Tuesday, 1st September 1992.

The first day of the month dawned clear and bright. The air filtering through the open bedroom window was crisp and fresh, and the birds called to each other, uncaring of the sleeping humans they might disturb.

How do I usually sleep through this? Dudley wondered. It was 6 AM, and he was already up and dressed. It was rare that he made it downstairs before 11 during the holidays, and the only reason he dragged himself out of bed at that time was to satiate his hunger. This was one of the many reasons he disliked school; he'd always enjoyed a lie in.

Today however was different. Dudley had woken up at 5:30 of his own accord. This wasn't anything to do with the fact that today was the day he was to be driven back to boarding school. His parents wouldn't be taking him till 10:30, so in their minds there would be no reason for him to be up until at least 9.

The real reason Dudley was up and about so early was because he wanted to check on his owl before sending it on its mission. He didn't know when exactly he'd started to think of the bird as his, but over the month that he'd been caring for it, he'd found himself slowly becoming attached. He was fairly certain that the feeling was mutual.

The owl might often seem exasperated with him, and he regularly found himself on the receiving end of scornful glances. But the creature now allowed Dudley to stroke it, and it would sit on his shoulder after he'd finished his daily ministrations.

Dudley reflected on what he was about to ask the owl to do. It really needs a name, he thought, I can't keep calling it owl all the time. But what if it has a name already? I'll ask when I send the letter.

The letter was what he was going to task the owl with delivering. He'd been putting it off for days. But he knew that it was now or never.

After all, he couldn't feasibly take the bird with him to school. For one thing, it would never be allowed. Owls were certainly not considered your usual sort of pet, and they definitely weren't on the list of acceptable animals. For another, he couldn't exactly shove the owl in his suitcase and take it with him. He knew with certainty that that would be a terrible idea.

He winced in remembered pain. He'd been sure that the owl was intelligent from the moment he'd started caring for it, and that fact could now no longer be disputed. After about a week of rest and recuperation, Dudley had confessed all to the owl. The guilt had been eating away at him, making him sick. He'd decided that even if he might not be understood, he just had to get everything off his chest.

Dudley hadn't been expecting the sharp pain that had followed, as the bird hissed and gave him a sudden peck to the ear. He remembered thinking that he'd thought only cats hissed, and wondering how it'd done it. He'd told his parents that his ear had got scratched badly while playing, and luckily after the bleeding had stopped the injury turned out not to be too bad at all.

After that incident, Dudley had felt slightly fearful of the animal, and had avoided getting close to it for a while. It had evidently decided that Dudley had been punished enough however, as the next time he'd wandered into the shed, it gave a screech that nearly made him turn around and run, before walking towards him and jumping onto his shoulder.

It hadn't been strong enough to fly for almost 2 weeks, and even now it looked a little wobbly. He hoped with all his might that it would be able to deliver the letter he so desperately needed to send. Sending this letter might be the most important thing he had ever done.

Dudley knew that questions would be asked if he were to be seen or heard at this time in the morning, and so for perhaps the first time in his life, he treaded carefully as he made his way downstairs.

Creak!

Dudley cursed both his weight and absentmindedness. He'd been concentrating so much on stifling any noises he might make and watching his feet as he descended, that he'd completely forgotten about the bottom step. He was even more irritated as he'd been the one to cause the wood to come loose in the first place. He grimaced as he remembered it.

It had happened during one of his infamous tantrums. In fact, it had been the day when his parents had finally moved Harry out of his cupboard and into Dudley's second bedroom. He'd shouted, thrown things, and even made himself sick, but his parents (for perhaps the first time ever) had not given in.

His mother, midway through scrubbing the vomit out of her brand-new carpet, had even sent him to his room. Dudley had stomped up and down on the first step so much that he'd heard a cracking sound. Even he realised that he didn't want to cause any more damage. He didn't want to bring down the wrath of his mother, the ultimate perfectionist, onto his head.

He'd raced up the stairs to his room, and somehow the damage hadn't been discovered. He'd never been so glad for thick, expensive carpets before.

Now though, he'd completely forgotten about that particular incident from over a year ago, and he only prayed that he wouldn't pay the price. Dudley held his breath and strained to hear any noise from upstairs. He heard a disgruntled groan from his father, followed by loud footfalls on the landing. His heart stopped, and he tried to make himself look small so as not to be seen if he should look down.

After about ten seconds of stomach-clenching panic, Dudley realised that the footsteps were moving away from the staircase. He let out a silent sigh of relief. Then he became tense once more.

