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Ron Weasley sat uncomfortably with three other kids his age as the Hogwarts Express steamed ahead towards his new life. He'd grown up in a family that prided itself on not holding to any bigoted pureblood views and in fact his father was a massive fan of anything Muggle. But truth be told he himself had had little to do with anything Muggle before that day. Yet now, he was sharing a compartment with three Muggleborns and he didn't know what to make of them.

One of his compartment-mates was a relatively thin boy with dirty-blonde hair peeking out of a loud red Muggle cap that reminded Ron of all the Chudley Cannons paraphernalia that he left behind at the Burrow. The boy barely spoke beyond telling them that his name was Marcus. In fact, he barely seemed to be paying attention to what was going on in the compartment.

The only other boy in the compartment was relatively good-looking and fair-haired and told them his name was Justin Finch-Fletchley. He spoke in a crisp, articulate manner that reminded Ron of Pureblood society even though he was clearly a Muggleborn.

The last person in the compartment, and the only girl was a force of nature. She had wild, bushy-hair and a buck-toothed mouth that kept opening and closing as she vocalized a stream of consciousness. Ron was completely taken aback by Hermione Granger. She had a lot of opinions and felt that it was her duty to share those opinions with everyone and more than that clearly expected people to agree with her.

"So the Seeker's only job is to catch the Snitch and end the match," she asked Ron imperiously as he tried to contribute to the conversation by talking about his favourite topic.

"Yep," replied Ron proudly.

"But that's just absurd," Hermione announced with a condescending huff. "All the efforts of the Chasers can be wiped out by one person just chancing upon the Snitch. And where's the teamwork in that? Honestly, sports in general are a waste of time but at least Muggle sports make some sort of logical sense. Quidditch just sounds ridiculous."

"You what?" said Ron, gaping at the audacity of the bushy-haired Witch.

"And for another thing, there's so many illogical and old-fashioned traditions in the Magical world. It's like they're stuck in the past! I can't wait to graduate and join the Ministry of Magic, I'm going to start introducing real progress," Hermione finished, glaring at the cowed boys daring them to challenge her.

There was silence for a moment as Ron and Justin visibly flinched away from the young Witch in full tirade.

"Why on Earth would you want to change the Magical world into the Muggle world?" asked a soft voice from near the window.

Ron was startled by the sound of Marcus' voice. He didn't think Marcus had been listening at all. He was even more surprised that the quiet boy had breached his self-imposed silence to question Hermione.

"What?" asked Hermione, clearly also shocked that the red-capped boy had questioned her.

"I asked you why you want to change the Magical world into the Muggle world?" Marcus replied in a patient voice that despite being even-toned still sounded like he was talking to a child.

"I heard you the first time!" snapped Hermione.

"Then why did you ask 'what'?" replied Marcus calmly.

Hermione huffed at having been caught out and glared angrily at Marcus.

"The Muggle world is a dying one. Greed rules that world entirely. They've exploited the planet to fill their coffers. They've named and labeled and hunted down every mystery that the world had to offer. They live mundane lives without any purpose, doing the same things day-in and day-out. And at the end of the day when they have some time, they numb their minds in front of screens which substitute for their innate curiosity and spark."

Marcus delivered that monologue in his soft voice which nonetheless captured the compartment's attention. But having said what he wanted to say, he just turned back to looking out of the window.

Hermione looked furious at having been called out so publicly but to her credit kept her mouth shut and after some time the anger on her face seemed to fade. Ron was more perplexed than ever. Hermione's views were what he had expected from Muggleborns even if she was quite…rude in her delivery. But Marcus' views were something Ron had never expected to hear and for the first time in his life he was curious about the life of a person other than himself. He wondered what it was like to grow up with magic amongst people who at best didn't believe in magic and at worst thought that it was evil. He found himself glancing at his compartment-mates curiously every so often, his mind working overtime.

Harry was busy cursing himself for denouncing Granger's views. He had tried to control himself, to prevent from being noticed until it was necessary but the irritating girl's loud-mouthed rant had ground his gears until he was no longer able to hold back. Still, it could have been worse, at least he hadn't ranted and raved as she had.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the compartment door slide open and a familiar voice drawled, "Well isn't this just perrrfect! Look here boys, we've got three Mudbloods and…yes, red-haired, dirty, awful clothes…a Weasley. Blood-traitors and Mudbloods do deserve each other after all!"

