"Bah. It's all about perception, lass. Everyone shrieks and cries that a curse is dark because it causes pain, but pain isn't dark. The entrail-expelling curse isn't a pleasant curse. It's not a nice and happy spell you show to your grandkids when you're bouncing them on your knee. You won't find many good people casting it because most good people don't want to cause others pain... most people don't have it in them to do that to another human being. I've cast that spell before, and I'll cast that spell again if you show me a cunt worth casting it on. I'm no saint, and I'm certainly not Dumbledore; I'll use whatever spell is at my disposal if it means putting a murderer in Azkaban where they belong! That doesn't make me worse than those evil bastards, not by a long shot. And I'll break Albus' nose again if he insinuates as much." -Alastor Moody to Amelia Bones over an early morning coffee after a long night. October 1964.

Chapter 7:

"Ah, there you are lad," Tom the barkeep called out to Harry as he trudged down the steps with his trunk banging every single one.

Harry smiled at the old man and raised his hand. "Hey Tom, I've got my key right here, and the room is in mostly good condition, minus the scorch marks on the ceiling that we'd already talked about."

Harry liked to think he'd been an excellent patron during his two month stay. Well, there was the time or four when he'd set the bed-sheets on fire while practicing his spells. Not to mention the potions mess that almost melted through the floor when he had let it simmer for too long. There was also the unintentional party he helped throw in the dining room during the Puddlemere United vs. Holyhead Harpies match, but that wasn't entirely his fault. Yes, he'd bought a number of rounds for everyone that cheered when the Harpies scored. And yes, he had been one of the few people that had started singing the Harpies' theme song when Puddlemere had to call a time-out after one of their Chasers was knocked from his broom and broke fourteen of his bones – but most of the room was singing by the end anyway.

Besides, he had not been responsible for the raucous singing of Welsh drinking songs long after the game was over. Harry didn't have any Welsh pride, he was English for fuck's sake. The Holyhead Harpies were his favorite team because the all women's roster was seriously hot and kicked tremendous amounts of ass both on and off the pitch.

Harry had became a fan of the Harpies shortly after Luca introduced him to the wonderful world of Quidditch. Despite having grown up watching football and rugby, Harry had never really found himself that enticed by either of the sports. But Quidditch... Quidditch he loved. It was only natural then that he'd deck himself out in merchandise that showed his support for his favorite team. The local branch of the Quidditch Club Store had all kinds of things one could buy to show the world their loyalties. Harry had purchased a few jerseys, roughly seven graphic t-shirts, two scarves with different designs, and to top everything off he bought two posters.

Poster number one simply featured the starting roster. The seven woman team was fully decked out in their uniforms and gear, and they had their game faces on. The star Beater and Captain of the team, Gwenog Jones, was standing up at the front, leading her team. The impressive woman had her club held aloft, ready to smash heads and bludgers both as she dominated her opposition with her team right behind her every step of the way. The aura it gave off was honestly quite intimidating – Harry wondered if it was charmed to be like that, or if Gwenog Jones really just had that much of a presence. Poster number two on the other hand was of a far more salacious variety. The suggestive work of art featured the three starting Chasers, with rising star Valmai Morgan taking center stage. The three gorgeous woman were dressed in wonderfully skimpy and tight versions of their official uniform, leaving very, very little to the imagination; but what really sold the poster was that said gorgeous woman had posed while straddling their brooms in quite literally the most provocative positions imaginable. Harry had never been so thankful for the fact that magical pictures moved. And by the gods did these girls know how to move.

"Ah, no worries there," Tom replied, waving off Harry's comment. "None of the owners, not me nor my many predecessors, have ever bothered to have structural runes installed. We have to repair things a bit more often, but the repairs are cheap; and I like to think they add to the character of this old place." Tom looked around the aged building with a warm smile.

Harry followed suit and really tried to get an appreciation for the nature of the Leaky Cauldron. Breathing deeply, Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus his nebulous sixth sense on more than just the obvious magic around him. Unclear on what, if anything, he might find, Harry ignored the wards and small sources of magic that were in every direction. He wasn't trying to focus on magic that had been cast or placed, but something deeper – something more intrinsic.

Harry no doubt left Tom quite confused as he fruitlessly examined the building. There was nothing to dive deeper in because there was simply nothing there. The spirit of the building was just the atmosphere perpetuated by the friendly staff and goodwill of the patrons. There was no magic, it was just placebo. Such is what logic would dictate anyway, but Harry had already learned his lesson on that front.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

There!

The smallest of flickers. A minuscule flash hinting at something more. Harry didn't know what exactly it was, but he could tell that it was in fact, something.

The sound of a plate being placed in front of Harry pulled him from his meditation.

"'Ere's your breakfast, lad." Some sausage and bacon piled high next to a few over-easy eggs, and a side of raw, sliced tomatoes. This simple but delicious breakfast had become his staple meal over the past few months.

Harry didn't let his disappointment about being pulled from his trance show on his features. Whatever he had felt was easily the most ephemeral piece of magic that he had been able to Sense yet. For all he knew it could just be a deeper aspect of magic buried into the wood itself, but even that brief flash had felt like something more. Based on what Ollivander had said there weren't many books on the subject of sensing, so it looked like this phenomenon was something he'd have to puzzle out on his own. Ah well, that was for another time.

"Thanks Tom, I'll miss your cooking when I'm gone."

Tom barked a laugh. "No you won't, lad. I can promise you that where you're going serves way better food than what I serve on your average day."

Harry raised a single eye-brow, silently urging the barkeep to explain while he enjoyed his morning meal.

"I'm telling the truth. Some of the best meals I ever 'ad came from my days at 'ogwarts," Tom nodded enthusiastically as he magically directed a pitcher of ale to refill the mug of another patron, already deep in her cups despite the early hour.

"Seriously? Meals that good came from a school?" Harry asked, nodding his thanks as a cup of tea was set before him.

"Oh, absolutely. There's supposedly scores of 'ouse elves specialized in cooking that work for the school," Tom sighed, a far off look entering his eyes. "What I wouldn't give to 'ave a 'ouse elf assist me around 'ere."

"Um hey, still new to magic – what's a house elf exactly?" Harry asked confusedly. The image of a brownie popping into his mind.

"They're these tiny, little creatures that are completely bald with these 'uge bulbous eyes. They clean, they cook, they 'elp with anything you need of them, really."

So they were almost exactly like a brownie, only better in every conceivable way. Harry had no need for one right now, but once he eventually got his own flat it might be a worthwhile investment. To have someone around that could cook and keep things tidy, that sounded like a dream come true. Harry technically could cook, but why would he want to when there were literally millions of other things he would rather be doing? The same logic applied to cleaning, only magnified by a factor of seven.

"They sound useful," Harry remarked, blowing on his tea to help it cool.

"Damn useful!" Tom agreed, slapping his rag on the counter. "Problem is they're expensive as all get-out."

Harry shrugged, unconcerned with the price should he eventually look into getting one. "Shame," he commiserated with the old man. The Leaky Cauldron saw a lot of business, but Harry doubted the low costs were conducive for making a lot of money. Tom struck him as the type that took over the establishment for no other reason than it was what he loved doing.

