Don't own anything.

Sorry took so long to update but I'm lazy.

As the early morning sun rose over the hills, illuminating the many towers and spires of the castle of Hogwarts and reflecting beams on the lake, a man stood at the window of one of the tallest towers, surveying the view below him.

The window was open, letting the summer breeze, fresh with the scent of newly mown grass and spring flowers, blow gently into the graceful office.

The man was very old, with a long white beard and equally long white hair. His face was wrinkly and aged, and a crooked, prominent nose gave character. The man was tired, and sighed deeply, the weight of the world seeming to rest on his shoulders.

The man breathed in the sweet air, worry clearly etched on his face. The man was Albus Dumbledore, and as the sun alighted the world that early morning on September 1st, his thoughts were purely on the year to come.

What would the first years be like? Would the school remain as divided as before? Would the fragile peace of the last ten years continue to remain?

Mostly, though, his thoughts were of one boy in particular. One that he had seen a long time ago, one that used to tug on his beard happily and giggle, one that used to be the apple in his parents' eyes- one that had spent the last ten years of his life alone.

Albus Dumbledore sighed once more, as a beautiful red bird flew towards the open window, singing of hope.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry Potter was also watching the birth of the new day, but from a different place. His dull orphanage room had been stripped bare, with just a large trunk sitting on the bed, and Harry himself, staring out of the window.

Today was the day, he thought to himself. The day that would bring his new life. Harry couldn't remember ever being this unsure about a new situation. He had always been cool and calm, but today he was feeling distinctly nervous.

Take it all in your own stride, he told himself. It'll be fine. He hauled up his trunk, which was spelled to be lighter, otherwise there was no way he could have lifted it.

An hour later found young Harry Potter approaching King's Cross Station. He had taken a bus, and was now striding through to the main hall. He had been there before, but not to travel. He had hardly ever been out of London, actually, with just a few trips to the fading holiday resorts of Brighton and Blackpool, spending the nights in board like B & B beds, and the days eating soggy chips and further vandalising the old pier games.

He had read from the book Hogwarts, A History that to get onto the Hogwarts Express you had to get onto Platform 9 ¾. Harry had once again laughed at the ridiculousness of wizards. Nonetheless, he had read on and discovered you had to walk between platforms 9 and 10 to get there. However, being always on guard and careful, Harry had decided to watch the crossing for a while. Grabbing a newspaper from a bin, he opened it fully and sat on a bench, inwardly chuckling at his classic James Bond spy routine.

For a few minutes nothing happened, until, quite loudly, a large group of people, with the reddest hair he had ever seen, clattered into the building, three trolleys between the bunch of them. There had to be at least… six of them.

Harry quickly made analysis, glancing surreptitiously over the newspaper, which, he noted with disgust, was the News of the World. They had to be a family- that much he knew from the hair, the similar mismatched clothing and the familiarity amongst them. There was a short, round mother, looking harassed and dragging a small daughter behind her. The girl was obviously the youngest, and Harry doubted she was old enough to go Hogwarts. There was a set of identical twins, who seemed to be laughing at something that Harry couldn't determine. The two were so similar that to an unobservant eye it would have been very difficult to establish which was which. Harry however, quickly recognised that one walked with a slightly longer gait, and the other had a slightly straighter nose. There was a young, petulant looking boy, who Harry couldn't imagine being much older than himself, and another older boy, who seemed to not want to be there.

The group finally filtered through the barrier, Harry watching with concealed awe as each person vanished into seemingly solid matter. Another he had noticed was that their magic played quite audibly in his ears. The mother was a good all rounder it seemed, but not very powerful. The twins would pack a punch one day, Harry could tell. There magic was identical, as well, which was fascinating. The elder had a very meticulous music, quite boring really, but not altogether poor. The youngest boy was difficult to tell. He had the most powerful magic of the boys, though closely followed by the twins, but it was very unrefined, and this further supported Harry's theory that it was his first year at Hogwarts. His magic was complicated, but wild and with no defined rhythm.

The girl, however, was the most puzzling. Her music was dazzling, but there was something very strange about it. Harry couldn't pinpoint it, but he was with no doubt that she would far surpass the others on the basis of power, though he knew that there was more to magic than power; you need skill also.

The small girl was also the last to pass through the barrier, wandering close behind the mother hen. Just before she disappeared, she looked Harry straight in the eye, the brown orbs swimming with curiosity. Harry watched her go, and thought to himself- I'll have to watch that one…

He waited another few minutes, and a further few people drizzled through the station onto the wizarding platform, none aware they were being watched. Once Harry felt certain that he had seen enough he re-binned the newspaper, hoisted up his trunk, and, as though he had done it a thousand times, strode through the barrier.

What was on the other side made him pause a moment, just to give himself time to absorb it all. There was a brilliant scarlet engine, like the models he saw in shop windows, and lots of children everywhere, mulling about and boarding the train, or talking to parents.

Quietly, making sure not to lose his cool mask, he slid onto the train and padded along the worn carpet until he reached an empty compartment. Carefully stowing his trunk, he lowered himself onto a remarkably comfortable seat, and then, finally, he let himself concentrate on the music.

It was remarkable. He had forgotten how wonderful Diagon Alley had been, and in many ways this was better. There was a much greater variation, and he was able to discern better due to his experience. He could hone in on one person to see what they were good at, how powerful they were, and how trained they were, or he could just soak up the atmosphere as a whole. The train itself was also imbued with magic, and it was old. He could imagine this train having run children to and from Hogwarts for decades.

Outside he observed families bidding farewell, and knew that many years ago he would have felt sadness and remorse, but now he felt nothing. He dealt with his lot, and he had convinced himself that he should be jealous of no one.

The red haired family had obviously embarked onto the train, leaving the mother and small girl behind on the platform. The girl looked sad, and said something about wanting to go to Hogwarts herself. So Harry was right. She was too young. Next year though, and then it would be interesting to watch. He heard the mother call her Ginny, and stored the information away for later use.

He heard her brother settle next door, and soon the train was pulling away from the platform. The little girl tried vainly to run and keep up, but it was hopeless. As the train gained speed, the girl made eye contact with him once more. As he lost sight of her, he sat back, wondering about this new adventure. He lolled into sleep, careful to remain half aware though, rolling her name off his tongue drowsily, "Ginny…"