Corridor Conflict

Outside the compartment, in the corridor.

The cold carriage wall seeped through their thin robes, but compared to the lingering terror in the four of their hearts, that chill was almost negligible.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville, who was slumped on the floor, looked like four stone statues freshly hauled out of an ice cave. Their backs were pressed against the wall, their faces frighteningly pale.

They gasped for breath, their chests heaving violently, as though they had just fled for their lives rather than merely being "invited" out through a door. The curious stares of the other first-years in the corridor now pierced them like needles, mingling with the daze of surviving a disaster and an indescribable humiliation.

Ron scrubbed a hand over his forehead with his sleeve. It was covered in cold sweat.

His lips trembled, and his voice carried uncontrollable lingering fear. "M-Merlin's floral pajamas..." He switched to a less serious exclamation, trying to drive away the chill in his heart.

"Wh-what was that guy made of? I felt... felt like, for a moment, my heart stopped beating! Like an icy hand grabbed it, then... then threw it into the deepest frozen pit in the Black Lake!"

Hermione wrapped her arms around her knees and curled up in the corner by the wall.

The girl who usually seemed excessively rational and strong was showing a rare vulnerability. Her teeth chattered softly, and her brown eyes were filled with lingering shock and the bewilderment of having her understanding of the world overturned.

"N-no, it wasn't an illusion, Ron..." Her voice was low, but she spoke quickly, as if fear would drown her again if she did not say it soon enough.

"Th-that had to be some advanced form of mental magic! It might even have been mixed with some kind of... some kind of magical field we can't understand! He didn't chant anything. He just... just opened his eyes and released his aura... and Crabbe and Goyle passed out immediately! Th-this completely contradicts the theories of magical control and range of influence in Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1! Even Powerful Potions and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection never mentioned anything like it!"

Neville sat limp on the floor, his legs as soft as cooked noodles, still trembling faintly beyond his control.

He clutched Trevor tightly to his chest, burying his face in Trevor's cold, rough skin as he made muffled, animal-like whimpers. "E-eyes... red... they'll... they'll eat people... Mum... sob..." Trevor squirmed uneasily in his arms.

Meanwhile, Harry pressed his back tightly against the cold carriage wall, one hand clamped over his forehead.

His scar was sending waves of dull, persistent pain through him. He bit his lower lip so hard he nearly drew blood, barely managing to suppress his groans in his throat. Cold sweat trickled from his forehead down his temples, and his face was so pale it was nearly translucent.

Just as the four of them struggled to calm down, a familiar, gloating voice rang out nearby, like salt scattered over an open wound.

"Well, well! Look who it is. Isn't this our famous 'Savior,' Mr. Harry Potter? Being 'invited' out of a premium compartment must feel very 'special,' wouldn't it?"

Draco Malfoy had somehow already tidied up his expensive robes, smoothing out every wrinkle. He gestured for Crabbe and Goyle behind him to return to their own compartment first. The two hulking boys were still a little unsteady on their feet.

He himself leaned casually against the wall across the corridor, his arms folded over his chest. His pale face glowed with almost manic smugness and superiority. The humble, terrified look he had worn before Madara had long vanished, as if it had only been an illusion.

Seeing Harry and the others in such a sorry state, his smile grew increasingly vicious.

Draco deliberately raised his voice, his gray-blue eyes sweeping over the growing crowd of first-years and older students gathering in the corridor to watch, making sure everyone could hear him clearly.

"Just look at the state of you!" Malfoy drawled, mockery practically overflowing from his tone. "Faces as white as if you've been kissed by a Dementor, legs so weak you can't even stand... tsk, tsk, truly spectacular."

His gaze deliberately lingered on Hermione, the disgust in it completely undisguised. "Bringing along your little Muggle follower and that worthless Longbottom Family reject..." He glanced at Neville, who was trembling as he clutched his toad. "And you thought you could force your way somewhere you didn't belong? Did you even stop to consider your own worth?"

He straightened his back, as if he himself shared in that terrifying prestige. His voice carried a conviction born of reflected glory. "Did you see that lord's bearing just now? That was true nobility! That was the poise and grandeur a pure-blood family ought to possess! You lot..." He swept a contemptuous glance over Ron's old robes and Harry's glasses. "...in his eyes, you aren't even fit to be dust beneath his feet!"

He deliberately paused, savoring the sight of Ron's face rapidly flushing red with rage, Hermione trembling with anger yet temporarily speechless, and Harry's lips pressing tighter as fury ignited in his eyes.

Then he lowered his voice, making sure Harry and the others could hear, and spoke in a venomous, excited tone.

"That Lord Uchiha is destined for Slytherin! Only the oldest, purest, noblest bloodline deserves power like that!" Malfoy looked as though he could already see the Sorting Hat shouting "Slytherin."

He stepped forward, his finger nearly poking Harry in the nose. "You rejected my friendship, Potter. It's too late to regret it now!"

Fanatical light gleamed in his gray-blue eyes. "Once that lord officially enters Hogwarts, what do you think will happen? A complete 'purge'! Filth like you, who have tainted the purity of the wizarding world, will sooner or later be swept into the dustbin of history! Just wait, Potter!"

He let out a shrill, malicious laugh, and that laugh was the final straw that completely shattered Ron Weasley's already fragile reason.

"Shut up, you foul-mouthed skunk!" Ron roared, and all his fear was instantly replaced by blazing fury!

He forgot how he had nearly suffocated moments ago. He forgot the terror brought by those scarlet eyes. All he could see was Malfoy's nauseating, smug face!

He yanked out his new wand, courtesy of Harry, and pointed it at Malfoy. "Want me to tell everyone how you wagged your tail and begged in that compartment?! Now that your two guard dogs aren't here, what can you do besides bark?!"

Seeing the faint white light flickering unstably at the tip of Ron's wand due to his agitation, a flash of panic crossed Malfoy's face. But he quickly composed himself. "Y-you... what are you trying to do, Weasley?! Attacking someone on the train? Do you want to be expelled?!"

He drew his own polished, expensive wand, carved with a snake pattern. Its tip trembled slightly.

Madara's intimidation had not fully faded, and Crabbe and Goyle were no longer by his side. He truly lacked confidence.

"Want to fight? I'll oblige! Let me show you what the Malfoy Family can do! Leg-Locker Curse!" Malfoy shrieked, swinging his wand sharply.

A weak grayish-white beam sputtered from the tip of his beautiful wand and barely struck Harry's lower leg.

Harry felt his legs sink slightly, as though they had instantly been encased in a layer of cold plaster. His knees drew together reflexively. But the sensation of restraint was pitifully weak. It did not even fully lock his joints, lasting less than half a second before vanishing like dew in sunlight!

It was as though the magic Malfoy had poured into the spell was too thin to sustain a proper curse at all.

Ron had not even realized he had been targeted. He only saw Harry stagger half a step before immediately steadying himself, his face still showing bewilderment—bewilderment at how feeble the spell had been.

"That's it?!" Ron froze for a moment, then burst into an even louder, contemptuous sneer. "Malfoy, did you learn your spells from a troll? That wasn't even enough to scratch an itch!"

[The harsher Ron's mockery is now, the more it'll hurt when he gets slapped in the face later. Wizard bosses, surely asking for a little support powered by love isn't too much...]