Not long after dawn on September the First, Harry Potter yawned and rose from his bed.

He stretched, hind legs first then forelegs, and his wings reached out and up far enough to just about touch the eaves of the roof. Then he shook himself, loosening up all his joints, and checked the railway timetables.

Rather than rely on the goodwill of his uncle to make it to Kings Cross, Harry had elected to instead make use of public transport. The railway station wasn't too far, and from there he could head into London and use the underground trains to get to where he needed to go.

It would have been simple to go all the way to Waterloo and then go by tube train, but after looking at the map of the underground line Harry had chosen a different route. By getting off one stop early, at Vauxhall, he could use the Victoria Line and go all the way from there to Kings Cross without having to change trains – while all the underground train lines from Waterloo itself didn't go where he wanted, which would mean more changing trains and more moving his heavy trunk and Hedwig's cage around.

It took perhaps half an hour to make sure he'd piled all his belongings into the trunk, with a set of robes on top – he'd put them on on the train – and his equipment stacked beneath them and held in place with books and a number of Hogwarts letters for padding. (The rest went in a nondescript box to be left in the loft.)

"All ready for the journey?" he asked, and Hedwig hooted softly at him. Taking that as agreement, he shut her cage door, then began the process of moving his things out of the house.

This one had taken him some careful thought. Bumping his trunk down the loft ladder was all too likely to wake the Dursleys, which would just make things more awkward, while flying out the window would mean leaving it unlocked and that would have the same effect. So once everything was packed, Harry pushed his trunk so it was half out the window before crawling out on top of it.

A few awkward minutes resulted, but it was still quite early, and Harry unfurled his wings and tensed before pulling the trunk the rest of the way out the window. He beat his wings as hard as he could, raising a storm of dust from the tiles, and slowly lowered the trunk to the street outside.

Hedwig's cage came next, carried somewhat more easily as it wasn't at the outer limit of what he could fly with even for a few seconds. Then Harry went back inside, shut the window and pulled the handle across, then crept out of his loft and downstairs to the front door.

It shut behind him with a click, and Harry was on his way to school.

Most of his remaining pounds sterling went on a train ticket from Little Whingeing to Vauxhall, with just enough left over to get lunch and the underground. Harry was quite proud of his careful budgeting, not least because it meant he'd been able to buy as many books as possible, and wrestled his trunk onto a half-empty near-dawn train – it was a Sunday, which meant there were no commuters – and settled down to enjoy the trip.

If he could have reduced the weight of his trunk, and there was almost certainly some kind of magic for that, he could have flown straight to Kings Cross. But this way he could read a book, the work of carrying his trunk was mostly done by the trains instead, and he'd still be well ahead of schedule.

Harry had not factored in one of the most important facts about British railways – not to rely on them.

After more than an hour of delay outside a station called Queenstown Road – which had had Harry seriously considering the idea of pushing the train into London himself – they finally reached Vauxhall, and Harry dragonhandled his trunk off the train with Hedwig's cage handle held gently in his teeth.

Reminding himself every few seconds not to bite down, Harry navigated his way down to the Victoria line with one eye on the time. The ticket across London cost exactly as much as he'd planned, and after several awkward minutes he was on the second leg of his journey.

Five stations went past in fifteen minutes, and by half past nine Harry was in the maze of tunnels underneath King's Cross station. Vauxhall had been simple enough, but this was immensely confusing – with five underground lines and three conventional rail lines all sharing the same station – and Harry was uncomfortably aware that the combination of his heavy old-fashioned trunk and his live owl was attracting more than a bit of attention, even if none of the people down here could see that he was a dragon.

"Is that a dragon?" someone asked.

Harry turned, startled – sending his glasses bouncing across the floor – and saw a young boy about his age with a roller trunk staring at him.

"Stop staring, Dean!" a woman told him. "And of course it's not, it's an owl."

"Not the owl, mum," Dean replied. "There, carrying the trunk and the owl cage – can't you see, er, him? Her?"

"You mean me?" Harry asked, hooking a paw through Hedwig's cage to lower it.

"No, I mean the other bloody dragon!" Dean countered, and his mum waved her hand at him.

"Dean Thomas! I didn't raise you like that!"

