Harry and Sirius arrived at Kings Cross and looked around. It was packed, obviously, and Harry stuck close to his Godfather for support, as he had never been a fan of thronging crowds. The Ten-Thirty Eurostar from Paris had just arrived on the St Pancras side of the station, and Harry amused himself awhile trying to pick out the French accents from the Belgian ones.

"Come on, lets get this over with," Sirius began bracingly. "Maybe we can get onto the platform before the snappers spot you!"

Harry huffed and that and busied himself checking Hedwig's cage, while Sirius lifted his trunk from the boot of his shiny black sports car and dumped it onto a trolley he had conjured from somewhere. Harry had been too busy fussing with fussy Hedwig to notice.

"No, I'm not letting you out," Harry warned her. "And no, you cant fly to Hogwarts and show the train the way, in case they forget. Don't pout at me like that. Just because you're the prettiest owl doesn't mean you get special treatment."

"Smooth, kiddo," Sirius grinned as they made off towards the station. "Look at the place! Packed full of Muggles, of course. Sometimes I wonder how they all fit in London, there's so many of them. But you can always spot the magicals."

"You can? How?"

"By how they dress," Sirius explained. "You see, most magicals rarely interact with the Muggle world unless they have to. Don't get all militant ... it's not always for the bad reasons you're thinking of. But sometimes it is. Anyway, because they aren't part of it, they have no idea how the standard Muggle dresses.

"It's actually legitimately based. You see, magical clothing is just that ... magical. Special fabrics and materials, spells and runes woven into garments. They help enhance and channel magic, and many magicals feel naked in ordinary Muggle garb."

"Like the Invisibility Cloak?" asked Harry, feeling secure mentioning it for the first time that day. For every other time he'd mentioned it he'd become so paranoid that he'd leave it behind that he was prone to re-packing his entire trunk, just to make sure it was there. But he had done that just before they'd left, so he was happy enough. Maybe he'd double-check on the train, though, just in case.

"Not just like the Cloak," Sirius informed him. "There are types of tunics that deflect low-level spells - like professional Duellers wear - and gloves with special sticking charms to help Quidditch players. You can even get hats that record information and are an aid to memory, but don't tell your Auntie Minerva I told you that."

"Why not?" Harry grinned. "What did you do this time?"

"I wore one for my Fourth Year Transfiguration exam," Sirius smirked back. "Had all the answers inside just waiting for me. But I got cocky, for not only did I answer all the questions perfectly, I also added in extra credit information, too. That raised Minerva's eyebrows when she marked it."

"Why? What did you score?"

"Ooh, something like a hundred and twelve percent!" Sirius laughed. "Which was quite an improvement on my projected grade."

"Which was?" Harry chuckled.

"Lower seventies, I think," Sirius pondered. "Which I thought was a bit harsh in itself, considering I'd perfected my Animagus transformation that year. That should have been worth something ... not that I could tell her, obviously. Being unregistered as I was."

"You really were a nightmare, weren't you?" Harry giggled.

"What do you mean were!" Sirius funned. "I still am, thank you very much. And proud of it. I rate it as my best feature ... after my gorgeous visage, of course!"

"Of course!" Harry laughed. "Now, you were telling me how to spot Magicals by how they dress."

"Ah yes, well, take old MacMillan MacMillan, over there," Sirius began. He pointed out a rather rotund man in a loud Hawaiian shirt - complete with feather boa - and fishing waders. He was also wearing a Fedora. "Never met a Muggle outside of his own Hogwarts time, I'd guess, judging by that get-up!"

"He does look funny," Harry giggled. "Wait ... did you say his name was MacMillan MacMillan?"

"Yep."

"Really?"

"Would I lie?"

"His parents must be very cruel, then," Harry mused.

"I don't doubt it," Sirius agreed. "Then didn't even teach him how to dress like a Muggle, either."

"It's like he went into a second-hand shop and just picked things at random."

"He probably did," Sirius informed him. "You'd be surprised how many Magicals shop like that in Muggle places. I once went on a date with a witch who decided to have a fun, Muggle-Themed night in. Now bear in mind that she had never ventured into the Muggle world, either."

"What happened?"

"Well, we did a crossword from a knitting magazine, built a sandcastle in her living room, then she made a candle-lit dinner," Sirius remembered. "It was uncooked pasta dinosaurs - which were meant for kids - in blancmange with pork scratchings. It was like trying to eat Lego in gloopy yoghurt! Most random date of my life!"

