A/N: it's alive. Like the Phoenix or Frankenstein's monster, this story has resurrected, and I must say I'm ashamed it took that long. Nine months since the last update. A full pregnancy, if you want. Honestly, when I posted the last chapter, I thought this one would follow shortly. What happened ?

Many things. Most importantly, college. I've had my plate full with my studies, and I used the few moments of free time I had to work on other projects. When Easter arrived, however, I realized how cowardly it would be to just let this story die. I must finish what I've begun – that's what I thought, at least.

So here it is, chapter 6. I realize most of you had probably forgotten about my fic, but I apologize all the same for my tardiness. I promise, next chapter won't take as long to come out.

Ah, let's not forget:

DISCLAIMER ! I don't own Harry Potter. I've tried to buy the license, but I'm just a poor student, so I couldn't afford it. What follows is a purely non-profit story, written by a fan, for the fans.

For the last ten years, Sophia had lived in the cottage Evan and she had bought right before their marriage, and she had raised her daughter there. It was a quiet place, far from any big Muggles agglomeration. Hills were green around the cottage, and a river flew nearby. When she was younger, she had dreamt of such a place. Now ? It looked like a prison. Theoretically, she could leave it at any time. She was a free witch, and no law prevented her from going wherever she desired. No law, but the unrelenting pressure of a scarred society.

Being the wife of an outlaw was hard, especially when that outlaw's name was Evan Rosier. Nobody was willing to hire her, except those who shared her husband's twisted ideals. Nobody was willing to see her, except the exact people Sophia herself refused to frequent. Nobody was willing to believe her, when she said she didn't know where he was hiding. Even after ten years, she was still stuck between the unforgiving hammer of a winning side whose beliefs were largely hers, and the defiant anvil of the defeated pureblood she barely tolerated, but understood nonetheless.

Sophia hadn't fallen in love with a death eater. As hard to believe as it might have been to those who only knew him through the Daily Prophet, Evan had been one of the most moderated Slytherin during their Hogwarts years. When his father had died, however, something had changed deep within him. Sometimes, he had looked haunted. Yet, he'd only joined the war in its last months. To this day, she didn't know if she could forgive him for this. As he had explained later on, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. But it still meant he had sided with her parents' killer.

"Mum, is everything ready ?"

For the umpteenth time, Jane's voice took Sophia out of her brooding. Her daughter was very excited by the prospective of going to Hogwarts, especially since meeting her cousin Harry. Until now, Jane's interactions with children of her age had been rather limited, due to the secluded life she had led until now. But Sophia remembered only too well how cruel children could be, and she doubted being called names and spat at because of who her father was would have done wonder for Jane's self-confidence. Even now, she had second thoughts about letting her little girl go to Hogwarts. Only Minerva's reassurances that nothing would happen to Jane had convinced Sophia: her former Head of House was one of the few people she still trusted to have her best interests at heart.

"Of course, my little bird. Everything's in your trunk."

"Do you think we'll arrive in time ?"

"Jane," Sophia answered patiently, "if anything, we'll be too early. I think it's for the best, but you really don't have to worry about the clock."

"I hope I can meet Harry in the train. We didn't get to talk much and I want to know him better. If we're sorted in different Houses, we won't see each other a lot."

"Dearie, your father and I fell in love at Hogwarts, even though he was a Slytherin and I a Gryffindor. Believe me, you'll have plenty opportunities to talk with your cousin once you're both at school."

Of course, Sophia didn't mention all the obstacles they had been forced to overcome in order to see each other. For a long time, they had pretended not to know each other, only to sneak out of their dormitories when the castle was asleep. And when their relationship was discovered, both Houses had tried to discourage it by various means. However, that had been then, and this was now. The rivalry between the Lions and the Snakes couldn't be nearly as explosive as it had been during the pre-war years.

" I hope I'm not sorted in Slytherin, though" winced Jane.

" Now, why would you say that ? You know your dad would be hurt if he could hear you."

"I think it'd be awkward. Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived, mom, and the Slytherin… They supported You-Know-Who. You know it's true."

And that, sighed Sophia internally, was at the heart of many, many of the problems that plagued their society. Somehow, a childish rivalry had evolved into a full-blown war, and the rivalry had survived the end of the conflict. As a result, prejudice thrived more than ever, and it went both ways, blowing on the cinders without pause.

