Chapter Text
“I know it’s far—can’t you just do two jumps?” Harry asks.
(He most certainly does not whine.)
“Or I’ll Apparate myself and meet you there?”
“You and what license? The Trace would pick you up immediately as soon as you left the property, you know that.” Sirius ruffles Harry’s hair, earning himself a murderous look. “Don’t be such a baby.”
“I’m not being a baby,” Harry says, glaring.
“A puffskein, then.”
“I’m not afraid of Flooing!”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Sirius sings.
“Sirius,” Remus admonishes weakly. As Harry glances over at Remus’ pale face, courtesy of last night’s full moon, he sighs internally and forces a smile.
“Whatever. It’s fine. We have any anti-nausea potions?”
With a flourish, Sirius hands him one. “As if I’d let you go without, kid.”
Just as Harry grabs the potion and stuffs it in his pocket, Kreacher bustles into the sitting room. Beelining for Harry, he presses a small bag into Harry’s hands.
“Kreacher made young master Harry lunch for the train.”
“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry says softly, smiling at the elderly elf, who looks decidedly younger than he did a mere year ago, outfitted in his tidy butler uniform. His eyes are clearer and even his ear hair has been trimmed. Taking pride in their home and being connected to the Black bloodline once more has done wonders for him.
Kreacher sniffs. “You’re welcome, young master. Have a safe trip and do the family proud.”
“I’ll do my best,” Harry promises solemnly. With a final, approving nod, Kreacher pats him on the arm and goes back to the kitchen, eyes suspiciously wet.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were Regulus come again with how that elf dotes on you,” Sirius says quietly so Kreacher won’t overhear.
Harry exhales sharply through his nose in amusement. “I told you, it’s really as simple as being nice to him.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius waves a hand. “Let’s get going.”
Reminded of the impending Floo-travel, Harry grimaces.
“I never realised how stupid it is that everyone has to take the train,” Harry complains. “I mean, we’re way closer to Scotland from here—it would be so simple to just Apparate over or Floo the Three Broomsticks or something.”
Harry shrinks his belongings and stuffs them in his pockets while he speaks but holds onto the bagged lunch. He sent Hedwig ahead earlier that morning, unwilling to have her cooped up in her cage all day on the train when she can just as easily make her way to Scotland on her own.
“I suppose it is at that,” Remus allows and struggles to his feet with a small grunt of pain. Sirius immediately goes to his side, offering an arm which Remus accepts without too much fuss. Harry tried earlier to convince Remus that it isn’t necessary to see him off on the train, but Remus merely levelled him with such a stern look that Harry subsided.
Secretly, he feels all sorts of gooey inside at his godfather’s insistence of being there in spite of his pain and exhaustion.
Once Harry's confident that he's got all his things, he turns to the fireplace. Since they hooked it up to the Floo network before they went under the Fidelius, it remains operational, but all record of it is presumably erased under the charm.
Harry reaches up for the little box on the mantle that contains their Floo powder, throws it into the flames and, with a final deep breath and wistful look around the room, he steps inside, calling out for Kings Cross Station. He clutches his lunch tightly to his chest as he whirls away, closing his eyes in an attempt to stave off some of the nausea.
He tumbles out of the fireplace on the other end onto speckled marble flooring, coughing. As quickly as his shaky legs can carry him, he scurries away, and it isn’t long after that Remus stumbles out, soon followed by Sirius who, in contrast, strolls out like he perfected the art of Flooing without so much as a hair out of place long ago.
Harry downs his potion and the rolling nausea in his gut subsides. Sirius easily siphons the ash off of their respective clothing then throws an arm around Remus’ waist and Harry’s shoulders as they leave the little side room and emerge directly onto platform 9¾.
It's half past ten, and the platform is filled with people milling around, greeting friends and acquaintances among the sounds of owls hooting and the occasional hissing from stressed cats.
Sirius’ arm stiffens around Harry’s shoulders, and Harry leans into his godfather in a wordless offer of support as they make their way over to the train. Thankfully, people are too wrapped up in their own greetings and goodbyes to take much notice of Harry and his godfathers.
When they stand next to one of the doors to the train, Sirius lets go of Remus in order to enfold Harry in a proper hug.
“I’m gonna miss you, kid.”
“I’m gonna miss you, too,” Harry mumbles into Sirius’ chest, hugging him tightly.
For the better part of a year now, he hasn’t gone a single day without his godfathers, and now that they face separation until Christmas, Harry finds himself reluctant to let go. Never before has he gone off to Hogwarts leaving beloved family behind, and as his chest aches, he wonders how people manage.