"Boy!" his father yelled, "if you're not in your room when I open this door, you won't be able to sit down for a week when I catch you!"

Dudley felt equal parts relieved and guilty as he heard his father's exclamation. He was thankful that he wasn't going to be discovered, but ashamed that his mistake might lead his cousin to be punished. As he watched, the landing light went on. There was a pause, and Dudley guessed that his father had realised that the numerous locks on the door were still in place. He rattled the door anyway, then turned on his heel and shuffled back into his room.

"Bloody foxes. Petunia won't be happy when she finds the bins knocked over," Dudley heard him mutter before he closed his bedroom door.

Heaving another sigh, Dudley straightened up and walked carefully down the hallway towards the kitchen. Thanking his lucky stars that the door was open, he crept through it and shut it slowly and quietly behind him. He hoped it would muffle the sound of the back door opening and shutting. Fortunately his parents slept at the front of the house; the only person who might hear any noise now was his cousin.

Thinking of Harry, Dudley's heart pounded more forcefully and he moved more quickly, a sense of urgency lending him speed. He'd been debating with himself whether or not to tell somebody about Harry's treatment ever since the owl had arrived. Until then, he'd been one of the main perpetrators, and it wasn't easy to start thinking of the boy locked in his bedroom as anything other than the freak. However, ever since that day, things had been changing.

Dudley's attitude had started to shift when he'd realised that he'd almost taken a life. He couldn't think about that moment without feeling the need to throw up. He hadn't realised till then how fragile life was, and how much damage simple actions could cause. He'd always been taught to believe in the principle of survival of the fittest. He'd thought that as one of the strong, it was his right to dominate the weak until they rose up and became strong themselves, or accepted their place. Now, after caring for the owl for some time and having time to think things over himself, he knew better. But it was hard to change the thoughts and habits of a lifetime.

His attitudes towards both Harry and his parents had altered even more drastically on the morning of the 17th. He'd been in the library looking for more information on owls, when he'd found a book that somebody had left on the table where he usually sat to do his research. It was right at the back of the building, tucked away in a corner.

Thinking back, Dudley recalled how relieved he'd been to find somewhere so secret to read. He couldn't have bared it if any of his old school friends had seen him in the library.

At first, he'd simply moved the book out of the way and got on with his reading. After a while though, curiosity got the better of him. This decision lead to his second earthshaking revelation.

Flipping the book over, his breath had caught in his throat. 'Child Abuse, spotting the signs' was written in bold letters on the front cover. This was not what he'd been expecting.

Dudley had heard the words "child abuse" thrown around before. Usually by his friends when their parents wouldn't let them stay out as long as they wanted, or took their game consoles away from them. However, he'd never heard it talked about seriously before, and somehow he feared what he might find.

Dudley remembered coming to a list of signs to look out for. A few items on the list had jumped out at him. Few friends if any, poor bond with care giver, and clothes that cover their body to hide bruising, all seemed to apply to Harry.

Many elements on the list didn't seem to be relevant to Harry's situation. Dudley couldn't remember Harry ever being seriously injured, which was some comfort. But then, it wasn't as if Harry was never hurt. Dudley's mother often swung pans and other implements at him, and his father had thrown Harry around and almost strangled him on several occasions. Dudley himself used to beat him up.

Dudley shook his head furiously, trying to dismiss the whirlpool of dark memories threatening to engulf him. Harry had had a terrible life, and Dudley was at least partially responsible. But it wouldn't do Harry any good for him to wallow in guilt at this crucial moment. Right now, Dudley needed to get the letter sent to Hogwarts. That was the best way for him to start making it up to his cousin.

Hermione sat in the car, on her way to King's Cross station to board the train that would take her back to school. She felt anxious but hopeful. She prayed she might find Harry on the Hogwarts express; then she could ask him what had happened and everything would be fine. At least she hoped it would.

Of course, if he wasn't there, things would be even worse than they already appeared. Hermione had gone to the library, as she usually did when she had a problem, to try to figure out what could be happening, and why Harry's aunt would deny his existence. What she'd found had been a book detailing the signs of child abuse.

Hermione's heart lurched painfully as she thought about it, and she pushed the thought away quickly. She needed to stay calm. There was no advantage to jumping to conclusions. For now, she would just have to wait.