"Not every Slytherin supported him, Jane. And although a lot of people says otherwise, not every Gryffindor opposed him. Most witches and wizards wanted peace, but You-Know-Who didn't, and he wasn't a man who accepted neutrality, not when threats could win him more supporters. In the end, the fears and beliefs of the adults caused the war, and the grief of the children perpetuated it. Hogwarts' Houses had nothing to do with it."

This was, at least, the theory most pacifists tried to spread. As Sophia herself knew all too well, the four Houses followed the ideologies of their founders, and Slytherin, in his own time, had strongly opposed Gryffindor on the subject of the Muggleborns. At Hogwarts, children were inevitably contaminated by the ideas of the political majority within their House, ideas that more often than not hadn't changed since the founders' era. The rift between Gryffindor and Slytherin had been instrumental in separating the pureblood families between pro- and anti-Muggle-borns, and the decreasing power of the anti had prompted them to unify under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's banner.

But Sophia didn't want her daughter to think she had enemies had Hogwarts. Hopefully, the war had ended for good, and the old wounds would close sooner or later. In her opinion, branding Slytherin evil only rubbed salt where it hurt, only got in the way of reconciliation. The adults, she was convinced, had to let their children be friends instead of foes.

"Then why did dad joined You-Know-Who ?"

"To protect us, my little bird. At the time, it looked liked He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would win, no matter what happened. He thought he had to be on the winning side, but things didn't quite work out the way he thought they would."

Once again, it was an oversimplification to make Evan looks good. In truth, he would have joined the death eaters a lot sooner, if not for her disapproval. But while that idiot still clung to the stupid ideals of his family, Sophia knew he wasn't a cruel man at heart, and he certainly didn't deserve to be a monster in his daughter's eyes.

"Enough with that subject," she decided. "Since you're ready, let's leave – or the train will depart without you."

…

Each and every time he looked at a mirror, Lucius Malfoy saw a face that filled him with shame. He had more scars on it than most people had fingers, and dark circles around the eyes that betrayed his exhaustion. Ever since his possessions had been sized by the Ministry, Lucius had been forced to take a disgraceful job at Borgin and Burks in order to raise his son. A job especially humiliating when the goods he sold had belonged to his family.

"Time has come Draco. You're eleven, and it's time for you to attend Hogwarts."

They were standing in front of the Hogwarts Express, so early that no steam was coming out of the trains' chimney yet. Lucius remembered how his own father had deliberately waited for the most crowded moment, how he had orchestrated the way he would parade his heir in front of the lesser families. But, the mighty had fallen since then. From peacocks, the Malfoy had become crows, a sign of bad luck. Instead of craving the attention of the envious, they had to hide, lest they got stoned by a hostile mob.

"You know what kind of welcome you can expect from the other students. Many will despise you, because our family lost the war. Because we're weak now, and weakness isn't a sin easily forgiven. But it must not matter to you. You're a Malfoy, Draco, and you must bear this name with pride in spite of the hostility you will certainly have to face."

"Yes, father. 'Fiers malgré tout' is our family motto, isn't it ?"

Such a serious face. Draco looked a lot like Lucius did at the same age: blond hairs, grey eyes, pale skin… Perhaps fortunately, given the circumstances, his every physical features were similar to Lucius' own – very little came from Narcissa. There was, however, a huge difference in their characters. When he was eleven years-old, Lucius had harboured a sense of entitlement because of his birth. There had been nothing his parents would have refused him, had he asked, and his family name had been enough to earn him a place in every circle he had wished to enter.

Draco, on the other hand, hadn't been nearly as spoiled as a child, and wouldn't receive any special treatment from society – at least not in a good way. He had inherited a heavy name, but none of the advantages it used to bring. Because of that, Draco was quieter than a younger Lucius had been, and his expressions grimmer. Considering the trials that awaited him if he was to restore the Malfoy family to its former glory, it probably was for the better.

"Exactly. We'll stand tall no matter what. But by whose side ? When I was your age, your grandfather had a straight answer to give me. You imagine what it was, I suppose."

"The Dark Lord" guessed Draco.

"Of course. With the Muggle-borns on the rise, the purity of the blood fading with each passing generation and our influence slowly eroding, we had no other choice but to rely on his overwhelming power. But, that proved a mistake. Once this power had disappeared, our opponents – no, our enemies – were poised to destroy us."

