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It wasn't that they began the year as friends, thick as thieves in the night or any such rubbish. They didn't step off the train in a single-file chain and immediately bunch together like a six-pack of muggle soda pop. Rather, they drifted out in a haphazard straggle, unrecognizable as anything special or marked when so scattered amongst their peers.

Hermione came first, feet landing on the ancient porous stone of the train platform, her badge of power glittering as if it contained something effervescent all its own beyond the perfunctory labels of responsible, leader, and clever. Her face bore her same modest and kindly approachability, but the badge clung to her robes, cast the glow of a strong woman out onto their open faces, and whispered worthy to anyone who dared look.

Ron and Harry came next, cut off from their long-time companion by a pack of third-year boys and pair of maternal twin girls from seventh. Ron's eyes were aprehensive, but his smile shined as classmates noticed that he, as well, carried the glowing mark of prefect for another year. A fine young sport he's turned out to be, the adults had whispered, the teachers knew what they were about when they gave him the badge. Beside him Potter walked a little more carefully, head held high and gaze meeting any that challenged him. To most he stood not so different as before: taller and broader perhaps, with eyes closer to malachite than the vibrant spring most remembered. And maybe his shoulders looked a bit tighter despite the growth, his step a bit harder despite the nonchalance of his expression. Was it only side by side, in the light of the that first grey morning that the contrast became intense enough to echo in the very backs of their thoughts? Was it only the bland sameness of all the new arrivals that made, for the first noticable time in their collective memory, it Harry who looked tough, and Ron who looked noble?