The Transfer

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I `d drive a much faster car.

OK, while waiting to get approved for author-hood, I wrote a story in which we introduce a new character to the world of 6^th year Hogwarts. Original? No, but for whatever reason I couldn't get it out of my head, so I had to write it down. I now have it written all the way to the Christmas break at the Burrow, so I'll post a chapter a week until I'm out of material. Since the first chapter is a little slow I've included the second in this first post. Enjoy!

CH1 Abandoned

“Well then why didn't you say anything last week when I was still there, Roslyn?” I said, the volume of my voice rising at an alarming rate.

“I don't know,” was all she said, “I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry. You're sorry? I'm half way around the world, about to go off to a school where I don't know anyone and you're sorry?” I was yelling now. Why am I yelling? It wasn't like I was in love with this girl. We had only dated for a few months; I'd hardly rounded third base with her. What was so upsetting about this?

“I'm sorry,' she squeaked out again, almost comically.

“No, that's fine Ros, I guess I should have expected it right? I mean, I don't know when I'm coming back, if I'm coming back. Why should I expect you to wait for me?” I paused, not sure if I was letting the words sink into my mind or hers. “You are an attractive, intelligent young woman. Great witch. Great student. You have your whole life ahead of you right? Why get stuck waiting for me?” I said calmly, my voice much quieter now. “I mean it's not like you said you would or anything, right?”

“There's no need for sarcasm, Vinny,” she replied, her voice no longer squeaky and tentative. Maybe she realized that I was thousands of miles away and the worst I could do to her was yell over the stupid phone.

But she had agreed to stay with me—to wait for me. Not even a week ago, I left Los Angeles for London with my parents and now here I was, about to head to the train station to go to the new school when she just had to call me and set things straight between us.

She couldn't do it. She needed to be with someone who she could, well-- be with.

But, summer had been amazing with her. She was everything I could ask for in a girl really, and she had agreed to wait for me, damn it. She agreed.

Turns out, she was a liar.

“Well then, it sounds like you've made your decision.”

“Yeah, Vinny look; it's not like I don't want to be with you, but this won't work.” Her voice cracking as she choked back a sob. Why do girl always have to cry about everything? “If you were still here we wouldn't be talking about this, we'd be—God I don't know, together. Here. Now. But—“

“But I'm not there now,” I interrupted, “I know. Look, it's like I said, your beautiful and smart and, everything that anyone could want, right? It's not fair for me to expect you to wait. I know.”

She sniffed and I heard her wipe a tear away and say, “I'm sorry, Vinny. I really am. If you find out that you are coming back please let me know. I would love to try things again, ok?”

Not Fucking Likely. “Sure Roslyn. If I find out I'll... give you a call.”

“Goodbye Vinny. Take care ok?”

“Yeah. OK.”

And I hung up. I clenched the poor, innocent Nokia in my hand so tight that I thought the little screen would come flying off and land across the room before I pocketed it and finished gathering up my stuff.

I heard my Mom in the next room unpacking yet more kitchenware. We had barely made a dent in the boxes we brought with us from L.A. I called out to her, “Mom, why are women so stupid?”

“I beg your pardon?” she snapped. Oops. Think before you speak. Sometimes I get those two out of order.

“Sorry, let me rephrase that,” I recovered, “Why are teenage girls from Los Angeles so stupid?”

She poked her head around the corner, thick black curls and her stricken face seeming to hover in the doorway. “Oh, Vin. Not Roslyn!”

I nodded and slung my Seabag over my shoulder.

“Oh, I'm sorry sweetheart. I really liked her too. Not like that other girl, what was her name?” she came into the room and put her arms around me, “You know, the one with the legs.”

An image of blond curls and a short skirt flashed through my mind, “Vicky,” I replied.

“Yeah, her. She was no good, but Roslyn... she was so nice, and her family was so nice, and she was a witch too, and that's so rare to find on the west coast,” she pulled back and framed my face with her hands, looking up at me, “I'm sorry baby. I thought maybe you two had worked things out for this year.”

“Yeah I thought we had too. I guess she didn't want to wait after all,” I replied squeezing her hands in mine and then making my way to the door.

“Vinny wait,” she said, “I can take you to the station, ok? Just let me put on some shoes and--.”

“That's ok, Mom,” I interrupted, giving her the look I give her when I want her to know that I am 16 now and largely capable of taking care of myself. “Kings Cross is only a few blocks and it's only 930. I'll hike it.”

I could tell she wanted to say something, but that look kept her quiet. Italian mothers aren't usually quiet. I had that look down pretty good.

Wallet. Watch. Wand. Check.

