After Hermione left, the compartment fell quiet for a moment.
Harry hesitated for a bit, then finally spoke, his green eyes resting on Flins with a hint of unease:
“Kyryll, do you know about me?”
Hermione had just talked endlessly in the compartment about all the rumors surrounding “Harry Potter.” Harry had always thought Flins was just like him—someone who grew up knowing nothing, a newcomer who had just stepped in from the Muggle world.
Yet Flins’s overly calm reaction seemed to show otherwise.
A trace of confusion flickered in Flins’s eyes:
“Of course I know your background.
Quite a few books in my house mentioned you.”
“Then why did you…” Harry trailed off, his fingers picking at the edge of the table without thinking.
“Yeah, Kyryll, what’s your family like?”
Ron leaned in too, his face full of simple curiosity.
“Are your parents Muggles?”
Flins put his book down and said in a calm voice:
“Muggles?
No.
Both my parents were wizards.
It is just that they have both passed away.
An old friend of theirs has been taking care of me all these years.
He…
was a wizard too.”
He spoke very flatly, but the air in the compartment seemed to sink a little under his words.
“I’m sorry, I…”
Ron scratched his red hair awkwardly, the freckles on his face seemingly shrinking inward.
“I didn’t mean to pry…”
“No need to apologize, Ron.”
Flins gave a slight shake of his head, his tone steady.
“It is something that has already happened.
In that war, the death of my parents was merely an extremely tiny moment among all those disasters.”
The compartment fell silent for a time.
The sound of the wind outside the window and the clattering of the train wheels became格外 clear.
Ron seemed to be turning something over in his head.
Suddenly, as if remembering something, his eyes went wide as he stared at Flins, his expression slowly shifting into a look of sudden realization and…
sympathy?
“It’s you!
My parents mentioned you to me…”
He opened his mouth with uncertainty, then closed it, as if weighing how to say it.
In the end, he simply gave a firm nod:
“Even if you really go to Slytherin,” Ron said, “I’ll still be your good friend.”
Harry looked over at Ron, then back at Flins.
Even though he did not fully understand the story behind it all, he understood the meaning of Ron’s words.
He nodded along, his green eyes holding a bright spark:
“Yeah, Kyryll.
We’re your good friends.”
“Thank you once again.”
During the time that followed, Harry and Ron continued talking about Hogwarts, but they often tried to pull Flins into their conversation.
Though Flins did not have much interest in these topics, he recognized the kindness of the two boys, so he was willing to set his book aside and share a few words now and then.
Knock, knock.
For some reason, this repeated knocking at the door gave Flins a familiar feeling—the last time he had felt this was after he met the Traveler.
Thinking back on all the things that took place in Nordkalai during that time, Flins could not help taking a closer look at Harry.
Three boys walked in, one of whom was Draco, whom he had met at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.
Draco’s eyes landed on Flins first, his gray eyes brightening a little as if recognizing him.
Soon, however, he looked away, shifting his gaze onto Harry’s face.
Those eyes flared hot in an instant, like someone who had finally found something he had been waiting for a long time.
“Is it true?”
he asked.
“The whole train is talking about it, saying Harry Potter is in this compartment.
So it’s you, isn’t it?”
Draco drew out his words with an easy, unthinking arrogance.
Flins looked at Harry, then at Draco, thinking to himself that this child’s attempt to make friends was probably not going to go well.
“Yes,” Harry said.
“Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle,” Draco said, introducing the two boys beside him first.
Seeing Harry looking at them, he added carelessly:
“My name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”
What followed next was not friendly at all; it was an absolute mess.
Flins sat in the corner without stepping in.
He truly could not understand—sincerely could not—how a few children could turn a simple greeting into such a scene.
On top of that, the boy named Draco even glared at him before walking out.
It seemed the wisdom of life was not just about knowing when to step forward, but that it was best not to be at the scene in the first place.
Hogwarts had arrived.
A massive figure stood in the shadows, holding up a lantern.
He called out in a voice so loud it shook the eardrums:
“Firs’ years, this way!
Harry, over here, how’re yeh?”
Harry pulled Ron and Flins along as he stepped forward, looking up at the giant with a relieved smile:
“Hello, Hagrid.”
Hagrid’s bearded face broke into a huge grin in the lantern light.
His eyes swept over the two boys beside Harry:
“Yer friends?
Come on, follow me—firs’ years, follow me!”
With those words, he turned and took large strides forward, leading a flock of chattering young wizards in robes down a steep, narrow path.
After passing through a thick patch of trees, the view opened up wide all at once.
A black lake spread out quietly before their eyes, reflecting the silver moonlight.
On the hillside across the water, a grand castle stood tall, its towers pointing into the sky.
The lighted windows of the castle looked like stars, warm yellow glows shining through the panes and scattering bits of light over the surface of the lake.
Flins’s half-opened eyes widened without him realizing it.
“Come on, in the boats!
No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid’s booming voice shouted from ahead.
Flins followed Harry and Ron into a small boat.
Sharing the boat with them was that round-faced boy who had lost his toad.
He held an empty cage, his eyes still red, but he was completely taken by the sight before him, his mouth slightly open, forgetting to cry.
Row after row of small boats left the shore, gliding across the water as smooth as a mirror, moving silently toward the other side.
The oars parted the water, sending out ripples of fine waves.
Flins sat at the back of the boat, resting one hand on the edge, his fingertips brushing the surface from time to time.
He looked up at the castle drawing closer and closer, his bright yellow eyes reflecting the warm yellow lights on the stone walls and the dark blue night sky above.