Harry had recognized the voice after only a few moments and refrained from turning around to look at Draco Malfoy. He had after all hooked him in the nuts just a month earlier. But that was before he had known about Lucius Malfoy and the power that the white-haired cunt held in the Wizarding world.

Harry's anger burned beneath the surface. Draco was clearly insulting Muggleborns by calling them 'Mudbloods.' It galled him that the Malfoy boy was so open with his bigotry when his father had evaded arrest after the war by claiming to be imperioused. Surely, someone would have noticed that the rancid eleven-year old's views must be shaped by those of his parents. But Harry would bide his time and get his own back when he was ready. And a compartment on the Hogwarts Express wasn't the right time or place for another confrontation.

So, he ignored Ron Weasley's enraged shout as the red-haired boy undoubtedly leapt to his feet to take on Malfoy. Harry also ignored the subsequent sounds of a scuffle, the screeching of Granger calling for a prefect and the pained yelps from Ron.

When there was finally an extended peace in the compartment he risked looking around and realized that only Justin and he were left in the compartment and that Justin was looking at him with a bewildered expression.

"What the fuck?" asked Justin.

What the fuck indeed.

A little while later Hermione reappeared, interrupting the comfortable silence that Justin and Harry had been enjoying. She muttered angrily about 'stupid boys' and 'rule breakers,' while shooting angry glares in Harry's direction. Harry decided he'd had enough of people for the time being and vacated the compartment seeking some silence. He briefly considered taking the Valise along with him, maybe he could plant it on the roof of the train and enjoy the rest of the journey in comfort and style. But he dropped that idea when he realized that he didn't have a way of sticking the Valise to the train. So, the need for a sticking spell was added to Harry's list of things to learn.

All the compartments that Harry passed by were full of other kids, some boisterous and loud while others were quiet as the inhabitants struggled to find common ground. Near the transition from one carriage to another he paused as he found an alcove with a large semi-open window from which a cool breeze was flowing in.

He nestled into the alcove, settling his back against one wall, and shifting his weight onto it. He sighed with relief and relaxation as he peered out of the window at the landscape chugging by. It was mid-afternoon by this point and since it was summer, the sun should have been blazing, but instead someone had forgotten to inform Britain of this fact and Harry could see thick, grey clouds collecting ominously overhead.

It was a beautiful land that they were passing through. Wide green expanses broken up by fields of yellow wheat. The countryside wasn't plain but rather gently rolling. Occasionally, the train would rattle across a steel bridge that traversed streams. The whole effect was framed by the darkening sky and slight drizzle making everything seem more dramatic.

The view and the breeze that was buffeting Harry's face pushed his thoughts along a deeper path. This was what he wanted from life. He imagined walking along those narrow country paths through small, unheralded villages and mysterious forests, stopping at night to lay down his Valise and rest in it. He could travel the entire world and not want for anything. He had everything he needed in his Valise.

But what he didn't have was a way to repair his beloved Valise if it fell or broke, or a way to expand the rooms inside it, or to stick it onto the roof of a train. And that's why he needed to finish his seven at Hogwarts.

He sighed deeply as he thought back to the previous month's preparations. His blood had boiled as he discovered the depth of the perfidy that the Magical world had practiced since his parent's passing. Death Eaters had seemingly been welcomed back into polite society with nary a question asked. The names of all those who had escaped were always on the back of his mind. A big part of him wanted vengeance. He couldn't deny it. But his few days of trying first-year spells had disavowed him of any notion of quick and brutal revenge. And yet a part of him wanted nothing more than to learn a few lifestyle charms and then disappear forever, free to wander about the world.

Neville Longbottom was having a poor day. Over the past few weeks, he had excitedly counted down the days until Hogwarts, or as he thought of it – a way to finally escape his overbearing Grandmother and his kooky Great Uncle Algie. But leaving his grandmother on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters had left him with a sense of losing his anchor and his anxiety levels had sky-rocketed.