Lucius closed his eyes, took a deep breath and pursued.

"Our generation has lost the war. Only fools like Black and Rosier cannot see the obvious. What we defended exists no longer. Oh, the purity of blood and the importance of our customs is still important in the hearts of many witches and wizards, but they'll only defend the latter, and thus, they condemn the former. Mudbloods care nothing for our traditions, and they'll destroy them ruthlessly."

This admission costed him, but it was true. The number of purebloods children dwindled, years after years, whereas the number of Muggleborns' spawn barely changed between two generation. Their importance in the population of the magic community increased steadily. The war they had waged had decimated Lucius' generations, killing maybe half of the purebloods he had grown with, and sending an important part of the rest either to St-Mungo's or to Azkaban. Already, the half-bloods were on the verge of becoming the majority, and their ideas had already won over a good three quarters of the population. Such numbers couldn't be fought.

"Draco, I've entrusted you with the future of our family. It's a heavy duty, heavy enough that I won't ask you to rekindle a hopeless war. Instead, I want you to learn from my mistakes. Listen, my son, and don't forget my words."

The former death eater knelt before his son and bore his eyes into his.

"When you're at Hogwarts, don't seek a protector. Don't seek minions either. What you must seek are friends. The influence they hold matters not, nor does their talents. They don't need to agree with you on everything. The only question you have to ask yourself is: 'can I trust them ?' And if the answer is yes, be as loyal to them as they are to you. Eventually, this course of action will make you stronger and happier than short-sighted ambition."

Lucius words came from bitter experience. His protector had vanished. His minions were gone. He had escaped the sad fate of many of his friends, and the rest of them were now spitting on his name because he had forsaken their fallen master and managed to stay free. Who could he rely on ? The only people willing to help him were his former business partner, and it was less help than exploitation.

"Do you understand, Draco ?"

"I do, father," answered his son earnestly. "I must befriend trustworthy people."

"That's right. Learn what you can. Enjoy what you can. And above all, be sure of the people you associate with. Now, go sit in the Express. I'd wave you goodbye, if it wasn't for my work."

"I know" nodded Draco. "Goodbye, father."

"Good bye, my son."

Few people knew Lucius well enough to discern the anguish he felt while he watched his only child get on the Hogwarts Express. Without Draco, he might have killed himself when the legacy of his ancestors had been taken away, if only to avoid the shame he had endured ever since. Now, his reason to live was escaping to a better place than the miserable home where they were living. He had, in his opinion, no right to be sad.

Yet, his eyes were moist when he looked away from the train.

…

When Sophia and Jane arrived at platform 9 3/4 , it was almost empty. Jane thought she had recognized a man with long, blond hairs a few seconds before her trolley crossed the stonewall barrier, but apart from him, there was no wizard around. A bit embarrassed, Jane realized her mom had been right: they really were early. In a way, it was reassuring. Although Jane hadn't been in many crowds yet, she was fairly sure she didn't like them. It was probably better for her to arrive before the flow.

"Well, here we are," smiled her mother. "Do you want me to help you find a place ?"

" I don't think it will be very difficult, mum. There's nobody here."

"How strange. I thought we were going to be quite late."

Jane grimaced. Her mum liked to tease her just a bit too much in her opinion. But, she wouldn't have traded her for anything in the world. Because her dad was a wanted criminal, incidents similar to what happened at Diagon Alley tended to happen from times to times, and it was distressing. It didn't mean that Jane wasn't happy with her family. She would have preferred to see her father more frequently than five minutes every few months, that was for sure, but she had no complaint about her sweet, loving mother.

"Do you think I should board the train right now, or wait until more people arrives ?"

"Maybe you should give a look inside the compartments" suggested her mom. "If one of them catch your eyes, you can claim it before someone else comes."

"Good idea, mum !" Jane exclaimed.

But as enthusiastically as her inspection had begun, she quickly realized that every wagon was rigorously identical to the others. Only their position in respect to the head of the train was different. A little bored, Jane was about to stop, when she saw a blond boy within one of department. His grey eyes widened a little when they crossed hers, and he adressed her a little sign of the hand. Jane then ran back to her mother and seized her trunk.

"There's already a boy in this compartment" she explained. "He's seen me, so I thought I should sit with him, since we're both so early."

