Harry potter The Boy Who Remembers

Harry was curious as to how magical literature held up against the classics, and it was funny how a fiction novel ended up teaching him more about the everyday wizarding world than all of the Muggleborn introduction books combined. Still, Harry felt he was ready to officially enter the magical world, and he immersed himself in the book about the adventures of a young curse breaker in an old Egyptian ruin.

Fifteen minutes before the train's supposed departure, the station was almost full of people, mostly parents and siblings saying their goodbyes to students. Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness and envy. The idea that someone would actually miss him while he was away, was one of the few things that he envied about other children. He only hoped that one day he would have someone like that, someone that would love him enough to miss him.

Things had gotten a lot messier when Neville Longbottom had been seen in the station. Dozens of reporters were leaping towards the eleven-year-old boy, and it was only the threatening looks of what he assumed to be the Longbottom matriarch, that they backed off. Harry didn't see the boy who lived but he didn't particularly care about it, even if he was slightly curious as to how the boy would compare to the Neville Longbottom from the stories.

Still, it was only when the train departed that someone knocked on his compartment, trying to get in. Harry looked up and saw a dark-skinned boy his age. Assuming that the boy wanted to get inside, he stood up and discretely unlocked his compartment.

The boy had dismissed him with a glance, "You do know that locking the compartments is against the rules, don't you?"

Harry didn't verbally answer and just shrugged. The boy bristled at his reaction and asked, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"Sure," the young Potter responded.

The boy nodded politely and sat down in the seat next to him with obviously practised grace. Harry rolled his eyes at his pretentious attitude and continued his book. While Harry really wasn't the most social of creatures, he was going to invest time and effort in a friendship when they would end up in a different house, which would make it a lot harder to maintain any friendships.

It's not that it would be impossible, just that from what he had read, the competition between houses is a real one, and things could go very sour, especially considering how childish eleven-year-olds tend to be.

A few minutes in, another boy entered the compartment. Harry recognized him as Draco Malfoy who had actual goons backing him up. The two other kids were standing behind him, trying their best to look intimidating. It was one of the funniest things Harry had ever seen in his life.

They were eleven. Kids that age just weren't intimidating. Seriously, what the hell were these kids taught at home? Honestly, they resembled children trying to pretend to be mafia bosses.

Malfoy, though, didn't seem to notice the ridiculousness of the situation, "Hey, Zabini. I'm looking for Longbottom, did you see him anywhere?"

The boy shook his head, "I'm afraid not."

The blonde then looked at the Potter scion, "What about you?"

Harry just shook his head and went back to reading. The boy though wasn't satisfied, "Are you a mute or something?"

Again, Harry turned to the blonde and raised an eyebrow, "I can talk just fine."

"Then why didn't you answer me properly?"

The green-eyed boy looked at him in the eyes, "Did you understand my denial?"

"Yes, but…"

"Then, what is the problem?" Harry questioned.

The boy huffed in frustration, "It's rude…"

"Did shaking my head offend you? Do I need to worry about you being near every time I move my head?"

"No, it's not that?"

The young Potter stifled a smile, "Then, how were you offended?"

The blonde blushed in embarrassment, "I have better things to do than to bicker with an uncultured swine."

He then turned and left, taking his bodyguards with him. When he left, Harry couldn't help but snort in amusement. Annoying spoilt kids was always fun.

The Zabini boy just looked at him, flabbergasted, "How did you do that?"

"Do what exactly?"

"He never goes away, and he likes to throw his father's name around. I thought he would have told Crabbe and Goyle to beat you up or something."

Harry simply shrugged, "He does it to get a reaction, when he realized that I wasn't going to provide him one, he left. I just annoyed him into not wanting to stay there."

"Well, whatever this was, it was brilliant. I'm Zabini, by the way. Blaise Zabini of the Italian Zabinis."

Harry nodded, "Harry Potter."

He then chose to return to his book. It was far better than continuing whatever conversation the boy was trying to start. Blaise seemed to have understood that he didn't want to talk and left his devices.

Everything seemed to go quietly until a smiling, portly, woman opened the compartment, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

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