"Sorry, Mum," Dean winced. "But… you seriously can't tell he's a dragon?"

"Hold on," Harry said, retrieving his glasses. "You can tell I'm a dragon?"

He tilted his head. "Hogwarts, right?"

"Yeah, that's me," Dean agreed. "I should have guessed I run into some random dragon in the middle of London, it's going to be magic."

"What are you talking about, Dean?" Mrs. Thomas (?) asked him.

"It's magic," Harry explained helpfully. "I think, anyway."

"Yeah, you think," Dean snorted. "Could be any other reason."

"I did only find out about magic about a month ago," Harry volunteered. "Until then I thought this just happened to growing boys sometimes – or girls, I suppose."

"Yeah, because that's normal," Dean said, smiling. "So you're another muggleborn?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm not, but I grew up with my aunt and uncle, and they're not magical," Harry said. "Do you have any idea how to get up to where the railway platforms are? I'm completely lost here."

"This is so freaky," Dean said softly, glancing around at the various people going in all directions through Kings Cross. "I mean, we're getting some odd looks, but that's because of your owl. Not because you're a dragon."

"Yeah, but I'm kind of used to it," Harry replied. "Actually being noticed to be a dragon is the stranger thing."

The black boy shook his head. "No, the stranger thing is that you haven't told me what your team is yet."

"I don't have a team," Harry told him – truthfully. He'd never had much time for football after discovering that the ball striking his wings was apparently considered 'handball', and hadn't had either the inclination or the opportunity to listen to the radio or watch TV at the Dursleys – certainly not enough to actually follow a team.

"Well, you're from Surrey, so… Crystal Palace?" Dean guessed. "That sounds like a thing a dragon would like."

"It sounds like a place a dragon would live," Harry told him. "And no, I'm not a fan of Crystal Palace."

Dean almost stopped, struck by a horrible thought.

"...it's not Millwall, is it?"

"Who?"

"Phew," Dean said, hurrying back alongside the cart Harry's trunk was on top of. "Well, as long as it's not Millwall and it's not Hotspur, it's fine by me."

They rounded the corner to the point they could see platforms nine and ten.

"You've got your lunch, right Dean?" Mrs. Thomas asked.

"Of course I have, mum," Dean replied. "It went in my trunk with everything else, remember?"

"You'd still better check," she advised, and Harry slid his cart to a halt while Dean opened up his roller trunk to check.

"...Mum, did you give me egg and cress?" he asked. "Thanks!"

"Well, you're going to be going away for months," she said. "Don't forget to eat well when you're there, I don't know what wizard food is like..."

"Do you know?" Dean asked, glancing up at Harry. "I know you said you got brought up by people who weren't magic, but I thought you might have an idea."

"Sorry, no," Harry replied, shaking his head. "Most things are tasty to me. I have had a snack on the way, though, my train was delayed so I got one from the catering carriage."

"...blimey," Dean blinked. "You're not kidding about most things being tasty to you if you could eat one of those."

Harry shrugged, not mentioning that he'd actually eaten the packaging as well. (It had been a toss-up as to which had tasted better.)

Mrs. Thomas gave Dean a sudden hug, clutching him tightly and giving him a kiss. Harry looked away, feeling a bit awkward about the whole thing, and waited until she let go and told him to enjoy himself.

Then the two of them headed for the space between platforms nine and ten.

"Apparently it helps if you close your eyes?" Harry volunteered. "I wrote to someone about it and he told me that."

"Worth a try," Dean admitted. "But, anyway, since you say you don't support a football team… ever considered West Ham?"

Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, it turned out, was a lot like Diagon Alley in some ways.

It was another place that confused Harry slightly about where it actually was. He could clearly see the end of the platform, and the old-fashioned steam train sitting on the rails, but if he decided to fly in that direction… what would happen?

Would he just appear on the railway line just outside Kings Cross? Would turning around mean he could get back into Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters?

Was West Ham actually any good as a football club?

These and other questions preoccupied Harry as he and Dean made their way through the crowd. He sort-of-noticed all the witches and wizards who'd been standing by the entrance, but he didn't have a very good angle to see them down on the far side of his cart and the trunk it carried, and Dean had been talking about Trevor Morley and Julian Dicks and Frank McAvennie and other names which Harry had no context for whatsoever.

