The door to the compartment rattled and slid open. In the frame stood a boy with hair as pale as moonlight and eyes of polished steel. Two larger, lumpish boys flanked him like hired shadows, their shoulders nearly scraping the doorway. The boy carried himself not as a student stepping nervously aboard for his first year but as a prince come to inspect his court.
Selwyn, lounging in his seat by the window, immediately saw the tilt of the chin, the practiced smirk — here was someone who had been told his whole life that the world belonged to him.
Draco Malfoy.
He stepped inside, eyes scanning until they landed on Harry. His smirk widened with satisfaction.
"So it's true, then," Draco said smoothly. "Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."
Harry blinked, startled by the bluntness, but before he could answer, Ron gave a muffled snort. He had been trying to stuff the last of the chocolate frogs into his mouth, the lingering fear of he-who must-not-be-named, and the name "Malfoy" struck him as absurdly pompous. The half-swallowed laugh sounded more like a cough.
Draco's head snapped toward him. "You think somethings funny?" His tone was sharp, mocking. His gaze flicked over Ron's shabby robes, the patched elbow, the slightly too-long sleeves. "No need to ask your name. Red hair, freckles, second-hand everything — you must be a Weasley."
Ron turned crimson to the roots of his ears. He made a choking noise of fury.
Selwyn chuckled under his breath, the corners of his mouth curling. "Well observed," he said lazily. "Though if we're keeping score, freckles aren't technically hereditary property, so perhaps don't count them as a family heirloom."
Ron gawked at him. "What—?"
But Draco's lips twitched, catching the edge of the sarcasm. His eyes narrowed at Selwyn, measuring him.
Turning back to Harry, Draco continued, "You'll soon find that some wizarding families are better than others. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
He extended a hand toward Harry, pale and expectant.
Harry stared at it. The arrogance in the boy's tone, the insult to Ron — he felt his chest tighten with defiance.
"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," Harry said coolly.
The rejection hung in the air like a slap. Draco's hand faltered, then dropped, his smirk sharpening into a sneer.
Ron gave a triumphant little snigger, muttering, "Told you."
Selwyn clapped softly, as though applauding a performance. "Bravo. One dramatic offer spurned, one loyal sidekick's cheer. It's almost theatrical, don't you think? Though I half expect someone to break into song next."
Ron frowned at him in bewilderment. "What's he on about songs for?"
But Draco caught the undertone and gave a short, reluctant laugh. His eyes gleamed — not kindly, but appreciatively, as though he had found someone who could play on his level.
The argument escalated quickly. Ron puffed himself up, his fists clenched. "Better be careful, Malfoy. Not everyone thinks being a stuck-up prat makes you clever."
"And not everyone thinks being poor makes you noble, Weasley," Draco shot back, his smirk cruel.
Selwyn drawled from his corner, "Oh, excellent. Poverty versus arrogance — the eternal duel. At this rate, one of you might actually say something original, and then what a catastrophe that would be."
Ron scowled, confused. "Original? We're arguing!"
Draco laughed outright this time, appreciating Selwyn's jab. "He doesn't get it," he said, nodding toward Ron, his eyes amused.
Ron flushed deeper. "Get what?"
"Never mind," Draco said, smirk widening.
Finally, Draco turned to Selwyn fully, as though the rest were beneath his notice. "And you? You've got a sharp tongue. What's your name?"
Selwyn leaned forward, his smile sly. "Lucius Selwyn."
Draco froze, the smirk faltering. His eyebrows shot up.
"There's no Selwyn named Lucius," Draco said carefully.
Selwyn tilted his head, his grin widening just enough. "Then I suppose I'll have to be the first."
A ripple of discomfort crossed Draco's face — the name Lucius was sacred, belonging to his father. Was this boy mocking him?
But Selwyn's tone shifted, casual yet pointed. "My parents were Squibs. Their parents too. My mother's from the Folly line. Squibbed out generations ago. I'm the first wizard in the whole sorry lot."
Ron blinked. "Squibs? All of them? That's—" He stopped, fumbling. "That's worse than being broke!"
Draco's gaze sharpened. The words "squibbed out" rattled in his skull like a curse. Bloodlines were meant to endure. A family reduced to nothing but magicless branches — and yet here stood Selwyn, magic blazing fresh in his veins. Pureblood by origin, yes, but a first-generation wizard by reality.