“I'll be ok, Mom. Really.”

She stared for a moment then said, “Your father contacted the headmaster, Dumbledore is his name, I think. He had all your books sent to the school to wait for you. You have your clothes packed? Do you need any money or… anything?”

I know she was just worrying. I had never been away from home as long as I was about to be.

“I'm fine Mom. I don't need anything. Well, except to get going.”

She sighed and said, “Fine, then have fun and be good for God's sake! I don't want to hear that you've been in any trouble, ok? Just, try to make a good impression.”

I crossed the room and gave her a last, quick embrace before heading down the hall to the elevator. We were staying in an apartment until Dad figured everything out with his new job. It was yet another big change from our comfortable home in L.A.

The elevator door opened on the ground floor with a polite `ding' and I crossed the lobby and made my way across the street through the morning traffic gridlocked there to the corner store.

“Marlboros please,“ I said to the Indian man behind the counter. He looked me over once, probably giving me some kind of visual I.D. check and then seemed to say `what the hell' and reached back for the pack of cigarettes.

“Actually, I'm gonna need a carton,” I said, motioning to the top shelf where all the cartons were stacked. I only smoked about a pack a week right? So let's see, ten packs in a carton, I already had one carton in my bag and two packs left from the last carton… Yeah that should about cover me until Christmas break.

“Sure thing, Dude,” said the clerk, imitating my accent as he climbed a small ladder and handed me down the carton. He rang it up and I passed the money over the counter saying, “Thanks, Mate,” doing my impression of him with a smirk

I added the smokes to my bag and set off down the street towards King's Cross. It was a cold morning for September, my breath was visible in front of me as I exhaled, but then again, I think I had seen the sun about three times in the week since we arrived.

I know it is cliché to say that British weather sucks, but a cliché isn't a lie, it's just a truth that has been told too many times.

Lucky for me, the crowd of people at the station seemed to drive the temperature up a few degrees. I made my way through the swell of commuters until I came to the signs for platforms nine and ten.

Before I could start on figuring how to get to platform nine and three quarters, my phone started ringing. Fishing it from my pocket, I recognized the caller's number immediately.

“Hello Dad, you caught me at the last possible moment. I am feet away from the platform and I read in that book you got me that when I go through the barrier that my phone won't—“

“Yes, yes son, I know,” he interrupted. He sounded hurried and there was a lot of noise in the background. “Listen I only have a few moments to talk to you, but I just wanted to say something important before you get on the train for Hogwarts.”

“Sure Dad, what's up?”

He cleared his throat and sighed heavily, gathering himself up to make his speech.

“I don't want you and Harry Potter seeing each other.”

I laughed into the phone, “Well that won't be a problem Dad, I don't think he's my type. You know, him being a guy and all.”

He ignored my quip and said, “I know that you have been reading a lot about Potter since the Triwizard Tournament, but I want you to stay away from him this year, all right? Almost every Ministry official I have spoken too has had something negative to say about that boy, and I don't want him rubbing off on you.”

My Dad had always been a hard-ass. He was the kind of man that threw you into the deep end of the pool to teach you to swim. I suppose I was stronger for it. I certainly never would have joined the dueling club at my school if not for his encouragement, but it was times like those, when he wanted to throw his weight around and make decisions for me that I most resented that trait.

Instead of fighting head on, I usually found a diversionary tactic worked best with Dad.

“Dad, he the most famous wizard in the world, I doubt very much that he will be hanging around with the new foreign kid. He probably has an entourage twenty people deep.”

Dad did what he always did when he wasn't completely satisfied with an answer: he grunted.

“Just don't go falling in with him and his crowd, alright son? From the sound of things you can do better than the likes of him anyway.”

“Geez Dad, you still make it sound like I am thinking of proposing to him. Just relax, ok? I know I need to be good and behave. Mom already had this conversation with me this morning.”

He grunted again.

“Alright, alright. I suppose you are getting to be old enough that I shouldn't have to tell you these kinds of things anymore, right?” He chuckled to himself, “Just listen to your mother and I for once and try and stay out of trouble, ok?”

“Don't worry about me Dad. I'll be fine. It's just school.”

He said his typical stern, father-to-son farewell, told me to owl Mom when I got to Hogwarts, and was gone.

I stood for a moment, staring at the phone, feeling like I had just shaken off the affects of the Confundus charm. There were over a thousand students at Hogwarts. Why was he so worried about Harry Potter?

I tucked the phone back into my pocket and set about on the task at hand. You won't need to worry about Harry Potter if I can't get to the train, will you Dad?

