We'll Definitely See Each Other Often in the Future
Just as Owen was about to continue his friendly chat with Neville, four startled screams suddenly echoed down the train corridor.
Heavy footsteps followed—along with an angry shout:
"OWEN!"
"Hey! I'm here! I'm right here!"
Owen stood up and poked his head out of the compartment—only to collide head-first with Hermione Granger. Her face was flushed with fury.
"If you weren't completely blind—!"
"What did you do?!" she snapped. "You cast a spell on them, didn't you?!"
"Huh?"
"I say, Miss Granger," Owen replied with exaggerated politeness, leaning casually against the doorway. His wand dangled lazily between his fingers. "How can you accuse someone without any evidence? Did you see me cast anything?"
"You—!" Hermione's nostrils flared. "That was a petrification charm, wasn't it? I've read about it!"
"Friendly reminder," Owen said smoothly, "I am but a helpless first-year. Petrifying someone is advanced magic. Many fourth-years can't cast it properly."
His gray eyes gleamed, the corner of his lips lifting into a refined, devil-may-care smile—much too calm for someone her age.
"You—you're impossible!"
"Alright then, Miss Granger," he said with a light chuckle. "Care for a wager?"
"What?"
"A Galleon. If I'm guilty, you win and can do whatever you like. If I'm innocent, you owe me one Galleon."
"Fine! I accept!" Hermione said instantly.
That boy needed consequences. Badly.
When they reached Hogwarts, she would report this—not just to a prefect—straight to Professor McGonagall, or even the Headmaster if necessary.
"Let's go," Owen said with a smug little smile as he passed her.
"Hmph!"
This boy was infuriating.
Hermione crossed her arms, convinced now more than ever that he was nothing but trouble.
---
Harry and Ron's compartment was only three doors down.
And just outside it, Owen ran into another familiar face.
A blond boy stood frozen mid-swagger, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.
"No wonder there were four screams earlier," Owen muttered.
"Oh? Isn't this young Master Malfoy?" Owen's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward.
Draco Malfoy—Owen's favorite walking moneybag.
The Malfoys were famously wealthy. If the wizarding world had a Forbes list, they'd definitely be on it.
"O-Owen Sanchez!" Draco yelped, stumbling backward. "D-don't come any closer! Without your grandfather, my father can easily—!"
"Easily what?" Owen asked, stepping forward.
Draco squeaked and scrambled back several more steps.
"My—my father is on the Hogwarts Board of Governors!" he blurted.
"And?" Owen asked, unimpressed.
"I—I'm warning you! I'll tell him everything!" Draco's voice cracked, and a flicker of trauma passed across his pale face—clearly remembering some unfortunate earlier encounter with Owen and his grandfather.
Desperate pure-blood pride flickered in him for two seconds.
Then he turned and bolted.
"Draco?! Draco!"
Crabbe and Goyle immediately abandoned their poses and ran after him.
"Oh dear," Owen sighed mockingly. "Looks like I've left a lasting impression."
He stepped into the compartment.
Inside, Harry and Ron were stiff as boards, eyes wide open—clearly stunned—but not fully petrified. A faint magical shimmer clung to their skin: a sign of a botched jinx, not a true Petrificus Totalus.
"Admit it!" Hermione marched in behind Owen. "You definitely did this."
Her gaze swept the compartment—and darkened even more when she noticed Draco had been another of today's victims.
This boy had terrorized half the carriage!
"When we get to Hogwarts, I will tell the professors," Hermione said seriously, lifting her chin. "Even the Headmaster."
"Don't rush," Owen said calmly.
He briefly wondered if casting a Silencing Charm on her would make the world a quieter place.
Tempting. Very tempting.
"Remember our bet?" he asked.
"You still want to argue?"
"No," Owen said. "I'm saying you should get that Galleon ready."
He tapped Harry and Ron lightly on their foreheads with his wand.
A soft pulse of magic rippled over them.
Instantly, both boys inhaled sharply, life rushing back into them.
"You—!" Ron gasped, ready to accuse the first person he saw.
But Owen quickly looked at the tip of Ron's wand and gasped in fake alarm.
"Oh dear! Ron, look at your wand. The unicorn hair in the core is poking out. You must have miscast a spell, and it backfired. That's why you and Harry ended up stunned."
"H-huh? What?" Ron stared at his wand in confusion.
"If I hadn't noticed, you might have been stuck like that the whole trip," Owen continued gravely. "With no professors aboard, you'd have missed the Sorting Ceremony."
Ron swallowed hard.
Harry, still unused to confrontation after years with the Dursleys, immediately deflated.
"But don't worry," Owen added warmly, "we're classmates now. We'll see each other often. If you ever want to learn how to reverse a jinx properly, I can teach you."
Ron turned pale as Nearly-Headless Nick.
"L-later?" he squeaked.
"Often…?" Harry added meekly.
"Yes," Owen said, blinking innocently. "So now—Ron, could you please tell Miss Granger what happened? That you miscast a spell with your faulty wand?"
"I—I guess that's what happened…" Ron mumbled.
"And you, Harry?" Owen asked.
"I—I think Ron's right," Harry said instantly. For now, caution overrode Gryffindor bravery.
After all…
If there was one thing Harry Potter excelled at during his early childhood—
It was admitting defeat quickly.