, doesn't he?"
He had clearly noticed something but kept his composure.
John stood and headed toward the compartment where the Greengrass sisters were chatting happily. He slid the door open and stepped inside.
The train was nearing Hogsmeade Station, and the students were already changing into their uniforms.
John tapped his shoulder lightly, and with a single motion, his uniform shifted into place.
After leaving the compartment, he, Daphne, and Astoria made their way out first.
"Don't be late, Malfoy," John reminded him before leaving. "We should at least show some respect to the new Headmaster."
Malfoy didn't move, only nodded slightly as he watched John walk away.
Once the compartment was empty, he sneered. "If you had any brains, you wouldn't be hiding so openly in someone else's compartment."
Without another word, he whipped out his wand, the spell spilling from his lips as if it burned to stay in. "Petrificus Totalus!"
A flash of red light struck the luggage rack, followed by a dull thud echoing through the carriage.
With deliberate swagger, Malfoy stepped forward and yanked at the empty air in the aisle.
A frozen figure tumbled down—legs still awkwardly bent.
Harry Potter.
Malfoy grinned with malicious satisfaction, leaning close to whisper in Harry's ear.
"Potter, you've got some nerve—hiding up there and eavesdropping. Eavesdropping on what? Your ridiculous little Savior stories?" Malfoy sneered. "You'll pay for your stupidity."
His tone turned cold. "Go back with the train, you reckless fool. And one more thing..."
Malfoy straightened up and suddenly stomped down hard on Harry's face. "That's for the Ministry last time! If it weren't for you and your band of idiots, none of that would've happened!"
After venting his anger, he glanced down at the cloak in his hand.
A cheap thing—his family owned dozens made from the finest hides of Disillusioned Beasts. He had no interest in this one.
Still, he thoughtfully draped it back over Harry, concealing him completely from view.
Spitting on the floor, Malfoy turned and left.
Harry was left lying there, utterly alone.
The train was about to depart, and panic welled inside him.
He desperately hoped someone would come by—but by now, everyone had already left.
Despair sank in, and he regretted ever sneaking along.
Dumbledore had told him there might be some secret between John and Slughorn. After the gathering ended, he had intended to stay behind and listen to their conversation.
Unfortunately, Malfoy had been standing guard at the door, leaving Harry no choice but to put on his Invisibility Cloak.
After John came out, Harry followed quietly behind, hoping to overhear something about Slughorn.
But it was all in vain.
When he heard Blaise talking about pursuing Ginny, Harry's patience snapped.
Then Blaise went on to mock him—and even mentioned his mother.
Unable to hold back, Harry hooked Goyle's umbrella with his foot and swung it hard, striking Blaise squarely on the head.
That single action was enough to draw Malfoy's attention.
Harry prayed he hadn't been noticed—but the result was obvious.
Not only had Malfoy seen him, he'd deliberately stayed behind to wait for him.
As the train began to move, Harry tried to summon his wand like he had against the Dementors before, hoping to cast a spell from a distance.
But the wand didn't respond at all.
He struggled to make a sound, but Malfoy's Petrificus Totalus was far too strong; he couldn't move or speak.
Just when he was beginning to think no one would find him until the next school year, the compartment door suddenly slid open.
A flash of red light shot across the room, and the spell on Harry's body was lifted.
He sat up, blood streaming steadily from his nose.
Looking up, he saw a familiar face smiling down at him. "I was hoping to surprise you," the person said.
"How are you here?" Harry asked in astonishment.
"There's a reason for that," came the reply, followed by a quick grin. "But we'd better jump off this train fast."
The person winked. "I don't think you'd say no to a thrilling little train-jumping adventure, would you?"
Just before the train fully left the platform, two figures leapt off one after the other. Harry's head nearly hit the edge of the platform.
...
"What's that?"
At the Start-of-Term Feast, Malfoy was eyeing the pair of glasses John was wearing with curiosity.
They looked as if they were made from two CD discs.
"Spectrespecs. A free gift from The Quibbler," John said, lifting the magazine in his hand. Then he added, "You didn't go too far, did you?"
"I just stepped on him once," Malfoy said, glancing smugly toward the Gryffindor table where Harry was missing. "He's probably already on the return train by now."
John gave a dismissive glance toward the staff table, where two seats were still empty.
Frowning slightly, he asked, "Our new professors haven't arrived yet?"
"Probably just some late, scatterbrained fool," Malfoy said dismissively.
John hadn't interfered with Slughorn's decisions during his first year as Headmaster, choosing instead to show full respect to the former Slytherin Head.
The students kept glancing toward the staff table—it was their first time seeing someone other than Dumbledore sitting in that seat, replaced now by a stranger.
Slughorn rose to introduce himself.
He was quite different from Dumbledore, though he didn't ramble on much—perhaps influenced by the fact that Dumbledore had rarely given long speeches himself.
Still, compared to Dumbledore's brisk, food-first approach, Slughorn's words felt rather tedious.
Fortunately, it only lasted about ten minutes before the Sorting began.
Professor McGonagall presided as usual, and the ceremony went on much the same as in past years.
The Sorting Hat's song was similar too—urging unity, friendship, and vigilance against outside threats.
When it was all over, it was clear that Slughorn was a man who enjoyed good food.
"I never got the chance to say this before," Slughorn said with a broad smile, raising his hand. "Dig in!"
Dishes of every kind appeared on the tables, and the feast began.
As Malfoy ate his roast chicken, he muttered quietly to Astoria, "The food there was nothing like this. Cold quail—chewy as an old leather strap."
Astoria burst out laughing, while Daphne's knife scraped furiously across a slice of pudding—until the plate beneath it split clean in two.
During the Start-of-Term Feast, a late-arriving Hagrid entered and waved cheerfully in John's direction.
There was still one seat left at the staff table. Midway through the feast, Snape suddenly left, only to return near the end—his expression dark, and his wand in hand.
Harry walked in with another man beside him. His nose was covered in dried blood, yet instead of being angry, he looked oddly cheerful—almost as if he'd drunk a dose of Felix Felicis.
Seeing the newcomer, Slughorn beamed and announced, "We are pleased to welcome a new professor—Professor Black!"
Under the enchanted ceiling, the man stepped forward, his black hair gleaming and his formal clothes slightly disheveled, as though he had just been in a fight.
He reached the staff table and gave the students a graceful bow and a charming smile.
"You may not be unfamiliar with Professor Black," Slughorn continued. "He will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year."
As he finished, a sharp burst of applause came from the Gryffindor table.
Malfoy turned to look—and saw Harry grinning like an idiot.
The other students sat in stunned silence.
Sirius Black—was their professor?
Snape's expression was priceless, as though he were watching dancing dung take flight. The disgust and hatred on his face were so intense they could have crushed a fly.
He had applied for that position himself, only to lose it—to his lifelong rival.
What was this supposed to be?
An insult served face-to-face?
________
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