I had read in Hogwarts, a History that the entrance for platform nine and three quarters was located between the archways for platforms nine and ten, but looking and the signs now, and the brick pillar they were attached too, it didn't seem to make much sense. Besides, shouldn't it be platform nine and a half anyway?

I walked slowly to the space between the signs and placed my hand flat against the bricks. They felt cool and hard, and very real. Maybe I was missing something.

Stepping back, I took a moment and tried to think things through. There was a magical barrier here. I could sense it-- see it almost. It was like the 9^th and 10^th platforms stood out somehow. They kept catching my eye as I turned away and looked down at the next platform. There was magic there, just out of sight.

As I pondered this, a beautiful Asian girl who looked to be about my age came walking along with her parents in tow. I was still trying to figure out how to enter the barrier, but she was very lovely, distractingly so. Her father was pushing a trunk on a cart and as they passed by, I smiled politely at her and noticed the Hogwarts symbol on the lid of the trunk. She kissed her mother and father goodbye, took the cart and walked towards the barrier between platforms with a determined stride. She didn't hesitate or break-step as she was enveloped by the brick wall and vanished.

Mind over matter, I thought to myself

So, as her parents walked away, I made towards the barrier with the same determined stride I had just seen their daughter use. I didn't close my eyes or wince as I passed through the brick and mortar arriving with my next step at platform nine and three quarters.

CH2 Introductions

The heavy, dirty smell of diesel was replaced with the refreshing aroma of steam and a coal-stoked fire as my eyes took in the huge scarlet engine shackled to the long line of cars behind it. There was a crowd of students and parents gathered around the entrances to the cars, and seeing the age of the students whose parents had come all the way onto the platform to see them off, I was glad I had made Mom stay home. The youngest group of students couldn't have been more that ten years old. I could just imagine the mothering I would have received if she had come with me. She had told me to make a good first impression. Leaving her at home was a step in the right direction on that front.

As I made to enter the first car I came too, I noticed that all the kids were equipped with trunks like the Asian girl had. Great, I'll be the only one there with a Seabag instead of a trunk, I thought to myself. Oh well, it's not like they won't know you're not from around here the second you open your mouth and talk.

The passageway inside the car was crowded with students running from compartment to compartment chatting animatedly with friends they had probably not seen all summer. I made my way down the train, glancing in each compartment as I went, trying to find one that had an empty seat.

After losing count of how many cars I had walked through, and how many full compartments I had passed, I came across the Asian girl sitting with a curly haired female friend whose face was plastered with make up. I paused for a small moment, as it was just the two of them in the compartment with four empty seats and considered pulling open the door and introducing myself. A flip of blue-black hair was all it took to make up my mind to keep walking, however. As she looked up at me through the window and gave me an easy smile, I heard the words `too soon' in my head and felt Roslyn's presence weigh heavy on me. I smiled back at her, noticing the cutest little freckles on the tip of her nose, but kept walking.

The next car was starkly empty of hyperactive junior students. Instead, about halfway down the corridor stood a trio of menacing young men around the same age as myself. They took note of me coming in and seemed to suddenly come to life, like they had a fresh set of batteries installed. Their leader (and he was obviously the leader by the way he punched the other two in the chest and motioned for them to follow his lead as he approached) had nearly shoulder length hair that was white-blonde and combed straight, framing his face. His pointed nose and beady eyes gave him the look of some kind of vermin that had learned to walk upright and I could tell by the look in his eyes, and the muscles and broad shoulders of his two companions, that nothing good was going to come of this meeting.

“What have we here?” he teased, his words sounding strange when accompanied with an accent so prim and proper that it could have been royalty. “Are you new? Is this your first year?” he egged on, “You know what we do to First Years don't you?”

I smiled at him, hoping maybe I could defuse the situation with a little charm and some fast talk. “No, what do you do with First Years?”

Talk. I had already forgotten about my accent, or lack of accent I suppose.

“You're-- are you?” he stuttered. I was beginning to wonder if his two companions had vocal cords at all. Then again, he was doing plenty of talking for the three of them. “You're an American? A Colonial at Hogwarts?” his face scrunched like he had just eaten a handful of Doxey eggs. “This effing school really has gone to the dogs now. It was bad enough before with the Mudbloods, but now…”

Hold on, did he just say Mudbloods? This guy was a piece of work, all right.

But I just stood there and took it, my parent's words playing one level louder than his on the amplifier in my head. Just loud enough to drown him out.

He took a step back and looked me over from head to foot. I waited for some comment on my Seabag but instead he said, “Actually I think I recognize you, Yank. You're the new American Liaison's son aren't you? DiFranco's your name. I can see your greasy fathers face when I look at yours.”

