Carina Malfoy stood leaning against a pillar at King's Cross Station.
Her lustrous platinum hair fell nearly to her waist, swaying gently in the breeze. The way she rested only her back lightly against the pillar, spine perfectly straight, looked as though it belonged in a fashion editorial. Her beauty was at once youthful and breathtaking—radiant as the sun—yet people were perfectly willing to be blinded by it.
Drawing every gaze in the vicinity, Carina Malfoy tapped the toe of her shoe against the floor with an air of mild boredom.
The train arrived. A conductor who had been waiting for his moment used his uniform as a kind of shield and approached her.
"Is there anything I can help you with, miss?"
Those nearby could hear the clumsy tremor of hope in his voice. Given that much, it wasn't difficult to imagine how he must have appeared to Malfoy.
She looked up at him with a cool, composed expression—boredom written plainly across her face, and beneath it, the faint suggestion of a smile that seemed to quietly enjoy the attention.
The conductor was fairly certain his heart had stopped for a moment.
"I'm waiting for a friend."
"Ah, waiting for a friend, are you? But the train is about to depart—will you be all right?"
"I'll be fine. It's not this train."
"Once this one goes, the next won't come for another thirty minutes."
"Tch."
Malfoy clicked her tongue with an expression of mild disgust and tapped the floor again. It was an extraordinarily haughty manner, yet the conductor felt not the slightest awkwardness about it. She had every right to behave that way. Who else, if not her, could claim such a right?
Just as the conductor was working up the nerve to try again—
"Malfoy. Sorry, were we a bit late?"
Barnette Crabbe and Gray Goyle came hurrying over. Only then did Malfoy push herself off the wall and turn to face them.
"You're not late. I simply dislike having to rush. At this rate, we won't get the compartment I want."
"Oh, please. We can just throw out whoever's already sitting there."
"Drive them out myself? No. That's undignified. They may vacate of their own accord—but I won't be the one to ask."
The conductor reflexively followed Malfoy's gaze.
Two girls were approaching. One was slightly plump; the other, slender. Both were impeccably turned out, though neither could quite conceal a certain mischievous, unruly quality—like well-dressed children who hadn't entirely grown out of their worst impulses.
They had the look of young ladies, he thought. Girls raised in comfort, tended like hothouse flowers in fine homes.
But they lacked the breathtaking, almost suffocating beauty that Malfoy possessed. Standing between them, she was a bloom among leaves.
As that thought crossed his mind—
"How rude, Muggle. My friends deserve proper respect."
Malfoy pressed the tip of her wand against the conductor's chest. He startled at the sudden proximity and gaped at her like a fool.
"I—er—"
"That said, I rather enjoyed watching you squirm. So I'll let you off with a wart on your foot. Consider yourself fortunate."
The girl gave a small, dismissive smile, tucked her short wand back into her robes, and disappeared behind the pillar with her friends.
What on earth was that thing? A self-defence tool? A baton?
Not that it mattered.
It had been closer to a smirk than a smile, but the conductor wanted to see it just once more—and so he stepped around the pillar.
There was nothing there.
"...What? Was I dreaming?"
He looked around in bewilderment, but the golden-haired girl and her companions were nowhere to be found.
He scratched his head once, and then—through some magical mechanism he would never understand—forgot entirely that any of it had happened.
The wart on the sole of his foot was a bonus.
*Oh my, someone's already sitting here. I had rather hoped to take these seats today.*
That was all it took. Six Ravenclaws in their sixth year smiled awkwardly and promptly cleared out. The price Carina had paid: a single smile. Yet they seemed to find it more than sufficient, and went off to find other seats with every appearance of happiness.
"You made them vacate on their own!"
"'Made them'—really, Crabbe. Anyone listening would think I'd forced them."
The rear compartments of the Hogwarts Express were the most coveted. Far from the steam engine—decorative, of course; the train ran on magic—they were quiet, and the prefects rarely bothered to wander that far back, which made for a comfortable journey.
For someone like Malfoy, who attracted attention wherever she went, those rear compartments were all the more essential. Having other students peer through the compartment window every time they passed was, to put it mildly, irritating.
"They heard me thinking aloud and were kind enough to move of their own accord."
"Ha! Right! Did you see their faces? That simpering little grin!"
Goyle laughed sharply. Malfoy gave her a brief, mild rebuke, then flicked her wand.
Teacups and sweets rained down from the air. Crabbe and Goyle's eyes lit up as they gathered armfuls of them. These were treats rarely seen at home—and most of what Malfoy had brought were the kind enchanted not to cause weight gain. For two girls who had been restraining their appetites in the name of keeping their figures, there was no happier moment than this.
