Prefects Carriage:

The momentum from his fall must have carried over to his landing, as Harry's legs jerked painfully the moment his feet struck the pavement.

Harry grunted and hopped gingerly to the front door, all the while rubbing his tender knees. He could feel the racing of his heart from within his chest, the thrill of the chase still bounding through his veins as though at any moment that stubborn Metamorphmagus would pop out of Aunt Petunia's rose bushes and put him under arrest before he could scurry inside.

But she never did. And looking out over the unremarkable row of identical homes with their perfectly normal cars parked next to their perfectly normal lawns, he scoffed at the notion of such a spectacle happening here. Not in this neighborhood, and certainly not at an hour like this. Life was dreadfully predictable here on Privet Drive.

At least, that's how Harry imagined it to be. The faint voices he could hear conversing from inside the house suggested otherwise.

It wasn't like his aunt and uncle to be up this late. Ordinarily by this time they would be dozing off in their bedroom, blissfully unaware to the sound of their blaring telly. That was unless they were hosting, but Aunt Marge hadn't stayed over in years, and Petunia would have scrubbed the house top to bottom twice over if there was even a whisper of Vernon inviting someone for dinner. Although now that he thought about it, his aunt and uncle hadn't quite been themselves lately. It wasn't unlike them to get twitchy from time to time, but he wondered if he might have done something to upset them…

Harry knocked firmly on the door. The voices from inside fell suddenly silent before the uneven creak of footsteps could be heard approaching from within the home.

A small hiccup of surprise escaped his throat. He'd been expecting his uncle's ruddy face and bulging belly to appear through the door, along with gruff demands as to his whereabouts; but rather, long white whiskers, a crooked nose, and an all-knowing smile greeted him instead.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?"

The old wizard's bright eyes smiled down at him. "Good evening, Harry. Catching a bit of air, were you? It is rather refreshing outside this time of year." He waved him through the door before shutting it behind them. "It's nights like these where I consider brushing the cobwebs off my old broom. Though, I'm sure it's as horribly outdated as I am," he added with a good-hearted chuckle.

Harry froze and gazed up at his headmaster, who was still smiling pleasantly. The lump in his pocket where he'd stuffed the stone felt much heavier than it had a moment ago.

"The years are never kind. I'm more likely to fall now, much to my shame," Dumbledore continued, looking at him expectantly. "I've heard you are quite handy on one yourself?"

Harry swallowed uneasily. He wasn't sure where Dumbledore had heard that. He hardly ever flew in the sight of others. "I took flying lessons in first year like everyone else. I guess that would make me passable, sir," he said dismissively.

Dumbledore paused and stroked his wispy beard. "I see, I only figured that you might have inherited some of your father's ability. He was quite the Quidditch star in his time."

Harry plastered a smile on his face and kept walking. He'd been lectured on the greatness of his father by Hogwarts' resident Quidditch fanatics for years now.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, why is it that you came tonight? I hope I'm not in trouble," Harry said, attempting to play off his suspicion with a bout of forced laughter.

"Oh no! Not in trouble, my boy. Not this time at least." Dumbledore winked from behind his half-moon spectacles. "But I am afraid to say that there has been some in the area tonight. Come, I was only just explaining it all to your aunt and uncle."

Without another word, he pushed through the kitchen door and walked straight into the adjacent living room, where Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were squished together on the sofa. Their expressions melted with relief the moment Harry stepped out from behind Dumbledore.

"There you are, boy." Vernon struggled to shift his weight to stand. Eventually, he simply gave up. "You had your Aunt and I worried sick. Especially with your—uh, magic teacher showing up and telling us there's some tricky business going on."

"Everything's alright, Uncle Vernon," said Harry, feeling his face go hot. "I just went out to clear my head on a walk." It was difficult to hide how pleased he was that his aunt and uncle were concerned for him. It was certainly a welcome change from the glares and stares and snappy remarks from the past week.

"Harry is right, there is no cause for alarm," Dumbledore agreed. "I'd gotten word about a rogue magician at a nearby muggle fair and decided to pop by and let you know."

"Rogue magician!?" Vernon gasped.

"We're not in any danger of being attacked, are we?" Aunt Petunia nervously asked from somewhere behind the bulk of her husband.

