AN: Hi, before you begin this fic, I'd like to say a few things. Firstly, this fic is finished. It has eleven chapters in total, and I'm currently writing the sequel. It's also on AO3, if you can't wait for the update and want to read it all. Thirdly, updates will be on Sundays.

D'Artagnan clutched firmly onto his suitcase, staring in wonder at the huge steam engine before him. His father clasped his shoulder gently with one hand. 'Isn't it wonderful,' he said softly. 'I thought the same way about it when I was your age.' He looked his son down, from neatly combed hair down to newly shined shoes. Alexandre d'Artagnan straightened his son's yellow and navy tie. 'Your mère was in Sirius. Be proud, Charles.'

'And what about you, Papa? What House were you in?' asked d'Artagnan curiously.

'Andromeda,' said Alexandre softly. 'My best friend was in that house, Jean de Treville. I hear he teaches there now. But go, son, or you shall miss the train.'

D'Artagnan broke into a grin and hugged his father before making his way onto the train. He passed a compartment where a girl in Andromeda colours was talking to a boy from Sirius. The girl entranced him for a few moments before her companion realised he was staring at her, and gave d'Artagnan an offended glare. He hurried down the train until he saw a group of boys heading into another compartment. 'Excuse me,' he said quickly, and one of the boys stopped—Andromeda, d'Artagnan realised quickly, his father's house—and turned to him. 'Please may I join your compartment?'

''Course ya can,' grinned the boy, and d'Artagnan hurried inside. There were two other boys in the compartment, and they were putting their suitcases on the shelf above their seats. D'Artagnan hurried to do the same.

'You're in Sirius,' pointed out one of the boys, with dark, wavy hair and also in Sirius.

'Maybe you two can stick around together,' suggested his companion, staring down at his blue and orange tie. 'It's bollocks, really. Putting us in different Houses!'

The boy who had invited d'Artagnan into the compartment snorted. 'I told ya we shoulda split up on the intake day, Athos.'

Athos stared indignantly at his friend. 'We'd literally only just met! They couldn't have known!'

The Sirius boy rolled his eyes. 'I'm Aramis,' he smiled. 'Ignore those two. They're just annoyed because they can't get up to their usual tricks.'

'Charles, but you can call me d'Artagnan. Most people do.'

'I'm Porthos,' said the third boy, sitting down next to d'Artagnan.

'Athos,' and Athos outstretched his hand for d'Artagnan to take, 'Cassiopeia.'

D'Artagnan shook his hand. 'Know anyone else?'

'Not really,' said Aramis, a small smile tugging at his lips, 'but there is someone I would like to get to know.'

'Aramis, don't you know whose daughter she is?' said Athos sharply. 'The Spanish Ambassador's! There is no way—not with Louis around, anyway. They've been friends since they were children and with the way things are looking, they might become more.'

D'Artagnan cocked his head to one side. 'How d'you know all about stuff like that?'

Athos flushed slightly. 'Oh, my parents—' He seemed ashamed to be talking about social status, for he said quietly, 'My papa is a comte.' He shrugged it off as if his father was nothing special.

Suddenly the door of the compartment opened, and the four boys turned their heads to face a blonde-haired boy staring at them with steely eyes. 'Olivier de la Fère,' he said pleasantly, leaning casually against the doorframe. 'I heard from my father that you were in your first year, too. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Rochefort; soon to be the Comte de Rochefort, when my father dies, of course.'

At this, Porthos gave a short snigger, hiding it with his dark paws. He nosed d'Artagnan's shoulder softly as he tried to hide his laugh.

Rochefort's brows furrowed. 'Think my name's funny, do you?' he retorted, glaring at Porthos as if the boy was something he'd just stepped in. 'There's no need to ask who you are. Look at the state of your uniform; your blazer's more grey than black!'

It was true. Porthos's shoes were scuffed; the bottom of his trousers were torn and the knees had worn away slightly; his shirt was yellowing in colour. It appeared that everything Porthos was wearing had been worn by someone else at some point. In fact, his tie looked to be the only new thing he was wearing.

Rochefort screwed up his nose in disgust. 'You must be one of those kids. Honestly Olivier, you don't want to be hanging around with the likes of him.'

Athos glared at him, and Porthos was staring at the floor ashamedly. D'Artagnan didn't know what Rochefort meant by "those kids" but Aramis seemed to, for he patted Porthos's knee with one hand.

'You'll soon find out that some families at this school are better than others, Olivier,' said Rochefort, eyeing Porthos once more, and d'Artagnan assumed that he was the only person aside from Athos that Rochefort knew—his own father was a farmer, and if Rochefort had even the slightest inkling about it then he'd have made it known by now. 'You don't want to go about making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there, you know.'

