A.N. Wow, chapter four! nn I hope you guys are enjoying my fic, because I really love writing it. Soon it's going to be coming in slower, and it's soon going to become harder to write it, but please be patient! I love my reviewers--it gives me such a great sense of pride. A shout to Pokes, because she reassured me when times were pretty sucky that my fic was good, and though my self esteem was rock bottom, she kept me going. You rock, Pokes, and I just have to put that in here. Ciao 'till next chapter!
-Spiffeh

What if I wanted to break
Laugh it all off in your face
What would you do?
What if I fell to the floor
Couldn't take all this anymore
What would you do?

The rain still fell in sheets as the three stepped from the car, grunting as they heaved out their luggage, coaxing Crookshanks from the car. They were attempting to make good time, and it turned out for the better. They were a good ten minutes early, which was something that never really happened to them.

At least not to Harry.

Wheeling their crammed carts across the ground to the wall that was Platform Nine and Three Quarters, they all gave a small look to each other. They were silent, knowing looks that only friends could read. This is a new year. What's going to happen now?

Hermione gave a small, reassuring smile, Ron looked half blank half worried, and Harry stared boldly ahead, eyeing the wall. It wasn't anything new—none of this was. Though the prospect of a new year was fresh and amazing. Sirius was bound to fly a letter back somehow—it was a waste of time to worry. Now he had gotten Hermione worked up about it.

Ron sensed almost a tension, and leaned against his cart, eyeing the two other taxis just pulling in. "I wonder if Winky really DID make the Dark Mark." He murmured, as though it had been on his mind. Harry still stared boldly at the wall, but Hermione's face crumbled into anger, and shot Ron a glare.

"Ron! I can't believe that you'd sink to that level? Can't you see that Winky doesn't even know how to use a wand? She has elf magic! Now if you'd JUST listen to me, Ron, and take in what I said through your thick skull, then—"

Harry adjusted his glasses, rubbing away the rain water that had fogged it up. Fred and George were bouncing forward, and Ginny was moving along behind them, followed by Mrs. Weasley, who was ushering them as quick as possible.

"Come on, everyone! You three go through, now. Go on, go on!"

The sound of Mrs. Weasley's command pulled Harry from his trance, and he stepped through, yielding to the wall. He didn't bother hide that he did it, no one was watching. Everyone was hurrying to get on the train away from the soaking rain. As he stepped through, everything was silenced for a moment—and then suddenly life poured to his ears. Steps clattering, rain drumming on the ground. Hermione, Ron and Ginny stepped through, and then Fred George and Mrs. Weasley appeared. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be scolding, again.

"I thought I told you to keep all those OUT of your pockets!" She gasped as the wand she held turned into a rubber chicken. Fred and George looked in a panic. Ginny was giggling nearby, and she leaned against her cart. "They didn't mean for her to get THAT wand." Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked both shocked and astounded, and then Ron impressed. Ginny—shy, vulnerable Ginny? She giggled again and pushed her cart closer to the train, steam curling and writhing in the stormy sky, battered by droplets of rain.

"My own sister turning into Fred and George. This is nuts." He cried, wheeling his own cart towards the Hogwarts Express, Harry and Hermione following in suit. "Ron, it was bound to happen. I mean, living with those two for life is eventually going to do something to you." Hermione heaved her suitcase from the cart, rolling out her cauldron stuffed with books and various other items. "All I want right now," mumbled Harry, with irritation weaving through his voice, "is to be on the train downing a few chocolate frogs. That's it." They dragged their suitcases forward, handing them to the man who handled them, and drifted back to Mrs. Weasley, who was half scolding half primping her twin sons, handing them sandwiches. "Don't you EVER even THINK about doing ANYTHING at Hogwarts! Oh, and if I catch you doing anything troubling I swear…with the Tr—I mean, with what Hogwarts has planned coming up, you two better be on double time." Her face had fallen, but shielded into a hard, scolding look. "Have a wonderful time boys, and if I hear that you're stirring trouble, it's back on the Express for you and right at home! Merlin's beard if I had a Sickle for every time you two—" She glanced up, smiling warmly at Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. "Now you four behave nicely now, study up," She planted a kiss on each of their cheeks, "And stay. Out. Of. Trouble." Her eyes strayed toward Ron and Ginny, but her lips cracked a smile. "On the train with the lot of you! I'll be sending you gifts this time Christmas. Have fun with…what Hogwarts has planned." Her smile was scarily mysterious as they mounted the steps onto the train, and Fred and George were dissolving into anger. "Why won't she tell us?" Cried Fred, cramming himself into a box with a window toward Mrs. Weasley, and poking his head out of the window. "She's our mum! Merlin, if I had a Sickle for every time…" George mumbled, sticking his own head out of the lower window. "What is it?" George cried, Fred waving his arms. There was an ear shattering whistle, and the train shuddered once, voices half swallowing the creaking of the train.

Mrs. Weasley waved with a mysterious smile at the twins, blowing a kiss to them all, and as the train slid down the wet tracks, called out something they couldn't hear. In moments she was a speck, barely seeable through the thick rain. Fred and George slid through the window, hair plastered to their forehead, and into the seat. "What a mum she is." Grumbled Fred, but George leaned against him, whispering something to his twin. Fred instantly silenced, face brightening, and leaned toward George, and they talked in soft whispers thereon.

"What they're up to we'll never know." Sighed Ron, and they all filtered from the box to their own seats, finding a comfortable spot near the center of the cart. Sitting in silence, Ginny yawned. "I'm going to go find my friends. See you guys." She was off, flaming hair whipping around a corner as she flitted from the seat.

Ron's eyes lingered out of the box, watching Ginny leave. His mouth opened, but his eyes suddenly widened. "Who is that?" Ron murmured with sudden interest. Harry peered across the aisle to a deserted seat where a young woman was sitting, presumably their age. She looked to be about fourteen. "She's hot." Ron laughed, eyebrows arching, a smile dancing across his face. Hermione looked miffed, her own eyes narrowing to small slits. "She is not hot." Hermione snapped, peering around the corner as well. "And she looks sad to me, is all." Her eyes sparked with sympathy for a moment, and she scooted for a better look. "I don't recall seeing her. How could she be new?" Hermione pondered, clutching Crookshanks to her lap. Ron's face fell, "She's probably a first year." He said, suddenly crestfallen. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be silly. First years look much younger than she does. She's obviously our age." She paused, suddenly looking quite confused, "She must be. Don't you think, Harry?"

"Yeah." Harry replied, not really there. There was no question that she wasn't pretty. Hot may not place it, really. Hot was a universal word for someone who was physically attractive in some way. It didn't have to mean her face was pretty, but her body was curvy or thin, and she appealed to the opposite gender. She was a bit further than hot could explain, her hair a deep brown, almost black, falling across her shoulders in glossy waves. Her neck was slender and long, eyes a shade of pale gray green, to match a pretty face with delicate features. Her jaw was angular, pairing with high cheekbones and slightly slanted eyes. Her posture was compelling, the way she sat, thoughtful, with a glint of far off sadness dwelling in the sparks of her eyes. Her hands were pooled in her lap, and strangely enough she wasn't wearing the school robes, but instead a rather Muggle-like jacket and jeans. The light that fell through the glass onto her illuminated her features, highlighting her dark hair, her large, rounded lips.

"She's not hot, Ron." Hermione sighed, apparently shooting back at something he had said.

"No, Hermione, she's hot." Replied Harry, nodding his head with a small grin.