Hermione Granger stepped through the wall between Platforms 9 and 10 and appeared at Platform 9¾ just like Prof. McGonagall had said she would, and her first sight of the Hogwarts Express took her breath away.

It wasn't because it was the most impressive train she'd ever seen (even though the red steam engine did have an undeniable presence), but more because this, more than anything else, even her visit to Diagon Alley back in July, made her realise just how much her life had changed. And how much more it still would.

With a quiet "fwoom" her parents appeared behind her, and she turned to see them looking around with awe and a little fear, and trying woefully to hide both.

It stung, the fear in their eyes, especially because Hermione had hoped that finally having someone explain to them why so many unnatural things happened around her would make it go away, but it was an old pain, one she was used to ignoring and getting better at every day, so Hermione let herself smile at her parents and gushed, "oh, Mom, Dad, isn't it all so wonderful?"

Her mother smiled, and Hermione was happy to see that it looked genuine. "Yes, it really is," she said, then in a quiet, musing tone: "I still can't believe normal people have no idea about any of it."

Another thing that stung, and this one in a way Hermione wasn't particularly familiar with; ever since Prof. McGonagall had shown up with her Hogwarts letter, ever since the trip to Diagon Alley, her parents had gotten into the habit of using the term 'normal people' to refer to those without magic. Those like Dan and Emma Granger.

Those unlike Hermione Granger.

"Looks like we're a little early," Hermione's father, Dan Granger, said, pulling the almost twelve-year-old out of her depressing thoughts.

"A little?" Emma Granger asked. "We're over an hour early; the place looks like a graveyard."

"It's not that bad," Hermione said a little defensively, her excitement was why they were here so early, after all. "Besides, this way I can choose a good seat before they're all taken."

"Righto then," Dan said, let's get you on the train.

That didn't take long. Neither did goodbyes. And within no time at all, Hermione was standing on the Hogwarts Express, magical trunk in hand, and watching as her parents walked back through the wall into King's Cross Station, while knowing that she wouldn't be seeing them again till Christmas.

Unsurprisingly, the thought didn't come as a shock to her; she'd known for years that she would be attending boarding school at this time, only now instead of Mayfield School for Girls in Sussex, she would be going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland to finally meet other children like her.

She couldn't wait.

Even though the train was almost empty, there were still a few students on board, all of them much older boys and girls who made Hermione feel very self-conscious, so she avoided their compartments even though she would have liked to have someone to sit with.

And then she saw him. Through the pane of glass on the door.

He was seated by the window, a book she couldn't see the title of in his hands, and a caged snowy owl by his side. He was small, rather skinny, and wore round-rimmed glasses, and his hair was a darker, somewhat tamer version of hers. Most importantly though, he was clearly a first year.

Hermione took a second to compose herself, then she knocked gently and slid the door open. "Good morning," she said, as the boy's very green eyes came up to meet hers. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Oh, no, please sit," he said, and Hermione pulled her magically lightened trunk in and set it up where it should be, although thanks to her height she had to climb the seat.

After she came down, she stretched out her hand. "Hermione Granger. I'm starting at Hogwarts this year."

The boy paused, and a thoughtful look stole over his face as he considered her. "Huh," he muttered.

After a few awkward seconds though, the boy shook off whatever thoughts had stolen his mind and focused on her once more. "Uh, I'm Harry," he said, taking her hand. "Harry Potter."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Are you really? I've read all about you; you're quite famous in the Wizarding World, you know. They talk about you in—"

Harry halted her momentum with a raised hand. "Hermione, I'm really sorry to do this, but... can you not? My fame isn't really something I like to think about, especially considering the only reason I'm famous is because some psychotic bastard broke into my home and murdered my parents."

Hermione's blood ran cold.

How had she not thought of that? All the books she read literally said it, so how had she forgotten that Harry was a boy whose parents were murdered and just go running her big mouth as usual.

Oh God, she felt so disgusted with herself.

"Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"No, no, it's fine. Really, I... in your shoes I probably would have done the same thing. Don't worry about it."

