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Kings Cross Station is bustling with Muggles and Witches and Wizards alike, as is to be expected today. It is known to every Muggle here that it is 10:32 a.m. on September 1st, an oddly busy time of year for the station. What is unbeknownst to every Muggle is the reason, unless that Muggle has a particularly “different” child who has been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Some Wizards are inconspicuous to the Muggle eye as they phase magically through platforms nine and ten. Some, like the Weasleys, are much more… obvious. They seem to travel in a pack when they arrive (usually late). A pack of red-headed, knit-sweater wearing, boisterous folk who—to the Muggles—may have possibly escaped from an asylum for the mentally ill. Once they cross over to the Hogwarts Express Station, however, they are perfectly normal… well, mostly normal….

Okay, most of them are really weird still, but I don’t love them any less.

I wind quickly through passersby, my internal compass leading me directly and without much effort to platform nine and three-quarters. Before I can get the running start to go through the brick, I hear a familiar voice a short distance away.

“Freya! Freya, wait!” My dad, out of breath from the attempt to keep up with me, finally meets me at the platform.

“You know,” He huffs, “I like to get,” He puffs, “Your photo before,” He gives up trying to force the words and just readies his Muggle camera to take my picture, as he does every… bleeding… year.

As annoyed as I am, I turn around and fake a smile so he’ll leave me be once we cross through. There’s a click and a flash, and a little white-framed paper appears out of a slot in the device. His lips form into a mushy grin as he watches it slowly develop into my portrait.

Finally, we make it onto the side we both belong to.

I inhale the familiar smell of smoke from the steam engine, which evokes five whole years of memories and the same feeling of excitement I get at the start of each year—also similar to the excitement I feel when leaving Hogwarts for the holidays to spend Christmas with the Weasleys and Potters.

“Neville! Freya!” My reverie is broken, but I’m far from disappointed. I know that voice. I love that voice.
I look over to see Harry, who has just come through the platform. I see red-head after red-head filter in behind him, with a couple of dark-haired fellows bringing up the last of them.

I beam as the Potter and Weasley clans approach us. Not only am I happy to see the families (which feel like a part of my own), but I’m also more than thrilled for a relief of my dad. Though I do love him, it’s incredibly difficult being the daughter of a well-liked professor.

Rose rushes up to me, we share an identical look at each other, nod, and hurry off to claim our compartment. The “look” we share happens every year. It’s our unspoken way of saying, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Rose and I feel the same way about this “family fame” thing that never ceases to follow us around. She’s got it worse, of course, seeing as both her parents are part of the Golden Trio (as they are still called). My father—while not a Golden Trio member—was a loyal friend to them and did some pretty notoriously ballsy things himself during the war.

While I think Rose is more unfortunate, sometimes she argues that I am. She doesn’t have one of her parents teaching at Hogwarts, always attempting to keep an eye on her, always embarrassing her in class, Quidditch games, the Great Hall, hallways in general... you get the gist.

We load our luggage onto the racks above our compartment seats and collapse onto the cushions. We lay down on either booth and sigh at the exact same time, which then sends us into fits of giggles.

“Some things never change, do they?” I giggle.

She’s still laughing, “No, I suppose not!”

“When is your prefect meeting?”

Rose groans, “Half-eleven. I am so not looking forward to it. It’ll be the same nonsense as last year. And I’m absolutely dreading seeing who they’ve chosen for Head Boy and Girl. No one is cut out for it, if you ask me.”

“You know you’ll be Head Girl next year.”

We both sit up. She shrugs, “Eh, probably.”

Our compartment door slides open. A long shadow makes its entrance before the person it belongs to. “Move over, Rosiiiiie!”

The tallest Potter throws himself down right beside Rose. He slings an arm over her shoulders, pulls her in, and ruffles her red waves. Rose screams and wriggles around in attempt to remove herself from her cousin’s grasp.

