The carriage had quieted down considerably since Malfoy's dramatic exit. Ron, still red about the ears, was gnawing irritably at another chocolate frog Harry had offered him, chewing as though the sweets themselves were responsible for his humiliation. Selwyn sat in the corner, arms folded, replaying the last quarrel in his head with no small measure of amusement. The boy had managed to prod both a Weasley and a Malfoy in the span of twenty minutes — a feat that, in Selwyn's eyes, deserved recognition if only for the sheer entertainment value.
The peace shattered when the door banged open. A bossy-looking girl with bushy brown hair barged in without so much as a knock.
"Has anyone seen a toad?" she demanded briskly, looking around as though she already expected them to fail her. "A boy named Neville's lost one."
Her tone scraped on Selwyn's nerves instantly — imperious, assuming, the kind of voice that grated even though she was clearly a first-year like the rest of them. Ron froze mid-bite, his eyes bulging as though insulted by the interruption.
"That was rude," she scolded, noticing Ron's look, her words dripping with the kind of superiority only a swot could muster.
"Honestly, barging in on people like this—it's impolite." Ron muttered
Selwyn almost laughed. He had irritated Draco and Ron with ease earlier, but this girl managed to do it naturally, with no effort at all. Even he found her tone unpleasant, and that was saying something. Ron's face went nearly scarlet again, though he tried — and failed — to keep his temper bottled up.
Hermione folded her arms. "Well? Do any of you even know a spell? Show me, then."
The challenge was too much for Ron. Still smarting from Selwyn's earlier insults, he whipped out his wand with a kind of clumsy determination. The trolley lady's warning about misusing magic on the train had been fresh in his mind, but instead of pointing the wand at Hermione herself — which would have been catastrophic — he turned it toward Scabbers, who was sleeping soundly in his lap.
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow!"
The wand sputtered and sparked. Scabbers twitched once, but his fur remained the same dull brown as ever. The rat yawned and rolled over, utterly unimpressed.
Hermione let out an exasperated noise that was half-gasp, half-giggle. "That's not even a real spell. You are such an idiot."
Ron's ears went from red to maroon. Selwyn arched an eyebrow, enjoying the spectacle more than he ought to. She was fearless, that much was clear. Fearless and irritating in equal measure.
Before Ron could shout back, the girl's gaze swept the compartment and landed squarely on Harry. She blinked once, twice, then — without hesitation — stepped forward, shoving slightly at Selwyn's knee as though to clear the path.
Selwyn didn't move immediately. He glanced at her coolly. "And why, exactly, should I?"
She looked back at him as if the question was irrelevant. "Because I need to check something. Move, please." Her tone was so expectant that she clearly thought refusal wasn't even possible.
Selwyn gave a short, dry snort but stood anyway, shifting to a seat further down the carriage. He had no desire to ignite a Weasley–Selwyn feud so early in the term, and he had even less desire to have this girl's perfume of overconfidence clinging to his robes. He leaned back, watching with a narrowed gaze, cataloguing her every movement with detached amusement.
Hermione raised her wand and, with a practiced flick, muttered, "Oculus Reparo!"
Harry's cracked glasses sealed themselves instantly, good as new. His hand flew to his face in surprise.
Selwyn's eyes narrowed slightly. That spell wasn't in the standard first-year curriculum. Curious. He watched the motion carefully, committing both the incantation and the wand movement to memory. Reproducing it himself would take only a few attempts.
"How did you—" Harry began, but Hermione cut him off in a rush of words.
"I read about it. Picked it up before school. You see, I've read all our course books cover to cover — and a few others besides. Bought them in a second-hand shop, right on the edge of Diagon Alley. They had such a fascinating selection—"
She carried on at such a speed that Harry's mouth closed again. Even Selwyn, normally entertained by chaos, felt a headache prick behind his eyes. His patience, already strained from Ron's endless bickering, was fraying fast.
Ron broke first. His knuckles clenched around his wand, his voice cracking as he shouted, "Would you just get out already! Stop bothering us — and Harry!"
The girl froze, her eyes darting back to Harry as though hearing his name for the first time.
"You're Harry Potter?" she asked, her voice dropping to an awed hush. "I've read all about you! There are so many books, you must know—"
Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably, this being the third time that day he'd been forced into a spotlight he never wanted. And today, that was a star of misfortune. His jaw tightened; his patience had worn out, too.
