Anduin and Vivian continued to observe the burgeoning chaos through the compartment window, a clear divide forming between the two arguing pure-blood families.
"Do you think they'll actually resort to hexes?" Vivian asked, leaning forward in anticipation, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of a potential spectator sport.
"Unlikely," Anduin predicted coolly. "Note the immediate response from the Auror contingent. The Ministry cannot afford such a high-profile, public breakdown of order at the start of the school year."
Sure enough, a detachment of Aurors quickly intervened, physically separating the McKinnons and the Travers. The shouting gradually subsided, and the two angry groups dispersed.
"How boring," Vivian sighed, sinking back into her seat. "All that drama just for a verbal spat. I thought we were going to see some dueling!" Anduin looked at her, noting her eagerness for conflict. In a strange way, her detached, judgmental observation of the world's chaos mirrored the attitude of an adult who has seen too much, seeking mere entertainment in the unfolding disaster.
The conversation naturally drifted to school matters.
"What house do you think we'll be sorted into?" Vivian asked, a hint of resignation in her voice. "The entire Bulstrode line has gone to Slytherin. I suppose I will too."
"I have no preference, though Ravenclaw would be ideal," Anduin admitted, shifting his focus back to his book. "I understand they have an excellent private library, which is my primary motivation."
Vivian giggled. "Ravenclaw suits you perfectly. You were studying the moment you sat down! All Ravenclaws are supposed to be brilliant, or at least obsessed with books."
"If you are sorted into Slytherin, you must be cautious," Anduin warned, setting his book down. "The current climate is volatile. I've heard many of its members openly support the Dark Lord's ideology."
Vivian scoffed, flipping her long hair. "That's a generalization. While Slytherin favors ambition and many older families, it isn't a guaranteed Death Eater training camp. Many families are neutral—like the Bulstrodes. They don't believe the Dark Lord can actually win in the long run."
"Is that confidence based entirely on Dumbledore's leadership? I hear he's regarded as the greatest wizard alive."
"Partially Dumbledore, yes. But also pragmatism," Vivian lowered her voice again, relishing the conspiracy.
"Our Patriarch stated that the Dark Lord's insistence on completely wiping out Muggle blood is an extreme liability. You see, many pure-blood families secretly maintain commercial dealings with Muggles, which is profitable. And more importantly…" she looked around dramatically,
"many pure-blood lines have been quietly intermarrying with Muggles or half-bloods for decades, just to survive! You can't maintain a healthy lineage for a thousand years without a little fresh blood!"
Anduin nodded soberly. This was the rational, biological reality he had theorized. Constant inbreeding would lead to the widespread prevalence of Squibs, magical instability, and physical defects.
"That information, Vivian, is precisely the kind of thing you should never mention if you are sorted into Slytherin," Anduin cautioned, staring at her exasperatedly.
"Don't worry, I know how to keep a secret when it actually matters," she replied, winking.
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by a sharp knock on the compartment door.
A boy, tall but noticeably thin and slightly awkward, stood outside. He wore a nervous smile. "Excuse me, I know this is a first-year compartment, but the other cars are completely full. Would you mind if I joined you?"
"Not at all. There's plenty of space," Anduin replied warmly. "I'm Anduin Wilson, and this is Vivian Bulstrode."
"Charles," the boy said, offering a hand with a touch of shyness. "Charles McKinnon."
Vivian's eyes immediately darted to Anduin, full of theatrical significance. Anduin merely met her gaze with a placid, neutral expression, silently urging her to maintain composure.
Anduin helped Charles stow his luggage, and soon the three first-years were seated. Thankfully, Vivian, for all her gossip, possessed the social grace not to immediately blurt out, "Did you just nearly hex a Travers outside?"
The small talk began, but quickly shifted to the serious atmosphere currently gripping the Wizarding World.
Vivian, pulling out a crumpled copy of the Daily Prophet, immediately dominated the subject. "Did you hear? Minister for Magic Harold Minchum is about to resign. Everyone says he couldn't stop the Dark Lord—they say he only managed to put Dementors around Azkaban. The Death Eaters are getting bolder; I even read that they attacked Sirius Black in Diagon Alley last month!"
Anduin sighed internally. Vivian truly is the living, breathing summary of the Wizarding News.
"Changing the Minister now is too little, too late. Passive defense strategies will only invite unnecessary casualties," Charles McKinnon interjected, the shyness vanishing, replaced by palpable anger. "Those Death Eaters are relentless."
"Don't worry, Charles, this chaos won't last forever," Anduin reassured him, a confidence born of his own fractured timeline knowledge.
Charles offered a thin, strained smile, interpreting the words as mere consolation. "I wish I could share that confidence. My family has always been dedicated to combating the Dark Lord. Many of us joined the Aurors. My uncle was recently attacked, and his leg was shattered. He's certain a Travers was one of the masked attackers, but the Ministry has refused to even open a formal investigation! It's infuriating."
Charles McKinnon's bitter account provided further evidence of the Ministry's internal paralysis, driven by political dissent and possible infiltration.
"That is appalling!" Vivian exclaimed, genuinely shocked that the system could fail so openly. "Your uncle witnessed the crime and the Ministry won't even act?"
"The difficulty lies in identification," Anduin interjected, having lived through this precise scenario. "Death Eaters always operate under masks, and even if you recognize a voice or a figure, without concrete evidence, the Ministry can do nothing, especially if the accused belongs to an influential family."
Charles nodded grimly. "That's exactly what the Ministry claims—lack of evidence."
Just as their serious political discussion reached a peak, the compartment gave a low, powerful lurch. The whistle screamed, and the Hogwarts Express began its stately journey north.
"We're moving! I heard it takes hours to get to Hogsmeade," Vivian said, peering out at the swiftly receding platform.
Anduin felt a deep, logistical confusion. "Hours? The Wizarding World possesses instant teleportation, rapid domestic Floo travel, and flying carpets—why does an ancient, slow steam engine remain the standard mode of transport for the entire school population?" he asked his new companions, his practical mind seeking the magical reason for this inexplicable slowdown.