"You should write a book!" Harry quipped. "You'd give that Lockhart bloke a run for top spot in the Bestseller list!

"I wouldn't believe everything you read, if I were you," Sirius replied cryptically. "Gilderoy Lockhart is a good writer ... if he as good a wizard ... many would say 'no'. Right, we're here."

"We are?" Harry queried. He was staring at a solid brick arch separating platforms Nine and Ten. "Where's the doorway? You said there was a doorway."

"There is ... right there," Sirius grinned.

Harry frowned. "What ... in the arch?"

"Precisely!" Sirius boomed.

"I cant see anything."

"No, and that's the point," Sirius informed him. "It has to be invisible to the Muggle eye, but still open to Magicals."

"Excuse me," a gruff voice said behind them. "But I couldn't help but overhear you talking about Muggles."

Sirius turned and eyed the thickset man suspiciously. Harry did too, and almost lost his breath. For there, protruding out from the the man's unseasonal longcoat, was the unmistakable barrel of a rifle. Harry blinked at it as the man began explaining himself.

"Forgive me, I don't mean to cause alarm," he was saying. "It's just that my daughter ... we found out she was a ... a witch over the Summer. And she starts school today ... at a magical school. Only, we cant find out how to reach the platform to catch the train that will take her there. Could you help us, please?"

"Of course!" Sirius cried jovially, visibly relaxing. "My Godson, here, is a first-year starter, too. I was just saying to him, there is a magical barrier hidden inside this archway."

"That's not very clear, is it?" the man rebuffed.

"No," Harry agreed with a nod. "It's very stupid, actually. There must be a better way."

"I'll be sure to suggest it at my next Wizengamot meeting," Sirius quipped. Then he turned back to the man. "All you do is walk towards the barrier and pass through. Best do it at a brisk pace if you're a little unsure."

"And it opens for Magicals only?"

"And their relatives or legal guardians today," Sirius informed him. "Would you like us to wait, in case you have any problems?"

"Oh, er ... no!" the man cried suddenly. "Your instructions are quite clear. Thank you for you help."

Then he hurried away at a canter.

"Strange," Sirius mused suspiciously, watching the man go with a curious frown. Then he turned back to Harry. "Right ... shall I go first?"

"No, I'll go," Harry decided. "Knowing you you'll put a spell on the barrier to not let me through ... and I'll crash into it with my cart and make a right fool of myself!"

"I would never do that!" Sirius objected loftily. "On your first year! Next time though, it's a great idea!"

"Shut up!" Harry grinned, before racing through and onto the crowded magical platform.

Malcolm returned to Hermione, who was waiting patiently near the car with her trunk on a trolley. Well, as patiently as she could be knowing that she could be meeting with Harry Potter again very soon, which made her possibly as nervous as she could be. She really wished Lyra had come to see her off - and Papageno was equally as melancholy without Pantalaimon for reassurance - but they had to leave early on a special assignment, though Malcolm wouldn't say what it was.

He didn't seem to know what to say now, either, which did nothing to settle Hermione's nerves.

"What is it?" she asked briskly. "Did you find out how to reach the platform?"

"Yes, but we have a problem," Malcolm replied.

"Why does that not surprise me?" Hermione huffed. "What is it this time?"

"The barrier," Malcolm explained plainly. "It will let you through, but only your parents or guardians can accompany you. I have a feeling our little arrangement wont count for this."

Hermione frowned crossly. "No, I doubt it will." She took a heavy breath. "Well, I guess I'll just have to go on my own. I'll still have Pap, though. I'll be alright."

"I'm sorry," Mal muttered. "I should have found out more."

"It isn't your fault," Hermione soothed. "Even if you had known more, you couldn't have done anything about it. I have to get onto that platform, that's just how this works. And I was going to have to be on my own eventually today. We'll just have to say goodbye at the barrier instead of on the platform."

"I'm still sorry."

"It's okay, I'll be fine. Come on, show me where the barrier is."

Malcolm led on. They walked quietly through the station and came across a large family of red-headed people queueing up near the barrier. The mother, a rather round woman, spotted them and ambled over.

"Hogwarts, dear? Do you need help reaching the platform?"

"No, we know how," Malcolm replied coolly. Hermione saw his hand tighten around the rifle in his jacket. "Thank you."

"Oh ... very well," the woman returned, blushing at the stern rebuke. "Enjoy the term, then."

