Eat What You Take

"Ugh~" After eating the Every-Flavour Beans Glenn had given him, Neville's face turned ashen, and he let out a dry heave.

This is exactly why you don't eat that stuff close to mealtime.

"Oh! Neville, are you alright?" Hermione was startled by the sudden change, then stepped forward to see what had happened.

But before she could get close, she was driven back several steps by a foul stench.

"Oh no, I haven't learned Scourgify for cleaning up vomit yet! Neville, quick... take off your robe..."

After stripping off his robe, Neville fled to the bathroom, leaving the others standing there dumbfounded.

"What did you give Neville?" Hermione turned around, frowning.

"Every-Flavour Beans, a luck-based snack." Glenn smiled. "He got lucky. Want one?"

Seeing this, Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, then silently put down their own Every-Flavour Beans.

After carefully reading the instructions on the package, Hermione had to admit Neville's luck was indeed something.

To actually get a "vomit" bean with a one percent probability...

Still, this harmless little accident didn't stop the kids from introducing themselves.

When she heard Harry's introduction, Hermione's eyes lit up.

According to her, A History of Modern Magic, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Important Twentieth-Century Magical Events all mentioned Harry.

She could rattle off his achievements in those books like she knew them by heart, making Harry himself a bit embarrassed.

"Merlin's beard, you don't know? If it were me, I'd find every book that mentions me." Hermione said regretfully.

"Do you know which house you'll be sorted into? I've been asking around. I hope I get into Gryffindor—everyone says it's the best. I heard Dumbledore himself graduated from there, though I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad either... Oh, Neville, you're back? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I thought I was going to throw up, but once I coughed up the bean, I felt better." The round-faced boy Neville said, still shaken.

If his grandmother found out he'd nearly vomited on his first day, she'd probably make him drink all sorts of bitter potions.

At that thought, Neville's eyes grew teary again.

His great-uncle had given him a toad as a going-away gift, and it was still missing...

Sadly accepting his robe from Hermione, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief, then suddenly shouted with joy.

"Foley!"

There was Foley, sitting snugly in the hidden pocket of his robe, its eyes darting around as it looked at its owner, who was nearly crying from happiness...

Seeing this, Ron, Hermione, and Harry stared at each other.

Clearly, none of them had expected things to turn out this way.

"I told you he was lucky."

With that, Glenn turned his gaze to the Pumpkin Pie sitting nearby.

"...Next time, I'll have to bring my own lunch on the train."

A little while later, Hermione led Neville back to their compartment.

"Way to go, Glenn. That Every-Flavour Bean did the trick—who knows how long she'd have kept talking otherwise."

"'I've memorized all the textbooks~'" Ron mimicked the girl's tone. "Anyway, no matter which house I end up in, I hope it's not with her."

As he spoke, he tossed his wand into his trunk. "This spell's useless. George told me. I bet he knew it was a dud all along."

But Harry's attention wasn't on the spell at all—it was on what Hermione had mentioned earlier about the Sorting.

"Which house do you both want to go to?" His gaze shifted between Glenn and Ron.

"Gryffindor," Ron said, looking glum again. "Mum and Dad were in that house too. I don't know what they'd say if I didn't get in. I don't think Ravenclaw would be that bad, but just don't put me in Slytherin."

"That's where Vo... sorry, I mean, You-Know-Who was, right?"

"Yeah." Ron tried to act casual, but the slight twitch at the corner of his eye gave away his nerves.

"What about you, Glenn?" Harry asked.

Compared to Ron, who came from a wizarding family, he was more curious about Glenn's answer.

After all, in his eyes, Glenn's situation had a lot in common with his own.

"Me?" Glenn finished the last bite of his Pumpkin Pie.

That was a good question.

"I think Hufflepuff—they like Muggle-born witches and wizards the most."

Of course, those words didn't come from Glenn's mouth, but from the compartment door.

Following the sound, they saw three boys.

Aside from two oddly shaped short, stout kids, one of them Glenn recognized: Draco Malfoy.

As if the incident at Madam Malkin's Robes was still fresh in his mind, Malfoy only glanced at Glenn before saying nothing more.

In his view, talking too much to someone who spouted nonsense like that would only pollute his mind.

"Is it true?" He turned to look at Harry and asked.

"Everyone on the whole train is talking about it, saying Harry Potter is in this compartment. So that's you, right?"

"Yes," Harry said, but his voice was stiffer than the easy tone they'd used while chatting just moments ago.

Seeing Harry sizing them up, Malfoy introduced them in a more casual tone: "Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle."

"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a small cough to keep from laughing out loud.

Draco Malfoy looked at him sideways. "You think my name's funny, do you? I don't need to ask who you are. My father told me all Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

To be honest, young Master Malfoy might have thought that was an insult, but based on Glenn's understanding of those so-called pure-blood elitists and pure-blood families, young Master Malfoy's father had probably gritted his teeth when he said it.

Envy didn't quite cover it—only jealousy could minimally describe Old Malfoy's feelings when he said those words.

Of course, the young Master Malfoy standing before them was too young to understand that.

Because in the next moment, he was already boasting about his family again.

Malfoy extended a hand toward Harry and said, "You'll soon find out that some wizard families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

But Harry didn't take it. He said coldly, "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

Perhaps because his pale skin was too fair, Draco Malfoy's face didn't flush red—only a faint pink tinge appeared.

"If I were you, Potter, I'd be very careful," he said slowly.

"You'd better watch your manners, or you'll end up the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either. If you hang around with people like the Weasleys, Hagrid, and all sorts of odd types, it'll rub off on you."

Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. Ron's face was as red as his hair.

"Say that again."

"Oh, you want to fight, do you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Unless you get out right now," Harry said, though inwardly he wasn't as brave as he looked, since Crabbe and Goyle were much bigger than him and Ron.

"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food, and it looks like you still have some."

The next moment, Goyle reached for the last Pumpkin Pie on the table.

And that happened to be the very piece Glenn had his eye on.

"Oh, sorry, something dropped." With Malfoy's snickering words, the Pumpkin Pie in Goyle's hand fell to the floor.

"If you don't mind, you can pick it up and eat it. Of course, I'm sure Muggle-born wizards wouldn't mind—after all, birds of a feather flock together."

To that, Glenn just gave them a polite smile.

"You've finished your food, and now you want something to eat, right?"

"Yeah," Malfoy said, dragging out his words in that annoyingly slow drawl, still smirking.

Little did he know, Goyle, standing in front of the table, was already drenched in sweat.

Because he suddenly realized he couldn't move!