At 10:21am, September the 1st, 1991, a small boy with unruly black hair and vibrant green eyes entered Kings Cross Station. He was unaccompanied, and carried no luggage. As he moved silently through the crowds, heads turned to follow his progress. There was nothing overly unusual about the boy's appearance, though he was smaller than his age would indicate. His jeans and trainers were clean, and his dark green t-shirt was unwrinkled.
What captured the attention of passersby was the magnificent snowy owl, half the size of her master, perched comfortably on the leather pad covering the boy's left shoulder. The owl wore no hood, and no tether was attached to its leg. The only indication of it being anything but a wild creature was a wide silver band encircling one leg.
If one were to overlook the avian accessory, their attention would be drawn to the odd leather bag affixed on a leather belt at the boy's hip. On his left wrist was a thick leather cuff, embedded with six oval, evenly spaced, silver studs.
All together, passersby labeled the tiny boy as 'odd'.
Harry was keenly aware of the looks he was attracting. The only thing preventing him from reflexively hunching his shoulders and ducking his head was his first ever present, Hedwig. Her weight and warmth were comforting, and she would coo, warble, and click her beak regularly, assuring him that he was not alone.
Raising a hand to brush her shining feathers, Harry relaxed a bit and cast his gaze about the station.
Platform 9 3/4... Bladestone said the gateway is the wall between platforms 9 and 10... where is...? Ah! There.
Having spotted the pillar between muggle platforms, Harry hurried forward excitedly. A few meters from the bricks, he suddenly became aware of a buzzing sensation and came to a halt, staring fixedly at the pillar. Reaching out, Harry drew his hand slowly through the air before the bricks.
The barrier is enchanted, like Bladestone said, so non-magicals won't pass through or notice wizards disappearing... that feeling must be the enchantments...
Pulling his hand back, Harry determinedly approached the barrier and walked through. He could feel the different magicks of the barrier brushing against his own once more before he stepped out of their reach and onto Platform 9 3/4.
Dominating the scene was a spectacular scarlet steam engine, proudly commanding the attention of everyone who entered the station. Glancing around, habitually counting people, assessing threats, and cataloging escape routes, Harry took in his surroundings.
The platform was not overly crowded, though the chattering of the families and children that filled the air made it seem as though twice as many people were there. As in Diagon Alley, the majority of adults were wearing robes, while the children wore an assortment of items closer in style to non-magicals.
Along the wall at the end of the station, Harry spotted several enormous fireplaces, presumably for magical family use. Frowning, Harry watched several figures flame into the station and brush soot off their robes.
Can't we floo to Hogwarts? It's a magical school, so why do they have us taking a train to get there?
Something Bladestone had told him echoed in his head. 'Wizards like to make things more complicated than they need to be, and most wouldn't understand logic if it whacked them on the head with a battleaxe. They've become so immersed in magic and tradition that common sense and independent thinking have been abandoned.'
Harry wasn't sure that Bladestone's opinion applied to wizards everywhere, but from a lot of what he'd seen in Diagon Alley, and now here, he was inclined to believe the goblin had a point.
The noise level in the station suddenly increased as several families arrived at once. Hedwig barked in annoyance, and Harry had to agree. The noise made it difficult to pay attention to his surroundings. He set off down the platform, scanning faces as he went, and keeping an eye out for any potential dangers.
"Gran... Gran, I've lost my toad again."
Harry looked toward the closest voice automatically, and stopped abruptly. The voice belonged to a young boy about his age with short black hair, a slightly pudgy figure, and wearing expensive robes awkwardly draped over his shoulders.
Neville Longbottom, Heir to the Longbottom family and enterprise. Both parents in St. Mungo's indefinitely.
Something in the boy's eyes caught Harry's attention, and he looked closer, frowning. His breath caught at the sadness, loneliness, fear, and sheer desperation filling the deep brown eyes. He recognized that look. It was the same look he saw every time he looked in the mirror.
What has Neville Longbottom gone through to feel like that? For me, it was the Dursleys... What happened to him? His parents...?
