Just as the "Golden Trio" had finished their initial assembly, and the atmosphere in the compartment had settled into a delicate balance of "awkward but novel" and "bickering but bonding"—with Harry and Ron studying their Chocolate Frog Cards while Hermione began enthusiastically recounting interesting snippets from A History of Hogwarts—the battered compartment door was yanked open with a loud clatter. It was the fifth time that afternoon, and by far the rudest.
This time, the newcomers made quite an entrance.
At their head was a boy with platinum-blond hair. Every strand lay perfectly in place, shining with an expensive, icy gleam in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. His chin was lifted at just the right angle, and his face wore an arrogant expression that mixed boredom with disdain, as if he weren't here to ride a train but to inspect the garden of his own estate.
Two hulking henchmen trailed behind him like ghosts, built like calves that had grown far too quickly.
They stood on either side of him like soulless stone gateposts, blocking the already narrow aisle completely. Neither had much of an expression; their dull eyes, radiating sheer physical menace, swept over everyone in the compartment like searchlights.
Draco Malfoy had arrived in grand style, accompanied by his two trusty "henchmen," Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.
"So it's true," Malfoy drawled in a lazy voice that made you want to punch him on sight, filling the small compartment with undisguised mockery and superiority. "They were all saying Harry Potter was in this compartment. I came over to see for myself."
His gaze lingered for a second on Harry's messy black hair and worn clothes, then moved to Ron, as if he'd spotted mud on an expensive shoe. It swept over him slowly and deliberately, full of contempt.
"Well, look at that bright red hair, that freckled face, and those clothes..." Malfoy's mouth curled into an expression of utter disdain. He didn't even bother looking at the second-hand textbooks in Ron's hands. "Did you dig them out of your father's wardrobe? You're obviously a Weasley."
Ron's face flushed scarlet in an instant, like a boiled prawn. But this time, it wasn't from shyness or embarrassment. It was pure anger at being humiliated in public. He clenched his fists, and the battered wand wrapped round and round with shiny magical tape gave a strained creak in his trembling hand.
Harry immediately stood up. Though he was shorter than Ron, he instinctively stepped in front of his friend and stared at Malfoy with a cold, fearless gaze. "What do you want?"
"Oh? Potter, I'm only kindly reminding you to choose your friends carefully." Malfoy ignored Harry's hostility and pressed on, speaking down to him like an experienced aristocrat lecturing a country bumpkin. "You'll soon discover that some wizarding families are simply born more noble than others. You wouldn't want to mix with the wrong sort and lower your standing, would you? I, Draco Malfoy, can help you with that."
As he spoke, he held out a meticulously cared-for hand, so pale it looked like a girl's. His expression suggested that letting Harry join his side was the greatest honor he'd ever receive.
Harry glanced at the outstretched, spotless hand, then at Malfoy's utterly punchable face. Without a moment's hesitation, he refused in a crisp, decisive tone. "I think I can tell for myself who the wrong sort are, thanks."
The confident look on Malfoy's face froze instantly. He clearly hadn't expected Harry Potter—the legendary figure who'd grown up in the wizarding world and ought to understand "how things worked"—to reject his "kind offer" so bluntly in front of his own cronies.
His face turned from white to red, then from red to green, like a chameleon.
"I'd be careful what you say, Potter." He slowly withdrew his hand. The lazy drawl had vanished, replaced by a cold, venomous hiss. "Unless you want to end up like your stupid parents. They didn't know how to read the situation, either. Mixing with Mudbloods and people like the Weasleys never leads to anything good."
The moment the word "Mudblood" left his mouth, Hermione's face turned deathly pale.
But the words "your parents" completely ignited Harry and Ron's fury.
"Say that again!" Ron finally snapped. He sprang to his feet like an angry young lion, reaching for his wand, which looked ready to backfire at any moment.
Hermione also stood up, outraged. Though she might not yet understand all the malice in Malfoy's words, she could tell they were deeply insulting. "Hey! How can you talk like that? You should apologize to them!"
A bloody "three-on-three gang fight" between Hogwarts first-years was on the verge of erupting in their small, pitiful compartment. Harry and Ron might not stand a chance against the three of them together—especially with Crabbe and Goyle's mountain-like builds. Just standing there, they made it hard to breathe.
Just as the tension peaked and the air seemed ready to freeze solid,
Lin Yuan, who had been sitting quietly as if none of this concerned him, let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh.
He'd honestly only wanted to read in peace and study the fundamental laws of this world, preparing himself thoroughly for the studies ahead.
After all, the road to immortality was long, and every second ought to be devoted to the great work of "analyzing the world and making it one's own."
Not to watching a bunch of eleven-year-old brats play at being aristocrats.
"What a nuisance," Lin Yuan muttered to himself, though his face remained as calm as ever, wearing the expression of someone who was saying, "Do as you like. I'm just part of the scenery."
He slowly closed the Standard Book of Spells in his hands.
"Looks like theoretical research will have to pause for now. It's time for a little... practical application."
Before you continue