Thank you to all you lovely people who reviewed me already. I really am happy that someone (besides me!) enjoys this story.

Oh, and by the way . . . I don't own Harry Potter or Sailor Moon. Just in case you were wondering.

Enjoy!

Notes 6/21: Somehow . . . I managed to completely rewrite this chapter. So . . . it's rather different. Similar . . . but different. And a lot longer. Almost twice as long. Heh. Heh heh. -_-;;



4. Hogwarts Express



After our week in London, spent mostly gawking at the various shops on Diagon Alley, it was finally time to part ways. We stood near the entrance to King's Cross, the train station from which we would take the Hogwarts Express to Hogwarts. An awkward silence had spread to encompass the three of us: Michiru, her mother, and I. Her father hadn't been able to get leave from work at the last moment, so he had not accompanied us.

We just stood there for several minutes, Michiru and I with our carts holding our school supplies and other assorted items, Michiru's mother gripping tightly with both hands the handle to the Muggle suitcase that had held her clothes for the week. A loud clock nearby sounded the half hour--10:30--and we all jumped.

I suppose I ought to get going . . . Michiru's mother trailed off. After all, I have to return the rental car . . . and get to the airport at least two to three hours ahead of time . . . I really should have left a few minutes ago . . .

Don't worry, I think we can find the platform ourselves, right? I threw a glance at Michiru who took up the slack by nodding her emphatic agreement.

. . . after all, it's not like we haven't been on trains alone before. She added, smiling wryly. We can figure something out. Although we probably ought to get going too.

Silence, again, this time for a shorter period of time. Then, suddenly, we were all hugging each other and crying and wiping each others' tears away and assuring each other that it's not like we're going to be gone forever, and we can always send each other owls, right?

I will miss you so much . . . I whispered through the lump in my throat, still hugging Michiru's mother, the woman I had come to think of as mother to me as well, in all but name. Being your daughter, if only for this short a time, has been an experience that I will treasure forever.

I, too, have greatly enjoyed having a second daughter. She replied, tears still shining in her eyes. Something indefinable passed across her face, so quickly I could not quite tell what that emotion was, that had been shunted out of the way so efficiently.

Finally, I drew away, noting absently that Michiru had already done so. As I wiped those last tears from my eyes, I reassumed the mantle of strong, responsible pseudo-seventeen-year-old.

Again, the uncomfortable silence descended, but all three of us acknowledged that this was the last time. Well . . . I guess I'll see you at Christmas.

Nearly four months from now . . . it seemed so far. Yeah. See you at Christmas.

Then, what was left for us to do, but turn and walk away. Still, I paused, watching the retreating teal-haired figure that looked so much like her daughter. Watched, until even her back descended out of sight, and I turned to see Michiru had turned and watched much as I had.

. . . I guess this is it.

No turning back now.

Where had all my enthusiasm gone? We were embarking on a new adventure, one that this time held a much higher probability for our continued survival than usual. One we had been anticipating practically since we first received the letters. So . . . what was stopping me now?

. . . I miss them already. Michiru said softly. And I realized that was why. I had forgotten, if I had ever learned, what it was like to be a part of a loving family. And, suddenly, it was a feeling that I very much didn't want to lose.

So I just took that extra step to Michiru's side and put my arm around her waist. With a soft sigh, she leaned against me, letting her head fall to my shoulder for the moment. I suppressed the desire to turn around once again and simply nodded, my cheek against her soft hair. . . . so do I.

So do I.

* * *

Platform Nine and three-quarters is not visible to the naked eye . . .' Michiru quoted what her mother had told us the former evening in our room at the Leaky Cauldron, as we discussed the following day. She never did explain exactly what that meant, though. Just that we'd find it between platforms nine and ten.

Only now, when it was rather too late, did I wonder at the wisdom of coming on, assuring Michiru's mother that we would be able to cope quite well. I had forgotten that there was magic involved, a magical system with which I was entirely unfamiliar. I glanced warily up at the clock just as it rang quarter to the hour. So we had fifteen minutes left, more or less, before our train was due to leave.