Forcing his feet to move, Harry walked past, but he made a decision.
I'm going to help him. No matter what house we will be in, no matter what I have to do, no matter the challenge, I want to help him and be there for him.
Glancing back, Harry spotted the sad boy being ushered onto the train by his severe looking grandmother. She didn't hug him, merely said something that made him nod miserably, then turned and left.
Continuing his slow walk along the platform, Harry scanned the faces around him, on the lookout for any other unusuals. Suddenly, his eye was caught by a splash of white.
There, standing a little apart from the rest of the people was a small family.
The man was tall, with long white-blonde hair and an aristocratic face. His son had the same blonde hair, though it was short, and had a sharp face that would clearly grow be as noble as his father's. The woman had long black hair and held herself with impressive dignity.
Harry was too far away to hear what they were saying, but the love between the three was clear, even from this distance. They were more reserved than the families around them, but their bond was strong. Harry got the sense that this was a family that would do anything to protect each other.
Turning away, Harry tried to ignore the pain in his chest. A loving family was not something he'd begrudge anyone, but he'd always wondered what it was like.
"Watch out!"
Immediately, Harry ducked and spun toward the shout, Hedwig taking off to circle in the air above him. Something soared over Harry, exactly where his head had been scant seconds before. His eyes darted around the platform and fixed on the form of three boys jogging toward him. He automatically cringed, remembering Dudley and his gang, and the many, many, games of Harry Hunting.
"Sorry 'bout that!" The lead boy stopped in front of Harry with one of his friends. The other circled Harry to retrieve whatever had nearly hit him. Feeling distinctly trapped, Harry backed up a bit, trying to keep all three in his sights.
"Me brother bought a Fanged Frisbee behind Mum's back last week," The boy continued, unaware of Harry's internal panic, "and he thought it'd be a laugh to chuck it here."
"Fanged Frisbee?" Harry repeated, scowling warily at the lime green disk that was snarling in the grip of one of the boys.
"Yeah, sorry." The lead boy shrugged sheepishly, then held out a hand. "I'm Ernie MacMillan. I'm startin' Hogwarts this year."
He missed Harry's trepidation and shook the small boy's hand, then introduced his companions as Justin Finch-Fletchley and Terry Boot, also first years. Once Harry was no longer shaking anyone's hand, Hedwig swooped down to perch gracefully back on her boy's shoulder.
"Nice owl!" Finch-Fletchley grinned, "She looks like a right queen."
Smiling slightly, Harry had to agree. "She certainly does."
"Anyway, sorry about the frisbee." MacMillan grinned crookedly, "We'll toss it at me brother next time, yeah?"
Harry's smile widened hesitantly as the others chuckled. From behind them, a woman called, and Boot groaned. "That's my mother. We'd better go... what's your name, anyway?"
"Oh, I'm Harry." Harry said, mentally wincing as he finished, "Harry Potter."
It wasn't anywhere near as bad as the reaction he'd gotten the first time he went into Fortescue's' Ice Cream Parlor. There, the crowds inside and in the street had mobbed him, determined to shake his hand, mindless of his panic. He'd had to literally run out of the store, grateful for his small stature for once. After that, he'd taken to wearing a muggle hoodie on the street, retreating into the safe, concealing depths of the hood.
Finch-Fletchley and Boot's eyes widened comically, but MacMillan just looked Harry up and down quickly, then nodded in greeting. Before anyone could say anything else, thankfully, Boot's mother called again.
"Well, we'll see you at Hogwarts then, Potter." MacMillan smiled at Harry's answering nod, then turned away. Boot followed after waving briefly, and Finch-Fletchley mirrored him.
I really hope the rest of the students are like that.
Glancing at the clock, Harry realized he had fifteen minutes before the train left. With one last scan over the sea of black robes and trunks, he clambered somewhat awkwardly onto the train. Glancing around, he realized that most students were walking up and down the corridors, looking for their friends. Hopefully that meant there was an empty compartment somewhere.
