If you're new to my stories, great - you might as well just start reading. ... This preamble is mainly for those who are regular readers of my stories.

If you've read Harry's Shorts, you might recognise this. It was originally supposed to be a oneshot, then I had to split it into two chapters. Now that I've written a third, this story has really outgrown its short story status. All future chapters will be updated here, not there.

I have no idea how long it will be between updates, as I am determined to complete at least one of my other novel-length fanfics before digging too deep into a new one. In the meantime, I will make every effort to avoid any real cliffhangers.

Any bits which seem familiar are all JKR...


Chapter One:

His First Real Friend

Harry was beginning to panic. In ten minutes, the train to Hogwarts would be leaving and he still had no idea how to find Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Not to mention, he was starting to feel like an idiot, aimlessly pushing around a trolley with an owl perched on top of an old-fashioned wooden trunk; people were starting to stare.

A pack of redheads passed him by as he continued going in the opposite direction, and a shriek from the wheels of a train braking as it pulled into the station pierced his eardrums. By the time he wheeled his trolley around and went back the other way again, there were only five minutes left to go. The family of redheads was nowhere to be seen, but he was startled to see a bushy haired girl vanish into the dividing barrier between platforms nine and ten as a couple—very likely her parents—waved goodbye.

His heart pounded like a jackhammer and he hurriedly made a beeline for the spiffily dressed adults before they could disappear into the crowd.

"Excuse me—" he managed to wheeze, puffing heavily from the short dash, "Erm… Are you—I mean, did that girl really…?" Harry trailed off, his cheeks burning, not sure how to ask without seeming completely mental. What if he'd been seeing things?

The woman—her hair the same tawny-brown colour as the girl's, but much less bushy—smiled at him sympathetically.

"You must be all new to this as well," she said. "It does take a bit of getting used to. Where are your parents, dear?"

"Erm…" Harry's face felt even hotter. He wasn't sure how to tell two complete strangers that his parents were dead and that his aunt and uncle had left him stranded.

"Oh!" said the woman, looking even more sympathetic, as if she could somehow read his mind. "I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to upset you—you are trying to find Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, aren't you?"

"Yes!" Harry nodded vigorously, letting out a sigh of relief. "It's just—I don't know how—"

"Well, Hermione just walked straight at the barrier—if you're anxious, you should probably do it in a bit of a run. You'd best hurry now, before the train leaves without you."

"Thank you, erm…"

"It's Granger—Mrs. Granger. Now go on—Richard and I will look out for you until you've gone."

Harry shot Mr. and Mrs. Granger an exceedingly grateful look, then turned and aimed his trolley at the barrier. He started slowly, then broke into a run and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that he didn't crash into it. There was a sort of whoosh and he opened his eyes; he gaped in awe at the gleaming scarlet steam engine. It let out a loud whistle and billowing white smoke poured over the nearly empty platform.

There were barely two minutes left. Now Harry was panicked about finding a seat—the train appeared to be packed like sardines. He pelted down the platform and finally spotted an empty compartment; it was the very last compartment of the last carriage at the very end of the train. Flinging open the door of the carriage, Harry practically threw Hedwig's cage inside and she let out a squawk. His trunk weighed a ton, but he somehow managed to heft it up the steps and through the doorway, though he wasn't quite sure how. He slammed the door shut in the nick of time and tripped over his trunk as the train lurched into motion.

"Ow!" he muttered, rubbing his head.

Then, gasping and grunting, he dragged his trunk into the compartment, shut the door, and collapsed on the seat-row, panting and sweating heavily as the train began to chuff and clank. After a few minutes, Harry felt better enough to sit up and look out of the window at the houses flying by. The hours ticked on and Harry grew hungrier and hungrier, but he also grew happier and happier the further away he got from the Dursleys.

It was getting on for quarter to one when his compartment door slid open with a rattle and a roly-poly woman with a trolley laden with food and drinks beamed at him.