Tom glanced towards the large clock mounted on the wall behind the bar. "It's almost ten, lad. You best get moving soon. Wouldn't want to miss the train, now would you?"

Harry nodded his head in agreement. "I'm just flooing to the platform; but I still wanted to get there pretty early, so thanks." He downed the rest of his tea and reached out to shake Tom's hand. "It's been a pleasure, Tom. I'll see you next summer, yeah?"

Tom returned the handshake and nodded at the boy who'd been a near constant presence in his tavern for the past few months. "See you then, lad."

Wheeling his trunk behind him, Harry approached the large, mantled fireplace set up as an outbound floo passage. Dropping a few knuts into a currently bereft bowl, Harry scooped out a handful of the floo powder Tom had available and tossed it into the empty stone hearth.

"Platform nine and three quarters," Harry intoned, very deliberate in his enunciation.

Green flames that were utterly devoid of heat surged upwards in a brilliant display. Harry took a deep breath, and for the first time he walked forward into the magical fire. Floo travel was awful. It felt as though he was swiftly being pulled down a very tight drain. He shut his eyes tight, feeling as if his entire body was awhirl at a rapid pace, his recently consumed breakfast churning inside him. The roaring in his ears deafened him to all other sounds as he continued to spin. And spin. And spin. And spin. Just as he was on the verge of getting sick it was suddenly over.

Harry stumbled forward ever so slightly, most of his inertia magically washed away or never existing to begin with, he couldn't tell. The small coat of soot covering his person automatically dissipated, leaving him clean once more. Proper etiquette drilled into him after watching others use the floo for the past few months caused Harry to immediately step off of the exit grate and move to the side – therefore allowing that specific inbound floo passage to once more be available for use.

Standing out of the way of other passersby, Harry decided to take a moment to calm his still raging stomach. The next time he had to use the floo he was going to make sure at least an hour had passed since his last meal. Apparition and floo travel both were absolute murder on the stomach. No doubt they became more bearable the more familiar one was with them, but that wasn't much of a comfort to the young teen that still felt a bit nauseous from the magical journey.

Platform nine and three quarters was already teeming with life as students of varying ages wished their families farewell for the coming months before boarding the gargantuan scarlet steam engine. Harry was blown away by the sheer size of the hulking monstrosity. It dwarfed every other train he had ever heard of, let alone seen. Multiple stories tall, at least twice as wide as any other passenger train, and over a dozen carriages long – it was obvious, even from his comparatively ignorant perspective, that the Hogwarts Express was an unparalleled marvel of magical engineering. Even whilst barely focusing, Harry could easily sense the intricate magic at work within the locomotive. Comprehending what it was he was sensing was far beyond his rudimentary capabilities, but Harry was still awestruck by the majesty of the magical creation before him.

Harry was glad he'd arrived almost an hour early as the crowds were already pretty severe, he almost couldn't imagine how busy the platform would be in the final minutes before it left the station. There was on average over 1100 students that attended Hogwarts every year. Packing that many students plus their families onto the large platform all at once would've likely pushed it beyond capacity but spread out over the course of an hour or two and it wasn't nearly so bad. The platform was still crowded, of course, but not unbearably so. Alice had requested to meet Harry before he boarded the train, but he'd declined by not responding. Petty? Maybe, but he didn't care. The two letters she'd sent to him thus far had not been unpleasant reads, exceedingly casual and impersonal since she danced around trying to offend or upset him, but it was a useless effort, he wasn't about to reply. He'd been honest in his declaration that he didn't hate her, but that did not mean he actually wanted anything to do with her. Alice was his godmother, he would not deny her that title, no matter how hollow and devoid of emotion it rang.

Harry grinned at the sight of a group of older students as they idly floated on brooms probably some fifty feet in the air. He couldn't wait to try flying for himself. If he had so chosen he could have gone to visit one of the many Quidditch Clubs and paid for some lessons. For most people, unless they knew someone that owned private land that was heavily warded against muggle sight, Quidditch Clubs and the extensive property they had at their disposal were the only places where they were legally allowed to recreationally fly. Harry was 100% certain that people flew outside of these areas all the time, but if seen by muggles the Ministry would levy some seriously hefty fines. Three instances of said fines and then they'd turn towards criminal charges, charges that could vary widely in scope. Harry only knew of this because he'd checked.

The Ministry Security Services, or M-sec as it was colloquially known, had a branch in Diagon Alley that was strictly devoted to keeping the peace in the largest magical district this side of the continent. Honestly, the building itself was nothing special. Just a large station attached to a small office building; it was unsurprisingly quite reminiscent of the police stations Harry had tried so hard to avoid in the muggle world. Inside the station a bunch of various M-sec officers milled about, some desk jockeys, others appearing to be field officers not currently working the streets – Harry's interest in them had been minimal either way.

It had turned out that Harry's questions on the legality of flying were far from being an uncommon occurrence. The man working the front desk had seemed disappointed that all he had to do was reach into a single drawer and pass along a small booklet. Harry was impressed that they had a detailed booklet outlining the law surrounding a singular area of interest. Said impressed attitude only lasted long enough for him to realize just how regulated flying was. To say he was disappointed did not do any justice at all to the immense sorrow he felt knowing he would likely never get to speed through the streets of London on a flying broom. Intellectually, a small part of him had already been aware of the probable impossibility of his dream, but it had still been quite the devastating blow all the same.

Though, such strict regulation on flying had brought to Harry's mind an entire separate line of questioning. It didn't make any sense to him that magic was able to be kept secret. Surely, after hundreds of years, someone would have dropped the ball on the existence of magic? Especially since cameras and video tapes had become commonplace, it just didn't make sense that magic was still a secret. His curiosity piqued, Harry had then asked the officer at the front desk about the Statute of Secrecy and how it was maintained, and once again he was handed a small booklet.

It turned out that there was more to the Statute of Secrecy than he had initially suspected. Thanks to the magic of The Veil, one person flying a broom wouldn't bring the entirety of the Statute of Secrecy crumbling down, but the powers that were and continue to be all agreed that being brazen in the use of magic in front of muggles was still ill advised. The Veil was a magical haze that was forcefully settled over all muggles when the Statute of Secrecy went up in 1692. The Veil worked by causing muggles to simply not see or recognize magic; or if magic was seen, it forces muggles to somehow rationalize what should be impossible as something that makes sense. A wizard on a broom would either not be seen, or they would simply be a large bird that went flying by. A witch shooting a destructive spell clearly had a gun in her hand rather than a wand. Thanks to the magic of The Veil, one person flying a broom wouldn't bring the entirety of the Statute of Secrecy crumbling down, but the powers that were and continue to be all agreed that being brazen in the use of magic in front of muggles was still ill advised.

Harry had been amazed to learn that the Statute of Secrecy was far more than just a law passed by the International Confederation of Wizards – it was the single largest and most well coordinated magical endeavor in the history of the known world. Thousands of wizards and witches all over the globe had channeled their magic into a single ritual circle, a circle that had a diameter extending over a mile long. One ritual, and the knowledge of magic was erased from every single muggle on Earth. In a flash, what was once commonplace did not exist to the majority of the world – their minds were rewritten and their histories changed, never again to be aware of the true supernatural.