Malfoy took a sip of tea and said, "Let's have a quiet, peaceful journey today. Understood?"
"Understood! But Malfoy—have you heard about Potter?"
"Ahem, ahem!"
Malfoy dabbed her mouth with a handkerchief and fixed Goyle with a sharp look.
"I said peaceful. Do I really have to hear about that delinquent all the way to Hogwarts?"
"No, but you'll want to hear this. Apparently Harry Potter was arrested by Muggle police!"
"What?"
*Him?*
Malfoy was genuinely startled. Harry Potter was the sort of thoroughly incorrigible troublemaker who could commit any number of offences and still stroll into the next lesson without a care. That he had been picked up by Muggle police?
"And apparently the Ministry got involved somehow. Aurors came in person and brought Harry Potter in. The whole station was crawling with Ministry people."
If the Ministry had deployed Aurors directly, it was no trivial matter. Malfoy's curiosity sharpened.
"What on earth could have happened?"
"Maybe he stole something?"
"That's not what I mean. It wouldn't surprise me in the least that he committed a crime worth being arrested for. What I'm asking is why the Ministry sent Aurors personally. A single wizard with a Memory Charm would have been sufficient—so why Aurors? Unless..."
Malfoy recalled an article she had seen in the Daily Prophet the day before.
The criminal Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban. He was a Dark wizard who had killed seventeen Muggles with a single curse.
Which meant—
"Were you talking about me?"
At that moment, Harry Potter opened the compartment door as though it were the most natural thing in the world, stepped inside, and sat down beside Malfoy. His tone was perfectly light; his movements held not a trace of hesitation.
It happened so quickly and smoothly that Malfoy only reacted after he was already seated.
"Ha—Harry Potter?"
"Oh, are these Chocolate Frogs? I'm taking one."
Harry reached for the sweets laid out before them. Malfoy stared at this unconscionable intruder with an expression of pure disbelief.
"Wait—don't just help yourself!"
"Don't be stingy. Are you short on money?"
"Wh—what! The eldest daughter of the Malfoy family—what do you take me for! I have enough money to fill a bathtub with Chocolate Frogs and still have plenty left over!"
"Then I'll have one. What card will it be—ta-da... Dumbledore again. I have the utmost personal respect for him, but that aside, he really does come up far too often..."
Harry Potter tucked the card into his robes with a sulky expression, then tossed the Chocolate Frog aside. It leapt across the compartment and Crabbe let out a shriek.
Harry watched with a snicker, then said, "So what were you talking about? Don't whisper behind my back—just ask me directly."
Whatever one thought of him, no one knew the details of his own affairs better than the man himself. Malfoy suppressed her irritation and asked, "What exactly did you do to get arrested by Muggle police?"
"There's this absolutely infuriating woman called Aunt Marge who decided to infuriate me. I was about to hex her, but you can't use magic outside Hogwarts, can you? Didn't fancy being expelled, so instead I shoved as many Mentos and Coke as I could into that toad-like mouth of hers. Without magic, naturally."
"What on earth are those?"
"Muggle sweets. More entertaining than a hex, honestly. I'll get you some as a gift sometime."
Muggle sweets? Malfoy was curious, but firmly suppressed it. They couldn't possibly be anything special. Not worth a second thought.
Could Muggles make sweets and drinks enchanted not to cause weight gain? Impossible.
"Anyway, Aunt Marge reported me to the police, and I was very nearly locked up. Then the Ministry showed up in person and rescued me."
"Why would the Ministry—"
"Don't you know? A dangerous criminal has escaped. Apparently I'm at risk."
*Dangerous criminal. Escaped. Sirius Black. Murderer. Betrayer of the Potters...*
The pieces fell into place.
Malfoy's sharp mind drew its conclusions from the available facts. The Ministry had been taking great care to ensure Harry Potter's safety, and had dispatched Aurors to protect him before Sirius Black could strike.
Knowledge is power. With that understanding, Malfoy settled back into a more composed manner.
"The dangerous criminal you're referring to would be Sirius Black."
"So they say."
"I wonder if the Muggles in London know. That a devoted Muggle-hater is walking their streets."
"Well, it's been on the news, so probably."
Harry Potter nodded with complete indifference. Malfoy felt a brief, unexpected pang of pity for him.
Ignorance could be so cruel.
Sirius Black was as good as the man who had killed the Potters—a traitor who had broken out of prison with the sole purpose of extinguishing their bloodline. And yet here was the last of that bloodline, sitting on the floor of a train compartment, entirely unbothered, unwrapping a Chocolate Frog.
He had no idea how thoroughly he was being protected, nor what danger awaited him the moment that protection fell away.