Still, somehow, I just stood there.

“Well then, I may as well not have bothered even speaking to you. Want to know why?” He moved close to me and looked up, sneering in my face as his two thugs closed in around me. They were only about as tall as I was, but they each probably had thirty pounds on me.

“Your father's taken a job that has a history of chewing up and spitting out the people who try and work it. His predecessor was gone in nine months, the man before him a year, which means I won't need to worry about you for very long, will I?”

So that's why I'd seen so little of Dad the last week. He was being run ragged.

“Doesn't say much for American work ethic, does it?” he said, nudging the two gorillas behind him. Neither was laughing till he nudged. Then suddenly they thought his comment was very funny.

He moved past me and then turned around pointing his finger in my face and said, “My advice to you Yankee, is too keep your head down and your mouth shut, and you might make it through the year unharmed. There is a war on after all. It would be a shame to have any casualties at Hogwarts.”

He turned again and started towards the door I had come through when I entered the car. My fists where clenched so tight that my knuckles where white but still, against all my instincts to reshape his face into something less rodent-like, I simply stood there hearing my mothers words over and over: I don't want to hear that you've been in any trouble, ok? Just, try to make a good impression.

His primate bodyguards went through the doorway and as he followed, he turned and said, voice thick with sarcasm, “Oh, nice bag by they way,” and was gone. I exhaled long and hard, a breath I wasn't aware I was holding, and while I turned to continue looking for a seat, I swore to myself that somehow, sometime soon, I would make sure that guy was sorry he had ever laid eyes on me.

I didn't even bothered looking in the compartments in that car. I took the whole scene that had just occurred as a bad omen and moved on to the next one. Unfortunately, as I did, I realized that this was the last car with any seating compartments in it. It was either find a seat here or turn around and maybe head back to say hello to the Asian girl.

The first compartment held a gaggle of talkative girls a year or two younger than me. They froze and watched me cross by the window, then started whispering again as I passed out of sight.

The last possible seating area was mercifully empty and I entered and lugged my bag into the rack over the seat, rubbing my sore shoulder as I sat down. I had carried the bag a good, long way, and it wasn't light. I looked out the window at the parents waving to their children on the train and felt myself pressed gently back into the seat as it started moving away from the station.

I wasn't alone for long. The compartment door slide open and a round-faced boy with a toad in his hand peered in and said, “Can we sit with you? I don't think there are any other seats left.”

“Sure,” I replied. He came in and sat across from me as a slim, blonde girl holding a magazine to her chest entered next.

“Hello,” she said upon spotting me. “Are you new to Hogwarts?” She had large round eyes that made her look like she had just taken a hit of something illegal.

“Yeah,” I replied extending my hand to her for a shake, “I'm Vinny DiFranco.”

“Oh you're American!” she said taking my hand. I felt an uncomfortable heat rise in me as I recalled the last group of students who had realized I was American, but this girl was far from threatening and the toad-boy seemed indifferent.

“I'm Luna Lovegood, and this is Neville Longbottom,” she said before I could make an unnecessary attempt to defuse the `American Situation'.

“Nice to—“

But before I could finish, a third student entered, closing the compartment door behind him with his back turned to me.

“They weren't just staring at me. We were all at the Ministry together, remember?” he said as he swung his trunk into the rack over the seat across from me. He turned around, finally seeing me and said, “Oh sorry, I didn't know there was anyone else in here.”

He was tall, though an inch or two shorter than me, and had a mess of black hair and round Lennon-style glasses. He looked familiar.

“That's alright,” I said, standing up to shake his hand as Luna sat down in the middle seat of the opposite row, “I'm Vinny DiFranco. Yeah, I'm American - just to get that out of the way.”

Luna chuckled and Neville must have squeezed his toad a little too hard because it jumped out of his hand and crawled under his seat.

“Harry Potter,” the black haired boy said as he shook my hand firmly and sat in the last seat next to Luna.

My father's words came rushing back into my head, but I couldn't help but almost laugh as I looked over the three of them. After reading about the Triwizard Tournament in the Wizarding papers and having my Dad give me such a dire warning about him, I was expecting Harry Potter to be more super hero and less, `guy who could have lived across the street from me'.

I sat back down and watched as Neville dove to the floor, trying to fish his pet from under his seat. “Oi, come here Trevor,” he said, sounding frustrated. All I could see of him was ass and elbows.

