Autumn has definitely started. This year it was sudden, which is good in some ways, bad in others. Good because the last few weeks of summer weren't ruined by the increasing cold and damp that always hailed the end of summer at the Orphanage. Bad, because that increasing cold and damp always brought with it the excitement of a new term and the promise of escape. September the first crept up on me a bit this morning, and leapt out at me fully formed, bright, and chilly.

Not that i'm complaining, the first of September could never be a bad day for me, though it does cause some interesting complications for business. I turn around and Vincent is trailing at least four steps behind me, dragging his trunk. Poor kid, he's a strange shade of gray and I can't help grinning at the sight. Like all of us Deathlings, he's starting school with a lighter trunk than most kids, but he still struggles to drag it along. He's starved, that's why. Starved of affection, starved of respect, and literally starved because he's growing and portion sizes are strictly controlled at the Orphanage.

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, Vincent." I say, as I wait for him to catch me up. He's sweating a bit and can't catch his breath to reply to me so settles for an evil glare. I laugh. "Plenty of people will give us the evil eye where we're going, so I don't need that from you."

We continue, but I slacken my pace. He's a lost cause as it is, but I'll at least allow him the dignity of having enough energy to go down fighting. King's Cross is dead ahead and other families with trunks begin to appear through the crowds. There they all are. Mothers, fathers, often both, with chattering, well fed, kids in tow. What's Vincent got to compare to that? Me? Just like I had my mentor, and he wasn't exactly sympathetic. I grimace at the memory of my first day and decide to make an effort.

"Ok, Vincent, let's take a breather before we go in."

"I'm fine." He wheezes back at me.

"I know, I just want to make sure you'll be cool with these brats. They're all idiots at the start, but you don't know which ones you'll end up with and you don't want to go making un-necessary enemies before you're even Sorted..."

As I said all this, his pale gray eyes were boring into mine, so that by the time I finished I squirmed a little. His eyes are creepy. Proper Deathling eyes. I'm lucky because I look pretty normal, brown hair, brown eyes, average height, and i've been able to buy myself some decent clothes this summer because business has been booming. Next to me, young Vincent has Deathling written all over him. Pointed, pale face, black hair, angry eyebrows - you know what I mean by angry eyebrows - and these large eyes that have dark blue around the edges with such pale gray irises he looks like he's wearing contacts. I'm not kidding.

So here I am outside Kings Cross Station, trying hard to be motherly to this angry Deathling child, when i've never even had a mother myself, and who decides to walk past at that very moment? Only Mr. H. Potter himself, with his brood. This chattering, happy, lively scene wanders right past us while i'm trying to tell young Vincent not to do anything stupid, and words fail me.

"Just keep cool, Vincent." I snap, as his eyes track their progress through the station. "It's not their fault they were born on the right side." He gives one jerk of a nod, but doesn't even blink as he gazes in their direction.

We continue walking, slowly approaching the spot where those who know what they're looking for can see people disappear. Vincent knows what to do, I saw him spying this time last year. Orphans under school age aren't supposed to come near the station on September the first, there were a couple of cases of kids stowing away on board the train, so it was stopped. Vincent, however, has about as much regard for rules as a seasoned criminal twice his age, and a complimentary lack of self-preservation. He simply doesn't care if people assume the worst of him, and he'll never give them a reason to change their minds.

Don't get me wrong, I respect his defiance, but in my line of work one can't afford to have mavericks around, and I want to do what I can for the kid.

So we approach the solid wall between platforms nine and ten. I resist the urge to stop and attempt another pep-talk, and allow Vincent the dignity of not breaking step with me as we casually march through on to platform nine and three quarters. His face is a mask as he observes the scene.

There are some interesting specimens starting this year by the looks of things. The second Potter boy and the first Weasley girl - I notice that lot all huddled together in the steam as we walk along in search of a compartment. Another famous figure looms ahead, Draco Malfoy. Of course everyone knows what he looks like, but i've not seen him on this platform before, and that right next to him can only be his offspring. Small, blonde, and immaculately turned out, Malfoy junior looks exactly the kind of pampered prat Hogwarts needs. I suppress a snort as we stop next to a compartment that looks empty.

