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CHAPTER 1
Harry felt his stomach rumble, and winced. Even at the Dursley's, he'd never been this hungry. It was times like this he debated the pros and cons of being abandoned, but he was quickly reminded of the frequent beatings, the endless chores, and suddenly being hungry and cold was nothing at all.
Still, however, it had struck him that day - just a few weeks after his eighth birthday - that the Dursleys truly did not want him. They had left him to fend for himself in a wild, confusing world. He could still see, in his mind's eye, their car, chugging off into the distance, disappearing on the horizon while he watched with wet eyes.
He slipped easily through the crowd of street-folk and reached the store he'd been frequenting. He had been 'working' there since day three of abandonment; the workers there, while unable to pay him for his hard work, were often able to slip him the tail ends of meals if he was lucky. He could only do odd jobs and make smaller meals in the kitchens, but it was much better than wasting his time starving on the streets.
Jacob, a college student studying business, was his main donor. Quickly diving behind the counter, another waiter shifted slightly and pointed Harry in the direction of the kitchens, where he was sure to find Jacob. Shooting the girl a short smile, he flew into the kitchens, stopping right in front of Jacob, and gave the young man a winning smile.
"Here to help?" Jacob asked kindly. "Hey, one of the ladies accidentally ordered an extra salad. Want it? I don't care to waste perfectly good food." Harry nodded vigorously, and he went to one side, tearing into the food as quickly as he could while retaining some semblance of politeness.
Soon, it was time to work, and Harry quickly started in, helping the boisterous cooks create masterpiece after masterpiece.
Jacob watched the young waif with not a little sadness. He wanted desperately to bring this child to someone who could love him, but there wasn't much he could do beyond allow the boy to eat the leftovers and join them in the cooking, so he had at least a few survival skills. Who knows - maybe, someday, one of the cooks would start his own restaurant, and hire an older and wiser Harry onto his staff.
Turning back to his work, he nodded gently to the workers who shot him sympathetic glances. Balancing the plates expertly, he walked briskly up to his latest client, an elderly businessman who had decided, for some reason, to eat out today, though he rarely made waves in the community.
"Your meal, sir," he said politely, revealing the dishes with a teensy bit of flair. The businessman, Lord Franz, nodded and smiled, thanking him under his breath, so only Jacob could hear. Smiling, he went back the way he came.
Lord Franz was feeling ill. He could tell that his time was approaching; he felt it in the very air. He watched in an almost terrified fascination as his hand shook, trying to get food into his mouth. He was merely enjoying what would probably be his last few days alive.
As his sharp eyes studied the restaurant, he caught sight of alien movements and found his eyes drifting away from the expensive materials and towards the kitchens. It was difficult to see inside, but if he angled himself just right…
There was a tingling in his hand, and then he was suddenly thrown to the ground, stranger in his own body and helpless to defend.
Jacob heard the thud, and by the time the screams began he was already dashing over. Much to his chagrin, Harry was dogging his heels, his frail body surprisingly athletic. Diving to the man's side and restraining him, he asked quickly, "Any medication we can give him? Anything?"
The silence as he wrestled the man's convulsing body was almost painful to hear. So there wasn't anything to be done. He prayed to all that was holy that the man would survive; he'd been particularly friendly for a wealthy client. Such a nice man didn't deserve to die like so.
A tingling feeling rose on his back, and for whatever reason, he suddenly thought that he needed to move away so the waif could get at him. He was complying before he could even think it over, letting little Harry shuffle to the man's shaking sides.
Placing a hand on the man's chest, he asked, "Are you alright, sir?"
Instantly the man's features warped into relaxation, then a weak smile of relief, though it was markedly confused. He turned to focus blearily on the youth.
"Yes, young boy, I will be." He turned his head to his shocked chauffeur, who had just run in during the commotion to see the boy soothing the elderly man's seizures with a mere touch. "Will you join me at my manor? I have a few questions for you."
It was a split-second decision to bring the child and ask. For some reason, he just felt that it was right, that it was meant to be like this. A boy would touch him and soothe his seizures in an instant, and he would ask to take him in.
His chauffeur and butler seemed gobsmacked by the suggestion, but he followed the request easily and the young waif was soon waving goodbye, joining Lord Franz on his way home.
Lord Franz noted the hopeful expression on the face of his waiter from the restaurant. As they drove off into the distance, he glanced at the frail, emaciated child sitting obediently next to him.
His luck has come, he thought. I won't let him down, young man.
It took three days for Lord David Franz to fully recover. In the time he spent bound to his sheets, Harry was welcomed graciously into the Franz family home. It was by no means huge as far as mansions, but it was strangely empty; no pictures adorned the pale-blue walls, no objects were too personal; it was all quite solemn and didn't feel like home at all. However, for one who had never had a home, this was as close as he'd ever felt to it, and so it quickly became a place Harry loved dearly.
A young maid, Helda, took a particular shine to him, taking on his care personally. The first day she had tucked him to bed and prepared his room appropriately; she knew, from the look on the chauffeur's face, that they may finally have an heir on their hands, and if she added a bit of extra flair from personal fondness… nobody needed to know.
The second day, Harry awoke and asked, "Am I dreaming?" With a shake of her head, Helda guided him through the house, explaining the situation. She quickly caught him up and began surreptitiously teaching him a few basic manners and skills; it would do well for him to make a good impression in case anyone came in the next few hours. None did, but she still felt proud of his progress as he bowed kindly to each maid and butler that helped him. He was already a favourite in the small mansion by the time Lord Franz's personal butler called for the young waif, stating that Franz wished to speak with him.
The room Franz was in was barely less plain than the others; it held a single photograph, of a small family, on a bedside table, along with a simple lamp. Harry gave Lord Franz a short and polite bow.
"I hope you're feeling better, Lord Franz," Harry said politely. He dearly hoped Franz found his manners adequate.
"Fret not, dear boy," the Lord replied, chuckling. "Just call me David. What is your name?"
"Harry, Harry Potter," the boy replied, shifting a bit. Lord David patted the side of the bed, and Harry reluctantly hopped up onto it.
"Harry, I know it may sound strange," he murmured, dismissing his butler silently. Once gone, he continued, "but it was because of you I am safe. My seizures are frequent and uncontrollable; I'll admit it was rash of me to go outside safety like that. I feel life slipping from my hands quicker each day." Harry looked incredibly concerned, a small, bony hand placing itself gently in David's.
"Don't worry, I've got some fight yet," David soothed. Once Harry relaxed, he continued, "you are unique, Harry, I can tell. Your very touch was able to cure me without a moment's delay. Do you know why?"
Harry tensed. Pulling his hand away, he replied, "You'll hate me."
"Never," David replied. "You saved my life, Harry. How could I hate someone kind enough to do so?"
Harry breathed out one long, shuddery breath. "Okay. I'm a freak."
This struck deep into David's heart. He knew those words.
As many elderly did, he recalled his own memory of that hated word.
His father, disapproving, glaring at him. "Look at you, you little freak, so weak. How could you ever continue my line? The Franz family will be a disgrace."
"I'm sorry, father," David replied monotonously. Inside, he vowed never to be as such.
Himself, staring at his wife, at the toddler in her hands. "You know I need an heir," he said unhappily. "She is woefully incompetent. How will I ever continue my line?"
"You won't," his wife hisses, and then she was gone, leaving him forever - but in that blind, pig-headed moment, he doesn't recognize the image of himself in the pair, and is left to despair over their return for many years to come.
"You are not a freak," Franz replied evenly. He chose his words carefully. "Why would you believe as such?"
"Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon told me so," Harry admitted. "I keep doing weird things. I'm bad luck."
Franz shook his head, but played along. "What sort of weird things?"
"Whenever I'm upset, or angry, or scared," Harry admitted, "I do weird things… I once teleported to the roof of a building. Another time I turned my teacher's hair blue. I levitated some toys once, until Dudley caught me." Franz didn't probe the subject. Bad memories were better left behind them, lest they hurt regardless of the attention paid.