I didn't want to make a scene, but Harry freaking Potter had just sat down across from me not twenty minutes after my father had told me to keep away from him. The whole situation put a smirk on my face that I was having trouble hiding. I don't exactly know why I thought it was funny, maybe it was because he had been built up by all the stories about him, but meeting him in person would have sobered the most adamant of his fans.

Luckily, Luna broke the lengthening silence before Harry could put a voice to the questioning look he was giving me.

“Harry, are we going to do the--,” she looked warily at me, “uh, the you-know-what this year?”

Harry turned his attention from me and said, “The D.A. Luna? I don't think we need to keep it a secret now that Umbridge is gone.”

Luna nodded, pulling a pair of paper eyeglasses from the cover of her magazine and putting them on. “Yeah the D.A. Will we still have meetings?”

“Well, like I said,” began Harry, “now that Umbridge is gone there won't be any reason for it, will there? I mean, we'll have a real Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, right?”

Neville returned to his seat, toad in hand and said, “But we had fun at the meetings Harry! I never learned so much!”

“It was almost like having friends,” added Luna. I watched as Harry's expression fell at her words. There was a sudden cloud of pity and embarrassment in the small room and I felt it too. I wasn't sure who I was feeling more embarrassed for, but one thing was certain; there was a filter missing between Luna's mouth and her brain.

Harry cast me an uneasy look and opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the door behind him opened and a handful of the girls from the next compartment stood at the threshold. They were whispering to each other, the way girls do, seemingly trying to muster the courage to enter, when their apparent ringleader pushed forward and tossed her long raven hair in an attention-getting fashion.

“Hi, Harry. I'm Romilda, Romilda Vane,” she said confidently. “You can come sit with us if you'd like. You don't need to sit with them.” She nodded her head at Luna and Neville as she said `them' and then turned to me and smiled sweetly. I raised an eyebrow at her.

I looked over at Harry and saw him glance at his seatmates. Luna now had the glasses from the magazine on and looked even more stoned than before, and Neville was still clutching his toad with a nervous expression on his face, possibly due to his proximity to a girl as attractive as Romilda.

It seemed an easy choice for Harry, but he surprised me and told her that they were his friends, his tone short and bothered.

She turned to me again and said, “What about you? I don't remember you from last year. Would you like to come? We could show you around.” My eyebrow rose again as I looked her over. She had a sultry kind of cuteness to her, but her obvious mean streak was a definite turn off.

“No… thanks. I'm good,” was my reply. I noted Luna's snort behind her magazine as Romilda left the compartment with her friends.

“You could have gone with her, you know,” Harry said as soon as they had left. “You probably would have had more fun,” added Luna, looking over the top of her magazine at me, a slightly cheeky smile across her lips.

“Maybe,” I said, “But she didn't seem to be a very nice girl -- something about her --, a little transparent wasn't she?”

Luna nodded, ducking back behind her magazine mumbling something about being as deep as a glass of water.

“I think people are surprised when they see us hanging out together Harry,” said Neville suddenly. His nervous expression had left with Romilda. “They think you should be with,” he paused, trying to find the right words, “Better people.”

“That's an awful thing to say about yourself, Neville,” Harry said to him, taken aback by his statement. “Who was with me last year at the Ministry when I needed them? Certainly not Romilda Vane.”

Neville smiled, apparently satisfied that he was indeed good enough to be Harry Potter's friend, and settled back into his seat. I looked at the contented expression on Neville's face and the ease with which Luna could express herself with her friends and I realized; there was nothing wrong with Harry Potter. What could the people at the ministry have been telling my Dad about him? He seemed like a stand-up guy to me. I gazed out the window, letting my mind wander over my father's words as the city slowly changed to rolling countryside. Something important must have happened at the Ministry, something that we didn't hear about in the States.

“Something the matter?” asked Harry.

Crap.

I had turned my line of sight back into the compartment and was staring absently in his direction.

“No, I was just thinking,” I began, for a small moment I doubted whether coming right out with it was the best thing to do, but Harry seemed like the kind of guy who wouldn't hold my fathers opinions against me, “My father is the American Liaison to the Ministry, that's why we moved here from Los Angeles last week. He called me this morning before I got on the train to warn me about you and—“

“Oh! You're a Californian?” cried Luna. “Have you ever seen a North American Long-Haired Troll? I hear they are native to California and my father—“

“Luna please!” yelled Harry. Luna gave him a bewildered look and ducked back behind her magazine as Harry turned back to me asking, “You're father told you to stay away from me?”

“Yeah, but look, my father, you have to understand, he's… Well he can be a bit—blunt.”