The air here doess not tasste right. Keldir, my snake, muttered from within the cloth bag he was being held in for the duration of our journey. I ssay, old chap, I don't ssupposse you'd be willing to let me out, would you?

Despite the excessive (and mostly faked) English accent, I could tell the request was sincere. Finally, I shrugged, and opened the bag just enough for him to exit, climbing up my arm to coil loosely around my neck and upper body, his head right below my chin. Ah. I was right. The air here most definitely does taste different.

Extending my feelings . . . my rapport with the air, if you will . . . I came quickly to the conclusion that he was correct. Michiru. The air currents around here are . . . warped. Not the way they should be if all was as it appeared to be. It feels almost as if there was an open space instead of a solid wall . . . I looked around, then finally focused on the solid brick column several yards in front of us. . . . there.

. . . not visible to the naked eye . . .' Michiru blinked. This is what Mom must have meant. Somehow, they've managed to construct an illusion of a brick wall in order to safeguard the platform from people who don't belong.

We rolled our carts closer to the wall, and I reached out my hand. Furtively, shielding the motion with both my and Michiru's bodies, so that hopefully no funny questions would be asked. We wouldn't want to attract undue attention to the area, after all.

Although we had been half-expecting the outcome, both Michiru and I gasped as, coming into contact with the wall, I instead reached through thin air, my fingers seemingly disappearing into the brick. We exchanged looks. First I, then Michiru, pushed our carts through the so-called wall' . . . and into an entirely different area. Much larger than any of the platforms outside, it was also far more crowded. And more . . . interesting. It is not at the everyday train station, after all, that one sees owls flying around, numerous cats making their way through the crowd and ignoring the toads and rats that also abounded, if in lesser quantity, and people dressed in flowing robes that varied anywhere from solid black to neon pink with orange stripes.

In my plain blue jeans, goldenrod yellow T-shirt, and somewhat ratty sneakers, in fact, I was beginning to feel almost underdressed. It felt like even the children around not already in robes had made an effort to dress up. I shrugged the feeling off for what it was--silly--and the two of us began to weave our ways through the crowd, angling more toward the end of the train--as I had the suspicion that that was where most of the empty seats would end up being.

We had turned toward a door, the end in sight, when a trunk--much like the ones we possessed--crashed down right in front of our carts. Avarana--that's Michiru's owl--screeched her displeasure as our abrupt stop caused her to bump the front of the cage. Michiru and I exchanged glances and were about ready, shrugging, to maneuver around the obstacle and pay it no mind, when the girl fell on top of the trunk, dropping out of thin air, and my cart abruptly suffered the addition of a small grey cat.

The girl exclaimed. She stood, slowly, one hand rubbing her rear contemplatively. Standing, she looked to be about the same height as Michiru--perhaps an inch, no more, shorter than me. A single high ponytail gathered cotton candy pink hair away from a heart-shaped face that seemed vaguely familiar to me for some reason, and in each ear hung a simple gold loop, thickened in the middle to resemble a crescent moon--much like the earrings I had worn as Sailor Uranus. Red-brown eyes flicked around, taking in the scene and coming to rest on our carts and us with an expression of chagrin.

I've got to talk to Puu about those landings, she muttered, and both Michiru and I started. Suddenly suspicious, I picked up the grey cat--no longer as tiny as I remembered, if not quite fully grown either. Sure enough, there was the golden crescent moon, shining innocently from the middle of the cat's head. Diana's head, I should say.

I passed Diana over to the girl. I like the new hairstyle. What prompted the change?

Huh? Thank you. She took the cat back and her eyes focussed fully on me. Do I know you? Flick, her eyes went to Michiru, who still looked essentially the same as she always had--just smaller. They widened, then flicked back to me and narrowed. You look . . . She blink. Haruka? And you were twitting me about a change in hairstyle?!

I shrugged elaborately. Had to say something to get the conversation started.

Her eyes still flicked back and forth. What happened to you two? Is it a new enemy?

