On the Train

Neville pulled a fat gray toad from his pocket, and Harry instinctively shuffled a few steps inward.

Neville, completely oblivious to their distaste, cupped his precious toad in both hands and was about to speak, but the next moment the squat toad gave a sudden lunge, leaping straight from Neville's grasp toward the still-open compartment door.

"Trevor!"

Neville let out an instinctive shriek, his clumsy body just rising as the toad bounced again, appearing at the doorway. Just as it seemed about to vanish from sight with its next hop, a slightly resigned voice rang through the compartment.

"Trevor Accio."

"Croak."

The toad's disappearing form shot backward, flying straight toward a wide-eyed Hermione.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

Damon cast again, suspending the toad in midair—he had no desire to touch it.

"Trevor!"

Neville sighed in relief and hurried forward to grab the toad. Hermione sidestepped and slid the compartment door shut to prevent another escape.

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome."

Facing Neville's gratitude, Damon tried to smile politely but found himself leaning back as the toad was shoved right in his face.

Neville finally seemed to realize not everyone treasured his toad. He settled back into his seat, both hands clamped tightly around Trevor, ensuring it couldn't move again.

Harry and Hermione silently exhaled in relief, then immediately grew excited again.

"Accio! You know Accio too!" Hermione's earlier haughtiness was gone. "You must be from a wizarding family, right?"

"No, I'm an orphan. I taught myself all this from spellbooks."

"Oh! Sorry." Hermione quickly apologized.

Damon nodded, not lingering on the topic—after all, the one who'd truly lost his parents was sitting right beside him. Harry looked at Damon, who had also lost his parents, and suddenly felt a kinship.

Though Harry had it a bit better—he still had the Dursleys. Oh, maybe that was worse than nothing.

As they talked, the train had already left London.

They sped past fields dotted with cattle and sheep. For a moment, they fell silent, watching the meadows and pastures glide by.

Hermione finally couldn't contain her restlessness, turning to the reading Damon.

"Magical Defense Theory? I've already finished this book. I have to say, some of the theories are quite profound—I don't fully understand them yet, but I've memorized everything. I'll have plenty of time to figure it out later."

Snap.

Damon closed the book and turned to the brown-haired girl. The midday sun streamed through the window, catching her eyelashes with a hint of radiance. "No, you don't understand, and it has nothing to do with how profound the theories are."

"In fact, I think this book is pure armchair speculation. The magical theories in it are too airy, with no practical value—at least not for young wizards like us."

As Damon spoke, his upright figure in the white shirt was also bathed in warm light. With his confident tone, not just Hermione but even Harry and Neville beside him were momentarily stunned.

They exchanged glances—they were all first-years, so why did he seem so much more mature and composed?

Hermione's gaze lingered on Damon for a few seconds, caught off guard.

In truth, a wave of resentment instinctively rose in her heart—after all, she had spent considerable time and effort studying that book, and now Damon was dismissing it as worthless.

At the same time, her rationality told her he might not be entirely wrong.

A competitive spark flared within her. She pressed on:

"Then what, in your opinion, is truly effective theory?"

Damon was about to answer when a loud clatter echoed down the corridor. A smiling, dimpled woman slid open their compartment door and asked:

"Anything from the trolley, dears?"

Harry hadn't eaten anything since morning, so he jumped up at once. Damon also set down his book and rose, saying to Hermione:

"There's plenty of time. We'll talk later."

To him, two novices who barely knew any magic bickering over theory was far less appealing than the wizarding world's snacks.

"Everything you have, three of each, please, ma'am."

"Are you sure, dear?" The Trolley Witch looked a bit puzzled, curiosity in her eyes. "That won't be cheap—two Galleons and three Sickles—"

"Three Galleons. Keep the change."

Damon handed over three Galleons without hesitation, took all the food, and dumped it onto his seat.

Beside him, Harry was still hovering over the snack cart, muttering:

"I'll take this, and that. Oh, and I'll try this too."

He suddenly caught sight of Damon's decisive move and froze.

"Harry, have some of mine." Damon pushed the snacks toward him, his tone light. "I bought these to share with everyone—if you don't mind."

"Uh—sure—I mean, thank you."

Hermione watched Damon sit back down, looking somewhat displeased.

Her eyes widened as she spoke indignantly:

"You're way too extravagant! Goodness! Didn't you say you were an orphan? Are you some runaway from a fallen noble family?"

"I was pretty well-known in the Muggle world once. That helped me earn a lot of money."

Damon smiled, said no more, and casually tossed a pack of Chocolate Frogs to Neville.

"What's this?" Harry couldn't help asking. "They're not real frogs, are they?"

"No, not at all. Look at the card inside—I'm collecting these."

Neville opened the Chocolate Frog, took out the card, and showed it to Harry.

The card bore a man's face, wearing a pair of half-moon spectacles, with a crooked, long nose and flowing silver hair and beard. The name beneath the card read: Albus Dumbledore.

"Oh, it's Dumbledore!" Harry said.

"Is Dumbledore the most common card or something?"

Damon also pulled out a Dumbledore card. He felt the old bee's gaze at him was a bit odd, somewhat unsettling—in his understanding, Dumbledore was a pure Machiavellianist.

That is: willing to use any means to achieve his ends, even if it meant ignoring some morals and making sacrifices.

From the very first moment he met Harry Potter and discovered the Soul Fragment of Voldemort on him, Dumbledore had already made the decision to let Harry die at the Dark Lord's hands. It was only through their subsequent interactions that he gradually changed this idea.

[For the Greater Good]

These words were a consensus between two people, not exclusive to Grindelwald. In fact, although the elderly Dumbledore had grown much softer, he still adhered to this principle at certain moments—even if it cost him his own life.

Once that old bee discovered his talent, what kind of thoughts would he have?

Still, there wasn't much to worry about. After all, Dumbledore was a good person, no matter what.

What he had to do was simply keep improving his strength, to avoid becoming a sacrifice in the extremely low-probability scenario of defeating the Dark Lord.

As Damon thought these things, he flipped the card back to the front, but Dumbledore's face had suddenly vanished.

Next, Neville and Harry discussed the cards on the Chocolate Frogs, while Hermione picked up a Cauldron Cake, keeping her eyes fixed on Damon, waiting for an opportunity to resume their earlier conversation.

As for Damon, he just leisurely savored one novel food after another.

Fizzing Whizbees, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, Fizzy Lifting Drinks, Caramel Owl Eggs, Magic Jelly, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans—uh, scratch that last one.

Damon set down the Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, his expression complicated.

He had no desire to eat feces, not even with a one-in-ten-thousand chance!

"Oh no! I got the owl poop flavor!"

Neville suddenly shrieked beside him, and the compartment erupted in laughter.