Dumbledore's smile flickered for a moment, before returning, gentle and reassuring. "No, I would think not. I once taught the boy in question."

"At that school Harry goes to?" Uncle Vernon remarked. He looked unsure what to make of that information. "Are there many of these… rogue magicians who go there?"

"Our world is much like any other society, Mr. Dursley," Dumbledore replied, a somber note to his voice. "Richard, the boy I once knew, was more foolish than dangerous. His only crime was getting caught up in crowds of the wrong people."

"Too true, Mr. Dumblydoo!" said Uncle Vernon, wiggling to his feet, and this time succeeding. "I see it happening all over with the youth today. This country is going to the dogs, I tell you." He bent over and began rummaging through a nearby cabinet. "How about a little medicine before bed? I've got a nice bit of whiskey saved up somewhere around here."

"Unfortunately, such delights evade me this evening. I have other business to attend to, but thank you. Perhaps another night?" Dumbledore stood and tipped his wizard's hat. "Until next time, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. A pleasure as always. Harry, if you wouldn't mind escorting me out."

Harry nodded and followed his headmaster back into the hallway, where he waited by the front door. He watched as his headmaster fastened the clasp of his travelling cloak and retrieved what seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter from his pocket, and when Dumbledore dipped his head in a final goodbye, Harry blurted the question which had been burning at the forefront of his mind.

"Sir, this wizard… he wasn't involved with anyone dangerous, was he?"

Dumbledore hummed to himself as though giving the question some thought. "It is difficult to say," he eventually replied. "I knew the boy, not the man he became, and some never learn from their youthful mistakes." A keen look took hold of his ancient face. "Is there something you wish to tell me, Harry?"

"No," he said quickly. Too quickly—but Harry figured Dumbledore already knew more than he should. "I was just curious, is all."

Dumbledore smiled, the lines of his eyes crinkling like that of a grandfather's. "Well, I shan't fault you for such a quality. You have much of your mother inside you, Harry."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, as familiar melancholy cast itself over him. "It was nice seeing you, especially under circumstances where I'm not losing points or earning detentions. Although, even those meetings are surprisingly pleasant at times."

"The Board of Governors has yet to grant me powers that extend beyond the borders of Hogwarts. It makes my job much easier not needing to be responsible for the trouble students tend to entangle themselves in over the summer."

"I think we just get bored, sir," Harry said with a grin.

"Bored?" The old wizard let out a deep belly laugh. "To think I've spent all these years campaigning for the teachers to assign less homework over the holidays. I may need to reconsider my position then," said Dumbledore, his eyes shining with mirth.

"I'll see you again in a few days then, sir," Harry said, opening the front door.

"Yes, of course. The start of a new year is always exciting and brings fascinating new faces to the castle. Congratulations again on being named Prefect, Harry. I was pleased when Filius let me know his choice. I'm sure the job will be keeping you busy." Dumbledore stopped on the front step and turned back to Harry. "I would, however, be wary of anymore nighttime strolls. It's as your uncle says, this country is going to the dogs."

To Harry, the days following Dumbledore's visit sped by in a blur. Most notably, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had quit jumping at shadows and returned to their perfectly ordinary selves. Vernon had driven to Bromley to meet an important new client the other night, and Harry concluded the stress of such a potentially lucrative drill deal had put them over the edge. Dudley's jaw nearly hit the floor when Uncle Vernon returned home and asked Petunia to calculate the commission he was owed. Harry on the other hand, was simply glad he could once again mention magic around the house without them shrieking in his face.

They were out again tonight, his aunt and uncle, off dining in celebration with one of Vernon's coworkers in London. Dudley was wherever Dudley tended to be lately, probably off with Piers and his gang, which left Harry on his own as he busily packed his things in preparation for the journey to Hogwarts the next morning.

Back in second year, Harry had painstakingly convinced Professor Flitwick to teach him how to charm his own trunk; it was featherlight and could carry double its original storage, but even with the added space he found his belongings were nearly overflowing. Books came piling in, along with the battered pewter cauldron he'd need for one more year of Potions, his shrunken broom, telescope, dragon-hide gloves, and an armful of clothing he hoped still fit after another growth spurt over the summer. When he finally stuffed the lid shut, Harry picked up his old money bag and fingered through clumps of wormwood and tea leaves and counted the Sopophorous beans which rattled around its bottom. He frowned, then tucked the bag away in a side compartment where he'd already hidden the stone within the folds of his invisibility cloak.

