Badger's Cunning

by SarcasticallySatyrical

A divergent AU, starts in First Year but jumps to Fourth. Harry Potter, age eleven, has grown up in foster homes, and is introduced to the magical world by a professor named Snape. He meets a strange blonde boy named Draco, and Fate is changed irrevocably. Politics, ambition, plots, murders, and a world that's been sent slightly askew. NOT Slash.

An old man with a silver beard that tickled his kneecaps strolled down a suburban British street, carrying a small bundle. If it had been any time other than midnight, the witching hour, this man would have caused quite a stir, for he was wearing bright purple robes covered in moving constellations and comets. His hat was tall and pointy, and his boots were large and gray. In fact, he looked exactly like a real-life wizard should, perhaps because this man, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin (first class), Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, was in fact, a real-life, spell-casting wizard, with a lot of impressive titles to boot. This strange individual came to stop in front of a particular cookie cutter house in the row of cookie cutter houses, and squinted at the text on the mailbox before looking down at the bundle in his arms with a crooked smile. "Well, young Harry, this is it. This is your new home."

The bundle gurgled back at the old man, and reached up a chubby fist to tangle in his beard, for the bundle was, in fact, a black-haired baby. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot chuckled at the little boy's antics, then set about the laborious job of getting the boy to release his beard. Once that was accomplished, he set up the front path to Number Four, Privet Drive. However, before he could reach the halfway point, two cloaked and hooded figures appeared at the end of the street and began running at an alarming pace towards the pair.

Startled, Dumbledore produced a small stick of wood from his sleeve and flicked it twice. The baby zoomed up to the top of the house's front wall and stuck there, then a mesh cage appeared over him, completely sealing him off from the outside world. Then, he turned to the two figures directly behind him, taking in their sallow skin and bared fangs. This time, cracking his wand like an imaginary bullwhip, the old man removed the first vampire's head with a lash of flame that appeared at the end of his wand. By that time, the second one was upon him, and they tumbled hat-tip over robe-hem down the garden path. Displaying remarkable reflexes, strength and tenacity for a man his age, Dumbledore forced one forearm below the vampire's jaw to eliminate its deadly bite and flicked the wand in his other hand one more time before dropping it to catch the stake that he had just conjured. He jammed the sharp piece of wood directly into the heart of the foul creature on top of him, and then coughed as it exploded into foul-smelling dust. After he stood up, Dumbledore limped over to the still-present headless vampire corpse. He examined the cloak and leather jerkin that the creature of the night was wearing, then hissed in a breath at what he found. A small skull with a snake for a tongue, meticulously outlined in green thread, was prominently displayed on the breast of the supple armor. Dumbledore had no idea how the servants of Voldemort had found him so quickly, but it boded ill for young Harry and his family. Working quickly, he vanished the cage surrounding Harry and summoned the small child back to himself. After wrapping the boy securely in a conjured blanket with a warming charm, he conjured a parchment and charmed words appeared on it. He tucked the missive into the blanket with Harry, then walked to the edge of the property and started chanting. Slowly, golden walls that pulsed in time with the strange words grew around the property in a large bubble. As the walls reached the top, Dumbledore sketched three strange symbols in the air and shouted a word that echoed long after it should have faded. The golden bubble chimed, then faded from sight. Sighing, Dumbledore walked slowly to the end of the block, then turned back to survey the small bundle on the stoop of the house.

"Farewell, Harry Potter. It is for your own safety that I must leave you here in so unorthodox a manner, and though you are too young to hear me now, I hope that you have a pleasant stay with your family. I regret that I cannot be a part of your life, but me and mine are too well known. Your best defense shall be utter secrecy. Until your eleventh birthday..."

With those soft words spoken in a futile attempt to assuage his conscience, Dumbledore left Little Whinging with the soft pop of a successful apparition.

Three Months Later...

Again, a wizard strode down the dark and repetitive street that was Privet Drive at the witching hour. However, this time the wizard was not the benevolent old headmaster with the long silver beard. This man was just as tall, but straighter, younger, and he moved with a controlled swiftness that spoke of his predatory nature and skills. His form was partly obscured by a voluminous black cloak and his face was hidden behind a silvery mask, resembling a skull formed out of very fine filigree. The man stopped just outside the property line around Number Four Privet Drive and withdrew a slim black wand from inside his cloak. After giving it a nervous twirl, the dark man swished his wand through the air, leaving a whirling crescent of translucent energy behind the tip. The crescent flew towards the door of the house, but it struck a now-visible golden barrier and bounced off, flying into the night. The golden dome reverberated at the impact with a sound like a deep gong, but flashed once and vanished back into invisibility.

"Interesting." The figure cocked its head, reguarding the squat house with interest. "I never knew the old coot was so proficient in dead branches of magic."

The wand rose once again, but instead of casting another spell, the man instead started chanting in a language totally unlike anything else on Earth, both in its age and in the way that it seemed to echo in the air long after it should have fallen silent. At certain points during the long litany, the man sketched strange marks in midair with the wand, leaving behind runes carved in fire. Eventually, the man seemed to exhaust reach the end of his speech, as he drew one last rune and shouted a word in a voice that seemed somehow tripled, as though the man were part of a choir made up of only himself. The barrier faded into view one more, but instead of deflecting the malicious magic, it cracked and shattered with a loud clang like a brass bell.

A deep, oily chuckle oozed out from under the mask, as the figure swept towards the now-vulnerable front door. "Leave it to the old man to only dabble in warding. Against a true master of the art, he didn't stand a chance. However, he was competent enough to make an alarm that will no doubt be ringing right now. I do not have time to waste with this prattle to myself."

One flick of the short wand caused the door to burst open, and another set the lights aglow with more than their usual brilliance. The man muttered a short phrase, and the wand in his head spun to point directly at a small, extremely rotund boy whose cheeks and face were smeared with parts of the entire chocolate cake that he had been eating. His wide, scared eyes met the empty slits in the mask, and his mouth dropped open in utter terror, revealing the half-chewed cake to the disgusted intruder. The masked man stared at him for a moment then snarled, "Are you Harry Potter?"

The frightened boy shook his head frantically, and the invader chuckled. "Well, that's a relief. For me, anyways. I abhor sloppy eaters. And now, I no longer need you alive." As the boy turned to run, the man swept his wand up into a dueler's salute then cast a reductor curse that completely obliterated the top half of the boy's torso. Blood sprayed from the massive trunk and legs that were left sprawled on the ground halfway into the foyer from the force of the spell. A door opened and a sleepy voice called from the top of the stairs. "Duddikins? Was that you?"

The masked man grimaced at the pet name, and strode into the hallway, cloak sweeping dramatically through the blood and offal on the tile. He heard a gasp as he exited the kitchen; whoever was at the top of the steps must have seen him. He turned his head just enough to cast a glimpse of the tip of a pink dressing gown vanish around the corner at the top of the steps and grinned. He loved it when they tried to run. Slowly, he ascended the steps, listening for the sounds of panic and fear. Instead, he barely reached the first landing before a giant of a man came barreling out of a doorway that was just barely visible and tried to charge at him, bellowing at the top of his lungs. The invader dismissively blasted him out of the way with a flick of his wand, sending the man crashing into wall hard enough to break the drywall underneath the wallpaper. As the man lay groaning from the impact, the masked man smirked as he toyed with his wand, trying to come up with exactly what he wanted to do with the filthy Muggle. His lips twitched with a hint of a more unholy grin as he finally came to a decision. "Imperio." Go, throw your wife from the top of the stairs, then make sure she is dead. Afterwards, kill yourself.

The now-silent bull of a man rose to his feet and moved towards the bedroom, stiffly but without visible protest. The wizard ignored him, instead looking around at the rooms, trying to decide which to search first. Two were already standing open, leaving only the one at the very end of the hall, which was the smallest and plainest. Perhaps the Potter brat isn't as spoiled as the fat one downstairs. Good. I'll enjoy killing him more if my stomach isn't being turned by his odiousness.

Gripping his wand in anticipation, the killer moved towards the bedroom and slowly pushed open the thin wood door. He shone the light from his wand in and frowned. There was no sign of any person habitating the space, the furniture covered in broken toys and rejected clothes. Surely Potter must be here. Focusing on the picture that had been in the memorial issue of the Daily Prophet, he whispered, "Point me Harry Potter" and watched as his wand spun in his hand for but a moment before pointing him back into the hall. He followed its directions down the stairs and then around the stairwell until he stopped before a small wooden door set into a recess under the treads of the steps. Frowing, he pulled open the door and gagged at the whiff of human waste that greeted his nose. He covered his face with a robe sleeve and re-lit his wand with a flick of his wrist. The light inside showed him a dreadfully skinny boy clad in only an overlarge pair of shorts pressing himself against the back wall. The light reflected dramatically off his dark hair and startlingly green eyes. There you are, Potter. Now what were you doing back there? No matter. I have business to attend to.

The figure ignored the boy's soft whimpers of terror and was about to cast the spell that would end the boy's life when the sound of the footsteps echoed throughout the foyer. The figure turned, annoyed to have been interrupted just before he was finished.

