A/N: Couldn't sleep. Plot bunny attacked. This happened. Hope you enjoy it :)

Updated

A/N 2: As you can probably tell from the first A/N I wasn't at my best when I wrote this and this led to some frankly appalling grammar that I only noticed after publishing, including a rather horrible mistake in the very first sentence. This has taught me a lesson about publishing stuff 'hot off the press'.

The procrastinator in me was very tempted to leave it as it was but my inner Grammar Nazi kicked off so I fixed it up. I apologise to the Queen, Shakespeare and to anybody who read the original and was offended by my sloppy commas and missing apostrophes, not to mention the missing words/letters. If you weren't, then you should have been; the thing was barely recognisable as English.

-HalfASlug

Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns everything Harry Potter.

As steam billowed out of the train next to her, Lavender tried in vain to calm her mum, who, much to Lavender's mortification, was crying.

"I'm going to miss you, sweetie," Mrs Brown sobbed, while clutching her daughter closer to her.

"Mum, please," pleaded Lavender as she checked her surroundings to make sure no one could see the spectacle her mum was making of herself.

Lavender rolled her eyes. It had been like this for the past month. When the tawny owl from Hogwarts interrupted her birthday breakfast with her Hogwarts letter, her mum had cried. The first time she had tried her new Hogwarts robes on, her mum had cried. All the way on the drive to Kings Cross, her mum had cried. Now, at ten to eleven, her mum was having some kind of breakdown right on the platform. In front of all the people Lavender would be spending the next few years living with.

"I r-remember when you were b-big enough for me to c-carry you in one hand!" wailed Mrs Brown as Lavender started fidgeting out of her mum's choke hold.

Great. Now she was going to be forever known as the girl with the uncontrollably crying mum.

Fortunately, her dad took sympathy on her and pulled his wife away from their daughter and rubbed her back while Lavender mouthed "Thank you" to him. He chuckled and continued to placate Mrs Brown until, finally, she was able to breathe properly.

By this point, Lavender was itching to get on the train. She'd seen loads of girls her age already leave their parents to go and find compartments and she was scared that by the time her mum eventually let her go they would all have made friends and she would be left alone. Even now, she was watching a girl with a rather squashed looking nose waving to her parents from the other side of the train window.

"Lavender," her dad said softly, causing her to whip her head around. He was knelt in front of her, smiling kindly. "You're going to love Hogwarts."

"I know," replied Lavender automatically. "I'm going to be in Slytherin like you and-"

Mr Brown cut her off with a sigh and swept her blonde fringe out of her eyes.

"No, Lav," he said simply. "You're going to make your own stories with your own friends. You don't have to live in my footsteps."

Lavender smiled. She couldn't wait.

"You only wanted to be in Slytherin because green is your favourite colour anyway," chuckled Mrs Brown thickly. Tears were still pouring down her cheeks and her voice was still thick but at least people weren't staring now.

Blushing at her mum's correct assumption, Lavender kissed her on the cheek and gave her a tight hug before moving to do the same to her dad.

"And stay away from boys," Mr Brown said sternly as he let go.

Lavender wrinkled her nose at the thought. "Boys are smelly, Dad. Not to mention stupid."

This seemed to be a great relief to her dad but her mum simply shook her head.

"Give it a few years and-"

"Don't," her dad cut in. "I don't even want to think about it."

"I've got him, Gran!" cried Neville proudly, hoisting Trevor up to his gran's face.

"Just keep hold of him this time," she sighed. Neville could see how exasperated she was with him. Every five minutes it seemed Trevor tried to escape. It wasn't his fault; he tried to get Trevor to like him but no matter what he did, the amphibian seemed to prefer to be anywhere that Neville wasn't.

"Now, where is your wand?" Neville's gran asked. Neville stared at her blankly for a few seconds. "Oh, I packed it in your bag's front pocket, Neville! I've told you a hundred times. Please tell me you remembered to pick up your packed lunch from the side."

Neville could see it now. His favourite jam sandwiches, cut up into small squares, a couple of packets biscuits and an apple, packed into a simple plastic container that was so old Neville suspected it was older than he was, sat on the kitchen counter. His gran had told him repeatedly to not forget it but he could picture himself checking his bag before they left. It wasn't in there.

He bit his lip and looked up at his guardian.

"Oh, Neville," she snapped. "What am I going to do with you?"

Neville felt his lower lip trembling and pressure building up behind his eyes. How could he be so stupid? It seemed he lived to disappoint his gran sometimes. How was he meant to cope at Hogwarts without her?

"I'm sorry, Gran," he mumbled quietly. As he did, he felt Trevor's powerful back legs kick against him in the hopes that he could hop away down the platform. He clung tighter to his pet and willed himself not to cry.