When morning came, he found that he woke with a spring in his step. Returning to Hogwarts usually left him feeling this way. Privet Drive wasn't such a terrible place—the Dursleys had taken him in when they didn't have to and cared for him despite having their own son they adored—but it was far too ordinary here for his liking, scrubbed to a sterile normalcy that seemed to sparkle off every bleached surface. He'd once been racked with guilt over these thoughts, tossing and turning into the night over the hollow feeling in his chest each time he returned for the holidays. He'd come to accept it, however. Hogwarts was his home, and his family would never quite understand him the way those in his own world could.

The Dursleys were gathered around the table when he came downstairs, lugging his trunk behind him. The rich scent of a fry up sizzled in the air.

"Today's the day?" Vernon's beady eyes peered over the edge of the morning paper. "I forgot it was that time of year again," he grunted. "Do you need a ride to London?"

"No thanks," Harry replied, checking his watch. It was much too late for that already. "I'll be taking the Knight Bus to King's Cross. It'll get me there faster."

"We were thinking of vacationing in Majorca over the winter," Aunt Petunia announced from over by the sink, her long neck twisting like that of a giraffe. She shifted her gaze and watched adoringly as Vernon tore into a slice of back bacon. "With the promotion—" they'd taken to calling Vernon's deal a 'promotion' ever since Aunt Petunia noticed the envious glares it drew from the neighbors "—we're looking into buying a holiday home. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Drills are good business," Uncle Vernon boasted as he clapped Dudley on the shoulder next to him. "Maybe I'll speak to the directors at Grunnings and set you up with an apprenticeship once you're out of school. Working with your father, eh Dudders. How does that sound? We'll make a drill man out of you yet."

The face Dudley made as he poked at the untouched grapefruit in front of him was not that of someone terribly excited to be a 'drill man'. Harry didn't blame him. He checked his watch again and saw that he was really cutting it close now.

"I guess I'll be going," he said.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon both paused in their fawning over Dudley and blinked as though they'd forgotten he was even there. He figured a similar amnesia had swallowed his invitation to Majorca as well. They stared at one another awkwardly, nobody quite knowing what the proper goodbye should be.

Acting first, he waved and left the house, pulling his trunk down the lane behind him. He walked a good distance away from the prying eyes of Privet Drive before stopping on the curb and sticking his wand up in the air. Moments later, there were two blaring honks and a large, triple-decker, horridly purple bus appeared seemingly out of thin air.

"To King's Cross Station," Harry shouted, throwing eleven sickles into a tin cup. There was a pause and then a deafening BANG.

Travelling on the Knight Bus was much akin to strapping oneself to a rocket ship. It was a tremendous feeling where a single lurch could jump a hundred miles, but a sinister rattle could leave those onboard bracing for disaster. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it. His knuckles were white by the time he stumbled to the nearest bed and flopped onto the lumpy mattress with its frayed, scratchy blanket.

It's nice to know where Azkaban gets their sheets, he thought wryly. He was well accustomed to the luxuries of the Knight Bus. Despite this, he preferred it over the awkward drives into London with Uncle Vernon.

The bus gave another violent shake, and dust tumbled in snowy tufts from an ancient chandelier overhead. It swung with every erratic motion like the great mast of a ship caught in a storm. Feeling himself go dizzy, Harry retrieved a discarded copy of the Daily Prophet from the floor and found it to be yesterday's edition. He'd cancelled his subscription a week ago; there were enough free copies to go around at Hogwarts, and he saw no use in Dudley reading reports on the Winzegamot's rulings on the required thickness of cauldron bottoms.

Skipping over the front page where an article was dedicated to some important overseas diplomat visiting London, Harry went straight to the Quidditch section. About halfway through an article about the Arrow's seeker Waldon Wormtree's passion for raising Mandrakes, the harsh clatter of metal caught his attention, and Harry looked up to see the bus attendant pushing a cart towards him.

"'Ere you go," the pimply teen said, passing Harry a mug from a tray in desperate need of a good polish. "Some 'ot chocolate for ya."