"Do you want to ride with me, or are you willing to go it alone?"

Vincent turns to face me looking surprised, "You're not kicking me out?"

"No, Vincent, I'm not. It doesn't bother me if you're in my compartment, and it won't hurt you to meet some of my friends."

He shrugs. "Makes sense. Am I supposed to network?"

"No, you're just supposed to refrain from being a little sh*t. I'm breaking you in by degrees."

He actually cracks a grin at this and we heft our trunks onto the train. We sit in silence for a bit, watching parents coddling their young. Occasionally a couple of Orphanage kids walk by, some with first years in tow, some just paired up for the journey. The Orphanage lets us out in twos on September the first in order to stop suspicious crowding, and young kids are paired up with older mentors early in the summer. This supposedly promotes family-like bonds, what it actually does is palm off the job of counsellor and guardian onto older kids.

Despite the poorly disguised delegation we do try to make it work. James, my mentor, is like an older brother to me. He left Hogwarts when I went into third year, but we've always stayed in touch. I glance at Vincent and he says, "What house do you think I should try for?"

"It's not exactly something you get much choice over."

"What if I end up in Slytherin?"

"Then you'll have the honour of being a walking, talking cliche. Do you know what your parents were?"

He shakes his head. Vincent was born in Azkaban and his mother still rots there. Through delicate interrogation I learnt that his father was killed in a drunken duel six months before his mother was arrested. They were both part of Tink Ansgar's faction of Death Eaters who continued to promote Voldemort's ideas after he was destroyed. So were my parents. Some people are so stupid they won't recognise defeat even when their 'glorious leader' is a smoking pile of ash and the rest of the world is rejoicing.

There's a knock at our compartment door, I turn and see Eva Selby standing in the doorway her straight blonde hair pulled over one shoulder. "Hi Astrid, good summer?"

"Distinctly average." I reply as somewhere outside a shrill whistle sounds and there's a flurry of movement on the platform. "Sit down?" Eva slouches into the compartment and folds herself sideways on the seat with her legs up in front of her.

"Been working hard?"

"As always." I grin. Eva is constantly trying to trick me into revealing what I do to fund myself through school. Luckily there's still a huge stigma attached to doing muggle work, so she suspects that I labour in a shop somewhere for hours on end. Of course I don't, but i'm not going to tell her that. She has her suspicions and that's more than enough for now.

"Who's this?" She nods towards Vincent.

"My apprentice. Eva Selby, meet Vincent Hevoret."

"That's quite some name." She smiles at him and he glowers back. "And what's his apprenticeship in?"

I smile at her smooth interrogative style, "Learning how to behave." She laughs at this. Eva is one of those girls who's brilliant, friendly, privileged, and not at all judgmental. I say privileged but, to us Deathlings, all that means is having both parents around, neither of whom were Death Eaters. I met Eva at the Ravenclaw table at the start of term feast in first year, and when she found out what I was she didn't ask too many questions, so we became friends. Not best friends, there's too much in my world that she doesn't understand for that, but we have a mutual appreciation. Her best friend, and my friend, is Beth Martin.

Thinking of her I ask, "Have you seen Beth yet?"

She rolls her eyes and responds, "Oh yes, I said 'hi' but I felt like I was intruding."

"Ralph?" She nods. Ralph Andrews is one of my oldest friends because we grew up together at the Orphanage. Thus far we appear very similar, but he has it better than me because he's a LongLove child. LongLove children qualify for a charitable fund that pays for their education, and they qualify because their parents were the victims of Death Eaters and not Death Eaters themselves. This fund covers all Orphans, including but not limited to those who have to live in an Orphanage.

Last year, for my sins, I'd been coerced into getting Ralph together with Beth, and as a punishment I'd been treated to in depth descriptions of their mutual devotion throughout the summer. Ralph kept invading my room to drape himself across my bed and read aloud sections of her letters to him, and i'd been sent letters from Beth that performed roughly the same function.

Chatting to Eva takes concentration at first, but eventually I settle into the rhythm that will dominate the year, the rhythm of meaningless small talk.