Wood Stakes

It takes actually stepping onto the Hogwarts Express for Harry to finally feel like he can breathe. 

It feels like a sudden weight has been lifted off of his chest, and every bad part of his summer — being abandoned at the Dursleys and the trial being the main highlights — seem to melt away, because he’s going back to Hogwarts. 

He’s going home.

Until, that is, Harry turns to his friends to ask them if they want to go find a compartment and they both look at him like they just ran over his pet owl.

“We’re — well — Ron and I are supposed to go into the Prefect carriage,” Hermione says awkwardly.

There’s a beat of tense silence, and then another, and another, before Harry realizes he’s supposed to respond.

“Oh.” Harry says. “Right. Fine.”

It doesn’t feel fine. 

Hermione and Ron(whose eyes are focused determinedly on the floor) mumble something about meeting him later that does little to raise the sinking feeling in his chest before dragging their trunks away. 

He’d never traveled on the Hogwarts Express before without Ron.

He’s left with very little time to dwell on that particular fact, however, as Ginny gives him a hurry-up look in her particularly Ginny-like fashion.

“Well, come on then. We better find a compartment before they all get filled up.” She says, grabbing her things efficiently. 

The trek down the corridor in search of an empty compartment has never felt quite so long, Harry’s ears burning under the weighted gaze of people watching him struggle through with his trunks.

He can hear whispers too, and far too many contain comments about The Daily Prophet’s article about him for his liking.

They finally find a compartment — the very last one — and hurry inside, joined by Harry’s friend and fellow fifth-year Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom. There’s a girl already in the compartment, whom Ginny introduces as Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw in her year.

Luna has dirty-blonde hair and owlish blue eyes that, paired with her odd choices of jewelry — a pair of strange, radish earrings and a necklace made of butterbeer caps — make her look more than a little kooky. She introduces herself in a dreamy sort of way, unashamedly eyeing the scar hidden behind Harry’s bangs.

There is, Harry notices suddenly, another person in the compartment, sprawled out across the window seats with his back facing them, clearly sound asleep.

Harry’s mind immediately goes to Professor Lupin, whom he’d met in a Hogwarts compartment almost identical to this one, but much to his disappointment this figure seems far younger, closer to his own age.

He’s dressed differently too, in proper Muggle clothes that hint that he’s either lived with them or was dressed by someone who has. The only other part of him that Harry can see is the back of his head, an inky mess of black hair that does little to clue him in on his identity.

“Who’s he?” Harry asks, motioning towards the boy.

Luna shrugs wistfully, somehow managing to balance on the fine line between clueless and all-knowing. “I wouldn’t know. He was already here when I came in.”

That seems to be all she’s interested in saying about the topic, because she pulls out an odd looking newspaper(Harry is just grateful that it isn’t The Daily Prophet) she’d put aside, flips it upside down, and begins reading with an unwavering focus. 

Ginny’s lips quirk into an amused smile, but she must be more or less used to Luna’s antics because she doesn’t seem confused.

The train rattles as it crosses into open country, and Ginny takes the silence as an opportunity to rope Harry into a conversation about Quidditch. It’s an ample distraction from all of the problems that he seemed to have(already, and it’s only the beginning of the year), and he eagerly dives into it, only interrupted by a minor accident with a plant Neville had been attempting to show off and a frankly humiliating conversation with his school crush, Cho Chang.

It’s about an hour later that Ron and Hermione finally return, somehow managing to not wake up their sleeping companion as they bustle inside noisily. Eagerly they fill in Harry about the other Prefects(“Ernie for Hufflepuff, but I suppose we can’t have everything,” Ron says disappointedly) while grabbing food that Harry had bought from the trolley hungrily.

“And guess what?” Ron asks, his mouth full of sandwich. “Rumor is that there’s going to be American transfers this year.” 

Luna lowers The Quibbler, the newspaper she had been reading. Apparently this was interesting enough to even get her attention. “American transfer students?” She asks curiously.

Hermione nods excitedly. “Supposedly there’s some school in America that nobody knew about, and when Dumbledore found out about it he invited some of their students to come abroad for a year.”

Harry’s stomach plummets. He knew Dumbledore hadn’t been talking to him recently, but he’d figured that Dumbledore would have at least mentioned something as important as this. 

A sour taste starts to fill his mouth.