As Harry had suspected, keeping muggles in a state of ignorance required more than just removing their memories a single time. There was still magic in the world, and all it would take was one untamed dragon to shatter the illusion that had been so carefully crafted – and so the Veil was conceived. The Veil, a way to ensure that muggles would never learn of the wonders that existed right beyond their doorstep. The Veil wasn't foolproof, of course; some humans were able to see through it better than others, and if the magic in question was blatant enough, anybody would be able to do so – hence the laws that every single magical country on Earth honored strictly. Making it illegal to directly use or cast any magic in front of a muggle that didn't already have ties to the magical world was commonly agreed upon as the best method to help keep the Veil in place. Which was why every single country magical country, along with the ICW itself, had entire task forces dedicated to nothing but maintaining the Statute of Secrecy by obliviating muggles and covering up every real piece of evidence that suggested magic was real. 'Muggles must be kept ignorant' – that was the consensus that was shared by every single magical country for almost three hundred years.

Harry understood why the magical world wanted to stay hidden. If muggles knew about magic than it would undoubtedly lead to war. There was simply too much potential for danger. Muggles would either want to use magic, or they would fear it – and neither one of those were favorable outcomes. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that magicals would win said war, should it ever come to pass. Sure, muggles had bombs that could blow up cities – but would they know where to drop them? Magicals could teleport, read minds, dominate wills, vanish matter, and unravel physics. It was simply for the best that muggles remain ignorant of magic – their continued survival depended on it.

Mentally saluting the flying teens, Harry eventually reached one of the many ramps that led up and into the train, specifically the one that was closest to the locomotive itself. It barely felt like he was even walking onto a train, the scarlet behemoth was so far beyond anything he'd ever seen before that his natural expectations were having trouble keeping up with reality. Nothing about its size made sense, and yet thanks to magic, here it was. At the top of the ramp standing directly to the left of the doorway there was a smiling, middle aged man with a brown mustache dressed in a resplendent red conductor's uniform.

"Welcome, good sir! You're a first year, correct? I can always tell when someone is a first year! Ah, it's so good to have you aboard!" The conductor said, he was far too chipper for Harry's taste.

"Mhm," Harry nodded politely and tried to move past without responding. The longer he listened to this guy the greater his chance of getting a headache. He really did not want a headache on top of his still rattled stomach.

"Not so fast there, friend, I've got a few things I need to share with you."

Harry had never hated being called "friend" so much in his entire life. The lively conductor seemed so obnoxiously genuine in his exuberance, it was almost painful.

"This!" The man swept his hands in the air and gestured around him. "IS THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS!"

Harry decided to strike the almost, now it was actually painful.

"Requisitioned in 1827 by Minister Ottaline Gambol, the Hogwarts Express is the combined product of wizarding and goblin ingenuity!"

Loathe as he was to actually listen to the conductor's voice, the impromptu history lesson did still hold his interest to some extent.

"Goblins helped make this?" Harry asked, slightly surprised. His one and only experience with goblins thus far had been vexing to say the least. If the goblins involved with this project were Gringotts goblins then the wizards of the past had his sympathy.

"Indeed! The Revilgaz clan's experience with magical railways and carts was instrumental in the construction of this beautiful locomotive! Why, to this day there are a few goblin engineers that work on and service the train!"

The Revilgaz clan, huh? That makes two distinct clans of goblins thus far. Hopefully, if he encountered any of them, they wouldn't be complete cunts like the Gringotts goblins had been. Harry really fucking hated the Gringotts goblins. He didn't care how good at their jobs they were.

"That's nice," Harry remarked quickly, "can I go find a seat now?"

"Of course!"

Thank you!

"But only after I finish telling you about the layout of the train!"

Fuck.

Harry mentally begged for someone, anyone, to walk up and take the conductor's attention away from him. "You have twelve seconds to finish your spiel, man, and then I'm walking away." He normally considered himself to be a fairly polite person, but there was something about this guy that was driving him up the goddamn walls.

The conductor's achingly genuine smile widened. He took a deep breath, and then he spoke. "My name is Clinton Magnolis and I shall be your conductor for today's journey. Cars four and twelve are dining cars where a number of food and beverage options are available for purchase. The second and third floors of car number one are reserved for the Head Boy, Head Girl, Prefects, and the conference they will hold; in the rare event that a teacher is on board, then they too are reserved a spot on the first car. Aside from those two designated areas, you are free to sit anywhere on the train. The sweets and tea trolleys will begin their rounds in approximately two hours time, we only ask that you please clean up after yourself the best that you are able. The entire journey to Hogsmeade Station will take exactly eight hours, forty two minutes, and thirty nine seconds regardless of any inclement weather or giant attacks. Please enjoy the ride!"

Harry stared at Clinton with wide eyes and his mouth agape, absolutely dumbfounded at the display of what could only be magic. It wasn't just that the conductor had spoken inhumanly fast – finishing his introduction in the exact time frame that Harry had allotted – it was also the fact that despite only picking up every third word, he somehow understood the exact meaning of what the man had said. "What – I don't – how?"

Clinton motioned him into the train proper with an elegant bow as Harry walked past him shaking his head. That conductor was weird and Harry was more than content to not think about him further at this time. Looking around, the young teen realized that the interior of the train was larger and even more grand than he had expected; tastefully decorated and incredibly luxurious, the Hogwarts Express blew every other train in the world out of the water. While still reminiscent of the trains he knew in terms of layout, the spacious compartments and hallways almost caused him to forget that he was even on a train at all.

Car Three, compartment H, got it, Harry thought to himself as he stored away his trunk. There weren't too many students on the train just yet, so he had picked a random open compartment after meandering through the first few cars. He had no intention of spending the entire trip inside of his compartment, not when there were so many things to do and people to meet. Which people were actually worth meeting was the question though. Harry was an extrovert, there was no question on that front, but he'd rather avoid conversing with fools if he could avoid it.

Harry decided to head to the dining car and enjoy a nice cuppa while he waited for 11 o'clock to roll around. Claiming a seat by the window, Harry idly watched the throngs of families as they bid farewell to the children they wouldn't see for months. It surprisingly wasn't a particularly sad affair – despite his expectations, it looked like bidding your kids goodbye for such a lengthy amount of time was just another aspect of wizarding culture. Harry knew numerous people back in the muggle world who's parents would have never consented to such an arrangement; and even if they had, the goodbyes would have been tragic displays filled with ugly tears and long hugs. Magicals just did things differently he supposed.

"You would not BELIEVE the morning I've had!"

Harry jolted his attention to the voice of the young witch that had just unexpectedly claimed the seat across from him without so much as a greeting. An exceedingly attractive girl around his age, with lightly curled dirty blonde hair, dressed in a white crop top that stopped just shy of where Harry guessed her belly button was, and a pair of navy-blue overalls with one of the shoulder straps hanging loosely at her side.

"Hello to you, too," Harry said bemusedly; more than happy to entertain the voluptuous young woman, but still perplexed by her sudden entry into his life.

"Oh yeah, hi!" The strange girl smiled at him, showing off pearly white teeth. "So back to my morning, yeah – okay, so my mum KNOWS how I like to be early to things, right?"

As the forward young woman launched into her story without a moment's hesitation, Harry settled back into his seat with an amused expression, resigned to the fact that he would be hearing about her terrible, no-good, very bad morning.

