The enchanted boats carried the first-years to the south dock of Hogwarts.
Once they arrived, Hagrid and his oil lamp were nowhere to be seen. But since there was only one winding path leading up to the castle, there was no chance of getting lost.
The children chattered excitedly about the castle's mystery and grandeur. Harry, gazing up at it, felt a surge of joy he wanted to share with someone.
But when he turned his head, he saw Leonard—so different from the rest—staring intently at the forest to the west.
From here, only a sliver of the forest was visible. What was there to see?
Leonard's focus, naturally, was on what mattered to him.
The Forbidden Forest—utterly irresistible.
He even felt the urge to skip the Sorting Ceremony and head straight there to start planting.
"Calm down, calm down. Tomorrow, when there's time..." Leonard caught himself mid-thought and fell silent.
Wait—what day was it again?
It seemed like...
Tomorrow was Monday. The first day of school.
Did that mean he'd have to wait an entire week before setting foot in the Forbidden Forest?
Leonard's face twitched, his mood souring.
No. If it came to it, he'd sneak out tonight. A quick night trip to scout the forest, pick out a good spot, and then deal with everything else later.
The line of first-years soon reached the entrance to the Great Hall. Just as they were about to climb the steps, someone stepped forward to block their way.
"I heard someone rather remarkable has joined us," said a boy with pale blond hair, standing on the steps with two others—one plump, one thin—looking down at the group.
"Harry Potter!" The blond boy's tone was full of pride. "Those of noble blood should keep company with their equals. And I, Draco Malfoy, am a friend worth having."
He pointed straight at Harry in the crowd, wearing a smug, self-satisfied expression.
The awed stares of the new students only seemed to inflate his pride.
Hermione, watching from the group, sank into thought.
Was this really how you made friends? It felt strange, but at the same time, oddly impressive.
Still, she doubted this method had much chance of success. Was it an attitude problem?
She thought back to the train, when after helping Neville she'd tried offering help to others.
Aside from Neville Longbottom, who had shown real gratitude, the others had looked at her strangely. They hadn't said anything, but it was obvious they weren't pleased.
Now that she thought about it, her own expression at the time must have been just like this boy's—arrogant and unlikeable.
While Hermione reflected, Harry, under the watchful eyes of his peers, wondered how he should respond.
As flattering as talk of noble blood was, he remembered Leonard came from a Muggle family.
Harry had no noble blood either—but he knew talent when he saw it.
"Sorry, Draco Malfoy," Harry said seriously. "I'll choose my own friends. I judge people by their merit, not the so-called nobility of their blood. Unfortunately, you haven't shown me anything worth befriending."
Direct hit!
Draco Malfoy's face instantly darkened to the color of liver.
He stormed up to Harry, eyes flashing dangerously.
"Are you saying I'm not good enough?" Draco demanded. "I am a noble Malfoy! Every member of my family is a genius, because noble blood flows in our veins!"
His words sounded forceful, but as Harry listened, he couldn't help glancing at Leonard.
Bloodline determines talent? But according to Hagrid and Mr. Ollivander, Harry himself was a pureblood wizard, while Leonard was muggle-born.
And yet Harry's talent couldn't compare to Leonard's at all.
This was a lie! Just a fraud who strutted about under his family name but had achieved nothing himself!
"Blood has nothing to do with talent," Harry said firmly.
"Nothing to do with it?" Draco sneered, his sharp gaze sliding toward Leonard, whose face was already dark with irritation.
Leonard was still annoyed about the fact that he'd probably have to sneak out tonight instead of getting a proper sleep, so his expression naturally wasn't pleasant.
"So this is who you think is talented? Let me guess—he's a Mudblood, isn't he? Hahaha!" Draco laughed wildly, joined by his two lackeys behind him.
The grating laughter finally drew Leonard's attention.
He lifted his head, fixing Draco with a chilling glare sharp enough to make the boy nearly choke mid-laugh.
"You lowly Mudblood, how dare you look at me like that!" Draco shouted in rage, while his cronies rolled up their sleeves, ready to act.
"Shut up." Leonard's voice was cold as ice shards, the chill slithering over Draco like a venomous snake.
That look… terrifying! He'd seen it somewhere before!
Draco suddenly remembered his father, and those grim-faced wizards who sometimes came to their home demanding money.
His father had called them Dark Wizards, once followers of the Dark Lord. Death Eaters, every one of them—murderers who had slain so many, even Aurors couldn't stand against them.
And Leonard's eyes—those were the same. Eyes that didn't see people as people, only as prey.
The eyes of a predator.
Draco staggered back a step, the motion jolting him into awareness.
He stared at Leonard in disbelief, then looked down to see his own trembling legs, his face twisting in shame.
He was afraid! Afraid of a Mudblood.
Humiliation, anger, and fear churned together. He wanted desperately to spit words back, to make this Mudblood understand the meaning of noble blood.
But he didn't dare. He was terrified that this cold-eyed Mudblood might actually kill him.
The thought alone made Draco's throat tighten, and tears welled up in his eyes.
The new students: !!!
Whoa—unbelievable! That arrogant guy just got scared to tears!
Leonard: ???
Harry, glancing sideways: ???
So… so amazing! Leonard made that arrogant brat cry with just one sentence. He's so cool! If only I could have that kind of presence—maybe I could make Dudley cry with just one line!
At that moment, Draco's sobs drew the attention of the Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, who was waiting at the Great Hall entrance.
She strode quickly down the steps and faced the first-years.
"What is going on here?" Professor McGonagall demanded sternly.
The term had only just begun—was bullying already happening?
She, Minerva McGonagall, would never allow such a thing.