"That sounds like a good idea" approved her mum. "Should I carry your trunk for you ?"

"No, I'll be fine. Besides, you've casted a Feather-Weight charm on it, right ?"

"I don't see what you're talking about, my little bird."

But Jane's mum was looking aside, hiding her smile behind her hand. It vexed Jane a little, because she had specifically asked her not to lighten her trunk. It reassured her to feel the weight of her belongings. How else would she know if something was missing ?

"I'll go now, mum."

"Fine, but look at the windows when the trains leaves. I will wave you goodbye one last time."

Jane's mother took her in her arms and held her close a few seconds before releasing her and saying on a trembling tone:

"I don't know if I must be glad or sad. I won't see you until the next holidays, and I know it will be hard on me. Don't forget to owl me from times to times, okay ?"

"Of course not," answered Jane through a tight throat. "I'll write as often as I can."

Although Jane wouldn't have admitted it easily, she was almost as apprehensive as she was excited. Most of her life until now had revolved around her mother. She hadn't met many other children, and she had no friends to speak of. For her, going to Hogwarts was a leap to the unknown. She didn't know how well she would adjust to her new environment, but she would put up a brave face – to make her parents proud.

In the compartment, the blond boy hadn't moved an inch, but he looked rather surprised to see her.

"Hello" she greeted. "I'm Jane."

"My name's Draco" answered the boy. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. Are you a first year ?"

"Yes. You too, I take it ?"

"Hm hm" nodded Jane even as she was tucking her trunk above her seat.

"Is that your mother ?"

The boy's thumb pointed at the window, but his eyes didn't leave Jane's while she sat in front of him.

"Yes. Yours didn't stay ?"

"My father brought me here, then left to work. My mother, on the other hand… couldn't make it."

Draco's expression was bitter, full of pain, and Jane shifted nervously on her seat. Maybe her question had been a bit too intrusive ? What if something had happened to his mother ?

"My dad couldn't either" she replied awkwardly.

It was strange to put it like that, like it was a one-time thing. But Draco didn't ask any questions. He merely opined and muttered darkly:

"I'd bet they're not the only parents that couldn't come today."

Silence fell on their compartment. Through the windows, they watched as people began to fill the platform 9 3/4, and noted the truth in Draco's words. Most of the children were accompanied by only one adult. And too often, it seemed to be one of their grand-parent rather than their mums and dads.

For some reason, Jane and Draco had to wait for a long while before someone else crossed the threshold of their compartment. Most older students only gave them a brief look before going their ways, and the youngest didn't even come in their wagon. That was, until a girl arrived and greeted them jovially.

"Merry meet ! I'm Galatea Runcorn. May I sit with you two ?"

Without waiting for their agreement, the newcomer installed herself in the seat next to Jane's. She was, Jane noted with envy, a very pretty girl, with long, shining black hairs and a perfect milk-like skin. Even though they were the same age, Galatea looked older and more confident, to the point Jane could already see the noble and beautiful woman she would one day become.

"You're welcome" Draco declared dispassionately. "I wasn't waiting for anybody in particular."

"Me neither" said Jane with a shy smile.

"Thanks ! I was afraid I wouldn't find other first years to sit with. Many famous friendships have been born aboard this train, you know ? By the way, I didn't hear your names."

"That's because we haven't presented ourselves" the blond boy pointed out. "My name's Draco."

"And I'm Jane."

"Nice to meet you both" smiled Galatea radiantly. "So, I know it's an unoriginal topic, but what House do you want to join ?"

"I don't really have a specific wish" answered Jane somewhat hesitantly. "There's someone I'd like to be with, but beyond that..."

"My family used to go to Slytherin" explained Draco "but it's fallen out of fashion recently, so I'm still hesitant. I don't think I'd fit in Ravenclaw, and going to Gryffindor would upset my grand-mother. While Hufflepuff… is Hufflepuff."

Jane frowned. What did Draco mean ? It sounded like Hufflepuff was less desirable than the other Houses, and for obvious reasons. But Jane didn't know those reasons, so she felt a little lost. Fortunately, Galatea was there to expand on Draco's thought process.

"I know, right ? Hard-work and loyalty are good ideals, don't get me wrong, but they don't carry the same weight as pride, ambition or courage. As for me, I'd much rather go to Gryffindor. Right now, it's the most prestigious of the four Houses, and I'm told I look lovely in red and gold."

