xxxx

The platform was crowded, full of milling people, and—even worse—loud. As soon as I got through the dividing wall, I almost had a heart attack. I retreated behind a pillar to the only open space in sight and focused, putting aside the unreasoning terror that always reared up in such situations. Beyond the people was a bright red train—target. I had to get on the train. Doing so now instead of later increased the chances of finding an empty compartment…

But there was no way I'd get through all those people without breaking down. I was visibly shaking already, my heart and breathing elevated far beyond what I thought of as healthy. A borderline panic-attack, on the verge of hyperventilating—I could handle compartments of people once the crowd thinned out a bit, but this milling madness was beyond me, especially with my parents unable to escort.

Target out of range, I told myself dryly. Any sane animal would think the same, refusing to enter the milling mass of humans. And as my only weapons were a selection of animals and two wands I had no idea how to use, the target looked as though it was intending to stay out of range.

I glanced down at my trunk, a massive, clunky old thing that was nonetheless oddly lovely. It had been in my house for as long as I could remember. When I was little, my brother and I would pretend it was full of pirate treasure. It was made from a beautiful dark red-purple wood, and polished with oil and beeswax until it held a soft glow and bound with strips of an unidentified silvery metal. It had been in the family for generations, according to my parents.

Still, they had no use for it aside from storing old clothing, so they gave it to me to take to school instead of buying a new one. There was only one problem. Somehow, I had to get it onto the train, likely with very little time to actually do so. But the crowd was admittedly thinning out—at least at this end of the platform—and quieting. A little.

I could do this. Really—don't think about it and just—start walking.

It wasn't that bad, really, after the fact. Sure, I got stuck with the part that actually involved getting the heavy trunk onto the train—my human self was nowhere near strong enough to lift something of that size and morphing in the middle of the platform was definitely a bad idea—but twin redheads helped me out. After giving me a heart attack—they were loud. And rather vibrantly alive, cheerful to the point of creepiness.

I'd had friends like them before (they rather reminded me of slightly less jaded versions of Marco), so I knew they were just trying to cheer me up—they were the sort that made their goal in life be bringing a bit of laughter to other people's lives. Still, they put my already frazzled nerves into a state of near-collapse, but at least they gave names and were helpful. Fred and George then passed me off on their little sister, another redhead named Ginny.

Ginny was nice and she led me to a compartment that she and her twin older brothers had appropriated. Mind, the twin older brothers didn't actually stay in the compartment, so it was just Ginny and me.

And it remained mostly quiet for some time. Ginny fell asleep, and I was in no mood to wake her for a conversation. Instead, I settled down to read my Potions text, as it held a great deal of complex and potentially useful information. It was rather like cooking, but with far more uses. And I like cooking.

Ginny woke up when a kindly-seeming witch knocked on the compartment door, "Anything off the cart, dears?" she asked.

I shook my head, "No thank you, Ma'am."

Ginny declined, as well, and the woman moved on.

"So," I glanced at the older girl, "Is there anything I should know about this school?"

"You're a Muggleborn?" Ginny asked, unwrapping a sandwich, "Well, there are four Houses—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

"Yeah, I read about the houses," I tilted my head a bit, "I guess I'm more interested in your impression of the school as a whole—what it's like. You know, your overall impression of the place. Is it nice?"

She looked a bit edgy at that question, "Um. Well, mostly. I sort-of had a bad experience last year with a weird diary and a Basilisk, but that's a sort-of one-time-only thing. Aside from that, I really liked it."

"Basilisk?" I caught the wary tinge to my own voice—there were many legends and stories of a great reptile that could turn its prey to stone, but the descriptions varied from lizard to snake and from a mere glance to a sung spell.

"Big snake," Ginny stated, shuddering, "If you look in its eyes, you die, but if you just see the reflection of its eyes, you turn to stone."

"Ah." Dang, that would be a useful critter to have in my arsenal. "King cobra big or anaconda big?"

"Swallow Dad's car big." Ginny was looking ill, probably from the memory.

"Sorry," I apologized, "I love snakes. I always have—my Grandpa used to raise rattlesnakes in Arizona, I think I got it from him."

