A/N: Sorry it's been so long! My email did not want to work with me. That, coupled with exams (never take A.P. US History, College Chemistry, Spanish III, Honors English, and Calculus at the same time. You will end up with no life, sleep, or happiness). Anyway, yes, this is a slower fic. I want to portray how the kids change through time, whether it be week-to-week or year-to-year. It is going to stray off canon (surprise!) and I'll try to keep a decent update schedule.

Harry, not for the first time in his life, felt afraid. The giant had been friendly enough, and had obviously tried to help as much as possible, but converting pounds to Galleons and Knuts was going to take some time, not to mention all the other strange little things the Wizarding World took for normalcy. When Hagrid had left as suddenly as he arrived, he was simply told to go onto Platform 9 ¾. What kind of a platform was that? Why not 9 ½? Would that not have made more sense?

Harry felt more than a little nervous pushing his cart through the station, especially with Hedwig hooting at everyone through her cage. Every time they had to go over a particularly nasty bump, or swerve to avoid a stranger who hadn't noticed them, she would ruffle her feathers and hoot softly.

It wasn't until he had spotted a small island of red hair did he breathe a marginal sigh of relief. They had donned the same type of clothing he had spotted in Diagon Alley. Robes, he recalled. A women was fussing with the children, tucking back hair and pushing bags into their hands, perhaps some food or money for the journey. Harry's stomach rumbled, longing for the breakfast it did not receive that morning.

Hedwig's hooting alerted the family to his presence, and the woman smiled kindly at him.

"Hello, dearie. This your first trip to Hogwarts?" She asked, taking in his trunk. "Don't worry. It's Ron's first year, too, isn't it, Ronald?" This time she turned to her second youngest, singling out a lanky boy with lumpy robes hanging off his frame. He waved, and smiled.

"Well, what's your name? Maybe you two will end up in the same house," she continued.

"Harry," he replied. At that, the woman squinted through his messy bangs, before making out the scar. Before she could comment, however, another child stepped in. "Mum, we have to go or we'll miss the train. Wouldn't want to do something crazy, like take the flying car!"

"Oh, Fred!"

"I'm not Fred, Mum. I'm George. What kind of a mother are you? You can't even tell your own children apart!"

"George!"

"Just kidding. I'm Fred," the boy cheekily said, sending a wink in Harry's direction. At his mother's glare, however, he merely smiled more broadly.

Seemingly distracted, the woman turned her attention back to Harry. "Anyway, dearie, you see that pillar there? You just have to go through it, but concentrate, or you'll end up crashing. Here, I'll have the Percy and the twins demonstrate, and then you and Ron can go."

As promised, Harry ended up on the other side, and for a moment, he marveled at the sight before him.

A magnificent train, glorious and puffing, was stationed before him. Ron, who had not missed a beat, simply motioned his head towards the train.

"Come on. I bet we can still find some good seats."

It turned out that Ron had an affinity for prophecy. They managed to find acceptable seats within a few minutes of searching. Once they plopped down across from each other, Ron pulled out his lunch, and sighed at its contents, before looking up again at Harry.

"So, I'm guessing you're a Muggleborn."

"A what?"

"Someone who has magic in their blood without having been born from magical parents. Don't worry. There's not a lot of people like you, but you'll fit in just fine."

"I don't think so."

"What?"

"I don't think I'm a Muggleborn. I mean, I don't really know anything about magic, other than it exists, but a lot of people have been coming up to me and shaking my hand and stuff."

"Why?"

"I dunno. It's always when they look at my forehead, though."

"Do you have some sort of telepathic ability or something? Let's this this wondrous forehead of yours."

Harry obliged, pushing his unruly locks back, and Ron's eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets.

"You're Harry Potter. You defeated You-Know-Who!"

Then, his face got more serious.

"Guess that means you won't want to be friends with me."

Harry frowned, "Why would that be? You mum seems nice."

"Because I'm a Weasley. Worse, I'm a young Weasley."

"So?"

"So, I have all these shoes to fill. My entire family is in Gryffindor. Percy is a prefect, or whatever. George and Fred are what my mother refers to as 'horrors' but they're great and everyone loves them and I'm just me."

"For someone who is eleven years old, you have some weird issues. So what? Make your own bloody shoes."

Ron's features shifted into a smile, before sticking out his hand. "Friends?"

Harry shook it with gusto. "Friends."

The next few minutes were filled with Ron telling him what he could about Wizarding culture. How no one really washed the dishes, but used spells. Brooms and Quidditch. Butterbeer. House elves and Centaurs. Minister Fudge. When the trolley came around, Harry had bought some of everything and split his loot with Ron, tasting the Chocolate Frogs and Every Flavor Beans with fervor.

They were uninterrupted until a girl with astonishingly bushy hair and buck teeth stood at the door to their compartment.

"A boy lost his toad on the train. Its name is Trevor, and we were wondering if you had seen it anywhere."

Harry and Ron shook their heads, and the girl looked at Harry for a moment before suddenly blurting, "You're the Boy Who Lived. I've read about you."

Ron jumped in, "He doesn't like being known as The Boy Who Lived. Just Harry."

The girl tilted her head to the side, appearing to consider this tidbit of information, before nodding her head. "That's fair. I'm Hermione Granger."

After shaking hands with Harry, she turned to Ron, "and you are?"

"Ron Weasley!" Is what Ron meant to say around the mouthful of food. At Hermione's blink, she simply smiled before taking out her wand, pointing it at Harry's face.

"Uh, Hermione, I don't think you should do that!"

"Reparo!"

Suddenly, Harry's glasses were clear, the tape that had been holding them in place suddenly gone and better than ever.

"I've been practicing all the spells all the way up to Third Year, and have memorized all the textbooks for this year and the next. I don't want to fall behind."

With that, she spun on her heel, before stopping once again and glancing back at Ron.

"You have a little something on your nose."

Then she left.

Harry and Ron exchanged alarmed glances for a couple of seconds before bursting into laughter.

"Merlin, I hope we share classes with her. I can't wait what Professor Snape or Binns think!"