"Anything from the trolley, dear?"

"Oh! Yes, please!" said Harry, leaping up from his seat.

His mouth watered at the sight of all the sweets and snacks. He wasn't quite sure what to get, as he didn't recognize anything except some things which looked like pasties and meat-pies, so he got a bit of everything and a few fizzy drinks as well. The trolley-lady chuckled as he passed her eleven sickles and seven knuts.

"No breakfast, I suppose. Well, that lot should last you until you get to Hogwarts and I expect you'll have plenty left over to pack in your trunk."

"Er—I suppose so," said Harry, grinning. "Thank you!"

"Cheerio then, dear."

Harry munched away at a pork-pie first, then a pumpkin pasty, which tasted quite good. He washed it down with a fizzy lemonade and began digging into the pile of sweets and cakes. He opened some of the Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and ate about a dozen of them before spitting out a rather nasty tasting one.

"Liver? Blimey!" he muttered to himself. "They really do mean every flavour."

Feeling a bit put off the beans now, Harry reckoned he couldn't go wrong with a chocolate frog—as long as it wasn't actually a real frog covered in chocolate. To his relief, it was just chocolate straight through the middle. The packet also contained a collectible card which was quite interesting. The picture of the wizard on the card actually moved, vanishing briefly, then it popped back into the frame and waved at him, its crystal blue eyes twinkling merrily.

"Brilliant!" said Harry. "So that's Albus Dumbledore."

He had eaten several frogs and pored over cards with pictures of Morgana, Agrippa, Ptolemy, and Merlin, when the door slid open again, revealing a morose looking boy.

"Excuse me, I don't suppose you've seen a toad, have you?"

"I'm sorry, no!" said Harry, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "Er… He wasn't chocolate, was he?"

"No," the boy moaned, "he's my pet and I keep losing him."

Then the boy shut the door and was gone before Harry had a chance to offer his help. It was all well and good having loads of food and sweets, but Harry had hoped he might meet someone he could actually make friends with. Without Dudley around to scare them off, and no Uncle Vernon to forbid him from inviting anyone over to play, he reckoned he'd have a chance at finding someone who liked him. Harry sighed and began eating a Cauldron Cake, passing half of it to Hedwig.

He was on his second cake when the door opened again. He looked up eagerly and saw it was the bushy haired girl he'd seen on the platform.

"Hello, have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said in a bossy sort of voice.

"Sorry, no," said Harry, feeling a bit disappointed.

"Oh, alright," she sighed as she started to shut the door.

"Wait," Harry called out, "would you like to sit with me? Please? … I've got loads of food."

The girl hesitated.

"Well, I've already been up and down the whole train looking, but I probably should keep helping Neville—" she started to say reluctantly.

"You're Hermione, aren't you? … Hermione Granger?"

"What? How did you know?" she asked, looking very surprised.

"Your parents—I saw them on the platform after you went through the barrier. I didn't know how to get through, and they told me how."

"Oh!" Hermione shut the door and sat down excitedly. "Are you a muggleborn too then? I haven't met very many on the train—though, that doesn't mean anything really, I didn't go around asking everyone. It's very interesting, isn't it—the wizard world? I didn't even know I was a witch until Professor McGonagall showed up with a letter. I was ever so surprised. Odd things always used to happen around me, but I didn't know it was magic and that I was the one doing it. Mum and Dad were very surprised too, as nobody else in our family is magical, but they were really pleased to finally know what was going on—I've read all my school books already, of course, and learned them all by heart—have you? What's your name?"

Hermione's words had all tumbled out in a rush, and Harry was still trying to catch up when she finished. She peered at him eagerly with wide brown eyes as all of her words fell into place in his head.

"Er—actually, my parents were wizards, but I didn't know I was one, because they died when I was a baby and my aunt and uncle raised me, and they were muggles and they never told me I was a wizard—they don't like magic, you see?"