Ginny gained a faint look of alarm, "Don't start telling people that," she instructed softly, "A lot of people see snakes as a sign of a Dark wizard."

That puzzled me. "Why? They're just animals."

"You-Know-Who can talk to them, and so could several other Dark wizards. His symbol is a skull with a snake coming out of the mouth."

"And the symbol of healing and medicine where I come from is two snakes twined around a staff. Snakes aren't evil and their venom, used properly, can heal. After all, all non-magical medicines are poisons in greater quantity."

"Really?" Ginny blinked, then shrugged. "It doesn't really matter whether or not they are, though, It matters that people think they are."

Ugh. I hate superstitions. And stereotypes. And government propaganda. And Visser Three, so long as we're on the list.

"I'll keep that in mind."

And then the train jittered to a halt and the lights went out.

I brought forth the focus that could change into a full morph in a heartbeat, reaching for the tiger to change my eyes. The tiger's eyes had round pupils, so would draw less attention than the cat's, even with the glow. All I needed to do was keep my gaze from landing directly on anyone else's, and even the reflected light shouldn't draw attention.

Ginny came into view, a washed-out blue tint covering everything as my vision settled into the tiger's.

"Ginny?" I asked as she felt her way around the compartment.

"Come on," she said, "I'm going to go look for my brother."

"All right," I followed, repressing the urge to ask 'brother?', as the only brothers of hers I knew of were the twins.

She stumbled several times and muttered under her breath before raising her voice, "Why aren't you tripping?"

I hid a grin, "I've found myself lacking sight more than once. I alter my method of walking to compensate." True, but not what I was currently doing.

"You sound like Snape," Ginny grumped, and I tilted my head.

Snape? Presumably someone at the school.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. But really, if you lift your feet a bit higher and make sure your leading foot is firmly planted before picking up the back foot, you'll trip a lot less. Keep one hand on the wall for reference—it helps when you're blind."

I watched with some amusement as Ginny took my advice, her balance firming with the point of reference and her steps turning more deliberate.

"Thanks," she said eventually, then the door her hand was placed on slid open, knocking her a bit off-balance, and another girl ran straight into her.

"Ow!"

"Who's that?"

"Who's that?" Ginny shot back, a bit defensively. I suppose I would have been defensive, too, if someone had just bowled into me.

"Ginny?" The other girl stood up while I pulled Ginny to her feet, "Is that you?"

"Hermione?"

"What are you doing?" the bushy-haired girl asked as a few others became visible (to me) in the compartment behind her.

"I was looking for Ron," Ginny said, "I've got a First Year with me, her name's Tsume—"

"Come in and sit down," the other—Hermione, I reminded myself—said, backing back into the compartment.

Ginny brushed up against one of the boys in the compartment, a male with dark, shaggy hair—but with the tiger's night-vision, I certainly wasn't placing any bets on the color.

"Not here!" he said quickly, sounding a bit alarmed, "I'm here!"

Another boy, about the same height as shaggy-hair, jumped when Ginny tripped over him. "Ouch!"

"Over here, Gin," said a much taller male, presumably her brother Ron.

Ginny settled as the man on the opposite side of the compartment started to stir, and the tiger's barely-there instincts all but growled in the back of my head.

"Tsume?" Ginny called.

"Quiet!" the man was sitting up, now, and my eyes met his—they held a glow not too different from the gleam I knew my own held, and I knew he could see just fine.

"I'm fine, Ginny," I said softly, not breaking that gaze, "but there's something out there."

The man started to raise his arm and I willed my eyes back to normal just as flames crackled to life in the man's hand.

He looked… tired.

"Get in here, quickly."

I obeyed, moving forward and sliding around his reach for my arm—non-hostile, but old habits die hard.

"Get behind me," he growled, eyes intent on the doorframe I hadn't entirely shut.

A sense of chill started to crowd the edge of my mind, a chill that held none of the comfort of my Thestral wand—one that felt more like the kind of cold that would permeate the waters beneath thin ice when one fell through, unable to get out. The overwhelming sort of cold that spoke of despair and death.

And the door slid open, darkness incarnate in towering robes of black—rather like what I thought a Grim Reaper should look like—a hand. The sort of thing not even a Taxxon would eat, wretched and decaying, alive or undead—it was impossible to tell by sight alone.