Setting down the paper, Harry tried to remember the attendant's name. It was something like Sam… or maybe Stan? Whatever it was, the cup he'd passed Harry rank like a pair of Dudley's old socks.

"I think I'm alright," Harry said, feeling his nose wrinkle reflexively.

"You ordered some, dincha?" said Stan, confused.

Harry shook his head. "I only paid eleven sickles."

Stan slowly started counting with his fingers. "Tha' muss've been Miss Poole 'oo paid firteen then. She 'opped off couple stops ago in Giggleswick." He looked between Harry and the steaming cup. "You sure you don' wannit? Made it meself, I did."

Harry peered at the muddy liquid, which looked like it had been scooped from a puddle.

"Issan ol' family recipe," Stan whispered in encouragement.

Without much choice, Harry worked the muscles of his face into a smile and feigned a sip. Some of the swill managed to slip past his lips and he fought the urge to gag. When he brought the cup down again, he noticed that Stan was watching him with a new degree of interest.

"Wai' a second… Don' I know ya?" he asked abruptly.

Harry blinked. "I don't think—"

"Yeah, I do. You ride 'ere offen, doncha?" Stan continued doggedly. He scratched at the top of his head and then his wispy chin. "Woss your name…" He shut his eyes in intense thought, and Harry worried he might be in pain with the effort. "Wait, I go' it! It's Piers, innit?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Piers Polkiss."

"I knew I recognized'ya! said Stan, sounding quite chuffed. "Never forge' a face, do I? Makin' of a top conductor my Da' says. 'E was the ol' conductor, you see. Remember your customers, Stanley, 'e would tell me, 'specially the regulars. Not 'lot a people ride the Knight Bus too offen anymore though. Eh, Ern?"

"Ar," agreed a disembodied voice from the front of the bus. "An' most don' ever come back."

Stan sniggered, before resting his elbows on edge of the cart and squinting at Harry.

"Say, that's go' me finkin' a wee bit," he said. "'Choo doing 'ere, always ridin' alone? Don't you 'ave parents or summatt?"

Harry was silent for some time. Long enough for Stan to fidget with discomfort under his stare. But even then, Harry could see the eager way his squinty eyes searched for a drop of gossip he could share with the next batch of passengers who wandered onboard.

"My Aunt and Uncle are Muggles," he said coolly.

"Oh," said Stan, seemingly oblivious to his own lack of tact. "They get 'round on them watermobiles, don' they?"

"Automobiles, yeah," said Harry. "I don't think they'd like Wizard travel much."

"'Course they wouldn't," said Stan coarsely. "Don' know what's best for 'em, do they? Never understand anyfink either."

"Yoo-hoo! Young man, excuse me."

An old witch in a rain bonnet with an apple doll face was waving down Stan with a handkerchief.

"Miss Poole! 'Choo still doing 'ere? Giggleswick was a hundred miles ago," Stan shouted, completely bewildered. He kicked the brake off his cart and pushed it down the aisle, muttering under his breath about customers 'makin' me look silly.'

For the remainder of the trip, Harry leaned back and shut his eyes, trying to ignore the way his stomach leaped in and out of his throat. The Knight Bus dashed down blind alleys and skipped over lakes, and beyond the windows, the world blurred like one of Dudley's movie tapes when he wanted to fast forward it to his favorite scene. Harry was thankful, at least, that he'd skipped out on breakfast, and even more so, when they eventually came to lurching stop and his bed nearly slid out the front door.

"Kings Cross!" Ern announced, as several families teetered out still somewhat green in the face.

Harry followed unsteadily after them, letting out a breathless laugh once his feet struck solid ground. He turned in time to catch sight of the Knight Bus as it vanished back into the London fog with another BANG.

The station was packed by the time he trudged inside, seething with morning commuters and a curious bunch who always tended to show up on September 1st. There was no shortage of curious stares going around either, and whilst loading his trunk onto a nearby trolley, Harry was overcome with the urge to disappear. It was an itch desperate to be scratched. He could feel the weight of his necklace as heat slowly begin to build between his fingers…

But the idea immediately fell from his mind when he checked the clock at the end of the platform. He'd lost track of time watching families brazenly disregard the Statue of Secrecy as they conspicuously paraded across the station. He cursed and dug around in his pocket until he pulled out a note which had been pinned to his school list. In neat spiky script it instructed him to arrive at the Prefect's Carriage precisely fifteen minutes prior to departure. Professor McGonagall had made herself very clear not to be late.

