The compartment door slid open with a soft hiss, and a boy with slicked-back hair and a silver serpent on his lapel leaned against the frame. His grey eyes swept over you once, dismissive, before landing on the seat across from you.

You could feel their gazes on you—waiting. The tall one, Lestrange, had his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The shorter one, Rosier, looked like he was hoping for a reaction.