Harry stood in front of the massive magical express train—golden and crimson up front in the engine, and the beautifully decorated doors and compartments all along the way until the end. This was the Hogwarts express- honking and whistling repeatedly as people began appearing left and right from what seemed to be fireplaces-Floo, Harry reminded himself—Mcgonagall had talked about them-though he still could not help but wonder where the soot and everything must go when wizards stepped inside the fireplace.

Must be something magical.

He stepped into one of the compartments, and finding it empty within-he put his trunk on one of the racks above as he sat comfortably by the window. It was quite early, he mused—considering how the compartments were mostly empty. He took out a small book on elementary transfiguration from within his moleskin pouch (an impulsive buy on Dumbledore's recommendation). Professor Mcgonagall had presented it to him as a belated birthday gift—odd since he had never quite known what his birth date was. It was almost a weird surprise to find out that the magical world apparently knew more about him than he knew himself.

Given my memory, that is almost a given.

He was already halfway through the fourth page of the new book when he felt someone push his door. A black-haired girl stepped in halfway and finding him inside, she stopped on her tracks. She had a lot of long, shiny black hair with deep blue eyes with a heart-shaped face—quite cute for a young eleven-year-old. She observed him staring at her before asking, "Excuse me, can I sit here?"

Harry never had any kind of experience with other children except his cousin and his friends. Yes, there were some children in school (what he could remember anyway) but most of them usually stayed away in fear of his whale of a cousin. The fact that he had led a solitary existence for the next couple of years, most of the time drifting between periods of darkness and sleep- he did not know how to interact with this person in front of him. Of course, he could now interact better with the old man and the other professors- but this was different. This was a person of his own age, and Harry was not sure what to say.

The girl seemed to stare back imperiously at him, and after a moment, he shifted his eyes to the wall opposite him, bobbing his head—though it came out more like a random jerk. The girl stepped in, dragging her trunk behind her as she stood in front of him.

"Mind helping me putting my trunk on the rack?"

She had a pretty voice, Harry garnered. He looked up at the girl and nodded slightly. Standing up, he took full advantage of his height as he lifted her trunk up onto the racks. It was considerably heavier than his own was—he figured.

"I suppose you have a name." she remarked bristly. Harry just nodded back. He did have a name after all- it did not matter that he found it out a couple of months ago.

The girl twisted her lips in disgust—the boy's oddity getting to her. She mentally declared him to be some sort of arrogant boy—one who got some sick pleasure in winding her up—not to mention that she had asked for his name, and he didn't have the basic courtesy to return it.

Well if he is not going to say his name, I am not going to go asking for it.

The boy seemed to return to his book with nary a thought. She thought the action was unreservedly rude and decided to get herself busy in a book herself.

After what seemed like fifteen silent minutes, Harry looked up from his book and peered at this new girl sitting in front of him.

"What is your name?" He tried. A conversation never hurt, after all. Moreover, Dumbledore had always encouraged him to get to know people, no matter how much he disliked it.

The girl looked up in answer, her bright blue eyes staring at her with some kind of expression in her eyes-something that seemed strangely like victory, if he was not wrong. "Daphne Greengrass."

"Nice to meet you, uh- Daphne!" he tried lamely.

"Who are you?" she almost demanded-suppressing her inner question which was 'what are you?'- It was invariably rude but so were the antics of this...boy in front of her.

"Harry Potter."

Her eyes widened, realizing what the boy in front of her had just said-her eyes drew up instantly towards his head, mechanically dilating to allow her to see the faint stretch of an irregular line across his forehead-the famed lightning bolt scar. Her eyes then centered on his emerald orbs, and then back onto the scar.

"Harry... Potter?" she almost croaked.

Harry wondered if she was going to burst. He nodded subtly.

Daphne controlled her sudden swell of emotions that had resulted from her surprise, chastising herself for acting like a fan girl of a sudden-she glanced back towards her book, calming herself using the breathing exercises she had learnt from her mother. After ten seconds, she glanced up. "You are really Harry Potter?"

"That's what they told me."

Daphne raised her eyebrows at the sarcastic remark, thought given the way the boy—Harry Potter had answered it blankly, it was almost sincere. Then again, this was Harry Potter.

"I have heard a lot of stories about you." She almost felt compelled to continue the conversation. Harry raised an eyebrow at which, she continued—"I read that you have been sent away to live with your muggle family after defeating You-know-who, though I am not really sure of it."