Five minutes after Dudley's death

Sirius Black, currently in the large, shaggy bulk of his Animagus form, trotted along the alley between Privet Drive and Wysteria Way, a loaf of still-warm bread clutched between his teeth. The months that he had spent on the run and hiding from people had taught him how to survive, but it was harder and harder for him to find food near to Harry. He hated the long trips that he had to take, hated the time that he had to spend away from the boy, but it couldn't be helped. He couldn't risk being discovred, couldn't get too close, not before he could make sure Harry was safe, but he also couldn't stray to far away and risk something happening while he was gone. Just as he rounded the corner and No. 4 Privet Drive came into view, a flash of strange light illuminated the windows. Confused and more than a little concerned, Sirius broke into a quick trot. The loud thump that echoed a few seconds later, along with another flash of light, made him break into a full-out run, just barely shifting back into his human form before crashing through the door, wand in hand. In the half-second that it took for him to cover the small hallway, he took in the Death Eater standing in the signature sliver filigree mask and voluminous dark cloak, holding Harry up by one skinny arm. Then he slammed into the man going full tilt, sending the three of them sprawling. Harry was struck by a flailing leg in the tumble and was sent rolling into the kitchen and out of sight with a whimper while Sirius's forehead smashed painfully into the metal mask, bending it and cutting his forehead on the fine details. He forced himself to his feet, staggering a little and wand only loosely kept in his grip. In the time that it took for him to steady himself on the staircase and turn around, the other person had already gotten to his feet and removed the broken mask, revealing long blonde hair and aristocratic features, though the nose had been flattened by the impact. Sirius growled, deep in his throat. "Malfoy."

"Black." Despite the blood sheeting down his face, Lucius Malfoy's trademark sneer was firmly fixed in place. "Is that any way to greet your brother-in-law?"

Sirius just jabbed his wand at Malfoy, hissing the incantation as quietly as possible. Lucius's smirk never faded as he contemptuously swept the spell into a wall where it left a crater the size of a fridge. "Come come, Black, we know who is the better dueler between us. How many times have you tried this already?" The entire time he was talking, Sirius had been sending as many curses and hexes his way as he could, growing more and more angry as they all were deflected with calm competence. "Twice? Thrice? And each time I have walked away with the life of one of your companions and you have slunk away to lick your wounds. What makes you think that this time will be any different?"
"You always did talk too much during a fight, Malfoy." The hallway didn't leave much room to manuever for either patry and they had been moving the entire time, leaving them nearly wandtip to wandtip. "Shut up." Sirius dropped his wand and lunged, physically slamming the taller, slimmer man up against the wall. Both men's wands were sent clattering across the floor, as the combatants ignored them in favor of grappling with each other. Sirius had his hands clasped around Lucius's throat, intent on throttling the life out of the man, while Lucius had his palm solidly on Sirius's forehead and the other hand wrapped around one of Sirius's wrists, frantically trying to relieve the pressure on his windpipe. Lucius's face slowly filled with purple and, eventually, his struggles weakened. Siruis didn't let go until he finally stopped twitching completely. Then he dropped the corpse and dashed into the kitchen to find Harry curled up on the floor in a fetal position, hands clenched over his ears. Sirius groaned as he slid to his knees next to his prone godson. "Oh, Harry, what did that bastard do to you?"

Harry didn't respond; he just curled tighter in on himself and flinched away from Sirius's hesitant touch. Rocking back onto his heels, Sirius tried to look at the situation logically and figure out the best way for him to handle it. He'd just barely begun casting some of the most basic healing spells that he knew when several loud knocks on the door distracted him. "Is anyone there? Mr. Dursley, Mrs. Dursley? It's the police; we received several calls from your neighbors complainng about strange lights and noises."

Sirius cursed under his breath as he slowly got to his feet, caught in between his fear of being caught and his loyalty to Harry. Then the door rattled several times in its frame and voices started echoing through. "It's really locked up tight, guys. We're not getting this down without a crowbar or something." Then the voice called through the door again. "Mr. Dursley, we'd hate to damage such a lovely house but we received enough calls that we have to investigate. If you won't or can't open this door, we'll have to kick it down."
Swearing, Sirius turned back and got one last look at Harry before a panel in the door splintered under the metal end of a crowbar. He dissapparated with a pop; the last thing that he heard before the rush of magic was a cop shouting. "There's some guy in there! Get this -"

Outside

Lieutenant Stephen Daniels was a ten year veteran of the police staff and he'd seen plenty of nasty stuff in his time. He especially hated house calls like this one, since there wasn't any indication if it would be a quiet night or one of the really bad ones. It was the not knowing that really got to him. He had a strong stomach, since he'd grown up on a farm and butchered a lot of his own food; he could handle the corpses. He just couldn't handle the prickling sense of dread as he stood by and let his younger partner take the lead on the door, the common opening phrase sliding oto and over his ears since he'd heard it so many times. Then his partner turned around and looked at him and the other two cops that were standing by their car. "It's really locked up tight, guys. We're not getting this down without a crowbar or something." He then turned back to the door and called through again. "Mr. Dursley, we'd hate to damage such a lovely house but we received enough calls that we have to investigate. If you won't or can't open this door, we'll have to kick it down."

Daniels nodded to the guys in the car and they got out, one of them handing Daniels a crowbar from their squad car. He looked to his partner, got a nod, then swung at the door like he was an American going for a home run. The hardened still tip smashed through the door, tearing out the chunk directly around the lock. The door leaned open just enough for Daniels to pick up a shadowy figure of a man crouched in the foyer. One of the police officers from the other car noticed and swore. "There's some guy in there! Get this damn door out of our way."

A loud pop followed his shout, and Daniels burst in through the door, smashing it aside. He looked around, trying to see where the man had vanished to, and only catching the sight of the lower torso of a boy, lying in a pool of blood and liqufied organs. Then he saw the body of a woman, broken at the bottom of the steps, a chunk of railing impaling her. His stomach turned slightly, but his long years of experience kept him from actually being sick. He kept moving forward, cautiously avoiding the pools of blood and offal that were scattered over the floor. The other officers filed in behind him, splitting up to search the other rooms of the house. He heard one of them click on his radio. "Dispatch? Send an ambulence, we've got an injured kid here. No, he's concious but non-responsive. He's curled up in a fetal position and -"

The other officer's voice faded as Daniels rounded the corner into the upper floor. He grimaced as he found the corpse of a large man in the large attic, swinging from a belt. Disgust curled his upper lip and he again almost felt the need to vomit. He gave the room one last look and then headed back down the steps. His partner greeted him at the bottom with a quick nod. "The house is clear, LT. We didn't find anybody on the grounds, so I think our job is done. I called the ambulance to pick up the boy and the forensic boys are on their way down to start poking around the crime scene."

"Sounds good." Daniels sighed. "Then I guess it's back to the station for the paperwork. It's always worse when it's a nasty case like this."

His partner nodded and they walked out to the cars. He stopped at the door, mind going back to the sight of the dead boy, half his body gone and he shivered in disgust and a slight bit of fear. What could do that to a person? Who could do that, especially to a boy?

"You ok?" His partner was looking at him, concern written on his face.

"Just been a really nasty evening so far." Daniels shook his head trying to clear it. "It's not that far to the station. I'll walk back, clear my head."

His partner looked like he was about to object, then he shrugged and nodded. "See you there." He ducked back into the car and Daniels watched him drive off before turning and starting down the sidewalk. He only made it a few steps before four loud pops, one after another, echoed from the street. He turned on his heel and sprinted down the sidewalk, loosening his gun in his holster as he did so. He just barely caught a glimpse of four figures in a dizzying array of flowing robes of varying shades before one of them pointed a stick at him and a red light slammed into him, robbing him of his conciousness.

Alastar Moody, called Mad-Eye by those who didn't know him or knew him and disliked him, stumped over to the door where two of the uniformed muggles had sprung from. Kingsley Shacklebolt followed behind him. Shack, as he was known around the Auror Corps, had a reputation for quiet dependability and competence, and he lived up to his reputation as he calmly and orderly started Obliviating and Confunding the muggles whiel the other two members of their little group began a sweep of the house. While Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall weren't Aurors, they were some of the most formidable and knowledgable practitioners of magic that Moody ever had the pleasure of knowing. And, true to their reputaions, it was McGonagall and Dumbledore who found the cloak. They called over the others, showed them where the dark garment had been laying and then directed them in a search that quickly turned up the distinctive wand concealed in a serpant cane and a unique silver mask. Dumbledore looked disturbed. "These are definitely Lucius Malfoy's."

Moody grunted. "No body, no trace of blood. Damn like You-Know-Who, if the papers are right."

Dumbledore nodded, face still pensive. McGonagall suddenly looked around, frantic. "Where is Harry?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "I searched around the entire place. I coudln't find any evidence he was here. No blood, no pictures, no clothes, nothing. Are we sure this was the right house?"

Both McGonagall and Dumbledore nodded at the same time and McGonagall spoke up. "I'm very sure. There isn't a thing different from the day we left him here."

Dumbledore interrupted her sadly. "I think there actually is." He walked over to the small cupboard under the stairs, still standing open and ducked down to look in. Wordlessly, he pointed out a small, threadbare matress, freshly unmade with one ratty blanket and a few small plastic soldiers that were left scattered in a loose pile on the floor.

"I told you, Albus Bloody Percival Wolfric Buggering Dumbledore!" McGonagall was livid, visibly shaking with her rage. "I told you they were the worst kind of muggles when you wanted to leave Harry with them. I told you Lily would rather have had Harry go anywhere than with them. I told you!"

