These foreign laws of God and man
After the little incident with the mysterious necklace, the rest of the journey was filled with a positive revolving door of arrivals and departures. The earliest of that batch of visitors did, at least, provide Harry with some amusement.
"Nott, you dark horse!" proclaimed the blonde boy Harry had glimpsed - and avoided - in Diagon Alley, swanning in as if the carriage - and the entire train - was one large fiefdom of his. He raised a pale eyebrow, and waited. Nothing. "Granger," he said with a nod. Then, evidently realising that - for whatever reason - there would be no introduction forthcoming, he turned to Harry and announced, "I am Draco Malfoy, heir to House Malfoy. And you, of course, must be Julian Potter, heir to House Potter. Well met. I see you're already associating with the right sort."
"Heir Malfoy," Harry replied, voice coming out convincingly even. He could see, now, why Theo had avoided the introduction. It would have prevented this. He took the offered hand, as it would be rude not to. "Delighted by your approbation, but I'm afraid you have the name wrong. I am Heir Potter, but my name is Hadrian, not Julian. An easy mistake to make, I'm sure."
"You - but - " The other boy's confusion was evident.
"The younger Mr Potter was here earlier," Hermione supplied. "You only just missed him."
"A pity," said Theo, in a tone of voice that rather suggested he didn't think it was a pity at all. "Had a Weasley in tow and everything. You mentioned wanting to correct any misapprehensions he might have; I daresay he'll rack up plenty, keeping that kind of company."
"Not to mention what he's picked up at home," Harry chimed in. "Our father is full of misapprehensions. Very narrow-minded. Not a fan of the Dark at all."
"You... father... so... he's your brother?"
"My twin, yes." Harry decided to throw this apparent fame-hunter a bone. "You won't have heard of me because I was raised separately. For security reasons. I understand things were quite chaotic in the aftermath of the war. We only re-united a few weeks ago, and my existence hasn't been widely publicised yet."
"Why would anyone...?" Malfoy still seemed to be struggling for words.
"You'd have to ask my father yourself, if you wanted to know his reasoning." Harry was hardly going to bare his soul to this stranger.
"I doubt Lord Potter would take your owl," Theo chimed in. "He wasn't at all happy about my spending time with Harry in Diagon, and only permitted a correspondence very grudgingly. And you've heard about how badly he shuns everyone from families considered even vaguely Dark at social events."
"Yes, yes, the social events he won't even go to if my family is there, I'm well aware of it," said the boy, sharply. "Greatness engenders envy, envy engenders spite, anyone closely connected to the Blacks is considered tainted. If only by the kind of person who isn't worth knowing. And the Malfoys are very closely connected."
"Mmm," Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "In the meantime, you're at least somewhat ahead of the gossip mill, now, aren't you. I think Potter said he and his friends had a compartment nearer the middle of the train, for what that's worth. Oh, and before you go - Harry hasn't met Crabbe and Goyle yet, have you?"
"Mr Vincent Crabbe, House Crabbe - Mr Gregory Goyle, House Goyle - Mr Hadrian Potter, Heir Potter," Malfoy jumped in immediately, using the abridged form, but with elaborate, waving hand-gestures, displaying slim and well-manicured hands. Harry suspected the person he had copied them from was in the habit of wearing multiple rings, going by the tiny pauses within the fluent sweeps, as if to let gemstones catch the light and dazzle. "Lovely to meet you, but we really must be going."
"Nicely done, Hermione," Theo said as the door closed and Harry put some warding back up. "That got rid of him fast, and had him thinking it was entirely his own idea."
"Mme F has been instructing me on rhetoric very diligently," Hermione said demurely. "It's a speciality of hers, that and languages."
"Malfoy and I aren't friends," Theo explained to Harry, "but our fathers are, so we grew up seeing a lot of each other, and we can't seem to be too obviously at odds, especially if we end up in the same House."
The next visitor was Neville Longbottom, who mentioned that Jules and Ron had been complaining extensively about Harry being holed up in a compartment studying, and they were being extremely noisy, and he felt that some peace and quiet would be rather pleasant, if he wasn't intruding? Interestingly, he seemed every bit as familiar with traditional etiquette as Theo was, though he had fitted in well enough with the more informal manners of the Potters' guests. He had brought a book with him - Magical Succulents of the Near East - but was soon distracted by the sight of the Dark Herbology book that Harry had given Theo, and soon the two of them were chattering away on an academic level that went at least a little over Harry's head, and Hermione seemed to be barely following. A lot of Longbottom's diffidence fell away once he was discussing a subject where he was interested and knowledgeable, as opposed to lurking on the fringes of the Quidditch-and-pranks talk; Harry found him much less annoying this way.
