How did it get so late so soon?

Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June.

My goodness how the time has flewn.

How did it get so late so soon?

- Dr. Seuss.

Hogsmede Train Station, 1st September 1977.

The Hogwart's Express pulled into the tiny train station of Hogsmede at its scheduled time of seven-oh-three. The evening was drawing in, and the sun which had been blazing just an hour before was rapidly disappearing, while the air held the promise of a night time chill.

The end of summer had always made Hermione feel melancholic, and now as she watched the doors of the great steam engine burst open and hundreds of excited students fill the platform, she felt even more so. Their faces were unfamiliar, and the style with which they wore their hair and clothes was so blatantly 1970's that it was almost a pastiche – but their expressions, especially the first years, held the same innocent jubilation that her own had always held at the thought of another year at Hogwarts.

The cry of 'Firs' years this a way', echoed over the sea of children, and Hermione watched with affection as the tiny, tremulous crowd of first years pushed their way towards Hagrid the gamekeeper – awe at the half giants towering size written across each young face. They huddled together, shivering in what Hermione presumed to be excitement laced with fear, as Hagrid read their names off a list then beckoned them to follow him towards the lake.

Their first view of Hogwarts would be of it looming from a large imposing cliff into the nights sky, each window of the castle lit up and reflecting in the ice cold water of the lake beneath their boat.

She remembered it well.

The crowds on the platform had thinned considerably, and Hermione gave herself a small shake. There was a difference between being inconspicuous and being totally absent, she scolded herself as she hurried towards the few thestral drawn carriages still waiting to take the remaining, straggling students on the short journey to the school for the Welcome Feast.

...And The Sorting, she thought with a shiver.

The Hogwarts Thestrals; skeletal, winged horses, with eerie blank eyesockets, turned their heads as she approached the last remaining carriage. While once Hermione had found their blank gazes sinister, the gentle animals held no fear for her now. Absently remembering the summer night that she had flown on ones back to the Ministry in a futile attempt to save Sirius, Hermione reached out a tentative hand to stroke the nearest thestral's dragon like snout.

'Hello,' she murmered softly as her hand made contact with its leathery flesh.

'C-can...can you see them too?'

The boy was tall and startled looking, though as Hermione shifted her gaze from the animal before her to him, she saw that he was visibly fixing himself. Adopting a neutral expression and ruffling his hair so that it fell into artful disarray, while shifting his worn satchel from one shoulder to the other.

'They're thestrals,' she stated simply, offering him a reassuring smile. 'They can only be seen by people who have witnessed death – perhaps that's why you haven't noticed them before now?'

Relief spread over the boys face, and he gave a rough laugh – deep and earthy, which made Hermione smile for the first time in days.

'Thought I'd finally lost it,' the boy muttered, as much to himself as to her. 'There's generations of lunatics in my family,' he explained with a cheeky smile, 'Stretching back through the centuries...I thought...I thought I'd finally lived up to my family name. They're fucking creepy though aren't they?' The boy continued, looking at the horses with a sceptical expression.

'Some people think they're a bad omen,' Hermione stated, then trailed off. They were the last students waiting, and night was quickly falling. 'Should we head off?'

'Yeah probably, I don't want McGonnagal taking points off Gryffindor before the sortings even happened,' the boy said and threw his satchel into the waiting carriage, jumping in easily and offering a hand to Hermione to help her alight.

He was quite assured now, Hermione observed, as he threw himself casually onto the seat, his robes hanging elegantly off his lithe frame and he lifted his handsome face to glance at her out of black, curious eyes.

'Are you new?'

It was both a question and an accusation. Hermione took a deep breath, bracing herself for the onslaught of questions that she was expecting. In all her time in Hogwarts she had never known a student to join a class, but Dumbledore had assured her that there had been cases, and that while unusual – it was not unheard of.

'Yes,' she sighed, took a deep breath and quickly recited. 'I lived abroad, my father died, I was sent to live with my aunt who decided I needed to sit my N.E.W.T.S, now here I am.'

'Right,' the boy raised an amused eyebrow at her matter of fact tone. 'You got a name?'

'Hermione,' she said and he gave a bark of laughter.

'Merlin's beard that's a lot of syllables. Her-my-own-knee,' he sounded it out phonetically, clearly amused. 'Hermione what?'

'Baghshot,' came here terse reply, and she watched as the galleon dropped, and the boy eyed her warily.

Rexus Bagshot, the brother of the famed academic Bathilda, had died that summer attempting to break the infamous Dark Wizard Grindlewald out of the high security wizard prison Nuremgrad. It had been front page news for weeks in The Daily Prophet. Dumbledore's plan for the time being was to let the student body assume that Hermione was his daughter, and she would spend the Christmas holidays with Bathilda – who had been confunded into thinking that Hermione was actually her niece. It had sounded a feasible plan, but seeing the boys reaction to her supposed lineage made Hermione nervous. Would the whole student body react the same way?

'So...' after a few tense seconds the boy broke the silence.'If you're new, do you still have to be sorted? I mean, even though you're so...'

'...Old?' Hermione finished with a grin, and he nodded, still eyeing her suspiciously.

'Yeah, Dumbledore said I'll be called up with the first years,' she bit her lip, nervously and stole a glance at his brooding face.

'What house do you want?', he challenged, watching her more intently now.

'Gryffindor...where dwell the brave of heart,' Hermione quipped, and as the carriage passed through the gates of Hogwarts and swept quickly up the drive the boys face broke into a large smile, and he gave her an approving look. '

Well as a Gryffindor I'm bound to be biased, but that's a wise choice you've made there Bagshot.' He seemed to decide then that Hermione was worthy of his approval, and he reached out a hand to shake hers in greeting. The lights from the nearing castle cast his face into shadows for a moment as his hand took hers in a strong grip.

'I'm Sirius, Sirius Black.'

Hermione felt her face pale, her brown eyes met his grey and she saw her shocked expression reflected in them.

'Are you ok?' Sirius raised an eyebrow in concern, 'You look like you've seen a ghost.'

I have, Hermione wanted to reply; but even now with years before his murder, it was too late to tell Sirius Black that he was dead.

Note:

I came back to this story after years of a hiatus (apologies, apologies). If anyone who read the original is still reading you might have noticed a few changes. I'll try to update as quickly as possible. Any feedback is appreciated more than you'll know :) xx