Anger you can't show
“Is that Harry Potter?” Ron suddenly shouted from behind the twins. Fred groaned inwardly; the last thing he needed right now was Ron making a scene in the cramped train car.
Fred adored his younger brother, of course—he’d take a hex for any of his siblings without hesitation. But even without Sorting Hat sitting on Ron’s head, Fred could already guess he would be in Gryffindor. He lacked that special flair that made Fred and George the only Slytherin Weasleys in the family tree.
“I want to meet Harry Potter!” Ron insisted, trying to squeeze past them.
“Whoa there, Ron! You can’t just storm in and wake the Boy Who Lived!” Fred protested arms crossed protectively.
“Yeah, it’s not like he’s your long-lost best mate or anything,” George added with a smirk. “You’ve got to make a good impression!”
Ron frowned in confusion. “You’re right…?”
“Imagine if a random stranger woke you up from a peaceful sleep. Would you want to be friends with them?” Fred continued, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Uh… no?”
“Exactly! Now, let’s think about Harry’s future friendship options for a second,” George interjected with a shrug. “What if you ended up making the most powerful wizard ever angry?”
“Boom, hex to the face!” Fred chimed in, performing a dramatic pantomime of being blasted back by an unseen force.
Ron sputtered indignantly, “But Harry wouldn't do that!”
“You don’t know that,” George replied with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, look at your siblings. You think we wouldn’t unleash a tickle curse or two?”
“But you lot are Slytherins,” Ron retorted.
“Harry could be one too! Can you imagine Professor Snape’s reaction if that ever happened?” Fred couldn’t help but laugh at the thought, clearly enjoying the mental image.
As Ron contemplated this, he directed his gaze towards Harry, who was slumped against the glass, fast asleep. The boy’s thick, dark hair fell into his eyes, obscuring the face of the wizard who was destined for greatness. He looked far too young and far too skinny for Hogwarts, and the way he clutched his worn backpack made Ron feel a pang of concern. What was going on in Harry's life?
Fred placed a reassuring hand on Ron's shoulder. “Brilliant idea, Ronnyikins! You’ll need to be brave to stand up for him when he’s awake!”
Ron puffed his chest out but quickly shrank back. “What if he doesn’t want to be my friend?”
“Is that a challenge?” Fred grinned, leaning closer. “Seeking our endless wisdom, eh, Ronnyikins?”
Ron chuckled. “Wisdom? Please, I could write a book on how not to make friends, and you’d still fail the class.”
“Fear not! We, your trusty twins, possess all the secrets to win the hearts of even the most intimidating wizards.”
“I don’t want to charm him,” Ron mumbled, his face turning an interesting shade of pink.
“Figure of speech!” Fred waved his hands dramatically, clearly enjoying the theatrics. “Now, let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we? There are four ways to a wizard’s heart.”
“Step one! Food! The easiest way to a wizard's heart is through their stomach,” George declared with mock seriousness.
Fred eagerly anticipated Ron’s excitement at this step, but instead, his brother deflated like a sad balloon.
“Right,” Ron said sarcastically, holding up his roast beef sandwich. “Do you think Mum's legendary slap of lunchtime will impress him?”
Fred wrinkled his nose at the sight. He had tossed his sandwich out the moment their mum’s voice faded down the train aisle.
There were many things Fred would do for Ron, but there were also many things he wouldn’t.
Secrets.
Weasley rule number one was never to tell Ron your secrets. Ron was a rotten snitch. He had his good qualities, of course, but secret-keeping was decidedly not one of them.
But…
Ron could use some money for chocolate frogs, which would probably help spark a magical friendship between Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
“Alright, alright,” Fred finally relented, conjuring a handful of gold coins with a flourish. “Here. Buy the great Harry Potter a couple of chocolate frogs and win his heart, Ronnykins!”
Ron caught the coins with wide eyes. “Wha—Where did you get this?”
George leaned in, grinning. “A good Slytherin never reveals his sources.”
Ron eyed them skeptically. “You didn’t steal it, did you?”
Fred rolled his eyes. “Seriously, have a bit of faith in us, Ron.”
“Blimey, Ron! We’d never resort to petty theft,” George chimed in, feigning offense.
Ron continued to regard them with suspicion. “So, how did you get the money then?”
Fred and George exchanged knowing glances before Fred announced proudly, “We may or may not have a budding entrepreneurial spirit.”
Ron sighed and examined the coins. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Not even a chance, Ronnyikins,” George replied, ever the charmer of the duo.
“And remember, if you spill our secrets, we’ll collect on all the dirt we’ve saved up on you, dear brother,” Fred added with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Fair warning, Ronny,” George winked, grinning widely.
Ron took a deep breath, glancing back at Harry, who remained fast asleep, oblivious to the world around him. They might not be the typical approach, but with a little luck (and a well-placed chocolate frog), maybe one day Harry could become more than just a legend—he could be Ron’s friend.
--
A sharp, shrill voice pierced the quiet of the train compartment, jolting Harry awake. “Have any of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one!”
Harry blinked in confusion. A robe was draped across his lap, and while it was probably just another trick of Petunia's—taking his thin blanket for Dudley and leaving him with this old, scratchy garment—he was still too groggy to process it all.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stretched, trying to shake off the lingering heaviness.