Muggle...family...

"What else do you know about my family?" Harry asked- his voice a bit edgy all of a sudden.

"Nothing much, just that they are muggles and you had been sent away, though there were stories about how you also lived with dragons and elves and phoenixes-" Daphne rattled away, ignorant of the sudden whitening of Harry's clutches. Suddenly she felt his penetrating stare fixed at her, and stopped midway... "Did I say anything wrong?"

"Nothing...just- I don't like talking about my family. That's all." Harry replied, his hands gripping his book tightly. Daphne observed that his clenched left fist- kept on top of the bench had slightly dented it.

Weird. I wonder how he dented the bench. It is supposed to be strong.

She kept silent.

"Is this the first time you are going to Hogwarts?"

Daphne looked up. Whatever she might have thought her conversation with someone like Harry Potter-this was certainly not it. Harry Potter was a walking talking mess of contradictions.

"Yes", she sighed, "this is my first time. Yours?"

"I have lived in Hogwarts for the past two months."

What?

The expression on her face told him that it was either wrong to mention it, or perhaps it was not normal. Then again, he was not normal really. He kept silent.

Odd. Daphne thought.

"So what are you reading?"

Harry looked up. This was familiar ground. "This book- professor Mcgonagall gave me this. I think this is wonderful." He almost gushed, unable to keep his enthusiasm to himself.

"Elementary Transfiguration Principles." Daphne read the cover. She considered the expression on his face.

Ravenclaw! Definitely Ravenclaw!

"Which house do you think you will be going?"

Harry considered the question. "I don't know. I don't want to be in Slytherin, though."

Daphne's face scrunched. "Why is that?"

"Lord Voldemort was in Slytherin. I want to be different from him."

Daphne gasped. "You said his name?"

Harry looked embarrassed. "Sorry, I know people don't like it. I will try to not mention it later."

Definitely odd.

"This train ride is really long. I mean, it is over an hour I think. My father said it will be dark before we reach Hogwarts". Harry shrugged in reply.

An abrupt silence prevailed for some moments before the door to their compartment opened suddenly, as a blonde boy walked into the compartment. Two extra-large, extra-filled up boys stood behind him like henchmen. From the looks of it, the two of them seemed to act like bodyguards for the blonde in the middle.

He seemed to sniff something in the air with a distasteful expression before looking down at Harry. "I heard that Harry Potter is travelling to Hogwarts by train. Are you him?"

Harry considered the question, before nodding subtly.

The boy extended his hand out in a condescending way. "I am Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. You must have heard of my family before."

Harry thought quickly. He had read quite a bit into 'Hogwarts: A history' while the professors had also taught him a lot. Strangely, though, he had never quite heard about the name 'Malfoy' yet.

"Uh...Not really. Who are you?"

The blonde seemed quite perplexed at the answer. "You haven't heard about us Malfoys? What were you doing all these years-associating and living among Mudbloods?"

"Malfoy!" Daphne snapped at his use of the 'mudblood' comment. "Do you really to resort to profanity of all things?"

"Ah Greengrass, nice to meet you. I see you have already acquainted yourself with a celebrity." He turned to give her a snotty look. Glancing back to Harry, he remarked, "You are new here, so I can understand it. However, you should make friends among the right families. I can help you there."

Harry glanced at Daphne for a moment-observing the hard look in her eyes. He turned back to the blonde boy-Malfoy, he reminded himself. "I think", he paused; trying to gather his words together, "I think I will wait for a little more before I decide it."

Draco stared at him with an inscrutable expression for a moment. "So be it." He stepped back and called out, "Crabbe, Goyle—we are done here." With an imperious expression on his face, he marched away, leaving Harry perplexed for a moment.

After Draco and his henchmen had left the compartment, Daphne let out her breath with a deep sigh. "It was a good thing you did not antagonize him, Potter."

At his perplexed look, she explained. "The Malfoys are filthy rich, and are one of the most politically powerful families in our society. Lucius Malfoy has the Minister himself answering him at every beck and call—so much that one would think that he is the Minister himself."

Harry looked thoughtful.

"Did you really never hear anything about them before?" At Harry's denial, she sighed. "You need to be acquainted with a lot of things, Potter. Else someone like you could make a lot of mistakes in our society." Her tone was slightly condescending, but Harry ignored it.

