Chapter 105: Free-for-All
"Really?" Wednesday finally lifted her head and looked at Hermione.
"If you want to read it, I can lend it to you once I'm finished," Wednesday said. Her mood had noticeably improved—finding someone with similar interests was no easy thing.
Of course, she had misunderstood slightly. Hermione wanted to read the book simply because she loved reading, not because she was particularly fond of its themes.
"Really? Thank you so much!" Hermione beamed, flashing her beaver-like front teeth.
As Hermione shifted to the side, Neville—who had been standing behind her—was revealed.
"So it's you, Longbottom," Russell said, standing up. "I was getting a bit stiff anyway. I'll come with you and help look."
He glanced at Wednesday and saw that her attention had already returned to her book. Clearly, she had no intention of joining them. After quietly saying a word to her, Russell stepped out of the compartment.
"Thank you so much—you're really kind," Hermione said gratefully. "I've asked a lot of students already, but not a single one was willing to help us search."
Russell didn't think much of it. That was perfectly normal—who would willingly give up time with their friends just to help a stranger look for a pet?
Even he had only come out because he didn't feel like watching Cedric and Cho feed everyone dog food with their public displays of affection.
They checked compartment after compartment, but there was still no sign of Trevor the toad. Along the way, some people were polite, while others were downright rude, leaving Hermione increasingly irritated.
"It was just a question," she complained indignantly. "Was it really necessary to be that nasty?"
Earlier, when she'd opened one compartment door, the people inside had outright told them to get lost.
"Sorry—maybe you were dragged into this because of me," Russell said, trying to comfort her. As for the hostility, he already had a rough idea of why it was happening.
"Why?" Hermione frowned, clearly unconvinced. She thought Russell was just saying that to make her feel better.
"Do you know about the House Cup?"
"Of course!" Hermione replied immediately. "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History. The House Cup is the annual honor contested by the four Hogwarts houses—"
She launched enthusiastically into a full explanation.
Russell felt a headache coming on. He hadn't expected her to go on at such length—she was even reciting the history of the House Cup.
"Stop, stop—that's enough," he said, raising a hand to cut her off.
Neville's eyes were filled with admiration. There was no way he could remember so much—he hadn't even known what the House Cup was before today.
"To put it simply," Russell said calmly, "last year Slytherin had already won the House Cup and was in the middle of celebrating. I did something… rather insignificant, which brought the score up to a tie. In the end, Ravenclaw and Slytherin shared the Cup."
"That's probably why they don't like me," he added lightly.
A House Cup wasn't that big a deal anyway. Once the Chosen One arrived, Slytherin would probably go seven straight years without touching it.
"How can they be like that?" Hermione said indignantly. "Slytherin is just awful!"
Neville nodded along enthusiastically. "Someone like Malfoy is definitely going to end up in Slytherin. I'd bet on it."
On that point, Neville was absolutely right.
"Mr. Fisone," Hermione said thoughtfully, "what do you think of Ravenclaw? I mean… from what I've read, it values wisdom above all else. I feel like I might be sorted there."
"Just call me Russell," he said. He wasn't used to being addressed so formally.
"It's pretty good," Russell replied. "There are a few annoying people, but the Head of House is great."
By "a few," he was naturally referring to his wonderful former roommate—someone who had only been replaced after nearly a year. Thinking back, Russell still felt uneasy. He'd lived with a Dark wizard for almost an entire year.
Next time he saw Dumbledore, he was definitely asking for emotional compensation.
He wasn't picky—just a few pounds of phoenix feathers would do.
---
At that very moment, in the Headmaster's office, Fawkes suddenly jolted awake from his nap.
He sensed something… malicious.
The phoenix twisted its head alertly, scanning the room—but found nothing.
"Hey, stupid bird, over here!"
Former Headmaster Black shouted loudly from his portrait, clearly delighted that Fawkes had woken up. After all, the phoenix was old now—past its prime.
"Black, don't do that," said a female headmistress from a neighboring portrait. "Have you forgotten what happened last time you provoked it?"
"Relax," Black snorted smugly. "Ever since that incident, Albus enchanted my canvas. Even at full strength, that bird wouldn't be able to scratch it."
There was a reason he'd been voted the worst Headmaster in Hogwarts history.
A glint of cunning flashed through Fawkes's eyes.
