Chapter One

In the absent way that one does when panicking, Ron Weasley wondered if everyone else on the train was as nervous as he was. He had been excited the night before – too excited to sleep in fact, and too preoccupied imagining Hogwarts and the things he would achieve once he was there. Now that he was on the train, he felt distinctly queasy and uncertain.

Every compartment he had passed so far was full, which he thought was kind of amazing, really. Ron had grown up with five older brothers and a little sister, but he hadn't really met many other wizarding kids, aside from Luna Lovegood, and she'd stopped coming to play with Ginny two years ago. The number of wizards in England was rather small to begin with and there weren't many real communities like Hogsmeade anymore, so to see so many wizarding kids in one place was a little daunting.

He peered into yet another compartment, shifting his grip on the heavy school trunk that trundled along behind him like an old dog, and slumped. The compartment looked quite full, and was occupied by a dark-skinned boy in Muggle clothes, a giggling blonde girl, and a skinny, sandy-haired boy. With a sigh, Ron moved on, half disappointed and half relieved. It was starting to look like he'd have to beg Fred and George (or even worse, Percy) to share their compartment – but to tell the truth, he was a little scared to talk to anyone he didn't know.

What if he made an idiot of himself and no-one wanted to be friends with him?

What if they laughed at his frayed hand-me-down robes and battered trunk?

What if—

"Oi, you there, you got a quill?" asked an Irish-accented voice.

Ron turned, startled, and found that the sandy-haired boy was leaning out the compartment door, looking at him intently.

"Erm… yeah, in my trunk, I think."

"Brilliant! Mind if we borrow it? This bloke says he hasn't a clue what Quidditch is and we can't have that," the boy said, in tones of disgust. "Soon have him educated, eh?"

Ron returned the grin, if a little more hesitantly than the boy gave it, and dragged his trunk back to the compartment with a burgeoning warmth in his chest. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad after all.

"You can sit with us if you like, mate. Oh, name's Seamus, by the way. Seamus Finnigan, and this is – what did you say your name was again?"

"Dean Thomas," the black boy replied, sounding slightly affronted. "An' how was I supposed to know about Quidditch, eh? I'm – what d'you lot call it? Muggleborn? Aren't I!"

"I'm Lavender," the girl piped up as the boys began to bicker amiably. "Would you like a hand getting that trunk in here?"

"I'll be right, thanks," Ron replied, feeling a bit embarrassed at the girl's offer.

He wrestled the trunk through the door with some difficulty – it had a tendency to veer off to the right if not handled firmly, courtesy of a wonky wheel – and found Seamus the quill he had asked for after only a bit of rummaging. The Irish boy thanked him, and then proceeded to help him lift the heavy trunk onto an overhead rack, where three other trunks and an empty owl cage were already stored.

"Now," Seamus said in a serious, lecturing tone once they were all seated once again. "In Quidditch there are fourteen players and five balls on the field…"

Harry Potter was sitting alone when the Hogwarts Express pulled away from Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and he was alone when Fred and George Weasley dropped by to say hello before leaving to investigate claims of a tarantula further up the train. He was also quite bored, as the novelty of watching the scenery outside drift past, green hillsides and fields of parched, gold grass blurring into one another like oil paints had quickly worn off.

An hour into the trip, he was morosely wishing that he had not stored his trunk overhead, because at least then he might have been able to read one of the more interesting textbooks, like The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection or A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, which, he had noticed when perusing it during the summer, had some rather interesting moving pictures of apples turning into bubbles, and even one of a man turning into an owl. He considered trying to pull the trunk down off the rack, but decided that he didn't want to risk dropping it on his foot or any other part of himself, as he was likely to do.

At about half-past twelve, as Harry was absently watching the countryside beyond melt from a patchwork of farmland into the endless sweeps of wild grasses and pockets of trees, the compartment door slid open for a second time. He blinked, a little surprised by how sleepy the gentle silence and rocking motion of the train had made him, and turned his head towards the intruder. It was an older, smiling witch who wore a sensible, if slightly garish, scarlet uniform and pushed a trolley of assorted treats before her. Her eyes swept over the compartment, her face softening into lines of pity as she realised he was sitting alone.