Briefly, Harry wondered if he should look for Longbottom, but a sudden wave of students entering the train quickly changed his mind. He'd rather get out of the crowds now.
Weaving through the throng of students, Harry made his way down the train. Thankfully, Hedwig's presence on his shoulder meant students moved out of his way faster, and he quickly found the first in a series of empty compartments.
After closing the door behind him, he leaned against it and sighed heavily. Hedwig fluttered onto one of the lowered armrests and churred softly at him.
"There's too many people, girl." Harry sat heavily in the window seat by his owl and stroked her back gently. "How'm I supposed to deal being surrounded by people all the time? I hope the school is big enough for me to disappear."
Hedwig barked reproachfully, and Harry grimaced. "Yeah, I know. I don't have to disappear anymore. But still..."
He stared out over the people still milling about on the platform. A large family of redheads suddenly entered through the barrier, and Harry briefly wondered why such an obviously wizarding family hadn't taken the floo.
"Everyone will expect something from me." Harry moved his gaze to the empty seat across from him. "Harry Potter is a famous wizard. Bladestone warned me about people wanting to get close to me because of my fame or money."
Bladestone hadn't just warned him. He'd recommended a dozen books on wizarding culture, ancient families, proper etiquette, and expected behavior. As well as introducing him to his financial responsibilities, the goblin had advised Harry to get to know the culture he'd be entering and to learn how to properly interact with the people in it. Harry had read the books in half a week and had practiced the bows, forms of address, styles of letter writing, and other manners expected of him as Heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter.
He rubbed the invisible Potter Heir ring on his right hand. All the studying he'd done the past month; the manners, the diplomacy, the etiquette. He hoped it had been enough to prepare him. He'd also read each and every one of his school books, and purchased more. His trunk's library compartment contained the books Hogwarts required from the 1st to 4th year, including each of the electives. He'd also added several interesting books on other magical beings and beasts, business and finances, and a few books on his family history from his vault.
All that preparation, just so I can survive this new world.
Shaking his head at the dramatic thought, Harry tried to think about something else, something not involving all the expectations this world was heaping onto him.
The train lurched suddenly, and Harry watched as the platform slid slowly from view. They picked up speed, and Harry decided to settle in for the journey. Reaching into the bag at his hip, he withdrew a matchbox sized trunk. Setting it on the floor, he tapped the lid three times, paused, then tapped it twice more.
He grinned as the trunk expanded to full size.
I hope I never get tired of that.
He placed a finger on one of the silver studs adorning the cuff on his right wrist, and a ring of keys appeared in his palm. Selecting the bronze one, he inserted it into the third keyhole in his trunk and opened the lid.
Two rows of books were lined on shelves along the inside of the lid, while several stacks filled a space that was much too huge to fit inside the trunk. Grabbing the book he was currently reading, Beasts, Beings, and Between: Races you'll run into in Magical Britain, he shut his trunk, re-shrank it, and tucked it back into his bag. The keys were returned to the studded cuff, and Harry sat back in his seat with his book, content to read until the train arrived at Hogwarts.
He'd just reached the chapter on banshees when his compartment door slid open. Glancing over his book, Harry scanned the boy who'd interrupted his reading. Tall and gangly, with a shock of red hair, a smudge of dirt on his nose, and clothes that, while clearly taken care of, had certainly seen better days.
"D'you mind?" The redhead indicated the seats across from Harry. "Everywhere else is full."
Frowning slightly, Harry shook his head and the redhead sat down. Everywhere else was full? That was a bit odd, considering the sheer size of the train, and the number of students from the platform.
"I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley." The redhead announced, staring intently at Harry, who, with a sinking heart, suddenly realized why this boy had come into this compartment when there were surely empty ones available.
Grimly, Harry replied. "I'm Harry Potter."
Weasley's eyes widened in awe and shot to Harry's forehead, only to be clouded with disappointment when he realized the famous scar was hidden by Harry's hair.
"Really? Wow!" Weasley seemed impressed, but there was a slight irritation in his tone as well. The cause was clear when he continued, "Have you really got... y'know... the scar?"