"She knows this! That's why I packed the night before. That's why I had most of my things laid out for this morning. OH, and I even gave Leesy strict instructions to wake me up by 7:30!"

Harry had no clue what a 'Leesy' was but he nodded along anyway. "You had it all planned out," he agreed.

"Exactly!" The brazen girl didn't even ask before pouring herself a cup of tea from the small pot he had ordered. Sure, you can have a cup. Ah well, she was cute. Harry had a habit of letting cute girls get away with things he would happily smack others upside the head for.

"The plan was perfect – we'd floo over around 9:45 and have all of our goodbyes done before 10:15, this way I could be happily on board the train and ready to go by 10:30."

Harry glanced at the clock that clearly displayed 10:39 and wondered what was wrong with the girl.

"But nooo~, right before we're about to leave the house mum walks up and starts bitching about my outfit!" The young woman huffed and took a sip of her tea, she made a face and proceeded to add copious amounts of sugar and a healthy splash of milk. Harry made a mental note to talk to her about that at some point; tea with that much sugar was downright American.

"That seems a bit rude of her," Harry concurred, innocently inspecting the outfit of his spontaneous companion once more. No complaints from this side of the table, he mused. As a healthy teenage male, he thought her clothes were perfectly fine and acceptable. If anyone tried to claim that his evaluation was influenced by how well her outfit showed off her body then they were clearly a liar.

"Merlin, you don't know the half of it," she took another sip of her drink and nodded happily, seemingly pleased that she'd vanquished the flavor of tea. "Today she was like, 'you can't go out dressed like that, look at how much cleavage you're showing off!'"

The girl's dramatic re-enactment caused Harry to almost choke on his drink. The voice she used to mock her mother was clearly one she was well practiced with.

"And I was like, 'yes mum, I know I have big tits, thanks for pointing out the obvious.'"

Harry burst out laughing at her blunt declaration, barely managing to not spill his drink in the process. This girl was odd, no doubt about that, but damn he liked her so far. "No argument from me on that front," he chuckled.

She raised an eye-brow and wryly grinned at him, "you would have to be a either liar or blind to argue with me there."

Harry again chuckled at the young woman's brazen attitude and returned to looking out the window; with only twenty minutes left until the train departed, the platform was positively flooded with people. Harry wasn't normally the type of individual that cared for arriving early, but he was glad for his foresight today. Trudging through those crowds looked like pure hell.

"Before you share with me the finer details of your argument with your mother, can I get a name to work with?" Harry asked, cutting off the girl in question before she could continue her story.

"Whoops, my friends all tell me I can be rude sometimes – my name is Lavender Brown," the now identified Lavender shook Harry's proffered hand.

"Harry Evans, charmed."

"Anywho, so after I mentioned my tits my mum got even more offended; which is weird since I got these from her." Lavender mimed grabbing her chest but stopped short of giving the world a free show. "Then she started on one of her modesty rants again, but I've gotten pretty good at tuning those things out."

"Modesty rants are a regular thing with her?" Harry asked, clearly surprised.

Lavender nodded exaggeratedly. "Oh yeah, they've become a weekly thing of late," she briefly paused to take a large drink of sugar with a bit of tea. "She has actually stopped me from leaving the house multiple times before because I was wearing a Swish and Flick shirt. Can you believe that?"

"Swish and Flick?" Harry wasn't familiar with the name of what he assumed was a band. Even in the muggle world music hadn't been a topic he was particularly interested in. The popular bands and top singles he was familiar with, but anything besides what made it to the top of the charts and it was beyond his sphere of knowledge.

"You haven't heard of Swish and Flick?" Lavender looked like someone had just punched her in the stomach and then she'd seen a ghost. "OH MY GOD!" She yelled, unsurprisingly gaining the attention of half the passengers in the car. The humongous grin on her face gave Harry less than a second's warning before he was rammed over at full speed by the power of a fan-girl. "Oh my god! I don't know how you haven't heard of them, but they're literally the coolest band in the history of everything!"

Harry recoiled slightly, "I'm about to learn all about them, aren't I?" He asked, hoping to whatever higher power might exist that the band in question didn't have a long history.

The apprehension in his voice must have been obvious because Lavender deflated in her chair with a disappointed look and replied, "not if you don't want to, no."

Well that wasn't going to work. Harry had a thing about making cute girls sad – he liked to call it "don't." The possibility that she could just be faking her disappointment was acknowledged and immediately cast aside because Harry didn't care – he was now going to learn about Swish and Flick even if it killed him. Gods above, he really could be the biggest sucker in the world sometimes.

"You have twenty minutes to start off with," Harry said, grinning in spite of himself as Lavender immediately perked up. This obsession might be a bit unhealthy, Harry thought. Just talking about a band should not result in such drastic shifts in mood... Ah well, he'd refer to it as her passion for now and leave it at that. "After twenty minutes we'll reevaluate and go from there."

Lavender nodded happily. "Right, so the band was formed by five friends who all went to Hogwarts together back in eighty-four –"

Harry contentedly leaned back his chair with his drink in hand, ready to learn about the band that gut instinct told him he would become intimately familiar with over the next seven years. Hell, he had a gut-feeling that listening to Lavender in general would become a very familiar pastime going forward; and honestly, based on his first impressions of the girl, he was okay with that.

OoooOoooO

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"What if I add a cherry on top?"

"Maybe, but I want an actual cherry."

"Daph~! You know that's not fair!"

"You're the one that wants to go meet the Boy-Who-Lived, not me. You have to make it worth my while."

"Helping your best friend isn't worthwhile to you?"

"Nice try, but no."

"But he's like your cousin or something! You have an in!"

"You do realize that not every pure-blood is closely related, right?"

"Well, for like five minutes can we just pretend that you're his cousin?"

"Tracey, he's like five compartments down from us. Just go chat with him if you really want to."

"But I'll be outnumbered..."

"Didn't you say he already had two friends with him?"

"Uh huh."

"So even if I do go we'll still be outnumbered."

"You tend to scare people, so I always count you as two, sometimes three if you've had a really bad day."

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome!"

"Smiling at me like that isn't going to help."

"Then what will help? Because I really want to go meet him. Ever since he did that interview for the Prophet a year ago I've had a crush on him, you know this!"

"I still don't understand why you like him so much."

"Why don't you? He's cute, rich, smart, sweet, and did I mention cute?"

"Merlin, Trace..."

"Don't judge me, you know I have a weakness for cute boys."

"Fine, you win. I'll come."

"You're the best, Daph! Have I ever told you that?"

"Yes, you have, and I'm going to want to hear it at least three more times once you're done flirting and in the process of getting me a cherry."

"You really want a cherry now, huh?"

"I'll take any food at this point. I could eat a hippogriff right now."

"That's what you get for waking up late."

"It's not my fault my bed was comfy..."