"Those all sound like wonderful things to be able to do," Franz answered softly. Jokingly, he continued, "I'm sure you could make a fortune changing the colour of people's hair with a moment's thought."
Harry seemed to consider that for a moment. "That would be nice," he admitted, a bit happier. "Does that mean… do you really not mind my freakishness?"
"Stop calling it that," David protested. "It saved my life. I'd say you were a very special child, Harry."
Harry shone like the sun.
By dinnertime, the staff were falling over themselves to shower the dear boy with love. He was waited upon hand and foot, and he continued to charm the residents of the household with his kind heart and shy demeanor. Harry took seat across from David, and together they ate in an amicable silence.
"This is some of the loveliest food I've ever had," Harry admitted. "Thank you, David."
"Thank the cook," David winked. He hadn't had this much fun in… in… he couldn't remember feeling this free before. Pulling himself up, he decided to be direct. "I suppose your parents will want you back."
"They died." David lowered his head and apologized quietly. Harry apparently had sharp ears, because he nodded as he heard it. "My aunt and uncle left me in London, so you can leave me there."
"Actually, Harry," David felt ever so young once more, so nervous and workable, "I was thinking instead that you might stay with me, as a Franz."
Harry's forest-green eyes, much like tenderly sun-kissed leaves, widened in shock. "Lord David?" he tried.
"I mean that I would adopt you as my heir," Franz clarified. "It would make you my family, and you would continue my line after me. We would live here together," he smiled wistfully. "We can go for walks during the day, be it sun or rain, and watch the stars in the observatory in the attic. I would teach you all I know. Please consider it."
Food forgotten, Harry took a deep breath and stared into David's eyes. It was as if the two eyes wished to catch any hint of a lie, wanted to know the honesty of the speaker. It probed at his mind gently, pulling from it his loyalties and honesties. Franz stared back, watching the skinny boy in front of him as he finally relaxed and smiled back. Reaching out, Harry's hand brushed against Franz's, and David's hand curled around Harry's.
"We're family?" Harry asked shyly.
"Yes," Franz replied, a glow of joy finding itself at home in the boy's words. "Family. In all but blood."
Helda sped down the halls, a trolley of towels and disinfectants in front of her. She wasn't actually busy, but the faster she was finished the earlier she'd be able to start break.
However, a few stray notes hit her ears, and she slowed down. Cocking her head, she listened for a moment - a harp? Could it be?
Walking more quietly, she followed the slightly jarred tones of the harp through the halls, finally falling before a doorway in a room that only the cleaning staff had touched in years. The door was open, and hidden around the corner, Helda watched.
Lord Franz had not touched his wife's harp since she'd fled his home, not until now. Little Harry was on Lord Franz's knee, and Lord Franz seemed to be guiding his young hands over the strings, picking out notes slowly but steadily. She backed away, leaving the pair to their happiness.
The search had stretched out for a long time, but it finally completed a month later. Harry and David were called away from their walk suddenly, to meet a strange robed man at the door.
"Excuse me," Lord Franz began. "I believe you're on my estate uninvited. Please do introduce yourself to myself and my family."
"Of course, my bad," The man apologized, brushing down his robes. "I'm Jackson Stevens, a wizard. I'd heard about your miraculous recovery and your heir and had suspicions. Now I see him I'm sure - he's magical."
"We know," Franz confirmed. "Allow us to continue inside." He gestured to the open doors, and called, "Helda, Devin, please sort out this young man in the drawing room."
The two servants quickly ushered the young wizard inside, followed by Lord Franz and Harry.
"So you claim that my heir, my family, will face discrimination in this community of yours?" Lord Franz gave Jackson a hard look. "Why should I subject my heir to such, when he has a stellar future here, as my heir?" Harry gave his adoptive father a fond look, then turned back to the wizard to hear his answer.
"It does sound illogical at first," the wizard admitted, "but as your son continues to grow, his magic will, too. His accidental magic is incredibly powerful. It could prove dangerous to those around him. The only people who I know can help him are other wizards and witches."
Lord Franz nodded slowly in agreement. "And what do you suggest?"
"Hire tutors," he said immediately. "In England, you have three choices for education - Durmstrang, Hogwarts, and Beauxbatons. Only Hogwarts will accept your child, since he has muggle guardians, as only Hogwarts has a method of finding them. Hogwarts may be an ancient school with a good repute, but it's generally not good for teaching. He'll learn much faster outside of school."
"I will simply have him tutored, then," Lord Franz decided.
"Well, actually," the wizard admitted, "Hogwarts is a good idea as well. If your son ever wishes to move around in the wizarding world, he'll need to know who to avoid and who to be friendly with. Hogwarts will be able to offer him that."
"We'll see," Lord Franz said quietly, steepling his fingers. "We'll see."
"Harry, come here to meet your Charms tutor."
Harry bowed politely to his harp tutor and smiled fondly at the elegant harp before walking quickly out of the room and heading to the drawing room, where his father was sure to be.
Life had been great since Lord Franz had accepted him as his heir. He had tutors come in to teach him Manners, Business, Mathematics, English, and Music. His studies were going so well that David was considering having him take on sciences as well. That was, after he started learning magic.
The two of them had practiced a little with his skill; his limits, at the moment, were levitating objects and playing music without his hands. It took incredible concentration, but he was able to do it, and it never failed to stun his father. For once, he actually loved his skill, for it brought him the life and family he had now.
He stopped before the door and adjusted his vest and shirt, making certain that they were clean and uncrumpled. Satisfied, he opened the door and eyed up the tutor critically.
When he was with the Dursleys, he blocked off a particular ability he had, since it fed him constant painful emotions from the Dursleys. It let him read the surface thoughts on a person's mind; it was difficult to put into words, mostly because people thought in a very confusing jumble of emotions, reasoning, images and thoughts. However, glancing at the woman sitting on the chair opposite his father, he could easily say her mind was well-organized and that she was clearly trustworthy.
"Hello, ma'am," he greeted her kindly, dipping into a short bow. "I'm Harrison Franz. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"It's lovely to meet you too," the woman replied. Her musical tones were soothing to the ear. "I am Deltaine, a half-Veela. I will be your charms tutor."
Harry nodded and took a seat next to his father daintily. "Thank you for your time, ma'am." She nodded in agreement, and his father rose.
"I will leave you to it," he said regally. "Harry, have fun."
Harry smiled. "I will, Dad."
After the charms tutor came many more. Transfigurations, Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, it seemed endless. His father eventually decided to organize the tutors much like a school day, with each coming twice a week.
His potions professor was nothing like the brooding persona he'd expected. He was a cheerful sort with an eager glow about him, and each visit they reserved the cold room in the basement to brew. They started on weak potions and some sauces for use in the kitchen, painkillers and minor potions that simply affected a person's speech or appearance. For some reason, he had Harry learn the acne-clearing potion as quickly as possible. He rather enjoyed his time with Mr. Wellster, all in all, and potions was his favourite class - it reminded him of cooking, and the restaurant where he found his father.
His transfigurations teacher was also rather relaxed. She explained the theory in detail, making sure to include actual experiments to prove each, and give Harry a decent understanding of the practice. She also covered conjuration in detail; a week after they began, Harry was sitting in the parlor, casually conjuring blocks of stone that would disappear soon after his attention moved away. Each week, he would conjure crazier things, and soon they began to keep some of the conjured objects as memoirs, including a bird which unfortunately popped into a pile of feathers once Harry fell asleep.
Charms with Deltaine was interesting. Her whimsical voice drew him in as he learned his magic, including how to take control over his levitation, which he had natural skill for. They learned charms to make things dance, charms to grow and shrink things, charms that could cheer people up or relax them. Harry heavily enjoyed using them on the staff for hilarious results.
Defense Against the Dark Arts, however, was by far his most skilled class. He learned quickly how to protect himself with his skills; his combat style was much like a dance, diving and spinning away from each attack gracefully. He had a way with magical creatures, particularly those based on honor and purity. He was growing, it could be said confidently, into a strong and unique individual.
