Harry Potter: Returns Back From Game of Thrones (ASOIAF) - 21

Chapter 21: Me? Fight Harry Potter?

"Quidditch? Of course!" Ron's face lit up. "Do you follow the Chudley Cannons?"

That was all the encouragement Ron needed. The two chatted—mainly Ron talking—while sharing the sweets Harry had bought earlier, along with pies and corned beef sandwiches Mrs Weasley had prepared that morning.

Ron mentioned he didn't particularly like beef.

Harry tried some—pretty good for British cuisine, actually. Slightly salty, but good overall as a sandwich.

"Wait a moment. Someone's coming."

"Who? I didn't hear anything." Just as Ron finished speaking, the compartment door slid open with a sharp clang.

But this time it wasn't Neville, the toad-losing boy, nor Hermione Granger. Three boys stood framed in the doorway.

One was the little noble boy Harry had encountered in Diagon Alley—the one who'd been silenced by Harry's intimidating stare after speaking carelessly about blood purity.

The other two boys flanked him like bodyguards, both built stocky with oddly flat faces that made them look almost identical.

"Oh, sir, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle." The pale-faced boy noticed Harry's gaze and hastily introduced his companions.

"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. I heard—the whole train is discussing this—so you're the famous Harry Potter?"

Ron coughed lightly, trying to suppress his laughter at Malfoy's pretentious introduction. Draco's gray eyes fixed on him coldly.

"You think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Harry, his posture straightening. "Sir, you'll soon find that some wizarding families are much better than others."

Ron's face reddened, his jaw clenching, but he glanced at Harry and forcibly restrained himself from exploding.

Malfoy extended his hand toward Harry, expecting a handshake.

Harry didn't acknowledge it.

"First, please leave, close the door, knock once more, apologise to my friend Ron, and then we'll discuss making friends."

Harry's voice was cold, measured. His left hand gestured dismissively toward the corridor.

Draco Malfoy's pale cheeks showed faint pink spots, but he stood motionless, his hand still extended awkwardly.

Ron also flushed—but from excitement, his chest swelling with pride. Harry called him friend. Harry defended him.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who still didn't respect him enough to follow simple instructions. His left hand opened slightly, and the temperature in the compartment plummeted. For just a heartbeat, darkness and frost—usually suppressed by his kingly power—flickered at his fingertips before vanishing.

"Must I repeat myself?"

The words came out quiet, but the air itself seemed to press down on them.

Harry thought briefly: What makes you so disrespectful toward me? Am I still too tolerant of arrogant children?

Malfoy didn't perceive Harry as "gently reasoning" with him. The fact that Harry hadn't torn him in half was already showing remarkable restraint.

He felt insulted, humiliated. His pride demanded he duel Harry immediately.

But Malfoy wasn't foolish enough to fight personally. Unlike their last encounter, he now had muscle behind him.

"Crabbe, Goyle—get him!"

The two bodyguards exchanged panicked glances. Their faces clearly communicated: Me?! Fight Harry Potter?!

They looked back at Malfoy desperately: Boss, maybe you should negotiate more. Being polite costs nothing. This Harry Potter clearly looks extraordinary—worthy of being the legendary person who defeated the Dark Lord at age one. Even we know he's not to be trifled with.

For the sake of the upcoming enrolment ceremony, Harry didn't hit faces.

Toward children, he always showed a trace of mercy. Of course, Joffrey Baratheon hadn't counted—when a child started murdering people, they forfeited any claim to childhood innocence.

When the two bodyguards reluctantly shuffled forward, Ron jumped to his feet, wand in hand, but Harry moved with the fluid precision of a trained fighter. No wand necessary.

The first bodyguard—Goyle—swung a clumsy fist. Harry sidestepped, caught the arm, and redirected the momentum, sending the stocky boy tumbling into his companion. They crashed against the compartment wall with a satisfying thud.

Malfoy fled the moment Goyle hit the floor, his expensive robes billowing behind him as he disappeared down the corridor.

Harry felt disappointed. That child had little actual malice beneath the bluster, just cowardice masquerading as confidence.

Harry was quite skilled at reading people. Malfoy would need considerable growth before becoming worthy of genuine respect.

Hermione Granger appeared in the doorway, drawn by the commotion. Her bushy hair was slightly dishevelled, her expression torn between concern and disapproval.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." Harry grabbed both fallen bodyguards by their collars and tossed them into the corridor with minimal effort, dusting his hands. "Already handled. We need to change into our robes—we're almost at school. Miss Granger, please excuse us."

"You were fighting? We haven't even arrived, and you're already causing trouble! Even if you're the famous—"

"No fighting. Fighting requires mutual combat. They lacked the qualifications for that." Harry's tone remained patient but firm. "At most, a small disciplinary action. How could I fight children? I was educating them."

Ron, his face tense with righteous anger, glared at Hermione. "They were rude first! Then instead of apologising, they dared attack Harry!"

Before Hermione could launch into what promised to be a lengthy lecture, Harry repeated calmly, "We're arriving soon. We need to change. Could you please step out?"

"Fine—" Hermione wasn't afraid of the fierce-looking Ron, but Harry's presence reminded her of facing stern authority—like meeting a headmaster, school board, and education officials simultaneously, or perhaps imagined royal nobility.

Clearly Harry was also a first-year, supposedly the same age as herself. Yet his bearing suggested decades of experience.

In fact, that she still dared argue showed considerable courage on her part. Harry mentally noted this—she could be listed as a potential advisor candidate. Strategists definitely needed courage alongside intelligence.

As Hermione left, Ron glared after her again, appearing utterly loyal to Harry.

Harry dispersed the surrounding chill he'd summoned earlier, glancing out the train window.

The sky had darkened considerably—mountains and forests stood silhouetted against a deep purple twilight. The train had slowed noticeably, and occasional falling leaves drifted past the window like small golden coins.

"What fine autumn weather," Harry murmured.

New students throughout the train buzzed with excitement about arriving at school soon. Only Harry, having already attended years of schooling in another world, seemed somewhat detached from their nervous energy.

Harry and Ron removed their outer clothes, changing into the uniform black robes. Ron's was somewhat old and slightly ill-fitting, but generally unnoticeable—the great equalising benefit of uniforms.

"The train will reach Hogwarts in five minutes. Please leave your luggage on the train—we'll transport it to school for you."

This announcement echoed through every corridor.

Harry had Ron pocket their remaining sweets, then they joined the crowd of students pressing toward the exits.

Then Harry heard a booming, familiar voice cutting through the excited chatter: "First years! First years over here! Harry, over here! How are you?"

Above the surging sea of heads, Hagrid's bearded face broke into a warm smile.

"Come on, follow me! Any more firs' years? Mind yer step now! Right then, firs' years, follow me!"

Following Hagrid down a steep, narrow path, they emerged at the shore of a vast black lake. The water stretched before them like dark glass, reflecting pinpoints of starlight.

Across the lake, perched on a high hillside, towered a magnificent castle with countless turrets. Windows glittered with golden light against the deep purple sky, making the entire structure appear to float between earth and heaven.

"So this is Hogwarts," Harry breathed, his voice barely audible. "Where destinies converge. My promised land."

The castle called to something deep within him—that same instinct that had guided him through battles and across worlds. Here, in this ancient seat of magical learning, his true path would unfold.