OoooOoooO

Ron Weasley could honestly say that when he woke up that morning he had no idea that he would be sharing a compartment with the Boy-Who-Lived while on the train to Hogwarts. Everyone knew who Daniel Potter was. Everyone. The guy's name was more well known than practically anyone else in the last century aside from Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and You-Know-Who. Famous beyond belief and he was just sitting there, chatting away like he was just another teenager. To most people Daniel Potter was a hero. His story was one of undeniable tragedy, yes, but that just made the world even more thankful to him. A living testament to the fact that good triumphed over evil – an icon of hope in a world that could always use some more of it. Given that he was only a baby at the time, Ron obviously had no memories of when You-Know-Who terrorized the country, but his eldest brothers had told him stories about those dark days.

The way their mother used to watch the family clock every time their dad went to work. How none of the kids were allowed outside of the wards, and how their mum still preferred them to stay inside the house, even during the day. The nervous conversations their parents would have in hushed tones when they thought the children couldn't hear or see them. Their uncles' funeral that none of the kids had been allowed to attend, and how their mum had been utterly inconsolable for weeks afterwards.

Even hearing about the effects the war had on his family secondhand had left Ron with a deep-seated gratitude towards the Potters – the family that had brought an end to it all. Ron knew that Daniel Potter was only a baby when You-Know-Who attacked, but he was grateful all the same. Even if he didn't remember what had happened, he had still paid a price – a price that Ron would never personally wish to pay for anything. Orphaned at age one. Famous because he survived when his family was slaughtered. Ron couldn't imagine what that was like.

When Ron had accidentally almost knocked Neville Longbottom over while trying to lug his trunk up one of the ramps, he was sure that he was going to die out of a mix of frustration and embarrassment. The trunk was Charlie's old one. It had multiple expanded compartments so he couldn't complain too much; but unfortunately the lightening enchantments had stopped working, which honestly explained why his brother had passed it down to him in the first place. Bill had guessed that the runes used to help seal the 'poorly cast' enchantments as permanent had simply faded with time. Given that the trunk in question was older than even Charlie was, it wasn't exactly a surprise that it was breaking down. Bill was an absolute genius when it came to runes, and he had promised to fix the trunk at some point. Repairing the enchanted trunk was apparently much harder than it sounded; Ron had asked if he could just fix it then and there but he had been soundly rebuffed.

'The expansion and lightening enchantments are both attached to the same runic array, Ron – a patented array. If I break into the patent seal to look at the array then I'll be breaking the law. If the patent seal is still functioning properly it will alert the manufacturers, and they could have M-sec come down on me for theft. I could of course circumvent the patent seal because I'm me, but that's extremely illegal and could even get me locked up in Azkaban if it was discovered I'd done so. I will fix your trunk, I promise, but I'll have to build an entire separate runic array that interacts with the first seamlessly. The difficulty in doing so is that I don't know exactly how the original array reads, and by extension I don't know how it will interact with the new enchantments I'm adding nor the runes I'm trying to inscribe. There will be a bit of trial and error, some guesswork, but I should still be able to do it without issue – but it will take some time.'

Ron knew that Bill was good on his word, and eventually he would roll back into town having put together the perfect solution to leave his trunk even better than when it was first enchanted. Ron had accepted that it would be awhile though. Bill would probably enjoy the project because he was weird like that, but he also had a full-time job that kept him busy. Ron would be a right prat if he pestered his brother to help him when the guy was in the middle of working his dream job.

So that meant he had a trunk that could easily store all of his belongings, but it also weighed a metric fuck-ton. Even with both of the twins actively maintaining levitation charms on the blasted thing, it was still a royal pain in the arse to move up and onto the train – especially when their pitiful attempts resulted in one of the wheels sliding off the ramp. Ron was certain that the small crowd of amused onlookers would spread jokes about how many Weasleys it took to get a trunk onto a train. He had to admit that it was probably a fairly amusing sight, but he was absolutely going to help Fred and George remember their faces for future revenge. Weasleys always got even – that was just how they were.

It took them far longer than it should have, but eventually, through the combined mix of magic and the bodily strength of three tall teenage guys, the Merlin-be-damned trunk was successfully hoisted up and onto the train. It was of course at that exact moment that Neville Longbottom had been walking by and was thus almost bowled over by Ron and his ungodly heavy trunk. What followed was a quick exchange of apologies as both boys tried to take the blame for the narrowly avoided incident. They then introduced themselves, and just like that Neville invited Ron to come sit with him and his 'brother.'

In hindsight, it should have been obvious to whom Neville was referring to as his brother. Everybody knew that the Longbottoms had adopted the Boy-Who-Lived and retreated from the world after the Potter family was all but wiped out. Ron didn't consider himself the most knowledgeable individual when it came to politics or the Wizengamot, but even he knew that the Longbottoms were a very old, very powerful family. The world would notice them retreating even if they hadn't taken in Daniel Potter, but since they had it was front-page worthy news.

Besides, Ron had read the interview Daniel gave the Prophet about a year back; he didn't keep a framed copy on his wall like Ginny did, but he had read it a time or two when it circulated the news for a few weeks. In the interview, Daniel specifically made note of how he considered the Longbottoms to be his family. It couldn't get any more blatant that that.

Ron held no illusions when it came to his intellectual prowess, he was cut from the same cloth as Charlie rather than Bill, Percy, or the twins (much as they tried to hide it). He wasn't dumb by any means, but he was more of an action oriented kind of guy rather than the scholarly and contemplative type. Even then though, his inability to associate Neville Longbottom with Daniel Potter was quite the embarrassing error. Ron felt that he deserved the good-natured chuckles from Neville and Daniel in response to his stammering when he realized just who it was that had been waiting inside the compartment. He could appreciate a bit of friendly ribbing; growing up with five older brothers and a very cheeky little sister taught him to not get offended over the little things.

Ron couldn't help but stare at the infamous scar on Daniel's forehead after he'd introduced himself and taken his seat, but he had refrained from asking any insensitive questions and instead just chatted with him like he was any other bloke. It was almost surreal just how ordinary Daniel Potter seemed. Expectations must have gotten to Ron's head more than he thought since he felt so surprised by the normal, casual atmosphere that permeated the compartment.

The three boys must have been sitting there and chatting for over an hour when the door was abruptly thrown open.

"How's it going, little brother. Hey, did you know there's like twenty people gathered around outside this compartment all just whispering about you?"

Ron was rather bewildered by the sudden entry of the boy around their age that looked pretty damn similar to Daniel. If Daniel took off the glasses, pierced his ears, grew out his hair and lazily tied it back, Ron wasn't sure if he would be able to tell the two of them apart. Oh, and the newcomer affectionately referred to Daniel as 'little brother,' that was weird too.

"I didn't notice, but I'm not surprised – hey, what took you so long? We agreed to meet up on the train before it took off."

Okay, so Daniel expected this guy would show up. That knocked off some of the apprehension he felt, but it still left him with a fair bit of confusion.

"And now we are meeting up," Daniel's look-alike said with a grin, idly brushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes as he plopped down on the seat next to Ron.

"We left the station over an hour and a half ago," Daniel argued. Even through his bafflement, Ron could tell there was no heat in their bickering – it reminded him of his own interactions with his siblings, actually.

"I got held up talking to this really cute bird in the dining car. And let me tell you, this girl is something else. So, I'm just sitting there, enjoying my tea when -"

"Umm, who are you?" Ron asked, interrupting the newcomer's tale.

