The light was mostly blocked by thick curtains, and the swaying carriage made one feel drowsy just sitting in it.
"Click—"
The carriage door opened and a figure flashed in along with the thin light, then "disappeared" into the shadows.
"Haha, came up empty-handed, didn't you?"
"Who are you?!"
Malfoy's voice suddenly rang out in the darkness, carrying the tremble of adolescent fear.
But the person in the dark had evidently seen through the truth—"Stop pretending, you noticed me long ago—interesting little guy, my disguise should have been perfect, how on earth did you—but never mind, hey, interested in a deal?" The "sticky" voice flowed slowly through the darkness like venom.
"Who are you really?"
Malfoy's voice regained some composure. Indeed, he had sensed this person the moment they appeared at the station—but who would have thought they had followed him onto the train, even invisibly sat in his carriage in the afternoon, all because he had given them an extra glance, damn it! Are all Black Wizards so aggressive now?
Don't they know to keep social distance?
At the moment of truth, he chose to walk out of the carriage nonchalantly, conveniently driving away a few oblivious followers, and then started seeking help on the train—
And then, those damn Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Cedric Diggory were nowhere to be found after the morning meeting in the Prefects' carriage—besides them, was there anyone else who could summon William Richard?
... Probably not?
So, Malfoy began to consider what he should do, knowing that facing it head-on would lead to no good end...
Drag all the train's students into it? Bet that the other side wouldn't kill everyone?
Malfoy admitted he had the thought, but... conscience prevented him from leaving the lives of everyone on the train in the hands of an unknown person, so he chose to return to the carriage to face it alone.
It wasn't out of selflessness, but he had guessed that the other wouldn't kill him, otherwise, they wouldn't have let him leave the carriage.
—Unless he was one of those crazy people like Voldemort, whose brains were in their backsides, then he still had a way out.
"Isn't your relationship with that Potter not very good?"
The person in the dark clearly didn't want to reveal their identity. Malfoy could feel a snake-like gaze sweeping over him back and forth. He shook his head, "It's okay, much better than you think, we could actually be relatives..." Saying this, Malfoy began counting on his fingers—
"My mother and his godfather are siblings, so that makes us brothers; the Malfoy family actually isn't very far from the Potter family in ancestry, my grandfather's grandfather's grandfather is his grandfather's grandfather's grandmother's uncle... so this makes us..."
"...No one cares about your family tree."
The person in the dark interrupted Malfoy's genealogical calculations, filling the darkness with silence once more.
No one knows how long it lasted, maybe just a few seconds, or maybe long as a whole year.
"Will you cooperate?"
The voice asked again, but this time added an explanation, "I'll help you deal with everyone you find unpleasant in your sight—like that Potter..."
"Pleasure to cooperate."
Malfoy nodded repeatedly, like pounding garlic.
"...I haven't even said what I'll do."
"Anyway, pleasure to cooperate!"
Malfoy's tone was utterly sincere, he even reached out in the dark to shake fingers with the other—the fingers were withered, hollow, without any elasticity, like holding the hand of a corpse—but the boy didn't flinch, instead, he shook it repeatedly, "No matter what, as long as you mess with Harry Potter, we're good partners!"
"...Aren't you brothers?"
"Cousins."
...
"You two didn't come back all day? Where were you?"
At the Gryffindor table, Ron finally saw the sneaky Harry and Hermione, who were sitting together, whispering about something.
"...You'll know in due time."
Interrupted, Harry quickly waved a hand, planning to brush it off—after a whole day of playing Wizard Chess, a slightly dazed Ron merely pursed his lips and let it go—and as the two began to chat idly, the side of the hall was pushed open, and a group of first-year little wizards were led in by Professor McGonagall.
Tom stood among the other first-year students, appearing a bit shorter.
As the boy approached the faculty seats, he keenly captured a few familiar faces—
William, who was lazily chatting with a short professor beside him, resting his chin on his hand; the white-bearded old man, Dumbledore, who cast a gentle gaze in his direction; and Lupin, who was sitting on William's other side, staring dazedly at his shoes—
There were also a few unfamiliar faces, but they all seemed to be paying attention to him—for example, the old man sitting beside Dumbledore, grinning with only a few teeth left; and the sullen-faced, oily-haired... not-so-fair-skinned man in black robes... he looked somewhat like the middle-aged priest next door to the orphanage.
So, Tom blinked and put on an innocent smile.
Then he stopped looking at the faculty, as the first-year students had turned their bodies, all looking toward the front, to the hat placed on a chair, which could decide their next seven years of school environment and whether they would catch arthritis or old cold legs—
He remembered how William had asked him last night which house he wanted to join, saying he could help open the back door—now it seemed he still had to go through the "high-stakes exam"?
"Tom Riddle!"
Professor McGonagall had already called his name. The boy walked forward calmly, sitting on the stool under everyone's gaze, while Professor Meow placed the old and tattered Sorting Hat on his head.
The brim fell, covering the boy's sight.
"Uh... it's you—"
A sharp voice rang in Tom's ear. The boy instinctively wanted to reply but then heard an "uh," as if the voice's owner was choked.
Then, the hat was silent for about tens of seconds.
This took quite a bit of time, at least more than the children before Tom, whose houses were decided the moment the hat touched their heads. So, in the silent hall, the boy on stage was particularly eye-catching, and many thought the hat was carefully considering.
The hat also wanted to deliberate—but perhaps it should struggle more now?
"Gryffindor—Gryffindor! Gryffindor!!!"
The hat hysterically shouted several times, obviously, it failed to struggle.
Watching the boy warmly welcomed by the Gryffindor students, Dumbledore frowned, feeling that things weren't so simple.
So, the old man turned his head to look, but someone was calmly eating the ham on his plate.