The last word was said in a whisper, and Harry crushed the urge to pull his knees up in front of him and hide behind his book. Bringing his etiquette lessons to mind, he tried to reply diplomatically.
"I do, but I'd rather people not stare at it."
"Huh? Why not?"
Clearly, Weasley never paid attention to lessons on manners.
"Staring is rude." Harry replied, keeping all emotion out of his voice, expression, and posture, a survival skill learned at the Dursleys.
"But," Weasley was clearly offended, but Harry kept his emotionless mask up. "How do people know you're you if they can't see the scar?"
Harry raised an eyebrow, but let no other expression touch his face. "I usually introduce myself to them."
Weasley flushed, recognizing the reprimand for what it was, but his scowl was far from repentant. Any other comment he may have made was cut off by the compartment door opening.
"Anything off the trolley, dears?"
A kindly faced, middle aged woman was standing behind a trolley of sweets and snacks in the corridor. Weasley scowled at the offer and shook his head, though his eyes lingered on the bright packages.
I guess he can't afford any.
Deciding he should try to mend the bridge between himself and Weasley, Harry set his book aside and approached the trolley.
Several minutes later, Weasley was munching happily on a liquorice wand, irritation momentarily forgotten. Harry was examining a cauldron cake, wondering if wizards baked them like non-magicals would, or if they used magic to speed up the process or make them taste better.
His thoughts were interrupted as the compartment door slid open again. This time the intruder was a bushy haired girl about his age, with sparkling brown eyes, and rather large front teeth.
"Have either of you seen a toad?" Her tone was a bit abrasive, and she scanned the compartment as she talked, rather than looking at either Weasley or Harry. "A boy named Neville's lost one."
A rather short "no" was Weasley's reply, but Harry, having recognized the name 'Neville', set his cake aside. "I'll help you search."
He stood and Hedwig flew up to his shoulder, reluctant to leave her boy without protection.
"Huh?" Was all Weasley could say with a mouth full of Chocolate Frog. Not really wanting to sit with Weasley anymore, Harry joined the girl in the corridor, shutting the door behind him.
"I've already searched the compartments around where Neville was sitting, and I sent him to the back of the train to search there. I'm moving in that direction, so we'll meet up in the middle. The toad's name is Trevor, he's brown and black, and about as big as my hand. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. I'm going to search this side of the corridor, so why don't you take that side?"
All of this was said very fast, and she turned away without waiting for an answer. Glad that her brusqueness allowed him to avoid questions about who he was, he turned to look down the corridor.
Closing his eyes, he pictured the Neville Longbottom, and stretched out several tendrils of his magic. All of his books, and the people he'd worked up the courage to speak to, had agreed that the best way to begin using magic was to connect with the magic inside oneself and stretch it, for lack of a better term. He wasn't performing a spell, just extending his magic the way he would his arm. Adult wizards could do this without thinking, easily locating magical auras that were not hidden. It was how wizards found each other, identified magical items, and located magical communities when in foreign countries.
One of his searching tendrils connected with Neville's aura toward the end of the train, one located his trunk in the luggage compartment, and one found a toad sleeping beneath the seat of an empty compartment.
Opening his eyes, Harry moved down the corridor, in the opposite direction Granger had told him to go.
"Where are you going?" Granger's indignant voice came from behind him. "You said you'd help, and now you're just walking away? Don't you care that you're breaking your word?"
Stunned, Harry stopped. Granger circled him and stood before him, arms folded, and expression reproving.
She's accusing me of being dishonorable? Simply because I didn't tell her what I was doing?
A month ago, Harry would have cringed and slunk away, burying the pain. Now, after Bladestone's support, the self-study he'd put himself through, and his own resolve to become strong, he kept his posture upright and an emotionless mask in place. Harry fixed Granger with his gaze, but said nothing. After a few moments, she blushed.
"Sorry." She lowered her head and scuffed the floor with a foot. "I... I shouldn't have jumped down your throat and accused you of having no honor."
