British fashion was nothing like in France (he would avoid talking about food). Or maybe it was just wizarding British fashion. The robes fell flat over his shoulders, tightening around his stomach, dropping around his ankles. He would not wear that. Absolutely not. He was aware of Hogwarts' bizarre point system and detentions but no matter how many times the teachers would punish him, he would not wear this. No way. And he was quite sure his parents would say nothing about him discarding the robe to grab his denim jacket. Nothing would stop him from wearing his denim jacket. Suze had given it to him for his ninth birthday. And it still fitted him anyways (one of his father's spells must be why). He looked at himself in the mirror and started to wonder if anyone was going to say anything about the size of his hair. It wasn't conventional for a male wizard to keep their hair below the shoulder, nor in a braid. But Suze loved playing with them, and he had refused to cut them. Why would he care if they said anything? He had his own personality and was not a sheep.

(Maybe his strong and stubborn mind came from years of being refused any free will and freedom under the care of the Dursley's. After having been told to clean, garden, cook every day since he learnt how to walk to shift to complete autonomy had been rather brutal. For a few weeks, he had been disorientated, not knowing what to do to avoid being scowled at. He would understand later than with his parents, they would accept him however he was.)

The teasing voice of his mother distracted him from his thoughts. "Going to force your poor mother to receive a letter from your school already?"

"Robes are truly not my style, mom."

"You're beautiful anyways."

He kept himself from rolling his eyes. Mothers were often blinded by love. So were fathers. But honestly, he was not in any way special. The contacts in his eyes made his eyes shine slightly more, his hands were slightly too chubby, and his cheeks still had much of that baby fat he had trained so hard to erase. And he would not talk about the black mop that would blind him daily. He refused to even think about it.

They talked a little, calming down nerves and reassuring on what was going to happen in the next few hours, and they were ready to leave, having walked down the stairs with his truck and waiting for Charles to come out from the kitchen with a heavy box. Food for the journey and to share with friends, he said with a wink when he handed it to Cyriel.

It was then that it hit him, the moment he was about to follow his parents in the chimney.

He was going to school.

He was leaving home.

And Suze wasn't with him. Wasn't clinging to him. Whining at him.

Years they had been whispering about the day he would leave, talking about all the letters they were going to send each other, about all the holidays he was going to have to come and see her. How she couldn't wait to see in which dorm he was going to sleep in, what friends he was going to bring home. She had been talking so much more than him about the day he would leaving. She had been so much more excited than he had been. If they had stayed in France, he wouldn't have leaved home until his fourteen. Suze would have been found. The long nights where they gossiped about that day would have happened.

She was not there.

He was leaving. Without her.

"I know, baby, I know." The strong arms of his mother and father around him did not keep the tears from falling, his heart from breaking.

They would have missed the train if his parents had not been waiting for his breakdown. Thirty minutes of intensive sobbing, of exhaustive sorrow, and he walked in the fire first, his lip shaking, his eyes burning. He was still looked for Suze. Searching for her blonde hair between their parents. He did not find her. She was not here. She should have been. Deep in his thoughts, he stumbled across the platform, missing by close from hitting a small family. The change of noise was drastic. From their quiet little house in the middle of England to these bustling chatters coming from everywhere made him shiver and instantly, his hand came to seek for a smaller one to calm her down. He did not find her. His father and mother walked out of the platform's hearth seconds later and they did not wait to see if they recognised the Lovegood family or see if anyone was worth their attention, instead going straight towards the humming train. It was generous. Bigger than anything he had even seen. If he had not been living in France. Had not visited multiple times an aunt living in Paris. By the Eiffel tower. The train only made him raise one eyebrow. They stopped by its doors.

"You'll do well at school." Said his father.

"You have fun, most of all." Said his mother.

"And you keep me updated on Suze's." He said, softly.

They hugged, and before he walked the three stairs of the train, his father wiped a single tear from his eye, and waved goodbye as his mother followed him with his truck floating behind them. They found a quiet, lonely, compartment and she quietly placed it on the rack. She kissed him three times, hugged him once more, and left, her heels fading away until he could not hear them anymore.