The next few hours awakened Neville to the fact that his school life would be as bad as his home life had been until that point. He found it hard to initiate conversations, he first had to overcome his incredible sense of anxiety and then raise the volume of his voice which didn't come naturally to him at all. He also had little to talk about with people. His only hobby was plants and gardens which most of his peers seemed to find boring. A few kind souls had tried to rope him into talking about Quidditch but he knew nothing about the sport and struggled to name even a few of the teams.

The whole debacle had become a whole lot worse when he realized that his pet toad Trevor had escaped his grasp and disappeared somewhere on the train. Resignedly he forced himself to wander about the train looking for said toad. Asking people in compartments after his pet had only drawn derisory comments, jokes and worst-of-all apathy.

It was with much trepidation that he approached the thin boy with the bright red cap who was leaning against a wall and staring out of a half-open window.

"Excuse me," Neville said politely but the boy didn't seem to hear him. Neville cleared his throat and tried to be louder, "Excuse me!"

Too loud.

The red-capped boy seemed momentarily startled as he quickly straightened and stared at Neville in shock. But after the momentary shock, the boy's face flattened into a bland expression so quickly that Neville wondered if he'd imagined the previous shock.

"Yes?" asked the boy impassively.

"Have you seen a toad?"

"A toad? What's that?" asked the boy.

Neville was shocked, "Err…you don't know what a toad is?"

The boy looked miffed, "No I do not. Raised by Muggles."

"Muggles don't have toads?"

The boy looked confused and irritated now, "Well of course they have toads, but I'm guessing that's not the toad you mean."

"What other toad would I mean?" asked Neville, now sincerely bewildered.

"I don't know!" exclaimed the red-capped boy throwing his hands into the air. "That's why I'm asking you aren't I?"

"There's no need to shout," said Neville shocked at his own assertiveness.

The boy seemed to take deep calming breaths. "You're right. I apologize. Now maybe you can tell me what a toad is?"

Neville perked up, he expected to get scolded or beaten for talking back to the boy but instead the boy had conceded his mistake!

"Well it's my pet Trevor. He's about this long and this wide. He's mostly brown in colour but his neck becomes almost white when he croaks," replied Neville describing Trevor's dimensions with his hands.

"Hold on, hold on," said the boy holding his hand up. "Do you mean to tell me that you were genuinely asking if I'd seen a toad? Like a ribbity, amphibian toad?"

Neville nodded.

The boy sighed deeply and pinched his closed eyelids.

"Why in the world would I have seen a toad on a train?"

Neville was confused again, "Well it's my pet Trevor isn't it. He ran off. Or hopped off I guess."

"You have a pet toad?" asked the boy incredulously.

Neville nodded, fidgeting now and wondering how far Trevor might have gotten during this conversation.

"Why?" asked the boy simply.

"What?"

"Why do you have a toad as a pet?"

Neville Longbottom's day become much worse as he pondered the red-capped boy's question.

Hermione Granger was in an odd mood as she settled into her seat at the Gryffindor table. She was pleased that she'd managed to convince the dratted Sorting Hat to place her in the Lion House. It had been adamant that she would do best in Ravenclaw, but she wanted to follow in Albus Dumbledore's footsteps more than anything and the best place for that was in his old House.

However, a part of her mind was still stuck in that train compartment with the three boys and especially with the quiet one wearing a Liverpool cap. She had been livid that he had called her out on her opinion so publicly and talked down to her. But she had also spent the next few hours thinking over ways to get back at the red-capped boy. The only ideas she could think of were either illegal or would be entirely too petty.

So, it was with sullenness that she watched Professor McGonagall call out 'Potter, Harry.' Hermione's eyebrows rose and her mouth fell open in shock as the boy heretofore known to her as 'Marcus' stepped forward, swept off his red cap, and sat down on the stool before the Professor dumped the Sorting Hat on his head.

The nerve! To lie to her about his name. It was unimaginable, such a shallow, stupid deception. She had read all about Harry Potter of course. Instead of engaging in a discussion about his defeat of the Dark Lord and subsequent life being trained in magicks, he had publicly humiliated her!