Unlike Weasley, Granger seemed truly sorry, so Harry responded, "I accept your apology. I also know where Neville's toad is, if you'd like to join me?"
Blinking rapidly, Granger nodded, curiosity and a trace amount of skepticism on her face. The skepticism turned to shock when, five minutes later, Harry emerged from an empty compartment with a slightly dusty Trevor in his hands.
"How did you know he was there? You said you hadn't seen-" Granger cut herself off as Harry's even gaze met hers.
"I'm good at finding things." Was all Harry said, not wanting to elaborate. To her credit, Granger didn't push the subject.
She led him down the train until they met Neville. The boy's eyes lit up when he spied Trevor in Harry's hands.
"Trevor!" Neville took him gently from Harry, then smiled gratefully at the smaller boy. "Thanks so much. And you, Hermione."
"Well, actually, I didn't find him. It was..." She stopped, then blushed fiercely. "I'm so sorry. What's your name?"
"I'm Harry Potter."
Granger's reaction was similar to Ron's, her gaze darting to the hair covering his forehead. Neville, however, gave a different reaction than Harry had ever received. After a brief flash of surprise, his expression sobered and he held out the hand not holding Trevor. As Harry grasped it, Neville's aura flared and the boy spoke, the sadness in his eyes replaced by resolve and fiery strength.
"Heir Potter, my name is Neville Longbottom, Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom. House Longbottom extends its deepest gratitude to you for your part in ending the war against Lord V...V-Voldemort and his Death Eaters."
Harry kept his hold on Neville's hand as he called up the appropriate response from the texts he'd read, feeling his own magic rising up. "As the Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, I accept your thanks and the gratitude of House Longbottom."
Suddenly, Harry recalled what he'd read about the histories of the Potter and Longbottom families. He tightened his grip on the other boy's hand, suddenly inspired. "Our Houses have been allies for hundreds of years, and my ancestors trusted yours with their lives. On behalf of House Potter, for the protection and the prosperity of our families, I extend an offer of Alliance to House Longbottom, as my fathers have done, and swear to lend them my strength when they have need, to protect those they love, and to keep their secrets as my own. So I swear."
Neville's expression went from surprise, to gratitude, to surprise again, and ended with wonder. He nodded, a bit dazedly, but his voice was firm as he resonded. "On behalf of House Longbottom, I accept House Potter's offer of Alliance, and swear to lend them my strength when they have need, to protect those they love, and to keep their secrets as my own. So I swear."
The auras of both boys shone briefly and swirled around each other, blowing gently through the corridor, ruffling the boys' hair. Once the magic surrounding them had calmed, the boys separated and Harry sent a warm smile toward Neville, who grinned in return.
"Um..."
Both boys turned to Granger, who was staring wide-eyed from one to the other.
"What just happened?"
Neville glanced nervously at Harry, who hesitated, then turned back to Granger. "Why don't you join us in a compartment and we'll explain."
An empty compartment was quickly found, leaving Harry to wonder briefly why Weasley claimed there were no empty ones.
Based on his reaction to my name, I'm pretty sure he was searching the train for me... but how'd he know what I look like? My picture isn't in any wizarding newspaper... and he wasn't in Fortescue's that day... and I'm certain he hasn't seen my scar...
"Heir Potter?"
At Neville's voice, Harry pulled himself out of his admittedly paranoid thoughts and took a seat by the window. Neville sat on his right, with Hedwig on the armrest between them, and Granger in the seat opposite. Trevor was nowhere to be seen, though Harry spied a slight bulge in Neville's robe pocket.
"So..." It was clear that Granger was dying to ask what had happened, but it seemed his reprimand from earlier was still on her mind.
"What you just saw," Neville explained, still looking a bit confounded himself, "was the formation of an Alliance between two Magical Houses. I'm the Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom, and as such I was able to accept the offer of Alliance that Heir Potter extended."
"You can both call me Harry." Harry interjected, stroking Hedwig to hide his nerves. Holding conversation with two people his age, never mind that he'd just Allied his House with one of them, wasn't something he was used to. "I'm only Heir Potter when I'm trying to be formal or intimidating."