"Anything from the trolley, dear?" she asked kindly.

Despite the gnawing hunger in his stomach, his automatic response was, no, thank you. He was too used to years of not having pocket money of his own to spend and being denied even the smallest of sweet treats Dudley got on a daily basis, but he shifted forward in spite of himself, curious about the brightly coloured wrappers, and felt the coins he had taken from Gringotts jingle in his pocket.

It's different now, he reminded himself, crossing the compartment to get a closer look at the selection of things.

Harry looked over the assortment of things and found nothing he recognised – or at least nothing that would be found in a Muggle store. There was bubble-gum, but it was called Droobles Best Blowing Gum and claimed that the bubbles it produced would last for days. There was chocolate in the form of chocolate frogs, which seemed ordinary enough at first, but the boxes rattled as though they contained something living and Harry had a queasy feeling that they might be real frogs. As far as he could tell, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans were the wizarding equivalent of jellybeans, but there was something ominous about the words 'Every Flavour' that made him hesitant to try them.

Something of his wonder must have shown on his face, because the trolley witch gave him a knowing smile and said, "Muggleborn, love? Don't worry, nothing on this trolley will bite – though I'd be careful before you eat anything your Housemates give you; wizard kids do love to trick the Muggleborns if they can. How about some Pumpkin Pasties for a morning tea, and some chocolate frogs for after? Everyone loves chocolate frogs – I usually run out before I'm done."

Harry, who was worrying about the way she said 'this trolley' and just what kind of sweet might bite, managed to thank her and purchase not only several Pumpkin Pasties, but Cauldron Cakes, a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, a handful of chocolate frogs and a chilled bottle of what the witch told him was pumpkin juice.

As he made his way steadily through the rather large pile of sweets and snacks, Harry wondered where the red-headed boy – Ron? – from the platform had ended up, and whether the pale boy from Madam Malkin's was on the train. Harry supposed he had to be, if he was going to Hogwarts this year too. Thinking of Hogwarts filled him with mingled excitement and apprehension. His experiences with school so far had not been altogether pleasant, and though the wizarding world had treated him bizarrely well so far, he was nervous about what would happen once he was surrounded with children his own age.

What if they didn't do anything but goggle at him, like the people in Diagon Alley and the students who walked past his compartment, who tended to double back to walk past again if they were polite, or stop and stare openly if they weren't? Would he be able to make friends? Or would he be alone again, too different to make any friends?

He shook his head, dispelling the worries as best he could, and instead focused on opening his first chocolate frog, which he had left until the end (the Every Flavour Beans had, indeed, been every flavour, and he had unwittingly eaten some really strange and unpleasant flavours, like soap, paint, paper, vomit, orange peel and what tasted like burned cheese). The trick to eating chocolate frogs, Harry learned quite quickly, was to bite the heads or legs off before they could squirm out of your hands. The chocolate was rich and smooth and delicious, and far too soon he was licking the last morsels off his fingers, feeling bereft.

The real treasure of chocolate frogs, though, was the cards that came with them. Harry was fascinated by the photographs which, like the pictures in his textbooks, moved!

They smiled and even waved at him, and once, when he turned over Circe's card, the snooty-looking witch glared at him and walked right out of the photo (though he had caught her peeking around the edge of the frame not too long afterwards)!

Harry was watching Gwenog Jones, who was apparently the star Chaser on a Quidditch team called the Holyhead Harpies (whatever that meant), zoom around on a broomstick when there was a knock at the compartment door and the round-faced boy he had noticed on the platform appeared.

"Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?" he asked, looking quite tearful. "I've lost mine."

"No, sorry," Harry said sympathetically, and when the boy looked as though he might burst into tears, added, "Would you like some help looking?"

The boy gave him a strained, grateful smile, and nodded. Harry stuffed his remaining chocolate frogs in his pockets, having learned from living with Dudley not to leave anything sweet unattended, and joined him in the corridor.

"I'm Neville," the boy said as they began to walk. Harry moved unsteadily, thrown by the rocking motion of the train. "I don't know how he keeps disappearing! I've searched this entire carriage now but no-one's seen him."