Harry waved his hands at me and said, “No, actually it's ok. I should be used to this by now, especially after last year.” He told me about how last year they had a new teacher named Deloris Umbridge who was actually a plant from the Ministry to take control of Hogwarts and keep and eye on him. For most of last year no one would believe him when he said that Voldemort had returned, but in the end it was an article in a magazine called The Quibbler, which Luna's father published, that set things straight.

“Well, I know it's a little late now,” I offered, “but most wizards in the States took what happened during the Tournament as gospel. There was never a doubt that Voldemort was back.”

Suddenly Luna and Neville winced.

“What?” I asked.

“You said his name,” said Luna in a low, breathless voice.

“Whose name?”

“His name, you-know-who.”

“Yeah, so?”

Harry gave me a knowing look. “You'll get used to it,” he said.

We talked about the States for a little while; I told Luna that I actually had heard about the Long-Haired Trolls, we called them Sasquatch, or Bigfoot if you were Non-magical, and there was about a sighting a week, though usually further north than L.A.

Harry and Neville asked me about which Quidditch team I followed, but I had to disappoint them and tell them that Quidditch didn't have the following in America that it did in the rest of the magic world. It was akin to Soccer, I suppose. I grew up playing Quidditch, but by age nine or so, I had graduated on to dueling and other things. Quidditch in America is mostly used to teach children how to ride a broom correctly, just as Soccer is mostly a sport played by children under age ten in Non-Magical America. The sad byproduct of this was that the USA hadn't fielded a contending Quidditch team for the Cup in over ten years.

Luna sat contented behind her Quibbler, apparently plotting a new expedition for a Sasquatch while Harry and Neville talked about their results from their exams last year.

The sun made attempts to shine, but as the train chugged further north it was apparent to me that it was fighting a losing battle. During one of the brief sunlit interludes, the door to the compartment slid open and a tall red headed boy came in. He had a prefect's badge that I recognized from Hogwarts, A History fixed to the front of his school robes and he greeted everyone with a declaration of his hunger and a wish for lunch to get here sooner.

Behind him, another badged figure entered, sliding the door shut as she came and turned to face the group. “Oh! Hello,” she said to me, sliding into the seat next to mine. Apparently she already knew everyone else in the compartment, as she didn't give them any special greeting.

She was a small girl; petite I would call her, with lots of wavy, curly hair that was pulled back from her face in a large clip behind her head.

She was brown. Well not brown… it's hard to describe.

She was white, I mean she was British and not Indian, or African or Japanese or any other ethnicity, but when I looked at her and took her whole appearance in, she had the look of someone who had been in the sun all summer.

Caramel is what I would use to describe it. Brown isn't a pretty enough word. Mocha is too dark, too heavy.

Caramel.

Her eyes were chocolate though, or maybe cinnamon; they seemed to have a spice to them as she looked me over. Whatever it was, it was definitely something sweet.

“I'm Hermione Grainger,” she said, voice confident and so, so British. She wasn't Sally Jones or Margaret Smith. No, she was Hermione Grainger. Of course.

“That's Vinny DiFranco, He's from America and his father is the new Liaison thingy to the ministry,” said Luna before I could form a word. She gave Hermione a nod and went back to her magazine.

“Really?” was Hermione's reply, suddenly seeming excited at the prospect of a new person to talk too.

“It's true,” I said, smiling at her. I was trying to remember what it was exactly that prefects did, and whether I needed to treat her as an authority figure or just another student. I was hoping for the latter.

“Oh, I've been wanted to go to the States for ages but Mum and Dad always opt for a European trip. There is so much to see there—,”

“Yeah if you're a Muggle,” said the red head to her right. I winced at the word. Muggle was a derogatory term in the States, but here in Britain, it was still the official word for Non-Magical people.

“What's that Ron?” she asked, turning in her seat towards him.

“Well, I was just going to say that there really isn't much to do in the USA for a witch or wizard,” he leaned in close to her and half tried to lower his voice adding, “Not much Wizarding culture out there. Living in the sticks, really.”

Neville piped up next with, “Yeah, Hermione! They don't even follow Quidditch there! What do they do for fun?”

Hermione's brow knitted as she seemed to consider a whole country with no Quidditch, but before she could comment Ron said, “Well, really no surprise there, Neville. The Yanks have always been rubbish at Quidditch.”

“Ron!” yelled Hermione, squaring her shoulders to him like she was getting ready to do battle. Harry chuckled under his breath as he caught my eye and saw that I wasn't upset at Ron's comment. I put my hand on Hermione's arm and she turned to look back at me with an apologetic expression, but I said, “Hermione, he's right. America hasn't had a team worth talking about in a long time.”

