Chapter 27: You Will Like Hogwarts

September 1, 1991.

Accompanied by the heavy sound of the train pressing against the tracks, the express train from King's Cross Station to Hogwarts finally began to pull away.

Through the window, Harry watched the scenery recede. The city buildings gave way to open fields as he rested his hands gently on the copy of "Hogwarts: A History" sitting on his lap. Hermione had insisted he take it, calling it "essential reading before term starts." Yet, he hadn't even reached the halfway point before his mind began to wander.

This was the furthest he had ever been from the Dursleys' home in his memory. As he looked at the world rushing past, he felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. It was all so unfamiliar, yet he felt a faint, rising sense of belonging—something he hadn't truly touched yet, but which was already quietly awakening within him.

The past month had been wonderful for Harry. He rarely used the word "wonderful" to describe his life—when he did, it meant things were as good as they could possibly be. Since the day he returned from Diagon Alley, he had his own room. Beyond that, he possessed things he had never dared to hope for: his own bed, his own desk, and even a wardrobe. Although the furniture was somewhat worn, to Harry, they were treasures. He no longer had to sleep in that narrow cupboard under the stairs, nor did he have to worry about Dudley pounding on his door at any moment, threatening to drag him out for a "fight."

There were even more exciting things. For a child who had never received a real gift, the items from the wizarding world—a wand, a stack of textbooks, and that beautiful snowy owl—were all precious beyond measure. Often, lying in bed at night, he would gently touch the pages of the book Hermione recommended or quietly feed Hedwig a biscuit, picturing the magical scenes of Diagon Alley and wondering what life at Hogwarts would be like.

Of course, when mentioning gifts, one had to mention Professor Morris—that reassuring presence. The gold pocket watch he had given him remained his most prized possession, tucked away in his inner pocket. And then there was the toy called the "Cage of Stars." No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't undo the lock; it seemed as if it were welded shut. Because of this, he treated the mysterious box like a treasure, taking it out to examine it from time to time, even though he couldn't open it. What was inside? A biscuit? A book? A pile of Galleons? Honestly, Harry had countless guesses.

Every morning, when he tried to solve the "Cage of Stars" while his mind was freshest, Uncle Vernon would knock on his door with a smile, bringing him snacks. This happened twice a day, before and after work. Harry knew exactly where all these changes originated: Professor Morris. He knew that being a wizard alone wouldn't have been enough to cause such a drastic shift in Uncle Vernon. During their small talk, his uncle would always drop hints, urging him to express his apologies to Professor Morris once school began. Harry could tell that Uncle Vernon had truly been terrified by what happened that day. Even today, while driving him to the station, his uncle kept rambling about it: "Please allow me, Vernon Dursley, to extend my sincerest apologies to Sir Bourne..." and so on. He wanted Harry to memorize it, but how could he possibly remember such complex sentence structures?

Speaking of which, he had to mention his new friend again. Harry looked up; across from him, Hermione was hunched over a thick book, occasionally whispering the pronunciations of spells as if trying to memorize them. Yes, this new friend was Hermione Granger. Since the day they left Diagon Alley, following Professor Morris's suggestion, they had exchanged phone numbers. Even today at King's Cross, it was Hermione who led him through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and found their compartment. Having such a friend was incredibly reassuring for a boy just entering the wizarding world—even if Harry thought his new friend could be a bit sharp-tongued and aloof at times. But those things didn't stop him from considering her a friend. Who didn't have a few small flaws? She was the first peer he had met in the wizarding world, someone who could actually read the dry "History of Magic." Compared to that, her flaws were negligible. Besides, through their few interactions, Harry had realized that his new friend had a sharp tongue but a soft heart.

Just as Harry was wondering what Hogwarts looked like, the compartment door was knocked upon.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken? Are you... Harry Potter?"

Harry looked up to see a boy standing in the doorway. He had messy red hair and a face full of freckles. Staring at Harry's forehead, he asked coldly, "Are you... Harry Potter?"

"Er... yes, I am." Harry scratched his head, feeling a bit awkward. He was beginning to get used to being recognized, but he still didn't quite know how to respond.

"It really is you!" The red-haired boy seemed deeply shocked, his eyes wide. Then his face turned bright red, as if embarrassed by his own rudeness. He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "I'm Ron Weasley. Er... is there still a seat here?"

"Of course," Harry said quickly, thinking this must be a new student, just like him, perhaps visiting Hogwarts for the first time too.

Ron offered a grateful smile and quickly hoisted his luggage into the compartment. Once he sat down, his gaze kept drifting back to Harry's forehead.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione said, taking the initiative to break the silence. She closed her book, her tone confident. "You're a first-year, right? The first lesson on the Hogwarts Express isn't staring at people's foreheads, though that might be an interesting behavioral study."