But as her father kept driving, Hermione couldn't help thinking back to the previous year at school. Harry had never mentioned any friends from before Hogwarts. This didn't necessarily mean anything, as she herself hadn't really had any friends before Hogwarts either. Sadly however, that wasn't the only sign she saw as she scrutinised her memories.

Hermione remembered the winces he tried to hide every time she threw herself at him for a hug. She saw the huge, threadbare clothes he wore every weekend without fail, and the blush that stained his cheeks when Ron had asked why he didn't have anything else.

Hermione was sure that Ron hadn't meant to be insensitive; after all, he knew what it was like to receive hand-me-downs from his older brothers. But tact had never been Ron's strong suit, and he had a tendency to speak before engaging his brain. Besides, if she hadn't thought much of it at the time, how could she criticise Ron for the same oversight?

"Oh these," Harry had mumbled, staring at the ground. "They're just some old clothes that I usually wear when gardening when I'm at Privet Drive… I didn't want to bring anything new to school. Oh look at the time, we're missing lunch!"

The mention of food had completely diverted Ron's attention away from Harry's lack of decent clothes, and eventually the issue had been mostly forgotten. Now though, Hermione remembered it with painful clarity. She'd never paid much attention to the way Harry referred to his home as Privet Drive, and his family as the Dursleys before. But now, these two things seemed very odd indeed.

How did I never realise? Was I really always so absorbed with my books and work that I didn't see what was right in front of my face? The thoughts from the day at Diagon Alley came flooding back, along with her doubts and shame.

Hermione stared out of the window at the city streets flashing by. She felt sick, and scared, and couldn't wait to get onto platform Nine and Three-Quarters. She vowed that even if she found Harry on the platform, laughing with Ron and giving a perfectly valid reason for why he'd not been in contact with them all summer, she'd ask him about the Dursleys. It was time she started acting like a real friend. If he wasn't on the platform... She didn't even want to think about that.

Before she knew it, her dad was pulling into the car park of King's Cross station. Her mum went to pay for parking while he got Hermione's trunk out of the boot and heaved it onto a trolley. As she helped him to push the trolley onto the station concourse, he looked down at her with a slight frown.

"Are you sure you're alright Hermione?" he asked, putting an arm around her shoulders.

She sighed. She'd been trying to convince her parents for the past week that she was fine. She'd obviously not been doing a good enough job of hiding her anguish and guilt. She just couldn't muster up her usual enthusiasm about school, and her dad had obviously noticed.

She half wished he hadn't put his arm around her, as to her dismay she found tears coming to her eyes. No! she commanded herself. You are not going to cry, not here, in front of everyone.

Pulling herself together, Hermione looked up at her dad's kind, concerned face.

Forcing a smile, she replied, "I'm fine. Don't worry about me dad, honestly. I'm just a little worried about a friend of mine, that's all."

He looked unconvinced, but eventually seemed to accept her explanation. Nodding and giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze, he began walking again. Joined by her mother, the family walked towards the entrance to platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Hermione looked around to make sure nobody was paying attention, and leaned casually against the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Her parents (who were now holding onto the trolley for dear life) followed her through.

"This will never get old," grinned her father, "if only we could do that on our own."

He was like a child at Christmas, and his exuberance managed to momentarily disperse the cloud of despair that loomed above her, ready to burst. Hermione laughed for the first time in weeks, and watched with some relief as her parents faces relaxed; their worry fading.

Hermione hated making them feel this way. She knew that they'd secretly been concerned about her for years as she never seemed to make friends. They were extremely proud of their brilliant daughter, but she could see the sadness in their eyes every time one of them caught her crying after someone had rejected her friendship.

In the last year, her endless letters full of joy at having not one, but two friends had finally got rid of some of their worry. Although the discovery of magic had been a shock to them all, Hermione was certain that her happiness alone had been enough of a benefit for her parents to be glad they sent her to Hogwarts. Now their anxiety was coming back, as hers was.

She turned and hugged them both fiercely, attempting to keep the tears at bay. At least she thought, it doesn't seem too odd for me to be crying when I'm saying goodbye to my parents. I'm hardly the only one.

Giving them each another kiss on the cheek, Hermione took her trolley from her father and made her way towards one of the train's open doors. She wondered whether she should have asked her parents to help her load her trunk onto the train, but to her surprise, she managed to lift it with ease. She would have dropped it again with shock, but as she let go of the handle, it continued to float.

Looking around her, Hermione spotted one of the Weasley twins about 2 metres to her left. He was pointing his wand at her trunk, and grinning.