It was now twenty to eleven.

Rules and deadlines already. Why in Merlin's bloody name did Flitwick think I was meant for this?

Not wanting to risk a bad impression, Harry quickly pushed his way into the cue of people waiting to run at a brick wall.

A massive grin split his face once through the barricade. Every time he laid eyes on the handsome scarlet of the Hogwarts Express, spilling plumes of its silver smoke across the platform, Harry felt the same child-like wonder within him that he did when he was eleven years old. The feeling was short-lived, however, as a loud drawn-out whistle and a neat puff of steam signaled the final quarter of an hour before departure.

"You're late."

Harry was bent against the door labelled Prefect's Carriage, catching his breath, when he was approached from behind. He checked his watch and saw the time tick to 10:46.

"Just in time, actually," he said, wincing. There was a stitch in his side from his race to the front of the train. "They picked you perfectly for Prefect, didn't they Pansy? Just the right amount of miserable for the job."

The dark-haired Slytherin girl wrinkled her nose at him.

"Don't mind Potter, Pansy. Muggle time runs just as slow as they do," a second voice joined in. Draco Malfoy stood along the wall, holding a delicately crafted gold watch in his hand. "Imagine the horror of having to ride one of those contraptions like the Knight Bus."

"I do it for the thrill," Harry said glibly, to which Malfoy made a face.

"Maybe you'll be able to tell me then, does it really reek like Mudbloods inside? Father says so, but I don't believe him." Malfoy's eyes were sharp as daggers and Pansy tittered from where she hung on his arm.

Harry shrugged. "You'll have to check for yourself, I don't think I have the nose for it."

"Yes… well, you must be used to their stench by now… living amongst them for so many years," said Malfoy, before stepping forward and making a show of having a sniff. "Eugh. I'd recommend a long shower once we get to Hogwarts. Come along, Pansy."

Left alone at the entrance of the Prefect's Carriage, Harry went to stow his luggage in one of the overhead compartments. He walked in after and had a look around the compartment they'd been asked to meet in. It reminded him of the dining car, with its windows stretched along the length of the carriage providing an uninterrupted view of the vast countryside, but rather than rows of booths lined beneath them, a large 'U' shaped table dominated the center of the room, around which sat a collection of students.

Harry took the empty seat next to Padma Patil, who smiled up at him with her dark, pretty eyes.

"How was your summer, Harry?" she asked.

"Brilliant, actually," he said, feigning enthusiasm. It was better that way. People were far less nosey when they believed you were doing well. "My Aunt and Uncle took my cousin to visit his Aunt Marge for a few weeks, so I had the house to myself for a bit. How was yours?"

"It was a bore," she said, rolling her eyes. "I was stuck picking up the pieces of Parvati's summer flings. Lavender got the idea in her head that the more Muggle boys they dated, the better prepared they'd be when back at Hogwarts."

"Sounds messy," Harry grimaced.

"You can only imagine," Padma sighed, before leaning in and lowering her voice. "But my cousin did manage to sneak me some firewhiskey for Marietta's party."

For how clever and studious Padma could be, there was a wicked streak to the girl, and Harry could see it peeking through the devious grin she wore right now.

"Speaking of, why didn't you go? Marietta would have been certain you had an invitation."

"Oh," said Harry, blushing. Unconsciously, he rubbed his fingers together beneath the table. "Er… I sort of had a project I was working on."

"A project?" Padma looked at him as if he'd gone crazy. "Come on, Harry, you can't be serious! Summer is the time to get your nose out of spellbooks and out into the fresh air. Catch some sun. Go to the beach. There's a limit to the library even for us Ravenclaws. We'll be busy enough as it is this year." She paused in her chastisement and stared him dead in the eye. "Promise me this: the next party we have, you'll be there to make up for missing Marietta's."

"I'll try," he said. "I—uh, I mean I'll definitely be there," he hastily amended at Padma's threatening glare.

