Three uninvited guests burst into the compartment.
To be precise, they were three boys—the one in the lead was pale and slender, with a refined, almost aristocratic air.
Simply put, he looked like a pampered pretty boy.
The other two were both large and broad-shouldered, each standing to one side of the pale boy like his personal bodyguards.
All three seemed to be about Jon's age—perhaps a year or two older at most.
"Vincent, about your father… I'm sorry, but the Dark Lord won't—" The fair-haired boy was speaking to one of the others as he closed the compartment door.
But their conversation cut off abruptly.
They had clearly just noticed that someone else was already sitting inside.
The two hulking "bodyguards" took the seats across from Jon, while the pale boy frowned slightly. Apparently unwilling to squeeze in with them, he instead sat down beside Jon, taking the seat by the aisle.
"Hello. Which House are you in?" The pale-faced boy asked coolly, eyeing his unfamiliar seatmate with mild suspicion.
It was unusual—someone their age whom he didn't recognize. Hogwarts wasn't exactly overflowing with students, after all; unfamiliar faces stood out.
"I don't know yet," Jon said with a shrug. "I'm an exchange student. I haven't been through the Sorting Ceremony."
"An exchange student?" The pale boy frowned.
"Yes." Jon nodded. "I'm transferring into fourth year at Hogwarts. I spent my first three years at Durmstrang."
At the mention of "Durmstrang," the other boy's expression eased a little. His gaze toward Jon softened.
"Oh. This is Crabbe—Vincent Crabbe. And this is Goyle—Gregory Goyle." The pale-faced boy glanced at Jon and added casually, "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."
As he spoke, he extended a hand.
"Patrick. Chris Patrick," Jon replied warmly, shaking Draco Malfoy's hand.
He then stood to shake hands with Crabbe and Goyle as well.
...
The train sped across the rolling plains of central England. Fields, forests, and villages flashed by outside the window in a blur of green and gold.
Inside the compartment, the four boys soon fell into friendly conversation.
Though "conversation" might have been generous—only Jon and Malfoy were really talking, while Crabbe and Goyle occasionally nodded or muttered in agreement.
"Patrick, I don't think Hogwarts has exchange students very often," Draco said curiously. "At least, I've never heard of one before."
"My great-aunt's British. She has some connections with one of the school governors," Jon answered vaguely.
"My father wanted to send me to Durmstrang, actually," Draco said, lounging comfortably against the seat. "He always said their education was far superior. But Mother thought it was too far away, so I didn't go in the end."
"Yeah, Durmstrang's weather is awful," Jon said with a thoughtful nod. "You have to wear heavy coats for about two hundred days a year."
"Hogwarts weather isn't much better. It rains half the year," Draco said with a wry smile. Then, curiosity flickered again in his gray eyes. "I heard Durmstrang's Dark Arts classes are amazing?"
"They're… alright. We don't have Defense Against the Dark Arts, though—it's called Dark Arts Studies," Jon said vaguely.
He tried to keep his answers light. Truthfully, he didn't know that much about Durmstrang—and considering Draco had spent a whole year sharing meals with a dozen Durmstrang students during the Triwizard Tournament, the boy might actually know more about it than he did. Saying too much could expose him.
Luckily, Draco didn't press the topic. He seemed more interested in Jon's family background.
"My parents were both wizards," Jon said. "They died in a magical accident when I was little."
"I'm sorry," Draco said, patting him on the shoulder.
"Well, if you end up in Slytherin," Draco added with a grin, "I'll make sure you're looked after!"
He chuckled, tapping the gleaming silver badge pinned proudly to his robes.
"Draco's a Slytherin Prefect," Goyle said quickly, proud to announce it.
"That's right—a Prefect," Draco said, smirking in satisfaction. The silver badge gleamed, the letter "P" catching the light.
"Oh, right! I should be heading to the Prefects' carriage," Draco said suddenly, standing up. "The Head Boy will be giving instructions soon, and then I need to patrol the corridors."
He waved to Jon. "See you later!"
...
After Malfoy left, only Jon, Crabbe, and Goyle remained in the compartment.
The atmosphere turned a bit heavy, but soon the door slid open again.
A cheerful woman with dimples pushed in a trolley and smiled. "Anything off the trolley, dears?"
All three of them leaned forward immediately.
Jon bought a few pasties and a cup of pumpkin juice.
Crabbe and Goyle, on the other hand, piled up an absurd amount of sweets—Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes—until the table was nearly buried under the haul. Jon doubted they could finish it even in a week.
No wonder they were both built like trolls.
The three sat facing one another and began eating heartily.
"You two sure have impressive appetites," Jon said, making friendly conversation between bites.
Goyle grinned sheepishly, scratching his head. "Yeah, my parents always said the same thing."
"Looks like you and Draco are really close," Jon added, his tone light and flattering.
"Yeah," Crabbe said with a nod. "We've known each other since we were kids."
"So you're childhood swee—uh, childhood friends," Jon said, feigning sudden understanding. "You must've been through a lot together!"
"Of course!" Goyle said proudly, thumping his chest while still chewing on a Chocolate Frog.
The two began recounting stories from their childhood with Draco—tales of mischief, fights, and brag-worthy adventures.
Over the next half hour, they chatted endlessly, and their awkwardness gradually melted into easy camaraderie.
"Hey, Vincent," Jon said casually, guiding the conversation where he wanted it to go. "So that means your father and Draco's father have been best friends since they were kids too, right?"