"Wow!" she exclaimed, unable to hide her enthusiasm, "Is that the levitation charm? How on earth are you managing it? I know it's a very simple charm in itself, but my trunk is very—"

With a thud, the trunk dropped. Hermione yelped in pain. It had landed right on her foot.

"Heavy," she gasped out, wincing.

The redhead's face fell. Hermione supposed her shout had broken his concentration. It occurred to Hermione through her pain that it was so odd to see such a serious look on his usually cheerful face.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry Hermione," he gasped, rushing towards her, "I was trying to give you a hand, and I thought magic would speed it up a bit. I never guessed you'd spot me, and well... Is your foot okay?"

She couldn't help the small smile that broke onto her face. She knew that if she'd been in that situation, she would have wanted to use magic too.

"Don't worry," she replied, "I'm sure I'll survive. Thank you for trying anyway, but do you think you could help me the muggle way this time?"

The twin, Fred she was fairly certain, grinned once more and grabbed one end of her trunk. Together, they managed to lift it onto the train, down the corridor and into a compartment. She was so focused on what she was doing, that she didn't notice that there was already someone in the compartment.

A voice almost had the trunk falling for a second time. Luckily, Fred was clearly paying more attention.

"Fred, you found Hermione! About time."

Hermione made sure her trunk was securely stowed in the overhead compartment, before looking around. She already knew who she would see. It was Ron.

He sat on one of the seats, not in his usual sprawled out position, but upright and alert. He looked more agitated than Hermione could ever remember seeing him. Had they still not found Harry?

"Ron," she said, "I'm sorry I didn't even notice you. Where's Harry, have you seen him yet?"

She almost wished she hadn't asked. He seemed to shrink before her very eyes, and his face crumpled.

"No," he answered, somehow keeping his voice steady, "He's not here, or not yet at least. Me, Fred and George have been searching for him ever since we got here. Percy asked us what we were doing, not that it's any of his business! Oh where the bloody hell can he be!"

Ron punched the wall, clearly frustrated. Then winced.

Sighing, Fred went to Ron and grabbed his hand.

"Looks like Hermione's not the only one in the wars today," he muttered, feeling for any damage.

"You're fine Ron, just a bruise. And don't worry, we'll search again once the train's moving. In the meantime, I'm going to sit with George and Lee. I'll be back in a bit."

Turning on his heel, Fred left the compartment, sliding the door shut behind him.

In the silence that followed, Hermione flopped down next to Ron and gazed at him sadly. She didn't know what to say; she'd already said all she could in her letters, and in Diagon Alley. Going over the same old stuff wouldn't help either of them.

For some reason, she felt awkward. What was wrong with her? This was Ron, one of her two best friends. Why on earth should she feel awkward with him?

Suddenly, Hermione was hit by a disturbing realisation. Yes, Ron was her friend. But what about all the times they'd argued? All the times she'd put him down, harshly corrected him, or scolded him?

When had she actually spent any time alone with him? When had she truly taken the time to get to know him, as Ron, not just Harry's other friend? That had Hermione's mind going in all sorts of depressing directions; what if Ron wasn't her friend at all? She wouldn't be surprised if he'd only put up with her for Harry's sake.

The cloud was back, and becoming more oppressive with every breath she took. She stood up, and went to the window. Leaning against it. What on earth was wrong with her? She knew she would never have thought such things if Harry was here.

A sob burst from Hermione's throat, startling her. She pressed her lips together, praying that she would be able to contain any further outbursts. A hand landed gently on her shoulder.

She jumped. Then tried hastily to compose herself. Ron stepped up beside her to join her in leaning against the window ledge.

"What are you thinking Hermione?" he wondered, "what's going on in that brilliant mind of yours?"

This only made the tears come faster. She stared determinedly out of the window. They both pretended not to see them.

"Oh, I was just thinking about Harry," she lied, amazed at how controlled her voice sounded.

"Really?" Ron asked, "because you were staring at me, and all of a sudden you looked at me like you didn't know me, and got all upset."

At these words, the dam that had been so successfully guarding her emotions for so long broke. She turned to Ron, her face wet with tears.

"Ron, do you actually like me? For myself, I mean, not just as Harry's other friend?"

Ron gaped at her. Hermione couldn't keep the sobs contained any more. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"What are you on about?" Ron asked. "Why would you think I'm not your friend?"

She didn't know how to respond, and before she could stop herself, everything came pouring out.