More like an unforeseen side-effect to an old one. Michiru said wryly. She glanced over at the clock on the wall, and I followed her gaze. Five minutes, maybe less. Listen, can we do our talking after we board the train?

Oh, you're on this train, too? Chibiusa sighed in relief. I'm glad someone I know is. So where is it taking us? Puu only said that it would be someplace safe.

Michiru cast a harried glance at the clock again. We'll fill you in later. I assured her. Now let's get on before it leaves without us!

* * *

The black-haired boy sat in a shadowed corner of the compartment, watching the red-haired family with a certain amount of envy. He wished he had a family like that. Noise at the door to the compartment attracted his attention as a pink-haired girl backed her way in, dragging a trunk. Turning her head, probably so she could see where she was going, she seemed to catch sight of him for the first time.

Abruptly she dropped her trunk, blushing, and bowed slightly, spouting something incomprehensible at him. Beautiful-sounding, but incomprehensible nonetheless. Not getting the expected response--whatever that was supposed to be--she frowned slightly and tried again--with different words this time, he thought. Finally she turned and said yet a third thing over her shoulder.

Another head popped into view, this one with good-natured blue-green eyes and longish sandy blonde hair. Please excuse my friend. The second person indicated the pink-haired girl. She hasn't learned English yet. She was just apologizing for intruding--we were under the assumption that this compartment was empty.

Yet a third head popped in. Would you mind if we sat in here? This is the first empty compartment we've found.

He blinked and shook his head. Oh, good, thank you. A brief spurt in that other language and the pink-haired girl bowed her head, grinning apologetically in silent thanks, before commencing with dragging the trunk in again.

Finally all three trunks were brought in and the other three sat down with sighs of relief, the pink-haired girl beside him and the other two--the blonde that he thought was a boy, and the third person, a girl with blue-green hair and deep cerulean eyes--opposite him. Feeling unaccountably shy, he asked quietly, If you don't mind telling me . . . what was that language you were speaking earlier? It sounded very pretty.

That was Japanese. The blonde informed him. All three of us are from Japan, but . . . Here he paused and made a brief exchange with the pink-haired girl, . . . Usagi hasn't been taught English yet. For some reason he rubbed his forehead and exchanged a rueful grin with the blue-haired girl.

The pink-haired girl said, slowly enough that he could distinguish the syllables. Unfortunately, it still made no sense.

A brief spate, quietly, from the blue-haired girl--a reminder?--and the pink-haired girl nodded, again blushing slightly and looking embarrassed. She pointed to her nose. Usagi Chiba.

Harry Potter. He replied, then braced for the inevitable. When it didn't come, he smiled. Was there, finally, someone as clueless about how special he was, as he had been?

I'm Haruka Ten'ou. The blonde continued the introductory sequence.

Michiru Kaiou. Pleased to meet you. The blue-haired girl completed it. Will this also be your first year at Hogwarts?

With these people who evidently had no clue as to who he was, he allowed himself to relax. I didn't even know Hogwarts existed until I got the letters. He admitted shamefacedly.

Neither did we. The other two replied simultaneously.

My mother and father both knew about Hogwarts--they went there--but they believed I was a . . . Squib? Someone born into a magical family who can't do magic . . . so they never told me about it. So they were quite as surprised as we were when we got our letters. Michiru added with a small laugh. Both parents went to Hogwarts? Harry assumed that she was probably part of one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about. And they raised their daughter as a Muggle? Sternly, he called his attention back, only barely catching the question she threw his way. What about your parents? How did they react?

My parents . . . are dead. Again he felt that twinge of loss--and hatred, toward the Dursleys for never telling him how they really died. I've lived with my aunt and uncle since I was very small. His eyes narrowed as he thought about them. They raised me without ever even letting me know the magical world existed because they wanted to stamp out any taint' I had gained from my parents' He said bitterly. They even lied and said my parents had died in a car crash.

What really happened to them? Michiru's voice was soft, sympathetic. In the background, Harry could hear a Japanese murmur--Haruka translating their conversation to Usagi?--but his emotions had distanced him so far that it was no more than a murmur. Another sound--a whistle?--distracted him little more, and he hardly noticed that the train had pulled away from the station.