"Oh!" said Hermione, looking a bit sad. "I'm dreadfully sorry about your parents. But still—you're almost like me then, growing up as a muggle."

"Yeah!" Harry nodded. "That's true. At least your parents are nice though—my aunt and uncle didn't want me to come to Hogwarts, so they tried to get away from all the owls. Hagrid ended up bringing me my letter—he's the one who told me I was a wizard."

"Hagrid? Who's he?"

"He's the Groundskeeper and the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts," said Harry, very pleased to have finally met someone who was interested in talking to him. "He's really nice—really big though, like a giant—I think you'd like him. … Would you like a sweet, by the way? Or a fizzy drink? There's some pork-pies and pumpkin pasties too, if you'd rather."

Hermione peered at the sweets longingly.

"Well, I am famished, as I haven't eaten since breakfast," she said, "but my mum and dad are dentists, so I probably ought to only have a pork-pie—and I suppose a pumpkin pasty would be alright too though—they're not too sweet, are they?"

"No, not too sweet," Harry agreed, grinning as she took a dainty nibble of pork-pie.

She also decided that a fizzy lemonade would be alright to wash everything down with. It was the first time that Harry had ever had anything to share with someone, and it felt really nice, sitting there with Hermione, munching and swapping stories.

"Anyway," he went on happily, "weird things used to happen around me too, and I didn't know why either. … My aunt shaved off all my hair once, except for my fringe—I looked like one of those friars from the middle-ages—the ones with the stupid haircuts. It was horrible—anyway, it grew back overnight, and my aunt and uncle made me stay in my cupboard a whole week for that. … Then there was the zoo at the beginning of summer on my cousin's birthday—I accidentally let a snake out of a cage with magic and scared my cousin—"

Harry faltered, seeing a horrified look on Hermione's face, and he wondered if he'd said something wrong.

"Er… Are you alright?" he asked anxiously. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"What?" Hermione looked taken aback. "Me? What about you? Your aunt and uncle sound really horrid."

"Yeah!" said Harry, feeling a bit perplexed. "They're not nice at all, but why are you upset about that?"

"Your aunt shaved all your hair off, and they made you live in a cupboard for a whole week," said Hermione shrilly. "That's awful! … Why aren't you more upset?"

"Er… I've always lived in a cupboard—it's under the stairs," said Harry, more bewildered than ever. "They didn't move me to Dudley's second bedroom until after my first letter from Hogwarts came. … The only thing different whenever they punished me was that I had to stay in the cupboard all day—not just at night—except for school. Sometimes they'd lock me in, too. … I got four weeks in my cupboard for setting the snake free—but that's normal, right? I mean, it's not nice—I hate it—but that's the sort of thing parents do when they punish you for doing something wrong, isn't it?"

"No, it's not normal at all," said Hermione, shaking her bushy head and looking like she was on the verge of tears. "Nothing about it is normal—it's absolutely horrible how they treat you. Children are supposed to live in bedrooms, not in cupboards, and parents who punish children by locking them in cupboards for weeks on end sometimes go to prison if they get caught."

"Oh!" said Harry. "I didn't know."

"They didn't make your cousin live in a cupboard, did they?" said Hermione.

"No!"

"They didn't lock him in as punishment either, did they?"

"No! But I reckoned they just liked him better than me—they almost never punished Dudley—except when Uncle Vernon walloped him around the head a few weeks ago when he was trying to escape the owls. That was the only time I can remember him hitting Dudley though—"

Hermione looked like she might faint.

"Did—did your uncle hit you too, then?" she asked weakly, and this time tears really did start leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Harry almost said yes, loads of times, but seeing Hermione cry was making him feel really uncomfortable, and he reckoned that maybe he should steer the conversation back to pleasanter topics.

"Er…not much," he lied. "Just a little spank with a slipper maybe once or twice. It's alright, really—can we talk about other things now?"