Soon, they were joined by Daphne Greengrass - whom Theo had apparently known from childhood and was on first-name terms with, though there was some kind of faintly hostile undercurrent there - her friend Tracy Davis and cousin Anthony Goldstein. Initially anodyne conversations about where they thought they might be Sorted (and which Houses ran in their families), which subjects they were most interested in (and which ones their parents had excelled at), developed into genuinely interesting academic discussions, with occasional demonstrations. Another group, consisting of Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, Walburga Runcorn, Morag MacDougal and Sophie Roper, looked in briefly, but they were soon joined by Ernie Macmillan, who seemed to be deeply uncomfortable to be in the same room as Theo, and didn't stay long, and when he left, only MacDougal and Runcorn stayed. Padma Patil came later: apparently the compartment Longbottom had left had only got more raucous since, and after Jules turned her hair blue - allegedly aiming at Finnegan, who had used something that made him belch bubbles - and her sister had only laughed at her, she elected to follow Longbottom's example. There was one more girl standing in the doorway - apparently fascinated by the hairstyling charms Greengrass had been performing - when the previously pleasant conversation took its fatal turn.
"Oh yes, I'm definitely looking forward to Transfiguration the most," Davis announced cheerfully. "I haven't been allowed to practice it at all - too dangerous if something goes wrong - but they say the earliest expressions of your accidental magic are a sign of what you'll be good at, later, and apparently I kept vanishing my broccoli when I was a toddler, not just once but every time I was given any, for months, until they stopped trying to feed it to me. Vanishing's part of Transfiguration, so I'm hopeful. What about everyone else's?" Harry stiffened. He did not want to talk about his accidental magic, or his purposeful wandless magic, or, really, any of the unpleasantnesses of his childhood that his magic use had been so closely linked to. MacDougal mentioned summoning a toy dragon. And then Longbottom spoke up.
"I didn't actually do any accidental magic until I was eight. All my relatives had been really worried about it. My Uncle Algie - my great-uncle, Algernon Longbottom - had quite a few goes at frightening the magic out of me. Pushed me off Blackpool Pier once when I was six, and I nearly drowned. But it wasn't until two years later, when he was dangling me out of an upstairs window, that he got distracted by a plate of macaroons his sister had made, and he accidentally let go. I bounced all the way down the garden and into the road. Gran was crying, she was so happy. I don't know how that kind of magic would relate to any Hogwarts subjects, though. Maybe I won't be good at anything. I do like Herbology, at least."
"Excuse me," Hermione Granger said, her voice utterly icy. Her hair, already bushy, was now standing out even more, and the faint crackling noise Harry had been vaguely aware of during Longbottom's little speech could be traced to what seemed to be visible sparks of static electricity darting through it. Her eyes blazed. "Did I just hear you say that your great-uncle dropped you out of a window?" Longbottom shrank back in his seat, but nodded, looking from side to side. Most of the others were staring at Hermione, now; and from what Harry had seen, none of them had reacted that badly to Longbottom's story. "An upstairs window? And he nearly drowned you, before that, and was still allowed to be around you? And your grandmother was happy about it?"
"Y-yes," quavered Longbottom. "She was w-worried I wouldn't be magical at all. S-so it was a relief. Even more so when my letter came. Uncle Algie even bought me my toad, as a c-congratulations p-present." Harry elbowed Hermione as discreetly as he could.
"She's not mad at you, Longbottom," he said. This was bringing up all kinds of unpleasant feelings, from a past he wanted to put very much behind him. "She's mad at your relatives." Hermione's look at him was equally fierce. "Not without reason," he added. "Child endangerment and all that."
"Yes, that!" said Hermione. "Child endangerment! Why isn't your great-uncle in prison?" This time it was Theo who tried to get her to rein it in, kicking her on the ankle. "I mean, I'm sorry I upset you. I - er - meant you no harm, and apologise sincerely, and will diligently study self-control going forwards."
"And tact," Greengrass added. "You don't just ask people why their relatives aren't in prison."
"And tact," repeated Hermione, at a nod from Theo. "But would somebody mind explaining? I'm afraid my knowledge of British Wizarding law is very much a work in progress. I... ah... would appreciate the guidance."
"They thought he was a Squib," Runcorn said. "The law forbids the reckless endangerment of magical children. Of course, no decent, reputable family will actually do away with Squibs, even if it's still technically legal. But accidents do happen. Magical homes can be dangerous places for the unmagical."
"That's barbaric!" Hermione spat.
"That's the law," Runcorn said firmly. "And who are you to decide what the Ministry says is and isn't legal? It's not like anyone's preventing you from raising any Squib children you might happen to birth." This last with a sneer.
"I should hope not!"
"Runcorn's father is a high-ranking Ministry official," Theo jumped in to explain. "Naturally she doesn't like to hear the institution criticised, fascinating though the topic of Squib-related ethics is." And if that wasn't code for "we'll discuss this later, when there aren't so many people listening in," Harry didn't know what was. "I'm sure Heir Longbottom appreciates your sympathy for his unpleasant experiences." Longbottom gave Hermione a formal nod of acknowledgement, and - hesitantly - another to Theo. Interesting. "Of course, now he's confirmed magical, his position of Heir is reasonably secure, and he has the full protection of the law." The rest of the group seemed to concur.
"And are you safe now?" Hermione asked directly. "If you don't mind my asking, of course."
