Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

“It’s mad, but there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Better reason for inviting someone than because their mother’s famous,” said Harry, scowling at the back of Zabini’s head, “or because their uncle —”

But he broke off. An idea had just occurred to him, a reckless but potentially wonderful idea. … In a minute’s time, Zabini was going to reenter the Slytherin sixth-year compartment where Malfoy was.

Half an hour ago, he had heard Ron complain that Malfoy was with Zabini and the others and had not attended the prefects’ meeting.

At this moment, Malfoy would surely be sitting there, thinking himself unheard by anybody except fellow Slytherins.

If Harry could only enter, unseen, behind Zabini, what might he not see or hear?

True, there was little of the journey left — Hogsmeade Station had to be less than half an hour away, judging by the wildness of the scenery flashing by the windows — but nobody else seemed prepared to take Harry’s suspicions seriously, so it was down to him to prove them.

As long as he could get the decisive information, he could prove it to Evan and Hermione.

This was a great opportunity, at least much more reliable than Ron’s idea of ​​stripping Malfoy naked.

“I’ll see you two later,” said Harry under his breath, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak and flinging it over himself.

“But what are you — ?” asked Neville.

“Harry!” said Ginny in surprise.

“Later!” whispered Harry, darting after Zabini as quietly as possible, though the rattling of the train made such caution almost pointless.

The corridors were almost completely empty now. Nearly everyone had returned to their carriages to change into their school robes and pack up their possessions.

Everything went smoothly — Harry stayed as close to Zabini as possible without touching him.

But he was not quick enough to slip into the compartment when Zabini opened the door.

Zabini was already sliding the door shut when Harry hastily stuck out his foot to prevent it closing.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” said Zabini angrily as he smashed the sliding door repeatedly into Harry’s foot.

Harry endured the pain, seized the door and pushed it open, hard.

Bang! Zabini, still clinging on to the handle, toppled over sideways into Gregory Goyle’s lap, and in the ensuing ruckus, Harry darted into the compartment, leapt onto Zabini’s temporarily empty seat, and hoisted himself up into the luggage rack.

The whole set of movements was completed in one go and no one noticed Harry at all.

Sirius’ special training for Harry was effective, and he was now much more skilled than before.

And on top of that, Goyle and Zabini were snarling at each other, drawing all eyes onto them.

The only thing that worried Harry was that he had used too much force when he pushed Zabini away, which was very abnormal.

Think about it, how could a compartment door push someone away?

Malfoy reached out into a corner of the compartment. Harry’s heart was in his throat. Of course, Malfoy touched nothing.

Finally, Goyle slammed the door shut and flung Zabini off him.

Zabini collapsed into his own seat looking ruffled.

Vincent Crabbe returned to his comic, and Malfoy sniggered, seemingly not noticing anything.

He lay back down across two seats and found a comfortable position, with his head in Pansy Parkinson’s lap.

Harry lay curled uncomfortably under the Invisibility Cloak to ensure that every inch of him remained hidden.

He watched Pansy stroke the sleek blond hair off Malfoy’s forehead, smirking as she did so, as though anyone would have loved to have been in her place.

The lanterns swinging from the carriage ceiling cast a bright light over the scene: Harry could read every word of Crabbe’s comic directly below him.

“So, Zabini,” said Malfoy, “what did Slughorn want?”

“The old man was just trying to make up to well-connected people,” said Zabini, who was still glowering at Goyle. “Not that he managed to find many — only a dozen or so.”

This information did not seem to please Malfoy, and he asked, “Who else had he invited?”

“Those in the House who’re not in our group, such as Samuel and Pino…”

He mentioned several names in succession, all of whom were Slytherin students who had received invitations.

“A bunch of idiots who don’t understand what’s going on,” said Malfoy with disdain.

Harry narrowed his eyes and listened to Malfoy’s tone. It seemed that these students were not in the same group with them and did not support Voldemort.

Slughorn had evidently been careful in his selections, not inviting anyone with questionable ties.

“Who else?”

“McLaggen from Gryffindor.”

“Ah, yeah, I know him, his uncle’s big in the Ministry,” said Malfoy.

“— someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw, and from Hufflepuff —”

“Don’t mention them, they’re all prats,” said Malfoy lazily, waving his hand dismissively.

“That Belby isn’t even fit to polish my shoes,” Pansy added.

“And there’s the small team of Mason and Potter. They had the most people,” Zabini said at last. “Mason, Potter, Granger, Longbottom, that Weasley girl and the little vampire who’s a descendant of Slytherin…”

Malfoy sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy’s hand aside, looking enraged.

“He invited Mudbloods and Longbottom?”

“Well, I assume so, as they were there,” said Zabini indifferently.

“You can imagine the quality of that gathering. Forget about those two Mudbloods. I really don’t get what’s Longbottom got to interest Slughorn.”

“Who knows,” Zabini shrugged, “Mason, Granger, and the vampire left shortly after the gathering started.”

“Humph, they came by this afternoon, causing trouble again, telling us not to bully the first-years or whatever. They won’t be smug for long,” said Malfoy.

Harry focused — what did Malfoy mean by that?

He did not continue, but Pansy chimed in, “I know why that Weasley girl got invited. A lot of boys like her, even you think she’s good-looking, don’t you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please.”

As she spoke, she watched Malfoy out of the corner of her eyes for his reaction.

“I wouldn’t touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like,” said Zabini coldly, and Pansy looked pleased. Malfoy sank back across her lap and allowed her to resume the stroking of his hair.

“Well, I pity Slughorn’s taste. Maybe he’s going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn’t heard I’m on the train, or —”

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