"I bet it has towers," Harry said to Justin Finch-Fletchley. He leaned forward in his seat, preparing for a good natter.

Outside their compartment students were milling about, boarding the Express, looking for their friends, saying goodbye to their families and making a general noise dragging trunks and rattling cages in their wake. Inside was a quiet oasis which Harry thought must be because of some kind of a magic spell. Magic! It was exciting to say the least.

The first thing Harry had done once he had crossed the barrier at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, was to search out the boy with the most confused face. Betting he'd find a fellow Muggle-born—or possible Muggle-grown as it was in his own case—he'd put himself forward and asked if the boy wanted to be friends. "Everyone else seems to know everything already," he said. "We can look like prats together."

Justin had been relieved to have his first friendship sorted without any effort on his part, and they had annexed a compartment for themselves.

"I bet you five knuts that Hogwarts has towers," Harry repeated now. Knuts were funny enough, both in concept and the word itself, that he thought it bore repeating well.

"How are you so sure?" Justin asked.

"Wizards always have towers," Harry explained. "Especially wizards in robes. It's very tropey. And it will have some magical wards keeping muggles from seeing it." The last was not much of a stretch since Platform Nine and Three-Quarters had been similarly hidden. Harry might have missed the platform completely had he not been training his mind to be more observant and seen people running into the wall and disappearing. He thought his school letter could have had better instructions and worried that he'd run afoul of the 'Adults Are Useless' trope so prevalent in YA novels. That would be very tiring.

"I don't think I'll take the bet," Justin said, grinning. He had grown up on the same fairy tales and could now remember them being positively filled with towers. He was also starting to get used to Harry after ten minutes of this.

"That's too bad. How about a bet that there will be an evil wizard who we're going to have to fight to win the day? Bet he'll live in the highest tower too." Harry paused. "No, scratch that, highest tower or the dungeon, nothing in the middle."

"That would be Professor Snape and the dungeon," said an older redheaded boy from the passageway. "Harry Potter, right?"

"Yes."

This was the ninth time he had been asked that, and each time the kid stared at his scar. He was starting to think he might be the protagonist.

"Cool. Can my brother sit with you? Otherwise we have to keep him with us, and Lee brought his tarantula."

A younger boy was standing next to him, holding a mangy rat, and the boy paled at hearing that and shuddered.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, okay."

He had seen the two brothers on the station in a small red headed crowd and thought it was quite obvious that their family would turn out to be important to him if he was the protagonist. Hair colour that bright never lied. If Harry was the protagonist then this boy would probably be a deuteragonist and his family will become a second family to Harry. He found himself looking forward to the latter; their mum had looked like a proper one for clutching orphans to her bosom. Malfoy, who had walked past three times now would be the foil, he was simply too ridiculous to be the antagonist, and Justin will be his side-kick and confidante.

IF he was the protagonist. Would a scar trump hair colour?

"Thanks, Harry," the older boy said, shoving his brother into the compartment. "His name is Ron. Don't feed him, or you'll never get rid of him."

"Hey!" Ron protested, but his brother was gone already. Ron's face went from pale to a nice bright red that matched his vibrant hair as he looked at Harry and Justin. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine." Harry waved a hand. "The Big Brother Bully trope."

"What?"

"Nothing, sorry. Why don't you sit? Sit, sit. I saw you on the station; your family is quite large. Tell me, are you the seventh son of the seventh son?"

"Sixth, actually. My sister is the seventh." Ron sat and looked to Justin for help, but Justin just shrugged at him.

"Oh, that's too bad for me." Harry pulled a face. "I was hoping I'd be the sidekick. It's much less work."

"What?" Ron asked again, and this time when he looked to Justin, he mouthed it silently. What?

Justin grinned. "He wants to be a writer. Just go with it."

Missing the byplay, Harry was still talking, more to himself, trying to work it out. "… must be tough on you, so nothing special then. Middle child too. Well, sort of. All the fame and glamour went to your older brothers, I'm sure. Hmm. I bet you get ignored by your parents, and…" he paused, finally seeing he had touched a sore point and had caused the boy to start on a case of the doldrums. "Sorry, mate," he said with honest regret. "If it helps I grew up in a cupboard."

That was such an odd thing to say that it immediately managed to get Ron out of the doldrums he had put him in.

"What?" Ron asked. "Like, actually, mate. What?"

"I'll tell you all about it, in a minute. More importantly, listen, I think I have it now. Doorstep baby, Ordinary Hometown, The Herald brings a Call to Adventure, Refusal of Call, The Hero leaves the familiar world behind—" He was babbling now at super-speed, trying to say everything at once. The train whistled and started chugging along the tracks. Justin swore he could hear the capitalisation in Harry's speech and grinned, realising he was going to have a great time. "—I do believe this is going to turn into a Hero's journey!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes glinting with excitement. "And lucky for us there's a formula. There's things we should look out for. Trials! From this moment on we have to pay attention to everything if we want to survive to save the day. Anything might be a clue. Even your rat."

Harry and Justin looked suspiciously at the rat and Ron squashed him defensively to his chest. "He's just a rat!"

The End

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