Her shrieks cut off into wordless screams of outrage. Moody and Shacklebolt had wisely decided to take a step back and let the incensed witch vent her rage before trying to interject back into the conversation. When McGonagall seemed to have quieted down, simply standing and glaring at the old man still kneeling on the floor, they made eye contact, each trying to get the other one to speak up. Eventually, Moody snorted and stepped forward as the other three pairs of eyes focused on him. "If Harry was here, then where is he now?"
McGonagall looked like she was about to tip back towards apocalyptic again before Shacklebolt spoke up. "The rest of the family are dead and the police had been called. Don't the muggles have some sort of orphanage for their children?"
His question didn't seem to calm the irate Scotswoman, but Dumbledore straightened up before she could force a word out. He sighed, looking like life had chewed him up and spit him back out. "Yes, Kingsley, quite right. They have a rather ingenious system of foster families set up to take care of unfortunates like Harry until they reach their majority, or until his eleventh birthday, in this case." The ancient wizard seemed to fix his stare on something a thousand miles away. "We cannot seek Harry now, not with the attack so recent and the danger so obvious. I had planned to have him be raised away from his fame until he was ready to attend Hogwarts and then I would have a year to make suitable arrangements for him over the summer. Now, I think that plan still holds merit. Come, we still have much work to do if we want to be sure that Voldemort's taint has been cleansed from our society."

July 30th, 1991, 11:59:59pm

Harry Potter, aged ten years, eleven months, fifty-one weeks and six days, lay in his bedroom at his latest foster parents' house, anticipation and hope welling up in his chest and stealing his breath away.

July 31st, 1991, 12:00:00am

Harry Potter, aged eleven years, lay in his bedroom at his latest foster parents' house, buoyant hope warring against crushing disappointment in his young soul. Every year, on his birthday, he couldn't escape the insane feeling that this would be the year, that this time he would find out something that would enable him to escape the endless parade of dreary townhouses and variably interested guardians. He supposed that that wasn't fair to the Masons; they had been nice, a little strict, but not bad at all. They just were so old and it wasn't surprising when Mr. Mason had suffered a massive heart attack. That was the darkest week of his young life, the week around the funeral. His memories were a blur of crying, black-clad people and Mrs. Mason looking utterly defeated at they moved her into that nursing home. After that, he'd been tossed back into the dog-eat-dog system of foster families. It wasn't his fault that he was a loner, and it wasn't his fault that he just seemed to have a knack for getting into trouble. He hated bullies, and most of the older kids in the system were usually horrible tyrants. He'd lost count of the fights he'd been in after the first month; it got hard to remember when he wasn't in a home long enough to learn any names. He refused to capitulate to anybody, he just wanted to be left alone, and that apparently wasn't good enough for the kind of boys that ended up on top fo the pack in group homes. It was only when he was the only child in a home, or the oldest one, that he lasted for more than a few days, and that was only until he got to school and met Piers Polkiss again. That little rat was a coward, but he had large friends who didn't hesitate to punch who Piers said to punch. And of course, Harry was one of his least favorite people. The teachers didn't even try anymore. Harry was the bad kid, the one who got in all of the fights. They just looked at him, sighed, and stuck him in the corner until the fight broke out and they could actually send him down to the principal's office. It was starting to take longer; Harry had decided to be smart about how he fought back. And being smart starts with keeping your mind in the present.

Harry shook his head to clear it of the long train of self-reflection. Every year, it was always the same. He would get his hopes up, they would get dashed, and then he would waste hours of sleep wading through his memories of earlier disappointments. Not this year, he decided. This will be the year that I actually get some sleep.

Despite his inner resolution and the emphatic way he fluffed his pillow before laying down., he couldn't stop the bitter tear from working its way down his cheek as his eyes fell closed.

The Next Morning

Harry woke up dry-eyed and pragmatically focused on breakfast. He slipped into a pair of only slightly tattered jeans and pulled on his ripped trainers before walking into the bathroom on the second floor. The Wilsons fostered a large amount of young children, with Harry being the oldest, and with his age came certain priveleges. He cuffed Alex, an unholy terror even at seven, out of the way and stood, arms crossed, waiting for Nick, the youngest at four, to finish washing his hands before he started to brush his teeth. He saw Alex coming back for a sneak attack out of the corner of his eye and deftly stuck his foot out behind him to trip the incoming missile. Alex sprawled out on the bathroom tile, narrowly missing his head on the cabinet. Harry surruptitiously check for blood, and, when he found none, smirked. "Better luck next time, kid."

He strolled into the kitchen confidently, and started rummaging around on in the cupboards for the Pop-tart that he'd secreted in a back corner. When Nolan, the only biological child of the Wilsons, walked in, Harry ignored him in favor of continuing the search for the sugary pastry. Then he coughed quietly to get Harry's attention. When he did turn around, Nolan wouldn't meet his eyes. "Harry, they want you in the drawing room. There's someone who wants to see you before breakfast."

"I'll be right over." When Nolan nodded, Harry retrieved the Pop-tart and stuck it under his shirt for later. He knew whatever was going to happen was important, since the Wilsons only used the drawing room for guests that they wanted to impress and visiting social workings, and it was the wrong day of the month for a case worker visit. Harry didn't trust any strange visitor to notice or care that he hadn't eaten breakfast yet, so he slipped the Pop-tart under his shirt and then made his way over to the imposing oak structure that was the drawing room door. He knocked once, politely, just as the Masons had taught him. He only had to wait a moment before a soft voice from within called out. "Enter, please, Harry."

He glanced quickly around the room as he walked in, noting the small breakfast spread laid out in fine china and strange man in the dark suit who was seated to Mr. Wilson's right. He then focused on the woman who had called him in. Mrs. Wilson was a woman who liked her routines, and she only had three styles of dresses: the flowery ones that she wore around the house, the solid color one that she wore to Mass every Sunday, and three cocktail dresses she reserved for very important visitors and special occasion. She was wearing her newest dress now, and the nervous smile that she flashed Harry when he looked at her couldn't hide the worry in her eyes. He quickly turned his attention back to Mr. Mason. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
Harry knew that Mr. Wilson hated to be slighted in front of guests, and he also knew that speaking to anyone before Mr. Wilson would be taken as a grievous slight indeed. The quick glance that he had given Mrs. Wilson wouldn't register on Mr. Wilson's radar; the man, while not particularly dumb, could be just as stuck in his personal traditions and set in his ways as his wife. The smile that Harry was getting from both Masons told him that he'd somehow passeed a test; they only were that affectionate when they were trying to steer a child where they wanted him or her to go. However, it was the stranger's reaction that startled Harry; his lips quirked almost imperceptibly, and he inclined his head a fraction of an inch, giving a semblance of an approving nod.

"Yes, yes, dear boy." Mr. Wilson replied with his usual over-exaggerated gusto. "This is Severus Snape, a professor at a rather exclusive school in Scotland. He's here to offer you a spot at his school. Going there would mean some rather drastic lifestyle changes, but, well, I'll let him explain."

The stranger, apparently named Snape, smiled, but his curled lip almost made it a sneer instead. "Thank you, Mr. Wilson." He turned towards Harry and something flickered across his face before it settled back into a blank look of cool regard. "I am a professor of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry almost flinched, a montage of all of the strange things that had happened to him running through his head: nightmares of green light and cold laughter, Piers walking straight past Harry when he was crouched behind a brick wall and praying not to be found, a rude substitute teacher's hair turning blue, and, one notable time, appearing on top of the school's roof when Piers and his gang were all after him. He looked back to Snape. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't quite know what you mean."
Snape snorted. "Come now, Mr. Potter. Surely you have some idea why I am here. Or are you going to tell me that strange, unexplainable things don't happen around you when you are angry, scared, or particulary desperate for something?"

Harry almost denied it, but the look in Snape's eye told him that the man already knew the truth. "No, sir, I couldn't tell you that."

"And that is because you are a wizard, Mr. Potter. At this school, we will be teaching you how to control the power that is causing these things and so, if you apply yourself, you will eventually be able to do things like this." The professor flicked his wand, and caught a crystal goblet that had appeared out of thin air, then dipped his wand in the glass and filled it with clear water. He took an appreciative sip, then flicked his wand again and the water turned a deep burgundy. He took another sip and shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Not my finest vintage, but still, a passable wine."

Harry was impressed, not only with the previously impossible actions but also the showmanship that went along with them. The Wilsons on the other side seemed torn between offense and curiousity, and Harry swore he saw Mrs. Wilson's hand twitch towards the goblet of wine before she snatched it back. "Very impressive, sir, but I would assume such a..." Harry paused, searching for the right word. "unique private school would have a cost that would reflect its curious nature."

Snape nodded once. "It does, but the cost was settled before you were born. Your parents both atttended this school and arranged for your tution to be covered if anything ever happened to them."

Harry nodded once and looked down at his hands for a moment, considering. Then he met Snape's eyes and echoed his slight smirk from earlier. "When does term begin?"

Mr. Wilson coughed, and both teacher and new student looked at him in irriation. The rather large man flushed under the attention, but blustered his way forward anyway. "Harry, I'm sure that all this sounds rather exciting at your age, but the Mrs. and I aren't quite as sure. All of this," he gestured at the glass of wine sitting innocently on the table. "isn't natural. And we don't want any child of ours mixed up in something so strange and dangerous." The implied threat in his voice was clear.

Snape looked away from the disgusting Muggle and back toward's Lily's son and had to repress a shudder. While they emerald eyes were the exact hue and shage of, the cold and calculating glare that was burning out of them reminded the spy of nobody so much as Voldemort. The calculation and ambition was clear in the boy's face, but passably restrained for a boy his age. Then he turned that gaze on Snape himself. "Professor, since the Wilsons are not a part of our world, can they make decisions like that for me?"