It jerked its hand back under black robes and drew a breath—a slow, rattling breath like the last gasp of a dying man—and the chill shifted, deepened. And I was back on that hill, in heat and fire and a sharp shove from my brother, in slow motion this time. I saw—really saw what had happened and prayed this was some sick twist my own mind had put onto the memory as the flash of a Dracon beam stole the light from my brother's eyes even as I tumbled backwards and fell.

And fell. I accepted the darkness writhing at the edge of my vision as a way out, accepting it through the double-vision of fire and the thing that brought forth that hated memory, accepted it and let go.

I heard voices, worried voices calling for someone called 'Harry'. Once 'Harry' answered, one of the voices turned on me while the others continued to pester 'Harry'. He sounded like shaggy-hair.

I ignored the voices and kept my eyes shut, thinking back through what I'd seen, wondering if it was true.

A loud snapping noise made me twitch a bit, but the accompanying scent—chocolate—put me at ease. Nothing dangerous—and I had other things to think about.

Ginny was next to me, calling my name over and over, and now the others seemed to be getting worried.

When a second presence—the one that the tiger had been a bit too aware of—settled next to me, I shifted away instinctively, and a low, gravely sort of voice spoke to me, a warm, calloused hand closing over my shoulder and giving a light shake. "Tsume. I know you can hear me."

I could hear him, at that, but there was still fire and death in my mind, the desperate wondering if it was true. Gods—I felt like I'd just lost him, like there'd been no time passed at all… flashes of my beak tearing a human-Controller's throat mixed with the blaze of Dracon and the flicker of fire in my mind.

I longed for the simplicity of the raven, or Marco's laughing voice in my head as he played tag with me as a seagull. My brother, hugging me after nightmares that now seemed so mild, holding me and saying he'd make it go away, that he'd protect me.

Like he had.

"Tsume," the voice was sharper, now, an edge of panic to it.

"Did she hit her head when she fell down?" Ginny's voice, my brain catalogued idly, latching on to the sounds as distractions from the deaths playing over and over in my head.

"I don't know," the hand on my shoulder tightened painfully and something snapped in my head.

The hurt was simple, easy to focus on. I needed simple. Morphs were simple—wolf was simple. Wolf. Tiger was loner and wolf could handle people better. Not all—can't all—not here, but maybe…

I felt something shifting in me, felt the calm mind of the wolf surfacing, felt my eyes changing as my sense of smell and hearing jumped up several notches. It was a trial, but I stopped it there, before the change could go too far, though my teeth felt a bit sharper than usual.

I let the wolf take most of the control, let her open my eyes and scan the compartment, felt her accept the scruffy, tired-looking man as dominant and settle. The alpha was concerned for her, that was clear in his stance, so she accepted that he would protect her.

I noticed that his eyes widened when he saw my now-golden orbs, noticed that his were a soft amber-brown.

The hand loosened, jarring a shoulder I was certain had deep bruising, and a slight whimper escaped my throat as the wolf took that as punishment but didn't know what she'd done wrong.

I informed the wolf part of my current brain that it was not punishment before turning my attention back to the clearly agitated man.

"Are you all right?"

I opened my mouth to answer and discovered I'd altered my vocal cords, making my voice as rough as his, "No."

His eyes flickered over the others, "Out. All of you."

There were protests, but I curled in a ball, trying to get away from the sudden noise and the protests halted as the alpha repeated himself. The others left.

I relaxed slowly, moving up onto the bench with a tense grace I was not ordinarily possessing, and growled lightly when the dominant came too close, too fast. Alpha or not, the wolf and I were in agreement—stay back until we're sure of you. Not precisely our alpha.

He stopped and moved to the other bench and I found myself relaxing slowly.

"What did you see?" he asked eventually.

"Brother."

A flash of puzzlement crossed amber eyes.

"He died. Protecting me."

"Is that when you became a werewolf?"

What? "I'm not a werewolf," I stared at him for a moment, glad of the wolf's sense of smell—I couldn't smell Yeerk on this man. Some sort of beast, yes, but not Yeerk.

He straightened abruptly, "Your eyes—the way the wolf reacted to you—"

It clicked. "You are. Aren't you?"