And one by one the red-heads disappeared through the barrier. Malcolm turned to Lyra as the last one - a lanky kid with dirt on his nose - vanished from view.

"Right, ten to eleven," Malcolm announced. "You'd ... better get on through."

"Yes, I should," Hermione replied, biting her lip nervously. "You will wait until I'm gone ... just in case something goes wrong."

"I'll wait here until quarter past eleven, just to be sure," Malcolm reassured her firmly.

"Thank you," Hermione mumbled ... then she suddenly flung herself at Malcolm and hugged him tight. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Malcolm smiled down fondly, smoothing her thick hair in what he hoped was a comforting way. He was getting better at all this fathering stuff, and he found he would be quite desolate once Hermione wasn't around for him to continue practising on. "Go on then. Your mystery boy is waiting for you!"

Hermione disengaged herself, blushing shyly. "I don't know about waiting for me ... but I will try to find him."

"Don't try," Mal advised with a warm smile. "Just let it happen. Serendipity, remember?"

Hermione beamed at Malcolm and tried to hold back some silly tears that had suddenly formed in the corner of her eyes. She hid them in Papageno's cat-fur, as she picked him up and placed him on top of her trunk, for he had resolutely refused to be put into a cage for the journey. Then Hermione turned to Malcolm, stood on tip-toe and placed a shy kiss to his cheek.

"I'll see you at Christmas," she whispered, blushing crazily. "And I'll write to you at the end of my first week, to tell you how it's going. Take care ... and take care of Lyra. I feel she's rather hopeless on her own!"

Mal laughed at that. "At last! Something we both agree on! Now, go. You don't want to be late."

Hermione gave a smile, and a little wave, then she and Pap pushed their way through onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

"First years! First years this way, please! That includes you, Mr Potter!"

"Mr Potter!" Harry quirked. "Auntie Min ... is that really necessary?"

"Now we are on school time, it is," Minerva replied sternly. "I cant be seen to be showing you favouritism or familiarity. You are a student now, and our relationship must change to accommodate the new situation."

"You don't really mean that."

"No, I don't," Minerva whispered with a grin. "But we have to pretend when other people are watching!"

Harry grinned back. "Got you."

"Go on then, kiddo, get out of my hair for a few months!" Sirius joked. "And don't go blowing anything up in your first week ... unless it's Sniv -"

"Sirius," Minerva warned sternly.

Harry just laughed behind him. "Alright. I'll see you at Christmas, unless you've rented out my old room. Oh, I forgot to ask, what did get stolen from that vault at Gringotts? I remembered the other day, that was the one you put that grubby little package in last year. What was it?"

"Never you mind," Sirius returned, oddly as stern as Minerva ever was. "You put that from your mind and concentrate on your studies. If I hear that you cant do Wingardium Leviosa in your first lesson I'm going to give you detention myself!"

Harry chortled at that, gave Sirius one last hug, then joined the throng of first years under the watchful eye of Minerva McGonagall. He tried to avoid making eye-contact with anyone, which was difficult as every pair of eyes was looking at him. Harry shrunk under their combined attention.

"Aunt - Professor McGonagall," Harry begged, nodding at the gawking crowd. "Can't we speed this up a bit?"

"We have to wait until all the new starters arrive, so they can board the train first," Minerva explained. "We don't want them getting scared and overwrought by being around all the scary, bigger children. Justin Finch-Fletchley has already wet himself. I doubt he will be the last Cleaning Charm I have to perform today."

"But can't I get on by myself?" Harry grumbled. "Seriously ... I feel like an exhibit at the zoo out here."

"No. You cant be singled out."

"To Merlin he cant!" Sirius fumed. "He already has been, Minerva. By everyone else! Come on, kiddo, lets get you boarded."

Sirius glowered at Minerva for a challenge, but it never came. She acquiesced with a huff and Sirius wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and guided him towards the gleaming scarlet steam engine.

"Thanks!" Harry puffed out. "I owe you."

"I'll just put it on your Dad's tab!" Sirius grinned. "Right ... take your pick!" Sirius made a sweeping gesture towards the empty train carriage. "Any compartment take your fancy?"

"The one on the very end," Harry decided. "Maybe the others will all fill up and I'll be left alone."

"That's the spirit!" Sirius quirked. "You'll be making friends by the end of the day with that attitude! I expect to hear all about your antics with Nearly Headless Nick and Mrs Norris in no time!"