It was six months later that Franz accepted that his son needed a curse removed from his head. It took a long, painful week abed, unable to speak or move as the heavy curse was pulled away from him, but when he left the magical practice happy and healthy, his father pulled him close, and all was right again. It wouldn't be for years to come that he would know just how close he came to dying, but he could feel the fear and pain wash away when his father caught sight of him.
He spent the bulk of his time with his father. They went on frequent walks around London, where his father would tell him about history and his personal experiences with the world, passing on his own fragments of knowledge. He told legends about their landmarks, made comments about castles as they drove through the countryside, joined myth with mystery in a complicated weave of words that drew him forward and showed him the reward of his efforts to learn. These were the times, above all, that made Harry happiest, for they were a mark of his father, a mark that meant family.
Harry was nine years old.
Harry sat at the foot of his father's bed, holding his father's hand. It was cold, and had no strength to grip back. His father's face, however, was peaceful in death, which was more than Harry could have ever asked for.
"Thank you, father," he said gently. "For everything."
CHAPTER 2
July 1st, 1989.
Dearest Harry:
Each month I write a letter like this for you, in anticipation of my imminent death. I don't have much time left; each day my hand shakes worse, and I feel my body slowing down. Soon, you will overtake me, and I will fall for good.
Ease your pain. You will have a month-long break after I die to calm yourself and come to terms with my death. I want only the best for you, so please, stay happy and healthy, if not for you, then for me. Never forget that you will always be my son, my family, in all but blood.
You, always the little businessman, will probably be wondering who your current guardian is. My friend, Lord Merswath, will take up the handle of guardian for legal purposes, and ensure your safety, while you will continue to reside in the Franz estate and continue your studies. Don't forget these three things; work hard, have fun, and love. Keep them with you, and you will go far in life.
Finally, I have approved your request to enter Hogwarts at age eleven, as well as buy a wand. I would have preferred to spend more time with you, but alas, death was already dogging my heels when you first found me. I have also employed a Legilimens to help you train your innate abilities; take his teachings to heart and trust him with your deepest secrets. He will help you keep safe while at Hogwarts. Work hard so that, in two years, you will be ready to go to Hogwarts for the next seven.
I love you, son. Never forget that. You will have to be strong. I already know you can be. Someday, when you are Lord Franz, I wish you to take a woman you love, and worry not of whether your children can continue our line. Love is more important than where money goes.
Your family, in all but blood,
David Franz.
Harry Potter, now Harry Franz, was, at first, heartbroken.
Of course, he already knew his father, David, was dying. He was elderly, tired, rested more than usual. His death, a sudden, overnight and painless affair, struck him by surprise nonetheless. Harry spent his month, and returned itching to complete his father's only clear final request.
Learn.
He studied relentlessly, tackled his classes with a feverish enthusiasm. It took all his willpower to continue his own care. His spare time was quickly filled with his own little study sessions, where he broke out books from their extensive library and began to read.
Once ready, his legilimency tutor took him farther, helped him quickly come to terms with his grief. His mind was organized into a well-sorted powerhouse, his legilimency and occlumency becoming a well-oiled machine. With gentle coaxing, Harry began to meditate, giving his mind time to soothe itself and slow down, much like stopping a car to check the wheels.
The one thing missing in his life was friendship. Much as Dudley, in the far corners of his abused childhood, had scared away any potential friends, his reclusive nature prevented him from making any close friends beyond his tutors. He trusted his legilimency professor, Kobaine Sang, beyond many, only sharing himself in such a manner with two others - Deltaine, his charms professor, and Helda, his personal assistant, who now helped handle his legal affairs with the aid of some powerful advisors. He didn't know if he could ever share himself more; he wanted his secrets close, so that his pain would never show. How could someone like that have a friend?
One might be wondering how nobody noticed that the Dursleys returned minus one nephew. Indeed, while the boy was kept hidden as much as possible, and the Dursleys rarely mentioned the presence of a second boy in the house, he was still noticeable. Their excuse was very simple; the boy had been in a freak accident in London, and had died a few hours later. The Dursley family cried for all of a week before pretending he'd never even existed.
Arabella Figg, with her cats, was informed of this fib, and immediately contacted Dumbledore. A few weeks later, she moved out, and Dumbledore continued to pretend that the boy lived, while the wards on the house fell in on themselves, taking revenge for the boy Petunia was meant to protect. She and her son perished, and Vernon Dursley moved out, the memories hounding his troubled mind.
Dumbledore, however, did not seem troubled. He quietly obliviated Arabella and planted different memories in her mind; the Dursleys had relocated, along with Harry, and he would use an operative there to watch him. For some reason, he was happy.
Finally, Dumbledore was the only man marked by Voldemort as his equal, born as the seventh month dies. Finally, he aligned with his false prophecy, his leaked false prophecy that caused the death of the Potters and madness of the Longbottoms.
Finally, Dumbledore would be the hero once more.
At ten years old, Harry met the then thirteen Fleur Delacour.
"Welcome to the Franz estate," he greeted her, eying her up critically, probing gently with his sharp mind. She was fiery, as with all who had Veela blood; confident, kindhearted, and held family in the highest regard.
Harry decided to trust her.
"Thank you," she said uneasily, testing out the language.
"Follow me - we can talk in the drawing room. I will have Devin and Marie bring us refreshments." He opened the door for her, waiting until she was inside with her distant cousin, his tutor Deltaine, before entering himself.
Fleur, being French, did not follow much of Deltaine's conversation with Harry, but did pick up enough. Eventually, the conversation wore down, and Harry requested his harp be brought down. Devin complied, and soon an enchanting harp lay in the room.
Harry rose to the occasion, eager for an audience. Pulling up a chair, he reached out and began to play.
Free to use magic, his music was a masterpiece. He was short and his arms unable to reach fully across the harp, but with magic he could pluck five or six strings at once, seamlessly weaving together a song that led on its listeners, capturing them in a warm waving of sound, much like a restful shoreline at twilight.
When Fleur left a week later, she was in love.
Harry wrote to Fleur frequently, asking her questions about her life and time at Beauxbatons. In their year of correspondence, it only proved to make him more eager to enter Hogwarts. On his eleventh birthday, he wrote to Fleur the moment the owl sped through the window, telling her every detail to soothe his nerves. His 'bellflower', as he had come to call her, quickly apparated to London to join in the biggest celebration since before David's death.
Harry was going to Hogwarts.
CHAPTER 3
Dearest little Prince;
Thank you so much for allowing me to join you on your first visit to Diagon Alley. It was an amazing experience, and not only because it was our first time there. It is truly as busy and exciting as rumours say.
I know it is redundant, but please, do not wear out your wand's thrill. I was rather surprised that an Aspen wand chose you, though the Unicorn hair is no surprise; the unicorns love you, my little Prince. Have you ever considered having a painting of you riding one made? It would be quite striking.
I admit I expected an apple wand - how else would you gather the polite actions of the goblins, Centaurs, and Hippogriffs so quickly, not to mention how close you are to the Veela? Though I am aware your studies on wandlore were short-lived, theory states that applewood chooses those with the ability to communicate with those beyond their own language more easily than others. Despite this, an Aspen wand is nothing to sneeze at; while I have no doubt you will, please treat it well.
If Patricia, my owl, manages to catch you before you board the Hogwarts Express, then allow me to remind you to talk to people. While you have me, I'd rather not you become a recluse, little Prince. You are charming; you will have no problem finding friends. I hope this does not disillusion you from finding true friends, or any at all.
To commemorate your entry to Hogwarts, I've had a package sent to you along with this letter. It contains an emerald ring. Please wear it at Hogwarts. It has some minor protective charms and should, in an emergency, serve as a minor conduct for your magic. It is by no means your wand, but it will give you an advantage nonetheless.
Gabrielle misses you, and so do I. Please visit during the holidays; letters simply won't be enough. Have fun at Hogwarts!