Snape almost smirked approvingly. "In this case, no. Your parents were both prominent members of our society and made sure there will always be a place for you at Hogwarts as long as you would wish it."

Harry nodded once, and his brows furrowed. Then he looked back to the Masons, and Snape could practially see the gears turning. "I assume that if I pursue this education, you will no longer welcome me in your home?"
Mr. Wilson spluttered at the audacity of the question. "You can bloody well bet you won't be, boy. Reject our hospitality, will you, you little ingrate?" Mrs. Wilson would not look at either of them, but nor did she react to her husband's outburst. Harry snorted in disgust.

Snape quirked an eyebrow at him. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

Harry's lips curled in a bitter smile. "Well, Professor, I appear to be without a home once again. Would you have any advice on the situation, or shall I reenter the tender mercies of the foster system?"

"At the very least, Mr. Potter, I know where we shall be spending the afternoon. I was not just sent here as a personal delivery man for your invitation, I also have your list of materials that you shall need and was intending to insure that you had such things before I retired for the day." The man retrieved a letter from the inside pocket of his suit and passed it over to the boy, before standing up. "Come, Mr. Potter, I assure you that you can peruse the list while we are shopping. However, I believe that we have worn out our welcome."

Harry glanced up from the thick envelope and took in Mr. Wilson's livid glare and Mrs. Wilson's determined indifference. It hurt, more than he thought it would have since the Wilsons hadn't been all that involved with their charges anyways but he refused to let it show on his face. "It appears that you would be right, sir. I'll follow you."

Snape led the way out of the house, dipped his head slightly in farewell to the Wilsons and then escorted Harry into the street. He looked down at the boy who was walking up, one who looked so much smaller now that he was stadning up. He smirked. "Take my arm, Mr. Potter. And you may want to hold on. This next bit is somewhat exciting." He waited until his forearm was grasped firmly by two small hands, and then apparated the two of them to the front of the Leaky Cauldron. Hary was a bit unsteady, and looked a bit green after the sudden shock, but he soon was staring in wonder at the dingy pub that somehow was ignored by most of the people walking by on the street. Snape glanced down at his wide-eyed wonder and the distinctive hair and eyes and inwardly groaned. If he let the boy walk into the alley like that, gawping at everything and keeping his scar right out in the open, then they'd be mobbed in seconds and would have to fight through crowds the rest of the day. "Wait a moment, Mr. Potter."

The boy stopped, looking confused and a little bit frightened as Snape drew his wand. The professor paused a moment before he started casting and sighed. "I merely wish to disguise your appearance some, Mr. Potter. For reasons better left until another time, you are quite a..." His lip curled in a sneer, "celebrity among us. And, as such, most members of the Wizarding public would not think twice about disrupting our shopping trip for a handshake or some other expression of their gratitude. I feel that we both would rather avoid such things."

Harry nodded gratefully and watched as Snape started casting multiple glamours on him. Harry only felt a few light brushes against his hair and face before Snape stopped, appearing satisfied. He reached up and touched his face with a curious hand. "Sir, did it work? I don't feel any different."

Instead of answering, Snape wordlessly conjured a mirror and handed it to the boy, who gaped with sudden wonder at the face staring back at him. His distinctive messy hair was now short and blonde, and lay perfectly aligned along the back of his head. His scar was much fainter, almost unnoticable, and his face was different, the cheekbones a little longer and the nose much more pointed. The only thing that was left untouched were his eyes, which were the exact same shape and vibrant shade of green. He looked curiously at the professor, who seemed to realize his question before he asked it.

"You have your mother's eyes." Snape seemed to be looking past him, despite his rather aware answer. Then he focused again on Harry and took his arm in a firm grip. "Come, Mr. Potter, we have a long list to get through, and not as much time to do it as I would like. Do not let yourself be separated from me; Diagon Alley is a quite busy place."

With that, the tall man set off at a brisk walk, pulling Harry along for a few steps before he managed to keep the pace. They swept thorugh the small pub, Snape nodding once at the barkeep before they exited in the back and were moving swiftly towards an apparently blank wall. Snape had his wand out again and tapped it on a brick that wasn't distinguishable from its brethren, then strode through a hole that appeared as bricks whirled out of their way. Harry gasped as he burst through into the light, coming face to face with a small open-air market, full of people dressed in robes of every shade and hue of the rainbow, all bartering, shopping and chasing children through aisles of merchandise. Snape paused for a moment, lips quirking in his almost invisible smile, before he set off again, just as fast as before. This time, Harry was sent stumbling multiple times, as he was lost in staring at every new fantastic sight that appeared before him. He caught a glimpse of a puppet show through a crowed of excited children, a rather animated wizard sending a torrent of tinly lights at a minature Chimera that breathed actual, if tiny, gouts of real fire. Just a few streets over, he saw two firebreathers performing for an appriciative crowd, the firestorms they breathed dancing in the forms of badgers and satyrs to the tune of an invisible drum. Then Harry heard a doorbell ring and suddenly he coudln't see anything, eyes still used to the brightness outside. He blinked once,, then twice and slowly, a shop interiour swam into focus. There were a few racks of the same colorful robes on three walls of a large room, with the fourth being taking up by five doors, all with signs in vibrant purble and spidery handwriting. "Just a moment until I can pin up this young gentleman and then I'll be right with you, dear."

Harry turned, startled by the voice, to see a plump middle-aged witch deftly turning and pinning the hem of a robe as a blonde boy about his age who was watching them curiously. Snape appeared to know the boy, as he cleared his throat pointedly. "Draco, it's not polite to stare."

The boy started, as though surprised to be caught out, and then smiled sheepishly. "Ah, right, sorry godfather. Hello, I'm Draco Malfoy. I haven't met you before, but I'm guessing that's because you're a first year at Hogwarts like me?"
Harry nodded, mutely, still trying to process that Snape had a godson. Draco paused, as though waiting for Harry to introduce himself, then jumped right back into talking. "Do you know what house you're going to be in? I'm probably going to be in Slytherin, though I also could see Ravenclaw. And I'll probably be on the Quidditch team. And either house could really be helpful later on in life. I don't know quite what I'm going to be doing yet, but I know it will be great. What about you?"

Apparently the confusion on Harry's face showed, because Draco laughed for a moment. "Oh, you're a muggle-born, aren't you? And here I am blathering on about Houses and Quidditch like you know what I'm talking about. So, at Hogwarts, all the students belong to one of four possible houses, which help split up classes and let us have sports teams and stuff, since we really don't have a ton of contact with the other schools. But the four houses are Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Gryffindor is the house of the brave and bold. It's for people who chase adventure and have a strong sense of justice and stuff like that. Slytherin has a bad reputation, because most of the recent dark wizards are from there, but it's really just a house for those with ambition and cunning. Ones who want to do something great or use their brains instead of just brawn. Ravenclaw is the house for the intelligent. It's all about learning and knowledge and discovering new things. And Hufflepuff also has a bit of a repuatation for the "everything else" house, but that's just because they're really loyal and accepting to everyone. You pick on one of them, you pick on all of them, and they're also the ones that make really good friends, because they'll always have your back."

Draco paused for breath, which was prescisely when Madame Malkin swept back in from the back, startling Harry again, who hadn't seen her leave. She handed Draco a package that was bound up with twine, and smiled down at him. "Here you are, Mr. Malfoy, your Hogwarts robes. Run along now and let me help my next customers." Draco jumped down from the stool, package grasped frimly in hand and was halfway out the door before Madame Malkin called out. "Your mother's down at Flourish and Blot's, and she said to go straight there."

The end of her sentence was cut off by the thump of the door shutting, and she chuckled, turning to the professor and his charge. "That boy. He and his mother are some of my regulars, so I've gotten to know them pretty well. He's a determined one, and he's only gotten more so as he's gotten older. He'll end up somewhere important, you mark my words."
Snape nodded once. "Indeed, Madame. However, I do have another first year here who needs his first set of school robes." He glanced down at Harry, who looked back bemusedly. "And a few sets of regular day robes, in dark greens and grays, I think. Put the school ones on the Hogwarts's tab and the rest on mine."

He noted Harry's look, and as the woman bustled off, he lent down and spoke softly. "This is not charity. It is part of my atonement for a debt I can never repay." Then he stood back up and was facing away looking indifferent before Harry could even blink. Harry almost asked him what the debt that he wanted to repay was, but then he looked at the man's stony face and the question died on the tip of his tongue. Then he was dragged into a whirlwind of cloth and pins and bustling matronliness, and all thoughts of debts and strange professors were driven from his head as he desperately tried to find a spot to take a breath without inhaling the end of the measuring tape or a square of flying cloth.