"You were only friends with me in the first place because we both liked Harry. You hated me at first, for being such a no it all and… and… Then, after the troll you started speaking to me, and being nice, but it was all down to Harry. I should have seen it before!"

When at last Hermione managed to get her emotions back where they belonged, she looked up to find Ron staring at her, aghast.

"Do you really think that I'm only friends with you because of Harry?" he asked, his voice quivering slightly.

"I don't know what I think anymore," she mumbled, "I want us to be friends, proper ones, but I just... Well I don't think I am a very good friend. And we argue so much!"

To her surprise, Ron smiled ruefully.

"I know what you mean," he replied. "This summer's been horrific. But it's really made me think about stuff. I reckon I haven't been a great friend either. To you or to Harry. I argue with you when you're just trying to help, and I always say the wrong thing and upset you. I know we're pretty different people, but seriously Hermione, I do consider you to be one of my best friends. I know we had a few problems at first. You reminded me of Percy and were just so much better than me, and I just acted like a complete prat. But when Harry realised you were in that bathroom crying because of me… I could never have said it at the time, but I felt bloody awful. I remember when I made Ginny cry once. You know, my little sister? She wanted to fly with us once, but I told her she was a baby and a girl would never be able to join in. Pretty rotten of me I know. But anyway, she burst into tears and I never felt so small and horrible in my life. Even mum's scolding couldn't make me feel more terrible than I already felt. I'm getting off the point… When I saw you under that sink, your eyes all red and puffy, and I thought that I could have caused you to get killed, I felt like I did that day with Ginny. But 1000 times worse. I've never been so ashamed, and to think we got rewarded for it! Actually, Harry did point that out to me. Look Hermione, what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry. Sorry for all those times I made you feel silly, or took advantage of your help in lessons. You are my friend, and I like you for being yourself, not just because we're friends with Harry."

Hermione stared at Ron, stunned. She'd never expected him to feel that way, let alone tell her. It had clearly been very hard for him to admit this all to her; his ears burned red with embarrassment. She was very glad that he had though. It seemed she wasn't the only one who thought they were a bad friend.

"Thank you Ron," she said earnestly, "you don't know how much better that makes me feel. I'm so glad we're friends, and I'm sorry too. I should be more careful about what I say, and accept that not everyone is quite as enthusiastic about academics as I am. I also need to start paying more attention to you and Harry. I feel like I've missed a lot because I was too busy reading or working."

"But…"

"No, please listen Ron. I'm sorry for making you feel stupid all those times I told you you were doing things wrong in lessons. I'll try to do better, and you should know that you're a lot cleverer than you think you are."

"Cheers for that Hermione," Ron grinned, giving her hand a squeeze, "I guess we both need to work on this friendship thing. But we'll do it together, as friends, right?"

Hermione's whole face lit up. Whatever was going on with Harry was still scary, but she knew that at least one thing she'd thought had turned out to be wrong. Ron was definitely her friend. Perhaps Harry really hadn't fallen out with her.

"Friends," she agreed, beaming.

They both sat down to wait for Fred and George to return. Whilst they'd been talking, the train had begun to move. The door opened.

Neville pulled his trunk behind him, and tried to find a compartment where he could sit and read. He didn't really know how to feel about the new term. In some ways Hogwarts had been a blessing, in others a curse.

He'd made a few acquaintances, managed to scrape through his exams, and not got himself sent home for being a squib. On the other hand, he'd been jinxed a few times by the Slytherins, been laughed at in almost every lesson, especially potions, and most important of all, not made any real friends. Neville's heart ached as he remembered his Gran's face when she'd found out.

"So you see Gran, Hogwarts is okay. My grades aren't the best I know, but that was to be expected. I did great in herbology though, and helped Gryffindor win the house cup. Though Harry, Ron, and Hermione did most of that. They've not kicked me out, and I've not lost my wand yet…"

Her piercing gaze had put a stop to his rambling. As much as Neville's other family members unnerved and even scared him, he couldn't really dislike his gran. She was stern and often oblivious to the rough treatment her grandson received from the rest of the family, but she had always wanted him to do well.

When she said this, Neville believed her. His uncle always said things like "I'm only doing this for your own good, Neville, you know I only want you to do well." Neville knew however that whilst his gran was sincere, his uncle only wanted to make sure he wouldn't bring the family standing down.

"Neville," his Gran had said, "I know all this already, from your school report. What I really want to know is everything that report didn't tell me. What did you do for fun, who are your friends, and has your flying improved?"