He fully expected her to continue chastising his forgetfulness but instead Neville heard his grandmother sigh. She placed a wrinkled hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze.

"You're going to be fine, Neville," she told him in a soft voice he doubted he had heard her use before. "It might take a mite longer than some others but you will find something you excel at and you will blow 'em out of the water."

Neville sniffed and attempted a smile. "Ok, just don't hold your breath."

He knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as he saw the fire burn behind her eyes.

"I will not have you speaking like that!" she barked at him. "You are a Longbottom, mister. It is about time you started acting like one!"

Fighting to keep Trevor in his grasp, Neville squared his shoulders and straightened his jacket up.

"That's the spirit, boy!" his gran said, giving him a surprisingly hard clap on the back. She regarded him happily for a moment before she spoke again,

"You'll do them proud, Neville. Just you wait. You'll do them proud."

Without needing to ask who she was talking about, Neville gave her the best smile he could before picking up his trunk and preparing to board the train in the hope that one day he would prove his gran right.

Seamus watched his mum as she chatted with some other parents that she knew while he said bye to his dad, who had already put his trunk in an empty compartment. This was his and his dad's first trip to platform nine and three quarters and both of them were looking around, eagerly taking in the sights.

"Can I get on the train yet, Dad?" he asked while a large group of people stood behind them, gathered around a boy with dreadlocks, holding a box.

"Wait for your mam, son," Mr Finnigan said ruefully. "You know what she's like when she gets chatting."

Seamus shared an identical grin with his dad as they watched his mum do what his dad referred to as 'clucking'.

"Like a bunch of bleeding hens, they are…" his dad muttered under his breath.

After a few more minutes of waiting for his mum to leave her friends, who now had their heads close together, clearly gossiping, Seamus' dad turned to him with a sigh.

"It seems your mams going to take her time so I guess it's up to me to give you The Speech."

"Ah, Dad, can't you let me of?" Seamus groaned.

"No way, son," his dad chuckled. "Your mam would skin me alive."

Seamus looked up at his dad petulantly and crossed his arms. He knew what was coming – go to bed on time, do your homework, don't talk in lessons – his mum had been telling him as such for weeks but he already had other ideas. In his trunk Seamus had hidden mountains of chocolate and sweets. He planned to eat all of them upon arriving at the castle and then staying up until three in the morning and his parents would be powerless to stop him.

"Your mam would want me to say things like brush your teeth and pay attention," Mr Finnigan said, with a cheeky gleam in his eye, "but I'm not going to."

Seamus grinned at his dad's guilty expression.

"Now I may not know about Hogwarts and magic but I do know one thing – these are the best years of your life, Seamus, so live them."

"Does that mean I can stay up all night and muck about in lessons?" Seamus asked with a huge grin plastered on his face.

"Everything in moderation," his dad replied wisely. "Although if we get any owls from that school about you misbehaving I'll beat you raw," he added with a wag of his finger.

Laughing, Seamus hugged his dad and saw his mum coming over to him.

"Seamus!" she screeched. "Get on that train! I'm not having you be left here on the platform!"

Sharing a familiar look of exasperation with his dad, Seamus hugged his mum and climbed on the train, ready to live up to his dad's wise words.

Hogwarts has been open for more than a thousand years. Nobody is sure of the exact date.

A clump of children further down the platform from her screamed while a boy with dreadlocks roared with laughter.

The four founders were Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. The four houses are named after them.

There was a barn owl looking at her with huge eyes from inside a cage that was atop a huge trunk, as its owner pushed it along on a trolley.

The location of Hogwarts is hidden from non-magical people as to keep the secrets of the castle hidden from their world.

"Hermione?"

Hermione ripped her thoughts away from the facts she had been desperately trying to remember and looked at her mum.

"You look petrified, darling," she said, rubbing Hermione's arm. "Please try and breathe."

Mrs Granger's face looked slightly paler than usual although, Hermione reasoned, she had just ran through a wall.

"I'm fine, Mum, really," Hermione tried to reassure her but even she could hear the quiver in her voice. "I was just trying to remember my textbooks."

Hermione was pleased to see her mum smile. They both turned to see her father looking around nervously at the owls and fully-grown men in robes and Hermione felt a prickle of guilt.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled before she could stop herself.

"What have you got to be sorry for?" inquired her dad, his attention now fully on her.

"For being…" Hermione struggled to find the right word for a moment. "Weird," she finished.

Both of her parents looked at her wide eyed. As usual, it was her mum that recovered from the shock first.

"Right now, Hermione," she said calmly, "the weird ones are your father and I."

