I am not the heir of Slytherin, I am Slytherin.

Chapter 13

The pleasantness came to an abrupt end when the compartment door slid open again. Three unwanted people, Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Greggory Goyle stood there.

"Well, look who it is," said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door. "Potty and the Weasel."

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly. 

"I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley," said Malfoy. "Did your mother die of shock?" 

"Oh no she didn't but if you don't leave now, your mother will die of heartbreak that her son has been turned into a ferret by me," Harry drawled, glaring at Malfoy.

Draco shrunk away under Harry's fierce gaze. He had never seen Harry this intimidating. The others in the compartment were having a hard time controlling their laughter at Draco's current appearance, though Ron and Ginny were a bit intimidated and surprised too, having never seen their friend like this before.

"M-m-my fa-father w-will h-hear ab-about this," Malfoy sputtered and stuttered before rushing out again. Harry had gotten a distinct impression of Quirrel. 

The subject now changed to Hogsmeade. 

"Do you know much about Hogsmeade?" asked Hermione keenly as it had developed much after her first life.. "I've read it's the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain —" 

"Yeah, I think it is," said Ron in an offhand sort of way, "but that's not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!" 

"What's that?" said Hermione. 

"It's this sweetshop," said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face, "where they've got everything. . . . Pepper Imps — they make you smoke at the mouth — and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you're thinking what to write next —" 

"But Hogsmeade's a very interesting place, isn't it?" Hermione pressed on eagerly. "In Sites of Historical Sorcery it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack's supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain —" 

"— and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you're sucking them," said Ron, who was plainly not listening to a word Hermione was saying.

The rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north. The windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered into life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks. The train rattled, the rain hammered and the wind roared.

"We must be nearly there," said Ron, leaning forward to look at the now completely black window. 

The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down.

"Great, I'm starving. I want to get to the feast. . . ."

"We can't be there yet," said Hermione, checking her watch. 

"So why're we stopping?" 

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows. 

Harry, who was nearest the door, got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments. 

The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.