The pickaxe swung, sweat dripping down the thin arms controlling it. A hand reached up and wiped the sweat from the owner's brow. The boy reached in to the barrel behind him and scooped out a cup of water. After the cup was empty he set it back in the barrel and returned to swinging the axe. Three swings later and the boy hit a black gem hidden in the dirt. He reached down and picked it up, staring into the black dracstone in his hand.
A figure came into the tunnel behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It is time."
The boy nodded and followed behind the figure, winding their way from the tunnels he had dug. They strode silently through halls of white, black, gold, silver, even platinum. Finally, they reached a door to the side of the hall. The cloaked figure pushed it open and let the boy in. He closed the door, leaving the boy alone in the darkened room.
The small boy moved to the table in the center of the room. He had long since gotten used to being alone in this place. He had been here for nearly four years, though according to his…. Friends… he would be leaving this year for some time.
He had been training for this for two years, it was finally time to test himself. Reaching out beyond himself he felt everything in the room around him and fell into a deep meditation.
A raven-haired boy stepped down from the scarlet train and into the small magical village. He had a quiet ride, the wards he found in his book already serving him well. The large man at the end of the road called for all first years, so the boy strode along with the rest of the cattle. Boats were at the bottom of a hill, enough, barely, for all of them. The skinny boy ended up in a boat with a blonde-haired ponce who wouldn't shut up about his father, and two Neanderthals.
He watched as the boat rounded the bend, the castle was breathtaking, even he couldn't deny that. Shortly thereafter, the boats docked under the edge of the castle. A stern-looking woman stood at the top of a staircase, looking at them through the eyes of a well-lived warden.
"Welcome to Hogwarts. In a few moments, I will lead you through these doors and to the Great Hall of this castle. There, you will be sorted into one of four Houses. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. While you attend this school, your house will be your family. As a team, you will gain points for extraordinary work or behavior. Any negative behavior and you will lose points."
With that, the woman turned and left the group of teens in the hall they arrived in. Just as a boy laid a hand on the raven-haired boy's shoulder she returned.
"They are ready for you."
The group followed the elder woman through the halls of the castle, the boy mapping it all in his head as they approached the large doors to the Great Hall. Slipping through the tables they were led to a stool, an old hat perched on top of it. A small shimmer of magic visible to the boy as he looked through the hall.
The old Scottish woman started reading names from the scroll she picked up. Some went to every table. The woman stopped, a lump clearly presenting itself as she read the next name from her scroll.
"Harry Potter."
Cries of rage, sorrow, and many other emotions floated through the room. It was common knowledge by this point that Harry Potter died on his eleventh birthday. The muggles he was staying with caused some explosion and it wiped out half the neighborhood as well. The news had covered the event thoroughly.
The boy stepped up to the chair, causing everyone to stop. He placed the hat on his head and felt its presence enter his mind.
So, you are the great, dead Harry Potter? Not so dead, are you? Now let's look at you. Loyal to a fault, but only once someone proves themselves. Braver even than Godric himself. More cunning than the Devil. And smarter than any I have seen yet. Well, I guess I must open it to preference. Where would you like to go Mr. Potter?
"GRYFFINDOR!" the shout from the hat came even before Harry finished his thought. The table to the far left of the room burst into cheers, the one on the far right broke out in boos.
Harry strode to the table he was assigned, and sat next to the brown-haired girl he had seen earlier and across from the red-head who tried to talk to him in the hall.
"Hermione Granger," the brown-haired girl extended a hand, "I've heard a lot about you Mr. Potter, though I'm sure most are lies."
"Nonsense," this came from the red-head across the table, food stuffed in his mouth. "He's Harry Potter. All the stories are true, 'cept the part of him being dead obviously."
Harry stayed quiet as the two started to argue about the things he did or didn't do. He looked out through the Hall and attempted to started choosing his Circle, only the powerful and loyal could join him. He was pulled from his thoughts by two more red-heads, likely the same family as the idiot next to him.
"Fred and George Weasley." Each of their hands extended toward him. He slowly shook them, wary of the two boys.
"Forget what our brother Ronald says, he has been a fan boy for years. Believes himself to be the destined best friend of Harry Potter."
"And what do you two feel?"
Both boys looked at each other and smiled, knowing they were the first to get him to talk.
"We are simple jokesters. We just wanted to introduce ourselves and wish you luck. Things have been… tense recently. Watch your back."
With that the boys left Harry to his food and observations.