Hit-and-Run from a Handcart

The first few carriages were already packed with students, so Glen led Harry straight toward the back of the train.

Although Harry's malnutrition made it difficult for him to haul his luggage onto the carriage, with Glen's help, they managed to get everything on board smoothly.

After boarding and sitting down, Harry still asked with some unease, "Is that person really okay?"

Glen didn't answer, just tilted his chin slightly, signaling Harry to look out the window—there was still that red-haired family.

"Bloody hell! Someone actually dared to attack a prefect in front of the Hogwarts Express!" The window was half-open, so the outside noise carried well into the carriage.

A boy scrambled up from the ground, his hair fiery red, and his face the same—from anger.

Harry recognized him at once; it was the one he and Glen had knocked flying twice.

Not far off, the mother of that red-haired family rushed over hurriedly, trailed by four children of various sizes.

"Oh! Percy, are you alright?" Their mother circled the boy anxiously, trying to find any signs of injury.

This boy, called Percy, brushed the dust off his robes. Strangely, he felt no pain at all.

"I'm fine, Mum." Percy said hesitantly, "Maybe as a prefect, they cast a charm on my badge to prevent injury..."

At that, the twin brothers Fred and George, who had been barely holding back their glee, completely lost it.

"Merlin, did you hear that? Percy says prefects can't get hurt when they're hit!"

"Then I know exactly what part got hit..."

Though Percy had emphasized every minute of this summer that he was the new prefect, none of those reminders were as funny as this one sentence.

Even their little sister Ginny and brother Ron couldn't help grinning, despite the accident.

Their mother turned back and shot them a fierce glare, but from the twitching corner of her mouth—

She was struggling too.

"That's enough, you lot..."

"Great, he's fine." Harry let out a sigh of relief.

He didn't want to take responsibility for killing a classmate before even starting school.

"Say," Glen turned his head, suddenly looking serious.

Harry's just-relaxed heart tightened again.

After all, Glen had stayed perfectly calm through two collisions just now—could there be something worse than nearly killing someone?

"What?" Harry held his breath nervously.

"Does this train have a food trolley?"

"..."

"Fred, can you do that again?"

"They cast a charm on the prefect's badge so they won't get hurt..."

The compartment's sliding door opened, and a red-haired new student walked in, unable to suppress his smile.

There was a smudge of dirt on his nose, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Hi, is this seat taken?" He pointed to the spot next to Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry instinctively wanted to nod, but after a moment's thought, shook his head.

Clearly, he still felt some guilt about nearly killing the boy's older brother.

"Uh, so is it taken or not?"

"It's not." Glen replied without any burden on his conscience.

"Alright."

As the boy sat down, a burst of light, cheerful laughter followed, and his twin brothers walked in.

"Ron, Percy's fuming!"

"He actually said Hogwarts should make a rule banning students from racing with luggage trolleys!"

Hearing this, Ron—sitting next to Harry—couldn't hold back his smile and burst out laughing.

He only stopped after Fred and George, the twins, had left.

"Sorry, I know you won't believe this, but just now, one of my brothers got knocked flying by two trolleys, and he's been going on nonstop about those two students fleeing the scene."

It was a decent joke, at least to anyone else hearing it.

But for Glen and Harry, it was a fact.

Just as Harry was thinking of how to change the subject, Glen introduced himself: "Glen Howard."

Then he pointed at Harry across from him. "Harry Potter."

"Ron Weasley." Ron said automatically, but then it hit him.

"What?! You're Harry Potter?" Ron whipped his head around and blurted out.

Glad to change the subject, Harry nodded and swept a lock of hair off his forehead, revealing the lightning-shaped scar.

The sudden sight, like a character stepping out of a book into real life, made Ron's eyes go wide, and he was speechless for a moment.

"Did Voldemort do that?" Glenn stared at the scar and asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, "but I don't remember it anymore."

"Not at all?"

"Well... I only remember a lot of green light, nothing else."

"Huh, that's not surprising. I mean, Voldemort was a dark wizard too, so it's normal for him to use a bunch of flashy spells." Glenn said in a very casual tone.

To be honest, that caught Harry off guard.

People like Hagrid, or any other wizard, would flinch the moment they heard him say "Voldemort."

Sure, it really drove home how terrifying Voldemort was, but after a while, for someone who didn't actually know Voldemort, it just got annoying.

Before Harry could keep talking about Voldemort, Ron cut him off.

"...Harry, if you don't mind, let's just call him 'You-Know-Who' instead."

Following the voice, this Weasley was already breathless from the repeated "Voldemorts" in the conversation.

For a young wizard born into the magical world like him, Voldemort was practically the embodiment of terror.

A conversation that dropped "Voldemort" several times in just a few sentences was downright horrifying.

"Fine," Harry said regretfully.

"But saying his name isn't about me being brave or anything. It's because I never knew the name was forbidden. You know what I mean? I believe I've got a lot to learn... I bet I'll be the worst student in the class." He said worriedly, and it was clear this had been bothering him for a while.

"Don't worry, loads of students come from Muggle families, and they pick it up fast. And honestly, you're the one who has the most right to say that name, I just can't stand hearing it." Ron tried to comfort him.

But the next moment, they both almost simultaneously turned to look at Glenn beside them.

"I lived in Muggle society before too." Glenn shook his head.

"But I think the main reason is that Voldemort wasn't around when I was born."

The conversation continued, but the train had already left London, speeding through fields dotted with cattle and sheep.

Around half past twelve, a loud clatter came from the corridor, and a smiling, dimpled woman slid open the compartment door and asked, "Dear, would you like to buy anything from the trolley?"

Harry hadn't eaten anything all morning, so he jumped up, about to say something.

But Glenn spoke first: "Got any tomato scrambled eggs?"

"Uh, sorry, sir, I haven't heard of that. Maybe you'd like some Every-Flavour Beans, Super Bouncy Bubble Gum, Chocolate Frogs..." The woman, still smiling, listed the items on the trolley, looking a bit confused.

In its place, Glenn's expression gradually turned serious.

As someone who had just finished a global trip and returned from the origin of the Biting Cabbage, he had to face a fact.

This was England.

A country where the best restaurant served French food.