Fleur Delacour.
Harry chuckled as he closed the letter and returned it to his trunk. He opened the case holding the ring eagerly and chuckled.
A snake. How typical.
One of his abilities, though it was kept between himself and the Bellflower, was the ability to talk to snakes. While never mentioned, not even in their letters, he was able to speak the snake tongue, Parseltongue. They had done heavy research, but up until now the unique spells they had found were few and far between.
Obviously, the Bellflower was being funny. Slipping the emerald-bodied, silver-eyed snake onto his left ring finger, the opposite of his wand hand, he leaned into the seat and stared at the countryside flashing by.
He was interrupted from his musings by the sound of a pair of knuckles on his door. Slightly annoyed, he opened it with a wave of his hand, taking advantage of his ring immediately. It slid the door open effortlessly, but without a painful force.
Perfect.
He eyed up the boy at the door critically. He had a bit of dirt on his nose; his blue eyes scanned the booth as if searching for something, and his flaming red hair stuck up everywhere. Harry did him a favour and cast a simple, wordless charm he'd made up to keep his hair in check. They boy let out a surprised shout before finally laying his eyes on Harry.
"Oh, thanks," he said, sending a hand through his hair. "Who're you? Have you seen Harry Potter?"
"Harrison Franz," he replied quietly, frowning. "Why do you ask? Do you know him?"
"Who doesn't?" the boy replied. "Oh, I'm Ronald Weasley. I'm supposed to show him around, make sure he's adjusting alright, but I can't find him."
Silently, Harry thanked the heavens that he'd put on some concealing cream over his scar this morning. It was no longer strongly visible, only a small mark really, but he still covered it over with a few mundane cosmetics. If everybody knew him, though he wasn't sure why, then his scar would have been a dead giveaway.
"I haven't seen him," Harry lied smoothly. "What's all this about Harry Potter?"
"You don't know him?" Ronald gaped. "You must be a muggleborn! Harry Potter is the saviour of the wizarding world! He killed you-know-who!"
"I'm afraid I don't know who," Harry replied calmly. "I'd appreciate an explanation. Who is you-know-who? And if I may - who is Harry Potter? 'Saviour of the wizarding world' tells me very little."
"Oh, you-know-who was an evil wizard! Nobody even dares to say his name, he was so evil! Then, when he attacked Harry Potter's family, he was killed. Only Harry survived. He's the only person who's ever survived the killing curse." Ron rattled off. "I can't believe you don't know this!"
"I can," Harry replied. "After all, I live in the mundane world, and do not receive magical news. There is no way I could have been aware of magical affairs."
Ron scrunched up his nose in confusion, and took a step back. "Uh, well, see you at Hogwarts," he said awkwardly. He then ran off, heading to the next compartment to find the boy he'd just left behind.
Harry was now on high alert. While a few of his tutors had mentioned that he had a presence in the magical world, none had said just how famous. He massaged his headache and got up to walk around the train. Maybe he could catch the trolley lady for a treacle tart or two.
His eyes scanned the windows as he looked in on various years and students. None stood out particularly to him; he reached the trolley lady, bought a pair of treacle tarts, and began walking back, nibbling on one of the delicacies as he mulled over the Hogwarts curriculum.
Perhaps he should have hired a history tutor; he had no idea how the wizarding world operated outside of what his tutors told him in idle conversation. The most he knew was that the houses were named after the founders - common knowledge, no matter where one goes.
Something hit his chest.
He immediately banished it away, took a deep breath, and stuffed his treacle tarts in a pocket. He lifted up his hand and said, "Accio object that hit my chest." Something soft and squishy hit his hand, and he held the toad which had hopped onto his chest, eying it with disdain and confusion.
"You could have ruined my treacle tart, you know," he commented, placing the toad on his shoulder. He continued walking down the halls, stroking the small amphibian and considering who would have a toad for a pet. They were somewhat useless for everything but Potions.
"Oh, there he is, Neville!" A girl cried. "Excuse me, that toad belongs to Neville." Her bushy hair was incredibly unkempt, and Harry sympathized. Her hair looked almost as hard to control as his.
"Here you go," he said kindly, handing the toad to the boy hovering behind the headstrong girl. Gentle, kindhearted, a quiet desire for acceptance and honesty - and a glorious taste of untapped bravery, beaten down by self-doubt. "Neville, is it? Nice to meet you. I'm Harrison Franz. Who are you?" he looked pointedly at the girl, glancing over her quickly. Innocent, smart, bossy, hoped to forge new friendships and impress her family. A bit like Fleur, but not quite.
"I'm Hermione, Hermione Granger," she introduced herself hurriedly. "It's nice to meet you. Have you read the books yet? I've read them all from cover to cover, I hope it will be enough, there's just so much to learn. My favourite is Hogwarts, a History, it's so interesting to read how magical and muggle history weave into each other…"
"Calm down," Harry defended, continuing his walk down the hallway, with Neville and Hermione at his sides. "You won't make any friends by talking at them, Miss Granger. Both people need to participate in a conversation."
"Oh, sorry," she murmured.
"No worries," Harry waved it off, simultaneously smoothing down the girl's hair with the same charm from before. "Just keep it in mind - many wizards form opinions depending on how polite you are. You'll scare people off talking that quickly. The first question you asked was enough."
Hermione nodded. "Alright. Sorry for talking so fast, I'm just so excited, you see." She held her tongue, thankfully, and Harry smiled at her.
"Not a problem. I'm sure many are excited. To answer your question, I've read the potions textbook, the charms textbook, the transfigurations textbook, and am halfway through the Herbology textbook, having not taken the later before. Neville? Have you read any of them yet?"
"Only Herbology and Potions," Neville admitted. "I love Herbology, and I wanted to be ready for Professor Snape's class. He's really tough on students."
Harry nodded. "Most have to be. It's a bit more dangerous than your average cooking. May I join you in your compartment?" He glanced at his own. "I must admit, mine is rather boring, and I'd like to continue this conversation."
"Of course," Neville agreed. With a short smile, Harry quickly cast levitation charms on the lot, and hovered them down to the compartment a short ways away, ignoring the gobsmacked looks he was getting from Neville and Hermione. When they finally picked their jaws up off the floor, the pair quickly turned conversation away from Potions and on to Charms.
"How did you do that? That was incredible!" Hermione breathed reverently. "My spells never come that easily."
Harry gave her a calculating look. "Mine work that well mostly due to a robust magical core. I have been training since age eight." She nodded seriously, drinking up the information like it was water in a desert. "Magic works best for those who practice frequently. You may find that older wizards, who have not used some charms or spells for a long time, are unable to recall them as quickly. Magic adjusts to make you good at what you use most often; for that reason, it is difficult to master more draining spells, and those not used frequently in everyday life. It would be good if you practiced spells you considered useful more than the obscure or less useful ones."
"Right. And how did you do it without a wand?" She inquired next. "I was aware wandless magic was possible, but it should take years of training to do so much as a colour-change charm reliably."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I only got my wand a month ago. You can use plenty of things as a focus, as long as they conduct magic. I'll ask Bellflower to send me some, her family has a friend with a NEWT in wandlore and focus-crafting."
"Bellflower?" Neville asked.
"Fleur Delacour. We write each other occasionally." Harry smiled wistfully. "I haven't seen her in a while, not since Christmas. She's studying at Beauxbatons."
"Yeah… I'm going to miss my family." Hermione admitted. "They're muggles, see, so they can't take owls."
Harry pondered. "I could have my staff forward it to them. All you'd have to do is send the owl to the Franz estate, and write them a note."
"You mean it?" Hermione glowed. "Thank you!"
"Not a problem," Harry confirmed. "Now, since you like History… tell me what you've read."
"Firs' years! Firs' years this way!" the half-giant cried. Harry gave him a long, solid look, then turned to his friends.
"He's very nice, reliable chap, but don't tell him secrets - they won't be kept." Hermione and Neville glanced at each other searching for answers. They got none, but nodded regardless, following Harry as he led the charge down the bleak pathway towards the boats headed to the castle.
