"Anyone sitting here?" asked the dark-skinned boy at the door, pointing to the seat opposite Albert.
"No, go ahead," Albert replied with a friendly smile. "I'm Albert Anderson."
"Lee Jordan," said the boy, grinning broadly and showing a flash of white teeth. His eyes fell on the book on the table. "You look like a Ravenclaw type. I heard they put all the bookworms there."
Albert chuckled. "As long as it's not Slytherin, I don't really mind where I end up." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few chocolate candies. "Want one?"
"Sure—thanks." Lee unwrapped one, popped it into his mouth, and nodded appreciatively. "Mm, chocolate. My favorite."
"Help yourself if you want more." Albert set several colorful candies on the table. Sharing food was always a good way to break the ice—an old trick that had never failed him.
"I'm hoping for Gryffindor," Lee went on, still chewing. "They say it's the best House. Even Headmaster Dumbledore was in Gryffindor—greatest wizard alive!"
He was talkative and full of energy, his words tumbling out nonstop. But before he could go on, the compartment door slid open again.
Two identical red-haired boys stood there, dripping from the rain.
"You don't mind if we squeeze in, do you?" one of them asked with a grin that didn't match his supposed shyness. "We're late—everywhere else is full, and apparently, the girls aren't too fond of us."
Before Albert could answer, the other spoke up. "I'm George. George Weasley."
"If I were you, I'd dry off first," Lee said with a laugh. "I'm Lee Jordan."
"Albert Anderson," Albert added, closing his book and tucking it into his trunk. He gestured toward the seat beside Lee. "There's room."
"See you in a bit, George," the first twin said, turning to leave—but moments later, he returned with his trunk.
"This is Fred, my twin brother," George said, introducing him properly.
"As if anyone couldn't tell," Lee said, grinning. "You two might want to wear name tags or something."
"Candy?" Albert offered again.
"Oh, cheers. Mum doesn't let us have too many," Fred said, grabbing one. George followed suit.
"Delicious," said George.
"Brilliant," Fred agreed.
Their attention shifted to the snowy owl resting on the seat beside Albert.
"She's beautiful," one twin said, reaching out—only for the owl to glare at him so fiercely that he quickly withdrew his hand.
"She's not fond of strangers," Albert explained lightly. "You might win her over with a nut, though."
Lee tried, but Shera ignored him entirely, eyes half-shut in disinterest.
The train gave a low whistle and began to move, pulling away from the platform with a slow, rhythmic clatter.
"So," Albert said conversationally, "what's the wizarding world like? You're all from wizard families, right?"
"How'd you guess?" Lee asked, surprised.
Albert pointed at their clothes. "They're… a little off. Ordinary people wouldn't dress like that. It's the sort of thing wizards would miss—same way we Muggles don't understand your world."
"Clever," Lee admitted, giving him a thumbs-up. "Hey, there's something at the window."
Albert turned and spotted a grey owl fluttering outside. He opened the window, and it swooped in, scattering rainwater everywhere. Shera hooted irritably, hopping to Albert's shoulder and glaring at the intruder for stealing her nuts.
"Don't be angry—it's just a few nuts. I'll get you more later," Albert murmured, stroking her head.
Lee leaned forward, curiosity bright in his eyes. "You really don't act like a Muggle-born, you know. Most wouldn't even know how to handle an owl properly. Mind if I take a look?"
"Go ahead," Albert said, lifting Shera from his shoulder and setting her aside. The owl was heavier than she looked.
Lee unfolded the damp newspaper the grey owl had been carrying. "Ah, The Daily Prophet. Let's see… 'Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold to retire after 1990.'" He raised his eyebrows. "There's a rumor Dumbledore might take her place."
"My dad says Dumbledore could've been Minister ages ago if he wanted," Fred said dismissively.
"Then who else has a chance?" George asked. "Hey, they're even running a betting pool here."
Albert leaned forward with interest. Of course, he already knew who would win in the end. "If I wanted to join the guessing game, how would I do it?"
"Gambling's not really a good idea, you know," Lee said seriously.
"A small wager never hurt anyone," Albert replied with a half-smile. He set his wand upright on the table and let it fall naturally to one side. "Ollivander said this wand brings me luck—so… let's go with Cornelius Fudge. My bet's on him to become the next Minister, assuming this is a legitimate pool."
The other three stared at him, dumbfounded.
"You're actually serious?" Fred asked after a pause.
"I haven't decided yet," Albert said calmly. "I don't know enough about your world to risk much."
"No, The Prophet's game is real," said George. "People win prizes all the time. But Fudge's odds are four to one—he's not even the favorite!"
"Exactly," Albert said with a knowing smile. "The favorites usually don't win. They're the decoys—the ones fate throws in for drama."
He took the paper, read the rules carefully, and then pulled a quill from his trunk. On a small piece of parchment, he wrote his name, chose Cornelius Fudge, and noted down his stake. Then, to the shock of everyone present, he counted out twenty-five gleaming Galleons and dropped them into a small pouch.
The three others could only gape.
Twenty-five Galleons—enough to make any of them feel faint.
When Shera took the pouch and letter in her beak and disappeared into the rainy sky, none of them had yet found their words again.