Before he could respond, the carriage door slid open again. Neville Longbottom stumbled in, his round face flushed from exertion.
"Hermione! There you are! I found him!" He held out a squirming, damp toad. "He was under one of the basins down the corridor."
Almost simultaneously, Ron groaned and flopped backward onto the seat. "She's mental, that one."
Selvyn heard him. Neville too had heard him. But thank merlin's saggy balls that that Miss Haughty Granger hadn't.
Selwyn exhaled slowly through his nose, folding his arms once again. He'd managed to needle both Draco and Ron with ease, but this girl… this Hermione… even he had found her insufferable. His lips twitched in the faintest smirk. He gave a small look of defeat at Ron.
Neville stood there, recognizing Ron and his casual.
Hermione gasped, relief flashing in her face as she scooped Trevor into her hands. "Oh, Trevor! I was so worried." She patted him on the arm as if she were the one giving comfort, not receiving it. Then, instead of leaving with him, she turned back toward Ron, her eyes narrowing with renewed focus.
Ron groaned audibly. "Oh, Merlin's beard, not again."
Hermione's chin tilted upward, her bushy hair bouncing as she squared her shoulders. "You're a Weasley, aren't you?" she asked sharply.
Ron blinked, caught off guard. "'Course I am."
"Thought so, read about you lot. Purebloods aren't you?" she said with an air of triumph, as though she had solved a complex puzzle. "But tell me—do you even know what the so-called Muggles you look down on so much think of you lot?"
Ron's ears went red. Clearly, Selvyn had read about them too. Though more thoroughly it seems.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked. Clearly agitated and losing control.
Selwyn leaned back, folding his arms, his smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He could practically see the steam coming out of Ron's ears. Hermione wasn't just bossy — she had teeth. No venom. Just Teeth. She did not latch onto sarcasm, she gave the final blow with blunt words. In short, a know-it-all simpleton.
Hermione, however, wasn't paying Ron much attention anymore. Her eyes had shifted, almost magnetically, to the boy sitting opposite her. The boy with the messy black hair and the lightning-shaped scar.
Harry stiffened under her gaze. He hated it, hated the way her eyes lingered on his forehead as though he were some exhibit in a traveling show.
"That scar," Hermione whispered, stepping closer without asking. "It's extraordinary…"
Harry frowned, instinctively leaning back, but she was already lifting her wand. "It looks almost like a sigil. Do you know what Muggles think magic is, Potter?"
She didn't wait for him to answer. Her wand tip hovered just above the scar, tracing its jagged outline with slow precision.
"We think of magic as funny words. As if—" she drew a shaky breath, her voice dropping to something half-mocking, half-fascinated, "as if saying something strange will make the impossible happen."
Selwyn's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward a little. Her hand was trembling, but her arrogance kept her moving.
Hermione smiled faintly, her eyes never leaving the scar. "Something like… Abracadabra."
The words slipped out as though by accident, but the instant they left her lips, her wand gave a violent shudder. A flash of green erupted from its tip — a light that was not childish, nor silly, nor anything Muggle. It was raw and lethal.
"NO!" Ron shouted, but it was too late.
The jet of green light struck Harry directly in the scar. His eyes widened, his mouth opened in a strangled gasp — and then his body went limp, falling sideways against the seat. His glasses slipped off, clattering uselessly to the floor.
The compartment fell into stunned silence.
Neville dropped Trevor with a startled cry. The toad bounced off Ron's knee and scrambled under the seat, forgotten in an instant.
Hermione stood frozen, her wand still pointed, her face gone pale as parchment. She hadn't meant it — she couldn't have meant it. Yet the afterglow of sickly green still clung to the air, shimmering like a stain.
Ron was the first to move. He scrambled forward, shaking Harry's shoulder with both hands. "Harry? Harry!" His voice cracked, high and desperate. "Wake up! Don't—don't mess about, mate—"
Selwyn, meanwhile, sat very still. His heart was pounding, but his face betrayed none of it. He knew that light. He knew it from the stories, the whispers his nurse had let slip in her half-remembered French. Vol de mort. Flight from death. The Killing Curse. Impossible to block, impossible to misinterpret.
Yet here it was — conjured not by a Death Eater, but by a haughty, overconfident first-year witch who had thought herself clever enough to mimic Muggle trick-words.
Selwyn's lips curved into something unreadable — part smirk, part grimace. "Well," he said softly into the chaos, "this year is going to be far more interesting than I thought."