Hermione looked like she wanted to talk about it some more, but then she seemed to think better about it. She sniffled and dabbed her eyes and nose with a hanky and nodded.

"Okay," she said. "What else did you want to talk about?"

Harry tried to remember the bits that Hermione had talked about that he hadn't responded to yet, and then he remembered.

"Erm," he said, feeling a bit sheepish, "I read all my schoolbooks too—but I didn't learn them by heart—I don't remember half of them even."

Oddly, Hermione perked up at that.

"You read all your schoolbooks too? Really?"

"Yeah! I named my owl Hedwig because I found the name in A History of Magic and I really liked it."

Hermione looked at Hedwig, and Harry was relieved to see her smiling again.

"Hedwig's really pretty," she said wistfully; then she looked at him again. "Anyway, it doesn't matter if you don't remember everything after only one read—I can help you with that. You're actually the first person I've met so far who seems to have read all their schoolbooks—Ron Weasley obviously hasn't."

"Who's Ron Weasley?"

"He's a boy sitting a few compartments down with two other boys—Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. They're all in our year. I'm sure they're all nice enough, I suppose," she said a bit haughtily, "but I doubt they've read a single book between the lot of them."

Hermione rolled her eyes and absentmindedly unwrapped a chocolate frog. Harry couldn't help grinning, feeling much better; he'd been really worried that he would be the only first year who didn't know anything. He suddenly remembered that there was one thing which he hadn't told Hermione yet.

"Oh, I'm Harry, by the way—Harry Potter."

Hermione nearly choked on the piece of chocolate and her eyes turned into saucers. She tried her best to swallow the chocolate before speaking.

"Are you really?" she said excitedly. "You're very famous! You're in all the history books—not the ones for school—the ones I picked up for extra reading—Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

"Er—I am?"

"Yes!" Hermione beamed, then she frowned. "They're obviously not as good as I thought they were though. None of them say anything proper about you at all really. They just talk a bit about your—erm—well—what happened to you when you were a baby and you saving the Wizard World. You're nothing at all like what anyone would imagine from the way they go on about you being a hero."

"Er—I'm not?"

Harry wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing, but Hermione resolved his befuddlement and mixed feelings when she said, "No—you're much nicer than I thought you might be. … I don't mean I thought you wouldn't be nice… I mean… Bother it—I'm not being very clear, am I? I thought you'd be more—I don't know—like other famous people—people you admire from afar, with lots of fans, signing autographs, that sort of thing."

"Oh!"

Harry thought back to the way people in The Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley seemed to treat him when they found out who he was, like he was a prince or something, and he had to agree with Hermione. That wasn't particularly fun at all. He'd rather have real friends than fans any day, and he couldn't be happier to meet someone who liked him as a friend.

"Well, er…thank you!" he said awkwardly, smiling and passing her another chocolate frog, not sure what else to say to his first real friend. "I think you're very nice too."

After that, Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon chatting, eating chocolate frogs and reading the cards—Hermione was very interested when Harry got Nicholas Flamel—and having the occasional laugh. And Harry really hoped he'd end up in whichever House Hermione got into.

They were in the middle of discussing the merits of Ravenclaw vs Gryffindor when they heard some shouting and scuffling in the corridor. They cracked open the door and cautiously peeked around it to see what was going on. Two compartments down, a rat was dangling from the end of a rather loutish looking boy's finger.

"That's Scabbers, Ron Weasley's rat," Hermione whispered.

The boy hurled the rat back into the compartment, then he took off running down the corridor followed by another brutish looking boy and a thin, blond-haired boy whom Harry recognised.

"That's Draco Malfoy," Harry whispered back. "I met him in Diagon Alley. He's not very nice at all—he reminds me of my horrible cousin—and he said he's going to be in Slytherin."

Hermione closed the door and they both sat down again, looking at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Well," said Hermione, "whichever House we end up in together, I just hope it's—"

Harry joined in at the end, in chorus with Hermione.

"—not Slytherin."