They were murdered. His voice rang coldly in his ears, echoing through the distance he felt between his voice and his body. Butchered by . . . He paused for only a second, remembering Hagrid's awful hesitation before saying the name and his reluctance to do so at all. Should he follow the older man's example? He shook his head. What could a name do? . . . by Voldemort.

Immediately, he had the attention of all three. Who is this Voldemort? Haruka asked, her eyes piercing. Is he still at large?

Harry found himself shrugging. I'm afraid I don't know much about him. He confessed. Only that he was a Dark Lord, a very powerful one who only gained power and followers from the time of his appearance until about ten years ago. Then, he tried to kill me after he killed my parents . . . He spread his hands in a gesture of helpless inability to explain. . . . and, for some reason, he couldn't. After that, he disappeared and . . . I think . . . is supposed to be dead now.

Haruka ducked his head and muttered. Though Harry couldn't be sure, the part he heard sounded to him like, . . . enemies even here? . . .

A throat cleared brought four eyes to look at the compartment door. There stood a tall red-haired boy--the youngest that had boarded the train, Harry thought, from that red-haired family he had been watching. Um . . . do you think I could sit in here? The other compartments are even more full than this one. Two pairs of eyes turned to Harry, silently indicating to him that this was his decision, while Usagi continued to look at the red-haired boy.

The black-haired boy shrugged, uncomfortable. Sure. We can make room, I think.

As the red-haired boy came further into the compartment, Usagi stood up and silently squeezed herself in between Haruka and the door--not too hard, as the seats were wide enough to seat even three people of such small stature quite easily. The red-haired boy sat beside Harry, obviously uncomfortable, as he glanced back and forth between Harry and Haruka.

Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was afraid he knew exactly what those glances in his direction were about--surely his brothers had not neglected to mention their encounter with the famous Harry Potter. Looking out into the fast-passing countryside, he futilely hoped the journey would end soon.

I'm Ron Weasley. The red-haired boy said, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. A pause, then he blurted to Haruka. I know this is rude . . . but . . . are you a boy or a girl?!

The question caught Haruka off guard enough that he let out a startled laughed. He shook his head ruefully. Even now . . . A smile still on his face, he informed Ron gently but firmly, I am a girl.

What?! Harry's eyes widened, but he refrained from saying anything that would embarrass him further.

That question satisfied, Ron turned. Are you really Harry Potter?

Yup. I was right. Harry nodded and raised his bangs, baring to Ron the sight that proved his identity beyond the shadow of a doubt--the lightning-shaped scar.

Ron whispered, then smiled tentatively. I was . . . you know . . . I figured it might be another of Fred and George's jokes. Can you remember anything?

Harry shook his head. Just a lot of green light.

The spell that Voldemort used to kill your parents, probably. Haruka postulated, his--no, her!--eyes sharpening again, as they seemed to whenever Voldemort was mentioned or even implied. Or perhaps the one that ricocheted off you.

Ron gasped. You . . . you said his name!!

Haruka raised an eyebrow. Who? Voldemort? Why shouldn't I?

Ron simply stared, too appalled to speak. Michiru shook her head and turned to her friend. Don't rag the boy, Haruka. When in Rome . . .'

Haruka breathed out, sharply, too sharply to call it a proper sigh. She turned to Ron. Sorry. Much like Harry, I grew up in a Muggle family. I had never heard of Vol-- Michiru elbowed her, although Harry was not sure Ron had noticed. --You-Know-Who before, so I never learned that it was wrong to say his name.

Harry felt it depended on him to change to subject to one more amenable, so he hastily asked, I saw your brothers before, Ron. What's the rest of your family like?

Ron blushed slightly at suddenly becoming the center of attention, but the blush quickly faded as he dove into explanations and anecdotes, comments that sometimes led to Harry adding an anecdote of his own or, rarely, one of the Japanese girls. Thus the time passed amiably until a woman came around with a cart full of candy; candy of the likes he had never seen before.