Malfoy despised fools—but even she, who had suffered no small amount at Harry Potter's hands, found herself feeling sorry for him. The situation he was in was simply that wretched.
"Hmph. Potter. You really don't know anything, do you. You're so utterly at ease that your ignorance almost looks like happiness."
And so Malfoy offered what passed, for her, as comfort—and a warning in the same breath.
"But if I were you, I would choose to investigate what's actually happening. If you understood even a little more about Sirius Black, you might be able to anticipate what he wants."
It was sincere advice, genuinely meant. Harry Potter responded with a faint smirk.
Malfoy's expression tightened at having her effort dismissed—and then Harry reached over and ruffled her hair.
The sheer audacity of it froze her in place as effectively as a Petrificus Totalus. Harry Potter spoke with the tone of someone praising a precocious child.
"I know more than you do, thank you very much. Don't worry about me—and if you see a black dog, throw it something to eat. It'll be hungry."
"What?"
"Right. I'm off."
Harry stood up and vanished just as swiftly as he had arrived.
Malfoy turned her head with a stiff, mechanical motion. She directed her fury at the space where he had disappeared.
"Harry Potter—!!"
He always swept in like a storm, dragged everyone into his rhythm, and then slipped away without a scratch. Malfoy seethed at the realisation that she had, once again, been pulled along.
"That scoundrel... that reprobate... that absolute menace..."
"Um—Malfoy? Are you all right?"
"I am not all right! You two were just sitting there watching? Don't just stand there—*do something*!"
"I mean, what exactly would you have us do..."
It was, admittedly, an unreasonable demand. Harry Potter retaliated against anyone who crossed him, regardless of age or gender—he had even gone head-to-head with Snape, which was frankly unhinged. Threats, bribes, relentless retribution, no method too low.
Harry Potter, who displayed a brand of madness that would have impressed Salazar Slytherin himself, was simply too frightening a target for ordinary students to antagonise.
And Malfoy herself was still caught by the throat over that diary.
What could Crabbe and Goyle possibly do against a troublemaker who made fifth- and sixth-years want to wash their hands of him entirely?
*Why does that boy get to be treated as though he's special!*
As Malfoy was swallowing her fury—
A chill crept down her spine. Darkness seemed to seep into the world; the sensation of happiness draining away swept through the train like a cold current.
Crabbe and Goyle must have felt it too—they drew sharp breaths and shuddered.
Malfoy felt it as well, but sheer stubbornness—the refusal to let anyone see her rattled—kept her chin up and her expression composed.
"Dementors."
"D-Dementors?"
"The guards of Azkaban. I'd heard rumours they were being stationed at Hogwarts to search for Sirius Black—I simply didn't expect them to board the train."
Knowing the enemy's purpose was its own kind of power. Having identified their intent, Malfoy found it considerably easier to steady herself.
"They're not here for us. They'll pass."
True to her word, the cold swept past them and was gone. Crabbe and Goyle were gazing at her with undisguised admiration as Malfoy lifted her teacup—
And then Harry Potter's shout rang out from somewhere down the train.
Malfoy opened the compartment door and glanced out. Shouting, and the sound of someone calling out. Darkness pooling around a single compartment, and within it, a flash of white light.
"Harry!"
Then came the scream—Hermione Granger, Potter's half-blood friend.
Had something happened to Harry Potter? Had a Dementor—?
Malfoy was on her feet and moving toward the compartment before she had consciously decided to go.
Harry Potter was lying on the floor. His face was as pale as a corpse, and he wasn't moving. The moment she saw it, Malfoy felt a jolt of genuine alarm.
Was he dead? Or had a Dementor—kissed him?
*Him?*
While Malfoy stood there, momentarily stunned, a man in a suit that was little better than rags put away his wand and said quietly, "Harry isn't dead. You needn't worry. He's simply lost a little strength."
For reasons she couldn't quite explain, Malfoy felt a measure of relief at those words.
Probably because the only person keeping that diary hidden couldn't very well go and die on her.
She collected herself. The man in the threadbare suit was issuing instructions to Harry Potter's friends.
"Would you go ahead and let the others know? Tell the students to stay in their compartments. And you—Ron Weasley, was it? Would you go and buy some Chocolate Frogs? Harry needs something to restore his energy."
"Er... the thing is..."
Ron Weasley trailed off, hesitating at the request to buy Chocolate Frogs.
Malfoy stepped into the compartment and said, "That won't work. Weasley the pauper won't have the money for a single Chocolate Frog."
"Ugh, Malfoy..."
Ron Weasley's face crumpled. Malfoy tilted her chin up at the blood-traitor and said, "I happen to have Chocolate Frogs in my compartment, Weasley. If you ask nicely, I might be persuaded to spare one."