"Well, at least you're here now. I was half expecting you not to show up," she said offhandedly.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. A part of him suspected she wasn't joking. "I couldn't do that to Professor Flitwick," he said seriously.

Padma smiled at him gently. "You're off to a good start then."

Barely, he thought. If Pansy had her way he'd be up in the pillory by now to be shamed.

"I'm sure you'll keep me in line either way," he said. "But listen, do you know why we had to get here so early?"

Before Padma had the chance to answer, a voice cut above the rumble of conversation around them.

"Good question, Harry."

At the head of the table was a short Slytherin girl with braids brushing near her ankles, and next her, stood a handsome dark-haired Hufflepuff who effortlessly drew the attention of the room.

"I know some of you here have parents and siblings who were prefects," Cedric Diggory started. "Others have been working hard for this moment; tutoring, joining clubs, and giving up weekends to earn extra credit. And there's a couple probably sitting here wondering how you've stumbled into all this." Cedric eyed Harry as he said the last part. "But it doesn't matter how or why you were chosen, being a Prefect is a privilege. And as silly as it sounds, this was sort of a test to see if you understood that."

"What would have happened if we failed?" Ernie Macmillan, a stout Hufflepuff with neatly parted hair asked from across the table.

Cedric and the Slytherin briefly glanced at one another, matching grins on both their lips.

"I wouldn't worry about that Ernie—you're all here," assured Cedric. "The point we're trying to make is you could have gone off, had a laugh, and caught up with your friends like everyone else did today. Instead, you were asked to be here, and it won't be the last time you're asked to do something you don't want to. Being a Prefect is fun—trust me, it's well worth it—but it also requires a bit of graft."

"There's a meeting scheduled tomorrow afternoon where Professor McGonagall will review the finer details of 5th year Prefect responsibilities. But we'll leave that to her, so save your questions about handing out detentions and taking away House Points for then," the Slytherin girl said bluntly, picking up where Cedric left off.

"Now, with that out of the way, we can move on to introductions," said Cedric, smiling with his straight white teeth. Harry could almost feel the way pulses quickened around the room. "My name is Cedric Diggory, I'll be your Head Boy this year, and this is Audrey Moon, your Head Girl. I'm sure you all know one another, but for formalities sake we have Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott from my own house, Hufflepuff; Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger from Gryffindor; Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson from Slytherin; and finally, from Ravenclaw, Harry Potter and Padma Patil. Congratulations all of you!"

A brief round of applause went up, lead mostly by the Head Boy and Girl.

In the silence that followed, Harry took the opportunity to measure the reactions of those around the table. Directly across from him, Hermione Granger looked on the verge of tears, while next to her, Ron sat with his chest puffed so far out it looked like it had been inflated by a bicycle pump. Pansy and Padma both stared doe-eyed up a Cedric, refusing to blink; Malfoy attempted to look disinterested despite the smug air around him; and Ernie and Hannah gave off the impression that they couldn't believe their luck.

Harry wondered what they might see if they looked at him.

"Today you'll take shifts supervising the train with your partner," said Audrey, as Cedric unfurled a roll of parchment and passed it to Ernie. "We don't expect much, just make sure things are kept in order."

When the parchment finally made its way to Harry, he could see it was their patrol schedule. Him and Padma were to watch over the back half of the train after lunch.

"Me and Audrey started in the same position as you are now, so if you have any questions feel free to ask us any time," Cedric offered.

"Other than that, there isn't much else for us to say. As I said, Professor McGonagall will cover most of it when she sees you tomorrow," Audrey finished, her voice hinting the meeting had run its course.

Slowly, the gathered 5th years began to file out of the cabin, resuming the conversations they had paused at the start of the meeting.

From the doorway, Ron gave Harry a wave, but as he stood and made to leave himself, Cedric called him back.

"Harry, could you wait up a minute?"

Harry stopped and waited for Audrey Moon to pick up her satchel and exit, leaving the pair of them alone.

Cedric spread out his arms. "Surprised?" he asked.

"No, not at all," Harry replied frankly. "I told you last year there wasn't a chance in hell Dumbledore wouldn't make you Head Boy."

"There were plenty of other good candidates," Cedric said far too humbly.