Though Ron stayed in the compartment, the three girls piled out behind Harry, peering over his shoulder at the overflowing cart. Not wanting to miss out on any new experience, Harry bought a little of everything, wondering at his ability, for the first time in his life, to actually pay for such a large quantity of stuff, without being forced to feel beholden to his aunt or uncle. After a whispered consultation in Japanese, the three girls bought six Chocolate Frogs--two each--and a package of Licorice Wands to split between the three of them.

Back inside the compartment, the girls, upon learning the contents of Ron's sandwiches, professed themselves all wonder as to what corned beef tasted like and, in a deal that left Ron with red ears and completely confused otherwise, relieved him of all but one of his sandwiches (he had brought four) in exchange for three Chocolate Frogs and a Licorice Wand. Harry, in turn, made sure that everyone felt free to try anything from his pile--there was so much, he could hardly eat it all himself.

After lunch (such as it had been) the five lapsed into contented silence, idly watching trees and fields and cows and rivers and gentle rolling hills and other such parts of the English countryside fly by. An occasional comment was made and returned or not, sometimes sparking brief conversation, sometimes dying an unlamented death. Again, the compartment door opened, only this time the culprit found himself the focus of five sets of eyes instead of only four. A somewhat chubby boy with a tear-streaked, unremarkable face gulped. Uh . . . hi? He squeaked. . . . Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all? Slowly, each of the five--even Usagi, after gaining a hurried translation from Haruka--shook their heads.

Usagi said something, with a sympathetic smile, and Haruka translated. Usagi says to tell you not to worry. It'll turn up eventually.

The boy nodded, looking as if he was about to break into tears again, managed a brave smile to Usagi, and left. As soon as he was gone Usagi spoke again, the slightest of frowns on her face. Michiru turned to Haruka and laid a hand on hi . . . her arm. Anata? Do you remember the spell Mom used on us?

Harry wondered if anata' was a nickname of Haruka's. He certainly couldn't see how it was derived . . . but maybe it was just a Japanese thing. Haruka nodded. Well enough. She shook her head. That's right, Chi--Usagi really does need to learn English, doesn't she? She squared her shoulders and . . . reached . . . and suddenly she held a thin wooden rod, about the length of his own, he thought--her wand. How?! Harry thought, startled. Noting Harry's attention to it, she mistook the question in his eyes. Willow, ten-and-three-quarters inches, unicorn hair. She said, and stood, turning to face Usagi, one hand to the door frame to steady herself.

Mine's got unicorn hair too. Ron volunteered, and Haruka shot him a look that verged on irritated--he had probably disrupted her concentration. Unaware of the look, however, he bent down to root through his trunk until finally he brought out a wand, battered-looking and chipped, with a fleck of white visible on one end. 'S kinda poking out on the end, though.

Haruka looked from the wand to the red-haired boy and back, a contemplative look on her face. She shook her head. You really ought to get a different wand. That one doesn't fit you at all. The tone of her voice indicated that she at least thought she knew what she was talking about. Her eyes narrowed. The unicorn hair feels about right, it's just too worn. Somewhat longer, I would guess, and probably a different wood. She shrugged. That would be my suggestion, at least. Whether or not that would be the right wand for you, though, I'm not certain.

Suddenly, the door slid open once again, and Haruka lurched, barely avoiding falling onto the girl who had opened the door, accompanied by the boy that had come by before. Haruka muttered.

Has anyone seen Neville's toad? The new girl, with bushy brown hair that looked like it was as hard to keep control of as Harry's own. Except--Harry felt a moment of sympathy for the nameless girl--it was a lot longer.

He came by earlier. Michiru said calmly from her corner. We haven't seen the toad, before that or since.

Oh, okay. We need to keep going then . . . She caught sight of the wand in Haruka's hand. Oh, are you going to do a spell? Neat! I hope you don't mind if I watch, you see I come from an all-Muggle family and I've done a couple of spells myself but I've never really seen anyone else work magic.

This will be the first spell I've ever done. Haruka informed her. Michiru's mother cast it on both Michiru and I, but I've never cast it myself.