The strange clone of Daniel turned towards Ron with a surprised look on his face, he paused and considered the red-head when a flash of understanding showed in his eyes. Without hesitation he smiled and extended his hand, "I'm Harry Evans, Daniel's evil twin -"

"Would you please stop introducing yourself like that?"

"- that was deemed too dangerous to be raised around magic, so I was raised in the muggle world instead. Pleased to meet you," Harry trailed off expectantly, clearly waiting for Ron to return the address.

Ron smiled at the strange introduction and gladly shook Harry's hand. "Ron Weasley."

Harry smiled and then returned to his story, gesticulating every little detail as he did so – from sipping tea to the size of the girl's breasts, he mimed it all.

"And then she just started commenting on my hair and gave me this hair-tie," Harry said, turning slightly and pointing to where he'd haphazardly tied it up.

"Mate, that's a scrunchie, not a hair-tie," Ron laughed, even for someone he just met he was not about to let him get away without that distinction being made.

"Damn, I was really hoping no one would notice that."

"Are those prancing unicorns?" Neville leaned in to get a better look.

Daniel followed suit and he immediately looked like Christmas had come early. "Oh my god, they are." Ron had only known Daniel for an hour or so, but he couldn't imagine the guy looking more pleased than he did at that moment.

"Yeah, the unicorns aren't my favorite, but it was the only one she had in her bag that was mostly dark colored, so I took it," Harry shrugged, trying to give off the impression that he didn't care. He wasn't fooling anybody. "You think I should've gone with the bright red one instead? Maybe the sky blue?"

"Nope, this is perfect," Daniel hadn't taken his eyes off his brother's hair, for a moment Ron swore he saw his pupils turn into hearts. "Nev, grab the camera!"

"What makes you think I have a camera?" Neville, or Nev as he seemed to go by, asked, bemused by the request.

Daniel pulled back away from his twin to look askance at his adopted brother.. "Mum asked you to bring one to Hogwarts. If you didn't bring one we've gotta pick one up somehow. She'll be super upset if we have no pictures to show her come Christmas."

Neville's eyes widened considerably as he pointed at himself, mouth agape. "Me? She asked me? Daniel, I was there, she clearly asked you!"

Ron was greatly enjoying the byplay as he munched on one of the four sandwiches his mum had made for him. Corned beef was bloody disgusting, but food was food and Ron Weasley was not the type of person that let good food go to waste. 'Good' may have been a stretch for corned beef, but it wasn't poisonous, and that was enough for him.

"I know I wasn't there, but she probably asked you," Harry cut in, pointing towards Daniel while solemnly nodding his head. "I'll remember you both fondly when Frank kills you for making Alice cry."

Both Neville and Daniel looked at Harry incredulously. "You've made her cry more than anyone!" They both accused.

Harry shrugged unconcernedly, opening up one of Ron's sandwiches – apparently having snagged one for himself at some point – and taking a bite. He chewed exactly three times before shuddering as he swallowed. "No offense, Ron, but these sandwiches are fucking rubbish. Corned beef? Seriously?"

"It's pretty minging, right?" Ron agreed as he took another bite.

Harry seemed downright horrified by Ron's actions and abruptly pulled the sandwich out of his hand. "Hey! I was eating that," Ron said around a mouthful of the world's worst sandwich. He may not have been overly fond of the food, but he was still going to protest its absence – especially since it was the only thing he had available.

"I can't in good conscience let any friend of mine eat that filth. Come on, let's go to the dining car. I could use something that actually tastes pleasant to clear my palate." Harry stood and turned towards the door while Ron slumped back in his own seat.

"You go ahead," Ron muttered dispiritedly, "I'll just eat this stuff." He tried not to sound bitter towards Harry for having the money to live so freely. Being poor sucked, yeah, but he'd come to terms with it years ago. Acting like a petty child in regards to his family's finances had caused his mum to cry once. That had been an eye-opener on its own. Percy's lecture helped him understand their family's situation. Fred and George both hexing him had really made the lesson stick. Ginny setting fire to his Chudley Cannons' posters was just cruel though.

"No need for that," Harry said happily as he motioned Ron to come with him. "Let's go get some good food."

"Don't have the money, mate."

Harry sighed but remained by the door as he stared Ron down. "I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't intend to pay, you know?"

Ron waved off the admittedly kind offer but still didn't move from his seat. "I appreciate it, Harry, I really do – but I don't do the whole charity thing."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Cut the stubborn pride shit, and let's go grab a bite, please," He huffed as he bounced in place, clearly eager to leave the compartment.

"Hey, let's not insult anybody, yeah?" Daniel stepped in between them with outstretched arms.

"Just leave it, Harry," Neville added, his voice stern.

Ron narrowed his eyes at the black-haired teen but didn't bother responding. Harry was trying to be nice by offering to pay for his meal, yeah, but even though he'd accepted his family's financial status years ago it still wasn't something he was happy about. It wasn't the type of thing he felt like advertising anymore than he already did with his prepacked food and second-hand clothes.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Harry exclaimed, annoyed by the turn of events and glaring at the two censuring him. "Two months ago I was literally buying half my meals using the money I got from pick-pocketing tourists while they shopped at Harrods. I know what its like to be poorer than dirt better than both of you, so save it!"

Ron gaped at the young teen, scarcely believing his own ears. "But the Potters are rich!" He blurted out. The Potters were another one of those wealthy and politically involved families that had a lot of money to their name. Admittedly, most people only knew so much about them thanks to the Boy-Who-Lived being a Potter. They were an old family, but up until Daniel Potter became the most famous baby in Britain they'd been a fairly private one.

"I didn't know I was a Potter until recently – hence my last name being Evans," Harry responded blankly, leaning up against the door-frame. "My foster parent had seven other kids to feed and take care of. I could help her out by scrounging for my own cash, so that's what I did."

Daniel was morose as he reclaimed his cushioned seat. "I didn't know things were that bad for you. Mum said Miss Morrison had a nice place..."

Harry inclined his head towards his brother in acknowledgment. "The house and cars were paid off years prior thanks to the money she got from her family. But the pension she receives as a soldier's widow is minimal, and the subsidies she gets for fostering amounts to enough to survive, but all in total its not enough to give the young kids in her care the lives they really deserve."

Ron was still stunned by the rapid reveals about Harry's life. He watched in silence as the now broody teen opened the compartment window and smoothly stuck a cigarette in his mouth. Well, that confirmed that he was raised by muggles, at least. Ron only knew what those things were because two years prior he had woken up in the middle of the night while Charlie was trying to sneak out of the house. His second oldest brother then proceeded to borrow their dad's Ford Angela and drive off towards the nearby muggle town. After confronting him the next day, he showed Ron the muggle liquor and 'carton of smokes' that he'd purchased.

"Why didn't you tell me, Harry?" Daniel asked, intently watching his twin. "Didn't we agree to be honest with each other?"

Harry breathed heavily out the open window, the smoke creating a small trail as the train sped past. "I knew you and Morals-Mcgee over there would get on my case about it." Harry lazily gestured over to Neville who was quietly muttering to himself.