"…hope this is going to be a good season, though I don't know if Hogwarts has a TV or anything," Dean went on, slowing a bit as they got close to the train. "Any idea what would be a good place to go? This looks like a pretty old train."

"I'm not sure," Harry replied. "There should be a boy called Neville somewhere, he might not have arrived yet-"

"Merlin's teeth!" someone said. "That's a dragon!"

"It's a talking dragon!" a witch added.

"That's the Dragon Who Lived!" another wizard gasped. "Mr. Potter, it's such a pleasure to-"

"-is he here?"

"-let me through!"

"Don't most dragons tend to live?" someone asked, which Harry thought was probably a good question, but everyone else ignored him, and the crowd began to surge around him.

Dean shot Harry an amazed look, and Harry sighed.

"Maybe you should just get on the train," he suggested.

It took Harry about half an hour to make it the last twenty feet to the train.

He'd heard of journalists and reporters before, and occasionally seen them on television, but this was the first time he'd actually met any – and they were wizards and witches as well, which was stranger. One of them had a big old-fashioned flash camera, and Harry did his best to smile the way he'd practiced once in the mirror – without teeth.

There were plenty of other people who wanted to meet him as well, shaking his hand and telling him how astonished they were to get a chance to do so or just wanting to get a look at him.

After the first few minutes of shock, Harry adjusted a bit. He didn't really enjoy it, but he had to admit that if he hadn't been a dragon and one had turned up outside he'd have been interested enough to at least say hello.

About all the reporters seemed to want to know was simple information, at least. Why he was a dragon (he wasn't entirely sure), where he'd been for ten years (living with relatives), how much magic he knew (he didn't but he was interested in learning), and what Quidditch team he supported.

Perhaps his snort of laughter about hearing basically the same question again had involved a little too much flame, because after that the reporter had looked nervous and moved on to a different topic.

Finally, about twenty minutes before eleven, Harry was able to get his trunk to the train and load it on – along with Hedwig – before hunting for somewhere to sit.

It turned out that the train had compartments, not the seats Harry had experienced on his two journeys to and from Little Whingeing, and furthermore that the first few he found were occupied. One was full of half-a-dozen older girls all talking about exams, the next contained three very big looking boys who Harry thought reminded him of Dudley if Dudley exercised, and then there was one where the first reaction he got was a shriek.

Shutting that door with a quick apology, he was saved by the sight of Dean – leaning out into the corridor to look for the source of the scream, then waving Harry down.

"This is kind of like a museum train or something, isn't it?" Dean asked, as Harry got his trunk to the door of the carriage. The human boy helped him take some of the weight, hefting it through into the compartment, and then Harry unbuckled it to get a few things out – one of the sets of his robes and a book, mostly – before hefting it up onto the rack.

"I don't really know," the dragon admitted, as he helped stow Dean's trunk as well. "I've not seen many trains."

"We mostly take the underground, but Mum takes us out on a trip somewhere special once or twice a year," Dean told him. "There's nothing like this, though."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, my aunt and uncle wouldn't do that kind of thing, not for me. Though come to think of it they wouldn't really take the train, either."

He shrugged his wings. "So what was it like when you got your Hogwarts letter?"

"Oh, wow," Dean chuckled, grinning. "It was the craziest thing. This woman called Professor McGonagall came to visit to show us what's what, and she showed us magic was real by turning one of the chairs into a camel. I bet you didn't have to have that, even if you did grow up with people who can't use magic."

"Actually, I don't think they liked magic very much," Harry replied, musing. "I mean, if they knew about it at all. I don't think I'm sure about that."

"Right, right, they didn't know you were a dragon," Dean realized. "But-"

The compartment door opened, and half-a-dozen students of different ages all stared in.

"Wow," one of them said. "Are you really Harry Potter?"

"I think so," Harry replied. "That's certainly my name."

"Hey, we were talking," Dean protested.

After that group of gawpers went away, apparently satisfied, Harry mentioned how he'd been led around Diagon Alley by Hagrid.