"Nearly Headless?" Harry queried. "How can you be nearly headless?"

"You'll see," Sirius replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Come on, bring your owl this way."

Harry obeyed and trotted after Sirius. They stowed his trunk into one of the overhead racks, plonked a very disgruntled Hedwig into an empty seat, then Sirius gave Harry's hair one last ruffle as he left him alone in the carriage.

Harry sat opposite Hedwig and looked out of the window a moment. His view was largely obscured by the steam billowing all the way down the platform now, but soon he heard excited movement as the gaggle of first years began to board the train.

Harry sat tense and rigid, hoping no-one would enter his compartment. The train was the old sort, where all the compartments were on the left side and there was a long corridor spanning the length of the carriage. Harry had chosen a compartment right at the very end, near the toilet, and had to listen as a round-faced boy raced into it and was violently sick from nerves. Harry went to get up to see if he was okay, then fell back in shock.

For a toad had suddenly leapt against the glass window of the compartment door!

Harry leapt back and clutched at this heart, then chided himself for being such a baby. He moved forwards and opened the door carefully, and took the toad in his hand. He looked at it a moment, wondering about how curiously docile it was. Then he heard a voice ahead of him.

"Oh ... you found the toad ... Neville had lost him ... oh ..."

Harry looked up ... and locked eyes with the pretty girl from that day at Flourish and Blotts. She blushed at the sight of him ... he blushed at the sight of her blushing at the sight of him ... then he remembered how to talk.

"Hello," he said breezily. "Were you looking for this?"

He offered the toad with a strangely shaking hand.

"I was ... I was helping Neville to try to find it," the girl replied in a mute voice. "It's his."

"Who's Neville?"

"That's me," said the round-faced boy, brushing a trickle of vomit from his chin as he exited the toilet. "Thanks for finding Trevor. Here, I'll take him now."

So he did, then hurried off down the corridor. Harry looked at the still flushed girl. She looked lost, uncertain. She still had her Hogwarts trunk behind her. This was weirdly awkward.

"Which is your compartment?" Harry asked. "Do you need a hand with your luggage?"

"I don't have a compartment yet," she replied quietly. "Everywhere seems full. I might have to look in the next carriage. I'd rather not, though, some of them look quite mean."

"There's room in mine! I mean, this compartment, you know," Harry suddenly blurted out. "If you want, I mean."

Harry found himself blushing again and his palms were oddly sweaty. He would give anything for an open window.

Then the girl smiled at him. "Alright, that's very kind of you. If you don't mind, I mean."

"I don't mind," Harry replied rather quickly. "Tell you what, you take a seat and I'll sort your trunk out."

"I can manage."

"I'm sure you can, but let me," Harry smiled. "I want to."

"Alright ... thank you," the girl beamed, so bright and warm that Harry felt sure a part of his stomach had melted. He wondered which bit it was and if the damage was fatal. He busied himself gathering the trunk as the girl passed - rather close by - on the way into the compartment. Harry followed her in a moment later, lifted her trunk up with some difficulty but between them they got it stowed away safely.

Then Harry sat down and puffed his cheeks out to cool himself. Then he turned to his companion as the train began to slowly move.

"Your name was Hermione, wasn't it?" Harry asked cautiously. "Am I saying that right?"

"Yes, perfectly," Hermione grinned back. "I'm surprised you remembered."

"I knew I'd heard it before!" Harry suddenly cried, slapping his head as if a thunderbolt had suddenly struck him. "I wrote your Hogwarts letter! You're the really special girl that Dumbledore found!"

Hermione blushed so deeply that Harry was mildly concerned for her health.

"I ... I don't know that I'm special," Hermione mumbled timidly.

"Well Dumbledore thinks you are, and so does my Aunt Minerva ... and she's hardly ever wrong, so I believe her," Harry informed her. "But you'll have to call her Professor McGonagall."

"She's your Aunt?" Hermione whispered in reply. "Wow."

"I'm not sure if she's really my Aunt," Harry corrected. "But I just call her that. But I cant anymore, not now she's my Professor and Deputy Head. But I do live with her."

"Will that be strange for you? Not being able to call her Aunt?"

"Probably, but I'm sure I'll get used to it," Harry mused. "Especially if she starts giving me detention for being rubbish in class. Then I'll be calling her some very different names!"

Hermione giggled at that. Then she cleared her throat nervously. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Harry's face fell and his mood nosedived in a second. "Yes, that's me. But despite what you've heard, it's not all bad!"

