What is it like to ride a train packed with wizarding students for the first time?
Adrian Blackwood had only one answer: utter chaos.
The echoes of farewells from emotional parents, the shrieks of reunited friends, the thudding of dragging trunks, the screeches of overexcited owls, and the clatter of spell books—all of it merged into one enormous, noisy blur. It made the Hogwarts Express feel more like the heart of Diagon Alley on a sale day.
"Adrian! Harry!" A loud, breathless voice rose above the din and made them both turn, surprised. Even with the general cacophony, this particular voice somehow made the chaos feel louder.
It was Flegg Brown.
"Flegg!" Harry called back, beaming and waving enthusiastically.
"Let me—sorry—pardon me—thanks!" Flegg huffed as he weaved and squeezed through the crowd, dragging his trunk, which was half-open and bouncing dangerously. His Muggle-style wheels were thoroughly unhelpful on the cobbled floor of the platform.
"I honestly didn't think I'd actually get into Hogwarts!" Flegg exclaimed as he reached them. "We were in France on holiday when the owl arrived. My parents thought it was a scam. It wasn't until Madam Hooch showed up in person—broom and all—that they finally believed it. Oh, maybe you don't know her yet—she's the Flying Instructor at Hogwarts! She's brilliant!"
Adrian gave a brief nod. Of course he knew Rolanda Hooch. She had coached his cousin Renn briefly for a summer Quidditch camp and was said to have the sharpest eyes on a broomstick this side of the Channel.
"That's incredible!" Harry said, laughing. "Uncle Vernon practically tried to burn my letter. It took Hagrid smashing down the door of a lighthouse to get mine to me."
Adrian observed the two with a neutral smile. He still found it slightly surreal to see Harry Potter joking and smiling like an ordinary boy—especially given the shadow that loomed over his early childhood.
"Shall we find a compartment before the train fills up?" Adrian asked practically, motioning to the oversized trunk he was dragging. "Otherwise we'll be stuck squeezing in between groups halfway through."
They nodded in agreement, and the three made their way toward the rear half of the train, peeking into each compartment they passed. Most were already half-full with returning students or groups of first-years clutching new wands and wide-eyed expressions.
Eventually, they found one near the end of the last carriage that was still empty. After some coordinated heaving, lifting, and one near-disaster with Flegg's owl cage, they finally managed to get all their trunks settled on the luggage rack.
As they sat down, Flegg immediately burst into questions. "So when did you guys find out you were wizards? I mean, when did you really believe it?"
"When I saw Madam Hooch lift my mother five feet off the ground and zoom her around the garden on a broomstick," Flegg answered his own question. "Mum got off and changed her hairstyle on the spot. Dad kept checking behind the fence for wires. When they finally accepted it, they were thrilled. My sister's jealous—she says being a wizard is way cooler than being a solicitor."
Harry grinned. "I found out just this summer too. But Adrian here,"—he gestured at his friend—"grew up in a wizarding family. He's what people call pure-blood."
Flegg's jaw dropped a little. "That's amazing. Adrian, can I visit your house during the holidays? I've never even been in a proper wizarding home. And Madam Hooch told us not to tell Muggles anything about Hogwarts or the magical world. Something about the Statute of Secrecy?"
"Of course you can," Adrian said—though there was a distant, polite tone to his voice. He was already considering that they might be Sorted into different Houses at Hogwarts. Unlike in a Muggle school, they wouldn't necessarily have the same classes or dormitories. Without a common background—or common adversary like Dudley Dursley—friendships like this could easily fade.
Flegg then launched into an animated description of a culinary memory from his recent trip to France. "My favorite food was flame-grilled mussels. You take fresh mussels and place them on a wooden plank nailed in four corners. Then you arrange the mussels in a spiral—like dominoes—layered next to each other. Cover it with pine needles and set it on fire. The burning pine needles give the mussels a smoky, resin-flavored crust. When it's done, just scrape off the ash, dab some butter, and eat."
Adrian, long wearied by British cuisine and recently reintroduced to taste by the excellent cooking of his family's house-elf Dobby, was thoroughly intrigued. He made a mental note to bring up enchanted French cooking with Renn or Daisy.
Harry looked like someone who had just walked past the window of Honeydukes on an empty stomach. Compared to the sparse, cold meals at the Dursleys, just hearing about mussels in pine smoke made his stomach growl.
And as if on cue, Flegg rubbed his stomach and said, "I'm starving."
"Me too," Harry groaned, cradling his midsection. Despite Mrs. Blackwood stuffing him full of eggs, sausages, and toast that morning, Harry was clearly in the early stages of adolescent hunger.