"Someone like me?" He asked, his finger pointing at his chest. Daphne let out a long-suffering sigh. "You are Harry Potter—the boy-who-lived. You are a celebrity. You are more famous than even the Minister himself is. You are the sole heir to the Ancient family of Potter, famed for its business ventures and family fortune. Need I explain more?"

"Ancient family? Sole-" Harry mumbled to himself, much to her chagrin.

"You have a lot to learn, Potter. You were right. Slytherin is not for you. The house politics in Slytherin would fry you and the other children would feed on your faux-passes like hungry sharks." She glanced at the book in his hands. "You would do well in Ravenclaw, I suppose."

"Ravenclaw..." Harry hummed, "professor Flitwick is nice. He tells nice stories." He grinned.

Daphne rolled her eyes. Whatever she had expected from Harry Potter—this was not it.

Astoria would be disappointed.

"Where do you think you will be sorted to?" Harry could not help but ask. Daphne was just about to answer when the door knocked open again and a redheaded boy stepped in. He looked a bit shaken. "Hey mate," he addressed Harry as if they had been great friends, "can I sit here? My brothers kicked me out."

Harry shrugged as the boy dragged his trunk in and sat next to him.

"I am Ron. Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter."

"Are you really?"

Harry sighed while Daphne rolled her eyes. Then again, she herself had been quite shaken at the revelation herself initially. However, the young redhead seemed to have had a blind spot to her presence so far.

"Do you really have the-the" Ron babbled.

Daphne rolled her eyes again.

"The what?" Harry asked.

"Scar!" Ron answered-the reverence in his voice quite distinct.

Here it goes again! Harry mused to himself.

"Do you remember the night it happened?"

Daphne narrowed her eyes as she noticed Harry going stiff. It was an extremely personal question to ask. Boy-who-lived he might be, but he had lost his parents that night. The redhead seemed to lack tact completely.

"I think it is incredibly rude of you to ask him that." She defended.

"Who are you?" Ron crossed, his eyes narrowed.

"Daphne Greengrass."

Ron scrunched up his face, trying to remember what he knew about the family. It was a common thing for pureblood children to be taught about the other families of wizarding Britain.

"I know about you. My mother says that your family supported You-know-who!" Ron exclaimed, his fingers pointing crazily at her. Harry instantly shot a surprised look at her, shocked at the revelation. Ron turned back to harry and exclaimed. "You should stay away from her, mate. Their family is as Slytherin as they come. They will perhaps kidnap you and—I don't know—do something bad to you." His voice was almost hysterical at the end.

Daphne widened her eyes in shock at the open hostility and character bashing that the redhead was doing about her and her family. She did not fail to notice the sudden look of surprise that Potter gave her-his eyes filled with one single question-was it true?

She shook her face imperceptibly, her eyes shaken with rage at the humiliation and bashing- angry at the lies that this imbecile had just spewed-she felt his eyes demand an answer.

No! My father did not support the dark lord!

She thought hard, as she swallowed and opened her mouth to answer.

"I believe you."

Daphne felt the truth of his statement reach her, feeling elated that she had not been misunderstood when the reality of the situation shot into her.

His lips did not move.

She looked at her directly. "Can you hear my thoughts?"

Harry just nodded, shocking her out of her mind. He turned to Weasley. "I think you are being too judgmental. She is a nice person."

Ron looked affronted by it as he remarked coldly. "You should listen to me, mate. Anyway, you will be a Gryffindor with me and she will probably be a slimy Slytherin. You would do-," Ron continued.

However, Harry wasn't listening anymore. His mind was inundated with old memories...

"You will listen to me, boy!"

"I order you. I will tell you, and you will do likewise."

"You will listen or else I will beat the shit out of you, boy."

"Monster, Monster! Listen to me, freak! You are Frankenstein's monster!" They laughed.

Harry's eyes grew cold as a weird wind started to blow around him, his aura turning visible, scaring the redhead. His eyes—no more the usual bright green, but now into an onyx black, stared vehemently at the redhead who seemed to be completely oblivious and petrified.

"You will not tell me what to do, and what not to do. Is that clear?"

Ron swallowed. "Yes. I- I should go." He sprang up and dashed out of the door, dragging his trunk with him. The door closed with a creak as Harry felt the anger within him trying to erupt out.

