"Quiet down!" says McGonagall as she enters the room, and the hush that spreads through the students gathered in the huge event room is sudden: almost immediately they're all turning to look uncertainly to Professor McGonagall, who looks like she's had a difficult day so far. It's nearing twelve o'clock, and most of them are all sat down on the floor or on top of their trunks, talking together. "Ministry workers are currently restoring the wall at King's Cross - you've missed the train, but you'll be able to catch it next year."

"How are we going to get to school this year?"

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr Jordan."

"We're not even there yet!"

"Ten points." Lee Jordan dramatically gasps, looking more indignant than honestly offended. "To answer Mr Jordan's question, we're currently awaiting a license for Professor Flitwick to create portkeys for you to reach the castle."

"Why can't we just Apparate to Hogsmeade?" asks a seventh year Ravenclaw.

"Those of you with Apparition licenses may Apparate to Hogsmeade, if you so choose, but we cannot sidealong Apparate with so many people in so short a time. Moreover," McGonagall says, cutting through the next expected interruption, "There are only a few fireplaces connected to the Floo Network, and as all four of them are in the private quarters of Hogwarts staff members, none of them will be used."

"Are you sure? I'd like to see Snape's bedroom!" George says, making people laugh around the room.

"Professor Snape," McGonagall says loudly, "Does not have a Floo connection, Mr Weasley, but I will pass on your regards." There are a few scattered laughs around the room, but her momentary good humour fades away, and McGonagall glances around the room, her expression sober. "First years will still experience their traditional arrival by boat, and the coaches will be waiting for the rest of you at the Hogwarts gates, once you make your way in. The Hogwarts house elves will be bringing you your lunch soon. If all prefects could come forwards and tell me which students are missing from the register."

Harry sighs, rubbing at his eyes. He and Hermione sit together on her trunk, cross-legged and back to back, and Harry can feel the thick cushion of her hair against the back of his neck. Beside them, Hedwig perches on top of her cage. Harry had let her out an hour ago, but she'd elected to stay rather than flying onto the castle.

"Do you think I'll ever get to have a normal year at school?" Hermione asks.

"Not as long as you're friends with me," Harry promises, and she laughs a little. "I wonder if Mr Weasley got all our trunks to the school yet."

"Probably. But it's not like we can commandeer the Knight Bus for the morning."

"Why not?" Harry asks.

"Because, Harry," Hermione says, "We're in the wizarding world now. Besides, they did that before for a big Ministry event, didn't they? It was in Ministerial Insight, and instead of going to London they ended up in the middle of the Irish Sea." Harry thinks of the spotty, stupid conductor he'd met on the Knight Bus. It makes complete sense, even if he doesn't remember the particular part in the book.

---

Harry groans as he lets go of the portkey, and Theodore Nott pats his back as they pass the used portkey to Hagrid, who is collecting them all in a wide, wicker basket. Harry's navel feels like it's approximately six feet away from his body right now, and it's not at all a pleasant sensation.

The portkeys had been organized for groups of no more than five, and Harry had gone with Theodore, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle.

"They're not my favourite either," Nott says lightly, and Harry breathes in, standing up straight. The sensation soon fades, and Harry shakes his head, glancing around for the carriages, but then he stops short as he watches a girl appear with some other Ravenclaws, laughing. She tosses back her hair, which is black and glossy, and Harry finds himself stopped short, staring at her.

"Uh, Harry?" Blaise prompts, and Harry tears his gaze away, feeling the same strange twinge he had when he'd seen Percy shirtless at the Burrow.

"Who's that girl? The Ravenclaw?" Blaise rolls his eyes, and Theodore shakes his head, shoving Harry towards the carriages.

"That's Cho Chang, you idiot. She's the Seeker for the Ravenclaw team."

"She's pretty," Harry says awkwardly as he climbs into the carriage, and the other two boys shake their heads exasperatedly as Crabbe and Goyle pull themselves up too. "Don't you think?"

"Sure," Blaise says, "But none of us are staring at her with our mouths wide open like a peasant looking upon a noblewoman of old."

---

When they arrive in the castle, it's four o'clock, and there are about thirty students on the Hogwarts Express for the rest of them to wait for. After changing into his robes, Harry makes his way towards the staircases to go and find Hermione, but is stopped short with a loud, joyous, "Harry!"

Harry turns his head, staring in honest disbelief at the man before him. Gilderoy Lockhart is a little under six feet, his blond hair styled into a boyish set of curls that don't really suit him; his teeth are whiter than ivory, and he wears a positively luminescent set of bright purple robes, their lining made of an extravagant pink.

"Sorry, sir," Harry says hurriedly, "I'm not Harry, I-"

"Nonsense!" Lockhart proclaims delightedly, clapping Harry on the back. "So good to finally meet you, young man! I sent you a letter, of course, but no doubt you were too shy to respond."

"Uh, no," Harry says, "A lot of my post was nicked over the summer. I guess I never got it."

"Ah, no trouble, no trouble - you see, Harry, I merely wished to offer you a position as my mentee, my protegé, if you will," Lockhart says flamboyantly, tossing his hair.

"I'll have to think about it," Harry says, and before Lockhart can say anything else he runs into the next room, making his way as quickly as he can up to the Fat Lady to ask for Hermione.

---

"Well," Harry says as he drops face-first onto his bed, half-heartedly kicking off his shoes. "That was a disaster."

"It didn't go well, did it?" Draco agrees, untying the fastenings of his robes as frowning deeply. "Who do you think was behind the thing at the train station?"

"Don't know. Seems a bit low-key for Voldemort."

"Harry!" Draco hisses.

"Sorry, sorry. Seems a bit low-key for You-Know-You," Harry corrects himself, feeling more than silly. Hermione won't say the name herself, but at least she doesn't flinch every time he says it. "Maybe it was people protesting the use of a Muggle railway station? I don't know, it just seems random." Dumbledore had reiterated that the platform would be just fine next year, and that the Hogwarts Express had ran just fine, but he had just said some unknown party had caused the trouble, and that the Ministry was searching for the culprit. "They must have been powerful."

"Yeah," Draco agrees, pulling on his pyjama top as Harry begins to change into his own night clothes. "That'll probably be the end of it, though. It's not like they killed anyone."

"That doesn't mean they didn't mean to," Harry replies darkly, and he brushes the spine of Catastrophes of the Recent Past, which he'd unpacked with the rest of his books earlier that afternoon. It's one of the books Athene Greengrass had sent him vouchers for last year, and he thinks he'll re-read a little of it tonight. He's read most of Lockhart's books, which are vapid but simply written, and he doesn't want to subject himself to the last two just yet. "D'you think he'll be a good teacher? Lockhart?"

"My parents think he's useless," Draco answers, shrugging his shoulders, "But Father still sponsored his appearance at Flourish and Blotts."

"That's about money," Harry says, "Why would Lucius let him come to Hogwarts if he thinks he'll be useless?" Harry asks, setting his shoes under the bed.

"He's a governor, Harry, not a God."

"Tell him that," Harry retorts, and Draco throws a pillow at him, making Harry laugh as he catches it.

"It's hard to get Defence Against The Dark Arts teachers here," Draco says, "They say the position's jinxed." He puts out his hands and catches his pillow as Harry throws it back. "Maybe he's hoping Lockhart will get killed."

"You don't sell the cash cow for beef, Draco," Harry replies. Draco stares at him.

"What?" Harry laughs, lying down on the bed. "I wish you wouldn't use all these ridiculous expressions."

"Good night, Draco," Harry says, blowing out his candle. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

Draco's pillow, this time, hits him in the back of the head, and Harry refuses to give it back.