"I'll see you later, love." Ever threw her arms around her father's neck, and squeaked when he picked her up and hugged her tightly. She buried her face in his shoulder, clinging tight, and heard him take one long, slow breath before sitting her down. His hand went to her cheek, her chin, and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too. Tons." Mr. Moore grinned, dropped one eye in a wink, and ushered her toward the platform.

"Be good. Write me. Get good grades. Make good choices. Don't kiss boys."

"Dad!" The man laughed and tugged gently on her ponytail before kissing the top of her head. She turned to Nine and Three Quarters, situated her cart, and closed her eyes—she still couldn't work up the courage to walk through with them open, she was half afraid she was just going to slam into the brick wall and behind her her dad would ask what she was doing and point her toward the right train to her boring boarding school and Hogwarts would have all been a dream—and ran through as fast as she could. When she dared to open her eyes, she was surrounded by kids in jeans and t-shirts and parents in mismatched muggle clothes and owls and cats in carriers and—she let out a big breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and smiled. It wasn't just a dream, and until that moment, after two weeks at home in her normal muggle neighborhood—even with the fairy tales she had stashed in her trunk, and the book with the blond man's picture on the back that she still hadn't read, and Merit and the post office and everything magical she'd found hiding in her little community—she'd almost convinced herself that it had been, just so she wouldn't be disappointed if it turned out to be.

"Oi, Moore!"

"Lee!" The boy in question ran toward her, throwing his arms around her neck for a brief second, and was letting go before she could hug him back. "How are you, then?"

"I'm great but we have to go, Fred and George are gonna be here in a bit and you've gotta put your trunk in the compartment before someone else comes in and tries to steal it if we're all gonna sit on the same one and they have to tell us about you-know-what when they get here and—"

"Are you talking about us?" The two first years jumped, looking around, and there, coming from the brick wall that separated the platform from the rest of the station, was a flood of red-heads. Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already heading toward the train, and the youngest brother had just walked in behind the twins, grudgingly holding hands with his little sister. Ever practically bounced up to the boys, throwing one arm around each of their necks, and the boys laughed as they hugged her back. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment—it was a relief to touch the two of them, to convince herself that they, too, were real, not just part of some dream—and when she opened them, Mrs. Weasley was smiling over at the three of them with a fondness that made Ever's heart swell til she thought it might burst. Beside her, a red haired man—he could only be Mr. Weasley—was looking slightly bemused at his two identical boys, but not displeased. Ever quickly backed up, and, shooting a quick grin at the twins and ran up to Mrs. Weasley.

For a moment, she could only look at the woman, mouth hanging open stupidly, while the woman smiled kindly down at her.

"Thank you," she finally forced out, but it came out quiet, hoarse, choked, and it didn't sound good enough, it wasn't enough enough, so she swallowed hard and took a deep breath and tried again. "Thank you. So much. For everything." It still wasn't enough enough, but the train whistle was blowing and her throat was closing up again and she couldn't think of another word to say.

"You're welcome, dear." Mrs. Weasley leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, and there was no more said on the matter. The woman turned and gave Fred and George the same treatment—the boys complained good-naturedly, squirming away and trying to head for the train—and then she shooed them all toward the door with a knowing little smile on her face.

Within ten minutes, the train was rocking down the tracks steadily and the four of them were seated comfortably in the compartment Lee Jordan had picked out—"which," he had explained as they'd slid the door shut, "is in the optimal position, because we're half down from the loo and half from the snack trolley when she's not walking along the aisles"—and the four of them were talking each other's ears off, barely pausing for breath, when Charlie poked his head in to check on them.

"Alright in here, you lot?"

"Yeah, Ever was just telling us about the muggle books she got for Christmas, there's one about this girl—" began Fred.

"And she fancies herself a matchmaker, see—" said George.

"And she's got this friend from a lower class that she's trying to set up with this bloke—" Lee piped up.

"And it's not just a muggle book," said Charlie, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms over his chest. He looked at Ever, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Emma?"

"Yeah! D'you know it?"

"Yeah. Have you finished it yet?"