"Potter?" Daphne whispered, afraid of the energies crackling out of the young boy. Harry turned towards her suddenly, his black pupils staring at her, gauging her thoughts. Finding her scared and harmless, the sudden flux of energies ceased as his eyes turned back to vivid green.

"Did I- Did I scare you?" he tentatively asked.

"No- no, you didn't." she stammered. "Excuse me, I-I need to see my friend." She got up suddenly, dashing out of the compartment, leaving him alone as another fresh memory rose back in his mind.

"I am sorry I cannot be friends with you." She said.

"Why?"

"I-" she gulped, "I am scared something-" she paused, and stared behind his back. Dudley and his band of thugs were standing behind him, smirking. "I am afraid you will do something to me."

She ran away.

"But Erica-"

There was no one there.

"See there, Freak? No one wants to be friends with you." They laughed.

He hated it.

"I am alone. I am always alone." He muttered to himself inside the empty compartment. "They said that I am a freak, that I am evil..."

A stray thought peeped into his mind. One he was sure that he had never thought by himself.

There is no good and evil. There is only power and those too weak to seek it.

"Power." He wondered, raising his hand. A sudden amber flame appeared on his fingers, coupled with some tiny forks of lightning as they jumped from one finger to another.

Is this really so bad?

His eyes glanced back at the fallen Transfiguration book.

I have to be powerful. I have to be powerful. Else, these memories will haunt me forever. If I am the monster, then they will be afraid of this monster. They will.

Daphne walked towards the end of the compartments-until she heard a very familiar voice from inside. She knocked the door-felt someone open it as she stepped in.

"Daphne!" A girl with auburn hair and a cute face yelled. She had a cute pimple right next to her nose on her cheek. "Where were you? I looked for like... everywhere for you, but I couldn't find you."

"I was-I was in the front part, Tracey."

"Oh. With whom?"

"Harry Potter."

The change in Tracey's demeanor was downright amusing. The look of simple concern changed to surprise to shock to jealousy to confusion to downright hysteria. "HARRY POTTER?"

"Sheee!" Daphne hissed, glaring at her for her unprecedented yell. "Yes, now stop shouting." She stepped in, and let her trunk stay on the floor. "I was sharing the compartment with him."

"How is he? Is he just like what we read in those-?"

"Stop, Tracey." Daphne commanded in resignation. "He isn't like what we read, but he is—he is different."

Tracy scrunched up her face. "Why are you here, then?"

Daphne looked perplexed. Tracy sighed. "I mean, if I was with Harry Potter, I would have stayed there. Why did you get away and come find me?"

Daphne narrowed her eyes. "I am not a Harry Potter fan girl, Tracey Davies." Tracey snorted. "Right, that's why you have all those Boy-who-lived books up in your-"

"I was seven!" she deadpanned.

"And?"

Daphne did not reply.

"So why did you leave him?"

"He was-" she hesitated, "the Weasley boy was irritating me, and then Potter got all winded up and scary and drove him away, and then-" she looked at Tracey with complete shock in her eyes. "I ran away from him, frightened." She added- a tone of incredulity and sadness in her eyes.

"Daph!"

"I should go!" she mumbled, leaving her trunk where it was as she left the compartment to find him.

Daphne broke into her previous compartment, dashing into it as she breathed heavily. "I am sorry Potter I did not-" she panted, before the silence of the room got to her. She was alone in the room.

Potter was not there.

"Where did he go now?" She checked the rack- the trunk was missing. Might he have gone and joined someone else? Could be. There was no one on the express who would reject a chance to have Harry Potter sitting in his or her compartment. Disappointed, she drudged back to Tracey's compartment back again.

On her way back, she tried her best to hear any sounds coming out of the other compartments. Considering it was filled with children, it wasn't a tough job. However, there was no sound remotely similar to Potter's voice.

Entering Tracey's compartment, she sagged down on the seat and sighed. Upon Tracey's confused look, she explained. "Couldn't find him. I think he might have shifted to some other compartment."

"Well, I guess you will have to find him later when you reach school."

Daphne nodded primly.

Charms were a wonderful thing. Not as versatile as transfiguration, but Charms had their own potential, that much was sure. After all, his mother was a Charms Mistress when she lived-having apprenticed under Professor Flitwick. The two journals he had gotten from the Gringotts vault were full of information about his parents—how they thought, how they lived, how their time in Hogwarts was—everything. Harry had decided to leave his father's journal for now and read his mother's first. It was a choice by instinct-whether it was because of his primal want for maternal affection or not, he did not know. What he did know, however was that the journal of 'Lily Marie Potter' was priceless.