The two walked about out of the shop over forty minutes later, both carrying a large bag. Harry was carrying his school robes and Snape was burdened with all but one of the freshly-made day to day robes. Harry was proudly sporting the last set, the most vibrant of the green ones. Snape deftly snagged the large bag away from Harry and pointed to a small, seemingly-dingy shop at the end of the street. "That, Mr. Potter, is Olivander's wand shop. It is a very personal experience, unique to each wizard, when one buys one's first wand. As such, I am allowing you to go in alone while I pick up a school trunk for you and secure our purchases so far in it. However, I do expect that after you receive your wand, you will wiat there for me and you will not start waving it around willy-nilly. Can you handle that, Mr. Potter?"
Harry nodded mutely, and Snape turned away to enter the shop they were standing in front of. Waiting for a second, unsure if the severe man had been serious, Harry started towards the shop slowly, then picked up steam until he was practically running into the dusty and dimly lit interior. Something about the first lungful of air he inhaled reminded him of the smell of the only crypt he'd ever been in, and his enthusiasm quickly waned. Then an extremely pale and skinny man appeared from behind a large set of shelves, staring intently at him with wide, almost luminous eyes. A long moment of silence stretched between them, before the pale man spoke in a hushed, almost sibilant tone. "Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. I have been expecting you. Your parents settled the debt of a wand and holster for you a long time ago, now all that remains is for you to be fitted." From deep within the dark robes that he wore, Mr. Olivander, Harry assumed that the strange man had to be the proprietor of the shop, produced a thin, intricately carved wand and flicked it twice. Two gleaming silver tape measures rose from a chair in one of the many dusty corners and started taking measurements without any guiding hands. Mr. Olivander, for his part, totally ignored the tapes and their subject as he moved from shelf to shelf with surprising swiftness, muttering to himself the entire time. "Maybe...no, too long... how about? No, too tempermental... hmm... perhaps?"

He eventually picked a few boxes of the shelves and made his way over, waving away the measures as one measured the distance between Harry's nostrils and the other the thickness of his left palm. He opened on narrow box of paper and proffered the wand inside to the startled boy. "Here, Mr. Potter, try this one. Oak and Dragon Heartstring, 11 and ¾ inches, solid. Good for most branches of magic."

Harry took it and held it in his hand, feeling a bit foolish. He almost wondered if he was supposed to wave it around, but Snapes warning about waving around a wand willy-nilly echoed in his mind. Even so, before he could even do anything, Olivander had snatched the wand back and handed him another one. "Cherry wood and unicorn tail hair, 10 and ½ inches, quite swishy. Favors charms."

Again, it had barely touched Harry's palm before Olivander snatched it back and switched it for another. "Pine wood and thestral tail feather. 9 and ¾ inches. Unyeilding. Good for offensive magics."

Another failure. "Poplar and dragon heartstring, 10 inches, springy. Favors transfiguration" was snatched back as soon as Harry had laid a finger on it. "Birch, 9 and ¾ inches, unicorn tail hair, very swishy. Good for charms" was only offered and Harry never even managed to touch it.

Finally, the old wandmaker picked up a box and looked at Harry speculatively, idely bouncing the box in his hand. He handed it over without a word, but gestured at him when he seemed confused. Hesitantly, Harry unwrapped the thin stick of wood and slowly picked it up. As soon as his fingers wrapped around the handle, a rush of energy flowed over him and a sound like a wordless choir echoed in his ears. Olivander smiled happily but seemed slightly surprised. "Holly wood and pheonix feather, 11 inches, nice and supple. Very protective." He paused for a moment, looking almost nervous before continuing. "I remember every wand I ever sold, Mr. Potter, but this wand is particulary notable. The pheonix that donated the tail feather that became the core of your wand only gave one other feather. It was part of a yew wand, 13 and ½ inches. That wand went on to do great things, terrible yes, but great none-the-less. It was that wand that gave you that scar."

Harry, by this point, was totally freaked out and was edging towards the door. Olivander seemed content to watch him leave, but just as he reached the clear floor space in front of the door, the old man straightened up and moved with a surprising swiftness to bring a strange leather tube, with several straps dangling from the bottom of the man's fist. He held it out to Harry, who slowly took it, absolutely confused. "That, Mr. Potter, is a wand holster. It is meant to be warn on the forearm of your non-wand hand and can be worn over or under most clothing. Most students wear it over their uniform sweater but under their outer robe." Olivander smirked for a moment. "I do remember what it was like to be that age, and I will tell you that it can allow for both discreet wand use and dramatic effect."

Harry nodded, and, as soon as Olivander turned, sprinted for the door. As soon as he burst through the door, Snape's admonition to wait echoed again in his ears and he sunk down next to the door to wait. He soon got bored and spent the time staring at the people walking by, robes swishing over the pavement. His interest was captured by a family of redheads, one mother trying to herd a gaggle of four energetic boys while tightly clutching the hand of a small girl who seemed to only be a bit younger than him. Their eyes met for a second across the mass of people and her eyes widened quickly. However, as soon as her eyes flicked up and took in his short blonde hair, she seemed to deflate and move around to hide behind her mother. Harry was confused for a moment, but then wondered if it had something to do with whatever Snape had said about him being famous. He was so distracted by the strange idea that people would be excited to see him that he didn't notice Snape walking up until the older man's shadow fell over him. "Mr. Potter, what are you doing out here? While I am gratified that you at least appeared to listen to my instructions, perhaps the inside of the shop would have made a much better place to wait?"

Harry puffed up, indignant. "Olivander's creepy! He kept staring at me and he knew who I was before I even walked in. And he said that he sold the wand that gave me my scar!"

Snape shrugged. "I would assume that would be accurate. Olivander has sold wands to most of the wizarding population of Britain, and whatever else may have been said about him, the Dark Lord was definitely a home-grown problem."

"I was told my parents died in a car accident."

Snape glanced quickly down at the boy, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. "That is idiotic. While I might not have liked your father, he was certainly a passable wizard and your mother was the most brilliant witch of our age. A mere car crash would not have killed either one."

"But..." Harry quailed under Snape's look, and continued in a mutter directed at his somewhat ratty trainers. "that was what the Wilson's always told me."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, as though he was tryingo t ward off a cheadache. "I suppose that they could be forgiven, being muggle foster parents, for not knowing the fate of your parents, but still, I would have though that..." Then his face darkened even more. "Mr. Potter, with whom were you placed before the Masons?"

Harry shrugged. "A few other families, some group homes. I was taken straight from my aunt and uncle's house into the system."

Snape gritted his teeth. "Of course you were. You see, Mr. Potter, your parents were well known among their peers because both were prominent figures at Hogwarts. Your mother was simply brilliant, incredibly adept at both Charms and Potions. In addition, she was Head Girl and a Prefect both during her years at Hogwarts, but wshe was quite beloved for bieng compassionate and fair. Your father was... less inclined to following rules, but few were able to match his skill in Transfiguration or Defense. He was also the star Chaser on his House Quidditch team. He and I... did not get along very well, but he did become at least a respectable person after Hogwarts. But when we all graduated, there was a civil war going on in Wizarding Britain, between the Dark Lord, a man so fearsome that his name is not even spoken aloud today, and all those that opposed his agenda. Mr. Potter, being raised by muggles, I will assume you are at least passingly familiar with the philosophies of Adolf Hitler?" At Harry's tentative nod, Snape continued his talke. "To put it shortly and simply, the Dark Lord had very similar views about Muggles and Muggle-borns. However, he was also very powerful and showed no mercy to those who tried to stand in his way. Of course, being who they both were, niether your father nor Lily could stand by and let evil have its way. They opposed Voldemort, vocally enough and well enough that they escapes attacks and even his personal attention no less than three times. But the luck that kept them going didn't hold out forever. About the time that Lily was beginning to show when she was pregnant with you, they went inot hiding, and on the Halloween of your second year, Voldemort found them and killed them. However, when he came to kill you, he could not, and he vanished, leaving behind his robes, wand, and that scar on your forehead. Most people believed that he is dead, gone forever, but others wait for definitve proof, since no body was ever found."

Harry gulped, but still managed to ask quietly. "What do you think, sir?"

Snape glanced down at him and took in his pale and shivering form, and decided his normal brutal honesty perhaps wouldn't be the most useful approach. "I think," he began slowly. "I think that even if he isn't gone forever, he hasn't come back yet and so I do not think one more day spent without worrying about him will change much of anything. Besides, we have a lot of shopping to do. Come, Mr. Potter, we are letting time go to waste."

Later that day, Harry sat in the Leaky Cauldron's dining room, ravenously attacking a plate of the pub's signature shepard's pie. Snape sat across from him, consuming a plate of grilled chicken salad and sipping a glass of deep red wine at a much more sedate pace. Still, the professor noted, even when he is extremely hungry, he manages to have passable table manners. He was in the middle of another bite of chicken and spinach leaves when Harry suddenly dropped his fork back onto his plate and stared at him with a look akin to barely suppressed panic. "Professor, the Wilsons kicked me out. Where am I going to stay until September 1st?"

Snape sighed, like he was going to have to deliver bad news, but still looked Harry in the eyes. "Much of the protection you have enjoyed from both those who would wish you harm and those merely captivated by your celebrity has been the result of your anonymity to our world, sequestered as you were with your Muggle foster family. I was not expecting their rather antagonistic approach towards you having magic, but I believe I have a solution until the start of the year." Snape continued with a wince. "There is a spell that allows for the modification of memories, and using it, I will be able to make your guardians forget anything that has to do with magic and instead only remember that you are going to an experimental boarding school on September first. I can, with another branch of magic, make your books appear as the appropriate texts for such a school. That way you may read them with impunity before school starts, and I suggest very strongly that you take advantage of that, especially your potions text."

Harry smirked for a second. "You teach Potions, don't you, sir?"
Snape gave a quick nod in response. "I do. However, I was not finished and I do not enjoy being interrupted." Once Harry looked properly contrite, the professor continued. "As I was saying, read your books and familiarize yourself with any chapters that cover the fundamentals. This will give you a solid base to start on at Hogwarts. However, on a less advantageous note, the spells that I will cast will not provide a permanent solution. The charms on the supplies will unravel on your journey to the school, a natural result of being in an environment full of latent magic. Around the same time they fail, the memory charm will also be undone, either through the natural progression of time, for the mind is a fickle thing, or by a shock from your school supplies or a letter or some other unforeseen trigger that will overcome the barriers in their mind. Therefore you will have to find another home for the summer next year, but during breaks up until then, Hogwarts will be open to its students, which includes you."