“There see, he even said it himself,” said Ron, sounding like he had put an end to the argument and declared himself the winner.

“Well still, you aren't making him feel very welcome, I'm sure,” she retorted, still spoiling for a fight.

Harry rolled his eyes at the pair of them and went back to staring out the window at the darkening afternoon sky.

Ron, who never actually had introduced himself, though that was fine by me, started in on Harry about someone named Malfoy while Hermione continued staring him down, saying to me over her shoulder, “You should just ignore him, really. I try too.” She turned away from him and then continued, “So you haven't even been sorted into a house yet, have you? Do you know anything about the different houses? Oh, of course you don't, you probably don't even know what I'm talking about.” I started to interrupt her and tell her that I had read Hogwarts, A History and did, in fact, know something about the school, but between her rapid pace and my unexplainable fascination with watching her talk, I couldn't get the words out.

“Luna is a Ravenclaw but the rest of us are in Gryffindor. It would be alright if you ended up a Ravenclaw or a Huffelpuff even. Just hope you don't get sorted out a Slytherin. It's not that they are all bad, but it seems most of them are. But you don't look Slytherin to me. I am a pretty good judge of character and you seem to be on the right side of things.”

I wanted to laugh. Judge of character? I hadn't managed to get a word in edgewise. What was she basing that on exactly? But the smile that came to my face had nothing to do with laughter. She was charming me into an almost drunken-stupor-like indifference. She could have been insulting my mother and I would have sat there and smiled serenely at her.

“So how did you do on your O.W.L.s?” she continued as I wondered when she had stopped to take a breath, “Wait, do they have O.W.L.s in America?”

I sensed my chance to talk and sat forward in my seat to interject, but the compartment door opened yet again and a small girl entered with three rolled parchments in her hands. “I'm to give these to Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom,” she panted, apparently having just run down the length of the train to find us.

Harry took two of the scrolls and the girl blushed when she realized he was sitting closest to the door. She looked down at the last scroll and then tapped Ron on the shoulder holding it out for him to read. “Do you know who this is?”

Ron looked down at the name for a moment and then said, “Haven't the foggiest,” without offering any other help.

Hermione tutted and took the parchment from the girls hand saying, “Honestly, Ron. She's only asking you because you're a prefect. You could be a little help, you know.”

She looked down at the roll and read aloud, “Vincenzo Giovanni DiFranco?”

Ah Christ, Dad! An image of my father filling out the Hogwarts application flashed in my mind. “Student's Name eh? Must want his full, proper, legal name, I suppose,” he would say. And of course it just had to be Hermione that read it.

“What is it?” asked Ron as Harry read his scroll.

“An invitation,” he replied, handing the paper over so Ron could read it. I took mine from Hermione's hand and opened it, finding it identical to Harry's. I was invited to compartment C for a meal with one Professor Horace Slughorn.

Whoever he was.

I wanted to stay right where I was and listen to Hermione talk for a while longer.

“Well we had better go then,” said Harry, getting up from his seat

“But why did he invite me?” said Neville, sounding nervous again.

“I'll explain on the way,” said Harry, waiving to Ron, Hermione and Luna as he left. The messenger girl went scurrying down the corridor as he moved forward to make room for me and Neville. I waived to Luna and nodded at Ron, who ignored me, seemingly irritated that he did not get invited for lunch. He didn't realize I would gladly have given him my invite if I thought he had the slightest chance of passing for Vincenzo Giovanni DiFranco.

“Vincenzo Giovanni DiFranco?” came Hermione's voice, as I was about to slide the compartment door shut. She had a sarcastic look on her face that seemed to say something like `That's quite a name you have there'.

“Whatever, Shakespeare,” I said, suddenly remembering where I had heard her name before and giving her surprised face a smile and quick wink as I started the door shut. “Shakespeare?” I heard Ron ask as it closed.

“Sorry about her,” said Harry as we made our way towards compartment C.

“Her?”

“Yeah, Hermione. I know she was talking your ear off in there. I don't know what got into her. I guess she's just excited about having a new classmate this year.”

“Oh, I didn't mind. She seems like a sweet girl,” I replied. I wasn't sure if that was the right thing to say though. She and Ron had come in together and were both prefects. Ron hadn't seemed to appreciate all the attention Hermione was giving me. Maybe they were dating. Harry was Ron's friend. I should probably not talk about Hermione for a while.

My mind wandered over the events of the last thirty or so minutes as I tried to determine if she was dating Ron or Harry -- or Neville for that matter, when we arrived at Slughorn's compartment to find the other guests already seated. Harry had been telling Neville about Slughorn, but I wasn't listening.

