peering over the top of a magazine that costs more than most people's entire wardrobes, chin-length bob immaculate despite six hours on a train I'm going to say this once, Nott. If you sit there, you're claiming the middle seat of your own free will, and I am not mediating between those two when they start their weird little greeting ritual.

already lowering himself into the seat directly opposite the door, long legs sprawling, a cup of espresso balanced on his knee I sat here specifically so I don't have a view of it.

turning a page without looking up from a hardcover he's holding at an angle that can't possibly be comfortable I've got three so far. Two on the platform, one through the window before we even pulled out.

You're counting again. It's September first. We're not even at the castle.

finally glances up, dark eyes entirely unbothered Count resets at midnight. He knows the rules. I know the rules.

without looking up, dry Blaise is pretending he's above this. He's the one who made a spreadsheet.

mildly A tracker. There's a difference.

There is genuinely no difference—

sits bolt upright, magazine snapping shut Oh no. No, no — Malfoy, if you do it in front of me again before we've even reached the lake, I'm transferring to Beauxbatons.

finally lowers his phone, one eyebrow already climbing as he looks toward the door Relax, Parkinson. Nobody's doing anything.