As an awkward silence settled over the compartment, Hermione worried about it. She worried about it a lot.

But as the old adage went; if at first you don't succeed, try, try again.

So, with an arming breath, Hermione tried again, this time picking the most innocuous topic she could think of. "So um, you're even earlier than I am; do you live close by?"

"Nope," Harry said without looking up from his book. "My relatives were just really eager to get rid of me. Can't say the feeling wasn't mutual though."

Hermione frowned; she thought that was a rather dark joke, and not particularly funny, but she was trying to make up for her earlier blunder, so she made herself laugh.

Harry finally looked up from his book and stared at her with a very serious expression. "I wasn't joking," he said.

"Oh," was all Hermione could say in return as she shrank into her seat; she should have just asked about his book instead.

*****

Maybe it would have been better if she'd sat in a compartment by herself, Hermione thought almost an hour after her major blunder to the first person from the magical world she'd spoken to, it certainly could not have been worse than this.

Over the hour since their brief, wince-inducing "conversation", the train had filled up, and the increasing noise levels outside the compartment had simply put into sharp relief how quiet the inside of the compartment was. And the worst thing about it all was that Harry didn't even seem to notice it.

At first, she'd tried to do like he was doing and read a book, but after rereading the second sentence for the sixth time in a row, she had finally admitted defeat and started people watching instead. Or field watching anyway. Since her window was on the other side of the train from the platform, and all she could see out there were empty, grassy fields.

Which once again brought up the question; where even was Platform 9¾ located?

A pair of loud, jovial, and eerily similar voices sounded from outside the door, and Hermione reflexively turned in time to catch a pair of identical teenage redheads walk past, both of them booming with mirth as they talked about someone with the very unlikely name of Ronniekins. And following after them, was a rather sullen redhead who looked about her age.

The younger redhead, who Hermione felt safe to assume was the teens' brother, looked through the window on her door and their eyes met, and before Hermione knew what she was doing, her lips had curled into an encouraging smile.

Hermione didn't get to see the boy's reaction to her smile before he walked out of frame, but that was okay; mostly since she didn't even know why she'd smiled at him in the first place and had no idea what she would have done if he'd reciprocated.

Maybe she was just hoping that he would come sit with her and she wouldn't have to be alone with Harry anymore (the green-eyed boy hadn't even once looked up from his book, for God's sake. And while Hermione would normally commend that level of dedication to one's academics, right now, she just couldn't help but feel like the boy was deliberately ignoring her).

With a shrill whistle and a soft jolt the train began to move.

Finally.

Hermione tried to return to her reading then, see if she could make some headway on reading Hogwarts, A History cover to cover for the third time, but as her eyes focused on the page, a white, flapping object perched on the bench next to her.

Hermione jumped.

"Hedwig!" Harry chastised. "What are you doing scaring people? Get your feathered butt back here. I'm sorry, Hermione, I have no idea why she flew at you like that."

"No, it's fine. I just wasn't expecting it was all," Hermione said, staring at the owl who, completely uncaring of its owner's reproach, turned to the girl with something resembling expectation in its big, yellow eyes.

"Oh, great," Harry said, with a sigh, "she wants head rubs."

Hermione blinked. "What?" Wasn't that a cat thing? Owls weren't supposed to like being touched, right? Or were they? Maybe she should have gotten a few books on owls (and cats) since they seemed pretty common in the Wizarding World.

"She likes it when you pet her head," Harry says. "We kind of had a fight earlier though, I guess this is her trying to make me jealous or something."

Had a fight? With an owl?

"Don't give me that look," Harry said, sounding offended. "Hedwig is a very intelligent owl, I'll have you know. You'll see what I mean when you get to know her better."

Hedwig, apparently getting impatient, nipped Hermione's left pinky softly.

She turned to the bird.

Oh, right. Head rubs.

Haltingly, Hermione petted the animal's remarkably soft, downy head, and it happily leaned into her palm.

This was rather nice.

Harry rolled his eyes as he went back to his book. "Such a diva," he muttered, but without any real heat.

