A/N: Hello, hello! Chapter three, quicker than chapter two came, as I promised! This has actually been written longer than chapter two; it was supposed to be chapter two. I don't know why I felt the need to toss in the scrap of whatever that was, but it happened. If you really hated it, I'm super sorry and I hope this makes up for it!

I wasn't sure if the Ice Hounds were given any rules to abide by, so I made up my own. i.e., I just used the standard foreign exchange student rules. The Four D's—I was two skips and a hop away from adopting them next year. Sadly, my mom thought I'd bomb the SATs if I went off to a foreign country for my junior year. Boo.

Anyway, enjoy! And thank you for all of your reviews, they mean so much to me!

Oh, I feel like I should put in a disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, as much as I'd like to, nor do I own Degrassi. It's kind of tragic.


"Are you ready?" His mother's bright eyes searched his face. The train station buzzed around them. Somewhere on that very platform, Mike Dallas, the Ice Hounds' returning captain, was saying goodbye to his own family. Justin kept glancing around the abandoned station, looking to catch his buddy before the train left. Had she asked him an hour ago, he would have told her whole-heartedly yes. He was ready. He had found some new confidence and he was ready to say goodbye. But now, now he wasn't so sure, or sure at all really. He'd managed to shake off the initial heaviness from the other day, but where the weight had been, a hole had opened up.

He gave a feeble nod, untrusting of his own voice. He resolved to staring after the train tracks, looking for any sign of the locomotive that would soon carry him off to Toronto. Like an army four strong, his mother, sister, and brothers stood arm-to-arm behind him. His father distanced himself from the rest of the family. Campbell was surprised he had even come. He had some kind of work-related event to attend that evening and had gone on and on and on about how he didn't think he'd be able to see him off. They said their goodbyes early that morning. For some reason, Mr. Saunders had a last minute decision change and jumped in the car as they pulled out of the driveway. Though he'd never admit it, he would have preferred if his dad hadn't shown up at all.

"Make sure you call when you get settled, okay? The Clarksons said they'll be waiting for you when you get off the train. And make sure you're always polite and on your best behavior, they seem like very nice people. I know I don't have to tell you this," she added, tossing an angered glance toward Justin, "but remember the Four D's your coach talked about at the meeting. You know, no drinking, no drugs, no driving, no dating." The seriousness etched into the crevices of her cheeks was almost laughable. She was right; she did not need to remind him of the rules.

"I know, Mom." He flashed a quick grin. She embraced him for what felt like the millionth time in the past few days, tears welling before her eyes. "I'm going to miss you so much, baby." Her lips grazed the top of his head as she pulled him in tighter. He relished in the warmth between them, wanting nothing more than for that moment to last forever. He was calm, reassured, safe, happy. "Don't you forget about me now! Call me whenever, text me, Skype me." She stepped back, ending the waves of heat coursing through his veins.

All too soon, the steady chug of the Amtrak drew nearer and nearer until the silver bullet train pulled into the station. Like a true Hallmark moment, five sets of arms wrapped around him. Samantha kissed his cheek, Justin messed his hair, Riley clung to his hand, both of his parents seemed to forget that they had been in the middle of a silent argument.

Time seemed to be working against them. The voice over the intercom demanded passengers board, and just like that, they broke apart, his parents were fighting again and his brother was gathering half of his luggage, urging him to take the rest. With a quick wave to the rest of them, he stepped onto the train, a suitcase in either hand. The indescribable feeling of the night before washed back over him, any inkling of safeness or warmth or even happiness gone as quickly as it could be replaced. He watched as Justin stowed his slew of luggage above the cushioned seats of the compartment.

"Look at you, finally taking the Hogwarts Express." He puffed, lifting the last bag onto the shelf. When they were little, Justin had read the Harry Potter series to him and his sister over and over and over again until they were old enough to read it themselves. His joking grin calmed his sparking nerves a bit.

"Too bad I'm not going to Toronto for magic." Cam laughed, nervously picking at his palms. Above him, the same intercom voice broke through the bustling train station. Last call for boarding passengers. He could feel his face fall; his eyes began to dot themselves with moisture. Desperate to hold himself together, he casually rubbed his eyes, as if he were wiping the sleep out of them.