As they entered the boats and set off, Harry awed at the castle. It was, if anything, impressive. With the moonlit backdrop, it struck him as rather unique, almost as if the building itself had a sentience. Taking a deep breath, he tried to reach out with the arm of magic that powered his legilimency, and felt a returning pulse of power.
The sentience of the building rendered him speechless, and he stared out at the building for over half the journey, ignoring his fellow first-years entirely. He was putting all his effort into understanding the castle's strange, pictorial language.
"Um, Harry?" Hermione plucked up the courage to pat him on the shoulder. "Are you alright?"
"Oh? Yes, my bad, I was just…" he glanced at the castle and decided to keep a secret. "Nevermind. Maybe I'll talk about it later. It's just so striking."
"It is," the other girl on the boat agreed. "Oh, I'm Mandy, Mandy Brocklehurst. It's nice to meet you."
"Harrison Franz," he replied politely. "I apologize for that; I was somewhat distracted."
"No matter; I do the same thing sometimes." she glanced up as they began to enter the docks. "You know anything about the sorting?"
"Not yet," Harry admitted. "I'm thinking it won't be half as terrifying as people make it out to be, though."
"Think we should practice some charms in advance?" Hermione inquired.
"Of course not," Harry waved her off. "I'm sure it's much more like a personality or learning test than anything. There's no wrong answer, since there's no wrong house."
"Oh, of course," Hermione relaxed. "Of course, that makes sense."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Sometimes, Hermione, it seems you think more with your books than your head."
Hermione fell silent. They had arrived.
Standing in the crowd of students, Harry shifted nervously from foot to foot. He was a little worried, honestly, and rubbed his ring to soothe his nerves. No matter where he went, he'd be alright. He trusted the sorting to put him in the right place.
"Don't worry," he said to Neville, who seemed equally nervous, in an effort to distract himself with goodwill. "No matter which house becomes a home, we'll still be friends."
Neville glowed.
"The sorting will begin shortly," McGonagall's tones called over the murmurs. With that statement, the grand doors opened, and the first years quickly filed in, looking around at the four tables, flags, and charmed ceiling.
Harry was just pondering over how to duplicate the charm on the ceiling when Mandy was
sorted.
Interesting, interesting. The hat mused in her head. Your family is a long line of Hufflepuffs, Miss Brocklehurst. However, it seems that you've made an interesting friend in Harrison Franz. Keep him safe. And for you… while you are loyal as they come, there is something even more powerful; your love for creativity and learning will take you far. The house for you is RAVENCLAW!"
Shooting her a smile, he waited for his name to be called.
"Franz, Harrison!" The little wizard on the chair called. Harry rose from the crowd, recalling his lessons on how to act, and held himself tall, walking briskly up to the stool. Sitting down on the small seat, he placed the hat gingerly on his head.
Ah, Harrison Franz… or is it Harry Potter?
Harrison stiffened. How are you passing my shields? Do students have a right of confidentiality?
Of course. And I'm a magical cap, what did you expect? The hat's chuckles resounded through the hall as Harry shot him a dry look.
Well, let's get you sorted, shall we? The hat said amicably. Let's see. Ambition, yes, but not quite enough for Slytherin… Courage, plenty of courage, but your level-headed nature and habit to keep your secrets close push you clearly away from Gryffindor. You would be loyal, but there are none you find fit to be loyal to… aha! Here we go. A thirst for learning, to discover new things, cultivated by your beloved David. Make him proud in RAVENCLAW!"
Harry shot the hat a smile and placed it back down on the stool, racing off to Ravenclaw. However, much to his surprise, the hat cried, "Wait up, my boy! I'm not done with you yet!"
Somewhat embarrassed, Harry placed the hat back on his head and sat down. What is it, Sorting Hat?
As Harry Potter, I wish to warn you about Albus Dumbledore. He told me to sort Harry Potter into Gryffindor, and to never tell him of this. Since you are Harrison Franz and a confirmed Occlumens, I can safely warn you. Keep shields up when Dumbledore and Severus Snape are nearby. Communicate with Hogwarts for help. Hide your identity. Train hard - the killer of your parents, Tom Riddle, will seek revenge. Stay safe, Harry. Good luck.
Harry lifted the hat slowly off his head, giving the hat plenty of chances to call him back once more. He walked over to the Ravenclaw table, sliding into a seat next to Mandy.
"What was that about?" She inquired softly.
Harry shot her a winning smile. "Nothing too important. I'm sworn to secrecy, unfortunately."
"Granger, Hermione!" the short professor called. Hermione dashed eagerly up to the hat and quickly stuck it on her head, grinning all the while.
Ah, another one. Quite the book-lover, aren't you? The hat said happily. Lots of intelligent minds this year. And ample courage, too! Why, you'd fit into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.
Ravenclaw, like my friends, please! Hermione begged.
Of course, Miss Granger. Stick with your friends, and learn much about the world. I'm sending you to RAVENCLAW!"
Hermione glowed and raced for the seat next to Harry, bubbling with excitement.
It was a while until Neville was finally called. He steeled himself and put the hat on his head, waiting.
Ah, Mr. Longbottom. Lovely to see you. It seems like yesterday I sorted your parents.
Thank you, sir. Neville replied.
No need for niceties, Neville. Now, let's take a peek at what's inside your head. The hat hummed. Interesting, very interesting. A desire for acceptance… a powerful pull to your family… a quiet feeling of inadequacy. All things I've seen before. However, the strongest of your qualities has been hushed, pushed deep within you after years of ridicule. I'm sorry to see that this happened to you; however, you will not find the link to your father within Gryffindor house, no matter how much hidden bravery lies within you.
Gran will be terribly upset, Neville mourned. I'm in Hufflepuff, aren't I?
What shame is there in it? The hat retorted. But no. You may be loyal, brave, and ambitious, but you won't find yourself doing best there. I offer you a choice of three houses.
Three? Neville goggled. Why?
It is an interesting decision on my part; hear me out. By this time, nearly five minutes had passed. A Hatstall.
You can join Hufflepuff, where you will find people much like yourself. You will make new friends and find yourself growing into the boy you truly are. You can join Gryffindor, the house of your mother, father, and Grandmother, where you will likely face the same abuse that you face from your living relatives.
I'm not abused, Neville retorted weakly.
You are. The hat seemed to droop. I've seen it before. They may not have struck you, like others here have been, but the emotional abuse is there, Neville. It's all there, in your head. You would make her proud, but is it worth your future?
Neville remained silent.
And the final house you could enter is Ravenclaw. You are smart, Neville. Despite your crushed beginnings trying to become the Auror your grandmother wanted, excelling only in Herbology, your creative mind and strong allies already there make Ravenclaw a good fit. You would find yourself overshadowed in marks, but it will nonetheless supply you with lifelong friends and the self-confidence you have been searching for. Which do you choose - who you are now, who others want you to be, or who you can become?
Neville paused. I think you know already, Sorting Hat.
Indeed I do. The hat chuckled. Better be RAVENCLAW! And do send your Gran a letter. She may turn around her ways if you talk to her about it. Good luck, my boy.
Thank you, sorting hat, Neville smiled, getting off the chair and walking over to the seat across from Harry .
"Welcome home, Neville," Harry smiled.
Neville beamed.
CHAPTER 4
Dear Gran,
I know what you want to know first - was I sorted into Gryffindor? The answer is no. I was sorted into Ravenclaw. I must admit, I like it a lot - Harrison, Hermione and Mandy have been talking me through it, and I think Ravenclaw was the right are lots of books, and it's a very relaxing environment. I have a feeling I won't be failing any subjects here.
Second, and I know you're going to hate this, I'm going to buy a wand the moment I can. My own wand. I may love my father, but I'm not him, and it's clear that his wand doesn't fit me. Harrison has given me a standard focus, and even that works better. I'm not going to use my father's wand, regardless of whether you want me to or not, because I am not my father.