Selwyn lounged back, watching him with amusement. "Funny thing, blood. It runs dry, and yet it runs deep. Still counts as pure, doesn't it, if you look far enough back. Unless of course one prefers convenient definitions."
Ron scratched his head, lost, but Draco understood perfectly.
For the first time, Draco's smirk wavered into something more thoughtful. He looked Selwyn up and down, recalculating. "So you're telling me you're from a line that squibbed out, but you're still a Selwyn?"
Selwyn's grin widened. "Precisely. An inconvenient truth, isn't it?"
Draco stared for a long moment, then let out a small, sharp laugh. "You're not wrong. Still better than rolling in mudblood filth. A squibbed-out pureblood's still pureblood. At least you've got pedigree."
Ron's eyes went wide. "You're both mad."
Selwyn ignored him, tilting his head toward Draco. "And pedigree's such a precious thing. Best to guard it carefully, hmm? Wouldn't want their… ideas," he flicked his gaze at Ron and Harry, "to stain it."
The words were soft, sly, almost conspiratorial.
Draco's lips curled back into a smirk. He gave Harry a long, assessing look, then Ron, sneering openly. Finally, his gaze returned to Selwyn.
"You're clever," Draco said quietly. "Not stupid like him." He jerked his head at Ron. "Best not to linger with these two if you know what's good for you."
For a moment, his smirk deepened, an odd mixture of contempt and reluctant approval.
Ron let out a furious noise, halfway between a growl and a groan. "Slimy git! Did you hear him? Did you hear what he said?"
Harry looked at Draco, his expression unsettled, while Selwyn leaned back against the window again, chuckling softly.
"Enter, insult, intrigue." Selwyn said. "A performance worth the ticket price, I'd say."
Ron scowled. "What ticket?!"
Draco's smirk turned to a laugh.
Selwyn only smiled.
The tension inside the carriage thickened when Ron, red-faced and bristling, snapped at Selwyn after one of his sly remarks.
"Oh, shut it, Selwyn. You think you're clever, but you're nothing more than another snide little—"
Selwyn cut him off smoothly, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Ah, Weasley, dear Weasley. Always quick to grunt, never quick to think. You remind me of a pig attempting trying to hunt. But forgetting that his tongue was not of venom but filth."
Ron spluttered, fists clenching. Harry shifted uncomfortably; for all his usual bravery, this quarrel had twisted beyond him, leaving him struggling to find the right words.
Draco, sneering, seized the moment. "You really think this is where you belong, Selwyn? With them? With half-bloods and traitors?"
Selwyn tilted his head, his grey eyes flicking lazily from Draco to Harry. For just a flicker of a moment, his gaze lingered on Harry, sharp, calculating — as though he'd only just realized that the Boy Who Lived was alive, breathing, sitting right across from him.
"Where I belong?" Selwyn's lips curled into a smirk. "Let's just say I like to keep my options… open. Who knows, Malfoy? Gryffindor doesn't sound all that bad. Think of the entertainment, hm? A closer look at Potter's life might be worth it." His voice lowered on the last word, not a threat, but a provocation, one meant to sink deep and stir unease.
The words lit a fresh spark in the room. Ron looked ready to explode, Harry bristled though he still felt a step behind, and Draco's pale face twisted, caught between disdain and some small flicker of reluctant amusement.
"Careful, Malfoy," Selwyn added smoothly, his voice now cool and low. "Best not linger too long around me if you don't want other people's ideas to rub off on you. Bloodthirst, rebellion…other terrible things, really."
He said it with such mockery that the insult worked both ways — cutting into Ron and baiting Draco at once. Crabbe and Goyle looked confused, as if they'd walked into a play without a script.
Finally, Draco frowned, "You're a slytherin, Selwyn. Better admit it than being stuck with fools." He turned sharply on his heel, storming out with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after him.
Selwyn leaned back in his seat, clearly pleased with himself. "And just like that," he said lightly, almost to himself, "the rat scurries off. What a shame."
Harry finally found his voice, but the words felt late, unnecessary. Ron still seethed, but Selwyn only smiled faintly, his eyes dancing with private amusement.