"I.. I know it comes from a p-place of honest concern, which d-does your g-good heart credit," he replied - straight out of Callidora's Conversational. "Uncle Algie was only t-testing me, and he stopped once I passed the t-test. He was doing his d-duty to the House."
"Your generous understanding is deeply appreciated," Hermione gave the rote answer. She still looked distressed, but that couldn't be helped. Harry drew Hermione into a discussion of the book of strictly legal warding spells they'd both read, mentioning which ones he'd found easier to cast, and which more challenging, and how one might compensate for a lack of brute force with ingenuity. If Neville wasn't safe at home, then the best Harry could do for him was make sure he knew of tools that might help keep him safer, tools that Harry badly wished he'd known about earlier. Though the things that made a world of difference against hostile adults who were muggles might not do much if those adults had the same magic you did. It turned out Greengrass, Davis and Runcorn were all familiar with Basics of Personal Warding, and while none of the other three had, Patil and Li both made notes of it. MacDougal, whose family were involved with efforts to preserve Hebridean dragons, apparently knew better ones in consequence of that.
Things cooled again. Harry was listening to a conversation between Goldstein, Li and Davis about whether it would be possible to enchant a muggle radio to work in Hogwarts, and also deriving amusement from watching Greengrass listen to the conversation, visibly intrigued despite herself. Clearly very much pro-Separation, philosophically, but something - presumably the intellectual challenge - was drawing her in despite that. Interesting how most of the people in this carriage were very much between two Houses, in terms of inclinations, and Longbottom was the only one who appeared to be giving more than a moment's thought to Gryffindor. Ravenclaw-Slytherin, yes, Slytherin-Hufflepuff, yes, Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw, yes. But Gryffindor, no. Of course his father and brother were expecting him to go to Gryffindor; but then they were idiots with the observational skills of a bullfrog mid-mating-call. Speaking of which, there was Malfoy. The compartment door wasn't even warded, this time, so he was able to pass straight in, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him. Malfoy hid it better, but they all looked a little crestfallen.
"Good evening, all," he greeted the already full compartment. "It seems we're nearly there. Marcus Flint - Slytherin Quidditch Captain and prefect, you know - told me so himself." He clearly expected everyone to clear out and make room for him, and they were - but it wasn't entirely deference. Neville Longbottom's look of horror and unease practically matched the one on Macmillan's face earlier, and Patil - who seemed to know exactly what was going on - practically towed him out, both of them making only the hastiest goodbyes. Most of the others at least said something about getting back to the compartments where their trunks were, in order to put robes on; Greengrass' goodbyes - among other pointed barbs - included the suggestion that the boys should let 'Granger' change first, to give themselves more time 'for primping and preening' once she exited the compartment. Harry was a little baffled by the way that putting an over-robe on over an already complete outfit apparently necessitated segregation by gender, but he knew better than to question it in Malfoy's presence.
Harry focused on tidying his own books away, and was only peripherally aware of Hermione crouching down to do the same when he heard a gasp.
"Mr Crabbe," she said. "Whatever happened to your hand?" The boy was clutching it to his chest defensively, and Harry could see, now, that it was wrapped in a handkerchief, with some blood visibly soaking through. It must have been at eye-level for Hermione earlier. Harry did hope she wasn't going to get upset again.
"Weasley's rat bit me," he replied. "When we were - er - visiting the other Potter and his associates."
"Visit didn't go well?" Theo snarked, at the same time that Hermione asked if it had been bleeding all that time, and hadn't anyone done any first-aid.
"Dunno any," said Crabbe, and Hermione's wand was out again. She pointed it at him, then away again, only belatedly remembering the rule.
"If you'll allow me?" she said. Crabbe shrugged, and peeled back the handkerchief. Four nasty puncture wounds, still oozing, two above and two below. Harry had been keen to read up on first-aid spells, but the power needed for Episkey was beyond him, as yet. Frustrating. But it wasn't episkey that Hermione cast. The first one he knew - a low-power sterilising spell. But the second had an entirely unfamiliar incantation, and made blue flames flicker over the other boy's skin. When the flames died down, the droplets of blood had vanished, from the handkerchief as well as the hand, but the skin was clear and unmarked.
"Thanks!" Crabbe said happily.
"You're welcome," Hermione replied. "I use that one on myself all the time, so it's really not a big - think nothing of it." She grabbed her book and left the compartment. Crabbe and Goyle seemed unbothered, but Theo and Malfoy were staring at each other, both looking slightly shaken.
"Was that really..." Malfoy asked, and then trailed off.
"I'm sure I couldn't say," said Theo. "None of us has ever seen such a thing before, have we? We wouldn't be able to tell Flames of Erebus from Bluebell Flames. It was probably just an unusual variant on one of the standard Healing spells. I'll have a word with her later, so she doesn't do that kind of thing in front of someone who might get the wrong idea, or someone who doesn't understand the value of discretion like we do." Malfoy nodded and smirked, and Harry nodded, too. Message received.