“JAMES!” She bellows, slapping and shoving him, but it’s all in vain. “James, is this really necessary every time you see me?! You did it this morning for Merlin’s sake!”

He’s beside himself, cackling like a hyena, his amber eyes gleaming madly like a mischievous child. “Tell me you love me and I’ll stop!”


“Say it!”

“Never!” Rose is laughing along now, which is a reaction most people can’t help when they’re around James Potter. “Freya, help!!!”

James shoots me a minacious glare. It’s all harmless fun, but I don’t dare cross him as that will secure me as his next target.

“Sorry, Rose,” I laugh, “You’re on your own with this one!”
“Oi, give it a rest, would ya?” Albus Potter walks in. He’s somewhat shorter than his older brother, but just as handsome. They look very similar, except Albus has light green eyes exactly like his father. He’s had a haircut since last year, I notice. It looks becoming on him.

James has always been a vivacious little prat, pulling pranks at any given chance, and not fearing the consequences. He’s also notorious for being over-protective of every single family member, but especially his little sister. Merlin help any soul daring enough to even blink at Lily Potter.

Albus is quite the opposite. Though he does love a good prank, he’s always been more methodical about it. James likes all the evidence to point to him, but Albus is much more cunning. He doesn’t like getting caught, so he comes up with sly, elaborate pranks so as to not draw attention to himself. He would prefer to sit back and smirk at the results instead of wasting his time in detention. He’s also a very calming presence, and undeniably suave, making him significantly popular with the ladies.

“Fiiiiine,” James finally releases Rose. She sits up indignantly, attempting to tame the rat’s nest that is now her hair.

“I like when your hair looks like mum’s when she was in her first year.” Hugo says as he enters and takes a seat beside me. James and Albus burst into laughter, and even I can’t help but snicker at the comment.

It’s true, when Rose’s hair goes unfixed, it looks just like the pictures we’ve seen of Hermione in her younger years. “Oh bugger off, all of you!” Rose huffs, pulls out her wands and casts a smoothing charm over the mess of curls. Immediately her hair goes back to the long, sleek, straightened look it had early. She tosses it over her shoulders in a pretentious manner and goes on acting like it’d never happened.

Rose hates to be embarrassed. If she answers a question wrong—which is rare, mind you—she will either beat herself up for it or recluse herself in books to find a loophole as to how she could, technically, be correct. If she is annoyed or teased, as she just was, she’ll pretend to forgive and forget, but all the while be plotting some type of revenge. However, her revenge is nearly always slight in comparison to what James or Albus would do. Rose doesn’t consider practical jokes a specialty of hers.

“Hugo, why did you leave me there alone?! With them, no less!” Lily rushes in, throws what luggage didn’t get put in the luggage car onto the above racks, and plops onto the seat beside Rose. She has her arms crossed over her chest and lower lip protruding in the classic Lily Potter Pout.

“With whom?!” Rose questions protectively, glaring daggers at Hugo. Though Lily is her cousin, she treated her very much like a younger sister.

Hugo smiles matter-of-factly, “Our parents.”

“And who else, Hugo! Tell her who else!” Lily has a weird thing she does when she’s mad. She never quite yells, but it comes out as more of an exasperated whimper with occasional raises in volume. I imagine she gets it from Ginny. It’s very dramatic, really.

Hugo lets out a bored sigh, “The Malfoys.”

As if on cue, Scorpius steps into the compartment doorway. “Mind if I join you?”

Lily’s face turns red and it looks like she’s suppressing a scream. She refuses to look anywhere else except out the window.

Scorpius Malfoy is painfully attractive. He’s tall and slim, yet muscular. His platinum blonde hair is swept back in a careless messy look, his blue-grey eyes always dancing with some exciting, secret story.

It’s no wonder Rose has a crush on him. She won’t admit that, of course. In fact, she usually covers it up with hatred and disgust. Ron Weasley would never allow a Malfoy into the family, anyway.

The one time I brought up her having feelings for him, I was practically cursed into oblivion—and no, not with her wand… with curse words I don’t think I’d ever heard before.