The big man's style seemed much more entertaining to Dean than McGonagall had been. He found the trouble Hagrid had had with pounds sterling as amusing as Harry had (especially now that he had the context of how bizarre Wizarding money was, at least in how it didn't use nice round numbers) and Harry was halfway through telling the story of how he'd reacted down in Gringotts when he paused and held up a talon.

Opening the door, he waved. "Neville, thanks for the help with the platform."

"Oh, um… it was nothing, really," Neville replied, going a bit pink.

"Have you got a compartment yet? This one's got plenty of room," Harry added, and after another nervous glance Neville brought his luggage and his pet toad through to join them. A girl came through as well, glad of somewhere to sit, but when she saw Harry her jaw dropped and she went quiet for a bit.

Dean Thomas introduced himself, Harry introduced Neville to Dean, and the girl said her name was Hermione Granger. She was a muggle-born, like Dean, and when she heard Harry's name she began rummaging through her own trunk before taking out a book.

"You're the Harry Potter in here?" she asked. "The one who defeated the Dark Lord?"

"I don't really remember it," Harry replied, not for the first time.

"Why don't they say you're a dragon?" she went on. "I'd think they'd say something about that, and if something that important is missing from Modern Magical History then I'm not sure if I can trust the rest of it, though the textbooks themselves all seem quite solid. I've read through them all by now, of course, though come to think of it none of them mention dragons attending Hogwarts either."

"I think I'm the first," Harry told her. "And I don't think anyone except me knew I was a dragon until about a month ago."

Hermione had a few more questions, after that, about how that could work, then about what the limits of the magic were (Harry had to admit he'd never actually tried to test it, not having known it existed for most of his draconic life) and finally about how being a dragon would make his magic different. But when she saw what Harry had got out of his bag to read, she did a double-take.

"You read fantasy books?" she asked. "I've read a few, but – well – you're a dragon? I know I'm a witch, but I haven't read any since I found out because I was too busy."

"That's why I read them," Harry replied. "I kind of wanted to find out what dragons were meant to be like. The dragons in this series aren't very, er… intelligent? But I like the way they're written."

"You seriously read all the textbooks?" Dean asked, blinking. "Wow. I didn't know we had to do that."

"I didn't either," Neville said, sounding worried. "I hope that doesn't mean the Sorting goes wrong for me?"

"If it does, I'm stuffed too," Dean told him, clapping the magically-raised boy on the shoulder.

The train rocked at that point as it got moving, leaving the magically-hidden platform, and by an unspoken agreement the four of them stopped their conversation to watch.

They'd barely left the station when another group of visitors came along, wanting to see the rumoured dragon-on-the-train for themselves, and this time Harry's tail twitched slightly as he went through pretty much the same set of questions.

He wouldn't have minded if they were a bit more original.

Probably.

By the time they were out of London, there had been four more sets of visitors (Harry had counted). Hedwig had also woken up, given Trevor the Toad a considering look and begun preening her feathers, and Neville and Hermione had begun giving Dean a somewhat muddled account of what sounded like a very confusing sport that was played a lot by Wizards.

Apparently the game was sometimes weeks long, but that depended how good two of the players were. It wasn't made any easier to follow by the fact that Hermione's knowledge was all out of a book she'd got (which she had open on her lap as they talked) while Neville had seen several games before but hadn't memorized the rules.

Harry had also started trying to read his book-for-the-train, which was meant to finish off the whole plot of the Malloreon. He was quite anxious to find out what happened, but all the interruptions meant he'd barely got to the bit where Garion and Zakath were talking to one another after the recap.

"...oh, no!" Neville said suddenly, after the latest group had left. "Where's Trevor gone?"

Harry put his book down again, slipping a bookmark into it, and sniffed.

"...he's not in here," he declared, able to smell toad but not nearby toad. "The window's closed, so he didn't get out that way."

"It must have been when those boys asking if Harry could breathe fire and stuff had the door open," Dean realized. "Great…"

After some discussion, it had been concluded that there were two of them who could actually identify the toad in question. Harry was able to smell well enough to identify Trevor if need be (and that had prompted a four minute digression on how humans could not, in fact, tell animals apart by scent – something which came as a surprise to Harry, though on reflection it made sense) while Neville could naturally do so as it was his toad.

