A quick glance only showed the obvious; a busy London station, people running around, guards shouting. Closer examination, however, revealed so much more. The atmosphere was almost sinister; parents clutched at their children, guards kept a sharp lookout and hardly anyone dawdled.

Sierra grimaced at the scene before her. She hated the sun, that was certain, but this darkness was getting to her. She turned to the man next to her and put on her best please-give-me-everything-I-want face.

"Daddy, can't I cast a Cheering Charm?" Ugh, I sound like a ten year old, she admonished herself. Let's try again. "It's so dull, you know I hate it."

"Get used to it, honey," her father squeezed her hand and commenced pushing her trolley. "Welcome back to England."

"What a welcome," she muttered to herself, but kept pace with him easily.

"I hope you'll curb this sarcastic habit in school."

"Don't count on it," she smirked as they halted opposite a wall.

"You remember how to get onto the platform?" asked her father.

"Yes, daddy. I was twelve, not two."

"Well then, I'll race you to the train," the man winked, and ran for the barrier. Sierra's mouth fell open, but she ran after him and crossed through onto the platform almost at the same time.

"Its so creepy," she complained as she glanced around. Here, everything was much the same as it was outside. Sinister, dark and everyone looked paranoid. Her father's expression of happiness stood out.

"The platform or the barrier?" his smile didn't falter as he nodded to a few people he knew. Some waved, some even smiled.

"A bit of both," Sierra rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm.

"Well, I'd love to hear your take on things," her father pulled the end of her ponytail teasingly. "But I should get back to work. You'll be okay?"

"Yes, daddy," Sierra smiled at him. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, honey. Don't forget, you can write to me whenever you want."

"Its very easy to remember when you tell me every five minutes," she hugged him tightly. "I love you."

"Love you too, kid. See you at Christmas," he kissed her forehead, and watched her get onto the train, pulling her trunk behind her.

John Grayson sighed and let the worry show as soon as his daughter was out of sight. It's to keep her safe, he assured himself. She'll be safe at Hogwarts.

!

"Well then, I'll race you to the train!" enthusiastic voices were so uncommon during those days that people had actually stared as father and daughter ran. But only a few seemed to understand. In a corner where a Muggle car stood, a young man, probably Sierra's age, watched her from afar. He nudged the person next to him. "Prongs, you know that girl?"

'Prongs' didn't even look away from the trunks he was loading onto trolleys. "Sierra Grayson, Padfoot. Remember?"

"Should I?" 'Padfoot' ran a hand through very perfect hair, closed a pair of emotionless grey eyes and leaned against the wall.

"Well, I didn't expect you to listen," Prongs rolled his eyes. They were a clear hazel, and as emotionless as his friend's. "She was at school with us until second year. He mom died, she shifted to France, got taught at home and now she's back for her last year," like his friend, Prongs's hair was black, but sticking out and very untidy. His hand messed it up even more as they started walking.

"How do you know all that?" asked Padfoot as he took control of one trolley.

"Got it in a letter from Dumbledore," Prongs shrugged. Padfoot raised his eyebrows. "I'll tell you in the train. Let's go."

Padfoot nodded. He was curious to know more about this Grayson girl. They ran for the barrier and got onto the platform easily. Once there, Prongs nudged Padfoot.

"That's her," he indicated a girl hugging a slightly older man. "And that's her dad."

"No stepmother?"

"Mr. Grayson pretty indulgent with Sierra. Loves her better than anyone. She didn't want a stepmother, so she doesn't have one."

"Right," Padfoot did a quick inspection of Sierra. Average height, nice figure, beautiful hair. He couldn't see her face, but remembered that she'd been smirking. She'd struck him as pretty, which was something not many girls had been able to do. "Well, she's a looker, alright."

"She should be. She's grown up in France."

"I mean, a real looker, Prongs," Padfoot rolled his eyes.

"Don't go after her, Padfoot. She's not that type of girl."

"Prongs, you and I both know any type of girl will fall for me," so saying, Padfoot cast a charming smile on a fifth year girl that just happened to pass by. The girl's knees started shaking and she leaned against her trolley for support. Of course, the trolley began to move, and the girl ended up falling flat on her face.

"Not Sierra's type," said Prongs as he almost smiled at the poor girl's misfortune.

"We'll see, Prongs."