The train was steadily making its way to Hogwarts.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
Harry looked up to see a quiet boy with red hair and freckles standing in the doorway.
"No, go ahead," Harry replied.
The boy thanked him, put away his luggage, and sat down across from Harry, casually gazing out the window while occasionally stealing glances at Harry.
Harry thought, That red hair must belong to that family…
"Hi," Harry greeted. "I'm Harry Potter."
"Ronald Weasley. Call me Ron," the boy said, extending his hand and shaking Harry's firmly.
Weasley?
Harry's heart skipped a beat, and he quickly asked, "Weasley? Did you say your last name is Weasley?"
"Yes," Ron replied, somewhat confused.
Shouldn't I be the one asking the questions? Why is the 'savior' asking me instead...?
However, Harry was thinking of Matilda Weasley, the Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor, who had taken such good care of him at school, and of his good friend Gareth Weasley.
A sudden silence fell between them, and Ron decided to break it.
"So, you really..."
At that moment, Ron suddenly remembered his mother's warning and quickly swallowed the question about the scar.
"Really what?" Harry asked.
"Do you really live with Muggles?" Ron abruptly changed the subject. "I heard that's true. Is it?"
"Yes," Harry nodded. "I live with my aunt and uncle. They're both Muggles."
"What are they like?" Ron asked.
"Not very good. They're very resistant to magic," Harry shrugged, a hint of envy in his voice. "I wish I had two older brothers."
"You'll see how annoying they can be when you get some," Ron shuddered, a trace of fear in his eyes. "I've got five older brothers and one younger sister."
"Wow..." Harry exclaimed, genuinely impressed.
A big, prosperous family like that had always been his dream.
God knows how much I wished I had some brothers with the last name Potter, to stick up for me when I got bullied.
Ron, however, seemed a little unhappy.
"I'm the sixth in my family to come to Hogwarts. At home, Mum always tells me to admire them—my oldest brother, Bill, is Head Boy; my second brother, Charlie, is the captain of the Quidditch team; my third brother, Percy, just became a prefect; Fred and George, though always getting into trouble, still get top marks, and everyone thinks they're amazing."
"So, you feel a lot of pressure," Harry nodded, understanding. "Because your family expects you to be just as good as they are."
"No," Ron said irritably, "if you've got five brothers, you never get anything new. I wear Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and I have a rat Percy didn't want."
With that, Ron pulled a fat, sleeping rat out of his pocket.
"Look, this is Scabbers," Ron said awkwardly. "He's pretty old and always asleep. Percy became a prefect, and Dad rewarded him with an owl, so he gave me this rat instead."
Realizing he'd said too much, Ron fell silent, gazing out the window.
He didn't want his new friend to think badly of him.
"Look, Ron," Harry said, tugging at his shirt. "These are my cousin Dudley's old clothes. They're so big they look like maternity clothes. I've been wearing his hand-me-downs as long as I can remember, never had new clothes. You know, Dudley's the same age as me, but he's huge, and I'm really thin, so his clothes fit me just fine..."
The most precious thing in the world is empathy.
Harry's words made Ron realize that, after all, he wasn't so unlucky. He felt that Harry wasn't just being polite; he genuinely understood his situation.
Shared embarrassing moments could quickly create a bridge between two people.
As they continued talking, the train had already left London.
At the same time, a noise from the corridor caught their attention.
A smiling woman with dimples pushed the compartment door open and asked, "Dear, would you like something?"
It was lunchtime. The train had departed promptly at eleven, and Harry had irritated Uncle Vernon again, so he hadn't had lunch yet.
He was really hungry.
"No, I've got sandwiches, thanks," Ron said, lowering his head shyly.
Harry stood up and walked to the corridor, saying, "Just a little of everything, thanks."
Although he had attended school six years ago, a century ago, Harry was only sixteen now. Deep down, he was still just a kid.
He had some resistance to snacks, but not much.
The snack cart woman picked a few items for him, and when Harry paid, he gave her a Galleon, three Sickles, and four Bronze Knuts.
He carried the snacks back to the compartment, where Ron stared at them intently, unblinking.
Harry knew, of course, that his friend was getting hungry.
"You're really hungry," Ron said with conviction.
"Yeah, I'm starving," Harry said, offering Ron a pumpkin pasty.
"No, mate," Ron replied, pulling a sandwich from a box. "Mum made this sandwich for me to eat in the car... she never remembers that I don't like canned meat."
"I'll trade you for one of these," Harry offered the pumpkin pasty.
"You won't like it," Ron grumbled. "She has to look after all five of us, she doesn't have time—"
"Alright," Harry smiled.
He eventually convinced Ron. In fact, after Ron took a bite of the pumpkin pasty, he didn't touch the sandwich again. Harry, understanding perfectly, didn't mention it and put his own piece down on the table.
"It's really good," Harry took a bite of the pasty and pulled out a Chocolate Frog box.
"You actually bought Chocolate Frogs?" Ron asked, surprised.
"Yeah," Harry opened the box, "I got these at Diagon Alley once, they even have cards inside. But I'm not really interested in the cards, the Chocolate Frogs are really good."
"Well, let me ask you a favor, mate," Ron said quickly, "If you ever go by car to Agriba and Portola, you've got to save these for me."
"Don't worry," Harry nodded and took out the card.
"Oh, it's Dumbledore!" he whispered.
/------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------/
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