Albus scoots into me and I scoot into Hugo, a domino effect to make room for Scorpius. Scorpius gratefully joins his best friend in our compartment.

While Rose and Lily despise Scorpius, the rest of us enjoy his company. Ron always assumes he’s just as bad as his father, Draco, but we all beg to differ. The Potters even have him over at their house for the holidays, which sometimes carries over to the Weasley’s home, much to Ron’s dismay.

The train whistle blows deafeningly and we jerk into movement. For tradition sake—not because we want to—we wave at our families out the window. I wave at the Potters and Weasleys, as my dad has already boarded to be on his way too. Teachers usually go earlier than students to ready their courses, but Dad always goes a week earlier than them. That way, he gets to come back home a week before departure, go shopping with me, and be at the station when I board. Thankfully, he hasn’t come to find me… yet.

After the station is out of sight, we all settle again and talk animatedly together. Except Rose and I talk mostly to each other, Lily pouts, and Hugo observes. Scorpius, Albus, and James are all in a very heated debate about Quidditch. After Rose makes her exit for the Prefect meeting, I decide to go for a quick trip to the loo.

I’m halfway back to the compartment when something catches onto my foot. My ankle twists and clumsily, I crash-land onto the floor. I wince in pain, shifting carefully so I can hold my ankle. Shooting pains are piercing their way through my nerve endings and I can already feel my knee swelling where I’d bumped it in an attempt to catch myself.

Fuck, Longbottom!” I don’t recognize the voice, but obviously the voice recognizes me.

Arms appear underneath mine. The veins on these arms ripple, proving they’re strong even before they hoist me up with surprising ease. Standing made blood rush down past my injured knee and turned ankle, causing it to throb with even more pain. One of my arms is forced around this person’s neck, and now I’m able to see who they are.

Oliver Wood (the Second) sends me a reassuring smile, “All right there?”

His smile is charming and a welcome distraction from the pain. “Not exactly the best I’ve been, but I’ll live.”

He laughs, honey-brown eyes crinkling. I notice the faint sprinkle of freckles over his nose.

A blush creeps up my neck and to my cheeks when I realize I’ve been staring at him—or rather, that we’ve been staring at each other.

He clears his throat, “Well, er, let’s get you back to your compartment, shall we?”

I half-limp, which sends excruciating pains into my leg every time my left foot touches the floor. He takes notice to my pained expression when it happens. “I could carry you, you know.”

“Then I would just look pathetic.”

“How so?”

“I’m not a damsel in distress, Wood.”

“And I’m not a knight in shining armour.” Before I can argue, he whisks me up into a cradling position. I gasp, too apoplectic to even spit out a, ’How dare you?!’

We get to the compartment much faster than it would take for me to limp there, so I suppose this one time I can forgive such tacky chivalry.

To my surprise, most everyone is asleep upon my arrival.

The only one awake is Lily, obviously still stewing too much to sleep. She gasps dramatically when she sees my situation, but decides making a scene is, for once, not the best idea. Oliver places me in the seat that once was Rose’s and grabs a luggage from the above racks, positioning it under my leg to keep it elevated.

“I’ll be back,” He whispers, “I’ll go get someone.”

“Thank you.” I smile. He begins to walk out, but a sudden thought strikes me, “Wood!”

He turns back, “Yes?”

“Just whatever you do… don’t get my dad.”

He doesn’t argue, only nods, salutes bravely and marches (yes, literally marches) down the hall.

He was right, he’s not a knight in shining armour. He’s an idiot in Hogwarts robes. A charming idiot, at that. Suddenly, there's another blush colouring in my cheeks.


So uh, yeah! I deleted "Lies and Legacies." I wasn't happy with it. But I'm happy with THIS ONE! So much so, it was difficult to stop writing! (Which explains the length--sorry not sorry hehe.)

I hope you've enjoyed it! Let me know!

Love and Magic.

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