"Stealing is wrong, but he did it for a noble reason... But do the ends justify the means? It's in the past, but does he acknowledge it was wrong? It's complicated but -" Neville looked up, having only just realized that the other three people in the compartment were all staring at him. "Sorry, I don't mean to be a prat, I just..." He trailed off briefly before firming his resolve. "Stealing isn't a victimless crime, Harry. Even with your good intentions, that's not the type of thing I'm okay with."

Harry rolled his eyes and returned to looking out the window, muttering quietly about shoving a silver spoon up Neville's arse.

Ron had always been told that theft was wrong, but when he was actually confronted by someone admitting to having stolen things he found he really didn't care. Especially not with the reason Harry had supplied. "No judgment from me," Ron said, countering Neville's more strict and lawful stance.

Daniel looked disappointed and turned towards Neville, the two became engaged in a rapid but hushed argument. Ron couldn't quite make out what they were saying and decided it wasn't his place to intrude on their private conversation, even if he could easily guess the topic.

"I get it, Ron, I do," Harry spoke up once more, his voice slightly muffled as he leaned out the window. "That whole idea about not wanting anyone to look down on you because you don't have money – I get it."

Ron rose from his seat and joined Harry in leaning out the large window. He silently accepted the cigarette offered to him, but made no move to place it in his mouth.

"Just answer me this one question," Harry paused, but Ron immediately nodded at him to continue. "What good does it do? What do you accomplish by stubbornly refusing everything people offer you? I mean, you turned down a simple meal from me – but what's the point?"

Ron wasn't sure he had an answer for that. Situations where he turned down the kind offers of others didn't exactly happen a lot, so he hadn't given much thought to the reason why. No one was proud to be poor, that much was obvious. When someone turned down the charity of others it was a way to show that despite facing financial woes, they were still capable of standing on their own two feet. That they could make it in the world without having to rely on others for help. Was that really nothing more than stubborn pride?

"I only just figured it out right now, but do you know what it looks like from the outside? What it looks like when you turn down a meal from a friend?" Harry queried, now watching Ron intently. He didn't bother waiting for a reply. "It just draws more attention to how poor you are."

Ron didn't respond as he watched the smoke make patterns in the air before succumbing to the pressure of the wind.

"I hadn't even thought about the reason why you had sandwiches," Harry continued. "It wasn't until you made a point of turning down my offer that it became apparent."

Ron's ears reddened. "Thought it was obvious between my clothes and the food," he mumbled despondently.

There was never a time Ron hadn't been aware of how poor his family was. It was just the type of thing all the kids had been aware of. They knew to expect hand-me-downs rather than brand new clothes. Well, except for Ginny of course. As the only girl, none of the boys were exactly up in arms that she got new things. They weren't about to force their baby sister to wear boy's clothes, after all. But aside from her, they knew they were wearing clothes that had no lasting enchantments – clothes they'd seen on their siblings hundreds of times in the past. If something broke they had to try and fix it themselves, because there wasn't a chance in hell that they would be able to afford a new one. The kids never asked for expensive brooms or shiny, enchanted toys. The older model would work just fine, they'd find something else that was fun to play with.

The Weasleys weren't completely destitute by any means, but a family of nine subsisting off the income of one earner took its toll. Bill and Charlie being out of the house helped a fair bit, but that was a comparatively recent development after so many years of being at home. Not to mention the fact that any time it seemed like the Weasley family might finally be getting a leg-up, they were hit back down, hard. Dad got a bonus at work, time for Dragon Pox to sweep the country and force two of the kids into St Mungos for weeks. Bill moves out and is entirely self reliant, time for one of the old anchoring stones for the wards to break. That was just the life of the Weasleys.

"You really think it was that obvious? That's just you being insecure, mate," Harry said bluntly.

Am I really just being insecure? Ron wasn't convinced it was quite that simple, but he couldn't deny the logic. Most people probably didn't think much of their friend offering to pay for lunch. To Harry, the idea that he'd pay may not have even been a conscious decision.

Harry reached over and lit the cigarette still held loosely in Ron's fingers, "feel free to either smoke that or pass it back this way, up to you."

Ron considered the small white and yellow cylinder in his hands. He recalled how Charlie told him not to tell their mother about his purchases lest she kill him and bury the body out back. I'm on my way to Hogwarts, might as well have some fun. Ron brought it up to his mouth and inhaled deeply.

"Ah, shit! Not that much -"

Ron quickly turned green and started coughing, Harry chuckled lightly as he patted his back. "Thanks for – the warning," Ron barely managed to get out in between coughs.

"Sorry mate, forgot to mention that part. No biggie though, literally everyone I know did the same thing. Including me." Ron found it a bit difficult to think of Harry's apologies as sincere when he was laughing so much. "It's more of an initiation rather than a rookie mistake. The proper method is to breathe in a bit, hold the smoke in your mouth for a second, and then inhale the smoke into your lungs. It's far more pleasant that way."

Ron tried again, the proper way apparently, and he still hated it. Harry chuckled once more as Ron passed the smoke back to him. "Not sure smoking is really my thing, mate," Ron leaned out the window even further to take in the nice, clean air as he tried to expunge the remaining smoke from his lungs.

"It's not most people's thing," Harry shrugged, tapping the loose ashes off. "Hey, good on you though for actually trying before making your decision. My general motto for life is 'I'll try anything once', so, respect."

I'll try anything once, huh? Not a bad motto. Harry's maxim for life was honestly something Ron liked the thought of. Gryffindors had daring and nerve, didn't they? There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he would be a Gryffindor, it didn't hurt to start living up to the reputation expected of him even before he got to Hogwarts.

"Good way to live," Ron agreed.

Harry grinned and suddenly pointed his wand towards the two cigarettes in his hand."Desinae," he intoned, his wand tip moving in a circle. The lightly burning ends of the cigarettes abruptly stopped glowing, and Harry stuck the apparently cooled remains in his back pocket. "I'll dispose of those properly later, flicking them out windows is a dick move. Now, come on!" Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder and moved towards the door.

"What? Where are you going?" Daniel asked, having been drawn away from his ongoing debate with Neville by his twin's antics.

"Ron and I settled our differences, and now we're going to go grab a bite," Harry confidently declared.

"I didn't agree to that!" Ron contested. The guy may have made a few good points, but Ron still wasn't sure he wanted to accept his new friend's offer.

Harry cocked his head to the side quizzically as he looked back at Ron. "You just said you'll try anything once. It's time to try letting me buy you some food so you don't have to eat literal shit."

"Corned beef is not that bad you guys," Neville interjected.

"Yes, it is," Harry and Ron said in unison, grinning at one another in surprise.

Ron had just agreed to the daring adage, but he was still reticent on accepting charity. "Low blow, mate," he accused. Harry probably knew it was a low blow, hell, it was probably why he had said it.

"First rule of being poor and not stuck at home, Ron," Harry began sagely, his pointer finger held aloft as if delivering a lecture. "Never – and I mean never – turn down free food. Not only does free food taste better because it's free, but free things in general are good. That means free food is practically good-squared."

Ron blinked once. Twice. A third time. Though he didn't quite understand why, the strange logic was slowly finding a foothold in his mind. "Free things are good," he muttered softly. Harry's humorous delivery aside, he was trying to take the words to heart. Obviously the food wasn't legitimately free since it was being paid for, but Harry's persistence showed how little he actually cared about spending money on good food. Ron honestly wanted to accept the offer – he really, really hated corned beef – so if he turned his friend down, wasn't that nothing more than stubborn pride?