"I'm Harry – and don't worry, I'm sure you'll find him," Harry said, digging through his pockets and hoping his tone sounded reassuring, for Neville's voice was rising into a distraught wail with every passing word. "Would you like a chocolate frog?"

Neville accepted the sweet with a sniffle and a quiet 'thank you', and knocked on the next compartment door.

None of the four inside, one of whom was the red-headed boy Harry had seen on the platform, had seen Neville's toad, and so he and Harry continued up the train. The next few compartments yielded similar results, and none of their occupants offered to help, too engrossed in their conversations or a strange game that seemed exactly like Muggle Snap until the cards exploded and covered all the players in soot. Harry couldn't help but be jealous of the camaraderie and laughter he saw as he passed – why was he always alone? It wasn't fair… but perhaps he and Neville could be friends.

It was only a few compartments later that they were joined by someone else – a girl this time, who apparently already knew of Neville's plight, for the first thing she asked was:

"Have you had any luck yet, Neville?" Followed rather quickly by, "Who is this?"

"I'm Harry," Harry replied, and Neville only shook his head miserably.

The girl was dressed in her school robes, though most of the students Harry had seen so far were still in Muggle clothes or more informal robes he supposed must be wizarding casual wear. She had a rather snooty air about her, but Harry thought she seemed nice enough – if a little bossy. Maybe he could be friends with her, too.

"I'm Hermione Granger. You're not Harry Potter, are you?" she asked, her eyes flicking up to his forehead. "My goodness, you are! I've read all about you, you know. You're in Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and—."

"You're Harry Potter?" Neville squeaked, his eyes becoming very round and, like Hermione's, flicking up to check his forehead. "Really?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably and nodded, feeling a nameless barrier slide into place between him and the other two. He had only vaguely noticed it before, with other people who learned his name, but now it was almost a tangible thing. There was a distance that grew in the space of four syllables and isolated him from everyone.

"Well," Hermione said briskly, her eyes bright with excitement. "That's grand! Have you tried any spells yet? I expect you pick it up very fast, being who you are, don't you? I've only tried some simple ones, and they've all worked for me."

"Er," Harry started awkwardly, wondering if he ought to have by now. "No, I haven't."

Hermione shot him a disbelieving look.

"My relatives don't much like magic," he added quickly, face growing hot.

"Why on earth not?"

"I dunno, really," Harry lied, hearing Uncle Vernon's hissed, No more freakishness from you, boy, or you'll be locked in that cupboard of yours for a month!

"Oh, well… what House do you suppose you'll be in, then? I'll probably be a Ravenclaw, but Gryffindor sounds by far the best. I wonder how we're Sorted. Hogwarts: A History didn't say much about the Sorting… I suppose it's tradition to be surprised. Do you think they'll take into account where we want to go?"

"Er…"

But Harry was saved from answering, for they had come to another compartment and Neville had knocked on the door.

"Sorry, but have you seen a toad?" he asked, when the occupants looked up expectantly.

The four girls inside – a pair of twins with skin the colour of cinnamon, a round-faced girl with an unfortunately up-turned nose and a serene looking girl with dark hair – shook their heads, each looking apologetic, except for the round-faced girl, who seemed to be controlling a derisive sneer.

"Oh, well, thanks anyway."

They continued up the train, scouring the corridors and knocking on compartment doors. There was no sign of Trevor, and Neville's dejection was growing with each negative answer. Harry found himself becoming more miserable with each happy compartment they passed and ever more irritated with every goggling student that passed them, ostensibly to use the bathroom or visit a friend's compartment.

Just one person who doesn't gape at me, he wished fervently. Just one friend. I can be a good friend – I know I can.

After several more unsuccessful inquiries, Hermione had suggested splitting up again, as they could cover more ground that way. She and Neville had left Harry to continue making his way up the train, while they went to the front of the train – Hermione would check with the driver when they were expected to arrive, and then catch up with Neville, who would start to work his way back towards Harry.

Now alone, Harry steeled himself for wide-eyed stares and indiscrete whisperings and reluctantly tapped on the compartment door. He hoped he wouldn't be growled at by another disgruntled, rumpled fifth year like the last time he'd knocked on a door with the privacy flap down.