"...I'll thank you for it this once. Keep an eye on Harry."
Ron and Hermione left the compartment. Malfoy watched them go with a click of her tongue.
"Tch. To make a polite request in such a graceless manner. Well—I suppose that's the best one can expect from a Weasley."
What remained: an unconscious Harry Potter and the man in the suit. His appearance was that of a suspicious vagrant, but the fact that he had boarded the train at this point meant only one thing. A new professor at Hogwarts.
And the only subject still without a teacher was Defence Against the Dark Arts.
"You're Miss Carina Malfoy, aren't you?"
"Yes. Are you the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?"
"I am—though the term hasn't quite started yet. My name is Remus Lupin."
Professor Lupin straightened Harry where he lay and drew his wand.
"I'm going to use Ennervate to wake him. Would you hold him steady? I'd rather he didn't knock his head against something when he comes round."
"Could I use my foot instead?"
"Technically there's no objection, but—do you think you could manage it?"
She couldn't.
Malfoy swallowed a small measure of wounded pride, bent down, and pressed her hands firmly against Harry Potter's shoulders. Professor Lupin raised his wand and moved to Harry's head.
There was something strange about seeing Harry Potter like this—silent and still. Eyes closed, not moving, he looked almost like a small saint. The moment those eyes opened and that mouth started, of course, there was no greater menace in existence.
Malfoy was studying his face in that unguarded moment when Professor Lupin spoke the incantation.
"*Ennervate!*"
Harry Potter's eyes flew open and he lurched upright with such force that Malfoy was nearly knocked back. If she hadn't been holding him, he might well have cracked his head and gone under again.
Stronger than he looks, Malfoy thought—and then Harry Potter stared at her face with an expression of pure disbelief. She might have imagined it, but his face seemed to colour briefly.
"What? Why is Malfoy here?"
"I heard your girlish screaming and came to investigate. Quite the spectacle. Worth the trip."
A rapid succession of expressions crossed Harry's face. Embarrassment, indignation, surprise—and above all, wounded pride.
Seeing that dazed, undone look on his face, she felt every last grudge she'd been carrying dissolve.
Malfoy lifted her hand from his shoulder and settled back into her seat. Harry Potter sat on the floor and growled under his breath.
"Those idiots... they're suspicious of me. The nerve of them, doing that on the Express of all places..."
"Ha. So the great Harry Potter, who makes such a show of being invincible—can't hold his own against a Dementor?"
Malfoy leaned back with an air of supreme satisfaction.
"Dementors must be rather fond of you, Potter. Fond enough to want to kiss you, and you're not even a criminal. At this rate, your first kiss is going to be with a Dementor."
Harry Potter's face twisted. Malfoy looked down at him with quiet, gratified superiority.
How long had it been? How long since Harry Potter had shown her anything resembling weakness?
Before starting at Hogwarts, Malfoy had encountered Harry Potter in Diagon Alley.
It had been his first visit. He had been utterly captivated by the wonder of the magical world, turning his head this way and that like a country child who had just arrived in the city.
Recognising him, Malfoy had approached out of something close to curiosity—wondering just how remarkable the boy who had defeated the Dark Lord could possibly be.
*He was as dull and unremarkable as any Muggle back then. I gave him a proper dressing-down and sent him on his way.*
In hindsight, those days seemed almost preferable. At least when he kept his mouth shut, he'd been vaguely tolerable.
Savouring the sense of standing one step above him, Malfoy was preparing to twist the knife a little further—
When Harry suddenly pushed himself up, and his face was abruptly very close to hers.
Something brushed past in the narrow space where their breath nearly met. Malfoy inhaled sharply, then sat trembling with the force of a truth she could not quite believe, pressing her fingers to her lips.
Harry Potter got to his feet.
"First kiss with a Dementor? That won't be happening now."
Was this a dream? She almost wished it were.
But the sensation a moment ago had been unmistakably real. Malfoy could barely string words together.
"Wha—what, this—what is—"
"Even I'd feel sorry for someone getting their first kiss stolen by a Dementor. Think of it as charity for someone who might not live to see tomorrow."
Harry answered with an easy, unrepentant smile. Malfoy was speechless for a long moment—and then the fury broke through.
"You—*you*—I—that was my first—you absolute scoundrel!"
"Keep going? If you want the whole of Hogwarts to know, by all means. I don't mind."
"*Shut up!* You animal! Drop dead! Forget everything! Obli—Obliviate!"
"You don't have your wand. Are you planning to cause memory loss with your fist?"
"*Obliviate!*"
Professor Remus Lupin, who had been standing with his mouth open in an expression that said what exactly am I witnessing, scratched his chin and said carefully,
"...Perhaps I ought to step outside for a moment?"