I don't own Harry Potter. Reviews are like chocolate.
It Didn't Happen on the Train
He was six when he met her. They were both at platform nine and three-quarters; His mom was teaching Care of Magical Creatures for a year and her cousins James and Fred were going for the first time. He ran into her behind one of the shop lining the platform. She was crying, and she had ice cream all over her hands and face. Her blonde hair looked like a massive avalanche falling from her head from where he stood. She was bigger than him, by quite a bit, but he was used to it. He and his bother were always smaller. Seeing her had piqued his curiosity. Being six-years-old, he could remember seeing her before, and wondered why she was crying. He didn't want her to be sad. After all, there were so many new things to see and do in this strange, magical place. He was always a more emotionally mature than everyone else his age, mostly because of his mother, but he wasn't old enough to pick up on the fact that she should be on the train, not sitting here, eating ice-cream.
In a sense, she wasn't really old enough to know that she should be on the train either, but she could sense she was missing out, could see that other people who looked like her were doing something that she couldn't. She has always been behind. Her mind was underdeveloped, meaning she had about the mental capabilities of a five or six-year-old. She was born that way. She didn't have many friends. She tried, she wanted to someone's friend. For the first nine years of her life, her sister had been her friend. But her sister left, so she was alone.
"Why are you crying?" the boy in front of her asked. He also looked familiar, barely, but she recognized him just the same.
"I'm no'" she said, trying to answer. He didn't understand her.
"What?" He was trying to understand, he did want to.
"I'm suppose t' be on tha train?" she tried to answer again, her brain guessing at what was so wrong today. She didn't really understand, but he did. His eyes went wide and he nodded rapidly.
"They left you." He stated. She nodded. They sat there for a moment. She sucked at what was left of her ice cream.
"What's your name?" He asked, looking up at her.
"Dominique," she replied, spitting some of her ice cream as she said it. "Wha's yours?"
"Lysander," he replied proudly, "L-Y-S-A-N-D-E-R. Luna taught me how to spell it."
Dominique was looking at him, a sloppy smile on her face. "Will you be my frien'?"
"Sure," Lysander replied, nodding. Dominique giggled. She grabbed him and gave him a hug. Lysander got ice cream all over his shirt arms, but he didn't really care. He didn't mind being sticky that much.
The End