Neville's face had fallen at these questions, and he didn't really know how to answer her.

"Well…" he'd stammered, "you see the thing is gran... I don't have any friends."

Seeing the sadness in her eyes, he'd tried to put a brave face on.

"It's not that bad," he promised, keeping his fingers crossed beneath the table, "There's Ron and Harry in my room. They're pretty nice to me. Hermione, she's a muggle-born and really nice. She tries to help me sometimes. But well, I'm used to being on my own anyway aren't I. It's really okay."

She hadn't been convinced, and he knew it. He couldn't bear the concerned look on her face. It made her look old and weary. He vowed to himself that he'd do better this year. As he thought this, he came across a compartment that was almost empty.

Poking his head around the door, he saw that the only people inside were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Hermione looked like she'd been crying recently, and Ron looked tired and thin.

Something dreadful must have happened, Neville thought anxiously. Why isn't Harry with them? Feeling more than the usual butterflies in his stomach, he attempted to put on an air of confidence before walking in.

"Hello, Ron, Hermione," Neville said. "Do you two if I sit here?"

Neville cursed his quivering voice. It made him feel even more pathetic than he already knew he was. Ron and Hermione didn't seem to notice however, as they both looked up and beckoned him over.

Ron tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. This made Neville even less confident than he'd already been. Something was definitely wrong. Perhaps he shouldn't be here?

"Hi Nev," Ron replied, "course you can come in and sit with us."

Hermione echoed these sentiments, and asked how his holidays had been. Neville muttered something about plants and books, but he wasn't really concentrating. He was trying to think of a way of asking what was wrong, without seeming to butt into their business.

Fortunately for him, there was no need. Silence had followed his response. But this was eventually broken by a blushing Hermione.

"Sorry Neville," she said. "I really am interested. You know me; books are always fascinating, and plants too. I was miles away. It's just that…"

Ron gave Hermione a look, to which she responded, "honestly Ronald! Of course we can tell Neville. He can be trusted, of that I'm certain. Anyway, he'll probably find out soon enough."

Neville felt his face go bright red. He'd never been told he was trustworthy before. In fact, he'd never really been told that he was anything positive at all before, unless you counted green fingered, but that didn't count for much. He didn't really know how to respond.

"Well, thank you," he mumbled awkwardly, "Whatever's going on, and it looks quite serious, I'll be happy to help if I can. And even if I can't I'll be glad to listen."

"You're right Hermione," Ron acknowledged, "of course Neville's trustworthy, and honestly, I'll be glad that somebody else knows. It will be good to get your opinion Nev."

They told him about Harry, and how neither of them had heard from him all summer. They told him of their suspicions, of the abuse and neglect they thought he might be suffering. They asked him if he'd ever noticed anything, or if he thought they might be being melodramatic.

Neville couldn't say for certain what was going on, but he knew that they were not making these things up. He thought back to the previous year. Whilst he and Harry had never been close, he noticed things in the small moments they had together.

Whenever Harry met him in the showers, he always clutched his towel closer to his body. As if Neville might find something he shouldn't see. He had always put this down to shyness. He was an only child too after all, and had always felt rather exposed.

He noticed too that if ever someone spoke to Harry and he hadn't been expecting it, he jumped and stiffened. These things were subtle, but they were definitely there. Neville of all people had noticed them, as they often mirrored his own actions.

Whilst he loved his gran, and was certain that she would never intentionally endanger him, the same could not be said for his uncle Algi. He thought back to the time when he'd let him fall out of the window. He'd claimed it was accidental, and everybody had been so thrilled that Neville was in fact a wizard and not a squib, that they'd completely glossed over how dangerous the situation had been.

That wasn't the only incident. There had been several times when his uncle had put Neville in a dangerous situation, ostensibly to provoke a bout of accidental magic. Neville was pretty sure that it was actually just a matter of his uncle really not liking him. Though the exact reasons for this were unclear.

He said all of this to Ron, and Hermione, leaving out the more personal details. They looked stricken, but then also strangely relieved. Presumably seeing Neville's puzzlement, they hurried to explain.