For the next several minutes, the room was quiet again, but some of the prior awkwardness had lifted, and Hermione simply enjoyed her rereading of Hogwarts, A History, and the feel of her fingers running over soft, downy skin.

The door slid open dramatically.

At the doorpost stood three boys, all of them dressed in the robes so ubiquitous among Wizardkind. The one in front was slender, with sleek white-blond hair, cold, grey eyes, and a pale, angular face. He also had the haughtiest expression Hermione had ever seen on anyone's face.

As for the two boys standing beside, and behind, the one in front, their size suggested they were at least a year older, and their dull eyes and somewhat clueless expressions made them look... well, Hermione hated to think it, but the two big boys in the back looked rather dumb.

The silver-blonde's eyes took in the two of them, completely dismissing Hermione rudely, before settling on Harry as he strode in.

"You there," the boy addressed Harry imperiously, "I understand Harry Potter is supposed to be on the train. Are you him?"

Hermione never quite figured out why she did what she did next; maybe it was leftover guilt from her earlier, similar thoughtlessness, or maybe the rude boy had rubbed her the wrong way and her vindictive side was simply rearing its head once again, whatever the reason, Hermione spoke up before Harry could.

"His name is James."

All eyes in the room turned to her, but she focused on the rude boy's.

"His name isn't Harry Potter, it's James. James..." Hermione nearly panicked as she found her mind suddenly clear of every surname she knew. "...Bond," she finally settled on, and Harry couldn't hold back a snort quick enough.

The blond boy turned to him and Harry smiled winsomely, holding out his hand and saying in an overly suave tone. "Bond. James Bond. At your service."

The blonde scoffed and ignored Harry's hand. "Malfoy," he said. "Draco Malfoy." Then he turned and tried to exit the compartment only to bump into the two larger boys who'd been standing at the door the entire time. "Get out of my way, you bloody oafs," Malfoy swore, and all three boys shuffled around for a bit before getting themselves in the proper order, and, with one final scoff thrown their way courtesy of Malfoy, promptly stormed out.

As soon as the boy's were out of sight, Hermione and Harry burst into laughter.

"James Bond?" Harry asked amidst his laughter. "Seriously? That was the best you could come up with?"

"I was pressed for time," Hermione defended herself.

"Thank you though," Harry said. "I did not have the energy to deal with Draco's BS this morning."

Hermione frowned, both because of Harry's language and what he'd said. "You knew him?"

Harry's eyes widened a fraction. "Oh, um... yes. I mean, I know of him," Harry corrected.

"Oh," Hermione said, wondering why Harry had acted shifty.

Wait, how did he know of Draco? All her books had said that no one had seen Harry since... that night, so how did he know who Malfoy was?

"That's Hogwarts, A History you're reading, right?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked down at the book on her lap that she'd almost forgotten about in all the recent excitement. "Oh. You've read Hogwarts, A History?"

"Meh," Harry said, "mostly just looked at the pictures."

Hermione's face soured.

Harry snorted. "You should see your face right now."

Hermione barely even heard his comment. "You looked. At the. Pictures?"

"Yeah. So?" Harry asked casually, but his brilliant, green eyes belied his amusement.

She wanted to let it go, she really did, after all it was none of her business if he wanted to just look at the pictures on a—What the heck was he, two?

Before she could say anything, however, two boys walked in, and her breath caught when she saw that one of them was the redhead she'd smiled at.

Why was he here? Was he also looking for Harry?

The boy paused too when he caught her eyes, just for a moment, then he said, "um, have you guys seen a toad? Neville here's lost his."

Hermione's gaze drifted to the other boy, a chubby, round-faced preteen who seemed to be trying to hide within his robes.

"No, we haven't, sorry. But I can help you look," Hermione said.

"I know a spell that might help," Harry said. "I don't know if it'll work though, I've never cast it before."

"Really?" Hermione and the redhead asked at the same time, and Harry just nodded, pulling out his wand.

Hermione frowned when she saw him place the wand flat on his open palm. "That's not how you use a wand. What kind of spell are you going to cast?"