Harry nodded, looking pensive. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but then his jaw was gripped in the throes of a massive yawn. A corner of Snape's mouth twitched. "But all of that is a worry for another day in the future. Finish your supper and then we shall return you to your temporary guardians."

The rest of meal was finished quickly, in the quiet of two people focues solely on eating, and then Harry felt Snape's firm grip on his arm as they apparated back to the front of the Wilson's home. After a few muttered words from the older man and a little wand-waving, his supplies were deemed adequately disguised. Harry picked up his red leather-bound textbook experimentally and found that its title had been replaced with script reading Mind, Body and Soul: Wholistic Education for a First-Year Student. He kept staring, and slowly the gilded letters rearragned themselves into its former title, Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. Harry grinned. "Wicked!"

He started at the sound of a knock and turned to see Snape waiting by the door, wand in hand. He was about to ask his professor what was happening when the door quickly swung open to reveal Mr. Mason, who started at the sight of Snape. Before he could even open his mouth, the smaller man had whipped his black wand up and whispered "Obliviate." Mr. Mason's eyes glazed for and he walked back the way he had come as though he was sleepwalking, followed quickly by Snape, who padded into the house like an overgrown cat.

"Dear? Who was it?" Mrs. Mason rounded the corner, drying her hands on her apron, and quickly got the same treatment as her husband. As her slightly wobbley steps retreated back to the kitchen, Snape turned around and knelt down to talk to Harry.

"They will be a bit out of sorts for the rest of the night, but will have recovered completely by the morning. However, they will only remember that you are accepted at a prestigious experimental school in Scotland, and that you spent today getting fitted for your uniform and supplies. I trust you understand the importance of not letting them discover the truth?"

Harry nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. Snape glanced at him, then back to where the Wilsons had disappeared off to. He fished a square of folded-over parchment out of an inside pocket and handed it to Harry, folding the boy's fingers over it. "This contains instructions on how to get onto Platform 9 and ¾ on September 1st. Do not lose it."

With that, he swept out the door and into the darkness, his dark suit quickly blending into the gloom that surrounded him and hid him from view.

September 1st, 1991

Harry grunted as he dragged his trolley up another step. The Wilsons hadn't questioned his presence after Snape had performed his magic, but he'd caught them staring at him in mild confusion several times over the month that he spent with them. Some of that confusion might have come from the fact that Harry had spent most of his time outside but reading his new school books. He'd started with his Potions book, originally thinking that it would likely be a boring read and just planning on skimming it so he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of his professor on the first day of class. But once he got started with the subject, the incredible potential and volatility of potions captivated his imagination and he spent most of the first week pouring over the pages and absorbing everything he could. Then he started his other books and, slowly, he'd put together the basic framework of a world where his only limitations were his knowledge, will, and ambition. Then September 1st was right around the corner and the Mr. Wilson informed Harry that they would drop his off at the station on their way to a doctor's appointment for one of their other foster children. Harry had quickly accepted the situation, happy that he wouldn't have to try to explain away the fact that no, he wasn't getting on platform 9 or 10 but platform 9 and ¾. Now, as he wrestled his trolley around crowds and over steps, he grumbled to himself, wishing that he could have convinced them to help him get his luggage into the station, at least. He finally managed to lever the trunk onto the top of the flight of stairs and into the station proper, where he paused to catch his breath.

Glancing around, he dug the parchment out of his pocket and reread the instructions written on it in a bold, scrawling hand. "Find platform 9, then find the barrier between it and platform 10. Walk through this barrier. Run if you are nervous. - Severus Snape." Harry mouthed the words as he read them. He glanced around, quickly spotting the pillar, with a large sign with a prominent 9 on the one side and a 10 on the side opposite. He pushed his trolley in its direction, trying to build up momentum without bowling some poor person over on the way. He got within fifteen feet of the stone column before a break in the line of people gave him enough room to start running, and he made up for his lack of space with an abundance of enthusiasm. Once the trolley, laden as it was with a trunk full of books and a cauldron under some packing blankets and twine, actually started rolling, Harry had to sprint to keep up with it. He flew past a large group people with flaming red hair, some of whom seemed to be about his age, and heard the word Muggles float out of their group, but he was moving much too fast to stop. Up ahead, the stone pillar loomed with an ominous finality, and Harry closing his eyes, wincing in anticipation of the coming impact, but instead of pain, a cool sensation washed over him. Slowly, he inched one eye open and took in a platform much like the one that he just left, except this one was full of people dressed in flowing robes in every color and hue of the rainbow and children, some in clothes like his and others in their black school robes, dashed to and fro with the excitement of seeing friends again for the first time all summer. Harry gawped at the sight for a second before he took in the bright red train with the words "Hogwarts Express" emblazoned on the side in golden filigree. The train whistle blasted merrily and the bustle of activity took on a more focused bent, with the younger people moving towards and onto the train and the older ones clustering at one end of the platform to wave goodbye. A flash of fear tore through Harry's mind and he started frantically pushing his trolley as hard as he could, frantic to find a spot, any spot, before the crimson engine left the station. He made it to the edge of the platform and managed to get one edge of the contraption up onto the floor of the carriage, but he couldn't get the trolley to tip up and roll on. He abandoned pushing as a bad plan altogether, and he scrambled onto the train around his massive trolley and started trying to pull it up onto the car with him. It shifted a few inches in response to his efforts, but its back end still stubbornly refused to budge. Harry kept pulling, but he'd given up hope of actually managing to do anything before someone much taller leaped in beside him and hauled back on the laden trolley. It suddenly sprang forward onto the train, sending both of the students sprawling. From his position on the floor, Harry looked over and saw an older girl with violently violet hair staring back at him. She winked at him then sprung to her feet, waving enthusiastically at someone out of Harry's field of vision. "Wotcher, Cousin! This the tetchy first year you were looking for?"
A drawling voice answered. "I do believe so." Harry rolled over and saw a familiar blonde boy, already dressed in the plain black school robes. The other boy smirked over his head at his rescuer. "I hope you didn't scare him too much, dear Nymphadora."

The older girl's hair suddenly changed to a bright red that matched the blush on her cheeks. "Why you little -"

The other boy took two steps back to avoid her swinging wand, smirk still firmly fixed on his face. "Now, now, cousin, I sincerely hope that you have your wand out to put a Featherlight Charm on this poor boy's luggage. I'm sure you know what would happen if you were to hex your youngest cousin on his first day of Hogwarts."

The older girl – Nymphadora, who apparently didn't like that name – gave a passable impression of a dragon as she glared at Draco, growling and hair shifting into a deep shade of puce. After another few moments of crackling tension, the girl whirled around, flicked her wand twice in the general direction of Harry's luggage, then stomped out of the room. Harry looked curiously at the other boy, who shrugged. "She's touchy about her name, doesn't like it much and probably doesn't like that a stranger knows it. But she should have thought about that before she set Mum on me after I sneaked a few rides on her broom."

Harry slowly got up, and, once he was satisfied that he could stand, began to gather up his luggage. He was surprised and happy to find that the once heavy cart now only felt a third of its former weight. Once he started dragging the mess towards the back of the train, where he logically assumed the empty compartments would be, he expected the other boy to wander off, to go back to his own friends. However, the other boy followed him, continuing to ramble. "I'm not sure if you remember me, but I was there when you were getting your school robes. My godfather, Professor Snape was with you. I'm Draco Malfoy, Heir to the Malfoy family, by the way. And you are?"
Harry, now struggling to get the unyeilding trolley through a narrow doorway, barely spared the effort to grunt a few words. "Harry Potter."

Draco seemed surprised for a few moments, blinking at him in silence. "Really? I mean, I know Harry Potter would be starting in my year, but I didn't think that you'd be riding the train."

Harry turned away from the stubborn trolley for just a second and glared at Malfoy over his glasses. That look had silenced more than a few schoolyard annoyances, and Malfoy was no exception. However, when Harry went to turn back, his hair fell away from his forehead and let his scar into the light. Malfoy gasped and Harry almost turned around before the other boy started talking. "Wow, you really are Harry Potter. You've got the scar and everything. I always thought that you'd be a little taller though."

Harry snorted. "I'm sorry to be such a disappointment."

Malfoy shrugged. "That's what happens when you meet your heroes, I guess." His face grew speculative. "You have me at a bit of a disadvantage, Mr. Potter." He smiled slowly, and extended his hand. "You know a great deal more of me than I know of you, but I hope to change that in the near future. To the beginning of a most fruitful friendship." He extended his hand.

Harry considered the hand. He knew the boy was close with at least one of the Hogwarts professors, and he seemed very knowledgeable about the Magical world. Harry needed those connections and knowledge if he was going to become anyone of importance. So Harry smiled and extended his hand. "To friendship indeed, Mr. Malfoy."
The rest of the train ride passed in amiable conversation and reading. Malfoy was both enterained and shocked by the tales that Harry told about his childhood, growing up in an ever-growing parade of homes. He might have embellished some of the tales, to make them less grim or more exciting, but if Malfoy picked up on his gilding, he never said a word to differ. Malfoy, for his part, gave Harry a crash course in the wizarding world, a brief overview of the history, recent politics, and, most importantly, the customs. Harry ended up being grilled and quizzed relentlessly on the topic; Malfoy seemed to take a perverse pleasure in passing on the lessons in the method that he was taught, with lots of shouted questions and sarcasm.

