Chương 25: Chapter 26 : Hogwarts Express III

They saw a rather gentle-looking elderly woman dragging a trolley full of snacks into the compartment doorway.

"Anything from the trolley, dearies?" she asked, wearing a grandmotherly smile. Harry instinctively shook his head. Tyson understood why. Both of them had been subjected to his mother's idea of a proper breakfast before leaving home, which meant they'd eaten enough to keep an army marching until lunchtime. Across from them, Ron awkwardly patted the slightly squashed paper parcel resting on his lap.

"I've got sandwiches," he mumbled. The way he said it sounded almost defensive, as though he expected to be judged for bringing food from home.

'Poor kid.' Tyson's eyes drifted past the homemade lunch and toward the dazzling assortment of magical sweets stacked on the trolley. Rows upon rows of brightly coloured boxes, packets, and jars filled its shelves: Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, and dozens of other things he didn't recognise. Half the names sounded ridiculous. Tyson's hand unconsciously brushed the inside of his jacket where a small leather pouch rested against his side. It was heavy.

Apparently, Tyson paying for most of his own school supplies had not sat particularly well with his father's pride. The man hadn't said anything at the time. Then, the day before Tyson's departure, he'd quietly taken a trip to Diagon Alley, exchanged another thousand pounds at Gringotts, returned home, and handed him a pouch containing precisely two hundred Galleons, calling it his pocket money. Tyson had, naturally, refused. His father had, equally naturally, refused to accept the refusal.

The ensuing clash between Tyson's pride as an independent American youth and Mike's pride as a father determined to provide for his son had lasted the better part of twenty minutes. In the end, parental love triumphed over youthful independence. It was one of the darkest days of Tyson's life. Now that very same pouch sat comfortably in his pocket, holding more money than Tyson could realistically spend anytime soon. Which meant he could afford to be a little extravagant.

Besides, he'd always been curious whether wizarding sweets actually lived up to the hype. Tyson looked up at the trolley witch.

"I'll take three of everything." The witch blinked before her smile widened, looking rather less grandmotherly now. Several minutes later, a small mountain of brightly coloured boxes, bags, and wrapped sweets occupied the seat beside him. Tyson thanked the witch, paid the necessary Galleons, wished her a pleasant day, and watched her continue down the corridor. Ron stared at the growing pile with poorly concealed envy.

Pretending not to notice, Tyson quietly sorted the sweets into three roughly equal piles before sliding one across the seat toward Ron. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The redhead's eyes widened.

"You really don't have to—""I've got an idea," Tyson cut in, reaching for a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. He tore it open and held it out between them.

"All three of us take one bean and eat it. If you manage to swallow whatever flavour you get without spitting it out, you've earned the right to eat something decent before the next round. If you can't, you wait." Harry laughed.

"Alright. Why not?" Ron reached for the packet, then hesitated.

"You do know there are vomit-flavoured ones in there, right?" Tyson regarded him with exaggerated disappointment.

"Those sound suspiciously like the words of a coward." Ron immediately straightened in his seat.

"My entire family's been in Gryffindor," he declared, thumping his chest proudly.

"There aren't any cowards among the Weasleys." Tyson grinned.

"That's the spirit." The three of them reached into the packet at once before popping a bean into their mouths. Tyson chewed thoughtfully. Caramel. Not bad. He looked expectantly at Harry and Ron, quietly hoping one of them would immediately regret their life choices. Neither reacted.

"... Really?" Tyson sighed dramatically.

"I was almost certain one of you would've ended up with a booger one." Ron snorted, swallowing his bean before glancing down at the paper parcel beside him. Harry followed his gaze.

"What kind of sandwiches are those?"

"Corned beef." Tyson's and Harry's eyes lit up at exactly the same time. Protein!

"I'll trade you my Chocolate Frog," they said in perfect unison. The two boys slowly turned to look at each other, their eyes meeting with unmistakable competitive intent. Ron blinked between them.

"... You what?"

"You can have my Chocolate Frog," Harry repeated earnestly.

"I'll happily swap for a Pumpkin Pasty," Tyson added, changing his bait. Ron looked from one to the other as though they were both crazy. Then, with a small shrug, he unwrapped the sandwiches, split them cleanly down the middle, and offered half to each of them.

"You can just have them. No need to trade anything. You're already doing me a favour by getting rid of them." He paused before continuing, "I should warn you, though. They're a bit dry."

"You'll eventually come to realise their value once you understand the meaning of life, Ron," Tyson replied solemnly as he accepted the sandwich. He took a generous bite, then winced. Ron was a damn liar. Calling these sandwiches "a bit dry" was an insult to every desert on Earth. Still... protein was protein. Once the sandwiches had finally been conquered, Tyson reached for the beans again.

"Round two." Ron went first, popping a bean into his mouth.

"This one can't possibly be tha—" His face froze, eyes widening. For one glorious second, Tyson watched Ron desperately trying to convince himself that things weren't as bad as they seemed. Then Ron spat the bean across the compartment.

"BLEGH!" He gagged violently.

"IT'S VOMIT FLAVOUR! WHAT THE FUCK?!" Harry doubled over laughing so hard he nearly dropped his Chocolate Frog. Tyson, meanwhile, looked at Ron approvingly. The kid was a fast learner. He'd learned his first proper swear words barely half an hour ago and was already putting them to practical use. There was still hope for him. The game continued for several more rounds, producing wildly inconsistent results. Tyson's luck remained mostly respectable: Berry. Chocolate. Cinnamon. Then he drew paper.

It tasted exactly the way he'd imagined paper would. Ron recovered just enough to pull peppermint on his next turn, only for fate to immediately humble him with liver before mercifully following it up with bacon. Harry, meanwhile, appeared to be living under some sort of enchanted protection. Cheese. Vanilla ice cream. Toffee apple. Every bean he picked seemed determined to reward him for surviving the first eleven years of his life. They played until all three packets were empty.

By the end of it, the compartment floor was littered with brightly coloured wrappers, and all three of them had learned that Bertie Bott had either been a culinary genius or a deranged psychopath. With all the beans finished, they turned their attention to the next most interesting snack: Chocolate Frogs. Harry got Dumbledore's card. Canon was still sticking to the Boy Who Lived like dog shit to a boot. Ron, surprisingly, got Salazar fucking Slytherin! That certainly didn't happen in canon.

Though drawing one of the founders had to be a legendary pull, judging by the sheer excitement on Ron's face. The irony that it happened to be the founder of Slytherin—the very house Ron had spent the better part of the journey insisting he wanted nothing to do with—didn't seem to matter in the slightest. His own pull was... interesting, to say the least. Morrigan, an ancient pure-blood Irish witch. Her biography was quite brief.

She was described as one of the most accomplished Transfiguration masters of the early wizarding era, and it noted that her Animagus form was a crow. That was it. Ron said she was also quite rare since he only had three of her cards. What a humble dude. Soon the door to their compartment was knocked again.