"Nuh uh. I've just gotten to the bit where Emma is trying to do Miss Smith's portrait—"

"Oh yeah, that's a good bit." Charlie grinned at her, and all at once Ever felt warm all over. She had never had someone who could talk about books with her before—there hadn't been many kids that liked reading in her primary school at home—and she hadn't expected to find anyone who'd read books about muggles here. "I've got to get back, but I'll pop back in later."

"Always was a bit of a bookworm," said Fred confidentially as his older brother slid the door shut behind him.

"You make that sound like it's a bad thing," Ever laughed, leaning back in her seat and hugging her copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard—she had been flipping through and looking at the stick figures scribbled by little hands in the margines and the illustrations that were actually meant to be there, Babbity Rabbity hiding behind the cackling stump and the three brothers on the bridge magicked from nowhere to avoid death—and stuck her tongue out at the boy. Fred wrinkled his nose in response.

"Yeah, well reading's all well and good, but the bloke is sixteen and he's never really brought a girl home to meet Mum, has he?"

"Are you implying, Fred Weasley," Ever began, and for a moment she really was angry, before she caught the twinkle of mischief in his eye, "that boys who read can't get girlfriends?"

"No, no, not at all!" the red head replied airily, waving one hand in a way that was nearly dainty. "Just that Charlie hasn't."

"Well suppose he's not into girls, then," she countered, propping a chin up in her hand. "Suppose he's into blokes." For that, Fred seemed to have no answer. For a moment he stared at her, and then at his twin, bemused. Ever bit her lip, afraid she had said something wrong; her father had always gone mad whenever she'd suggested such a thing, saying it wasn't right or natural, but she'd never seen any problem with boys liking boys or girls liking girls...but suppose the twins did?

"Well..." began George slowly, looking to Ever. "That would actually make sense."

"We've caught him checking out the bums of the other quidditch players already this year at practice."

"You two are horrible," she sighed, relieved; at least they weren't angry.

For the next seven hours, the four of them bickered and laughed as snow drifted down outside their window, and, as the ride drew to a close, Ever helped the boys finish off the holiday homework they'd left to the absolute last moment and scurried to the bathroom to change into her robes while the boys changed in the compartment. She changed quickly, not wanting to miss the first glimpse of the castle, and ran back to their little room barely stopping to knock. When she was admitted, she ran to the window just in time to see the towers rising over the hill.

The first year hadn't expected the sight to take her breath away again, because, after all, she'd seen the castle grounds powdered with fresh snow before. Coming back to it, however, from a holiday that seemed like forever in retrospect, the blanket of white covering the grounds seemed so bright that her eyes hurt just looking at it. There weren't words for how gorgeous it was, so Ever said nothing, and, beside her, Fred and George and Lee were quiet as well. For a moment, everything was absolutely perfect and still.

Then the prefects were calling into compartments, telling everyone to stay seated while the train was pulling into the station at Hogsmeade, and the silence was broken with a quiet sigh from all four of them as they followed instructions. The horseless carriages were waiting for them again as they dismounted, and for a moment Ever marvelled over them before she was shooed into the carriage by the boys grumbling over the cold. The girl only giggled, pulling her cloak more tightly around herself and hopping up into the carriage that was as warm as the compartments on the train—were they magic in other ways, ways that kept them warm?—and holding out her hand to help Fred up.

Star Tellar was waiting for them at the gates of the castle, the third year that was sometimes mistaken for a teacher before people caught glimpses of the yellow and black trims on his robes. He was thin, much too thin, and for a moment Ever could almost believe that the boy was one of the ghosts that belonged to the castle before she blinked and he came back into focus. After that, it was obvious that he was solid; her arms were around him tighter than they'd ever been before, and as they walked through the arches into castle, her hand found his way into his.

For a moment, just a moment, Ever forgot that she was muggle-born. With one hand in Star's, Lee Jordan slinging an arm easily around her shoulder as he shot a cheerful wave at the grudgingly smiling Professor McGonagall, and the Weasley twins two steps behind her, she felt every bit like she belonged right where she was.