“Love you, kid.”
“Love you too, Sirius.”
With a final hug, the procedure is then repeated with Remus. Harry’s eyes sting as he hugs Remus, burying his face in his chest.
“You’re gonna have so much fun, Harry,” Remus says softly into Harry’s hair, rocking slightly from side to side. “We’ll see you at Christmas. I love you.”
“Love you too, Rem,” Harry manages through his constricted throat.
He's not going to start crying like a baby on the platform.
“And use the mirror tonight, I have to know which house you end up in,” Sirius says, patting Harry on the shoulder while Harry discreetly dash away a single tear that's surely due to allergies or dust or something.
Harry clears his throat. “Oh please, I’m the most Gryffindorian Gryffindor to ever Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat won’t know what hit it.”
Sirius laughs. Remus gets a thoughtful look on his face and starts to say something but gets interrupted by the loud whistle of the train signalling that it's only a few minutes left till departure.
Harry quickly hugs them each one more time, promises he’ll use the mirror later that Sirius had gifted him, then gets on the train. There's an empty compartment not far from where he got on, and he wastes no time in opening the window and leaning out. Sirius and Remus hurry over and reiterate that they love him, hoping he’ll have a nice trip and reminds him for the millionth time to call them often.
When the train eventually leaves the station, Harry waves to his godfathers as they disappear into the distance, then slumps into his seat with a deep sigh.
Homesick already. Ridiculous.
He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, before the door to his compartment slides open, revealing none other than Ron Weasley.
“Hello. D’you mind? Everywhere else is full.”
“Not at all, go ahead,” Harry says, gesturing toward the empty seats in front of him.
Ron comes inside, manoeuvring his heavy trunk behind him, and Harry idly wonders why no one shrank it for him. Come to think of it, why do most people have their luggage un-shrunken, and their owls with them?
With a huff, Ron stuffs the trunk onto the luggage rack in the corner of the compartment and heaves a heavy sigh as he throws himself onto the seat opposite Harry.
Seeing his first and best friend in the whole world, Harry is struck by a somewhat disconcerting thought: souls, as Harry well knows by now, are real. Not some theoretical concept, but tangible fact.
Unless one is called Tom Riddle (or Harry Potter), one body houses one soul; a soul is unique and can’t be replicated—demonstrated by the simple fact that Harry had taken this universe’s Harry’s spot when he arrived.
Which means that, despite a short pang of longing, Harry knows that the boy in front of him is nothing more than a stranger.
You could change that, whispers a small voice in his head. Orchestrate the same experiences. Mould him.
Perhaps, if Harry had been less principled or lonelier, he might have listened.
In an attempt to get out of his own head, Harry reaches across the aisle and holds out his hand. Ron raises his eyebrows but shakes it perfunctorily.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Harry.”
“You too, I’m Ron.”
The silence that follows is decidedly awkward, only broken by the soft thunk-thunk of the train’s movements along the tracks and students chattering in the hallway outside their compartment.
Harry clears his throat. “First year?”
Ron nods. “Yeah.”
“Me too. Any idea which House you’ll get?”
Ron gives him a look that Harry doesn’t understand. “No. Either’s fine, I guess.”
Weird. His Ron would have gone on a rant about the evil of Slytherin at this point. Harry blinks then moves the subject along since it apparently wasn’t a good one.
“Do you like Quidditch?”
Ron lights up and nods far more enthusiastically. “Yeah!”
Harry relaxes into his seat. “What team do you root for?”
“Chudley Cannons,” Ron says, getting a look in his eyes which tells Harry plainly that Ron's ready to go to bat for his favourite team no matter how awful they are.
“They’re alright,” Harry lies, remembering the bludger that killed him. “My favourites are the Holyhead Harpies, though.” They aren’t top of the league, but while he started out supporting them in solidarity with Ginny, Harry has come to like them here too.
“Oh. Yeah, they’re alright, I guess,” Ron says thoughtfully.
The conversation picks up after that, and they spend a pleasant half hour debating various Quidditch teams and matches while the English countryside rolls past their window. Just as the subject is starting to ebb, the compartment door slides open.
"Anything from the trolley, dears?"
Ron goes pink and mutters something about sandwiches. Harry stands up and inspects the offerings. He hasn’t checked what Kreacher had packed him, but suspects that whatever it is, it does not include sweets.
After some consideration, he picks out two chocolate frogs, two liquorice wands and two cauldron cakes as well as two bottles of pumpkin juice, pays, then sits back down, throwing one of each over to Ron.