"…"

Jane and Draco's were stunned into silence by the sheer vanity of Galatea's motivations. But then, upon seeing their shocked expressions, she laughed loudly and continued:

"I'm joking, of course ! I really want to join the Lions, but not for such a ridiculous reason. I just feel like their Houses fits my personality best."

"Well," Jane heard Draco mutter "it looks like this trip won't be boring after all."

…

" So," asked Harry, "please explain why I have to take that train again ?"

"Because it's a tradition, Mr. Potter. Every student boards on the Hogwarts Express when the new year begin, so they can arrive at the castle together."

" I live in the castle."

"For now, yes, and that doesn't change anything. You'll need to meet the other students at some point, and the Express is as good a place to begin as any."

"Technically, I've met some of them at Diagon Alley. Aren't they good enough for you ?"

The deputy headmistress resisted an urge to sigh. Harry's behaviour was far friendlier than it had been a month ago, that much was true. He didn't hiss or bite like a wild animal any more, but he was still as stubborn as a donkey – once turned into a statue of stone.

"They are. But social interactions aren't just a quota you must reach so I stop bothering you. You will live with your colleagues for the next seven years, Mr. Potter. Nothing will help you start on the right foot with them as a shared experience. Such as, boarding this train, for example."

But Harry merely grunted and didn't comment.

"Really, Mr. Potter, why do you hate the idea of taking the Express so much ?"

"I'm fairly sure you've realized I'm claustrophobic and agoraphobic already. Trains are narrow and crowded. Can't you add two and two ?"

Those, Minerva had to admit, were good points. Until then, Harry's reaction when confronted with many people at once had always be difficult, to say the least. And he always insisted on letting the door opened whenever he entered a closed room. This time, however, his fears were easy to assuage.

"Compartments contains no more than four student at once, and I can assure you they're large enough to let you feel at ease. You shouldn't always assume the worst, Mr. Potter."

"If you say so. Where's platform 9 3/4 , anyway ?"

"Between platforms 9 and 10, of course."

"Clever", Harry snorted. "According to the indications I've read so far, platforms 9 and 10 are adjacent. How can a third one exist between them ?"

With an enigmatic smile, Minerva took her time to answer. When she did, she enunciated a sole word.

"Magic."

Soon enough, the deputy headmistress and her sulking charge arrived in front of the barrier that separated the expanded space called platform 9 3/4 from the rest of the train station. It looked very much like a pillar of concrete, and Muggles couldn't cross it, as if it really was made of stone. Witches and wizards, however…

" That pillar feels strange" observed Harry. "Is it a portkey or something ?"

" No, it's merely a gate. Run through it, and you'll feel no resistance at all."

Suddenly, the Boy-Who-Lived stopped and looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

"You're kidding, right ?"

" Not at all. I'll precede you, if you want."

And Minerva crossed the barrier without any hesitation. On the other side, the Hogwarts Express seemed ready to leave: steam rose steadily from the chimney of the locomotive, and the whole train looked like a young, impatient horse. A few second later, Harry emerged from the barrier – but remained a step behind her, probably weary of the huge crowd of parents that pressed itself against the wagons.

At first, she thought their arrival hadn't been unnoticed. But after a few seconds, a couple of heads turned in their direction, and whispers quickly began to spread.

"Looks like you're famous" observed Harry sarcastically. "May I board the bloody train before we attract their attentions ?"

"It might be wise" admitted the deputy headmistress, overlooking his language for once.

"Thank you, professor. I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose."

Then Harry leaped toward the Express, aiming for the nearest wagon. In spite of the crowd, he didn't need more than a couple of seconds before he was inside, and only a few members of the families that remained on the platform had even noticed his presence. Alas, the astonishingly long-lived and old-fashioned Augusta Longbottom was among them, and she went to straight to Minerva.

"The boy boarded the wrong wagon !" she thundered angrily.

" Hello, Augusta" replied the deputy headmistress with equanimity. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean by 'wrong wagon'".

"Look at the kind of scum that wait in front of the back wagons. What do you think I mean ?"

Alarmed, Minerva McGonagall paid more attention to the faces in the crowd. And then, with no short amount of consternation, she realized what had happened.