"Potter!" Harry lazily rolled his eyes as he met Malfoy's smirk. "You are meeting a male heir to a Noble and Ancient House for the first time. What do you do?"

"I introduce myself using my full name and my title, Harry Potter, Heir to the Potter Family. And then I give the other heir a chance to speak. If he introduces himself using the same phrase, then I refer to him by with the title Mr. and his last name until he tells me to change it. If he introduces himself without a title, I address him by his last name only. If he tells me to call him by his first name, title or no title, then I do so unless we are both at a formal event, and then I continue to use his last name and Mr. when we are in front of those older than us or peers."
Malfoy inclined his head. "And who are the Noble and Ancient Houses?"

"Malfoy, Black, Nott, Potter, Longbottom, Weasley, Rookwood, Bones, and Greengrass are the Noble Houses that have living Heirs. Of those, Black and Rookwood are both incapacitated via imprisionment, and Weasley cannot claim a Wizengamot seat because of lack of finances. The extinct Noble Houses are Gaunt, Peverell, Prewett, Prince, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Fenwick."

Malfoy nodded again. "And their ancillary Noble Houses?"

"Only Malfoy, Black, and Bones hold ancilliary loyalty from any houses. For House Malfoy that is Crabbe and Goyle, for House Black that is Selwyn, and for House Bones that is Abbott."

"What's the difference between a Noble and Ancient House and a Noble House?"

Harry smirked. "One word?" He sighed at Malfoy's pointed stare. "Fine, fine. A Noble House is a house that has a vote on the Lord's Table in the Wizengamot because another house at the Lord's Table sponsor them. They usually vote with their sponsor's house but do not have to. Mr. Malfoy, we've already been over this. Why do I have to know all of this?"

"Because, Potter, you asked me for help to get you caught up on Wizarding customs, and this makes up a large segment that can and will judge you for making a mistake."
Harry snorted. "There's like nine active familes. What difference does nine people make?"

Malfoy groaned. "Weren't you paying attention at all earlier? Just because there are only nine Noble families doesn't mean that the rules and etiquette surrounding them isn't observed by nearly half the wizarding world. Most people will be watching for you to slip and expecting a certain amount of inherant respect. That's why even some of the more progressive seats in the Wizengamot are at least dismissive of Muggleborns, because they don't know or bother to learn the customs of the culture they are entering. And you, Potter, will have much more expected of you because you are the Heir of the Potter House."

"Fine." Harry sighed again. "But I still don't like all these stupid rules. But, honestly, Mr. Malfoy, if teaching me all this bloody etiquette doesn't put you on a first-name basis with a bloke, I don't know what does. Call me Harry."
The other boy inclined his head. "And you may call me Draco." Then he grinned. "Anyways, you're right. Enough stuffy old rules. You play chess?"
Harry had played once or twice in a few of the homes that he'd spent time in, but he was no match for Draco. The fact that all the pieces moved and talked was a bit of a shock, but soon Harry was over it and the games began in earnest. After his third crushing defeat, Draco admitted that he played a great deal with his mother and aunt, both of whom had been expected to play the game well since they were his age. "And let me tell you, trying to beat your mother at her own game requires quite a lot of effort. Haven't quite gotten there yet, but it hasn't stopped me from trying."

Harry merely shook his head, still trying to figure out where he had gone wrong and lost in those last three moves. Draco picked up on his confusion, and fell silent, waiting until Harry started to get frustrated at his inability to find a solution. "I could show you, if you want."

Harry flicked his gaze up to meet Draco's, and quirked an eyebrow. "Show me how stupid I am all over again?"

"No, show you how you can do better for the next time." Draco reached across the board and began rearranging the pieces to their former places. Once he had reversed about five moves, he started explaining. "Here was where you started losing. Up until now, you had a decent position, not the best but not too bad for an amateur. But, when you moved your knight here, you opened up the right side for my bishop to come in and start pressuring your king, forcing you to react and allowing me to move in without much opposition. Instead, I would have castled kingside, which would have brought your rook into play and put your king in a protected spot, as well as giving you a place to set up traps. You'd just have to watch and make sure that I couldn't trap you back there and checkmate you with a rook or a queen. Easy way to prevent that would be to clear out the back row to give your other rook enough room to play and just watching out for me putting a queen and a rook or both rooks on the same file."

This little demonstration sparked a bout of questions in Harry, and the next hour was spent with Draco fielding them to the best of the ability. Finally, they were just about to set up for another game, Harry now confidently armed with his new knowledge and determined to prove a challenge for his new friend, when an older student in robes with green and silver borders and a bored expression opened the door. "We're about to reach Hogwarts. You should probably get your robes on. Or don't, and cap your first week off with a nice detention with the Caretaker. I really don't care. Also, don't worry about your trunks. They'll be brought to the castle separately."

Then he turned and ambled down the corridor, disinterestedly repeating the message into the next compartment. Harry and Draco looked at each other and shrugged, then changed as fast as possible, avoiding all eye contact. They were just barely in time, as the train whistle sounded loudly once, then twice, and the train started slowing down. Draco rushed to a window and peered out, then frantically waved Harry over. "Come here, come on, get over here! You can just barely see the castle from here."

Curious, Harry leaned over and squinted out the window next to him. In the distance, he could just barely see a few towers and the top of a castle's grand battlements poking above a line of trees in what he assumed was a valley in the middle of the wooded Scottish hills. Then the train rounded a curve and he gasped. Below him, a valley sprawled out, a small village lit with strange flickering lights inhabited one of the slopes, a road reaching out from the small square at the center of town towards the same castle that he had seen over the ridge. Now, he could see all of the high stone walls and the imposing moat that surrounded them. It looked like a proper magic castle, with each of its windows lit with a warm, flickering light and its spires and towers reaching impossibly high into the star-lit sky.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Draco's voice was soft, almost revererent, but still enough to break the spell.

"Yeah..." Harry responded in the same hushed tone, still staring longingly at the castle as the train slowly drifted to a halt.

"Come on then." Draco slid open the door, ready to dash out, but paused on the threshold to wave impatiently at Harry. "Get over here; the faster we get off this train, the faster we can actually start exploring the castle."

The promise of actually being allowed inside the castle was enough to tear Harry away from the mesmerizing sight, and he slowly followed Draco out into the corridor. He nearly lost his new friend in the bustle of older students confidently moving through the corridors, but then he caught a glimpse of his distinctive platinum hair as he elbowed his way past two older boys that had gotten in his way. Harry set off after him, keeping a tight lid on his distaste for crowds and apologizing to the people whose toes he accidentally trod on. He'd almost caught up to Draco when a loud, cheery voice hollered out. "Firs' years, this way. Over 'ere, firs' years. All firs' years to me."

A massive man towered over the crowd of childern, an impressively bushy black beard almost hiding his wide grin. A few nervous first years were gathered skittishly around his boots, which were almost as big as the children that were cowering next to him. Harry stopped and stared at the giant, and nearly started when Draco appeared next to him and started talking. "Oh, don't worry about him. That's just Hagrid, the groundskeeper. He looks scary, but he's a big softie. Just not too bright, if you catch my drift."

The giant called again, "Firs' years, this way," and then Draco grinned. "Come on, we better get over there. It'll give us a chance to meet some new people, get friendly," he grimaced. "Start networking too, if my mother had her way." He shrugged. "Well, I guess what will happen will happen."

With that surprisingly mature pronouncement, Draco grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him through the crowd. They ended up in the middle of a rather large group of their peers, next to two boys who, despite being only eleven like the rest of them, still stood head and shoulders over the rest of the crowd. They wore nearly identical suspicious expressions as they peered at every person that passed them. Draco grinned. "They seem interesting. Let's go talk to them."

Before Harry could protest, he found himself pinned by one boy's glare, while the other was staring at Malfoy while he talked. Of course, the other boy seemed totally oblivious to the obvious hostility that the two were sending his way. "Hello, boys, I'm Draco Malfoy, Heir to House Malfoy, and this is-"

"Harry Potter, Heir to House Potter." Harry cut in, the lessons in ettiquite that Draco had drilled into his head flashing back, and he'd sooner kiss Hagrid's boots than let Draco manuever into such a position of standing over him so soon. Draco cottened on to what he was doing even as the words left his mouth and flashed him a quick grin. The other two taller boys looked at the both of them for a moment, as though they had to think about what they were saying. Finally, the one on the left spoke. "Our fathers said we don't have to listen to you."

"Yeah." The other one agreed, blinking rapidly even as he glowered at Draco and Harry in turn. "You can't boss us around."
Draco seemed momentarily non-plussed. "Why-?" Then his bemused expression melted into one of triumph. "Ah, of course, you must be Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Guys, I promise that I would never dream of ordering you around, despite whatever house politics are between our parents. For one, I am NOT my father, and for two, I wouldn't give orders to my peers and definitely not to my friends." He cocked an eyebrow. "We can be friends, right, boys?"

Crabbe and Goyle grunted, shrugged, then turned around to watch the students ahead of us. Draco turned around and looked disappointed.

"What's this? Have we finally found the one thing that the mighty Draco Malfoy can't do?" Harry grinned, trying to take the sting out of the words, but nonetheless feeling a bit of jealousy over Draco's apparently limitless array of skills.