Ron goes from pink to red and looks torn between scowling and smiling.
Harry pretends like he didn't do anything out of the ordinary, busying himself with opening his packed lunch. Peering inside the bag, he can't help the smile stretching across his face. Aside from two Cornish pasties and a green apple, there's also a slice of treacle tart wrapped in a cloth napkin.
The feeling of homesickness grips his heart like a vice.
Fishing out the apple, he takes a bite while looking out the window. They both keep silent as they eat, but it isn’t as awkward now. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees that Ron’s furious blush has receded, and he keeps darting glances at the sweets resting by his side.
Ron is much like Remus; the trick is to not make a big deal out of anything if one wants them to accept help or gifts.
Another little while later, there's a knock on the compartment door. It slides open to reveal the round face of a young Neville Longbottom, and Harry smiles in greeting but quickly drops it once he realises how tearful Neville looks.
“Sorry,” Neville says, “but have you seen a toad at all?”
“No, sorry mate,” Harry says.
“I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!” Neville wails.
Harry blinks. “I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
“Yes,” Neville says, miserably. “Well, if you see him…”
“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” Ron remarks once Neville left. “If I’d brought a toad, I’d lose it as quick as I could.”
Harry frowns at Ron. “It’s his pet, of course he’s bothered.”
Ron shrugs and looks out the window.
It isn’t long until the door opens once more. Neville is back, but this time he has Hermione with him.
Harry smiles at the sight of his other best friend.
Not mine, he's forced to remind himself.
“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”
Harry shakes his head. “No, sorry, we already told him we haven’t.”
As Hermione nods and moves to close the door, Harry hurriedly asks them both for their names, eager to prolong their first meeting.
“Neville L–Longbottom,” Neville replies, inching closer.
“I’m Hermione Granger,” Hermione says, stepping fully into the compartment and taking a seat by the door like she belongs there. “Who are you?”
“Ron Weasley.”
“Harry Potter.”
Ron makes a strangled sort of sound, and his eyes widen.
“Are you really?” Hermione lights up. “I know all about you, of course—I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in ‘Modern Magical History’ and ‘The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts’ and ‘Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century’.”
Harry smiles fondly at her enthusiasm. Sure, she sounds awfully conceited while she rattles all that off, but it's so familiar that he doesn’t mind. This, much like Ron, isn’t his Hermione, but he can’t help but feel like she could be.
“Don’t believe everything you read.”
“Whyever not?” Hermione sounds scandalised.
Harry leans toward her and says, in a conspiratorial sort of voice, “They’re all unauthorized. There are plenty of quotes in them, but I haven’t spoken to anyone, and neither have my godfathers.”
Hermione gasps. “Why on earth were they allowed to be published, then?”
“The Wizarding World isn’t big on truth in publications,” Harry says solemnly, leaning back. “You can’t sue people for libel for some reason, so anything published is accepted as gospel, even if it’s straight up lies.”
“He’s right,” Neville says. “M-my gran is always saying the Daily Prophet is ‘one line truth, ten lines lies’.”
Harry nods approvingly while Hermione looks like her world has just been turned upside down.
“You’re really Harry Potter?” Ron blurts from his corner, apparently uninterested in their current conversation.
Harry raises an eyebrow. “Yes.”
“Have you really got—you know…” He points, rather rudely, at Harry’s forehead.
“Yes.”
“So that’s where You-Know-Who–?”
Irritation creeping into his voice, Harry again says, “Yes.”
“Do you remember it?” Ron asks, eagerly.
Harry stares at him. Hermione and Neville remain quiet.
“Partly,” Harry eventually says, coolly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He turns back to Hermione, who's gnawing her bottom lip, looking between him and Ron.
“Anyway, just take whatever you read with a grain of salt, especially concerning the Daily Prophet.”
Hermione nods thoughtfully. “I suppose that might be best. I’ve already learned all our course books by heart, of course, but I’ll keep that in mind when I re-read them.”
Harry snorts in amusement, his previous irritation draining away.
Hermione jumps back to her feet. “We’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. It was nice to meet you.”
Harry itches to go with them rather than be left alone with a weirdly starstruck and, frankly, quite rude Ron. Instead, he smiles, wishes them luck and says he’ll see them later, and they leave.
Now unwilling to engage Ron in conversation, Harry looks out the window and sips his pumpkin juice.
While Harry knows, rationally, that Ron’s reaction hadn’t been all that odd, it still irks him.
It's starting to sink in that once he gets to Hogwarts, he’ll have to get used to the stares, the whispers and the rumours that dog his every step all over again, and the reminder does nothing to improve his mood.
