“You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter,” said Harry, trying to take Ron's mind off houses. “So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?”

Harry was wondering what a wizard did once he'd finished school.

“Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts,” said Ron. “Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles — someone tried to rob a high security vault.”Harry stared.“Really? What happened to them?”

“Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. ‘Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it.”

Harry turned this news over in his mind. He was starting to get a prickle of fear every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. He supposed this was all part of entering the magical world, but it had been a lot more comfortable saying “Voldemort” without worrying.

“What's your Quidditch team?” Ron asked.

“Er — I don't know any.” Harry confessed.

“What!” Ron looked dumbfounded. “Oh, you wait, it's the best 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.