Hermione stewed in silence and vowed to show this deceitful Harry Potter that she was the best witch of their age.

Harry Potter bore the back-thumping and handshakes with a weak smile and gritted teeth as he took his seat at the Gryffindor table. He had known that the deception about his identity could not last forever but it felt like a loss to leave the Liverpool-loving 'Marcus' persona behind. But it had served him well and perhaps would be resurrected in the future as well.

The Sorting Hat had taken its sweet time in picking apart his personality. It had gone on and on about how he would 'do great things in Slytherin' but then had ostensibly come across some new memory of his and had done an abrupt about-face and announced 'Gryffindor' to the waiting teachers, students, and ghosts.

Later, after the elderly Headmaster, Dumbledore, had announced the commencement of the feast, Harry had the chance to observe all the teachers who were seated alongside the headmaster. He recognized only three of them - McGonagall, Hagrid, and Severus Snape. The latter had met Harry's eyes and shot him a look of sheer loathing which Harry noticed and made a mental note of. Harry had come across mention of Severus Snape as a possible Death Eater in archival Daily Prophet articles from the trials of prominent Death Eaters. But the man's membership in that vile club had not been proved and apparently the Chief Warlock, Dumbledore himself had vouched for the man.

The feast was a thing of beauty and Harry felt that same sense of wonderment again as when he had first beheld the castle. He had gotten used to regular meals, first at Juvie and then at the Residence but the Hogwarts feast was luxurious and delicious on another level.

Many of the older Gryffindors around him tried to engage him in conversations throughout the meal and he tried his best to be polite but inevitably the conversations would die down thanks to his general reticence to offer firm opinions or share any part of himself. He was glad for it.

Neville Longbottom had had a rollercoaster of a day. His emotions had oscillated from hope to despair to confusion and then to some sort of bemusement. After his strange yet enlightening conversation with the boy in the train who turned out to be none other than Harry Potter, Neville had for the first time given serious thought to his pet toad Trevor. Why did he have an amphibian as his pet to begin with? Trevor seemed wholly incapable of affection or loyalty. And he certainly was not equipped to deliver the mail. With those thoughts, he had stopped searching his pockets for the toad every five minutes and truth be told at that very moment wasn't entirely sure if Trevor was even in his pocket or not.

He had somehow managed to find himself sorted into Gryffindor for which he had breathed a sigh of relief. He had been dreading what his grandmother and Great Uncle Algie would have done to him had he been sorted anywhere else. At least one tribulation was successfully maneuvered through on that day.

During the feast, he largely kept his mouth shut and paid attention to the food in front of him and the conversations around him. The atmosphere was joyous and celebratory. Kids his age were getting to know each other and were being delighted by the prospect of spending seven years with each other. He almost felt like a part of it. Almost.

After the feast concluded, Professor Dumbledore announced some strange messages and sent all the students off to bed. Percy Weasley, the Gryffindor prefect rounded up all the first years of his house and asked them to follow him. Neville trudged along at the back of the pack, a few steps behind the trio of Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. Ahead of the trio, Harry Potter, with his red cap back on his head, walked alone and was himself behind the larger bunch of first years and Percy.

As they neared the stairs to the Gryffindor tower and Percy and the pack started ascending, Neville saw Ron Weasley surge ahead and push Harry Potter in the back!

"Oi! Why'd you tell me your name was Marcus you prat?"

What happened next, completely shocked, and shook Neville.

Instead of stumbling or falling or yelling out in confusion, Harry Potter whipped around with a vicious look of anger on his face. Within a second, he had stepped forward and grabbed Ron Weasley by the neck. Neville, Dean and Seamus stopped and watched in shock as the Boy-Who-Lived stepped right into Ron's personal space. They could hear Ron begin to gasp for breath as he clawed at Harry's claw-like hand.

"You push me again and I'll fucking kill you," snarled the Boy-Who-Lived in a nasty whisper.

Then as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Harry Potter pushed Ron towards the remaining three boys, pivoted and ascended the stairs leaving his new Housemates gaping in horror.

'Dammit,' thought Harry, trying to calm himself down.