“How was this school not discovered for so long?” Harry asks suspiciously.

Ron shrugs. “I dunno. You’d figure that at least that American school Ilvermorny would know if some other school was right next to ‘em.”

Harry glances back at the stranger still fast asleep, suddenly remembering him. His body rises and falls slowly, looking strangely out of place alongside his curled, almost defensive position. 

He could, Harry notes to himself casually, be one of the foreigners.

He can feel the paranoid side of him rearing up, whispering dark, insidious words about spies and Voldemort and betrayal into his ear. It’s not exactly a difficult jump to make, Harry argues(to himself), what with last year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor turning out to be a Death Eater.

His brain is thankfully interrupted from opening that particular can of worms by the tinkling bell of the food trolley as it passes through the corridor, and Harry visibly snaps back to focus. Surprisingly, he’s not the only one to react to the bell, as the figure in the corner stiffens noticeably at the sound.

He’d been moving about the entire time in a restless sort of way that hinted to bad dreams, but it had been the movement of someone very much asleep. Now, however, he is unarguably awake as he swings his legs over to the side and sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes tiredly.

The stranger sits up, and all of Harry’s thoughts about Death Eaters and spies stop short. He can’t help the surprised gasp that sticks at the back of his throat, because there’s a sick sort of irony to the fact that the stranger looks so much like him.

Correction: Like a much better-looking version of him.

He’s tall, with a messy head of black hair. While Harry’s hair had always seemed unkept(something the Dursley’s never failed to remind him of), the stranger’s hair seems to fall eloquently over his eyes, almost as though it had been purposefully styled that way.

And now that Harry’s started comparing the two of them, he can’t help but see other improvements.

He has tanned skin that hints to Mediterranean roots, a bronze color of which Harry could have had if he’d spent more time out in the sun instead of cramped inside of the castle or in the Dursley’s cupboard under the stairs.

He’s lean, with a swimmer’s physique, but you can see the distinction of muscles underneath his shirt that make Harry feel like a slouch.

Their eyes are similar too, both green. But where Harry’s are the green of emeralds, the stranger’s remind Harry of the ocean, an unforgettable sea-green color.

There are, at least, some big distinctions to separate the two of them. The stranger doesn’t have glasses, for one, and oddly enough has a lock of white hair, as though dyed, that probably would have looked stupid on anyone else but somehow just makes him look mysterious. 

The stranger looks around for a moment, as though gathering his bearings, before shooting them a handsome lopsided smile. 

“Hi. I’m Percy.” His voice is deep and carries a strong American accent.

Harry's friends introduce themselves, hesitant smiles dancing on their faces, before it gets to Harry's turn. 

"I'm Harry," Harry says warily. "Potter."

Harry eyes Percy, waiting for a reaction, but none seems to come. Percy just nods easily, not even giving Harry a second glance before turning to the glass door of the compartment, where the food trolley can be seen passing through.

Eagerly he grabs a small pouch which must contain his money and slides out to purchase some food, not even sparing them a second glance.

At his exit Harry lets out a pent-up sigh of relief.

"That must be one of the transfer students," Ron says excitedly.

"He seems quite nice," says Luna wistfully.

"He looks a lot like you, Harry." Hermione notes, and when Harry glances at her, her cheeks carry a faint blush. Harry scowls, but to no avail.

"He was quite good-looking, wasn't he?" Ginny asks. 

Hermione, noticing Harry's face, hurriedly adds in. "Not that you're... not, obviously. I mean, you're both rather good-looking."

At this, Ron scowls as well. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it quickly as the compartment door opens back up and Percy slides in. He's holding what looks to be a selection of all of the candies on the food trolley, eerily reminding Harry of his first time on the Hogwarts Express.

Percy dumps them unceremoniously near his bags, before settling down, obviously excited to try them out. 

"Have you never had these before, mate?" Ron asks Percy, who's holding one of the chocolate frogs up with curiosity.

Percy shakes his head.

"Nope. They're not real frogs, right?" He asks, in the same, strangely American accent.

Neville shakes his head reassuringly. 

"You're one of the American transfer students, right?" Hermione asks, her tone of voice a bit too high to be normal.

Percy nods carefully, the first sign of caution on his face, and Hermione leans forward interestedly.

"So how good are you at magic? What's your school like?" She asks, rapid-fire. 