For all intents and purposes, the platform was cut in two. On one side, she could see people like the MacMillans, the Abbotts, Molly Weasley, Andromeda Tonks, and many more families who, as she well knew, had supported the Order during the war. Some of them were Minerva's friends. The others were at least her allies.

On the other side, less amicable individuals had also gathered. Only Goyle was a known death eater, but many were notorious – if tepid – former sympathiser of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Among them figured the Bulstrodes, the Flints and the Runcorns, as well as her old acquaintance, the sly Lydia Selwyn.

Fortunately, some moderated souls had formed a barrier between the two factions. Amelia Bones and Phoebus Greengrass looked as embarrassed by the whole situation as Minerva herself felt. It wasn't a situation she had seen… Since the pre-wars years !

"Augusta, I'm… speechless ! On this day, we should at least pretend our society isn't divided, for our children's sake ! What good can bring that kind of display ? "

"Our children will soon be as divided as us" retorted the matriarch of the Longbottom family. "Divided between four Houses ! And we both know where their brood will end, Minerva. There's no need to pretend. Why did you send the boy among them ?"

"I didn't send him anywhere" she snapped. "Segregation within the Hogwarts Express wasn't something I expected I'd see, ten years after the end of the war !"

"Precisely because it's been ten years, you should have expected it ! Half of your first year students will be orphans. Don't tell me you didn't know that, Minerva !"

In truth, she had known – though Augusta's claim was exaggerated, as always. Between 1979 and 1981, there had been a wave of marriages, followed by a wave of births, as if love had tried to shine brighter than ever before a period of darkness. In many ways, the first year students of 1991 were the children of the war. The sheer number of pureblood heirs among them was nothing short of exceptional, as was, it was true, the proportion of orphans. But it should have served as a reminder of why peace was needed, not as a pretext to rekindle the conflict.

"Really," grumbled Augusta Longbottom. "After what happened at Diagon Alley, the Express isn't nearly safe enough for the boy. Our children needs protection, but him more than any others. He will be a target, from the inside as well as the outside."

The deputy headmistress sent her a dark glare.

"The Hogwarts staff, including myself, will board the train. Safety isn't an issue here."

"Even if the death eaters' spawns try something against him ?"

Minerva thought back to how Harry looked when they had found him in the streets of King's Lynn. Ragged, famished, and yet, so defiant. She remembered his tale of surviving against all odds, of killing a grown wizard in black robes. She pictured his green eyes, blazing with fury, hungry for justice. The unsettling mix of maturity and childishness, the power and the ruthlessness he had displayed.

"Even so, Augusta," she replied darkly, "I think Mr. Potter would remain the 'Boy-Who-Lived'"

…

In the first compartment Harry visited, his arrival shocked two first-year girls into silence. One of them was more immediately noticeable than the other, by virtue of having all the bulk of a young gorilla. While she was holding a small, brown frog in front of her mouth, the way she looked at Harry's forehead made it obvious she had recognized him. Harry, however, paid more attention to her companion. Eyes usually couldn't send daggers, but she was trying so hard that he thought she might actually succeed if he gave her enough time. Since he didn't want to pick a fight, Harry decided to leave before the situation inevitably degenerated.

" I think I should try to sit elsewhere" he excused himself before closing the door.

The next two compartments were filled with older students harbouring Slytherin's emblem on their robes. When Harry finally found a place, it was once more surrounded by first-year girls – but this time, they were three. They seemed almost as surprised to see him as the previous two had been, but at least none of them looked like she wanted his head as a Christmas gift, and if it wasn't a progress, what was ?

"Hello," he greeted them. "As you might have guessed thanks to the cute lightning bolt on my forehead, I'm Harry Potter. May I sit with you ?"

A moment silence met his words. One of the girl, a brunette with short hairs cut in the manner of a boy's, blinked a few times before arching an eyebrow.

"You're really the Harry Potter?" she asked. "You're not pulling our leg ?"

"Do I look like I'm joking ?"

He very much doubted he did, and his interlocutor apparently agreed with this assessment. The brunette gave a look at the blond girl in front of whom she was sitting, and received a shrug in answer. Then, turning back to Harry, she extended her hand toward him, and grinned.

"I'm Tracey Davis. As far as I'm concerned, I'd be honoured to welcome you in our modest compartment."