So you're a Muggle too? How about you, Michiru, right? Is your dad a wizard too, or is it just your mom? The girl paused. Sorry, I'm being rude, aren't I? Go ahead and do your spell, I'll try not to interrupt any more.

Haruka's shoulders fell in a silent sigh, but she had a small smile on her face. She made a brief comment to Usagi, who made a face but nodded. Then, concentrating on ignoring all six pairs of eyes avidly watching, she raised her wand. Anglicus Linguisticus Veritas!

Usagi let out a brief cry and curled up in her seat, hands to her head. The four who had never seen the spell in action exchanged brief concerned glances, but soon enough the pink-haired girl's head lifted, though she still hunched slightly and squinted. You were right. She croaked, quite clearly, in English. That does hurt. Now please, tell me . . . when does it stop?! Her voice was plaintive. Harry looked at Haruka with wide eyes. Despite the nasty side-effects--which had been expected, he assumed--that was a very impressive spell.

Don't worry, the initial pain should be passing even now. Michiru said. You may have a slight headache for the next couple days, though.

Usagi muttered, then staggered to her feet as the movement coincided with a brief lurch in the train. She turned toward the two at the door. Want some help looking for the toad? I was going to offer before, but there was something of a language barrier.

The girl, already in her black robe, shook her head. Thanks for the offer, but it's tight enough squeezing down the halls sometimes with just the two of us. Besides, we'll be getting there soon enough, so you really ought to get dressed. She turned to Haruka, respect in her eyes. That was a really neat spell, by the way. Thanks for letting me watch. What's your name? I'm Hermione Granger.

Harry wondered if that was amusement gleaming in the blonde girl's eye, but she simply bowed her head slightly and answered solemnly. I'm Haruka Ten'ou. You are quite welcome, and I'm glad you enjoyed watching. Her smile grew a bit warmer as her eyes flicked towards Usagi. And especially glad that it worked. I will see you later, perhaps?

Hermione nodded and smiled shyly back. Yeah. Later. Then she turned and was gone, the boy--Neville--her silent companion.

Haruka collapsed back to her seat and reached for one of Harry's Chocolate Frogs, unwrapping it and biting its head off before it could so much as move. Ah . . . chocolate. Just what I needed. Thanks. She grinned at Harry. Casting that spell took more out of me than I expected. Carefully, she broke off a hind leg, still twitching reflexively, and held it out to Usagi. Here, want one? Sugar helps.

Usagi popped it into her mouth, shuddering slightly. I know it's just a spell . . . but seeing something you eat move is rather . . . disturbing. She muttered through her mouthful of chocolate. I don't see how you can do it so . . . calmly.

Haruka had a wide grin on her face. I guess your mother never cooked for you, then.

Usagi paused a moment, then swatted at the grinning blonde. Hey! My mother's cooking is bad . . . well, horrible . . . but it's not some sort of mutated radioactive spawn!

Haruka just laughed. After a suitable period of time looking offended, Usagi finally gave up and laughed along.

You must have been friends for a long time to know each other so well. Harry said, suppressing again his envy at people who had friends. With all the strange things that seemed to happen around him and the fact that he was easily Dudley's crowd's favorite punching bag, he had been judged one of those people to stay away from when possible, so he had never had any real friends before. And now? Perhaps. Who could tell?

Not so long. A year, maybe. Haruka said, after quick glances at the other two. Not much more than that, I don't think.

Usagi nodded. That sounds about right. It just feels like we've known each other forever. She straightened. Which reminds me. What happened to you? You didn't have enough time to tell me earlier.

Haruka made a brief motion with her hand, cutting Usagi off, then turned to the two boys somewhat apologetically. Sorry guys, but this is private business. She then turned back to Usagi and began speaking in Japanese. Soon, Michiru was adding her bit as well, and so things continued, Usagi briefly asking questions every now and then, which would provoke an increased spate of Japanese from the other two for a while.

What language are they speaking? Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry whispered back. All three of them are from Japan.