How many of them read the same books Hermione had? How many of them have preconceptions of who he is, and think they know him?
In his petulance, he wishes he could be homeschooled.
Harry’s mood must have been recognizable even to Ron, because he makes no further attempts to talk to Harry, though he keeps darting glances at his forehead. Every time Harry catches him, his irritation rises another little bit, and he's just about to snipe something when the compartment door opens again.
This time, it's Fred and George Weasley.
…well, it could be worse.
“There you are, Ronnie,” exclaims one of the twins.
“We’ve looked all over for you,” the other admonishes. “Wanna come see Lee Jordan’s tarantula?”
Ron pales and glares at them. “No!”
The twins snicker. “Suit yourself,” one says, then nods to Harry. “I’m Fred, this is George. We’re Ron’s older brothers.”
“Nice you meet you; I’m Harry.”
“Potter,” Ron interjects, and Harry shoots him a quick frown.
When he turns back to the twins, they look delighted.
“Well, well, well,” George says.
“Not every day one meets a renowned vanquisher such as yourself,” Fred says, grinning.
Harry rolls his eyes but can’t help but mirror their smiles. “Right, you ever run into a Dark wizard, owl me and I’ll come running.”
The twins snort.
“We’ll keep that in mind,” George says. “Anyway, we just wanted to make sure ickle Ronnie was alright, mum would have our heads if we shirked out brotherly duties this early.”
“See you boys later,” Fred says.
Once more left alone, Harry wishes there could be at least one other person taking up a spot in their compartment. A buffer would be nice, since he isn’t all that eager to chat with Ron while he's busy staring at Harry’s forehead.
“I’m just gonna use the loo,” Harry eventually says and gets to his feet.
Out in the corridor, he draws a quiet, deep breath of relief. Meandering down the hallway, he glances into the compartments he passes, recognizing quite a few people from both his year and above, but most people are unfamiliar to him.
Luckily, no one takes any particular note of him.
At the end of the carriage, he ducks into one of the loos where he takes the opportunity to unshrink his messenger bag and haul out his robes. After getting changed, he stuffs the ridiculous pointy hat in his pocket but leaves the bag in its normal state.
He'll get used to me, he tells himself, dragging his feet back to his and Ron’s compartment. We could be friends again eventually.
The bag swings against his hip when he halts.
Three boys are leaving his compartment. Harry frowns when he recognises Draco Malfoy, flanked by Goyle and—
That's not Crabbe.
The brown-haired boy looks familiar, but Harry can’t connect a name with the face. Nor does he have time to search his memory before Malfoy catches sight of him and lights up.
“Harry!” Malfoy hurries down the corridor, the other boys following at a more sedate pace.
“Ah, hey, Malfoy.”
Malfoy wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “I told you, call me Draco, please.”
“Right, sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, I heard from someone that they’d heard you were in this carriage, so I came to find you. Come sit with us!”
Harry blinks, then shrugs. Draco is probably better entertainment than Ron at this point anyway. “Yeah, alright. Just need to grab my lunch.”
Draco beams and waves him past, falling into step next to him despite lack of room. Harry ducks inside the compartment, stuffs his things in his bag, and tells Ron he’ll go sit with some friends in lieu of something else to call the other boys.
Ron sighs mournfully but doesn’t object further, though he glares at Draco over Harry’s shoulder.
Draco leads the way up the train toward their own compartment. When they eventually find it and take their seats, Harry again recognises the person already inside without being able to remember a name.
The girl sitting in the corner is rather pretty, with straight honey blonde hair, and bright blue eyes.
…had he really been this oblivious to his year mates?
Or are they unique to this dimension?
“Harry, these are my friends, Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott,” Draco points toward the boys and Harry dimly recalls the name Nott now, “and that’s Daphne Greengrass.”
Again, now that he’s heard it, Harry recognises the name.
Not unique then.
“Pleasure,” he says, setting his bag on the floor.
“Nice to meet you,” Daphne says with a small smile.
Theodore Nott nods at Harry and echoes Daphne’s words, then pulls out a book from his own bag and buries his nose in it.
Goyle merely grunts.
All four are already wearing their Hogwarts robes.
“How long have you known each other?” Harry asks curiously.
“As far back as I can remember,” Draco replies. “We’re practically family. Speaking of family; Mother was so happy when Mr Black sent her a letter, thank you for talking to him!”
“Er, no problem.”
“You should have heard Draco go on and on about meeting you in Diagon,” Daphne teases.