Slughorn was a mammoth man. Not tall, but he had to weigh three hundred fifty pounds, easy. His thick mustache and bald head gave him a walrus-like quality that you just couldn't miss.

He greeted Harry warmly and acknowledged Neville and I as he introduced us to the others at the table. They were all there because they had famous parents or powerful relatives of some kind. Neville's parents were famous Aurors who had been tortured by Death Eaters. The tall black boy's mother was famous for her beauty and I thought he looked familiar; her face was on one of Roslyn's magazines I had seen over summer and he had her exotic looks. The skinny, nervous boy's uncle was an inventor of some sort and the big bruiser in the corner, like me I suppose, had family contacts in the ministry.

Slughorn shifted in his seat and I saw a pretty, red headed girl who was sitting next to him that had been hidden behind his girth. She caught sight of me and poked her head around him to have a look. I nudged Neville, “Hey is that girl--,”

“Yeah, that's Ron's sister, Ginny.”

“Oh.”

What was she doing here and not Ron?

Suddenly Slughorn turned on me. “Oho! Our visitor from across the pond! Mr. DiFranco! Your father has been appointed as Liaison from America correct?”

“Yes sir,” I replied. “We've moved here from Los Angeles last week.”

“Los Angeles is it?” said Slughorn, his eyes seemingly searching for an anecdote or contact he could expound upon that related to L.A.

“I don't know if I have any Slug Club members who made it as far as Los Angeles. Certainly Boston and New York. New Orleans maybe. Hmm…”

He lost interest in me and started in on Harry, who I could tell did not want to be there. I found his humility surprising. Once again, he was nothing like I had read. Slughorn quoted the latest nickname given to him by the local paper and one of the students, the tall black one who was a Slytherin, made a scoffing noise that sent Ginny into a fiery tirade in Harry's defense. He warned Zabini, the Slytherin, not to upset her as he had seen her Bat-Bogey someone as he passed her seat earlier in the day.

Was that why she was here? The Bat-Bogey Hex? I was doing that one to schoolmates back in third grade. It didn't seem a legitimate reason to be invited. As Ginny slunk back into her seat though, I was reminded of a line from an old movie I had once seen: `That red head of hers is no lie!'

Slughorn pushed the issue with Harry a little more and Ginny and Neville both admitted to being with him at the Ministry last year during the `disturbance'. I perked right up and listened for any information, but no more came. They all clamed up and Slughorn had to awkwardly change to topic of conversation. I made a mental note to try and ask Harry about it later.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Slughorn doing ninety percent of the talking. It was very informative though; I learned that no matter whom he was talking too or what he was talking about, he was always actually speaking about himself. Every subject eventually got back to him and who he had influence or introduced to who. He was a manipulator, and the longer I was there the more I agreed with Harry. We needed to leave.

At least the food was good.

Finally the Great Walrus realized he had kept us there all afternoon and insisted we be off to change into our school robes, as we would be arriving at Hogwarts soon. Neville, Harry and I waited for Ginny to meet us outside and talked about what a strange man Slughorn was and how Ginny had thought she was going to get detention for hexing someone who wouldn't leave her alone about something, but instead got a free lunch out of it.

We set off back to the compartment where Ron, Hermione and Luna waited, but a little ways in, Harry suddenly insisted we go on without him and said he would catch up to us later. He threw a cloak around himself and vanished into thin air.

“Woa! Invisibility Cloak!” I stammered. I had heard of them but never actually seen one.

“Yeah,” said Ginny turning and continuing on to the compartment where we were sitting earlier, “Ron says he's had it since first year.”

I walked directly behind her and suddenly realized why it was she had been invited to lunch.

Put politely, she was a knockout.

The lecherous, old perv had invited her because of how she looked. I was sure of it. Her face was pretty enough; youthful, lightly freckled and fresh, but her body… gravity defying, was the term that came to mind.

“Well I'll see you guys at the feast then,” she said as we reached our compartment and she sauntered off to hers.

“Bye Gin,” said Neville. “See ya,” I added.

She turned and gave us a view of her profile as she left the car.

“Good luck with the sorting hat,” she said with a smile and slipped through the door.

Neville went to open the compartment door but I stopped him and said, “I think I know why she was really asked to lunch.”

“Oh, you mean the Hex wasn't the real reason?”

“No way. She got asked because, well-- Damn it girl. That's why…”

Neville looked at me with a puzzled expression and shrugged his shoulders as he slid open the door. I was left thinking that I had just had my first experience with the American/British language barrier.

AN- Next time, Hogwarts, Hagrid and the sorting hat! Stay tuned!