"I'm sure there were." Harry shook his head, laughing. "How did your parents take it?"

"I think Dad might have cried more than Mum. You know how he gets…" Cedric shuffled his feet, his voice trailing off and drowning beneath the sound of the train's whirling engine.

"It's just that—I think at times he genuinely believes I'm the greatest thing to come through Hogwarts since Dumbledore. I'm not sure what he wants from me, you know? Some days it's all about Quidditch with him, and then he'll turn around and start talking about how it was his grandfather's dream to have a Diggory be the Minister for Magic. I've always wanted to be Head Boy, but ever since the letter came in, it's only made him worse."

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't have overbearing parents with big dreams and even loftier expectations. They were dead. All he had was the Dursleys, and their only expectation of him was to come home in one piece at the end of term. That pressure didn't exist for him.

"Imagine what the school would think if the Head Boy didn't have his entire life planned out already. The horror," Harry said dramatically.

Cedric chuckled, a genuine smile filling his face. "I've got a few ideas, don't ring The Daily Prophet just yet. I think I want to do an apprenticeship in Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall put me in touch with a wizard in France—"

"Have you told Cho yet?" Harry interrupted.

Cedric looked away, his shoulders slouching sheepishly.

"I will," he said, more to himself than to Harry. "I just need to get a few more things figured out first."

A spasm of hunger tore through Harry's stomach, and he was reminded of the fact he hadn't eaten yet today. Closing his eyes, he could almost taste the treacle of the trolley witch's tarts.

"Good," he said briskly. "Now what is it you called me back for? I don't think it was for therapy."

"Right," Cedric said, straightening the collar of his robes. "I got an owl yesterday from Professor McGonagall, she wanted me to pass on a message from Professor Flitwick. He wants to meet with you after the Welcoming Feast tonight."

Strange, Harry thought with frown. "Do you know what for?"

"She didn't say," said Cedric.

Harry racked his brain for a moment, trying to work out a reason why Flitwick would want to meet this early into term. "You think he might have changed his mind?" he asked hopefully.

Cedric snorted. "Fat chance," he said, before closely looking Harry up and down. When he spoke again it was with what Harry called his 'Professor' voice, the one that had made him a shoo-in for Head Boy. "You were made Prefect, mate, not given a sentence to Azkaban. There are worse things out there."

Harry dropped his head and sighed. He knew Cedric was right. "Well, thanks for letting me know. I'll be sure to find him tonight."

He was at the door with the handle in his hand when Cedric called to him a final time.

"The weather's meant to be nice this week," he said.

The statement hung in the air, innocuous enough, but something in Cedric's voice made Harry stop. When he turned, he recognized the gleam in his eyes and his heart quickened.

"Do you have a time in mind?" Harry asked, unable to conceal his excitement.

"Not yet." Cedric shook his head and started to organize the papers spread across the table in front of him. "Me and Audrey have a meeting with Professor Dumbledore at some point… Professor McGonagall wanted to see me about my apprenticeship as well… there's tea with Professor Sprout…" he continued to list off, "And—Oh! I have the Quidditch Captains meeting too! I'll need to sort those out first."

"Sounds busy," said Harry mildly amused. He wasn't sure he'd ever understand how Cedric managed to balance it all, on top of finding time for Cho. "Are you sure you're not too important to hang out with the likes of me anymore."

He had meant it as a joke, but Cedric stopped what he was doing and looked up with his eyebrows drawn together in a firm line.

"Never," he said in way which left little room for doubt. Then he quirked his lip and pointed to the door. "Now get out of here before you're late for your first patrol!"

Laughing, Harry left the Prefects Carriage and began his search down the train. Padma was certainly waiting for him by now, but he reckoned she could do without him for a few minutes longer. It was the start of a new term, and he could hardly keep the grin off his face as his thoughts drifted to the castle fast-approaching in the distance and what this year could possibly hold.

AN:
Hello! Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter, things should start to pick up from here as the story unfolds. I've slowly been more productive with the story, and hopefully updates will come at a slightly quicker pace. No promises though! In any case, I'm glad so many of you enjoyed the first chapter and are excited for what comes next. I'm excited as well, there's lots of fun stuff I've got planned. Please do let me know your thoughts on things so far, your reviews are greatly appreciated.