Percy shifts in his seat awkwardly, clearly hesitant. "Uhhh... it's not really a school." He finally replies. At the clear look of confusion on everyone’s faces, he elaborates. "...It's a summer camp. We go to normal school during the year."

Ron looks positively horrified at the idea of having to spend summer at a second school. "Good luck, mate. The curriculum at Hogwarts is hard enough when you've already spent four years here. So to only spend summers..." Ron trails off, his expression pitying.

Percy looks worried for a moment, and settles uneasily back in his chair. Almost subconsciously he pulls out a battered ballpoint pen from his pocket, which he spins around his fingers with practiced ease. 

Hermione tries her best to send him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure you can catch up. You did buy all of the necessary stuff you would need at Diagon Alley, like books and such?" She asks. 

Percy nods. "Yeah. It was pretty cool there. And I got one of those cool magic sticks, which is neat."

There's a moment of horrified silence as everyone tries to digest what Percy had just said.

“You mean… a wand?” Hermione finally asks. 

Percy brightens and nods enthusiastically.

"You didn't have a wand before?" Neville tentatively asks.

Percy gives them all a worried sort of look, clearly curious from the visceral reaction to his previous statement.

"No…” He says. “Is that bad?"

There's another beat of silence as someone in their group tries to find something reassuring to say. 

"Well," Hermione finally says, "It's fine, I guess. I'm sure you can catch up. You can probably ask someone in your House to help you." 

If anything, Percy seems to look even more confused and worried than before. 

"House?" He asks.

Harry sends Ron a look loaded with meaning. Does this guy really know nothing about Hogwarts?

In a way, it's reassuring to Harry. There's no way Percy could pose a threat to him if he doesn't know any magic. Percy's... camp must have been pretty closed off for him to not know any of this.

"There are four houses." Harry explains. "Gryffindor for the brave, Ravenclaw for the wise, Slytherin for the cunning, and Hufflepuff for the hardworking."

"All of the houses are good, except for Slytherin. There isn't a single evil wizard that didn't come from Slytherin." Ron adds in darkly.

Percy nods slowly, clearly deep in thought. His eyes seem to focus on the magazine Luna had been reading, specifically on the front page, where a moving photo of Sirius Black stares back at him from behind bars.

"Was Sirius Black in Slytherin?" He asks, pointing to the magazine interestedly.

Harry feels a muscle jump in his jaw. "No. But he's innocent." 

Percy stares at him, his expression disbelieving. 

"He was framed!" Harry says angrily.

Percy holds up his hands in a wordless sign of surrender, his eyebrows raising at Harry's sudden reaction.

"Alright. By who?" Percy asks.

"Peter Pettigrew." Harry responds, almost instantly, as he remembers what had transpired at the Whomping Willow almost two years ago.

"And which house was Pettigrew in?" Percy asks.

Fuck.

They'd all settled down after the previous conversation and had stuck mostly to themselves. Percy had laid back onto a row of seats and was currently taste testing Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Jelly Beans(occasionally grimacing at a bad flavor), Neville had gone to sleep, and Luna had put away The Quibbler and now spent her time staring creepily at people(mostly Percy, although he seemed blissfully unaware). Harry, Ron and Hermione had moved to the corner of the compartment, talking quietly amongst themselves.

Of course, their quiet is short lived, as the compartment door slides open for the third time and none other than Draco Malfoy himself steps inside. His two goons, Crabbe and Goyle, stand outside the door, like two hulking gargoyles.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Potty Potter." Draco says coldly, his usual arrogant sneer pasted on his face.

"Draco. What do you want?" Harry asks, irritated. Harry can see the golden Prefect badge glinting off of his cloak, making Harry’s stomach churn uncomfortably.

"Funny enough, I heard that one of the new transfer students is here. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you started dogging their heels already. You always did love attention." He drawls, causing Harry to stand up angrily, Ron following at his heels.

"Back off, Malfoy. Don't you have other people to annoy?" Ron asks bracingly.

Draco just smirks at him. "How's it feel to be second to Weasley, Potter? Heard you didn't make Prefect. What a shame." He says, and Harry feels the familiar flush of embarrassment heat up his cheeks. Hermione turns to Harry sharply.

"Ignore him, Harry. Shut up, Malfoy." She says calmly. 