Her mum smiled at her and Hermione felt a bit of the pressure lift off her lungs. Her parents had always told her that she could be anything she wanted to be. They supported her when she was six and decided she wanted to be a vet by buying her books about animal care and taking her to zoos. They had taken her to a museum when she announced she wanted to be an archaeologist after finding a shilling buried in a flower bed while she helped her dad with gardening.

But as soon as Hermione had discovered she was a witch her parents had been clueless as to how to nurture her new found talent. He dad had barely been able to speak and instead just held her as they watched Professor McGonagall turn their living room rug into a tortoise. Her mum had joked that at least it solved the mysteries that surrounded her little girl but had not been able to assist in any other way.

Hermione was scared that she had disappointed them but looking at her mum's face now, she knew she had done nothing of the sort. She had no idea where she would be without their constant love and support. That is what had her worried so much now. Before, if the other children were mean to her at school, she could come home and escape into a book but now she would be living in her school. If she was honest with herself, Hermione couldn't think of anything worse.

Seeming to know what was on her mind, Hermione's mum pulled her into a hug that Hermione enthusiastically returned.

"This will be different, Hermione," she whispered into her hair. "All of these children are like you."

She pulled away and observed her with a look of confidence that Hermione just couldn't share. She loved the idea of a whole new world to discover, brand new subjects to throw herself into, but the idea of leaving home was simply horrible. She had refused to let the threat of potential bullies get in her way though - Hermione Granger was better than that - but now, stood on the platform, all of the children looked the same as they did back at home.

Hermione fought back tears as she asked the question she promised herself she would never speak aloud.

"I-if I don't like it," she whispered so only her mum could hear, "can I come home?"

Hermione's mum looked at her sadly for a few moments before replying.

"Just be yourself, Hermione," she said, stroking Hermione's hated, out of control hair. "Be yourself and do your best and we'll be proud of you. Be yourself and everything will work out. That's all I ask."

Hermione sniffed and nodded. It wasn't until she had hugged and kissed her parents goodbye and climbed aboard the train, that Hermione realised her mum hadn't answered her question, because she knew Hermione would never quit. With a new spring in her step, Hermione went to change into her robes, make new friends and make the best of the chance she had been given.

"Mum?" called Dean as he watched his mum's eyes scan the platform. "Mum!"

"Hmm? Sorry, love," she said as she turned her eyes to him. "What were you saying?"

"Shouldn't I get on the train now?" he asked. The platform was emptying steadily and he didn't want to be left behind. Besides, he was sick of seeing his mum doing what she had been doing every time they were in a magical place – scan the crowd in the hopes that she would see his dad.

For as long as Dean could remember, his mum had given up hope on ever seeing the man she loved again but since they had been paid a visit by Professor Burbage this had changed. According to the kind woman who had turned Dean's life upside down, it was a possibility that his father could have been a wizard and his mum had taken this to mean that maybe his dad had ran off to the wizarding world and that was why she hadn't heard from him in over a decade.

Dean had no such optimism. As far as he was concerned his dad had left him, didn't care enough to ever try to get to know him and, even if he was a wizard, wasn't worth his time.

"Yes, of course," his mum smiled, placing a cold hand on his cheek, "wouldn't want you to be late, now?" She gave him a small smile that he returned before a look of panic crossed her face.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she said as she started rummaging around in her bag.

Dean watched as she pulled out a small photograph and handed it to him.

"I wouldn't want you to forget home, now," she said, nervously waiting for his reaction.

He knew what this photo was of; it was the last one of the three of them together. They were stood by a huge oak tree covered in golden and brown leaves. He was barely over a year old, wearing a coat so thick that he looked almost spherical, while sat on his mother's hip as she held his wrist and made him wave at the camera. Standing next to them, with his arm around his mum's shoulders and a gold and scarlet scarf around his neck, was the man Dean knew to be his dad. Dean knew how much this photo meant to his mum so he smiled up at her.

"Thanks, mum," he said softly and she annoyingly patted his head.

"No problem," she whispered, clearly trying not to cry.

With a wet chuckle, she pulled him into another hug and rested her head on top of his dark curls.

"Mum, c'mon," Dean protested. "I've got to get on the train."

"Sorry," she replied, giving him one last squeeze. "It's just that I don't know how much longer I'll be able to do that for. You'll probably be taller than me when you come home at Christmas!"

After a few more hugs, Dean's mum finally consented to let him get on the train. Just before he did so, he turned around to look at his mum one last time.

"Thanks again for the photo, Mum."

He watched as her bottom lip quivered but was pleased to see that no tears fell.

"Are you sure I've got all of my books?"

"Yes, Padma! Now stop worrying."

"What about my -"

"We packed everything! If you have forgotten anything we can send it to you, you know."

Parvati listened to her sister and mum's conversation while trying to swallow her own nerves. She'd never been to school before, having been taught at home by her mum, and the prospect of it was a bit unnerving. Would she like her lessons? Would she get lost where no one could find her? Most of all she worried about making friends.