"I have no reason to refuse either" declared the blond girl as Harry shook Tracey's hand with the utmost carefulness. "By the way, my name's Daphne Greengrass."

Suddenly, the third girl coughed – not in a 'notice-me' way, but more in a 'my lungs want to leave my chest' way. Startled, Harry immediately let go of Tracey's hand and reached for his wand, only to stop midway when he realized there was no danger.

"… I'm Lily" managed to articulate the coughing girl. "Lily Moon."

Harry studied her. She was thin, almost frail, with a pale complexion. She had black curly hairs and silver eyes . She also looked on the verge of collapsing. Her bad health was painfully obvious, to the point Harry was surprised her family had even let her go to Hogwarts, where the weather was quite cold and wet. He sought to say something kind without sounding like he pitied her and, surprisingly, found an idea rather easily.

"What a coincidence" he feigned to marvel. "My mother was called Lily too."

Raising her head, Lily met his eyes and smiled weakly.

"I know. My parents liked her a lot. That's why..."

But a fit of coughing interrupted her. Harry had the gist of it, of course. Lily Moon had been named after Lily Potter, which was something of a surprise, because he didn't think his mother had been famous before her death. There probably was a deeper story between Harry's mother and Lily's parents, but the pale girl wasn't in condition to tell it right now.

"Will you be all right ?" he asked.

"… Yes. It happens all the time, ever since I was little. I just need to take a potion before sleeping, and I'll be fine."

"No luck" sympathized Tracey. "There aren't many diseases that magic can't cure permanently, but they are very annoying."

Harry sat next to Lily, and took a better look at Tracey. By comparison with the pale-skinned girl, she looked especially healthy and energetic. Her rose cheeks and bright expression gave him an impression of strong will and honesty. For once, Harry thought, appearances might not be deceptive. Tracey really seemed to wear her emotions on her face.

Daphne, on the other hand, looked more dispassionate, in a way vaguely reminiscent of himself. Her blonde hairs were also arranged in a much more complex manner than either Tracey or Lily. If he had to guess, Harry would have said she belonged to one of the influential pureblood families he had heard about. She had definitely the kind of casual grace the job required.

None of the three girls made him feel particularly threatened. It was certainly a pre-requisite, if he wanted to become friends with them – a bold goal, but there were, after all, people he could trust in this world, and he would never meet them if he didn't try. To be sure, eleven years-old wouldn't be a counterweight to those who wanted him dead, but they were a starting point. To walk what path ? Harry himself didn't know yet, but in time...

"So, Harry," asked Tracey, "aren't you curious to discover what Hogwarts looks like ?"

"Not really. That's where I've lived for the last two months, after all."

Apparently, such a simple truth made a strong impression on Tracey, who widened her eyes in surprise.

"What ?" she exclaimed. "You live at Hogwarts ?!"

"And so will we until next summer" sighed Daphne. "Really, it's nothing worth making a fuss over, Tracey."

"But we'll be at school, it's just not the same !"

"How is it any different ? We won't be working all the time, especially not you."

"Hey ! I'll let you know I intend to work quite a lot ! I have big dreams to achieve !"

"Namely ?"

"I want to become a professional quidditch player, and after I retire, make use of my popularity to become Minister of Magic."

"I'm impressed. I thought your goals would be unrealistic, but that's way beyond my wilder expectations."

"You're mean, Daphne" pouted Tracey. "Harry, help me ! Tell her I can fulfil my dreams if I believe in myself !"

Absorbed by the pace of their quick, friendly exchanges, Harry didn't immediately realize Tracey was talking to him. When he finally did, he simply shrugged.

"How would I know ? I barely know what quidditch is, anyway."

Both girls looked at him in disbelief.

"Did you live under a rock until recently ? It doesn't matter. We have a few hours, so I, Tracey Davis, will explain you the basic rules."

"It's not really necess..."

"So," Tracey cut him, "quidditch is played on brooms. There is a ball called Quaffle, and..."

Harry sighed. Tracey was probably harmless, but why couldn't she see how little he cared about that sport ?

….

At first glance, Sophia Rosier didn't seem aware of the situation on the platform. Her eyes had barely left the wagon her daughter had boarded, and few people had even greeted her, much less talked to her. Like a rock in the stream, she didn't look like she paid attention to her surroundings.