"I know we shouldn't be happy about this, and we're not! I feel terrible that I never noticed these details, and it does seem to suggest that Harry could be... but…"

"You see the thing is Neville," Ron tried to explain, "although this is really awful if it's true, and I swear if it is, I'm going to kill Percy!" Remembering where he was, Ron blushed and muttered "story for another time… Anyway, this might be really bad, but at least you agree. I'm so glad that we're not just making something out of nothing like everyone else seems to think. Other than you, only Fred and George have taken us seriously, and that's really saying something. I think we both felt like maybe we were just being stupid. But now, well it horrible because I wish that we were, but at least someone else understands what we're worried about."

Neville nodded. He understood what they were getting at. It must have been so hard for them, having no one to talk to about their fears all summer.

"Where are the twins?" Hermione asked suddenly, "they were supposed to meet us here and then we were all going to look through the train," she filled Neville in.

"That's a good idea. I can definitely help with that," Neville offered.

"Great! Thanks Nev," Ron accepted.

Neville felt determined. Although he couldn't say with any certainty that they were friends, one thing he knew was that Harry had always been nice to him. He wasn't going to let him suffer. Not if he could help it.

As Neville was thinking about the best way to help Harry, the compartment door slid open. The Weasley twins strolled in, glancing at Neville with slight surprise.

"Right, we've got Lee and the rest of the quidditch team to help search," one of them said to Ron and Hermione, "if we don't find him here, we've got a quick way to find him at school if he's there. If we still don't see him then, we'll tell McGogagall at the feast as soon as Dumbledore's stopped talking."

"Knowing her she'll notice he's missing herself," the other twin commented, "she'll sort things out I'm sure. If you still want to search the train though, better stick together in case any of the older Slytherins try to hassle you. That way one of you can run and get us."

Neville nodded along with Ron and Hermione. The idea that he might get into a fight with an older Slytherin scared him, but he had to do this. For Harry, he would bury his cowardice. He hoped his gran and his parents would be proud.

Minerva was in a good mood. Her summer had been a refreshing and necessary break, but now she was ready to get back to teaching. She'd just brought the new first years into the great hall and they were now waiting in line to be sorted. Minerva loved seeing the wonder on their faces, even if it was usually mingled with nervousness. Hogwarts was truly a magical place, and now that the philosopher's stone was no longer hidden in the school and the spirit of Voldemort was no longer possessing any of the professors, it could go back to being the bastion of safety and good education it had always been.

As she read off the students' names and they were sorted, Minerva thought back to last year. It hadn't been a good year for her. Knowing that there was a Cerberus, along with other dangerous traps in the castle where any foolish student could run into them was bad enough. But then also knowing that Voldemort was wondering around the school in the body of a teacher was just too much. Really she didn't know what Albus had been thinking. Such a terrible risk to the students. To Harry.

Albus hadn't told her about Quirrel until the term had already started. She knew this was his way of negating the need to discuss his plan, but she had argued with him regardless. She loved Albus, he was one of her oldest and closest friends, but she wished he'd get out of the habit of assuming that he knew best and didn't need others input. She'd been so wound up all year, worrying that something would happen to her students. She remembered how furious she'd been when she discovered Mr Potter and his friends out of their dormitories at night. She knew they probably thought she'd overreacted, but the idea of them thinking it was okay to try again terrified her. They were safe from Voldemort during the day at least. He wouldn't dare risk his position in his weakened state. But she'd been so worried that if he caught Harry out at night, with only a few other first years accompanying him, that he would take his chance to eliminate him.

Of course Harry had to add to her troubles by being just as curious and good at finding trouble as his parents. She recalled her shock when he'd brazenly announced that he knew about the stone and that someone was going to steal it. She grimaced slightly. She'd taken the wrong approach entirely there. She'd assumed that she could at least intimidate the trio into not interfering further. In fact her refusal to listen had driven them to deal with the problem themselves. Harry and Mr Weasley had almost died for her mistake.

Still, she thought, trying to improve her mood for the feast, they're alright now and this year they'll all be safe. Even Harry. I'll apologise to him tomorrow and tell him I promise to listen next time, she swore mentally to herself.

As that new resolve entered her mind, she glanced over at the Gryffindor table. A student had just been sorted into Gryffindor and was being welcomed enthusiastically by his new housemates. She hadn't even noticed, deep in thought as she'd been. She scanned the seated students for the familiar hair and face which reminded her so painfully their owner's father. She looked again more closely.

She was meant to be reading the next name now. People were beginning to whisper in impatience or confusion. She paid them no heed. She saw Ms Granger's bushy hair, and next to it the flaming red hair which in this case belonged to the youngest Mr Weasley. Mr Potter, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

Her thoughts raced. What could have happened to him? Could he have missed the train and not thought to send an owl? What if it was something worse? She rushed through the remainder of the list. Luckily there were no hat stalls this year.