Gran, I know it's not my place to ask, but why do you want me to be like my father? He's amazing, I know, but I simply can't be the sort of amazing he was. I'm not brave. I'm not strong. Both things that defined my father. Who am I to you, if not a replacement for my father? I really should be asking these questions to your face, but I feel that you'll need time to sort yourself out - to find the answers to questions you might not have wanted to even ask yourself - before the next time you can answer.
On lighter subjects, I have made three good friends in Ravenclaw; Harrison Franz, Hermione Granger, and Mandy Brocklehurst. I share a room with Harrison, Michael Corner, Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein. Anthony is vain, Michael is shy, and Terry is arrogant. Harrison is great, though - he's incredibly intelligent. He talked me through everything. I still can't believe he's a muggleborn; he seems to understand the world so much more than I do, even if we studied similar things. I wonder if Ravenclaw is not the house of the smart, but of the wise. That would definitely explain how someone with marks like mine got in here, even if I obviously have much to learn.
Hermione is, unlike Harrison, very much a book-lover. While Harrison prefers an equal mix of hands-on and reading, Hermione is all about the books. She's read all of the textbooks already - I'm going to review the books with her later, especially potions. On that note, Harrison is excellent at potions - I wouldn't be surprised if Professor Snape half-adopted him after the first class. Hermione's also very bossy, but she tries to tone it down. She just likes being in control of her surroundings. I think I can respect that.
Mandy is a bit quiet, but she's nice, calm and very soft-spoken, unlike the other two. Hermione and Harrison have been really active all day; they keep getting into really long, involved conversations. I don't totally understand, but it seems like they're going to get us all a focus ring from a pen-pal of Harrison's. He's got this wicked emerald ring which he uses for magic sometimes, looks like a snake with silver eyes. He loves it. He asked me what sort of thing I wanted, he's going to try and get all of us one as well. No matter what it is, It's going to be incredible. That's just the sort of person Harrison is.
Mandy's been talking to me whenever Harrison and Hermione start drifting into their chatty moments. We've got a lot in common; she's not sure what she's going to do, but she's writing her parents to break the news about going into Ravenclaw. You know they're a long line of Hufflepuffs, she seems really worried about it, but Harrison managed to calm her down, just like he did me.
I'm sure you're wondering who this 'Harrison' is. He's a muggleborn wizard I met on the train, he found Trevor for me when he got away on the Express. He's super-smart, and he seems to sort of know when and what you need, just by looking at you. He's magically very powerful - we watched him cast wingardium leviosa wordlessly on all his things and hover them down the hall! He says that he's been practicing magic since he was eight, and keeps insisting we train our magic so that we can get used to spells. Hermione just wanted to read at first, but he managed to convince her somehow… he might be even more stubborn than she is.
Trevor's fine. I'm going to keep him in the Ravenclaw dorms in a glass cage so he can't escape. I was going to take him to classes with me, but Mandy said I wouldn't be able to get much use from him outside of harvesting warts… honestly, I think he's better off where Professor Snape can't get his hands on him. He'd be potions ingredients in no time. Harrison thinks I'm being funny, but I know Professor Snape.
I'll tell you how it goes next week when I've had all my first classes. Hope you're well and that nobody misses me too bad.
Your Grandson,
Neville
Neville poked Harry awkwardly. "Um, Harrison?"
"Harry, just Harry," he replied idly, focusing on his feather. "Something I can help you with?"
"How are you getting this so easily?" He asked shyly. "Like, Hermione's already got it, and now she's-"
"It's LeviOsa, not LevioSA!" Hermione insisted. "Look, just watch…" She picked up her wand, pointed it at her feather, and with a swish and a flick, pronounced, "Wingardium Leviosa." Just as she had said, the feather began floating slowly into the air, rising and rising until it was nearly to the ceiling.
"Oh, excellent, Miss Granger's got it!" Flitwick cried. "Ten points to Ravenclaw!"
Ronald Weasley, the boy that Harry remembered from the train, rolled his eyes and continued to say just what he had before. A bit curious, Harry leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands, staring at Ron's head.
Carefully, Harry planted a little correction into Ron's thoughts. It was relatively difficult, but he managed to edit the words running through his head just enough, and lo and behold, Ron's feather began to float.
"See? I told you it'd work," Hermione smiled. Ron rolled his eyes, refusing to reply, and instead they continued the lesson.
"-teaching others," Neville finished. "You don't mind, do you, Harry?"
Harry shrugged. "Alright, I'll help. Like this… you've got to twist your wrist on the gar part, then you flick upwards on the 'leviosa'..."
Herbology was next, and Neville quickly became the clear winner when it came to talent and skill in the subject. He had a surprisingly strong grasp on the simple fire spells they were taught, and he quickly had the rest of them casting it. Their little group of Ravenclaws were quickly figuring out their strengths and weaknesses.
Harry was cautiously sorting out the herbs and plant parts on his table, guiding the conversation with Neville masterfully. Just by scanning Neville's surface thoughts - like he did naturally these days with everyone he met - he could see that Neville was a Herbology genius. His swift mind was quickly sorting out ideas to help push Neville in the right direction while also gaining some knowledge himself.
"Dittany," Harry murmured, placing the plant on his small pile of dittany. "You know, I think there's a muggle equivalent for that."
"Is there?" Neville perked up from his complete piles, which he had started sorting into straight lines of plant material out of boredom while he tickled a nearby plant. "I never knew. Do muggles have Herbology?"
Harry smirked. "Of course. They just call it agriculture - or, I suppose, gardening. Dittany's rather pointless without the magical properties, of course, so I never noticed it before."
"Did you do any gardening before you got to Hogwarts?" Neville inquired hopefully. "A muggle garden would be so cool."
Chuckling at Neville's definition of 'cool', Harry shook his head. "I live in the city, so I don't have enough space for a garden. But there are a few parks in London. Maybe we could visit Hyde Park sometime," he mused wistfully.
Hermione finished her sorting at that moment and chose to turn around in her seat and join the conversation. "I've never been to Hyde Park," she commented sadly. "I don't live close enough to London."
Harry smiled. "We could go there over the Christmas break. And if we could get there, maybe we could go to the Tower of London. You know the ravens there are considered guardians of the tower?"
By this time, Mandy had abandoned her seat to join in, and the rest of the class was spent talking about muggle architecture and raven biology.
"We've got an hour before we have to be in Transfigurations," Hermione remarked. "Should we find the classroom?"
Harry paused momentarily, and ignoring the stares he was getting, he reached out with his magic and attempted contact with the castle.
He was barraged with a powerful, ancient magic and had to disconnect, but quickly recovered and opened the tiniest link he could.
At this level, the magic being thrown his way was thin enough that he could manage the data. Even so, images flew past, and he quickly attempted to communicate his need to receive information slowly. Despite how rushed his thoughts were, the castle seemed to understand, and he was finally able to widen the connection a little.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, but ignored it. He formed a simple request and tossed it through the connection hopefully.
Return. A well-defined package of ideas that he opened and received quickly. His mind was offered a detailed, complicated and time-dependent map which he absorbed in a matter of moments. Knowing now where they'd need to go, he smiled, sent thanks, and promised to communicate again before he closed off the connection once more.
Blinking out of his haze, he was faced with a rather severe man with the most terrible case of potions-hair he'd ever seen. He immediately snapped his fingers, and the hair flared out in all directions before resting in a puffy mess all over the man's head.
"Wake up, have we?" the man asked irritably. Harry contemplated the possibility that the professor had attempted to taste-test the wrong set of potions this morning, which would explain the grouchiness. People were usually grouchy when in significant discomfort or after something had gone wrong.
Ignoring it, he nodded, simultaneously smoothing down the hair with a quick brush of his magic so that it didn't look like a circus clown's. "Yes, sir - I snapped out of it. Sorry about that - I got… heavily distracted."
He noticed where he was and assumed that about three full minutes had passed. Sighing, he turned to his friends. "Sorry about that. I'll show you the way to the classroom later, yeah? Let's just enjoy our free time."