Unfortunately Harry's sense of smell wasn't good enough to tell if Trevor had gone towards the front or the back of the train, so the four of them had to split up. Neville and Hermione went one way, while Dean and Harry went the other – albeit after a delay caused by Harry being asked what he'd started to mentally describe as 'the obvious five questions'.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" (Yes.)

"Why are you a dragon?" (Don't know, sorry, it was a while ago.)

"How did you stop You-Know-Who?" (I was a baby, I don't know that either.)

"Can we see the scar?" (It isn't as if I'm wearing anything in the way)

"What magic can you do?" (None yet, that's why I'm going to school.)

Nobody seemed to be very creative about it all. Some of them came up with extra things to ask, but it seemed to him as though at least a few of them should have started with something different.

Harry's mental running tally of the number of times he'd been asked was up to at least a dozen by the time they reached one compartment, and Dean knocked before pulling the door open.

There were two girls and a boy inside, all of them clearly first- or second-years, though they were wearing Wizard-looking clothes so they were also almost certainly magical.

"Yes?" the boy asked.

"Wait, is that-" one of the girls began, and the boy shook his head.

"No, clearly not," he told her. "After all, if he was Harry Potter, then we'd be able to see his scar. But he's obviously not, because there isn't a scar. Can you see one?"

"Blaise, this isn't you being funny again, is it?" the other girl asked. "I can see the scar. And how many dragons do you think are on the train?"

"Dragon?" Blaise asked. "I thought you were talking about the other one."

Dean snickered.

"Have any of you seen a toad?" he asked. "Someone we met lost one, so we're looking."

"That's a much more sensible explanation than I was expecting," Blaise said, interrupting one of the girls again. "My first thought was that if either of you was Harry Potter going door-to-door on the train to introduce yourself, that would be quite odd. But since neither of you is Harry Potter, I suppose I should have expected there to be another reason."

"Stop playing around, Blaise," the first girl sighed. "There's a toad right here, I was talking to you about it less than five minutes ago."

"It's my home life," Blaise shrugged. "It leaves me starved for meaningful attention."

The toad was duly produced, and Harry pronounced him to be Trevor. The girls introduced themselves, as well, as "Daphne" and "Tracey" respectively, and Harry left satisfied both with a rescued toad and with the memory of an unusually interesting conversation.

The train was going through fields by noon, and Harry had finally had a chance to get properly started on his book. He'd just reached the bit with the Dals when there was a hesitant knock on the door, and with a sigh he put it down again as Dean told the new person to come in.

Harry kept an eye on Trevor, to make sure he didn't make a new bid for freedom while the door was open, and a boy with brilliant red hair stuck his head around the door.

"Hey, is there a space here?" he asked. "My older brothers have invited their friend Lee Jordan in, and he's got a pet tarantula and-"

The boy shivered. "No thanks."

"What do you think?" Dean asked, looking over at Harry – who was taking up more space than any of the others, lying as he was across two seats.

"Bloody hell," the new boy breathed, catching sight of Harry.

"I did have an idea, actually," Harry replied. He lifted his book up to the luggage rack, crouched a bit, then leapt up there with a hiss of effort. His wings half-opened for stability, Harry resisting the urge to beat them because of how much it would mess up the small compartment, and then he was lying down on top of the luggage trunks.

"I thought so," the drake said, pleased with himself. "There you go."

"Isn't that, um… uncomfortable?" asked the newcomer, looking a bit baffled.

Harry shrugged his wings. "I slept in a cupboard for a few years, this isn't bad."

Besides, most of his body was on top of just about everything he owned in the world, and that felt very dragon-like.

At about half past twelve a cart full of food and other things came past, and Neville offered to get them all something. Harry seconded that, jumping down to see what was on the cart, and ended up getting about a Galleon's worth of all the odd things on display to sample and share.

The pumpkin pasty was comparatively normal, except for the use of pumpkin, and Harry was quick to swap a few around for sandwiches – especially those of Ron, the boy who didn't like spiders, and who seemed very grateful that Harry was willing to eat the corned beef sandwiches he'd been given.

The fact that Harry had swallowed the wrapping as well drew more than a few stares.

