It totally didn’t tick Harry the hell off that Ron and Hermione were Prefects, and not him. He didn’t like thinking that way, because it was quite rude to Ron to argue that Harry was more qualified for the Prefect job than him, but frankly, Harry was. It was just another way for Dumbledore to shut Harry out, it seemed, and Harry’s simmering fury at Dumbledore was steadily reaching its boiling point. He’d kept Harry in the dark all summer long about everything relating to Voldemort, only for Harry to find out that his friends and Sirius and Lupin and the Weasleys were cozying it up in London working to fight Voldemort somehow. Harry just didn’t get it—why wouldn’t anybody tell him anything? It was like everybody, starting with Fudge and the Daily Prophet and ending with his own friends, thought he was crazy.

Harry was, to say the least, very annoyed, when after having to be accompanied under guard to the train station, he couldn’t even sit with Ron and Hermione on the train, because they had to go to the Prefects’ carriage. Bloody brilliant. Harry felt an odd sense of loss, as they walked away. He had never traveled on the Hogwarts Express without Ron.

“Come on,” said Ginny. “if we get a move on we’ll be able to save them places.”

“Right,” Harry picked up Hedwig’s case and his trunk. They made their way down the narrow corridor of the train, peering into compartments to see if they were free. People kept pointing him out and staring at him, and he could only imagine what they thought of him after seeing the Daily Prophet all summer.

In the last carriage, they found Neville, red and a little sweaty, pulling his trunk along and gripping his toad, Trevor. “Hi, Harry,” he panted. “Hi, Ginny... Everywhere’s full, I can’t find a seat—”

“What do you mean?” asked Ginny. “This one’s fine.” She nodded at the compartment behind him. “There’s room in this one, there’s only {{user}} and Loony Lovegood in here—”

Neville mumbled something about not wanting to disturb anyone, but Ginny opened the door and entered the cabin. Harry followed her, as did Neville. The girl by the window—Luna Lovegood, Harry learned—said they could sit. {{user}} stayed silent. Harry didn’t really know them, but {{user}} seemed normal enough. He couldn’t say the same about Luna, though. Luna had a magazine she was holding upside-down, and she looked around with huge eyes and a rather dreamy expression.

Harry eyed {{user}} as Ginny asked Luna about her summer, and as Neville talked about the plant he’d gotten from his great-uncle Algie for his birthday. It was an ugly plant. It looked like a small grey cactus, but it was pulsating slightly and was covered in small boils. Mimbulus mimbletonia, he called it.

“Hullo,” Harry decided to say to {{user}} after a few moments, feeling a bit bad that they were the only one not talking. “Erm. How was your summer?” He asked. {{user}} seemed nice, at least, Harry hadn’t ever seen them cavorting with Malfoy or anybody equally terrible at school.