There's a couple of fairly decent wizarding schools in Japan--good enough to be fairly high on the list of Top 100 Wizarding Schools in the World. The Daily Prophet ran an article a couple of weeks ago about it. I wonder why they're coming to Hogwarts instead. This time, Ron forgot to whisper.

Surprisingly enough, there came an answer from Michiru. Both my parents attended Hogwarts, and we got acceptance letters. So after thinking it over, we decided to go ahead and come here instead of staying nearer to home.

I can imagine why. Usagi said dryly, seemingly drawing from whatever information she had recently learned. Especially if the others are similarly magically talented. Then she asked her next question, in Japanese, leaving Harry to wonder exactly who the others' were.

The compartment door slid open yet again. Harry wondered, briefly, if all the other compartments were similarly blessed' with so many visitors. In the doorway was the blond boy with silver eyes that he had met briefly at Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, the one with the obsession with bloodlines. He wondered what the boy wanted now.

Is it true? He said. Harry, having a sinking feeling he knew what was coming, resisted the urge to shout No! Why couldn't people leave him alone about it? It's not like he intentionally defeated Voldemort or something, he could hardly have done so at less than a year old. Yet people insisted on treating him like he was someone special. They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. Bingo. Got it in one. So it's you, is it?

Harry sighed.

And who might you be? Haruka, an expression of polite interest on her face. It was obvious that she was making a point to ignore the two other boys flanking the pale one. Thick, taller, and extremely mean-looking, Harry bet they were bodyguards of some sort, and he kept a nervous eye on the two. He wasn't nearly as confident as Haruka seemed to be.

My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. The other boy said. This is Crabbe, and this is Goyle. He added, nodding to his two bodyguards. And you are?

Haruka Ten'ou. She replied.

Ten'ou? I don't recall that surname. But then, you're a foreigner, aren't you? He waved a hand, missing or perhaps just ignoring the flash of anger that crossed Haruka's face. No matter. So, your parents. They were a witch and a wizard, I hope?

I have no idea whatsoever. Haruka smiled sweetly, sugar disguising the venom only minimally. I disowned them several years ago and before that, the subject was not mentioned. Is there any reason I should care?

Something flashed in Malfoy's eyes at the mention of disowning, disappearing so quickly that Harry wondered if he had, in fact, seen anything . . . and most definitely far too quickly for him to discern exactly what that something had been. I suppose you were raised as a Muggle, too. Pfeh. He shook his head. Your sort really oughtn't even be invited in the first place. Imagine, not knowing anything about magic or about Hogwarts until you get the letter!

Yes. Imagine that. Michiru's tone distinctly resembled the Sahara Desert. Imagine having parents who lived more than eleven years of their lives as Muggles in every way solely because their child seemed to have no magical ability whatsoever and they didn't want to tempt their child with a peek into a world that could never be theirs. Imagine having parents that cared that much for their child.

Heated now, the words came at an ever-faster tempo. Imagine how astonished and excited and happy those parents are when it turns out that their child does have magical abilities after all, that she has been invited to Hogwarts. Imagine their elation that they no longer must keep secret and keep separate from an entire great aspect of their lives. I feel honored that my parents were willing to sacrifice their own comfort for my sake.

And slower, as she drove her point home. Because, you know . . . even if I had turned out to be completely nonmagical . . . even if I had never heard of Hogwarts . . . because of them, I could have gone on to have a fulfilling and happy life anyway. Oration ended, she leaned back against Haruka, who looked up.

Love is far more important than bloodline. She stated quietly. Without love, blood means less than nothing . . . yet without a blood connection of any sort, love can and will continue to appear and exist, regardless.

Malfoy shrugged off the entire speech as if it had been nothing, less than nothing, even. Your parents, then, were obviously fools. He turned to face Harry. Some wizarding families are obviously better than others, as I am sure you can see. I can help you discern between the right families and nobodies like her family, or the Weasleys. He held out his hand.

Abruptly, Harry stood, drawing himself up to his full height. If the choice is between your family and Michiru's, he said in a deceptively gentle tone, every word truth, I would choose Michiru's family any day. I think I can do without your help. He pointedly ignored the pale hand, still extended.