"Wait, hold on," Dean began, blinking. "Did you just eat that greasepaper?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. It's kind of like the pasty, it's the wrapping around the tastier bits. I've never really found something I can't eat."

"Never?" Neville asked. "You mean, like… you could eat wood, or a plant pot?"

"Both of those," Harry agreed.

"Your digestion must be amazing," Hermione mused. "I don't think it said anything in the textbook about dragons eating anything other than meat."

"Just don't eat the chocolate frogs whole, they've got trading cards in," Ron warned. "Oh, hold on a minute… yeah, there's some Every Flavour Beans here."

He showed a packet to the rest of the compartment, most of whom had never seen one before. "Fred and George said there were some really awful flavours in these – it says every flavour and it really means it, there's stuff like spinach and liver and toast."

Curious, Harry picked out a jet-black one on the end of one of his talons.

"Watch out, mate, I've never seen one that colour before."

"Black," Dean said, thinking about it. "So is that going to be… what, burned toast?"

"Loam?" Neville suggested.

"Maybe it's just liquorice," Hermione said. "It doesn't have to be disgusting."

Harry shrugged his wings, and ate the bean.

"...hmm," he said. "I think that might be motor oil."

For some reason, Harry had the Every Flavour Beans to himself.

"Let's see if I manage to get this one," Dean said, holding the packaging of one of the Chocolate Frogs.

Harry watched his hands, crouching slightly, and his tail flicked from side to side a bit.

"You could at least try not to look like you're waiting for me to drop it, mate," the boy muttered. "Okay, um… here goes!"

He tore the packaging, and the enchanted chocolate immediately made a break for it. It hopped out of Dean's hands, and Harry pounced – though he flubbed it slightly, bouncing it off his nose, and Hermione yelped as she found herself catching the recently dragon-bounced chocolate with both hands.

Harry ended up piled in a heap under the window, then untwisted himself again, and since Hermione was occupied with the chocolate it was Neville who looked at the card that had been in the packet.

"Celsus?" he asked, confused. "I thought he was called Paracelsus."

"Paracelsus means 'Above Celsus'," Hermione told him. "Paracelsus named himself that way because he thought he was better than Celsus."

"Huh," Neville said.

"Mind if I have the next one?" Ron asked. "Let's see if I can keep a hold of this one."

As he caught the frog, however, the door opened – admitting a couple of boys who looked tough and a lot older than any of them.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" one asked.

Harry rolled his eyes, and was about to respond when Ron spoke up.

"Yes," the red-head answered.

"You're Harry Potter?" the other snorted. "No, you're obviously a Weasley."

"Doesn't mean I can't answer the question," Ron pointed out.

The upperclassmen shook their heads, and the one who'd first spoken looked directly at Harry this time. "Why are you a dragon?"

"He doesn't know," Dean volunteered this time. "It was a while ago."

"How did you stop You-Know-Who?" the second one asked.

"He was a baby," Hermione huffed. "He doesn't know that either. Honestly."

"Are we asking him or you guys?" the first upperclassman asked. "Seriously, what is this?"

"You're not exactly being original, mate," Dean said. "We know the answers to these because everyone's asked them."

"Shut it, you," the second one grumbled. "Can we see the scar, at least?"

"Why do people always think you're wearing a hat or something, Harry?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, having been quite confused about that himself.

"Come on, Adrian," one of the boys said. "Let's go. That Weasley at least is probably going to end up in Gryffindor anyway."

Ron seemed quite pleased by the comment, though Adrian did stick his head back around the corner as his friend left.

"Er… you don't know any magic yet, do you?"

"I thought that was why we were going to Hogwarts," Neville said, sounding honestly confused.

When the older boys had left, Harry slid the door shut with a paw. "Thanks, guys… I never thought I'd hear the same questions so many times in a row."

He jumped back up on the luggage rack after snagging the last packet of Every Flavour Beans, and opened his book again.

The train was moving through a hilly region an hour or so later, and Harry had just got to the bit where Zandramas revealed herself to be able to turn into a dragon (though not exactly a very nice one, because of what Zandramas was like) when the door slid open to admit three boys already wearing their school robes.

"They're saying all up and down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment," said a boy with a pale, pointed face. "And that he's a dragon. Where is he?"

