I slowly pass each cubby once inside the Hogwarts Express. My fellow college students surround me chattering away in excitement and impatience.

After I finished gathering the rest of my supplies in Diagon Alley, Hagrid dropped me off at King's Cross station. He simply handed over my train ticket, and then vanished into thin air by the time I had the chance to ask where the bloody hell I was even supposed to go.

From my experience, there was no '3/4' or '1/2' or '1/4' following a platform number.

I was left alone with overflowing luggage, a new pet owl, and a funky wand that I'm still unsure will either end up helping or killing me.

I had luckily found a friendly group of three fiery haired wizards at the train station. They attracted my attention when I heard the mysterious Platform 9 3/4 mentioned across the crowd. The youngest of the three brothers was in my grade, and his older twin brothers were going into their third year.

The bloke from my grade demonstrated just exactly how to get to this platform:

Running full speed at a bloody wall.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't horrified, but his exuding confidence calmed my nerves. We seemed to naturally click at the time and I was happy to have possibly met my first friend.

But once I had made it to the other side of the wall, I had completely lost track of him.

And worst of all, amongst the chaos of running full speed at a bloody wall.. I forgot his name.

I was cooped up for a large majority of my life; restricted to my bedroom if I wasn't at a game or school, or in a stuffy hotel room if I was forced to travel.

Because of this, I suffer from terrible social anxiety.

Despite growing up with 'undiagnosed anger issues', I never got along with most of the kids at school.

And even though I played lacrosse, I definitely never reached popular-jock status. I didn't really belong to a group.. just considered myself as more of an outcast, I guess.

Which brings me to today; having to fit in with a bloody train full of teenaged witches and wizards.. one of which I already lost track of.

Great start!

After passing what felt like thousands of rows, I finally find a cubby that isn't filled to capacity. I'm faced with three blokes; one short and stubby, one tall and bulky, and one on the slender side such as myself.

The first two I mentioned are babbling on about something to the very uninterested blond sitting across from them.

I stall for a moment as they look up to me.

"Um.. hello." It's the only words I can think of.

The short fat one looks down his nose at me. "And who are you?"

My eyes slowly scale between the three. ".. Harry."

"Harry Potter," the blond states matter-of-factly. He straightens his posture before resting his back against the cushioned seat. It's hard for me to get a read on him and his lackluster tone doesn't help.

"Uh, sure." My newfound popularity makes my cheeks uncomfortably flush.

"Harry Potter," the tall one mocks as he and the short one share a hearty laugh. The beady eyes of the taller one peers straight into mine. The intimidating look – I mean attempted intimidating look – in his eye makes my lips shutter as I hold back a snicker.

"Crabbe. Goyle." The clear leader of the group silences them. "Don't be rude to our new celebrity."

My eyebrows naturally furrow as my eyes curiously dart between the three.

Was he being friendly?

Was he joining in on the mockery?

Wait- why were they even mocking me in the first place?

"Well, what're you standing there for?" the bloke with grey eyes denounces. This time, he makes it easy to detect the irritation in his tone. "Have a seat."

His two minions scoot to the side of the bench leavening minimal space for myself to sit. Apparently, anyone sitting beside the leader of the group was not allowed.

"Think I'll stand, thanks."

I peek my head out of the cubby, let down once again, as I regretfully fail to recognize my friends from the platform.

"Suit yourself." His eyes scan me up and down with an arched brow. "This is Crabbe," he introduces pointing to the stubby one. "And that's Goyle."

They both side eye me with the briefest indication of acknowledgement. It was as if their mum had just ordered them to play nice with the rest of the kids at the playground.

"And I'm Malfoy." He dramatically snaps his neck toward me as he adds, "Draco Malfoy."

"Well, clearly you already know who I am. So I won't waste my breath," I joke receiving zero reaction.

I uncomfortably clear my throat and politely extend my arm toward him. The five second pause he holds sends me into a light sweat before I retract my hand.

A denial of my first handshake.

Thanks for escalating my social anxiety, mate.

I could curl into a ball of humiliation.

But maybe that's what the bloke wanted; to see me scramble.

Two could play at that game.

We thoroughly size each other up before Malfoy reclines back in his seat, placing his chin on his fist and gazing out the window.

There's a solemn, broken.. dark facade that holds my fascination.

It was as if I saw a side of myself in him.. and not a good side, I should note.

"Well this has been.." My thumb points in the other direction as I try to come up with an excuse. My eyes defeatedly close shut as I candidly add ".. extremely uncomfortable." My eyes flutter open as I begin to back away. "It's been a pleasure," I state dryly.

"Don't become a stranger, Potter." Malfoy holds a noticeable spiteful enunciation of my last name.

"Don't worry," I reply placidly. "I won't."

Malfoy raises an entertained brow, the shadow of a smirk on his face, as he turns to peer out the window once more.

I let out an unkempt sigh of frustration as I turn the corner. My fists hold clenched at my sides as I continue my journey down the aisle.

Breathe, Harry.

Breathe.

A group of familiar voices catches my attention from a couple rows down.

Finally.

I enter the cubby to find the same animated group of redheads from the platform. "Chug Ron, chug!" both twins cheer on their youngest brother.

