The compartment door gave a rhythmic creak, sliding open just enough for Lee Jordan to poke his head in. He looked like he'd been running, his hair a bit wild, but his eyes lit up the moment they settled on the scene inside: Sheila the owl glaring down from the rack and Tom the cat sprawled across the seat, looking profoundly annoyed.
"Is that your cat?" Lee asked, eyeing the orange mass on the upholstery.
"What else would it be? A localized weather phenomenon?" Albert remarked, not looking up from his book.
Lee grinned, clearly unfazed by the sarcasm, and reached out a hand toward Tom's forehead. He retracted it a millisecond later as Tom lashed out with a paw that was more speed and malice than he looked capable of.
"Blimey, he's got a temper," Lee chuckled, pulling his suitcase into the corner. "He looks even wider than in the photos you sent."
"He's in a mood. Being cooped up makes him irritable," Albert said, scooping Tom up and depositing him on his lap, where the cat immediately curled into a ball, his purring rumble vibrating through the compartment. He reached up and scratched Sheila's head, silencing her indignant clicking. "And you, you're acting like a diva. Back to the cage, please."
Lee didn't mind the chaos. He was already rummaging through his bag, pulling out a small, ventilated box and setting it on the table with a triumphant flourish. "Forget the cat, Albert. Look at this beauty. My uncle picked it up in South Africa and sent it over just for me."
Albert squinted at the contents of the box. Inside, a spider the size of a dinner plate paced restlessly, its back covered in patterns of neon-orange and electric blue. It looked less like a pet and more like a warning sign from nature.
"Lee," Albert said slowly, his voice flat, "are you aware that in the natural world, if something is wearing a neon sign that says 'I am brightly colored,' it's usually telling you that a single bite will turn your blood into sludge?"
"It's a Bagman's spider," Lee said, sounding incredibly proud of his dangerous new companion. "Vastly rare. My uncle said it's practically royalty."
"Your uncle sounds like he's trying to clear out his inheritance," Albert observed. "Did he happen to mention the recovery time for a bite, or does he just consider that a 'surprise'?"
Lee paused, his brow furrowing as the reality of the question hit him. "He didn't really say."
"Then for the love of Merlin, keep the lid shut. Most spiders that look like they belong in a nightclub are the ones that kill you the fastest." Albert shifted Tom away from the box, as the cat had begun to eye the spider with the same predatory interest he usually reserved for tuna. "What does that thing eat, anyway? It doesn't look like it's interested in standard pellets."
"Oh, you know, insects, the occasional frog, maybe a mouse if I can catch one," Lee said vaguely.
Albert stared at him, then let out a long, long sigh. "We're going to Hogwarts, Lee. Not the Amazon jungle. Where exactly do you plan on sourcing live frogs in the middle of a dungeon or a tower? You're going to be that kid who's chasing amphibians through the Great Hall during dinner, aren't you?"
"What about your cat, then?" Lee shot back, gesturing at the snoring ginger ball. "What's he going to eat? Do you expect him to hunt for his own supper in the castle walls?"
"I came prepared," Albert said, pulling a bag of high-grade, nutrient-dense kibble from his trunk. Tom, sensing the familiar rustle of the packaging, cracked one eye open and tried to stick a paw in, only for Albert to give him a gentle, corrective tap on the head. "And if he gets bored, there's always the lake. I've got fishing gear. We'll survive."
Lee's eyes moved from the bag of cat food to his spider box, and his shoulders slumped. He clearly hadn't brought anything for the spider to eat. "If it gets hungry, I suppose I could just... release it into the Forbidden Forest? It's a forest, right? Nature knows what to do."
"You're going to have a great time in Care of Magical Creatures," Albert deadpanned. "You should have just gotten an owl. They're functional, they don't try to kill you, and they can actually help with your post."
"Yeah, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty," Lee muttered, his excitement visibly draining away.
"You're brooding. Stop it," Albert said, checking his watch. "Anyway, why only two? Surely you could have packed a menagerie if you really wanted to test the school's patience."
"They don't let you bring that many!"
"They don't explicitly say you can't," Albert pointed out, eyes twinkling. "They also don't explicitly say you can't roam the halls at three in the morning, but we both know that ends in detention. It's about the spirit of the rule, not the letter."
Lee blinked, processing this. "You're twisted, you know that?"
"I'm observant," Albert corrected him. "And speaking of observation, George and Fred are already on the train. I saw them."
Lee pressed his face against the window, scanning the platform. "I don't see them. You're pulling my leg again, aren't you?"
"I'm not. Give it a minute."
"You're definitely lying." Lee pointed toward the station exit with an accusatory finger. "Look, they just got here with their parents. How could you have seen them 'just now'?"
"I have excellent peripheral vision," Albert lied smoothly.
Lee waved through the glass, catching the twins' attention. Moments later, the compartment door flew open, and the Weasley twins tumbled in, looking breathless and overly energetic.
"Who was talking about Harry Potter?" Fred asked, his eyes dancing with mischief.
Lee jabbed a thumb toward Albert. "He's been playing games again. Said he saw him in his crystal ball last night."
George laughed. "Well, he might not be wrong. There was a scrawny kid with black hair near the back of the train, asking a prefect for directions."
"Is it really him?" Lee jumped up, ready to bolt. "Should we go find him? I bet he's looking for a compartment."
"Sit down," Albert said, grabbing Lee by the sleeve. "Harry Potter is a student, not a zoo attraction. He's going to be at the Sorting Ceremony in an hour, and you'll be sitting ten feet away from him for the next seven years. You'll have plenty of time to stare."
"But he's the Boy Who Lived!" Lee insisted.
"And he's probably just tired and wants to sit down," Albert countered. "Besides, his father was a Gryffindor. He's almost certainly going to end up there, so you'll be sharing a common room. The novelty will wear off by Tuesday."
Lee quieted down, though he looked visibly conflicted. "Do you think he remembers? You know... that night?"
"Lee," Albert said, arching an eyebrow. "Do you remember the specific texture of the floor when you were twelve months old? Do you remember the color of the paint in your crib?"
"Maybe he does! He's Harry Potter!"
Albert looked at the three of them—the twins and Lee—and felt a profound sense of exhaustion. The way people mythologized the kid was already bordering on the absurd. He looked back down at his book, letting the conversation drift into the usual speculation. As the train lurched forward and the platform began to slip away, Albert couldn't help but wonder if the reality of the boy would live up to the massive, impossible shadow he was already casting over the school.