Draco ignores her and turns to Percy, who's watching their exchange with a detached interest.

"I'm Draco, Malfoy." Draco says, in his usual pretentious manner. "And you are?"

Percy introduces himself slowly, his expression indecipherable.

"And what blood type are you?" Draco asks.

Harry can hear Hermione's sharp intake of breath from beside him, and he fights the urge to just go up and punch Draco in his smug little face.

Percy's brow furrows, as though that's an odd question. "O positive. Why?"

Draco looks positively disgusted at the answer. "Not that blood type, stupid! What are you, some sort of muggle?" He asks, clearly revolted.

If Harry had expected Percy to look offended or angry, he would be far from correct. Percy just gives him a confused look, like Malfoy's not explaining things properly.

"I don't know what half of the words that came out of your mouth mean." He finally says, after a beat of silence.

Draco sneers. "Great. They really do let anyone into this school now, huh?" His gaze roves over Ron and then Hermione, and his sneer grows even greater.

Harry opens his mouth, about to retort, since it seems that Percy isn’t interested in defending himself, but is interrupted by a cold voice from behind Malfoy.

"Great. Can you shut up now and move?" It's a low voice, with the same American accent that Percy has. Draco whirls around surprisedly. Crabbe and Goyle are both mysteriously gone, replaced by a short boy.

The first word that comes to Harry’s mind to describe him is death. It’s in his pale, almost bone white skin, his messy, overgrown, dark hair, and in his even darker eyes.

The room is bright, but he’s cast in shadows.

Even though he's probably shorter than everyone in this room, he looks intimidating. Like Percy, he’s wearing Muggle clothes, an all-black getup that only makes him look scarier. Harry’s gaze, almost as though drawn there, immediately goes to a silver skull ring adorned on his thin, spidery fingers, and he fights the urge to shudder. 

"Who the hell are you?" Draco asks, his snobbish accent disappearing for once from surprise.

The boy dismisses the question with a single indifferent glance, instead choosing to repeat his first. "Can you move? I need to get in." Impatience leaks through his voice, and it makes Harry feel strangely cold.

"I don't know who you think you are, but I'm Draco Malfoy." Draco says, eyeing the boy for some sort of reaction. 

The boy gives him an incredulous glance. "Wow. Your parents must really hate you."

Harry can see Draco's nails dig into his palms as he stares at the newcomer in anger. Draco’s mouth opens, closes, and then opens again, looking oddly like a gaping fish, clearly unsure of what to say. 

“Excuse me?” Draco asks, and the boy gives him an unimpressed look. 

“It’s very simple, see. All you have to do is move out of the way. Or is that too much for you to handle?” 

Harry fights the urge to laugh as Draco practically vibrates in anger.

“Be careful how you speak to me, or my father will hear of this.” Draco finally responds, after sufficiently swallowing his anger.

The boy raises an eyebrow coolly. “Your father? Oh, no.” He says, his voice dry.

Malfoy’s hands ball into fists. “My father can ruin your life.” Something in the boy’s eyes flicker, and Draco continues victoriously. “And,” Draco smirks, enjoying himself. “So can I.”

At this, the boy’s whole demeanor changes. He straightens visibly, his head cocked slightly to the side, and his eyes glint with a wildness that makes Draco flinch. Harry isn’t sure if it’s just his imagination, but he swears he can see the shadows lengthening on the walls, growing longer and darker.

“Is that a threat?” The boy asks, his voice low, almost a whisper. He steps forward, and almost unconsciously Draco steps back.

“I hope not,” the boy continues. “Threats are so… banal, and making one to me wouldn’t be very good for your health.”

“Th-that sounds like a threat.” Draco says, stuttering slightly.

The boy smiles, and it’s dark and promises painful intentions. “I don’t make threats. Only promises.”

Draco takes a step back, almost instinctively, but before he can get any further he hits Percy’s chest, reeling forwards in surprise.

Harry hadn't even noticed, but Percy must have stood up some time during the conversation, because now he seems to loom over Draco, smiling amusedly like a cat watching its prey run in circles.

“Going somewhere?” Percy asks curiously.

“Let me give you a hint,” Nico says, drawing it out like Draco would, before pointing to the door.

In all his time at Hogwarts, Harry has never seen Draco move so fast, as he practically dives out of their compartment.