Ron.

That was his name.

Ron finishes the beer before crushing the can on his head and flexing the invisible muscle on his right arm. I chuckle with the rest of the guys as they turn to me.

"Oi! Harry!" The extrovert motions his hand for me to join them. Ron hands me a beer before leading us into a toast. "To Hogwarts University!" We all cheers before cracking open our brews.

My cheeks hurt from grinning as I hadn't smiled since.. I don't even remember when.

Ron's lower lip suddenly drops as his eyes zone in on my hand. "What is that?"

"Oh, it's uh.." I glance to the cellphone that tended to stay glued to my hand at all times. "My iPhone."

"Your wha'?" George and Fred ask in unison.

"It's a cellphone," Ron scolds his brothers as he swipes the phone from my fingers. "But this one.." His eyes widen as his fingers trace the glass casing. "They're really rare. Dad hasn't had the chance to get his hand on one."

"Are you yanking me?" I question. "iPhones have been out for over 10 years! This isn't even the latest edition."

"There are editions?" Fred leans over his brother's shoulder gawking at the technological device. "Bloody brilliant, those muggles."

The iPhone screen lights up as I receive a text. "What's it doing?" Ron hesitates, now delicately cradling the device in both hands like a baby. "Did I break it?"

"No," I chuckle swiping the phone from him. "Invading my privacy is more like it."

The genuine confusion on their faces gives off the vibe that I was suddenly speaking a new language.

"I've noticed that your family is.. em.." I narrow one eye as I observe their ragged luggage and clothing. ".. modest. But surely you own cell phones?"

"We aren't muggles, mate." George replies in a tone that makes me feel like the biggest idiot on the planet. "We've got no use."

"Muggles," I try to keep up. "So you don't fancy alcohol?"

The responsive roaring laughter in my face frankly pisses me off.

But my humiliation is short lived as I reassure myself that there clearly was a language barrier taking place.

"Is this not considered alcohol, George?" Fred taunts as they tap beer cans.

"Hagrid called the bartender a muggle!" I irritably insist. "And whoever created Fireball whiskey-"

"Oh! That's what he's saying!" Ron encourages his brothers. "Hagrid's a bloody alcoholic, that git."

"Thanks Ron," I reply sarcastically. "Took myself a while to figure that one out.." I withhold an eyeroll while taking a seat on the bench.

I couldn't have been on this train for more than an hour and I was already confused and agitated to high hell.

This experience was surely going to test my patience, and I certainly wasn't well-known for having much to offer in the first place.

"Muggles are non-magic folk." An angelic voice appears from the heavens, putting an end to my ignorant misery.

I do a double take at the attractive brunette with long wavy curls who stands in the entrance to our cubby with both hands perched on either side of the doorway.

The self-assured smirk on her face silences all of us. Her eyes uncomfortably transition between the four of us; all of us blokes gawking at her beauty.

"And who are you?" George asks in a much nicer manner than Gargoyle; or whatever the bloody hell his name was.

The witch grabs her bookbag from the floor, stacking several textbooks into one arm. She invites herself in our booth and takes a seat across from me with her books held close to her lap.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she introduces with a confident voice. "And.. you are?"

"Geor- Fre- Ro- Harr-" The guys and I grimace after eagerly talking over each other.

"I'm Ron," the wanker beats us to the punch. "Ron Weasley."

"Fred. George." The twins introduce each other.

Hermione lightly smiles to the three. "Pleasure." Her eyes ultimately fall on me as I squirm in my seat.

"Harry," I blurt with a brief hand raise.

I look between the three who act as if they had never been around a girl before. I take initiation, as I if I had the choice, and turn the attention to the textbooks held safely against Hermione's lap. "Getting a head start on the curriculum?"

"Oh, God no!" She places a hand over her heart in shock. "I'm rather behind. I mean- I've learned all of the set textbooks by heart, but there's still much to be learned."

"You're telling me," I respond with a light chuckle. "At least you all have had previous schooling."

"No, mate." Ron slowly shakes his head without looking at me. "I think she's new too. I would have noticed her." He promptly turns tomato red at the realization of his transparent attraction to the bird.

"That's nice of you to say." She kindly smiles purposefully ignoring his awkward comment. "And you'd be correct."

My eyebrows furrow in disbelief of the bookworm.. I mean, she had just said that she knew the entire bloody textbook by heart for fucks sake!

"So.. I'm not the only first year?" I skeptically confirm. I'm having trouble believing that this was her first experience in the wizarding world as well.

"Technically you're all first-years at the University, mate," George pesters.

"Oh, you know what he meant," Hermione defends folding her arms. "And no, Harry." She turns to me with warm friendly eyes. "You aren't the only one. Mum and dad were rather surprised when I received my letter over summer," she shares. "Both muggles."

"A muggle born?" The twins say in fascination. "Our dad studies them."

"He's my dad too," Ron unnecessarily adds.

"Is that right?" Hermione opens up her bag and pulls out another book; this one hand held and most likely for free time. "Appears as though Harry and I will have much to fill you blokes in on, then." Her eyes flicker to me before casually opening her book and readjusting in her seat.

I can't hold back a grin.

Maybe this wouldn't be such a lonely experience after all.