The Professor touched his hair with a bewildered reverence, finally noticing the change. "Ah - yes. Take care not to get distracted again, Mister Franz. You will not get away with such idle-mindedness in my class."
"Of course," Harry replied winningly. "I'd better go, Professor; my friends are probably bored of watching me drift off." He turned to his friends and grinned. "Who's up to searching for the other common rooms?"
Oddly enough, Slytherin was the easiest house to find. Just search wherever you saw snakes, and the volume of snakes would increase the closer to the Slytherin common room you get. The four Ravenclaws - a distracted Mandy, an eager Hermione, and a rather nervous Neville, all following a determined Harrison Franz - quickly found the common room and chuckled at the ease of it.
"This is so weird!" Hermione exclaimed, poking the door. "Hogwarts: A History said that nobody had breached the Slytherin common room in 200 years! I didn't realise it would be this easy to find."
"Are you sure we should be here?" Neville inquired softly from the back of the group, where he was keeping half an eye on Mandy.
Harry shrugged. "Nobody said we couldn't be." He trailed his fingers over the snakes and hissed quietly, "Do you know the password?"
There was a near-silent rattling sound, but Harry could tell it was rattlesnake for 'superior'. Rolling his eyes at the ego of Slytherin house, he cleared his throat, hissed a thanks under his breath, and said clearly, "Superior."
The door slid open, and ignoring the confused looks of his friends, he walked in as if he belonged there.
At first, nobody noticed, and Harry had to conjure a list before anyone took notice of him. When his friends crept in and he summoned a pencil, however, the Slytherins, noticing something strange happening, put down their books and stopped conversations to observe.
A prefect marched over intimidatingly, and Harry immediately recognized the way he walked from the pompous gits who would strut around attempting to impress their betters. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he said, "I believe you might want to have a word with whoever sets the passwords. Not only is your password laughably easy to predict, but it's also incredibly narcissistic."
"We do not need little Ravenclaws marching around like they own the place," the prefect replied, glowering. "The password is just fine. You must have found a way to trick the door. Please feel free to tell us how."
Harry shrugged. "Sheer dumb luck. If you'll excuse us, we're off to terrorize the Gryffindors." he looked at his list of the three other houses and ticked off Slytherin. "Goodbye and good day." Waving his friends to follow him, he walked out the door with a calm confidence, ignoring the gobsmacked looks he was getting, especially from the older Slytherins.
His friends scurried out with him, and once they were out of earshot, Neville hissed, "What in the name of Merlin were you thinking?!"
"That I'm glad I wasn't sorted into that bigoted hellhole," Harry replied smartly. "That place is downright poisonous. So, who's up for crashing Gryffindor?"
Hermione was slowly gaining confidence. "As long as it isn't like Slytherin, I think it sounds fun," she admitted. "That place gives me the creeps."
Mandy shrugged, tucking her book under her arm. "It wasn't so bad," she offered. "The people were unpleasant, but the place itself looked like a nice place to read. Do you think they see Merpeople out the window?"
Harry shrugged. "I suppose they must, sometimes. Sounds nice, honestly." They turned left and began the march up the steps. "What do you think Gryffindor's like?"
"Loud," Hermione answered promptly. "I heard them talking at the feast yesterday. It was impossible to hear what anyone was saying."
"Maybe that's because we were at the Ravenclaw table, Hermione," Harry answered pragmatically. They fell silent as they took the rest of the journey to appreciate Hogwarts as a whole. The staircase they were using to get from the dungeons to the higher floors was rarely used, and the dusty, dimly-lit stairs were marked by elegant, swooping windows, the bright afternoon filtering easily through the layer of accumulated dust.
The Gryffindor common room was significantly easier to find, and they were soon before the painting of the Fat Lady. Harry consdered for a moment before trying something rather ridiculous; he attempted to read the surface thoughts of the painting.
Diving into the mind of a painting was rather disorientating, but the moment he found what he was looking for, he rose from it again, blinking away his confusion. "Caput Draconis," he said, rubbing his headache. The Fat Lady nodded and swung open, admitting the four individuals into the brightly-coloured Gryffindor commons.
Movement ceased for all of three seconds before activity resumed, and the four friends continued along unobstructed. Most of the first years were hanging around a pair of redheaded twins who seemed to be teaching them the passageways, while the current prefect was standing stoically in the corner. Others were chatting - Harry noted the redhead with the dirt on his nose from earlier, Ron Weasley, was challenging the whole room to a game of chess. He turned to Hermione and said, "your opinion?"
"It would be hell to study in here," she said faintly, rubbing her ears as if they'd been hit. Mandy nodded in sympathetic agreement, and Neville looked somewhat faint.
"Somehow," he admitted, "I don't imagine my father quite the same any more."
Harry nodded in quiet agreement, knowing that at some point he'd have to look up the house his own blood-father was in… James Potter.
Shaking his head, he turned to leave, quietly wondering how anyone could bear to live there. He much prefered his peace and quiet.
Transfigurations with the Gryffindors was much the same, with Harry flicking his match between metal and wood repeatedly before the lesson had really begun. He taught his friends, and before the end of the class, they had started walking around correcting people to cure boredom. Harry couldn't wait to leave by the end of it; his tutor, while far less interesting a person, made the subject quite a bit more fun.
"I'll have to teach you guys conjuration," he mused, leading their small group subconsciously to the DADA room. "It's a lot more interesting than transfigurations, and the whole 'you need lots of power' thing is false." This piqued their interest enough for them to recover from the mental mush that was turning a needle into a matchstick and back.
"DADA next," Hermione read from her timetable. "Harry, did you study this?"
"It was my best subject," Harry announced proudly. A bit more sedately, he remarked, "it's not a book subject, I'm warning you - but if you can get the hang of things, it's a lot of fun. If we get really good, we can do mock duels!"
Despite the danger involved, the other three seemed mildly interested, particularly Neville. Turning into the classroom, Harry's smile evaporated immediately.
There was a strong, steady pressure on his head, like someone banging on a door, trying to get into a house. He felt his chest tighten in sick anticipation, like something was bound to strike him any second - a feeling he hadn't felt since he'd been abandoned in London nearly four years ago. He unconsciously scratched at the scars on his chest, ones he'd been given after repeated beatings and from being tossed like a ragdoll whenever he wasn't fast enough.
Hermione noticed immediately. "Harry, what's wrong?" she asked softly, edging closer. Harry let go of his ribcage slowly and gestured to a seat, sitting down himself.
Quietly, he murmured, "There's something wrong with this classroom." Silently thanking Merlin he still hadn't told his friends anything about his true identity, he reinforced his shields and glanced at Neville and Mandy. Nodding to himself, he continued in a hushed whisper, "Hermione, when we leave, remind me to teach you…" he shuddered. "Nevermind. It's not going to be fun, but if my suspicions are correct…"
The door opened, and Harry felt like he might die. He was choking on the scent of onion - there was dark magic everywhere - he could feel a push at his brain, like an avalanche trying to knock him down, and all he had was a measly wooden shield -
Hermione gripped his hand, and his brief spell ended. He triggered his emergency shields, throwing up walls of iron and pursing his lips, turning to face his mental attacker.
The professor. There was something significantly off about him. He barely noticed the other students massaging headaches or breathing through their mouths as the harmless-looking man walked up to the board, starting the lesson without noticing the mass headache which appeared with his arrival.
Harry finally managed to clear the fog in his mind and focus. The lesson was dry as the sahara, and it seemed like he was becoming an oasis - every time Professor Quirrell screwed up, Harry cleared up the information and inserted interesting anecdotes that the other students hang onto like a lifeline. As the painful and boring class continued, he began to formulate a plan.
He had never tried this before, but his tutors had always remarked that he had a way with magic in general - that he would invent the new spells of the century. He began scratching what runes he knew into his seat - runes of protection, and one to represent the mind - the simplest set he knew. By the end of the class, he had curled them around his chair and had begun weaving them together, while also adding a subject-location rune into the set to tell the magic to head to whomever sat in the seat.