"In that case," Neville replied, almost shyly, "I'm just Neville."
Granger was smiling in a bemused manner. "I guess you can call me Hermione, then."
For some reason, Neville and Hermione's words made Harry want to cry, though he made sure his emotionless mask was fixed in place.
I think... this is the first time I've had... friends...
He may not know a lot about politics, but he wasn't foolish enough to assume Bladestone was his friend. The goblin had given him invaluable help, and Harry felt forever indebted to the creature for that, but he knew it wasn't because he was a poor orphan with no idea how the magical world worked. Bladestone was a goblin, and he'd seen an opportunity to cement an alliance with prestigious and wealthy House, as well as establish friendly relations between the Boy-Who-Lived and the goblins of Gringotts.
But this was different. Neville and Hermione were kids his age who, in the case of the latter, didn't understand wizarding politics enough to befriend him for his status, or, in the case of the former, had already established an Alliance with him and had no need to use him for his name. Plus, he felt instinctively that these two were good people, and that they could be good friends.
Buoyed by the sudden warmth in his chest, Harry picked up the explanation where Neville had left it off, summarizing and paraphrasing what he'd read about Alliances. He was eager to share what he'd learned, now that he finally had friends to talk to.
"The bright light you saw when Neville accepted my offer of Alliance was our magic solidifying our pact. Now that our Houses have been Allied by magic, it's impossible to willingly betray each other. Not many Houses Ally by magic anymore, but the Potters and Longbottoms have been doing so for nearly six hundred years. The majority of other Houses treat the Houses of Potter and Longbottom as one when it comes to political stances, opinions on war, and, mostly, magical alignment."
Seeing Hermione about to ask another question, Neville spoke again, sounding more confident. "Magical alignment means what type of magic you or your House leans toward: Light, Gray, or Dark. None of them or more evil than another, but there's a lot of stigma and anger towards Gray and Dark wizards and Houses because of V... V-Voldemort and his followers."
"And what exactly is the difference between them?" Hermione's tone was one of intense curiosity. "None of the books I got mentioned anything about this."
Neville shook his head. "Well, they wouldn't. Magical alignment is not something that's written about a lot. It's just something a wizard is taught growing up, or figures out for themselves. Nowadays, most people claim to be Light. It's classified as magic that can be performed using only the power of the caster's magical core, like Charms, Hexes, Transfigurations, and basic wards."
"Dark magic," Harry picked up the explanation when Neville glanced his way, "is classified as magic that uses the magic from living things apart from the caster, usually without the consent of the other living beings. Blood magic, for instance, and most rituals would be considered Dark because they pull magic from people, animals, objects, and plants to work."
"And last, Gray magic." Neville finished looking more sure of himself, "Gray magic is magic that uses both the caster's magical core and any other magical source. Enchanted objects would be a good example of Gray magic, as well as Runes. Herbology and Potions would be Gray because they rely on the magic of both plants and brewer, or grower, to work. Other aspects of Gray magic are pretty obscure, such as ley lines, wizards with magical creature blood in their family, or time turners."
Harry decided to bring the conversation back around to its original topic, before Hermione asked for more information about magical alignment,"The Longbottoms have been a traditionally Gray family for hundreds of years because of their interest in herbology. Neville is in line to take over NewLeaf, his family's three hundred year old business, providing magical plants and herbs to countries around the world."
Neville blushed when Hermione applauded. "Well, yeah, thanks Hermione."
"And," Hermione turned to Harry, her posture and tone respectful, and a touch hesitant, "What does the Potter family do?"
Ignoring the sudden pang of sorrow her question brought on, Harry answered. "The Potter family's magical alignment changes every few generations. My parents were Light, but my father's parents were Dark, and the family was Gray for two generation before that. As for business, the Potter family, quite frankly, gambles."
Neville snorted and Hermione didn't seem to know whether to laugh or ask another question. Harry grinned, loving being able to answer questions about his family as Neville explained.
