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Chapter Two: Traincar Confessions

I wrinkled my nose for a minute. Harry Potter…that name sounded familiar. I shook it off because it couldn't be familiar. I'd only been in England for two weeks.

Harry leaned back and looked down the corridor of the train, "I think some of my friends might be looking for me."

"Oh," I said as I begin to pick up my bag. I assume that's the polite, British way of saying, "I hope some better people find me so I don't have to keep making conversation with you." Wanker.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed and reached out to keep me from changing seats. He laughed, "No, I wasn't asking you to leave. I was just wandering out loud. Do you mind if they sit down here? Most of them are fifth years, too."

Joy. Classmates. I roll my eyes and smile at Harry, "You'll have to excuse the newbie here. I'm jumping to please at every turn."

"So where are you from?" he asked. He appeared to stop looking for his friends for the time being.

"New York City," I replied, "Actually, I got into a little bit of trouble using magic and all. Sorta turned an entire wing of the school bright orange." And smelled like sewage, but you don't need to know that, I thought.

Harry laughed, "You'd better watch out for Snape. He's the Potions Master at Hogwarts and he's brutal. A slimy git, everyone says so—except of course his own Slytherin House."

"Slyther-what house?" I asked.

"Slytherin House. All students are sorted into houses, see. Well, there's this hat you have to put on when you get there and the hat looks inside your head to see what kind of qualities you have. Say if you're brave and loyal—then you'd probably be put in Gryffindor, like me." He looked down and blushed, "Actually, that probably sounds really egotistical of me."

I laughed, "No, no—it's fine. But it's a hat?"

"Yeah."

"The hat puts you into a House?"

"Yeah."

"Does it talk, too?"

Harry shrugged, "Yeah. Sometimes you just hear it in your head, but sometimes he talks out loud."

Talking hats and a Nazi Potions teacher. Smashing. "Actually, I was only joking, but at least if I start hearing voices it won't be all me." I looked out the window and realized that the station was gone. I hadn't even felt the train move because I'd been so wrapped up in talking to Harry.

"So where is this Hogwarts?" I asked.

Harry looked out the window, "You know, I don't really know. It's somewhere near the mountains, but it looks like some decrepit old castle to most Muggles so they don't go near it. What was your school like?"

"It looked like an old apartment building," I explained, "but it was huge. Students from all over the States came in to go to school there."

"How did you keep the Muggles away?" Harry asked.

"We threw some winos on the front stoop and put a charm around the building to smell like urine," I said casually. I slapped a hand over my mouth. You and your stupid need to be sarcastic and cynical all the time. I fully expected Harry to look at me with disgust, but I was surprised when he started howling with laughter.

"You're kidding!" he shouted. He was practically crying he was laughing so hard.

I joined in now, relieved that my humor hadn't sent him running from the car, "Yeah, I am, actually. But it sounds so much more amusing than the real thing. The normal "I-have-another-pressing-engagement" charm."

Harry wiped a tear from his eye and smiled at me again, "So what brings you to Hogwarts?"

Ah, I'd rehearsed for that one. "Well, my uncle took a job in London a few weeks ago. So happened to coincide with my little potion fiasco so we decided to transfer me at the start of the year rather than midway through."

"You live with your uncle?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. Used to live with my aunt, too, until she…" How to put it in delicate terms? Drank her self half-blind until she ran off with a bum painter who could barely speak English, "She left us. My mom and dad went to Hogwarts a long time ago, thought, but I never knew them. They died when I was five. Car crash. Drunk driver."

Harry looked at me with something of familiarity that I couldn't understand. "My parents died when I was one." he said quietly, "I went to live with my aunt and uncle as well. My cousin too…he's a great big prat, though."

Prat…slang for…something? I filed it away in my list of new British slam words. For some reason I found myself looking at his forehead and noticed a scar near his hairline. That's weird…it looks like a lightning bolt.

"How did you get that?" I asked, nodding towards his head.

Harry reached up and pressed his fingers against it. His eyes widened in surprised, "I—er—I mean…" He lowered his hand and shook his head, "Sorry, I—"

I held up my hand to stop him, "No, it's okay. I shouldn't have asked—that was rude. You probably have people staring at it all the time. Doesn't help having some complete stranger pointing at you like you're some exhibit in a zoo." I trail off, well aware that by this point I'm babbling.

He smiled again, "No, it's not that! It's just…I'm used to people staring, but most of the time they know the story behind it." He shrugged and seemed to turn slightly red, "I mean…that's why they call me 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'."