"Yeah, but hockey is pretty close." He commented, pulling him in for a quick hug. Justin was scarcely fooled, it was near impossible to lie to him. "Be good, call me, you know, all that bull. You'll be fine. Head up, stick on the ice, okay?" His words came out rushed and crammed, and as quickly as everything else seemed to be happening he was hopping off the train. Cam barely had time to shout a Goodbye! before he was out of sight.

It took until he lost his balance and fell onto the cushioned bench to realize the train had begun moving. A feeling of dread encompassed him. What was he doing? He had just left his family. He was moving hundreds of miles away to live with another family he had never met. He was going to dedicate the little life he had to hockey—a sport he didn't even like. His breathing picked up, his heart jumped and fell and flipped. No!

Anxiously, he rummaged through his bag for his iPod. Placing the bulky headphones over his ears, he fell into the lyrics, skimming every word with his fingertips. His eyelids fell over his muted brown orbs. Someone sat down across from him, through the slits between his lids, he watched as he kicked his bags beneath the bench. Ice Hounds brandished the side of a rather large duffle bag. Dallas. He ignored him, rolling his head toward the window, praying for the next twelve hours to slide by just as fast as the morning had.


Torontonian train stations were nothing like the quiet, barely populated stations of the Kapuskasing sort. Massive hordes of people lolled on the platform, passengers fought to disembark. Campbell, so awed by the crazy masses, nearly forgot to retrieve his belongings. Struggling beneath the weight of his luggage, each hand stressed to grasp the handles of three bags each, he shuffled onto the concrete platform.

Dallas snickered behind him. "How much did you pack, Rook?" He rolled his eyes, refusing to pay much attention to the older boy. He had dealt with the antics of one Mike Dallas for the majority of his conscious life. He and Justin had played on the same rec hockey team when they were six; their friendship took off from there. In recent years, their closeness had faded a bit, but that's not to say Dallas wasn't an occasional face in the Saunders household. Quite the contrary; Justin's friends always seemed to come in groups, never one without the rest.

Pressing through the hosts of people, he kept his eyes narrowed for any sign of his surname printed on piece of paper, anything to bring him to his billet family. His short stature made his feat incredibly futile. With each failed attempt at finding the supposed Clarksons, he had to keep reminding himself to calm down. But it was to no avail; his subconscious was not one to cooperate. He quickened his pace as he fought through the masses, barreling right on through, not even bothering to apologize to the people he had inevitably knocked with his various luggage pieces.

What if I passed them? He hesitated. Should I turn around? With a glance over his shoulder, he decided that was quite possibly the worst idea he'd ever had. He needed to get out. He pressed on until he finally reached a rather emptier section of the train station. Relieved, his heart fell back into step with the acceptable track. He collapsed onto a metal bench in the center of the corridor; the Clarksons surely had to pass by on their way out, he'd just wait here for them. He wouldn't, couldn't go back into the sea of bustling bodies. He knew he was already ashen-faced and jittery; he didn't need to prove himself to be a psycho before he even formally introduced himself.

He refocused his attention on the information desk across from him. There was a line about ten people deep, give or take. The teller at the window looked rather bored with whatever the man at the counter was going on about. "Can you just tell me where Platform 12 is?" He snapped, "I'm sure your manager would love to hear that you'd rather stand hear and berate me over my tone of voice than let me get a fifteen year old off the train!" Campbell sat up a little shared a fair bit in common with whomever he was looking for.

Beside him, a woman with a whole waterfall of red hair cascading down to the small of her back clutched his upper arm. He strained his ears a little harder. "It's almost six-thirty. Did you get his phone number when you were on the phone with his parents?" She asked, her voice wavering a bit. As if completely abashed that it was so late, the man flipped back to the teller. "Look, can you page him? His name is Campbell Saunders."

Campbell Saunders. He said Campbell Saunders.