Draco shrugged. "Apparently." Then he grinned. "Though I'm not sure that communicating with trolls is really a talent that I would want to have."

Harry chuckled despite himself, and he shook his head, trying to conceal his grin. Draco just cackled maniacally, waggling his eyebrows wildly when Harry finally glanced his way and sending both boys into another bout of mirth. They had just barely managed to regain a measure of sobriety when a shrill scream echoed from the front of the huddled first years. Harry, who was facing that direction, stood on his tiptoes to try and catch a glimpse of the person who had screamed, while Draco turned around, looking confused and concerned. They both caught their first glimpse of the silvery-blue parade as it glided into the room. Harry gaped, slack-jawed in amazement. "There are ghosts in the castle?"

Draco just shrugged. "Apparently they're quite common at powerful magic sites. Hogwarts is soaked in wards and it's even got its own standing circle."
"Are they dangerous?" Harry wasn't an expert on almost anything that didn't have to do with survivng, but the few times that he had managed to catch part of a movie, ghosts had always been shown as menaces to the living world. However, Draco scoffed at his question.

"Of course they're not dangerous. They can't move anything by themselves; the worst they could do is follow you around invisible and whisper things at you. And the Headmaster, for all his faults, couldn't and wouldn't allow a malicious spirit like that on Hogwarts's grounds."

By that point, he ghosts had moved close enough for Harry to make out individual figures. A tall, lanky ghost covered in chains and silvery blood that dripped from semi-transparent wounds was in the lead, clearing a path through the mass of students. Two ghosts followed behind close together and apparently splitting their attention between a conversation they had been having before they entered the hall and the students that were staring at them with a mix of awe and terror. One was a smiling, heavy-set friar that waved to the students who met his eye and often called out to the ones who looked the most terrified. His companion was clad in an outfit that looked like it belonged at a Renaissance reenactment, all frills and lace and tights. His manner was much more sedate, simply watching the students with calm indifference and nodding briefly to those that managed to catch his eye by being particularly daring or forward. A redhead that seemed to be awestruck called out when the ghosts passed him. "Blimey, you're Nearly Headless Nick. My brothers told me all about you."

The look that the ghost, who was apparently both nearly headless and named Nick, shot the boy seemed like it should count as some kind of lethal curse just by itself. However, the boy was only slightly cowed and the ghost practically swooped out of the hall in a huff. His companion merely looked sadly after him before he caught notice of Harry and Draco. They instinctively stepped together and the friar laughed. "Ah, making friends already, I see. Such trust and teamwork would commend you well in my house, the noble Hufflepuff."

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but the same redhead from before piped up again before he could get a word out. "Cor, Hufflepuff. If I got stuck with them, I think I'd demand a resort. Imagine..."

As he kept talking, the friar's face was slowly growing darker and more angry. Suddenly, he burst out, surprising the chatterbox into silence. "Imagine what, boy? That you might actually have to work hard at something? That you might have to put others in front of yourself once in a while? That you might have to think about how others feel instead of your own wants? That you show anything resembling morals, fidelity or honor? Hevean forbid that any of that contradict your so obvious ambition."

With that outburst, the second ghost of the day swept out of the hall in anger. As the friar's translucent back receded, the boy muttered after him. "I'm a Griffyndor; I'm brave, not ambitious. Almost made me sound like a bloody Slytherin. And if I'm off saving the world, that's a lot more important than whatever stupid work a bloody Hufflepuff would do."

Harry curled his lip in disgust, then leaned over to Draco. "He seems like a bit of an idiot, doesn't he?"

Draco nodded. "Judging by his red hair and worn clothes, he's a Weasley. They're not known for their common sense, more their inexplicable talent at one thing. At least his older brothers had some kind of ambition or goal. Even the bloody Twins seem to appreciate patience for their bloody planks." His lip curled even more than Harry's. "Though when you have seven children, I guess someone has to be all the leftover bits from everyone else."

Harry shrugged. "He's probably not that important, is he?"

Draco shook his head, and snorted. "Of course he isn't. Come on, let's see if we can get up front. My mother's been dropping little hints about how the Sorting takes place but she never tells me anything really important."

He started ducking and juking his way through the crowd of children, Harry following behind him, trying to apologize for his enthusiastic friend and avoid the retaliatory shoves that were directed both his and Harry's way. Eventually, Draco managed to break through the crowd that had gathered a few feet away from the imposing wooden doors that the ghosts had come through. He nodded to someone that he apparently recognized, a dark-haired girl with stunningly blue eyes, who simply nodded back with a bored look on her face. Draco turned to Harry, who had wedged himself somewhat between the second and first row of people, and started to say something before he was interrupted by McGonagall's return. The doors opened just enough to allow her to exit and then shut, seemingly of their own accord. The stern woman swept her gaze across the huddle of children before fixing it on Harry and Draco, her mouth curling into a small frown. "First years, you will arrange yourself in alphabetical order before entering the Great Hall single file to be Sorted."

The prospective First Years proved to be slow in carrying out her instructions and her eyes flashed. "Quickly, please. We don't have all night."
Her sharp voice, coupled with just a hint of Scottish brogue, served as a catalyst and the class of '97 managed to sort itself out rapidly after that. After one final inspection by McGonagall, the entire column trouped through the massive doors, which had opened again at her approach, and got their first glimpse of the Great Hall. Most people gasped at the ceiling which appeared to be a perfect replica of the starry night outside – Harry heard one girl telling another, "Oh yes, it's a marvelous bit of enchantment, done by Rowena Ravenclaw herself. It always perfectly reflects the weather outside; I read all about it in Hogwarts: A History" - but the long tables filled with students, laughing and joking and watching the first years, all in their house colors, stole Harry's attention. He gawked at the tables, at the laughter, the faces filled with smiles and wondered what it would be like to belong to a house. He continued staring as the first years reached the front and was so lost in his fantasies of finally belonging that he almost missed McGongall's return. She swept across the slightly raised stage with a ragged, pointed hat in her hand, and briskly descened the stairs. With a flick of her wand, a plain wooded stool appeared and she set the hat down gently on it. As soon as her hand left its brim, a tear in the hat near th brim opened like a mouth and burst into song. Harry was so taken aback that he missed most of the song, only able to catch the last lines. "You're in safe hands (though I have none)/ For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

Harry snorted at the pun, and then watched with interest as McGonagall stepped up again. "When I call your name, you will each step forward and put on the hat." After a quick look around to ensure her message was received, McGonagall unfurled a scroll that had apparently appeared out of nowhere, and cleared her throat. "Abbot, Hannah!"

A small girl with blonde pigtails stepped forward nervously, hesitantly put on the hat, and suddenly dropped onto the stool, her knees apparently giving out. She was only there for a few seconds before the hat's mouth opened and it bellowed "Hufflepuff!"

The girl pulled the hat off with a relieved smile, set it back on the stool and walked over to the table in yellow and black ties, who welcomed her with a cheer and loud applause. Boot, Terry was quickly sorted into Ravenclaw, while Bones, Susan joined Abbot, Hannah in Hufflepuff. Harry tuned out, this time staring at the staff table, where a positively tiny professor was chatting animatedly with the giant from the train stop. Further down, a man with a truly impressive silver beard was staring at him pensively. Harry met his gaze for a moment, but couldn't hold the electric blue gaze and continued his look down the table. Next to the strange old man, a tall man with long, lank hair was locked in a whispered argument with a man in robes and a turban of deep, striking purple. As Harry stared, they simultaneously stopped and turned toward him, the long-haired man glaring with unrestrained hatred and the other with curiosity. Suddenly, Harry's scar throbbed sharply and he flinched, his hand going up to rub it. He was about to look back when McGonagall's brisk cry of "Malfoy, Draco" broke through his focus. Draco, looked for all the world like he was having the best day of his life, practically ran up and jammed the hat on his head. It only just touched his platinum hair before it cried "Slytherin" and Draco smugly walked over to the table and took a seat at the very end. Harry watched his friend out of the corner of his eye, and, before he knew it, McGonagall called out "Potter, Harry." He started toward the stool when the whispering broke out. "Potter, did she say Harry Potter?"

"That's him, look, look, that's him!"

"Isn't he a little short to be a hero?"

Refusing to acknowledge that he had heard the whispers and give the gossips the satisfaction, he focused on not stumbling up the steps. When he reached the hat, he slowly dropped it onto his head and closed his eyes. Now how does this bloody think work?

Something like this, Mr. Potter. And such an interesting sorting this will be, too.

Wait, what? The hat's in my head?
Yes, and hearing those thoughts you're practically screaming at me.

Oh, sorry... is this better?

Somewhat. Not bad for a first try, Mr. Potter, but no matter. I'm used to all matter of minds, but rarely to do I get to sort one such as this.

One such as... mine?

Oh, yes, Mr. Potter. Olivander was right, you're destined for great things, both by Fate and by merit. And there's only one house that will help you along on the path to greatness. Better be SLYTHERIN!

Word Count(without A/N): 16,697

A/N: I'm baaaaaack! It's been a while, but real life attacked. Anyways, this is a prologue to my very first multi-chaptered story. It's AU, and this serves as a starting point for all of the lovely changes I plan to make. It will only update infrequently, sorry, but they should all be about as long as this. But reviews will help make it go faster. I like to know if people are reading what I'm writing. Anyways, I'm really excited about this and I hope you will be too. Until next time,

SarcasticallySatyrical