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Assistant: Title: the stars, my destination
        Author: milkandmoon milkandmoon 
        Chapter: 1/26 
        Summary: When Petunia first abandons Harry to the cupboard under the stairs, a paroxysmal reaction of magic sends the infant back through time to the relative safety of 1963. Recovered from the site of a magical hailstorm in Surrey, he is adopted into the Potter family.Or—Harry Potter is entering his sixth year at Hogwarts. With less than satisfactory OWL results and a war brewing just outside the school walls, he has plenty to contend with . . . the last thing Harry needs is to catch the attention of the rising Dark Lord.
        Contents: Chapter 1: The Hogwarts Express
    

    


      
        
          endgame is harry/vee but there are a few stops to make along the way. as always, thanks for reading xx
      
  

  
  
    
    Great plumes of smoke rose up from the Hogwarts Express, settling over the crowded platform. The tension in the air at Kings Cross Station was palpable . . . a stark reminder, after the calm of summer, that civil war was brewing. With this depressing thought, Harry tugged James’s elbow, motioning for his brother to follow him onto the train. “Sorry, little brother,” James said, not sounding particularly apologetic. He pointed at the Head Boy badge pinned to his favourite  Harpies  tee. “I’ve got to find the prefect’s carriage. You spot Remus anywhere?” Harry rolled his eyes unhelpfully. “Nope.”Sirius Black, at James’s other elbow, pointed somewhere off into the distance. “Over there!”“You’d better get straight on that train, the lot of you,” Euphemia said, consulting her watch. Absently she patted the top of Harry’s head, smoothing his fringe over the peculiar lightning shaped scar that marked his forehead. “I’m sorry that your father couldn’t be here to see you off.” Harry exchanged a quick glance with James. “S’alright, Mum.” “Be good—” “See ya, Mrs Potter!”“—and stay safe.”Harry hauled his trunk up onto the train just as the whistle blew overhead. He slammed the door shut, waving as Euphemia beamed and the train took off, moving away from the platform and gathering speed. Harry glanced down the corridor to where Sirius was leaning casually against the carriage wall, already surrounded by a throng of admirers. He looked the epitome of cool with his shoulder length hair, black nail polish and worn leather jacket. Dragging his trunk behind him, Harry made his way towards the group and tapped Sirius on the shoulder. “Want to get a compartment? It looked empty down that end.” Sirius laughed, loud and bark-like. “That’s cute,” he said, reaching forward to pinch Harry’s cheek. “I’ll see you around, little Potter.” Harry scowled. He had gotten so used to Sirius’s presence over the summer that he had almost forgotten that he didn’t usually hang around the eldest Black—or any Gryffindors, for that matter—during school term. “Whatever,” Harry muttered, already moving away. Further down the carriage he spotted a familiar mop of dark, greasy hair. Severus Snape sat alone in a compartment, his large nose buried deep inside a book. Harry rapped his knuckles on the door before sliding it open. “Snape,” he began cautiously. Snape’s feud with his brother’s group was legendary. “I’ve got a favour to ask.”Snape didn’t look up from his book. “Get lost, Potter.”“Come on, Snape. You don’t even—”“Get  out.”“—but I just—”But Snape was already reaching a hand into the pocket of his robe, and Harry leapt backwards, slamming the door closed. “I’ve been looking for you all over.” Harry sighed with relief, turning around to see Regulus Black slinking towards him. “Regulus!” Harry grinned. “I didn’t see you on the platform.”“Let’s find seats.” Regulus hooked his arm through Harry’s and together they set off through the train, ignoring the dirty looks that followed them. In the heat of the current political climate, Slytherin had never been less popular. At last they reached an empty compartment. Harry sank down onto a seat and pressed his face against the cool glass window, watching with glazed eyes as they passed from Wood Green to Tottenham.“How was your summer?” Regulus asked. He took a liquorice wand from his pocket and sucked the end between his teeth. “Miserable,” Harry lied. He had, in fact, had a marvellous summer, the long days filled easily with two-a-side quidditch, pilfered beers and a muggle boy he’d met at the pool. But there was no reason to rub that in his friend’s face. “Mine too,” Regulus sighed. The topic of Sirius and his relocation to the Potter’s sat uncomfortably between them. Just as Harry wondered if he should breach the subject, Regulus said, “You pierced your ear?” “I did.” Harry tilted his head to show off the gold hoop. Regulus raised both eyebrows. “You reckon Sluggie will allow that?” Harry shrugged. “Sluggie can suck a flobberworm.”The piercing had been a spontaneous act of rebellion against his father, who had accidentally called him  James  at the dinner table. That he looked so much alike his brother had won Harry no favours amongst his peers, and Harry had gone to great lengths to emphasise their differences. Regulus smirked. “What did you want with Snape earlier?” Before Harry could respond the compartment door slid open and their dorm-mates ambled in; Balfour Greengrass, Icarus Nott and Enoch Wilkes. Hastily Harry changed the topic to their O.W.L results. They were not interrupted again until after the lunch trolley had passed and two seventh years, Bartemius Crouch Junior and—Harry’s stomach dropped—Evan Rosier, elbowed their way inside.Harry’s whirlwind romance with Rosier the previous year had been nothing short of an unmitigated disaster. “You’ll have to pass along my sincere congratulations to your brother, Potter,” Barty said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. The colours of his blue and bronze tie stood out against the sea of green and silver. “Who’d have thought James Potter would ever make Head Boy? Dumbledore truly is senile.” “He must be, like, four hundred years old,” Harry said carefully. He blinked up at Barty. “Oh—are you jealous?”“There’s no accounting for good judge of character,” Evan cut in. “And what is Dumbledore, when it comes down to it? Just some irrelevant dinosaur.” “We might not even be at Hogwarts after Yule,” Barty added. “What’s it matter who’s Head Boy outside of Hogwarts?”“What do you mean?” Regulus asked. “Well, you never know.” Evan’s dark eyes met Harry’s. “We may have moved on to bigger and better things.” An uneasy silence filled the compartment, and Harry felt apprehension twist in his gut. He had heard rumours that the Dark Lord was recruiting amongst the student population . . . but surely that couldn’t be true. “You don’t mean,” Icarus whispered, “him?” Barty shrugged mysteriously, but the ghost of a smirk lingered on his face as his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. “My parents would prefer that I finished the year,” Evan continued. “But I hardly see the point. When the Dark Lord takes over, do you think he’ll give a sh@t how many O.W.L’s or N.E.W.T’s anyone’s got?”Harry scoffed. “And what would a Hogwarts dropout be able to offer him exactly?” “No need to get your knickers in a knot, Potter,” Barty said in a bored voice. “The Dark Lord hasn’t time for blood traitors.”Harry rolled his eyes. “P@ss off.” Just then a commotion sounded outside the compartment—the marauder’s annual fireworks display had commenced. Harry let himself be led out into the corridor, willed the multicoloured explosions of light to distract him from the heavy weight pressing down on his conscience.The war, it seemed, had arrived with them at Hogwarts gates. This state of melancholy followed Harry up the steps into the castle, through the huge doors of the Great Hall, the sorting ceremony and the feast.“—let us therefore say goodnight. Pip pip!”Behind the drapes of his four poster bed, Harry settled himself underneath the green cotton sheets. He breathed deeply, pushing down the familiar sense of displacement that always left him queasy and unbalanced. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right. That, like a lone star in a constellation of unfamiliar faces, he didn’t quite belong. Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, stared down at the vial of  Dreamless Sleep  enclosed between his fingers. Lately, his dreams had been—to put it mildly—disturbing. He did not want to risk visiting the Dark Lord again before his first class in the morning.'
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