A/N: Hi there! So this is my first ever fanfiction, so be kind. I'm not going to be starting from the first year, rather from the fifth year, because writing from the point of view of an eleven year old is much harder than a fifteen year old. :D

The Scarlet Train

"On you go honey", my mother said from somewhere on my right. I knew where I had to go. I knew what I had to do. I was just hesitating for the hell of it. In all honesty, I was ecstatic. I was finally going back to Hogwarts, I was finally going home. My real home. But. But I was leaving my mother behind. My beautiful, wonderful, loving mother. She'd be lonely. With my brother gone to, as he said 'fulfill his destiny' and be an auror, she would miss me. And I would miss her.

I turned back to face her, the train to my back, doubt written all over my face. Of course, being the one to raise me, she could read me like an open book.

"I'll be just fine Harper, honestly. No need to worry so much, you'll get wrinkles!" my mother said with a light smile on her face." Now move child or you'll get your wish stay with me for the year."

She was right. The train was leaving! I gave my mother a hurried peck on the cheek and a rushed 'I love you' and ran to the train. My trunk and owl, Athena, were already on the train so I sprinted straight in and started to find my best friend. After checking a few already full compartments, I spotted him sitting in an empty one, with a sour look on his face. Flinching at his expression, I walked in and sat in front of him. "Well look who decided to show up!" , Marcus said scornfully.

"I'm sooory! I got caught up in goodbyes." I apologized.

He huffed and handed me a chocolate frog. Inwardly, I sighed with relief. Once Marcus got mad, it could take a whole school year to get him normal. Marcus Hopkins, a pureblood, a Slytherin and my best friend. He had a regal face, with high cheekbones and eyes the color of vegetation. Basically, an extremely… Slytherin-y face. Also, a mop of curly, messy yet very handsome dark brown hair. He'd gotten taller, I noted idly. "Why are you staring at me?" he sighed, arching a delicate eyebrow at me.

I started and looked at him with a childish pout decorating my features. "You've gotten taller. Even taller than before. S'not fair." I grumbled. "People will think I'm your little sister or something."

"We could be here a week, and it wouldn't be enough to explain why that's the stupidest thing I've heard all day. I'll give you the short version. One, we look nothing alike." That was true. I had skin darker than him, almost a chocolate brown with long dark brown, almost black hair. With wide, dark brown eyes and thick eyebrows, Marc and I were polar opposites. He was like a ruler and I was the gardener working in the ruler's garden. "Two, I don't look that old" he continued, "and three; I've only grown two more inches. So there."

"Merlin Marc, it's called a figure of speech. No need to be so literal about everything."

"Yes yes. Now hush and change into your robes like a good child."

"Oi! Who are you calling a child?!"