Malfoy's cheeks reddened slightly as he brought his hand back down, still unshaken, to form a fist as his other hand already had. I would be careful, if I were you, Potter. He finally said calmly, though his eyes flared. Unless you're a bit more polite, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either.

Haruka stood, and with the blonde's tacit support Harry felt braver. And who is going to kill Harry? She asked, her voice sleek with threat. You? I would suggest you not even try. Somehow, she managed to imply trying was the best he'd ever manage. Harry wished he were as confident in his skill as Haruka seemed to be.

The color in Malfoy's face was a deeper hue now, and his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white. He opened his mouth--

Would you move out of the way please? Who are you anyway? Hermione Granger twitched around Malfoy and his henchmen to face the group sitting in the compartment. She glanced between the three antagonists and Harry and Haruka standing in the middle of the compartment several times, before evidently deciding to shrug the matter off. Whatever you people are doing now, it can wait. I just talked to the conductor and he said we'd be there in a couple of minutes.

Her eyes ran over the entire contingent, and she threw her hands up in the air. And you still aren't dressed, any of you! Honestly! In a swirl of black she departed once again, to leave the tableau subtly changed.

Malfoy's mouth snapped abruptly shut and he nodded stiffly. Later, Potter. He turned and left, his two bodyguards--still silent--following after.

Haruka smirked, and her voice followed Malfoy to the door. Later . . . Draco. Only the additional stiffness to his shoulders gave any indication that he had heard.

* * *

I was still annoyed with Draco Malfoy, but my parting shot had helped to ease that feeling somewhat. After all, using another person's first name may be a sign of closeness . . . but it can also be a sign of contempt. Three guesses as to which of those emotions I felt toward Draco?

Especially about his comments about good family. As if it actually mattered, whether someone's parents could wield a wand or not. After all, back . . . before . . . I seriously doubt my father was the way he was because he was a Muggle. If anything, with magic he would almost definitely have been worse.

I straightened my forest green sash as I stepped off the train onto a platform hardly visible in the low light. Gazing upward, I saw the moon was full and bright. An omen, I thought, but would it prove to be good or bad?

Haruka, could you please move so the rest of us can get out? Chibiusa's voice--no, I must remember to call her Usagi now. I nodded, broken out of my reverie, although I had no idea how well she could see the gesture, and moved forward further onto the platform.

Soon, she appeared at my side. She asked in Japanese, grin flashing whitely.

Not particularly. I shrugged, replying in the same language. I'd think you'd have far more cause to be nervous. After all, I've had more time to adjust to the idea that magic exists outside the sailor senshi. I flashed my own grin. And . . . pardon me if I sound overly egotistical . . . but I can't think of anything here that can possibly be worse than what I've already been through and . . . survived.

After all, it's just school. Michiru, too, had disembarked and now joined the conversation. A very . . . unusual . . . school, but school nonetheless.

Eh. And whatever is up there . . . well, we'll face it together, right? Usagi said.

I smiled. Right. Together. Usagi had heard the story--the whole story, and as unbiased an account as we could make it--and yet, had decided to remain with us. She had not denied whatever friendship we had once possessed as the others had, but instead had reaffirmed that precious friendship. Until now, as before, it had been only Michiru and myself. Now . . . now there was a third.

That knowledge gave me the courage to face tomorrow and all the tomorrows following, and the undying hope--one of Usagi's greatest traits, much like her mother--that tomorrow would be better than today.

Firs' years! Firs' years over here! The booming voice caused me to start once again--me, the unflappable outer senshi! How the mighty have fallen . . .

Yet somehow, with one hand in Michiru's and the other in Usagi's, as we walked over toward the place from which the voice had come, I did not mind my supposedly fallen' state. After all . . . I had friends, family, a home . . . what more could I ask for and reasonably expect to receive? I already had far more than I had ever dreamed of.

And if it wasn't perfect? Well . . . it was enough.



7/21/2001
6/21/2002