With a slow flap of its wings, the phoenix lifted off and gently perched atop Black's portrait frame.
"Wait—what are you doing?" Black suddenly felt a deep sense of dread.
Moments later, a clear liquid began dripping down the canvas.
"AHHH! You filthy bird!"
Black panicked, scrambling to flee into another portrait—only to find every neighboring frame's door slammed shut.
"Damn it! It's dripping into my office!"
His expression turned ashen as a large wet stain spread across the carpet.
"It looks like you two are getting along quite well," Dumbledore said mildly, appearing soundlessly as he lifted Fawkes off the portrait.
"Albus! Help me!" Black pleaded, as though seeing his last hope.
Dumbledore smiled, waved his wand, and the soaked canvas instantly dried.
"That's phoenix urine," he said serenely. "Same properties as phoenix tears—neutralizes all poisons."
"How is that the same thing?" Black muttered, closing his eyes in despair.
Dumbledore's smile slowly faded as he gazed out the window, lost in thought.
"Harry…"
---
Unbeknownst to him, the boy he was thinking about was currently on the Hogwarts Express—engaged in something very different.
While searching for Trevor, Russell and the others suddenly heard loud noises coming from a nearby compartment. It sounded like a fight—or something far more inappropriate.
"Harry, my butt really hurts!"
That was followed by sharp gasps of pain.
"Ron, clamp it! Clamp it!"
"Crabbe! Goyle! You useless idiots! You can't even handle a Weasley—AH! He grabbed my—!"
A shrill scream echoed down the corridor, leaving anyone who heard it with a deep sense of sorrow.
Unbelievable. A party in public—and they didn't even invite him.
Russell yanked the door open and declared righteously,
"This is the sacred Hogwarts Express, not the Magic Mirror."
Inside were five bodies tangled together in a twisted heap, clothes torn and disheveled.
The battle was intense.
Ron alone was restraining Crabbe and Goyle—well, technically being pinned to the floor by them.
Malfoy had one arm viciously caught in Ron's scissor lock, while his other hand clutched Harry's nose for dear life.
Harry's ankles were held by Crabbe and Goyle, leaving his hands free to yank savagely at Malfoy's hair. A clump of blond strands was still clenched in one fist.
So that was what he'd grabbed earlier. Russell clicked his tongue, disappointed.
Crabbe and Goyle tried pulling Harry off Malfoy—but instead of grabbing Harry's arms, they just kept yanking him backward, causing Malfoy's screams to grow even more pitiful.
"Oh my goodness, stop it!" Hermione cried, covering her eyes—though the gaps between her fingers were suspiciously wide.
"Malfoy! That's for insulting my parents!"
Neville suddenly surged forward, as if he'd taken a Strengthening Potion. Before Russell could stop him, he charged straight in.
The sheer momentum startled Harry so badly that he instinctively let go.
Crabbe and Goyle, pulling too hard, toppled backward and cracked their heads against the table corner, howling in pain.
"Well done!" Malfoy gasped, wrenching his arm free from Ron's legs. He sniffed his hand, grimaced in disgust, and shook it violently.
Just as he tried to stand, a solid body slammed into him again, pinning him flat.
"Help me—!" His hands flailed wildly in the air.
"Harry!" Ron shouted. Freed at last, he saw his newly made friend being pummeled by Crabbe and Goyle. Without thinking, he dug into his pocket and hurled his pet rat at Crabbe.
"Scabbers! Crawl in there and bite him! Bite him!"
Hermione's face twisted in disgust.
"I really can't believe wizards keep rats as pets. Toads, I can understand—they're useful for spell practice and potion testing."
Russell silently agreed, his gaze turning cold as it fell upon Scabbers.
Inside that rat's body lurked a filthy soul.
Scabbers darted straight up Crabbe's trouser leg.
Crabbe's grin froze instantly.
He felt something furry crawling upward—goosebumps exploding across his skin.
"OH—OH—!"
He shrieked, releasing Harry and hopping wildly, desperately trying to shake it loose.
"It's in my pants! Goyle, help me! HELP ME!"
His voice was filled with terror, as though he were about to suffer some unspeakable violation.
Goyle immediately dropped Harry's other leg and turned his attention downward. Spotting a suspicious bulge, his eyes lit up.
With a triumphant grin, he reached down and grabbed hard.
"Got you, little thing!"
---