Athos stood up and glanced between his friends. 'I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks,' he replied with a slight grin.

Rochefort huffed. 'Suit yourself, de la Fère,' and then he turned on his tail and stormed from the compartment.

'What was that about?' asked d'Artagnan once he had left. 'And why did he call you Olivier?'

'Olivier's my real name,' said Athos quietly. 'My father's the Comte de la Fère, so naturally Rochefort came looking for rich people to befriend.'

'And bein' the son of a comte, Rochefort's been taught to look down on people like me,' said Porthos hollowly. 'I'm from the Court o' Miracles. The biggest orphanage in Paris,' he added at d'Artagnan's puzzled face.

'Personally, I'm surprised he didn't say anything to me,' added Aramis quietly. 'My father's an abbé. Maybe in Rochefort they don't care for befriending men of God.'

'I come from Gascony,' said d'Artagnan shakily. 'My father's a farmer.'

'Ah,' replied Athos, 'I wondered why he didn't recognise you. Rochefort wouldn't go to great lengths to learn anything about a Gascon. We could use this to our advantage—'

'Yeh,' agreed Porthos, and Aramis nodded. 'What can ya do, farm boy?'

D'Artagnan felt like he was being put on a spotlight. 'I pull crops, I can ride—'

'You can ride?' interrupted Athos, eyes gleaming in excitement.

'Yeah,' shrugged d'Artagnan. 'Most people can ride in Gascony. It's no feat.'

'There are stables at Louvre, you know,' grinned Athos. 'Apparently they're close to the Arcturus dorms—because Arcturus is a bear, you see.'

'An' bears represent the outdoors?' guessed Porthos with a laugh. 'Andromeda's a bloody princess crown; jus' figures.'

'Tower,' said Athos. 'Your dorm's a tower, then. And Sirius – I'm not sure about Sirius. Cassiopeia's a ring—' and he laughed, '—maybe our dorm's Bag End.'

Aramis snorted. 'Who's calling dibs on sleeping in the wardrobe?'

Porthos chuckled. 'Some o' the older kids at the Court say Perseus dorm's a castle.'

'I think the Comte de Rochefort would disagree to his son's dorm being anything but luxury,' agreed d'Artagnan. 'Didn't you see? I mean, red and black are Perseus colours, aren't they?'

Athos physically relaxed. 'Dieu merci, he isn't in a House with any of us!'

'Could you imagine having to share a dorm with Rochefort?' asked Aramis, grinning.

D'Artagnan smirked. 'He sounds like a spoilt brat. And if he takes a stab at you, Porthos, I think we'll need to teach him a lesson.'

Porthos laughed loudly. 'Like what?'

Athos frowned thoughtfully. 'We could start small. The oldest, simplest pranks are the best.'

Aramis smirked gleefully. 'The old warm water trick,' he announced dramatically, and the four of them had to cover their mouths to conceal their laughter.

'I hope you're not plotting against people already,' came a disapproving voice, and an auburn-haired girl stood in the doorway of the compartment, staring at Athos in particular. 'I know you—Olivier de la Fère! I read about your father once—and you're René—I've read about your father, too—he's the abbé d'Herblay, isn't he? Oh! Porthos, I remember you. We bumped into each other on the intake day, didn't we—?' She said all this very fast. Then she paused and stared at d'Artagnan for a few moments. 'And you are?'

'Oh, um—d'Artagnan. I'm d'Artagnan.' he said quietly.

'I'm Constance. Constance Bonacieux.' said the girl, and beamed at Porthos. 'Are you all boarding here? Usually if you're boarding you take the train. I'm a scholarship girl; what about you?'

'Scholarship,' confirmed d'Artagnan and Porthos, and Athos scratched his head awkwardly.

'My father paid for me to come here,' he said quietly, yet again embarrassed by the privileges that came with being the son of the Comte de la Fère.

'Mine too,' said Aramis, considerably less embarrassed.

'My parents could only afford to pay for my brother Jacques. The school was very kind. They let me take the entrance exam and I got the scholarship.' Constance stared at d'Artagnan again. 'We should be arriving soon.' Then she turned and left.

'Mon Dieu!' exclaimed d'Artagnan quietly. 'Wasn't she annoying!'

'Know-it-all, too,' muttered Aramis. 'How did she know who I was?'

'Didn't you hear?' laughed Athos. 'She read about it in a book!'

Porthos frowned. 'Guys, that's enough. She's really nice, you know.'

D'Artagnan nodded. 'I bet she is. She's just annoying. I mean, who talks at that speed?'

'And she was staring at you,' added Athos. 'Why was she staring at you?'

'Maybe she thinks you're,' and Aramis nudged d'Artagnan with a dramatic wink, 'cute.'