Immediately, he jumped off the bench. They had to be the Clarksons. Though severely out of character, he called to them. Through the tens of feet between them, his voice travelled to where they stood at the desk. At the sound of their surname, both spun around, thankful smiles spreading across their faces, confirming their identities. They strode over to him as he scrambled to straighten his clothes. First impressions, Campbell, they're important. His mother's voice echoed around in his head.

As they came closer, he drank their images. Both were rather young looking, no older than thirty. Mr. Clarkson, tall and lanky, clasped his wife's petite hand. Together, their features were on opposite sides of the extreme-spectrum. While Mrs. Clarkson's hair was a brilliant red, the epitome of color itself, Mr. Clarkson's was the midnight sky. Their eyes, too, were each other's inverse; emerald and onyx. Thinking back to his brother, he drew a parallel between his beloved stories of magic and adventure and his new life; Mr. and Mrs. Clarkson looked an awful lot like his picture of James and Lily Potter. He chuckled to himself, elaborating even further on his insane tie-between, making a mental note to call and tell Justin once he was settled.

"I'm so sorry we're late; traffic down here is awful! We don't come downtown much; I forgot how much earlier we had to leave." Mr. Clarkson released Mrs. Clarkson's hand in order to shake his. "I'm Seth Clarkson and this is—" His wife cut him off, stepping between the two of them.

"Jane. But you can call us anything you want." She smiled, a row of blinding teeth illuminated in the lights. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she pulled him into a tight hug. "It's so great to finally meet you! We've been waiting for today for months!" She smelled like rain and flowers and something very familiar. As if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, Cam exhaled.

He hugged her back, surprising even himself. For some reason, he felt comfortable around these new acquaintances, like he fit into their equation. It was a combination of factors; their youth helped, as did their doppelganger-y appearances to familiar characters, and so did their easiness around him. They didn't put up a prim-and-proper front like the guest billet families at the meeting; they seemed themselves and he liked that. Perhaps he was simply incredibly relieved that he'd found his billet parents, but he liked to think it was deeper than that.

For a moment, they stood staring at each other. Seth and Jane's eyes drifted over his face, excited grins extending all the way up to their eyes. He returned the look, fiddling with the cuffs of his sweatshirt. He wondered whether he should say something; he hadn't spoken a word since they hustled over to him. But what would he say? As he wracked his brain for something—anything—to input to remove the silence, Jane stepped back in.

"So, Cam—is it okay if I call you Cam?" His head bobbed up and down a few times; the words he had stored in his throat slipping back to his stomach. "Do you like Chinese food?" Beside them, Seth began to collect as many bags as his hands would allow him. Just in time for Cam to reply with a peppy "Yeah," Jane grabbed the handled of the last suit case, leaving him to heave the duffel bag of hockey equipment onto his shoulder. He murmured a thank you, slightly embarrassed.

"Good, because we picked some up on the way here." Seth chuckled. He fell into step with the couple, his thoughts jammed with questions.

After they had broken out onto the sidewalk, he slid behind them a bit, trying as hard as possible to stay hooked into their conversation. It became nearly impossible. He couldn't. Toronto itself was far too interesting to pass up. The buildings, the people, the lights, it was breathtaking. He'd never seen anything like it. Growing up in Kapuskasing, he'd only known small town life. Everyone knew everyone, all of that LifeTime cheesiness. But this, this was something completely new. He had to grind his teeth together to assure himself that his jaw hadn't dislocated itself from the rest of his face. As he slid into the backseat of the Clarksons' SUV, he caught Jane's eye in the rearview mirror, the same smile still engraved on her face.

Not too long after the scenery turned from urban to suburban, they pulled into the driveway of modest brownstone. Papery curtains peaked through the windows; a patch of green provided the tiny front lawn. It was nothing like his house, with the expansive yards and mile-away-neighbors. Here, the houses huddled close together, as if for fear one would disappear if no one watched it close enough. Here, the houses were uniform. It would take some time getting used to, but then again, what wouldn't?