It suddenly dawned on me why he sounded so familiar. The-Boy-Who-Lived. Every witch and wizard in the world knew about the War in England during the 1970's and how Lord Voldemort was overthrown by a baby. Harry Potter. Now it was my turn to play it cool and look confused, "You lived because you have a scar on your head?" The last thing I wanted to come off as was a drooling fangirl.

"Yes…no…" he looked kind of flustered as he tried to find the words to explain, "It's sort of a long story." He turned to the window again. I could take a hint, but I couldn't deny that this Harry kid was sort of interesting in a way—with or without the tragic past. He seemed like the quiet type, but I could be wrong.

We both looked out the window for a few moments in silence before the compartment door opened again. There in the doorway stood two other kids—one rather gangly with flaming red hair; the other average with bushy brown hair.

"Hey, Harry," said the red head, "Didn't see you out at the station. Mum was worried that your uncle might not 've dropped you off." He plopped down next to me with out looking.

Bushy took a seat next to Harry. At least she had the decency to acknowledge my presence, "Hello," she said, extending a hand, "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Reggie Bradshaw," I said, shaking her hand in return. The red head turned to me with a look of surprise on his face.

" You're not from around here are you?" he said.

"Is it that obvious?" I said, slapping on my Southern drawl. I smiled, "Fifth year transfer from the American Academy of Magic. Who are you?"

"Ron Weasley," he tilted his head in acknowledgement, "So what brings you to Hogwarts, then?"

I turn and see that Harry is grinning at me. "I think Potions is going to be interesting this year if Reggie has anything to do with it," Harry said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "And why is that?"

Harry and I quickly got them caught up on our conversation. Ron stifled a laugh while Hermione just shook her head, "You'd better be careful around Snape. He'll dock points from our house just for breathing funny in his class. I'm serious, Ron!"

Ron had stopped laughing, "Did you remember what kind of potion that was? Gawh! That would be something to see down in the dungeon, wouldn't it? Malfoy covered in orange goo for weeks on end!"

"Who's Malfoy?" I asked, relishing in the newfound kinship. The second I asked that question they all clammed up. Oops.

"A Slytherin. Evil little ferret. That's all you need to know," said Hermione with a small smirk, "Just stay far away from him while you're here and you'll be fine."

Ah, a class bully. I was always up for a challenge. I must have had my scheming face on because Harry was giving me some sort of conspirator look. Maybe this year won't be so bad, I thought. I always enjoyed a good bully baiting—especially when they had it coming. And sometimes when they didn't—even then it could be quite amusing. I smiled to myself thinking about Brad Foster hanging upside down by a curse I had place on him to keep him hovering over a toilet in seventh grade. He had said my hair looked stupid when it was all wet and frizzy. His didn't look much better after an hour in the toilet.

We spent most of the trip going back and forth between the differences between British and American wizarding. Our schools, our customs, our cultures—I had a feeling this would be a familiar topic for this year. They were all in Gryffindor and I suddenly found myself thinking back to my mom and dad. I remember seeing a picture of them a long time ago—both wearing black robes with a lion emblazoned near the left shoulder. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all had the same lion. Will I get put into Griffindor, I wondered? It'd be nice to have someone I already knew in my classes. Besides, these three had already taken my sarcastic banter and not looked at me as some bitter American chick with a grudge from the Revolution. It felt good to joke around with people my own age—lord knows I hadn't done that in awhile.

It was dark by the time the train finally stopped and we all piled out of the train. Harry told me it was all right to leave the bags because they would be brought up to the castle. This was the highlight of the night for me. Seeing an honest-to-god Wizard castle—not the stained building I'd left back in New York.

"Come on, Reggie," Ron said as he and the others stepped into a black carriage.

"What…how…" I pointed at the front of the cart confused. There were no horses.

"They're thestrals," Hermione explained, "They'll pull the cart, but you can't see them. Come on, get in! We're leaving!"

I jumped into the carriage just as it began to move. My heart was beating so fast I was sure everyone else could hear it. I tried to keep my hands steady, but I always had the habit of fiddling with my wand like a baton whenever I got nervous. As I wound it through my fingers mindlessly, Harry reached forward and stopped the wand.

"Relax," he said as the carriage slowly came to a halt, "Just breathe! You'll be fine." They began to clamor out of the carriage, one at a time.

Shoving my wand back in my belt, I took a deep breath and nodded. The moment of truth, I thought as I stepped onto the cobblestone walkway. I looked up. If my jaw could've hit the stones it would've. The castle was freaking huge—winding towers and lights seemed to spring up from the very ground around the castle. The stones themselves seemed so polished and smooth. Statues and gargoyles lined the outer doorways that were now overflowing with students in black robes. I repositioned my jaw and gulped as I took my first steps under the giant archway.

Welcome to Hogwarts, Yank.