“Morning, sleeping beauty!” called one of the twins, who Harry hesitantly decided to label as Fred.
“Hello, Fred, sir,” he murmured, grappling with the disorientation of being awakened so abruptly.
Fred's face twitched, but before Harry could decipher it, the girl in the car's door spoke up, her expression shifting from surprise to recognition. “You’re Harry Potter!”
A cold wave of anxiety crashed over him. The sound of his name felt strange, almost accusatory. Rarely had anyone ever spoken it with such enthusiasm—not like the sharp, impatient “Boy!” that Vernon would bark at him.
“Uh, have we met?” Harry asked, feeling bewildered and a bit on edge.
The girl rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated. “Of course not! I just read about you! In Modern Magical History! And The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts! I even think you’re mentioned in the Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century!”
Harry frowned, an unsettling mix of dread and frustration tightening his chest. “You’ve read about me? In a book?”
“Yes! Honestly, are you slow?” she snapped, annoyance pouring from her words.
He felt his face flush. He wasn’t slow, but he knew better than to try and defend himself against that accusation. What was happening? The girl rattled on about nonsense—magic, wizards—a foreign language to Harry. Vernon had never allowed him to entertain such silly concepts.
“Hey, chill out!” a younger red-haired boy in the corner shouted. “Stop acting like you’re the only one who reads!” Harry hadn't learned his name yet.
The mention of books made Harry feel uncomfortable and more lost than ever. Then, when the conversation turned to magic and wizards, a sense of creeping dread washed over him, accompanied by painful memories.
At home with the Dursleys, any mention of wizards was met with a sharp slap to the back of his head, and talk of magic resulted in a long and horrible stint in the cupboard.
Harry's knees ached at the recollection; he had spent an entire month in the cupboard just because of a silly letter addressed to him.
Now, he found himself at what he assumed was a rather dreadful boarding school, surrounded by a group of seemingly crazy kids discussing witches and magic.
“Wait, what do you mean you read about me?” Harry asked, trying to suppress the rising panic. He was out of his depth, drowning in confusion.
“Harry, you don’t know anything about the wizarding world, do you?” Fred leaned forward, his frown deepening.
“What?” Harry shot back, a mix of frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The thought of being known, even if it was in this ridiculous way, felt deeply unsettling. Why was everyone acting like this was common knowledge?
The girl looked at him as if he had just stated the sky was green, disbelief mingling with sympathy. “You have no idea? You’re famous! The Boy Who Lived! You defeated Voldemort when you were a baby!”
Harry’s eyes widened, his heart racing. “Voldemort? I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The frustration erupted into his voice, making it tremble just slightly.
The younger boy piped up, “You’ve got to be kidding! Everyone knows the story. It’s like… basic wizard stuff!”
His heart pounded as indignation swirled within him. “Basic wizard stuff? What’s wizard stuff?” Harry’s voice raised, each word drumming up more anger. His face felt hot.
All four faces looked back at Harry.
Feeling the weight of their stares, Harry clenched his fists, grappling with a sense of vulnerability that gnawed at him. Beneath the disbelief and sympathy, he sensed a strange mixture of pity and curiosity, almost as if they were peering into a legend rather than simply talking to a boy who had no memory of any of it. The idea that his life, one he had perceived as mundane up until now, was intertwined with something far larger and more magical sent his mind reeling.
There was always something about being out of the loop that bothered Harry. He often felt angry, but he never found it worthwhile to express those feelings; they never seemed to do any good.
As he clenched his fists, his nails dug painfully into his palms. Strange things often happened when he became too angry.
Fred chuckled, “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us, boys. Someone should explain everything to him!”
“Right. Where do I start?” the girl sighed, rolling her eyes before taking a deep breath. “Okay, first things first… we need to talk about magic!”
At that moment, she pulled a stick from her pocket. “Your glasses look broken—I’ll fix them for you.”
Before she could point it at him, George interrupted, “Wait, don’t aim that at him like that!”
“Expelliarmus!” Fred shouted teasingly, and Harry’s heart raced with disbelief as the wand flew from the girl’s grasp, clattering to the ground.
“Hey!” she exclaimed, cheeks flushing, a wave of embarrassment spreading through the space. “I was just trying to help!”
“By aiming it at his face?” Ron teased, a grin on his face.
“I didn’t mean to! I just wanted to fix his glasses!” she insisted, her voice tinged with irritation.
“Honestly, it’s just not good manners,” Fred added, laughter in his tone. “You never aim wands at people’s faces unless you’re in a duel!”
Harry watched this playful banter, feeling the storm of emotions swirl inside him. Wizards? Magic? Nothing made sense. Why was everyone treating him like a child, someone reduced to jokes and laughter?
As the playful argument settled down, Fred leaned closer. “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward Harry's glasses.
Still wrapped in confusion and discomfort, Harry hesitantly nodded and handed them over. Fred pointed his wand at the glasses and declared, “Oculus Repario!”
Harry blinked in astonishment as the world came sharply into focus, but his mind was still racing. “Wha—”
“Now, Harry,” George said with a grin, “we need to fill you in on everything. What do you know about the wizarding world?”
As Harry struggled to compose his frantic thoughts, anxiety pulsed through him. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.