"The Potter family business is a bit of a joke because there really isn't a business. The Potters are known for investing a ridiculous amount in small startup companies, usually as a silent partner. The interesting thing is, nearly every single one of the companies the Potters invested in or helped get started turned into a huge enterprise. Harry's ancestors invested in NewLeaf when it was just getting started and everyone else said it would fail, but now it's a global enterprise."
Hermione turned wide eyes on Harry as Neville continued, seemingly unable to resist. "The Potters provided the initial investment to start, not only NewLeaf, but also Hedfan, Britain's largest racing broom company, the Daily Prophet, Britain's largest newspaper, Magic Translator, utilized by diplomats worldwide, Enchanted Feather, the world's largest supplier of wand cores and woods, and Floo-Pow, the original company that invented floo powder, to name a few."
With each new company name, Hermione's eyes grew wider until they were practically dinner plates. Harry wanted to laugh, because her expression matched his exactly when Bladestone had told him about his family's business history.
"You... wow..." Hermione seemed speechless, something Harry was coming to understand to be very difficult. Glancing back at Neville, she asked, worriedly, "Should you be telling me all this?"
Neville grinned at Hermione's question. He seemed assured and confident, a far cry from the sad boy Harry had seen on the platform. "Nah, it's okay. The Potter's involvement in all these companies is public knowledge. Not advertised, mind you, but not hidden. Most people just don't bother researching ever single company the Potters have had a hand in, but believe me, you could fill a book with them. And they don't limit themselves to magical companies. I know they've helped start up at least three very successful muggle corporations as well."
"What does your family do?" Harry asked, wanting to change the subject, but still grinning slightly.
"Oh! My parents are actually muggles, and they're dentists." Hermione answered, changing topics with remarkable speed, "My dad was in the military, Special Air Forces, and mum was working as a nurse in Manchester when they met. My dad finished his tour, then came back to find mum and they got married. They chose to become dentists because it was very simple and straightforward, and I think they wanted more peaceful lives. But that all changed when I got my letter." She grinned and her eyes lit up with unmistakable joy. "I was so happy to find out that there was a name for what I could do, and a whole world of other people like me."
Neville responded happily, "I'm really glad you'll be coming to Hogwarts. I think you'll like it."
"I hope so." Hermione's face fell a bit. "I've been reading about Magical Britain's recent history, and it doesn't seem like muggleborns like me were given fair opportunities, or even good treatment. I really want to learn magic; it's why I'm going to Hogwarts. I'm just worried being muggleborn will set me back."
"No."
Both Neville and Hermione turned to Harry, surprised at the conviction in his answer. He continued, looking Hermione right in the eye. This was something he'd felt strongly about since discovering his mother was a muggleborn, and he knew that what he had learned would help his new friend.
"I won't deny recent history. Yes, witches and wizards with non-magical parentage and family were discriminated against, forced to leave the country, and often killed. It was Voldemort's belief that non-magicals were beasts, and that non-magic born witches and wizards were stealing magic from what he called the 'pureblood' lines. And I'm sad to say that there were quite a few magicals that believed the same. Voldemort and his Death Eaters were the worst thing that could have happened to first generation magicals.
"But, that's just it. Voldemort was what happened. Before him, the wizarding world practically celebrated new magicals. Wizarding Britain has always been based on families. Potter, Longbottom, Malfoy, Prewitt, Black, Bones; these are all the names of some wizarding families who can trace their lineage back for centuries. And at the end of each family tree is a witch or wizard born to non-magicals.
"Before Voldemort, wizarding families as a whole honored and respected first generation magicals. They represent the beginning of a brand new wizarding line. In as little as 100 years, the Granger name could be as well-known as that of Longbottom or Potter.
"With Voldemort gone, first generation magicals can come back and be given the opportunities they deserve, and the chance to be the start of a new line."
There was silence in the compartment. Herminone's eyes were filled with tears, and Neville was sitting proudly. Harry stamped down his encroaching embarrassment. He would say what he wanted to, and proudly. He was no longer a freak with no name and nothing of worth.
He was Harry James Potter, a wizard with a family, and now, some friends.