Indeed, with just one sentence, Hermione made Ron uncomfortable. He hadn't expected that kind of "greeting," so he was momentarily speechless, stammering, "Er, sorry, I didn't mean to... it's just, I didn't expect to actually meet Harry Potter."

"Yes, I know," Harry said, sensing the tension and stepping in to help Ron. "Many people are like that when they see me. Actually... I don't feel any different from anyone else."

"Except for your scar," Ron blurted out, then immediately realized he had been too direct and scrambled to fix it. "Er... I mean, your scar. Is it true, like the rumors say, that it was left by... You-Know-Who?"

"Yes," Harry nodded, his tone calm. Having learned the truth from Professor Morris in advance and spent nearly a month processing it, he had come to accept it. In fact... he felt a sense of warmth. His mother hadn't left him; she had been with him all along.

"Wow," Ron whispered in awe, finally shifting his gaze from Harry's forehead and beginning to relax.

"You said you were a Weasley?" Hermione asked, sounding curious. "I've heard there are many old families in the wizarding world—the Fawleys, the Macmillans, the Malfoys, the Notts... and the Weasleys. You're from that family, right?"

"Yeah, but there's nothing special about us," Ron said, waving a hand with a look of resignation. "There are too many of us. I have five older brothers and a younger sister. I'm the youngest boy, so there's basically nothing left for me—even my wand is my second brother's old one."

"I don't think that's a bad thing," Harry said with a smile. "At least you have brothers and sisters. I'm an only child, but... well, you know, my home life isn't exactly great."

Hearing this, Ron looked at Harry with sympathy. "Oh... yeah, I've heard your story. I think you're a miracle, living with a bunch of Muggles. I could never live with Muggles for that long. By the way, how are they?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "They... they're a bit unpleasant. But not all Muggles are like that. I'm used to it. Now I feel fine—at least I've left that place."

"Yeah," Ron nodded, breaking into a broad grin. "Now we're going to Hogwarts, and everything will be different!"

"I hope so," Harry said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You'll love Hogwarts!" Ron said enthusiastically. "There's Quidditch, the four houses, lots of fascinating magic classes... and tons of good food! Fred told me you have to try the pumpkin pasties and—"

Knock, knock, knock.

Just as Ron was raving about Hogwarts food, the compartment door was knocked upon. A round-faced boy walked in, his face tear-stained.

"Sorry," he said, "have you seen my toad?"

The three of them shook their heads in unison. The boy began to sob, "I've lost him again! He's always trying to get away from me."

"He'll turn up," Harry comforted him.

Hermione had been about to get up to help the boy look for the toad, but the boy had already run off, crying, leaving behind only the words, "If... you... see him..."

"I don't get why he's so worried," Ron said. "If I'd bought a toad, I'd lose it as fast as I could. But since I brought my pet rat, Scabbers, I can't really talk."

No one replied. The air still carried the sadness the boy had brought with him. To break the mood, Ron spoke up again: "You know, my dad said there's a new professor at Hogwarts this term named Morris." He widened his eyes slightly, as if there were a shocking secret behind the name. "My mum and dad specifically told me to stay away from Professor Morris."

Harry and Hermione both looked up at the mention of the name, turning their gaze toward Ron.

"Why?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, sounding displeased. "Is he dangerous?"

"Well... they said he was in Azkaban once," Ron lowered his voice, as if afraid someone might overhear. "The very name of that place makes your skin crawl."

"What is Azkaban?" Harry asked curiously. He vaguely remembered hearing the word somewhere.

Ron looked at Harry with a serious expression. "Azkaban is the wizard prison. That's where they lock up the wizards who've committed terrible crimes. I've heard it's guarded by Dementors. Those things make you feel like all happiness has vanished... I heard my dad mention it once; it's terrifying."

Just as Harry was about to ask what "Dementors" were (he didn't know, and Ron didn't actually know either), the compartment door slid open. This time, no one knocked.

A pale-faced boy with blond hair and a smug look on his face appeared in the doorway, followed by two large, hulking cronies.

"Harry Potter." He glanced at the three in the compartment and said quite arrogantly, "I heard you were on this train. I didn't think it would be this easy to find you."

Harry blinked, feeling confused. "Er... yes. And you are?"

"Draco Malfoy." The blond boy gave what he thought was an elegant smile, though it held a touch of malice. "I heard you were raised by Muggles, so I thought it was necessary to come and see you—after all, you need someone to teach you how to make friends in the wizarding world."

"By the way, you were just talking about Morris, right? That disgusting traitor—"

As for what "traitor" implied, Malfoy didn't know either. Like Ron, he had pieced it together from fragments he'd overheard from his father—who had also specifically warned him to stay away from Morris. But that didn't stop him from sharing his opinion.

"I heard that Morris has always been—"