"Oh, um… hello, Draco," Neville said quietly.

Harry put his bookmark in place, noticing the two very large boys behind Draco, and said nothing.

"Well?" Draco asked. "Where's Harry Potter?"

Dean Thomas tried not to laugh, and Draco turned to him.

"Think something's funny, do you, Muggleborn?" he asked, making the word sound much nastier than Ron and Neville had.

"Well, yeah," Dean replied. "I mean, your name?"

"What's wrong with it?" Draco demanded.

"It means dragon," Hermione told him, looking up from a book she'd borrowed from Harry. "And you said you were looking for a dragon."

"Well, given who you're associating with, I don't see why I should expect you to know anything," Draco snorted. "Weasleys are practically Muggleborn anyway; my father said they've all got red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

"Hey!" Ron said, half-standing up, and one of the two big boys cracked his knuckles. Ron trembled slightly, but sat down again.

Harry had already decided he didn't like Draco very much, but that made him decide he didn't like Draco at all.

"Well, if he's not here, where is he?" Draco demanded.

Harry coughed.

It was quite satisfying to see all three of the boys jump a bit as they realized the shadows up on top of the luggage rack were actually a black dragon in repose.

"Wait – Trevor!" Neville yelped, spotting his toad making another break for it, and snagged him just before he hopped over the threshold. Draco looked down for a moment, then back up at Harry.

"You're not making a good stab at your first impression with the Wizarding World, you know," he said. "It's important to get to know the right sort, and of those you're associating with already only Longbottom's remotely worthwhile."

Hermione and Dean both reacted to that, one with a huff and the other with another repressed snort of laughter.

"What are you, a gangster or something?" the Muggle-born boy asked. "And how many wizards can there be if we all go to the same school? It took Harry half an hour to get to the train, I think he's made a pretty good impression already."

Draco went slightly pink.

"Potter, I'd be careful if I were you," he said. "If you make the same mistakes as your parents you'll go the same way they did. Better to make the right decisions now, don't you think?"

"What my parents did meant they died," Harry replied. "But it meant that I stopped He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as well. I think they'd think it was worth it."

Draco seemed about to reply, but held his tongue.

"Something the matter?" asked an older girl with a shiny badge on her blue-trimmed robes, looking around the edge of the door.

"No, we were just leaving," Draco replied, and walked off with his friends (?) following him.

"That's good," the girl said, then gave the five first-years a considering glance. "Just so you know, it's about two hours until we get to Hogwarts – you might want to get changed fairly soon."

"Oh – thanks," Harry said, speaking for all of them.

The size of the compartment meant that they had to get changed in three sets – there was no way Harry and the other three boys could all get into their robes at once – and Neville and Dean went first.

Harry gathered that the girl who'd showed up earlier was a Prefect (like one of Ron's brothers was, it seemed), and that they were probably checking in on all the compartments to let them know they were most of the way to Hogwarts. It seemed a bit odd that what was turning out to be a nine hour journey didn't have more than perhaps one or two adults on the train, but perhaps there was some logic to it he hadn't seen.

Hermione went next, meaning all four boys were out in the corridor, and Dean spent the intervening time tugging on his robes and muttering about them. Harry asked if they needed to wear the pointy hats, and the reminder just made Dean shake his head.

"And I thought the uniforms for posh schools were stupid."

"My aunt and uncle sent my cousin to Smeltings," Harry volunteered. "His uniform has a big stick in it."

"What, like a wand?" Ron asked. "I thought Muggles didn't have those."

"No, just a stick," Harry clarified. "I think the only thing you can do is hit people with it."

Then it was their turn, and Harry discovered that perhaps he should have practiced putting on his robes at some point in the entire month of August. It took him fifteen minutes, along with help from both Ron and Neville, to finally get his wings and legs and neck in the right places without the robe forming a kind of giant ruff around his shoulders.

Harry did then glance over at his book, unsure how much of it he could finish but willing to give it a try, then snorted as he remembered something.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"Oh, just – I'd almost forgotten about it, but that thing that happened with Draco," Harry told them.

"That was pretty funny," Ron nodded.