As soon as the sorting was done, she walked briskly towards Albus's chair at the staff table. Albus turned to her, then raised an eyebrow and gave her a questioning look as she remained standing.

"Albus," she whispered urgently, "Where is Mr Potter?"

Surprise and slight panic came over his face and he, like her, scanned the Gryffindor table.

"He's not here," he whispered back, just as urgently, "we must find him. I know nothing of this. Ask Ms Granger and Mr Weasley if they have seen him. But first, sit down and I will give the opening speech."

Reluctantly, she complied. Barely listening to the opening speech, all she noticed was that it was mercifully short. Immediately after it finished and food started appearing on the tables, she stood once more and made her way to the two present members of the trio.

As she approached, she noted with dread that Mr Weasley was not eating with his usual gusto and terrible etiquette. This was surely a bad sign. Adding to this concern, she saw that both students looked just as agitated as she felt.

"Mr Weasley, Ms Granger, may I have a word?"

They looked almost relieved at this, which was not at all the usual look of students who had been asked for a word by a professor. Mr Weasley didn't even seem disappointed in the slightest about being distracted from his meal.

"Outside please," she said pointedly.

They jumped up immediately, jostling the table and almost causing Ms Granger's drink to spill. She turned and left the hall, not bothering to check whether they were following.

Once in the entrance hall, she spun round and asked, "where is Mr Potter?"

As this was happening, Severus Snape was thinking. He'd noticed Minerva's odd behaviour during and after the sorting. He hadn't been able to hear what she and the headmaster had been saying, but he had caught them looking searchingly at the Gryffindor table. There was only one thing that could get Minerva into such a state he was sure. She was normally quite reserved, except when she was angry of course. He looked at the table in question himself to confirm his suspicion. He was right!

So precious Potter hadn't arrived then. The headmaster and Minerva were surely worried about the brat, assuming something must have happened to him. Severus knew better. It was clear to him that Potter must have simply wanted a lie in, or missed the express for some equally inane and selfish reason. He would wait for Minerva to return in case his friends knew anything about his absence. Then, he would wait for the boy to arrive in whatever moronic way he could think of. Severus needed to be the one to catch the spoiled child, no one else would get the message across as well as he would. They were all to entranced by his fame or fooled by the same insanity that had made them love his monster of a father.

Back in the entrance hall, Mr Weasley and Ms Granger had finished explaining to Minerva that they hadn't seen Harry anywhere on the platform or train. They'd also said that Mr Potter hadn't written to them all summer. She noticed Mr Weasley look down as he said this and wondered what that could be about. But this wasn't the time for idle speculation.

"Very well, I will investigate, and be reassured that whatever has happened to Mr Potter, I will deal with it."

They nodded frantically, looking incredibly relieved.

"Now then, return to the feast," she instructed, "I will inform the headmaster of this and then leave immediately to retrieve Mr Potter."

They smiled gratefully at her and scurried back to their seats. Minerva, however, was not as calm and confident as she'd pretended. What could have happened to him? she couldn't stop thinking, over and over again.

She strode over to Albus.

"They haven't seen him," she whispered, "apparently he hasn't written to either of them all summer."

Albus's face was grave.

"You must find him Minerva," I don't know how, but it's possible deatheaters may have taken him. Go to his home first, there may be clues as to his kidnappers and their location there."

Minerva nodded solemnly. She turned and left the hall once more. From there she went through the front doors out of the castle, and from there, out of the gates. Then, she disapparated.

A/N:

CrypticSpren: It took longer than anticipated, but it's finally here! I am very sorry this chapter took as long as it did; life got a bit crazy for me this week. I had my vaccine which made me feel quite ill on the day we were supposed to be uploading, and then my internet went on Friday. Still, I really hope you enjoy this chapter, and as always, I love to read your reviews so keep them coming.

Truthweaver: Yes, this is it, the one we've all been waiting for! Seriously though, I hope you all enjoy the chapter. We would normally split one as long as this, but we thought as you've been so patient, we should just give it to you all at once. We're planning on continuing with the interludes too as people seem to like them and they're fun to write. But we'll hopefully be able to upload them along side full chapters rather than in place of them in future. Anyway, let us know what you think about the chapter, and we'll see you on Wednesday (hopefully :) ) with chapter 5, where we finally get Minerva to Privet Drive!