Still chattering away about this and that, Seth led him up to his bedroom, the bags he had carried to the car in his hands once more. Cam grabbed the suitcase Jane had rolled in, deciding to come back for his hockey gear later. Behind the brick-red front door, a cozy home lived. Eclectic paintings and artsy furniture decorated the rooms, shag carpets and fancy electronics filled in the spaces between the two. He followed his new billet father up a flight of stairs where three doors overlooked the downstairs. They entered the farthest door on the right, revealing a rather large room. The walls were painted an odd coffee color, the furniture all the same cherry wood. A bed dressed in a grey comforter rested against the closest wall, a dresser and a closet door on the same plane. Down two steps, a desk, TV and a checkered armchair sat comfortably against a window amidst a corner of miscellaneous objects. A bin of half-used rolls of wrapping paper, a few archaic looking hockey sticks, a stack of boxes four high; storage, his bedroom was their storage room. Suddenly, he felt like an intruder.

"Do you like it? Sorry about the stuff; our basement isn't exactly an ideal place for things. We didn't know where else to put all of it." He gently piled his luggage on top of the bed, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes. "It's fine." He flashed a smile, sheepishly averting his gaze to his sneakers. His fingers laced themselves through his sweatshirt cuffs once again. Now that they were home, finalization dropped onto his shoulders. He had really done it. Kapuskasing was twelve hours and several hundred miles away, a whole lifetime of memories behind him.

The intrusion feeling manifested itself as straight uncomfortableness.

"Dinner's on the table!" Jane called from the kitchen, breaking the muteness that had fallen between them. Back down the stairs they went, Cam on Seth's heels. White cartons with black markings across the tops found home on the round table. Following his new parents' lead, he slid into a cushioned chair. His hands were numb as he spooned lo mein onto his plate, self-consciously glancing up through his eyelashes. He took far less food than he would have had he been with his family, but it hardly made a difference. He wasn't hungry anyway.

Across from him, the Clarksons ran through a few stories, pausing occasionally to ask him questions—What's your favorite school subject? What's your favorite food? When's your birthday? Do you have a girlfriend back home? Favorite movie? Do you like to read? Favorite color? Do you have a lot of friends? What's your favorite part of hockey? Are you nervous about your first day of school tomorrow?—while simultaneously revealing little tidbits about themselves. Seth, much to his surprise, was a history teacher at Degrassi—his history teacher. For some reason, he had a nasty feeling his placement had something to do with his mother. Jane was a librarian in the local library. They'd been married for eight years. Seth wanted a baby, Jane was unsure. Cam, as he found out, was their deciding factor. If they could handle a fifteen year old for a school year, they'd give the parenting game a go. Though he wouldn't dare say it, he wanted to tell them he wasn't really the person they wanted to rest the future of their family on; most kids didn't turn out like him.

Regardless, he answered all of their questions, growing increasingly embarrassed. He couldn't understand why and it frustrated him. He had been so comfortable around them a few hours ago; what had happened? He shifted in the seat; he drummed his fingers against the edge of his plate, telling himself he was just tired. His responses were becoming shorter and shier because he was tired. His shoulders forced him inwards because he was tired. He just needed to sleep and tomorrow he wouldn't be so tired.

He waited until both of his billet parents were finished eating before excusing himself from the table, his mother's voice chirping in his ear. Manners, Campbell. Always use your manners. As quickly as possible, he whipped through his nightly routine, pushed his collection of bags onto the floor, and climbed under the covers of the bed. The mattress laid like a rock beneath him, and all at once, the first dose of homesickness shimmied down his throat. He attempted to shove it somewhere where it'd be forgotten. Rolling over onto his side, he pawed at his phone on the nightstand. The fluorescent screen stung his eyes as he tapped away on the screen. Phrased and rephrased, he sent a text message to his mother, brother, and sister: Got here safe. Clarksons are cool. Totally wiped. I'll call tomorrow. Goodnight xx

He slept with the lights on, just in case he forgot where he was in the morning.


A/N: Now that it's over, can we say a few words for our beloved puppy Campbell? Dear God, please, if you care at all about my sanity, mental health, and wellbeing, please do not let the writers kill Cam off. Amen.