It was complete at the end of the class, and he noted with satisfaction that with the last scratch the runes began flowing almost unnoticeably and his mind cleared further, magic dancing just under his skin as a preliminary defence. It wouldn't stop anyone with a wand or direct eye contact, but as long as he didn't meet the professor's eyes, he was likely to be safe.
When they left the classroom, they all sighed in relief, and Harry announced, "That was the worst DADA class I've ever had."
Hermione nodded in agreement, and the other two Ravenclaws joined them sympathetically. "There isn't much we can do about it," she mused unhappily.
Harry shook his head. "No, there is something," he corrected. He reached into his robes and grabbed his schedule. "Right, we have free time now and after Charms tomorrow. That should be enough time to learn what you need, if I skip the theory. Let's get back to the common room - I've got a plan."
CHAPTER 5
To Mum & Dad:
I know I said I wouldn't be able to send letters, but I met someone who has allowed me to use his house as a drop-off point for the mail owl. I'll be able to send you letters now! Isn't that great?
Life here at Hogwarts isn't what I expected, but it's still brilliant. Everything is just so interesting! I know you're probably wondering - have I made any friends? Well, you're in luck, Mum, Dad. I've made three!
I was on the train to Hogwarts and reading my book when a boy came by asking about a toad. I decided to help him look for it, and we've stuck together since then. His name is Neville Longbottom, and he's a very soft-spoken sort. He's very good at Herbology, so I've been listening in on his conversations with Harry. It's very informative.
Harry is the other boy I met on the train. He's really cool! I know that's a juvenile thing to say, but it's quite true. He's some sort of heir, heir Franz, and he runs circles around the wizarding aristocracy. It's hilarious. (Keep this quiet, but I'm almost certain he's smarter than I am.) He found out about magic at eight and he's been studying with tutors ever since, so he's really good at magic. He's sent off for some magical trinkets from France for us to play with - he's already got one, and it's like I'm living a novel. He's got this beautiful emerald ring in the shape of a snake which he uses to cast most of his spells outside of class - he really likes it for some reason. He's getting some for Neville, Mandy and I. I can't wait to try them!
Mandy was with us on the boat ride to Hogwarts. She's really sweet, and drifts a lot. We've been comparing notes. Do you think I could invite her to visit sometime? We might have to restart the fireplace if I do…
The sorting was a lot simpler than I thought it was - this old hat, apparently it's hundreds of years old, is put on your head, and it chooses a house depending on your personality. I went to Ravenclaw, which is the house where, as Harry put it, 'people with too many books to count and far too much learning to do' go. I can't say I disagree, although I'm fairly certain I have 352 books, so that logic kind of falls short.
He says that he has a whole library and that counting how many books there are in his library is a waste of time unless he plans to move. That also makes sense, but I can't help but want to buy his library. Do you think I could buy a library? I've always wanted one.
I'm glad I got sorted into Ravenclaw though. The other houses seem kind of… disorganized and uncomfortable. The Slytherins - 'house of curious cats and bigots', according to Harry - are very narcissistic and annoying. He admits that his own bias exists, but only because of some super-secret past thing he can't tell us about.
That reminds me, I haven't told you enough about Harry yet. He's such a mysterious guy! He's a very witty and intelligent person, and he has a solid grasp on magic. He's heir to some sort of company in London, though he won't say more, and acts like a sort of prince, except he's serious and not very romantic. I think he has a mischievous side - and doesn't know the meaning of danger - because he decided to break into the Slytherin common room on break yesterday. I was horrified! I thought they were going to have us expelled!
Well, since I'm not home, obviously we weren't.
Harry, of course, is also a sort of… daydreamer, I think. Or a psychic. I don't know what. He always seems to know what you need, and sometimes he drifts off for entire minutes, his eyes glazing over. Personally, I think he's got some special ability he's not telling us about. Maybe that's why he's so smart?
Anyways, my classes are great. Charms is a ton of fun, and Harry's promised to teach us conjuration sometime soon. Transfigurations is also nice, and Herbology is a breeze as long as I sit within hearing distance of Neville. Harry manages to get him to teach more than Professor Sprout! DADA is weird, though. Professor Quirrell smells like he's stuffed his turban with onions and Harry seems absolutely terrified by him. A lot of students get headaches in that class. Harry is teaching us some protective runes which should stop our heads being affected by 'outside sources'... I don't understand much about what he's saying, but the runes should solve the headache problem.
I've got to stop writing - I don't want to be late to Flight class! I'll send as many letters as I can, but everything is just so interesting!
Yours,
Hermione
"Great, you've got it," Harry smiled a relieved smile. "We'll have to practice a little, but once they're there, we can do it to all of them and protect the heads of everyone in the class.
"You're still convinced Professor Quirrell is somehow evil?" Mandy remarked, lifting her quill from the page. "I highly doubt it."
Harry shrugged. "It can't hurt to be protected, Mandy. Let's go - Flight class starts in ten minutes."
The four reluctantly put away their things and left them in the common room, jogging towards the next class.
"Do you think I'll do okay?" Hermione panted, following the rushing Ravenclaws around a corner.
"Of course," Harry replied, hopping expertly down the stairs. "I'll help. We'll definitely be okay."
"I've flown a few times before," Mandy volunteered. "It's fun as long as you don't go so high."
They found the doors and ran out, heading to the pitch where the other four houses were waiting. As a group they inserted themselves between the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs, chatting idly while they waited for Professor Hooch to show up.
Harry took a moment to step back and observe the entirety of the first years. It seemed silly to him that the students were split; it was almost like they were four different schools in the same building, sharing occasional classes, instead of one school unified under one name. There was obvious competition between Slytherin and Gryffindor - they hated each other, and even now he could see glares beginning to form. Now that he analyzed it, it seemed strange, too, that they had passwords on their common rooms. It wasn't as if the houses were trying to hide from each other.
Finally, Hooch appeared, and he began to quiver with excitement as he snatched up a broom and joined the line of Ravenclaws. Hermione seemed a bit nervous, Neville nearly sick, and Mandy indifferent, though she was trying to comfort Hermione. Seeing this, Harry shuffled over to Neville and said encouragingly, "don't worry - they won't make us go too high. Even if you fall, it'll only be 2 meters, tops."
Neville nodded. "I just… people are going to laugh."
"I won't," Harry promised. "Hermione and Mandy won't. Who else matters?"
Neville shrugged, looking a little bit less green. "I guess you're right."
"Now," Hooch barked, "hold out your arm and say, 'up!'."
A series of unharmonious shouts from eleven-year-olds drowned out any conversation, and Harry's broom flew into his hand. He glanced at Neville, who was having trouble, and smirked.
"Hey, Neville," he said just loud enough for Neville to hear, "if you want to go to Herbology after this, say 'up'."
"Up," Neville said, far more confidently. The broom hit is hand and nearly knocked him over. Laughing, Harry helped him up, and this time the broom rose easily into Neville's hand.
The proof that it worked was encouraging. This time, his hand did not shake when holding the handle, and he didn't even look ashamed when Hooch corrected his grip on the broom. Hermione also seemed to have a grip on it, and soon they were flying around the pitch, doing some basic exercises to get used to the feel of a broom.
Harry took to it like a fish to water, and before long the regular practices got boring. He slowly drifted away from the solid formation the other three had and pushed forward, cutting the air like a knife through cake. Pulling it harshly towards himself, he cackled as he felt his entire body go upside down and upright again, pushing forward and to the right to end the loop-de-loop, amid clapping from his friends.
"Flying is awesome," he informed them, rejoining the close formation and leading them further over the pitch. "Any of you want to try some fun stuff?"
Hermione got a determined look on her face. "I… alright. I'll try that loop."
Emboldened by the crowd mentality, the other two also agreed to try, and the three followed Harry into another flawless loop, and though they looked a bit shaken, they also looked rather thrilled that they could do it.