"Is this compartment taken?" the Black boy asked, pointing to the seat opposite Albert.
"It's free. Go ahead," Albert smiled. "I'm Albert Anderson."
"Lee Jordan." The boy flashed a bright white smile. He glanced at the book on the table, surprised, and said, "I bet you'll be sorted into Ravenclaw. I hear people who... like to read... usually get put in Ravenclaw."
"As long as it's not Slytherin, I don't really care," Albert said, pulling a few chocolates from his pocket. "Want one?"
"Thanks. Not bad," Lee Jordan said, taking one and popping it into his mouth. "I like chocolate."
"Good. Help yourself." Albert put a small bag of assorted hard candies on the table. Sharing food was an effective way to get closer to people. He'd used this trick at his old school, and it never failed.
"I think I'll be in Gryffindor. I hear it's the best. Headmaster Dumbledore was in Gryffindor, and you know, he's the greatest wizard of all time," Lee Jordan chattered, his words slightly muffled by the candy.
His rambling was cut short by a knock on the door. A pair of red-haired twins were peering in.
"You don't mind if we squeeze in, do you?" one of them asked, feigning shyness. "We were late, and all the other compartments are full. And the girls don't want us."
Before Albert could answer, the other twin said, "I'm George. George Weasley."
"If I were you, I'd do something about those rain-soaked robes," Lee Jordan advised. "I'm Lee Jordan."
"Albert Anderson." Albert closed his book, put it away, and pointed to the empty seats next to Lee.
"See you in a bit, George," the first twin said, and left. He returned a moment later, this time hauling his own trunk.
The compartment could, of course, hold four people; they were six-person seats. But many students paired off with friends and didn't welcome newcomers, which was likely why the late Weasley twins couldn't find a spot.
"This is Fred, my twin brother," George said.
"We could tell," said Lee. "I seriously can't tell you two apart. You should really label yourselves or something."
"Want a sweet?" Albert asked.
"Oh, thanks. Mum never lets us have too many of these," one of them said. They each took one and popped them into their mouths. "Wicked."
"Is that your owl? She's beautiful," one of the twins said. He reached out to pet her, but Shera glared at him, and he quickly pulled his hand back. He had no desire to get pecked.
"She's not a fan of strangers," Albert explained. "But you could try feeding her an owl nut. She might let you then."
Lee Jordan tried, but Shera just ignored him and went back to sleep.
The train started to move, slowly accelerating away from the platform.
"So, what's the magical world like?" Albert asked, making conversation. "You three are all from wizarding families, right?"
"How'd you know that?" Lee asked.
"Your clothes," Albert said. "Your outfits... they're not quite right. Muggles don't dress like that. It's the kind of mistake only a wizard would make, just like how we don't understand the wizarding world."
"Brilliant," Lee said, giving him a thumbs-up. "Hey, there's something at the window."
Albert turned. An owl was tapping at the glass. He slid the window open to let it in. A gray owl flew in, shook its body, and sent raindrops splattering everywhere.
Shera hooted in annoyance, jumped onto Albert's shoulder, and glared at the uninvited guest, who was now pecking at her owl nuts.
"Calm down, it's just a few nuts. I'll buy you more," Albert said, stroking Shera's head as he watched the gray owl fly off with the newspaper.
"You know, I'm starting to think you're not a Muggle-born at all," Lee muttered. "Muggle-borns don't know about owl post. Can I see that?"
"Go ahead," Albert said, lifting Shera off his shoulder. The owl was starting to get heavy.
"What's the news?"
"Millicent Bagnold, the Minister for Magic, is announcing her retirement in 1990," Lee said, spreading the paper on the table. "They're saying Dumbledore is the top choice for the next Minister."
"My dad says if Dumbledore wanted the job, he'd have been Minister ages ago," Fred said, clearly skeptical.
"Who do you think has a shot, then?" George asked, leaning over. "Oh, look, the Prophet is running a betting pool."
"No idea, but that pool sounds interesting." Albert, of course, knew exactly who the next Minister would be. "How would I... hypothetically... join this pool?"
Why turn down free money? he thought.
"Gambling isn't a good idea, Albert," Lee said seriously.
"A small bet is fine." Albert took out his wand, balanced it vertically on the table, and let it fall. "My wandmaker, Ollivander, said this wand would bring me luck. So, I'll pick... hmm... Cornelius Fudge. I'll bet on him. Assuming, of course, this pool is legitimate."
The other three boys were dumbfounded. It was such a bizarre move, it completely threw them.
"You're actually going to bet?" Fred asked, swallowing. The whole thing was absurd.
"Not sure yet. I don't want my money to just go down the drain," Albert said, pretending to be hesitant.
"No, the Prophet's pools are reliable," George said. "Lots of people win. But... there are fifteen candidates on this list. Are you sure? Fudge's odds are 4-to-1. He's not the favorite."
"Of course. The favorite almost never wins," Albert said, picking up the paper. "They're usually just the decoy. Right..."
He scanned the rules, then pulled a quill and parchment from his trunk. He wrote down his name, his chosen candidate (Cornelius Fudge), and the amount of his wager. Then, he took out his coin pouch and counted out 25 Galleons.
The other three boys gulped in unison. It was a huge amount of money.
This kid was rich. They'd never even held that many Galleons at one time. Finding a single Galleon in their own pockets would have been a cause for celebration.
Before they could recover from the shock, Albert had sealed the parchment and the coin pouch, attached them to Shera's leg, and sent his owl out the window and into the rain.