"Heard? I've not heard anything," Hermione informed him staunchly. "I'm Muggleborn, you know."

"Ah, okay," Harry replied, brightening up again. "But how do you know who I am, then?"

"I heard people talking on Diagon Alley, and on the platform, being very nosey and silly and interfering, if you ask me," Hermione began sniffily. "They should just leave you alone, I think. All wanting a piece of you like you're public property. You should just tell them to go and boil their fat heads!"

Harry felt a surge of affection for Hermione Granger in that moment. He grinned widely at her, he couldn't help it. It was nice to have someone standing up for him who wasn't Sirius or his parents. He rather thought he could get to like this girl a lot.

Then he remembered her bushy hair ... and fell nervously quiet all of a sudden.

"Is that your owl?" Hermione went on, inclining her head at the cage in the next seat. Harry nodded numbly. "Well, she's very beautiful. Easily the prettiest owl I've seen today."

"Don't tell her that!" Harry quirked in a whisper. "Hedwig already thinks she's the prettiest owl alive. If she hears you agreeing she'll be coming to you all the time, looking for treats and compliments. You'll never get a moments peace!"

"I could live with that," Hermione replied quietly.

"But then you'd be stuck with me as a friend," Harry pointed out.

"I could live with that, too," Hermione mumbled, blushing shades of red so deep that Harry wasn't sure what they were called.

What he couldn't see was that his cheeks were exactly the same, which he should have guessed by how hotly they were burning.

Harry had to find a distraction before he spontaneously combusted. So he turned to the seat next to him, where Hermione's fluffy ginger cat was padding around trying to get comfortable.

"What's your pet called?" Harry asked.

"That's Pa - um," Hermione stuttered. She thought she'd better not use her dæmon's real name, just in case. She cast around for an alternative. Then she remembered how she'd described his bandy legs. "That's Crookshanks. Yes, that's his name."

"Crookshanks," Harry parroted. "How are you today?"

Then he did something that Hermione was powerless to stop.

He reached out ... and touched her dæmon.

Hermione felt her breath leave her in a startled rush. She was held utterly frozen, as Harry continued to gently stoke Papageno. Hermione's heart was racing at a million miles an hour, at the usually taboo, forbidden contact, and she didn't know how to tell Harry that he mustn't, that he shouldn't ... but then, in a thought that startled her just as much as the breach of this invisible boundary of intimacy, she came to a shuddering realisation ...

She didn't want him to stop.

That thought was too chaotic to process, and Hermione couldn't even begin to deconstruct what it meant. In any case, she was still too mindless with the ongoing contact between Harry's maddeningly soft skin and Papageno's fur. So she chanced a look at her dæmon ... and was astonished to find his eyes closed and that he was actually purring under the touch! He should be ashamed of himself for being so brazen!

But he wasn't, and neither was Hermione. But she hoped Harry would stop of his own volition soon, before she lost her mind ... or her life from lack of oxygen.

"His fur is so fluffy!" Harry commented lightly, but Hermione heard it distantly, as if it were a radio signal from one of the moons of Saturn. But she managed to squeak out a reply.

"H-he normally doesn't let anyone touch him," she piped in a high-pitched octave.

Harry suddenly snatched his hand away and turned his eyes down reticently, as if he were being chastised. Hermione felt indescribably colder for the loss of his touch on her dæmon, and almost whimpered as she felt it go. Even Pap snappedopened his eyes and scowled at her. This was very weird. Hermione felt dearly in need of some alone time to analyse it. Not that the thought of being away from Harry made her feel any better. In fact, it was a notion so abhorrent it actually made her three times more confused.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "I should have asked."

Hermione thawed at the sight of Harry's guiltiness. She leaned over and, with a nervous breath in, squeezed his forearm gently.

"It's alright, I wasn't telling you off," she breathed kindly. "I was just surprised, that's all. He's normally such a miserable old goat! But if Crookshanks likes someone, I usually find I like them, too. So ... shall we be friends, Harry Potter?"

Harry looked down to where Hermione was still touching him, as though he'd discovered a brand new thing and was trying to work out what it was. Then he turned his eyes back to hers with a wide grin.

"Yes, I'd really like that, Hermione Granger," Harry replied. "You're my first friend, did you know?"

"No, I didn't know," Hermione hushed back with a little smile. "But I hope I'll get to be your best one, too."

They shared a moment, then the door to their compartment opened.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"