"You know," Harry said conversationally, "a wise somebody whose name I've never been able to pronounce once said, life is not a problem to be solved but a reality to experience. Hermione, stop trying to solve everything and just watch and listen for a bit."

Hermione's cheeks grew pink in embarrassment, a pink that quickly turned scarlet when the redhead snickered. For some reason, Hermione felt betrayed.

"What's the frog's name?" Harry asked Neville.

The chubby boy looked surprised to be addressed. "His name's Trevor," he answered softly. "He's a toad."

"Yeah, that's what I said," Harry said, then concentrating on his wand, he said, "point me: Trevor" and his wand lifted up a couple inches from his hand and started to spin.

It was the first bit of spellcasting Hermione had ever seen anyone her age do, and she wondered if she would be able to manage it. She had never casted any spells herself, not having learnt any when she got her wand from Ollivander's back in July, and already home, where she wasn't allowed to use said wand by the time she learnt her first spell.

The realisation that she was allowed to use magic now made her want to whip out her own wand and start trying out spells.

Harry's wand slowed down quickly, until it finally stopped, pointing straight at Neville.

"Huh?" The boy looked confused. "Why is it pointing at me?"

"Yeah, mate, I think your spell's busted," the redhead said.

Aha! Hermione had told him he was holding his wand wrong; she had even read a book about the proper way to hold—

"I think it's pointing at Trevor," Harry said. "Nev, check your robes."

Neville did, and from within the folds, he pulled out a large, sleeping (?) toad.

Oh.

"Bloody hell, mate," the redhead groaned. "You had that thing in your robes this whole time and you made us walk the whole train?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Neville said.

The redhead just sighed. "Whatever. Come on let's go back before Fred and George hex our seats or something."

"Thank you," Neville said to Harry, and Ron belatedly did the same, then the two of them walked off.

"Um, Hermione," Harry called, then pointed at his wand still floating above his palm and pointing in the direction Neville had gone. "Can you help me, because I have no idea how to turn this off."

It took almost thirty seconds of the two of them trying to snatch the wand from the air, where it kept dodging, always doing its hardest to point unfailingly at Neville (or she supposed Trevor), before Harry got frustrated enough to shout "oh just stop pointing you stupid wand."

Which, magically, worked, and the wand fell to the ground.

"Finally," Harry groused as he picked it up and Hermione started giggling.

That had just been so ridiculous, and magical.

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Yes, please, laugh at my disgrace."

"Sorry," she apologized as her giggles petered out. "That was wonderful spellwork though, where did you learn it?"

"I didn't. I actually kinda made it up just now, actually. See I took the Four-Point spell, which makes your wand point north like with a compass, but then I thought real hard about Neville's frog like with the Summoning Charm, and voila, magical GPS."

Hermione stared at Harry in complete and total awe. Of his recklessness. "That was borderline dangerous, Harry. You could have seriously hurt yourself."

"You're telling me, for a second there I was worried I might actually conjure a buffalo onto my head or something."

For the first time for as long as she could remember, Hermione was at a complete loss for words.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "let's see you."

"See me what?"

"Cast a spell, obviously. What? You're not eager to try out your magic?"

She was. She really was. So Hermione quickly fetched her wand and casted a Lumos. It worked on the first try.

"Nice," Harry said, then he grinned mischievously, "but I'll do you one better."

He too casted a Lumos, but instead of the expected white, his wand-tip glowed blue.

Hermione's eyes almost bugged out. "How did you do that?" She almost yelled, and Harry gave a cartoon villain laugh as he twirled a non-existent beard.

"Worry not, Padawan," he said, "Kakashi-sensei will teach you."

By the time the train stopped at Hogsmeade Station, the compartment was about sixteen colours, and both their benches had patches where they'd been semi-successfully transfigured into different materials. Most importantly though, was when Hermione had to stop Hedwig from pecking out Harry's eyes after he tried to use her as a lab rat.

Harry was right however, Hedwig was a rather intelligent owl.