But she wasn't deaf nor blind. She'd seen the battle lines drawn, heard the heated conversations, and shuddered at what it meant. For the sake of the future, Sophia could only hope there was more wisdom in the children than in the parents.

Then the Hogwarts Express left. Sophia waved goodbye to her daughter, and she could see Jane wave back. Soon, the train was gone, and Sophia felt like she had died a little.

"They grow so fast" commented a male voice on her left.

Sophia turned around and quickly recognized Phoebus Greengrass. Even if they knew each other rather well – Phoebus had married Evan's sister, after all – they hadn't seen each other very often ever since Gloria's death.

"I remember Daphne's birth, you know. She looked so little, so fragile. And now she's leaving. I feel old already."

"You're not" smiled Sophia. "Both of us aren't even thirty yet."

"I know better than to dispute a woman's expertise on the subject. How's Jane ?"

"She's fine. She was very excited this morning, but who wouldn't be ?"

"I agree. Astorias's been pouting because I told her she wouldn't go to Hogwarts before two more years. She's jealous of her big sister, I'm afraid."

Big sister. This two words made Sophia feel a pang of regret. As much as she had wanted to give Jane siblings, the circumstances simply hadn't allowed it. Evan being a fugitive, conceiving another child with him would have been as reckless as difficult. As for adopting, the Ministry simply wouldn't allow the wife of a death eater to raise another child.

"It must be hard on you" she sympathized. "You're a widower, and you've got to raise your two daughters, alone."

"Not exactly alone" corrected Phoebus. "My aunt Ceres often comes to see the girls. And alas, Gloria's mother too."

"Lady Selwyn isn't an easy woman to deal with. But she does care about her family."

"So you say. Does she visit you as often as she visits me ? If I'm not mistaken, she strongly disapproved your marriage with Evan."

Disapproved ? It was an euphemism. As it stood, Lydia Selwyn – who had taken back the name of her father upon the death of his husband, Andrew Rosier – barely acknowledged Sophia as a member of her family. By extension, she didn't treat Jane as her grand-daughter either. But it was just as well. Sophia wasn't fond of the bigoted woman either.

"She still disapprove. But she doesn't send a Howler every week any more."

"Ah, so she also had that kind of… correspondence with you. How can you say she cares about her family, then ?"

"Well, in spite of what he's done, she hasn't disinherited Evan."

Phoebus remained silent, then said:

"That woman doesn't hide her game as well as she think she does, does she ? Between her and Augusta Longbottom, it's no wonder there are still tensions in our community. You know, I couldn't believe what I saw when I arrived on the platform. I really thought we were past that."

Although she nodded politely, Sophia couldn't help remembering how Phoebus himself was rather ambivalent, threading on a thin rope as only politicians managed. Double game was a tradition of sort in the Greengrass family, one of the few that had managed to sustain a form of neutrality during the war – only for Phoebus' parents to be murdered by one the two sides, it still wasn't clear which. If memory served her well, Phoebus himself was well-known in the Wizenmagot because he voted like the wind: one day he supported the progressive motions, the other he opposed them. 'Moderate', indeed.

"Perhaps..." Phoebus hesitated. "Perhaps Evan is to be blamed once again. I think his stunt at Diagon Alley has stirred a lot of dirt. The Ministry fears he will try to take advantage of the Boy-Who-Lived's return to spark a new conflict. After all, that's what a terrorist would do."

"Phoebus," she answered coldly. "I don't know what Evan is trying to do, even if everybody seems convinced of the opposite. And there's no formal proof of his implications in the recent events at Diagon Alley."

"True. But the people who count believe he's the culprit."

Sophia turned heel. She knew Evan truly was the responsible of the attack at Flourish and Blott's, but she suspected his true motives wouldn't be easily discerned. That idiot's thought process was unique. Perhaps he had only wanted to give Harry the portkey that had brought him to Jane, and had improvised the rest as a diversion. Perhaps it was all part of a greater plan. Perhaps someone else had taken advantage of his actions. Who knew, except Evan himself ?

"I'm not here to speak about my husband, Phoebus. I bid you goodbye."

Then she left. A few eyes followed her as she walked toward the platform's exit. It was as if she had been an unimportant actress leaving the stage in the middle of the show. She had been noticed, but the limelight were pointing somewhere else.