Sitting on the roof of the train, his trunk 'magically shrunk' into his pocket, he sat silently—reading his mother's journal as the fierce wind swept his long hair repeatedly on his face. Dumbledore had recommended a haircut but for some reason, Harry had insisted on having that hair for the time being-not that anyone would complain-long hair was a pureblood norm among old families. It showed power and social status, though people usually tied it in a knot or something.

I have to be powerful. Only then will they stop ordering me.

His mother's journal was a veritable flood of information. For some reason, Lily Potter had sequentially categorized her journal into sections, each detailing her knowledge of spells and theory, even her own experimentation and their results. It made it easier for him to locate the few spells, which he believed he could understand and learn them. While it was still difficult, at least her mother's way of writing down the theory made it easier to pick them up, than from the textbook.

He had yet to finish through the first year part of her journal-he had planned to move forward only when he was perfectly sure he could perform all the spells written there flawlessly and with ease. So far, her school memories were quite normal—with occasional references to his father, James Potter—referenced as the 'supreme git of Gryffindor' and something along those lines. There was also reference to some Alice and Marlene-though he had yet to see their full names so far. Another important thing that he had spotted though was the biased way everyone would treat his mother. She had written about the way she would be insulted on the corridors because of her 'muggleborn' status. It made him furious.

The wizarding population are sheep. They are prejudiced, easily swayed, and they just cannot think for themselves. They will never try to change. If you ask questions, the answer is- You came into the wizarding world of your own accord. We did not force you to come here!

Nobody ever tells that if you reject the offer to enter the wizarding world, you get your magic bound forever and make you a squib. The choice is merely an illusion.

How self-righteous! Ask the right questions, and you are labelled a blood-traitor, and God help you if you are a muggleborn, you will be immediately be tagged as a Mudblood. Change yourself to suit our world they say, for of course, God forbid the society is ever wrong!

They sort people into different houses based on some silly characteristics, and then put on their biased glasses. You have ambition, you are a Slytherin, and by extension, a dark wizard or witch in the making. Then, those very Slytherins grow up and become business owners and Lords, and the sheep are just as happy to work under them. I do not know whether to call it evil or plain stupidity.

It painted a very different picture of the wizarding world than what Dumbledore and the professors shared with him. He was confused—which was right, and which was wrong. Could it be that both were right?

His thoughts turned to Dumbledore. The old man had taken him under his wing and taken excellent care of him. The fact that he had become so fit and healthy in matter of weeks was because of him and the professors. They had taught him so much—the headmaster had shared so many stories—he had taken him to Gringotts and got him the journals and the monies-he had even helped him stop the nightmares to some extent. Surely, he couldn't be all that bad, could he?

He thought about the girl who had just run away from him in fear—about the redhead who seemed bent on forcing his opinions on him-about the blonde boy and his fellows who also seemed to do the same, if a little less snobbishly. Then again, the girl—Daphne he reminded himself-she had told him that the Malfoys were rich and powerful.

Finally, there was one thing that remained in his mind-Daphne's words-"sole heir... ancient family..." somehow, everyone seemed to know more about him than he did. It was all the same all over again. The Dursleys held the advantage of knowing who is parents' were and everything—and they held it above him. They used his ignorance to say all kinds of insults about them—and he had to bear it all. He remembered how he felt that they were lying, but then again, he did not know what the truth was either.

The same was happening all over again. People knew more about him than he knew about himself. He held up his right hand and looked at his middle finger- a large signet ring with a golden capstone shone brightly. An image of a gryffin was engraved on the surface with the words written on them-

Sedit qui timuit ne non succederet.

He who feared he would not succeed sat still.

He clenched his fist, and for some reason, the golden capstone shone with an extra vigor, almost as if responding to his emotions. It was almost dark now and the train was likely close to Hogwarts, so he jumped off from the rack he was perched on, down to the railing and finally into the main corridor. Finding an empty compartment, he slid in silently.

Time to begin a new phase of his life.

### I borrowed the phrase for the Potter's motto from 'HARRY POTTER AND THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN'-my favorite piece of fanfiction on this website. Hope you like it, and reviews please.