Harry obeyed Theo's calm, commanding voice before his brain caught up. He slid the compartment door shut with a decisive click—then instantly regretted it.
Crabbe and Goyle were both built like wardrobes. Ron was tall but stringy. Harry himself—wiry at best. In a cramped box with nowhere to duck, that wasn't a winning geometry. As for Theo and Hermione… a prodigy novelist and a bookish girl hardly sounded like brawlers.
All right, Harry braced himself. If it comes to getting thumped, I've had practice. Dudley's jab hurts worse than anything these blokes look capable of.
Across from them, a thin sheen of panic flashed in Draco Malfoy's eyes—gone as quickly as it came.
Door closed? Are they really going to fight? My hair is freshly set.
Then he remembered he had two human refrigerators flanking him.
A smirk slithered onto Draco's face. "Crabbe, Goyle—go."
He added, reptile-soft, "If that Mudblood thinks shutting the door is brave, show him what courage buys."
Ron's ears flamed red. He lunged. "Don't you dare use that filthy word—especially about my friend!"
Harry didn't know the term, but Ron's reaction was enough. He shoved up out of his seat, fury boiling.
They both… sat back down.
Not by choice. Some invisible pressure had tugged them gently but irresistibly into their cushions—a compressed downdraft from Theo's Windriding gift, not telekinesis.
Theo stood.
What followed branded itself into Harry and Ron's long-term memory. Theo lifted one hand and pressed. Crabbe and Goyle tried to surge forward—and pancaked. Two solid thuds, then limp silence.
Draco blinked. He yanked his wand; a sputter of sparks coughed from the tip before Theo plucked it away and tossed it aside. A ringing slap cracked across Draco's cheek. Pink blossomed to scarlet in a heartbeat.
"You hit me?" Draco shrieked, shock curdling into outrage. "Do you know who I am? My father sits on the Hogwarts Board—he'll have you all expelled!"
Hermione, Harry, and Ron went a bit pale at the E-word. Expelled landed like a curse when you were eleven.
Theo only smiled—foxish, faintly pitying. "Your father is a board member. He doesn't get to snap his fingers and erase students. And if you're thinking of making this loud?" He spread his hands. "Please do."
Draco stalled. "What does that have to do with the Ministry—or the Daily Prophet?"
"Gringotts," Theo said pleasantly. "You did read the news, yes? Aurors tearing around like hounds on a scent, reporters drooling for the scoop. The entire country is jumpy, desperate to see a culprit in chains."
He ticked names off lightly. "Now imagine this headline: Heir of a family that once threw in with the Dark Lord—only escaped Azkaban by crying Imperius—leads two goons to a closed compartment containing two Muggle-borns, a pure-blood from a family known for resisting the Dark Lord, and a certain Boy Who Lived. Insults, threats, attempted violence."
He added, almost idly, "Hermione and I were on the scene yesterday. Head of the Auror Office Scrimgeour commended our potential—as future Aurors, no less. If we tell the Ministry the Malfoys despise Muggle-borns and seem eager to escalate? If we mention that, given the Malfoy record, one might even wonder whether your household still keeps certain artefacts lying about? Someone in Magical Law Enforcement will definitely want a look."
He let the last word hang. "At Malfoy Manor. You know—the place they spell out, letter by chilling letter, on Az—ka—ban intake forms."
The name hit Draco like ice water. He wasn't actually sure his father had nothing to do with the attack. Pure-blood supremacy? That was a theme at home. If Father got hauled in…
Draco swallowed hard. His bravado sloughed off. "No—"
He looked from Theo to Harry to Hermione, eyes glossy with a twelve-year-old's terror. "I'm sorry. Don't… don't go to the Ministry. Please. I'll apologise. I'll do anything."
Theo's smile warmed by a degree. "Anything?"
Draco bobbed his head so fast his fringe trembled. "Anything. I won't tell Father. I'll pretend this never happened. Hit me again if you want—just don't tell the Ministry!"
"Very reasonable of you," Theo said. He took a square of parchment and, with a lazy flourish, scribbled a single sentence. "No, no. Let's be civilised. Sign here, and I'll keep your family's name well away from uncomfortable desks at the Ministry."
He handed the parchment over.
Draco read—and swayed.
I hereby solemnly swear to support Albus Dumbledore, and that
THE DARK LORD IS A BIG, STINKING PILE OF DUNG.
Draco's lips worked soundlessly. His eyes darted to Crabbe and Goyle—still snoring on the floor—to Harry's blazing stare, to Hermione's white-knuckled grip on her wand, to Ron vibrating like an overstrung broom. Then back to Theo, who looked… patient.
A tiny, brittle laugh popped from Draco's throat. "F-for the record," he croaked, "this is deeply defamatory."
Theo tilted his head. "Only if you disagree."
Silence. Draco's quill scratched. He signed Draco L. Malfoy with a trembling flourish.
"Excellent." Theo blew the ink dry, tucked the parchment away, and—almost as an afterthought—flicked his fingers. Crabbe and Goyle stirred, blinking stupidly as if they'd merely nodded off.
Theo handed Draco his wand back hilt-first. "Now. Be a dear and take your friends with you."
Draco clutched the wand, cheeks blazing, pride in tatters. "We… we'll be going," he muttered. He snagged Crabbe by the sleeve; Goyle lumbered after. At the door he paused, glanced back once—caught Hermione's cool, fearless gaze—and fled.
The compartment exhaled as one.
Ron sagged. "Blimey."
Hermione turned to Theo, half scolding, half awed. "You frightened him on purpose."
Theo's eyes twinkled. "Only a little. Also, Harry—good job with the door."
Harry realised his hand was still on the handle. He grinned—shaky, exhilarated. "Anytime."
Outside, the Express hammered north. Inside, the four of them sat amid a battlefield of wrappers and cards, hearts still thudding, a private treaty inked and pocketed. For the first time since boarding, Harry felt something new settle into the compartment—an easy fit, like a cloak shared between friends.
Trouble would keep. For now, they had pumpkin pasties, a long red train, and the first day of the rest of their lives.
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