D'Artagnan blushed slightly. 'Shut up!'

D'Artagnan was shook awake as the train ground to a halt. 'We here?' he mumbled.

'Yeh,' said Porthos. 'D'ya want me to carry your sui'case while ya wake up a bi'?'

'No, it's fine,' d'Artagnan said, easily standing up and reaching his suitcase from the shelf. Athos and Aramis were making their way from the compartment, and he hurriedly followed. D'Artagnan followed them from the train and Athos pointed to five teachers stood at the far end of the station courtyard. 'Look,' he said softly, 'those must be our Heads of Houses. I can see Cassiopeia's ring.'

Aramis nudged d'Artagnan and pointed to the left of the station courtyard. 'There's the dog for Sirius House,' he said firmly. 'See you two in class.' He and d'Artagnan approached their Head of House, a short grey-haired woman.

The boy who had glared at d'Artagnan on the train was there, and he grinned at them. 'Hey! I'm Louis.'

'Hey,' smiled Aramis, who thankfully had no idea what had happened between d'Artagnan and Louis on the train. (Personally, he didn't think Louis even recognised him.) 'I'm Aramis, and this is my friend d'Artagnan.'

'Hey. It's nice to meet you. Are you scholarship boys?'

'I am,' said d'Artagnan, 'but Aramis isn't. What about you?'

Louis laughed loudly. 'You're funny—' and he grinned at Aramis. 'Isn't he funny?' Upon realising that d'Artagnan wasn't joking, he sobered. 'I got in free, of course. I am the Headmaster's son, after all.'

'If Athos was in our house he'd have told us this,' hissed Aramis to d'Artagnan.

'I have no idea who's supposed to be posh and rich and who isn't,' d'Artagnan hissed back. 'We're doomed.'

'Come on, children,' came the voice of the Head of Sirius. 'Time to see your dorms.'

They followed her down a path, passing a sign which read "Sirius House, First Right" and then d'Artagnan stopped suddenly, for there in front of them was a row of seven small houses. Aramis almost collided with his back, and then stopped and stared too. They almost stumbled towards the house, and waited impatiently as the Head of House opened the door. She ushered everybody inside and Aramis hurried d'Artagnan so they could sit on a beanbag in the living room.

'I warmly welcome you to the Sirius dorms,' announced the Head of House. 'I am Madame Berthelot, and I will be the Head of your House until you leave in the Upper Sixth. Your dorms are up the stairs —girls on the left and boys on the right. Matrone de la Rhénanie has food on the table if you are hungry.' She stood up, either wanting to be rid of the first-years or wishing to speak to her older students. 'With that, I bid you goodnight and adieu!'

She left quickly, and d'Artagnan stood up. 'Do we choose our own dorms, then?'

'I suppose so,' said Aramis, and called Louis over. 'Do you want to room with us?'

'Sure,' said Louis, shrugging. 'Better make the most of it,' he hissed to the two. 'They pick your dorms for you next year.'

'I'm glad you know so much,' replied d'Artagnan sincerely. 'No surprises for us next year.'

The other Sirius students had begun to file up the stairs, and Aramis quickly joined them, pulling d'Artagnan and Louis along with him.

As everybody filed into their respective dorms, Aramis spotted an empty one and pulled d'Artagnan and Louis inside. It was smaller than the others, and he realised too late that it was exactly why it was empty. 'Zut!' he hissed.

'No matter,' said d'Artagnan. 'There's room for the three of us.'

There was a bunk bed in the corner of the room, and a single bed on the other side. It was connected to a small bathroom with a shower that belonged to them only—unlike the other dorms, it didn't look as if they'd be sharing bathroom facilities. The walls were light and a soft cream carpet warmed their feet. D'Artagnan shut the curtains as Aramis made use of the towel on the bath rail, and shut the bathroom door with an involuntary slam.

Quietly Louis and d'Artagnan changed into their pyjamas, both too tired to say a word. 'My papa was right,' murmured d'Artagnan sleepily. 'It is wonderful.' He unpacked his case and hung up clothes for the next day.

'What've we got first?' asked Louis as he got into the single bed. D'Artagnan was secretly glad that he was going to have the bunk bed with Aramis—he felt much more comfortable and open around him, although he knew it would be a matter of time before he would feel the same way around Louis too.

D'Artagnan took his timetable from his schoolbag and studied it. 'Mythology,' he said quietly.

Aramis entered the room from the bathroom, a towel around his waist. 'Do you want the top bunk?' he asked, retrieving his pyjamas from his suitcase.

'I— thanks,' grinned d'Artagnan, watching Aramis hang up his schoolbag and uniform. He climbed up the ladders and made himself comfortable.

His eyes were closed without even saying goodnight.