"But it was – hold on," Harry asked, and jumped up to grab onto the storage at the top of the compartment. He got a hindpaw over the lip for support, unbuckled his trunk, and rummaged around for a bit before finding what he was after.

"It reminded me of this," the young drake explained, showing them Tooth and Fang. "It's really funny, it's about this whole society of dragons hiding at a French magic school."

"How do they do that?" Hermione said. "Dragons are very large – well, except for you, and for young ones. But most dragons grow very quickly. I'd think they wouldn't be able to remain hidden very long at all."

"I know," Harry agreed readily. "But that's the thing, they're really helped out by this simple rule all the young dragons get taught."

He waited expectantly, and this time it was Neville who asked first.

"What's that?"

"Wizards," Harry replied, "don't look up."

After a moment's silence, all four of his new friends laughed. Harry grinned, then settled himself a bit on top of his trunk and began reading out a bit of the book.

The Seeress of Kell could wait.

"Monsieur Joseph finished his lecture, and asked if there were any questions," Harry read out. "Red saw his chance, and spoke up from the back of the class. 'What's the password into the staff room?' he asked."

"What, really?" Ron said, trying not to laugh. "That was his big plan?"

"It gets better," Harry replied. "'I'm sorry, I don't think I've met you before?' Monsieur Joseph asked. 'You are?'

Red answered quickly. 'Indigo Disguise,' he said, and adjusted his fake beard and moustache, sure he was completely undetectable."

Over the giggles from the rest of the compartment, Harry continued reading. The dragon called Red, it turned out, hadn't quite made his disguise perfect… but only because there was another student in the class called Indigo Des Guise.

The subsequent four pages described the dragon and the real In. Des Guise getting into a duel of honour, and Red's plan to win the duel without exposing his true identity. They were almost at the opening for the duel when there was an announcement that the train would be reaching Hogsmeade Station in five minutes, and also that they should leave their things on the train.

"You've really got to lend me that book some time, Harry," Dean said. "Is it like that all the way through?"

"Well, the plans keep getting crazier," Harry replied. "Hold on."

He dropped down from the rack, his wand in one pocket of his robes, and corralled Trevor again. "There we go."

"Are all wizard fiction books like that?" Hermione asked.

"Not really, there's all sorts," Harry told her. "I just picked up anything with a dragon on it, but I didn't like half of them. That one was the best."

"Any idea what we do with pets?" Ron asked. "I could put Scabbers in my robe pocket, he's probably been in there before, but you can't really fit your owl in there."

"We probably just leave them on the train?" Harry guessed.

"Nah, I wouldn't trust Trevor in the train on his own," Dean pointed out. "He'd escape."

"I'll bring him," Neville decided.

Hagrid was there on the platform, calling for the first-years to follow him. Harry was pleased to see him, waving a hello, but then there came a bit of a problem.

The first-years had to ride boats to the glittering mountaintop castle that was to be their school, and there weren't supposed to be more than four to a boat.

After a bit of thought, Harry decided that – because there was a big, black lake in front of them – the reason for the boat ride was clearly to get across the lake. Since he had another way of getting across the lake, he solved the problem by spreading his wings and taking to the air.

It also meant he could stretch his wings after so long on the train, and he climbed rapidly into the air with a series of powerful wingbeats.

Unfortunately, Harry was enjoying himself so much in being able to fly – especially in a much wilder and more interesting place than Surrey – that he completely missed when the boats set off, and when he looked around again they'd vanished.

Worried that perhaps he'd made a mistake, Harry landed back where they'd started from (no luck there), then took off to scout around in case he'd just not spotted them. That took several minutes, and he was about to land at the castle front door and admit he'd managed to lose the other first-years when he spotted Hagrid walking out of a sunken passageway.

Alighting with a thump on the soft, damp grass, Harry blushed. "Sorry about that, Hagrid."

"No harm done, 'Arry," Hagrid told him with a chuckle. "Anyone else I mighta been worried, but you can fly and all."

"We could fly if we were allowed broomsticks," someone grumbled.

AN:

And the train journey.

Draco is really quite amazingly unsubtle on the train in canon... which doesn't work very well with a Harry who's spent a lot of the last month reading heroic fantasy novels of one stripe or another.