The leisurely summer days were over; the start of term had finally arrived.
"I really can't bear to see our precious darling leave," Narcissa said tearfully as the Malfoy family of three stood before King's Cross Station, waiting for the train. She clutched her husband's hand, her eyes glistening.
"Mother, you should be happy," Draco replied, trying to comfort her. "At school, I can make new friends, can't I?"
"Remember not to associate with those Mudbloods," Lucius reminded him coldly.
Discrimination is a dead end, Draco sighed inwardly. Outwardly, he nodded obediently. "Of course, Father."
"It's time," he added after glancing at his watch.
"Father, Mother, I should board now."
Lucius's face was as pale and composed as ever, but the way his fingers tightened around the handle of Draco's trunk betrayed his reluctance. Narcissa, more expressive, pulled her son into another deep hug.
"Write to us with the owl if anything happens," she urged softly.
"I will," Draco promised, before turning toward the scarlet steam engine.
The air above the platform shimmered with thick clouds of steam. Cats of every color darted between people's feet. Amid the hum of voices and the clatter of luggage, owls hooted from their cages, calling to one another.
The first few carriages were already crowded—students leaning from the windows to wave goodbye, others laughing and jostling inside.
After climbing aboard, Draco quickly located his seat. He glanced around the empty compartment and shook his head. "Privilege really does corrupt," he murmured.
Lucius had clearly used his influence to secure Draco a private compartment—one normally reserved for prefects.
"Honestly, I just want to get a good rest before we reach the castle," he sighed. At his request, Crabbe and Goyle had stayed behind; he didn't want to deal with their snoring echoing through the journey.
He pulled a fresh copy of Quidditch Through the Ages from his bag—something to occupy him before sleep.
When he finished reading, it was nearly lunchtime. He picked at the meal brought by the trolley witch, finding little appetite, and instead nibbled on a few snacks. Soon after, he leaned back and closed his eyes, hoping to rest—there would likely be plenty to do that evening.
But peace, it seemed, would not come so easily.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost a toad!"
A girl burst into his compartment, her voice loud and a little bossy. Behind her stood a round-faced boy, looking timid and embarrassed.
The girl had a thick mane of bushy brown hair and slightly large front teeth. Her tone carried a hint of superiority that grated slightly on Draco's ears.
"What's meant to come will always come," he thought with an inward sigh. The last thing he wanted was early entanglement with the Golden Trio. As an adult soul in a child's body, he no longer had the childish pettiness of the original Draco Malfoy. He preferred to live and let live—but fate rarely cared for such wishes.
"Oh? Why are you alone?" the girl asked curiously, glancing around the spacious compartment. Clearly, she found it odd that someone their age had a private room.
"I don't think that's something you need to know," Draco said evenly. "But before you ask for help, perhaps you could introduce yourself. It's one of the most basic courtesies, don't you think?"
"My name's Hermione Granger—you can call me Hermione," she replied promptly. Pointing to the boy beside her, she added, "This is Neville Longbottom. He's lost his toad."
"I've heard of you, Neville," Draco said, his tone softening. "Your parents were both outstanding Aurors."
Lucius and Narcissa would never have spoken of their old adversaries with respect, but Draco himself felt genuine admiration. Sacrifice for others demanded courage few possessed.
"Really?" Neville lifted his head, eyes shining. It was the first time he had ever heard anyone speak kindly of his parents.
"Indeed. Now, Mr. Longbottom, let's think where your toad might have gone," Draco said. "Perhaps we could try the Accio charm?"
Hermione opened her mouth to comment, but Draco continued smoothly, "Ah—but you don't know the toad's exact location, do you? Then perhaps we should start with its usual habits instead."
Hermione hesitated. She had been about to ask how a first-year could know such a difficult spell, but he spoke too quickly for her to interrupt.
"Neville! Hermione! There you are—we've looked through every carriage!"
A new voice sounded from the corridor, cutting Draco off.
"Well, it seems destiny's timetable never fails," Draco thought wryly as two boys entered. "The Golden Trio is finally assembled."
The compartment, once spacious, now felt crowded. One boy had flaming red hair and freckles—Ron Weasley. The other was thin, bespectacled, and bore the famous lightning-shaped scar.
Harry Potter.
"Hello," Harry said politely. "Are you helping look for Neville's toad too?"
He hadn't noticed Ron's scowl.
"I suppose you must be Harry Potter—the savior who defeated the Dark Lord. It's an honor to meet you," Draco said, offering a hand in greeting.
Harry blinked, then nodded. "I saw you in Madam Malkin's robe shop," he said, recognition dawning.
"Then we're truly destined to meet again," Draco replied with a faint smile. "I hope we can be friends."
He extended his hand further.
Harry was just about to take it when Ron leaned in to whisper, "His parents were Death Eaters. Their whole family's in Slytherin—the same house as You-Know-Who. Most dark wizards come from there."
Harry froze, his hand suspended awkwardly. Hermione instinctively stepped back. Having read far more history than either boy, her opinion of Slytherin House was particularly low.
Ron, emboldened, added, "Yeah, their family believes in pure-blood supremacy. They hate Muggle-borns the most. Honestly, Hermione, it's dangerous for you to stay here."
Hermione paled and edged back until she nearly touched the wall. Sometimes, Draco mused, knowledge only deepened fear. She had read plenty about the cruelty of pure-blood wizards toward Muggle-borns.
"Heh," Draco exhaled softly, withdrawing his hand. "It seems I'm not welcome. In that case, please leave—I'd like to rest."
Harry looked uncomfortable. He seemed to realize he'd behaved poorly, yet pride kept him silent.
Draco's expression cooled. "When you view others through a fixed lens," he said quietly, glancing at Hermione, "you may one day find yourself seen the same way."
Hermione pressed her lips together but said nothing. She knew he was speaking to her directly.
Turning to Neville, Draco added, "Mr. Longbottom, I think we could be friends. As a token of goodwill, here's a little advice—after you get off the train, take a look at the boats. You might find a pleasant surprise."
Neville, unlike the others, hadn't moved throughout the encounter. He seemed unsure how to react, simply staring at Draco with wide eyes.
Harry and his companions left the compartment soon after, their faces uneasy. For them, this brief meeting was an unpleasant interruption; for Draco, it was a confirmation.
"It seems some things are destined to happen," he murmured once the door closed. "Perhaps this is what people call fate."
In the corridor, Ron gave the wall a frustrated kick.
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, neither speaking.
Draco leaned back against his seat, watching the countryside blur past the window. The train roared onward, its rhythmic clatter filling the silence.
He rubbed his temple. So much for a quiet journey.
His thoughts drifted to what awaited him at Hogwarts. This world, though familiar through memory, felt entirely different when lived firsthand. The castle would be the same, the faces similar, but the choices—those would all be new.
He sighed, half amused, half resigned. "I only wanted a calm start. Yet even fate refuses to grant that."
Outside, the sky had turned a deepening shade of gold. Steam rolled across the windows like wandering clouds. Somewhere down the corridor, laughter echoed, followed by the faint hoot of an owl.
Draco glanced once more at the empty seat opposite him—the place where, moments ago, four future legends had stood.
"Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom," he murmured. "So it begins again."
His voice was soft, almost wistful. For all his maturity, the weight of destiny pressed heavily upon him.
The Hogwarts Express thundered northward, carrying with it friendships, rivalries, and the first threads of a story that could never truly be escaped.
Draco closed his eyes and let the rhythm of the wheels lull him toward uneasy rest.
End of Chapter 7