He nodded, from what I could see, fully expecting me to admit to lycanthropy now.

"I'm… not. I have a wolf, but she's just a wolf. I got too overwhelmed—the memory—and I needed simplicity. And she… was there. Calm, and quiet, and simple."

"A true wolf? You're an Animagus?"

The sheer incredulity was remarkable.

"Not… exactly. I touched her and there's an… affinity. She's there when I need her. I was going to reach for the tiger, but he'd've been wanting to rip everything apart for upsetting me, and the raven was just as freaked as I was… but the wolf knew I needed calm."

I hoped he'd come up with his own explanation due to my rather vague descriptions.

"You have familiars?" True surprise, this time, tinted with interest.

"Is that it?" I was glad to know that such things were possible.

"Yes, although it's unusual—especially for one so young. You must have a very open mind to be able to have more than one—you have to be able to understand the individual animal to a remarkable degree in order to bond one as a familiar, and to have three of such vastly different types is amazing." He eyed me oddly, "Why aren't any of them with you?"

I blinked, "Well, the tiger was part of a great cat rehabilitation center—they let people touch the cats after they've been sedated—and the raven and the wolf are back in America. I met them before my parents moved here." Was it really possible for me to have familiars? I mean, I noticed that sometimes I'd get thoughts that reminded me of any number of my different morphs, and that those partial morphs came incredibly easily—and altered my own attitude towards things, such as the tiger's tendency to word things in a very exact and often scathing manner.

If so, all my morphs were likely also familiars, if distant ones, as I understood each of the creatures on a level only one who had been them could. It would also explain how some of them would do things like provide calm when I needed it.

How… odd. Of course, it could also be what the others described—they all got the instincts and basic reactions of their animals.

"Hm. We should see about getting them brought to you," he offered. "People do better when in contact with their familiars."

I shook my head, "They're all better off where they are," I said firmly. I truly believed that, whether or not they were my familiars (and I was more and more inclined to believe 'not') they were happier where they were. By now, the tiger would be back in Siberia and the wolf—a large silver-gray Arctic female brought down for a breeding program—would have a den and pups, a whole pack to watch out for. The raven—should she still be alive—would be happier wild, as that was how she was born and raised.

At least now I had an explanation to sudden shifts in eye color and minor behavior alterations.

"I see," he eyed me for a moment, but didn't press the matter. "One more thing," he suddenly seemed nervous, "About my lycanthropy…"

"I don't know the first thing about werewolves past Muggle legends," I informed him.

"Ah. Well, suffice it to say, we are somewhat… discriminated against."

Slight irritation bubbled up in me, and the wolf began to echo that sentiment. "I see. Well, your secret is safe with me…" I sighed, letting the partial morph slip away and feeling my former turmoil return full-force with unexpected ferocity.

I sucked in a breath and almost reached for the wolf again, but the werewolf was suddenly in front of me, pressing a piece of chocolate into my hand and ordering me to eat.

I did as I was told and felt an odd warmth seep through my veins, relaxing tensed muscles and hazing my thoughts to a dull awareness that lacked in anything but calm and slow heat, a complete lack of pain or anxiety.

"Try to get some rest," I heard the alpha's voice and faintly realized I was still thinking in the wolf's terms.

"'Kay," I slurred, oddly pleased with the way my voice no longer sounded gravelly like the wolf's. I closed my eyes and let myself drift, settling into a pleasant fog of comfortable warmth.

xxxx

Well, my train-and-Sorting part started to get a bit too long. So now it's just a train part, and it didn't pick up quite as much as I wanted it to. As for the end bit—medications of any serious kind have one of three reactions with me: none, reversed, or extreme. I'm speculating on a Calming Draught or something similar laced into wizarding chocolate—otherwise it couldn't count as a prescribed medication.

The last time I took something for anxiety—which was accidental while at boarding school, a mislabeled med that was supposed to be my ADD stuff—I was very… placid the rest of the day. Enough so that the staff were rather worried—something about acting as though I'd been given morphine. Not anything I'm planning to try again, ever. Although I did sleep pretty well that night…

Anyway, the next chapter should cover the Sorting and beginning of classes. Guess what House Tsume's in!