It took a long moment, but the door eventually rattled open. Harry was slightly startled to find himself looking at the pale boy from Madam Malkin's, who looked back with a lofty expression that said quite clearly: Well, what took you so long?

"You're Harry Potter," was the first thing the boy said, his pale eyes narrowing. "You didn't tell me you were Harry Potter."

"You didn't ask," Harry replied, coolly. "And you didn't tell me who you were, either."

"Draco Malfoy," he said, offering his hand like a lord to a lesser noble.

"Harry Potter."

With some difficulty, Harry swallowed the instinctive dislike prickling in his throat and took Malfoy's hand. Malfoy reminded him a little of Aunt Petunia, who always looked down her nose at Harry and thought herself superior to other people. The difference was that Malfoy did not have the ability to make Harry feel small and worthless the way his aunt did – instead, he made Harry feel annoyed.

"I was wondering when you'd get here – I was going to come and introduce myself, until I heard you were going from compartment to compartment. Very Slytherin of you, Potter, networking like this. I expect you want to ally with me, then?"

Ally? Harry wondered, frowning slightly. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd seen a toad. A boy called Neville's lost one."

For a moment, Malfoy seemed floored by the notion that Harry had not come in search of him, but he recovered quite admirably.

"I don't see why he'd bother looking for it," Malfoy sneered. "Imagine, actually taking a toad! I'd lose mine right quick or use it for potions ingredients if My Father sent me off to Hogwarts with a toad!"

This, he addressed to both Harry and the other occupants of the compartment – two thick-set boys with identically dull expressions, and a stringy boy whose face reminded Harry a bit of a rabbit. After a moment of confusion, the two heavier boys seemed to realise they were expected to laugh, and jeered obediently. The stringy boy snorted once, softly, and was quiet again, instead watching Harry with a kind of calculating look that made him uneasy.

Harry did not laugh, and Malfoy's face creased into a faint expression of disappointment. For a moment, the arrogant blond looked lost, and hurt. Harry felt a pang of sympathy as he realised that in some strange way, the other boy had been trying to – what? Make Harry laugh? Make friends? He couldn't help but wonder whether Malfoy had had any friends before, if he thought that insulting other people was a form of bonding.

"Why are you helping him anyway, Potter?"

"Because he needed help," Harry replied, quietly. "And it was the right thing to do."

Malfoy stared openly at him for several moments with an increasingly thoughtful look on his face. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but closed it again without a word. Harry shuffled his feet, fiddling unconsciously with the sleeve of his robe, and wondered what was going on behind Malfoy's expression – just what was he considering so carefully?

"I'd, erm, better get on," Harry said, when it became apparent no-one was going to speak. "There's still a lot of train to search."

Malfoy frowned, looking for a moment as though he might protest, but said, "See you at school, then, Potter."

"Yeah, see you around, Malfoy."

Harry nodded awkwardly to the other occupants of the compartment, who hadn't introduced themselves, and hurried down the corridor, trying to ignore the prickling sensation of Malfoy's intense stare following him.

When he reached the next compartment, he knocked without hesitating.

Okay, so, hi! Welcome to For Want of a Quill, first in the Quillverse series. As you can see, this fic is an AU in which Ron didn't sit with Harry on the train, so they did not become friends, and Harry arrives at Hogwarts a little different for it. This fic is AU, but not wildly so - at least not yet. The changes start small and snowball into something bigger, but it is for the most part canon compliant. That said, some minor characters will become major characters, some deaths will be prevented or caused, etc, etc.

I have followed the plot of the books, but I have embellished in places, so as to add some originality and keep it interesting, so it's not just like reading Philosopher's Stone all over again :)

Also, for anyone worried about pairings: that won't become an issue until third and fourth year, but feel free to let me know your opinions/guesses :) I have a pretty good idea of where everyone's going to end up, but that could change if the story takes a different direction than I expected. For now, though, it's just friendship and maybe some harmless crushes - try to enjoy it!

Let me know what you think! Be gentle - it's been a while since I posted anything for public consumption and I'm a little out of practice writing :) It might start off a little slow, but things will pick up soon, I promise!