Padma was not just Parvati's sister, or even just her twin; she was her best friend. They were inseparable, even if they were like chalk and cheese. Padma could solve a word puzzle in seconds but Parvati struggled, even with help. Parvati could paint brilliant landscapes that her parents would proudly display in the kitchen, while Padma hardly knew one end of the brush from the other. None of this mattered when they were together though; they always got on like a house on fire.

"Parvati?" asked her dad in his deep voice. "What's wrong?"

Parvati thought about her answer for a moment. She loved Padma, she really did, but what if she couldn't make other friends?

"Dad, what happens if all the other girls don't want to make friends with me because I'm already friends with Padma?" she finally asked. "What if they think just because we have each other we don't need anyone else. I don't want to be seen as Padma's sister or one of the twins. I want to be Parvati."

To her surprise, her dad chuckled.

"Parvati, you and Padma both shine too brightly to be ignored," he assured her with a smile.

"But-"

"Do you know what the best thing about you two is though?" he asked, cutting off her protest.

She shook her head, wondering where on earth her dad was going with this.

"While you both shine, it is in two very different colours," he answered, as Padma and her mum made their way over to them. "Anybody of worth will see that."

"Parvati, are you ready?" Padma asked, holding out her hand.

Parvati gave the platform one last sweeping look before taking her twin's hand.

"Definitely."

"Please stop fidgeting!"

"Geroff me, Mum!"

"I will not have you getting on that train looking like you've rolled in mud!"

"It's gone!"

"Don't give me that tone, Ron Weasley!"

Ron finally broke free of his mum's clutches and stood away from her, rubbing his nose that he was sure was now bright pink from being attacked by a handkerchief. They glared at each other for a few seconds before his mum noticed that the twins had disappeared. She looked around, worried about them, while Ginny took the opportunity to tease her older brother.

"I think Mum missed a bit," she whispered with that evil glint in her eye that always made Ron uneasy.

"Shut up, Ginny."

Unfortunately, Mrs Weasley had given up on finding her other children and had gone back to dealing with the two youngest the moment he had spoken.

"Be nice to your sister!"

Ron groaned at the unfairness that seemed to plague his existence.

"Right, Ron, promise you'll behave," Mrs Weasley said sternly, while pulling him into another hug.

"Of course, Mum," he replied in a bored voice.

"I mean it!" his mum said as she pulled away to look at him.

Thankfully, Ron was saved from more dire warnings by the twins showing up with the news that the scrawny boy that had been clueless about getting on the platform had been none other than Harry Potter.

While the twins grinned and Ginny started begging to go and see him on the train, Ron felt his stomach sink. He was finally going to Hogwarts to make friends and try and crawl out of the giant shadow cast by his brothers only to discover on the platform that he was going to be in the same year as Harry Potter? He was probably some arrogant, rich prat that would pick on him because his robes were second hand and his wand was all beaten up. Everyone would like him obviously; he was famous and probably great at magic already! After all, you don't defeat Dark wizards by just sitting there.

Condemned to spend the next seven years being picked on by Harry-sodding-Potter and the massive group of fans that he called friends, Ron was pulled into another hug by his mother.

"Be good, dear," she said, while Ron rolled his eyes.

"Will do," he replied, wondering why she hadn't let go of him yet.

"Be sure to sit with that boy we met earlier," she whispered into his ear.

"Who?" he asked, unable to tell if his mum was serious. "Harry Potter?"

His mum held him at arm's length and gave him a small smile. "I'm sure he could use a friend, dear."

Ron snorted, while the twins climbed back onto the train. "Harry Potter won't want to be friends with me," he mumbled, scuffing his trainer on the floor.

He felt his mum glare at him so he looked up at the brown eyes that were surveying him with something like pity. "He's just a boy, Ron," she said kindly. "While you are my special little man."

At this, Ron groaned and tried to pull away from her but she held him fast as the final whistle blew.

"You're better than you think, Ronnie," Mrs Weasley said, wrapping her arms around him a final time.

A few moments later, Ron was forcing his way down the train corridor with his trunk. He was near the back of the train when he saw a free compartment. He propped his trunk up against the wall and went to open the door when he noticed that Harry Potter was sat in the compartment opposite on his own. Ron watched the Boy Who Lived as he looked out of the window, a look of sheer happiness and hope written across his thin face. Sighing, Ron picked his trunk back up and headed towards Harry Potter's compartment thinking that maybe his mum was right about him being lonely, and besides – what was the worst that could happen?

A/N 3: I know there wasn't quite enough time for Molly and Ron's last bit of dialogue but shh. It's only about 30 seconds. Thanks for reading :)