"I'll go check the trolley," Adrian said, standing up with a sigh. This, he realized, would be one of many tasks he'd quietly take on as the most experienced of the trio.
Just as Adrian opened the compartment door, he was nearly knocked over by a tall, lanky red-haired boy stumbling inside.
"Ron?" Adrian steadied him quickly by the shoulders.
Before he had even regained his footing, Ron burst out, "Adrian! Brilliant, I was looking for you. Did you hear? Dad says Harry Potter is on the train—I was really hoping we'd get to meet him!"
Adrian stepped aside, smiling. "Come in first."
He ushered Ron inside and deliberately directed him toward Flegg, motioning for him to sit beside the similarly red-haired boy. They'll get along fine, Adrian thought, watching as the two exchanged grins—both talkative, both ginger-haired, though Ron was taller and more freckled.
The sight of the two of them awkwardly smiling at each other made Adrian's chest lighten unexpectedly. It was a pleasant sort of chaos.
"Ron, this is Flegg Brown. I think you two will be great friends," Adrian said. "And this," he added, turning to Harry, "is Harry Potter—the one you just mentioned."
Ron's face flushed a deep red, but he managed to thrust out a hand. "Hi—hello, Flegg. I'm Ron Weasley."
He spoke with a stiff formality, clearly trying to imitate how he thought adults introduced themselves, though his ears glowed with embarrassment. Still, it worked—the three boys exchanged handshakes like old mates.
Maybe sharing a hair color sped up emotional bonding? Adrian wasn't sure, but he found the dynamic oddly satisfying.
Ron turned quickly to Harry, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and disbelief. "Are you really Harry Potter? I mean—do you…?" He gestured awkwardly toward Harry's forehead.
Harry, used to the gesture by now, pushed aside his fringe and revealed the famous lightning-shaped scar. "Yeah," he said wearily.
Ron gawked. "Blimey—that's from You-Know-Who, isn't it?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, but I don't really remember anything. Just a flash of green light… that's it."
"You don't remember anything else?" Ron asked, fascinated.
Harry shook his head. "Nothing beyond the light. That's all."
Adrian shrugged. "Honestly, it's incredible you remember even that. I can't recall anything from when I was a baby."
Ron sat back, still staring at Harry like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, until he suddenly realized what he was doing and turned to stare out the window instead.
"What's going on?" asked Flegg, who hadn't been listening closely until now. "What's the deal with Harry's scar?"
Adrian, sensing Harry's discomfort, smoothly changed the subject. "Weren't you saying you were hungry earlier?"
"Actually, yeah," Ron perked up. "I passed someone with a trolley full of food. She should be getting here soon."
Almost as if on cue, there was a soft knock followed by the compartment door sliding open. A dimpled witch with kind eyes and a cheery smile peeked inside.
"Anything from the trolley, dears?" she asked.
Adrian immediately stood up, but Ron muttered something about having brought sandwiches and his ears flushed red again.
Harry, noticing, jumped up and stopped Adrian with a hand on his arm. "Let me buy this time," he said quickly. "You and Flegg fed me all summer—I owe you both."
He fumbled in his robe pockets and produced a handful of Galleons and Sickles. "My parents left me a good bit in Gringotts."
Adrian blinked but didn't argue. He stepped aside. "Alright. Thanks, Harry."
Though Adrian came from a respected pure-blood family, the Blackwoods weren't exactly loaded with Galleons. Frugal habits were second nature. And while he didn't mind splurging on friends, he couldn't visit Hogsmeade yet anyway.
The trolley was a wonderland of magical sweets—Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and oddities Harry had never seen before. His eyes widened like a child in a toy shop. He ended up buying a bit of everything, handing over eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts to the trolley witch.
Ron watched with awe as Adrian and Harry returned with arms full of sweets. He collapsed onto a seat with a dramatic sigh.
"Flegg, this is all your fault," Harry said between bites of pumpkin pasty. "You made me hungry just describing food earlier."
"I brought sandwiches," Ron mumbled, still pink-faced. He pulled out a slightly squashed cardboard box and opened it to reveal four thick sandwiches. He took one out and added with a sigh, "Mum never remembers I hate corned beef."
Harry noticed Ron's awkward expression and, without a word, crossed the compartment, took a bite of the sandwich, and nodded. "I love it."
Ron blinked at him, then smiled. The redness in his ears faded a bit.
"Try this," Adrian said casually, flicking a wrapped pancake toward each of them. "My sister swears the ones on the train are her favorite."
Flegg unwrapped his with a grin, while Ron looked genuinely touched. In that moment, Adrian realized that even before Sorting, Hogwarts had already begun making something better than magic: friendships.