“Daphne,” Draco hisses, rubbing a hand down his face, pale cheeks turning pink. He levels Harry with an apologetic look. “I didn’t, I just mentioned it.”
“Sure, about a million times,” Daphne says, then pitches her voice slightly higher. “Daphne, Harry seems so smart! He told me about Castelobruxo, did you know they let students become animagi there?”
Draco looks mortified. Harry’s lips twitch into a smile.
“I’m afraid I can’t quite live up to the hype,” Harry says amusedly.
“We’ll be the judges of that,” Daphne sniffs, eyes glittering.
“Anyway, Mother said she and Cousin Sirius are having tea next week,” Draco interrupts with a glare at Daphne.
Are these reminders about the people they have in common some sort of ingratiating tactic? Harry wouldn’t put it past him, but the unfamiliar earnestness in Draco trying to find common ground is surprisingly… endearing.
It beats Ron’s stolen glances at his forehead.
“Oh right, he mentioned that.”
“I hope he likes the Manor; Mother spent the last year redecorating, and she’s been eager to show it off.”
Where's the pompousness? The haughtiness? All Harry can hear is warm pride and fondness. It throws him for a loop.
“I’m… sure he will.”
“You’ll have to come over sometime!” As if that mere statement doesn’t make Harry’s head spin. “We could even play Quidditch! Do you play?”
“Er, yeah.”
“I sure wish first years were allowed brooms,” Draco continues mournfully. “I hope we get to borrow the school brooms to at least go flying sometimes, I don’t think I could go months without it.”
Harry, to his surprise, wholeheartedly agrees and tells Draco as much.
They while away the remaining time until they arrive at the Hogsmeade station with talk of flying, Quidditch and brooms. Eventually, they turn to current news—much of which is dominated by Dumbledore stepping down as headmaster in June due to health reasons—and eat a leisurely lunch together.
Over the course of the afternoon, Harry's invited to call each of the others by their first names, even nicknames in Theo’s and Greg’s cases, and he dazedly agrees to let them call him Harry. They probably won't keep it up when they inevitably sort Slytherin, but it doesn’t hurt to be friendly for now.
When the train slows down, the children stand as one and file out of the compartment, giddy with nerves. They leave their luggage behind as it will be transported separately to the castle, but Harry keeps his with him, shrunken in his pockets.
"Why don't more people shrink their luggage?" he asks Draco.
“I mean, it sounds convenient, but I don’t know the spell to unshrink my trunk, even if I got my parents to shrink it for me. Are you saying you can do it?”
Harry jumps off the train onto the platform. “Well, yeah.”
“Do you think you could teach me?” Draco hurries to stand side by side with Harry.
“Er, sure, I suppose.”
“Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here!” A lamp bobs over the heads of the students, Hagrid’s frame towering over them.
“C’mon,” Harry says, eagerly dragging Draco with him.
Once all the first years are gathered by Hagrid, he leads the way off the platform down a steep, narrow path which leads to the edges of the Great Lake. Hagrid’s lantern barely afford any light, though, so Harry draws his wand and mutters a Lumos, unwilling to fall and break his neck in the darkness.
Draco blinks at the sudden light then smiles widely.
“Brilliant,” he breathes and hooks his arm through Harry’s.
It's decidedly strange, but he could get used to this version of Draco Malfoy.
They reach the shore, breathless exclamations of awe travelling through the group of children at the first sight of Hogwarts rising out of the darkness up ahead. Even Harry makes a sharp intake of breath.
“No more’n four to a boat,” Hagrid calls, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore.
Harry and Draco clamber inside, followed by Daphne and Theo, with Greg ending up in a boat with Neville, Hermione and Ron. Harry catches Draco sending a guilty look in Greg’s direction, but the other boy merely shrugs and looks up at the castle with a small smile.
The trip across the lake is silent aside from the soft sounds of water lapping at the moving boats, everyone soaking up their first view of Hogwarts in the hushed quiet. When Hagrid yells at them to keep their heads down by the giant cliff upon which Hogwarts towers, the sound is jarring and distinctly out of place regardless of its necessity.
The boats carry them through a curtain of ivy, along a dark tunnel, and come to a stop by the underground harbour.
Everyone climbs out of their boats. Neville finds his toad thanks to Hagrid, and Harry keeps close to Draco as they ascend the passageway, only Hagrid’s lantern and Harry’s wand lighting the way.
They emerge onto smooth, damp grass in the shadow of the castle, then walk up a flight of stone steps to the huge, oak front doors where Harry extinguishes his wand.
Hagrid knocks on the doors.