Cyriel was going to miss them. But it did not mean he was going to be quiet either. Sitting, he took out a book from his bag and opened it. He did not read. It was just a way to seem occupied. He would not stay quiet in this school, but he would not either act in any way his parents would be ashamed. He had read books about the school that his mother had bought him. It had the largest library in the country. Which meant they must be written somewhere how to track someone's magical core. Which meant that, until he ransacked the entire castle and found no answers, he would need to stay as one of its students. Which was going to be quiet a problem as many knew that Cyriel was quite atrocious at acting good. Whichever teachers one interrogated would say that he was impossible to work with. That he was a liar and a cheater. Only Charlotte, after interrogating him many, many, times, believed him about his incredible learning capacities. But only Charlotte and, obviously, his family. His Suze. He looked down at the book, sighting. He should have picked another book, a boring one that belonged to his mother's law library, but he had been in a hurry to pack, and it was Suze's favourite story to listen to at night.

The door to the compartment opened and a redhead popped.

"Its full everywhere else." He nodded and the redhead walked in to sit in front of him. He seemed to be searching for something on his face before abandoning and whispering: "You haven't seen Harry Potter on the train, have you?"

The whisper implied he was trying to act discreet, especially with the one hand cupping the side of his mouth and the way he leant forward, but the redhead still had a long way to go before truly managing. He had practically said this with the same voice tone.

"Harry Potter?"

"Apparently he's on the train this year. I can't wait to see him!"

He blinked. "Why?

"Because he must be awfully cool!" The redhead stared at him, calming down. "You have an accent, right?"

"French. I'm French."

"What's your name? I'm Ron, Ron Weasley."

"Everyone at home calls me Cyriel Leborgne." Should he have fun? Should he listen to the wise words of his mother? Yes. "But you would know me as Harry Potter." Ron's eyes widened comically, his jaw hanging opened, and he stifled a giggle. "Full name: Cyriel Harry Leborgne-Potter."

"You… You're… Potter... Potter!"

Ron stood up, pointing him by the finger, and at the same time the train passed under a tunnel, the rumbling of the wheels on the rails echoing louder than ever, he laughed for the first time since Suze disappeared.


After long minutes of trying to calm Ron down, the redhead was still staring at him but sitting and eating some sorts of sandwich. Cyriel could not believe how many questions he had for him. Why did he not look like on the photographs? Why had he been living in France? What happened that night? The last one, he did not answer. For several reasons. The main one: he did not want a relapse.

But he thought he would finally have his journey in relative calm, the door slid open again and Draco Malfoy appeared from the doorway, behind him barely visible his two friends.

"I seem to have found you."

"Was it truly that hard?"

Draco smirked as he sat down. "My eyesight is not as bad as yours, Leborgne."

He could see Ron lost the little composure he had gained back in front of Malfoy being friendly to him. He could easily tell what he was thinking. That he was a blood purist. That he despised blood traitors and muggleborns.

"You may stay Weasley."

"Bu-but… Malfoy!"

"Yes, Malfoy. He's an old friend."

"Am I now?"

"Pardon me, my archenemy."

"I'm offended, Leborgne."

"As you should be, Malfoy."

And Ron stayed, with Goyle and Crabbe, because all the other compartment was full and that this one suited him quite well. Cyriel had a sneaking suspicion that he simply did not want to leave Harry Potter alone among Slytherins.

Draco and he met when they were six and bonded quickly after building together a sandcastle (who was destroyed the moment they built the last tower by a cruel wave). Each summer from there on, the Malfoys would book two weeks where they left for France. Narcissa loved deeply his father, and Lucius found talking to his mother interesting. They were to be the family Suze and him would go to if anything happened to their parents, which wouldn't. Never. The Leborgne family was powerful, strong, and would never allow the British war to touch them, whatever their origins may be. But Draco and he had kept this competitive stroke, where they battled in everything and bathed in proud each time they won.

"Joining me in Slytherin, Cyriel?"

"You mean Gryffindor," Spluttered Ron. "He's Harry Potter!"

"Cyriel Leborgne!"

"Harry Potter!"

"Cyriel Leborgne!"

"GUYS, SHUT UP!" They shut up, if only because one was an impressionable child and the other a friend. "I'm not going to Slytherin." Ron grinned proudly in directly of Malfoy. "Or Gryffindor." Until he did not and stared instead at him with the same comical expression. "I'm going to Hupplepuff."

"Why?"

"Yeah, why? You've defeated the Dark Lord when you were a baby! You are a Gryffindor!"

Cyriel kept silent and looked away towards the window, leaving the quarrelling children behind. They would not understand. Not even Draco, who knew him better than any friends would. Not even his parents would understand what was tugging his heart towards the blue house. His loyalty to Suze, brave but so kind and generous, made him choose this house over the others. Made him decide to make her happy even though he knew that his own happiness was what was most important to him. Once she goes to Hogwarts, she would be put in Hupplepuff. And he would be there, her older brother, to hold her hand and help her in this new world.

For Suze, anything.