part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying
“Voldemort” without worrying.
“What’s your Quidditch team?” Ron asked.
“Er — I don’t know any.” Harry confessed.
“What!” Ron looked dumbfounded. “Oh, you wait, it’s the best game in
the world —” And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the
positions of the seven players, describing famous games he’d been to with his
brothers and the broomstick he’d like to get if he had the money. He was just
taking Harry through the finer points of the game when the compartment door
slid open yet again, but it wasn’t Neville the toadless boy, or Hermione Granger
this time.
Three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at once: it was
the pale boy from Madam Malkin’s robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a
lot more interest than he’d shown back in Diagon Alley.
“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry
Potter’s in this compartment. So it’s you, is it?”
“Yes,” said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were
thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they
looked like bodyguards.
“Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,” said the pale boy carelessly,
noticing where Harry was looking. “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”
Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco
Malfoy looked at him.
“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My
father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than
they can afford.”
He turned back to Harry. “You’ll soon find out some wizarding families
are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the
wrong sort. I can help you there.”
He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it.
“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said
coolly.
Draco Malfoy didn’t go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.
“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he said slowly. “Unless you’re a bit
politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good
for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid,
and it’ll rub off on you.”
Both Harry and Ron stood up.
“Say that again,” Ron said, his face as red as his hair.
“Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?” Malfoy sneered.
“Unless you get out now,” said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because
Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron.
“But we don’t feet like leaving, do we, boys? We’ve eaten all our food
and you still seem to have some.”
Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron — Ron leapt
forward, but before he’d so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.
Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep
into Goyle’s knuckle — Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung
Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbers finally flew off and hit
the window, all three of them disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there
were more rats lurking among the sweets, or perhaps they’d heard footsteps,
because a second later, Hermione Granger had come in.
“What has been going on?” she said, looking at the sweets all over the
floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.
“I think he’s been knocked out,” Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at
Scabbers. “No — I don’t believe it — he’s gone back to sleep.”
And so he had.
“You’ve met Malfoy before?”
Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.
“I’ve heard of his family,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first
to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been
bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an
excuse to go over to the Dark Side.” He turned to Hermione. “Can we help you
with something?”
“You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up to the
front to ask the conductor, and he says we’re nearly there. You haven’t been
fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!”
“Scabbers has been fighting, not us,” said Ron, scowling at her. “Would
you mind leaving while we change?”
“All right — I only came in here because people outside are behaving
very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” said Hermione in a sniffy
voice. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?”
Ron glared at her as she left. Harry peered out of the window. It was
getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The
train did seem to be slowing down.
He and Ron took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes.
Ron’s were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath them.
A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five
minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the
school separately.”
Harry’s stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under
his freckles. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined
the crowd thronging the corridor.
The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their
way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the
cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and
Harry heard a familiar voice: “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there,
Harry?”
Hagrid’s big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.
“C’mon, follow me — any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’
years follow me!”
Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a
steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there
must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing
his toad, sniffed once or twice.
“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his
shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”
There was a loud “Oooooh!”
The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black
lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in
the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.
“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little
boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into their
boat by Neville and Hermione.
“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. “Right then
— FORWARD!”
And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake,
which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle
overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on
which it stood.
“Heads down!” yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all
bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid
a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which
seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind
of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.
“Oy, you there! Is this your toad?” said Hagrid, who was checking the
boats as people climbed out of them.
“Trevor!” cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they
clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid’s lamp, coming out at last
onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.
They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak
front door.
“Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?”
Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.
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