Disclaimer: Fanfiction = I am making no profit, writing about characters, settings, and in some cases situations which I did not create, and do not own. I mean no disrespect to those who hold the rights to the material I write fanfiction around. I certainly can make no claim to the non-original material found herein.
Harry was having a game of chess with Ron in the Gryffindor common room when the American boy walked in, presumably having come from the hospital wing. Hermione jumped up from behind her well-worn copy of Hogwarts, a History, and quickly succeeded in dragging Toby over to the chessboard. "Are you OK?" she asked him. "I'm Hermione. This is Ron." She pointed, then turned the direction to Harry. "And he's Harry. Your name is Toby, right? You're in our year now."
Toby took a moment to gape at Harry -- his eyes making the familiar flash up to the scar, confirming the identity -- then he remembered to speak. "I'm supposed to be with the fifth-years, so if that's you then I guess yeah. They said my trunk would be here?"
Hermione grabbed Ron by the arm, and pulled him to his feet. "I'm sure Ron and Harry need to unpack too. They can take you up to your dorm."
Ron pulled his arm away from her. "I'm sure he can handle it on his own," he muttered.
"But he shouldn't have to. He's new."
"What are you, his mother?"
Not wanting his two best friends to start a full-scale argument on the first night back, Harry quickly stood up himself. "Let's just help out, Ron. Neville's probably done tripping over things up there by now." Pulling Ron away from Hermione, he gestured for Toby to follow them. Together the three headed up the stairs to the door marked "Fifth Years."
There were six beds now, lined opposite each other, three to a wall. When they entered the room, they saw Neville sitting in the window, looking out over the grounds. As they walked in, he stood up. "I'm Neville Longbottom," he said mildly, "You fainted."
"My name is Toby, not 'you fainted.'" Toby was slowly turning an unflattering shade of angry pink.
"Oh." Neville blinked, then brushed past them, going for the stairs. "I'll go and... and see if I can find Dean, then."
Finding his trunk and abruptly flinging the lid open, Toby muttered to himself. "Here a few hours, and I'm already the screw up. Great."
"Er, why did you faint, anyway?" Harry sat down on top of his own trunk, watching the new boy sorting through various school and personal things.
"Yeah," said Ron. "Afraid of owls?"
"No," he said, turning to conjure a shelf above the head of his bed.
"People who look like Malfoys?" Ron took a step forward, reaching to help the boy take things out of the haphazardly packed trunk to be sorted.
"What's a Malfoy?"
Harry scowled. "You'll find out. So what made you faint?"
"I don't know. That professor just looked really familiar, somehow, then I... just blacked out." Turning around, he jumped at Ron. "Put that down!"
Ron looked up from the battered, red-bound book. "What, family Grimoire?"
Snatching the book out of Ron's hands, Toby turned a peculiar shade of pink, as though he was blushing and paling at the same time. "It - not exactly."
"What is it then?"
"Just... never mind," said Toby. "I can take care of this; why don't you guys go back to your game or something?"
"I was just trying to help." Ron said. "Not my fault if you didn't warn me not to move a book."
"C'mon," Harry said as he stood back up. "Hermione can't be mad at us for doing as we're told, can she?"
Nodding agreement, Ron followed him back to the common room. Hermione looked up from her book as they entered. "Done already?"
"Ordered away, actually." Ron frowned as he sat down in an overstuffed armchair.
"What did you do?"
Ignoring her question, Ron settled himself back into the chair. Harry sat down on the couch. "Ron picked up some kind of family book or something; Toby got upset and told us to leave."
Either of them could swear Hermione's ears perked up at the sound of the word 'book.' "Was it a Grimoire," she asked.
Harry shook his head. "That's what Ron figured, but somehow I don't think so."
Ron suddenly leaned forward in his chair. "You don't reckon it's some kind of dark spellbook, do you? He could have been sent to spy for them!"
"Ron," said Hermione with a frown, "If he worked for the other side, the Hat would have put him in Slytherin. I don't think it can be talked out of a decision."
Harry suddenly found a stray thread on the sleeve of his robe to be very interesting. It was quite hard to forget that the Sorting Hat had tried to put him in Slytherin. Still, it hadn't insisted… The transfer student couldn't be too bad and still have gotten into Griffindor, could he?
"Harry - Harry are you alright?"
He looked up to see Ron and Hermione both studying him. "Hm? Oh, I'm fine. Why?"
Ron shrugged. "You kind of... drifted off." Hermione nodded agreement. Both of them were still staring at him as though they expected Harry to double over in pain at any moment.
Harry stared back at both of them. "I'm fine. The scar is fine."
As his friends continued to stare at him. Hermione gently ventured, "You'd tell us if it wasn't, wouldn't you?"
Harry grunted, and stood up. "It's late. I'm going to bed." He stood and headed toward the boys' stairs.
Ron stood to follow him, but Hermione shook her head. Shrugging, Ron sat back down. "Exploding Snap, then?"
When Harry walked back into the dormitory, he saw Toby was now busily arranging things on the shelf he'd conjured. If the evening had been going differently, he might have spoken, but as it was, he merely flopped down on his own bed.
Toby looked over at him. "I'm sorry I yelled. I shouldn't have. My sister - she's always telling me to try and make as many friends as I can. I guess I've blown that here already."
Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm not sure it's always worth it," he said. Then he frowned; as soon as he'd said it, he knew he didn't mean it. Ron and Hermione meant well. They were only trying to look out for him, just as the three of them had nearly always looked out for each other. "OK, they're worth it. But it doesn't seem like it." He smiled, even though the happy exhaustion of returning to school was beginning to take hold. "So... you've got a sister?" It wouldn't hurt to try to get back on the right foot.
Toby closed his trunk and sat down. "Sarah. She's great."
"Is she a witch?"
"Not exactly. She's magical, but I'm not sure I'd call her a witch."
"What do you mean?" Harry sat up again. Exhausted or not, this could be intriguing enough to give him at least a second wind.
"Well she doesn't do things, make things happen, or anything. But she... she's just not muggle. Not like Mom and Dad, anyway." He shrugged. "So... uh, are you really him?"
Harry rolled his eyes, and fell back onto his bed again. "Yes, I'm The Boy Who Lived. Yes, I have the scar - you've already seen it. Yes, Voldemort is still trying to kill me. No I don't cry myself to sleep at night. And no, I'm not deranged -- although for Rita Skeeter, I might almost be willing to make an exception." Toby opened his mouth, but before he could say anything - even an apology - Harry started to pull shut the drapes around his four-poster. "Goodnight," he said as he finished. Not even having bothered to change into pyjamas, Harry was asleep within five minutes, lulled by the quiet sounds of Toby continuing to shuffle his things into their new places.
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