"Exactly! And since I'm both rich, and an epicurean by nature, sticking with me means lots of free things!" Harry was obviously trying to sell him on his way of thinking... and damn, it was kind of working.

"Free food is especially good," Ron repeated, he wasn't sure what an epicurean was, but the gist of Harry's words were still finding purchase within. Why would I not accept when a friend is offering? I'm poor either way, but there's no benefit to be gained if I turn him down, right? If Harry really doesn't mind spending the gold, then why would I turn him down...?

Daniel watched as Harry continued to tempt Ron with food like a siren would tempt sailors with the promise of sex. "Harry's got him hooked now," he sighed. "Neville, when he eventually gets me too, remember me as I was."

"Don't worry, Daniel, I will."

The more Ron thought about it, the more he was really coming around. Yes, he was poor, but that didn't mean he had to wallow in self-absorbed unhappiness and act like a sad sack to the first friends he'd met on the train. Accepting his friend's generous invitation didn't make him a charity case at all. Harry's invitation to get food when he knew Ron couldn't pay had nothing to do with him being a burden, it meant that Harry honestly just wanted to invite him to come along. It wasn't pity – it was kindness!

Besides, I can always pay him back later when I'm rich and famous!

"Alright, Harry," Ron started as Harry began fist pumping the air, "I think you've convinced me, let's go get some food!"

"That is what I'm talking about, Weasley!" Harry shouted triumphantly. "That little voice in the back of your head, his name is Inhibition, and he's a right fucking bastard. Stick with me and you'll quickly learn how to drown him in a river and get rid of the body!"

There was a brief moment of silence in the compartment. "Seriously, what is wrong with you?" Neville asked, seemingly convinced more than ever that Harry was mentally unstable.

"He's right, Harry," Daniel chimed in, a slightly concerned look in his eyes, "you've got problems."

Ron on the other hand was grinning ear to ear. Sure, the metaphor was a bit violent, but the spirit of it was about cutting loose, and that sounded like a hell of a lot of fun.

Ron wasn't like his eldest brother – he didn't share the almost prodigious level of talent Bill displayed when it came to magic; nor the desire to go places where others didn't dare to and unravel the world's secrets. He wasn't like Charlie with his love for dragons and competition; nor did he have the same level of skill that he had on a broom. Percy and his academic drive – his unparalleled need to make sure his name, their family name, was remembered by history. Ron didn't have anything like that. He wasn't Fred or George either. Their love of pranks, their talent for originality, and their shared ability to make someone laugh regardless of how bad their day was – that skill set belonged to them and them alone.

Ron wasn't his brothers, and that was okay because none of his brothers were exactly alike either. Each of the Weasley brood was unique in their own way. Ron admired his brothers for the individual talents and abilities they had; the lives and paths they'd already attained or were still in the process of carving out for themselves. By the time Ron graduated, he was going to make sure all of his siblings could look at him and think that he had something that was worth admiring.

Ron had sworn years ago that he was done feeling envious of his brothers, and now it was time to for him to swear off feeling sorry for himself because he was poor. He was going to start by grabbing some good food with his new, strange friend that had a wicked grin and a glint in his eye. Fuck his insecurities about money. Fuck his lazy desire to fall back on the cushion and eat his disgusting sandwich. There were a million interesting things that he could do each day and damn it all, he was going to start experiencing them for himself because he was Ron-Fucking-Weasley!

"Bloody hell, I think I just had an epiphany," Ron exclaimed, his own thought processes taking him by surprise.

"Atta' boy, Weasley!" Harry encouraged. "Tell me all about it once we've placed our order! See you later, Daniel." Harry stepped out the door before sticking his head back inside and offering Neville a halfhearted wave. "You too, Nev, I guess."

Ron grinned at the two remaining boys and offered a more enthusiastic wave of his own. "Bye, guys!" And though he never would have guessed it at the start of his day, Ron Weasley left the compartment containing the Boy-Who-Lived to go hang out with his slightly mad twin.

Forced to stop behind the slightly shorter boy after closing the door behind him, Ron realized there were in fact a number of people standing around in the hallway, all of them keeping a weather eye on the known location of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Follow my lead," Harry whispered quietly before he suddenly clapped his hands and called out loudly. "Alright then ladies and gents, Daniel Potter will now be receiving fans and well wishers!"

Ron had to disguise his laugh as a cough to keep from ruining Harry's charade. Ron may not have loved practical jokes as much as Fred or George, but he still had a healthy respect for messing with one's siblings.

"Only two people at a time, please," Harry continued. "We still have plenty of time on the train and I will remind you that we are all attending the same school. Autographs and pictures are okay, but please refrain from asking any crass personal questions."

Ron honestly couldn't believe it when a facsimile of a line began to form. This is brilliant.

There were two girls at the front of the line, one a blonde, the other a brunette. Both girls were exceptionally attractive and appeared to be around their age. Ron wasn't exactly the most experienced bloke when it came to girls, but that was another thing he intended to change now that he was at Hogwarts.

The blonde girl raised an eyebrow at Harry imperiously. "And who are you to dictate such rules?"

Harry accepted the challenge without hesitation. A cocksure smile in place, he took a small step forward so the surprisingly short girl had to actively look up to maintain eye contact. "My name is Harry Evans, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, twin brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, and right now I'm the one telling you how its going to be if you want get inside and see Daniel." Harry capped off his dramatic introduction with a small wink.

Ron wasn't able to disguise his laughter that time. If that moment had been Ron's introduction to the guy he probably would've hated him, but he knew to look for the signs that Harry was just fucking with the cute blonde. The titles were all real, but the attitude was just an act.

Ron could see the shock and suspicion painted across everyone's features. It was one thing to hear the Boy-Who-Lived had a brother – honestly Ron was still catching up to that point – but to hear it brazenly declared as Harry just did added a whole new level of disbelief.

"What? Bullshit!"

"Nice try, kid, but pick something more believable next time!"

"Could he be telling the truth?"

"No way."

"But it's possible, right?"

"I think he's full of it."

Harry's confident smile didn't slip as the crowd doubted his claims. Ron would bet every sickle he owned that everyone gathered would ask Daniel if he really did have a brother. The whole train would likely know within the hour.

"Liar," the blonde from the front of the line accused with narrowed eyes, her friend seemed stunned into silence as she intently studied Harry's features.

Harry shrugged blithely as he stepped to the side and dramatically gestured towards the door. "By all means, sweetheart, ask the little-brother-who-lived yourself." Like any good friend, Ron mimicked Harry's movements on the other side of the door. Showmanship was important, after all. Fred and George had taught him that quite well.

"Fine, I will!" The blonde sneered. "Come on, Tracey!"

The brunette followed after her friend, but gasped loudly as she studied Harry's face whilst walking past.

"Daphne! I think he was telling the -" the noise from within the compartment was abruptly cut off as Harry closed the door behind the girls.

"Well that was fun, let's grab some food, yeah?" Harry chirped.

Both Ron and Harry ignored the numerous gob smacked gazes and inquiring comments that followed them as the two walked away. They were far too busy happily discussing the foods they hoped were available.