CHAPTER SIX
game in the world —” And he was off, explaining all about the
four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous
games he’d been to with his brothers and the broomstick he’d like
to get if he had the money. He was just taking Harry through the
finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet
again, but it wasn’t Neville the toadless boy, or Hermione Granger
this time.
Three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at
once: It was the pale boy from Madam Malkin’s robe shop. He was
looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he’d shown back in
Diagon Alley.
“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that
Harry Potter’s in this compartment. So it’s you, is it?”
“Yes,” said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of
them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either
side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards.
“Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,” said the pale boy care-
lessly, noticing where Harry was looking. “And my names Malfoy,
Draco Malfoy.”
Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snig-
ger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.
“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are.
My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more
children than they can afford.”
He turned back to Harry. “You’ll soon find out some wizarding
families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go
making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”
He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it.
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