A/N - This idea came to me whilst musing on Connie Glynn's book Undercover Princess. I highly recommend you read it - it's a beautiful book.
Chapter 1
Harry Potter – no, not the Harry Potter – let out a sigh of relief as he slipped out of the claustrophobic corridor and into an empty compartment. Running a hand through his burnt-copper hair, he slouched against the bench-seating and looked out of the compartment window to the busy platform beyond it.
Platform 9 ¾ was filled with fretting parents/guardians; younger siblings throwing tantrums over how they wanted to go to Hogwarts too; wistful seventh years; excitable first years split between the visibly nervous and the overcompensating nervous; indignant pets stuffed in cages tossed this way and that and just general noise. Harry, for one, was incredibly glad he'd escaped the pandemonium.
He'd arrived by himself. His aunt, with whom he lived, couldn't possibly care less about Harry and would likely not notice his absence whilst he gone. She gave him the required money to live, allowed him to live in her flat, and signed what little that needed signing, but that was it. He didn't mind. He was just grateful he wasn't in the care system or on the streets. And to show his gratefulness he kept out of her way, and that included making his own way to King's Cross Station by the way of two trains, a bus and then a short walk.
Making himself comfortable in preparation for the long journey ahead, Harry dipped his hand into his bag and rummaged for a few moments before pulling out a beautifully bound, worn book of muggle faerie tales. Harry loved stories, especially the magical kind. They provided him with new worlds, new lives, new angles to explore, and taught him life lessons and occasional facts without him actively having to go on some life-endangering adventure or be cursed by a wicked stepmother. He didn't know what he would do without stories.
This particular book had been his mother's. Ella Potter had loved stories just like he did and was the one responsible for Harry's story obsession. She had brought him up on faerie tales – both muggle and wizarding – and as he had grown up, the stories she had weaved, or read aloud from well-thumbed library books had matured with him. But she had always come back to this book: Grimm's Fairy Tales, Volumes 1 and 2. It had been her mother's book before her, and now it was Harry's.
As he read the familiar words, he could almost hear her voice reading along with him. It was with an almost wistful sadness that he turned each page, brushing his thumb against the aged paper, but also with an increased strength that built up within him; his mother's presence filling him with confidence and pushing away his fears.
"One day you will go to Hogwarts, little prince," she would say to him, "and when you do, I just know you will shine."
Harry swallowed, forcing back tears. He would shine. He would shine for her.
The journey to Hogwarts was long, as expected, and he was not disturbed for any of it, for which he was grateful. He was about to spend a year in permanent company, and he wished to relish what little alone time he had left. For some of the journey he read, for the rest he watched the world speed by, the sky's colours changing with the landscape. By the time the train had begun to slow, the sky was a deep purple with white pinpricks that glittered in the late evening.
Harry stood, taking a deep breath. 'Time to face the music,' he thought sardonically, before pushing open his compartment door and stepping out into the flooding chaos of the corridor. He allowed himself to be swept along with the flow of students scrambling for the doors, and leaking out into the cool summer evening air, onto a dark platform.
Shivering, he moved away from the train, looking around in hope of a sign of what to do next.
"Firs' years! Firs' years! This way! Firs' years!"
Looming over the crowd, grasping a large lamp, was a man nearly as tall as the trees surrounding the platform. He had bushy, wiry black hair and a beard that hid most of his face, only sparing rosy cheeks, and smiling beetle eyes.
"Firs' years!" he called. "Come on now!"
Harry hesitantly moved over towards the man, noting a few others near him do the same – many of them staring.
"Firs' years! Anymore firs' years?" The man paused. "No? Right then. Follow me! Firs' years! This way!"
The giant man led the group of shivering first years off the platform and down a dark, narrow path through the thick trees. They slipped and slid as they navigated the poorly lit route, sticking close to the lantern swinging ahead of them, and the man's voice as he rattled onto them in his broad accent. After a short while, the path opened up to a small, stony bank that faded into a perfectly still lake that mirrored the sky.
A collective 'ooh' went out across the first years as the stepped onto the bank, as there, jutting from the other side of the lake on a striking cliff, was Hogwarts. The castle was a collection of turrets, spirals and towers that imprinted itself against the night sky, its window glowing warmly, and Harry couldn't help but feel as though it was welcoming them home.
"No more than four to a boat!" the man yelled, stomping over to the water's edge.
Harry blinked, tearing his gaze away from the castle to see a small fleet of rowboats.
"Come on!"
The first years moved forward, dispersing into the boats. Harry found himself sitting in a boat with a bushy haired girl, a ginger boy he suspected was a Weasley, and a slight boy with raven-hair and emerald eyes that rivalled Harry's own. Harry and the raven stared at each other for a few moments, and Harry found himself feeling an unexplainable tug towards the stranger, before the raven looked away and the feeling snapped. Thoroughly unsettled, Harry turned his gaze back to Hogwarts.
"Forward!" the man yelled.
With a small jolt, the boats leapt forward and began to glide across the lake's glass surface. Harry gripped the side of the boat with his hand out of instinct at the sudden movement, before relaxing. A small flutter of excited nerves bloomed within him as the castle grew closer. He felt like a character from a faerie tale.
"Heads down!"
They ducked their heads, eyes widening as they passed through a curtain of ivy into a hidden cavern that Harry suspected sat under Hogwarts itself. The boats moored themselves on another small bank, and they clambered out, whilst the giant man checked the boats.
"Anyone lost a toad?" he asked, his loud voice booming in the cavern as he held up a green toad that the fanciful side of Harry imagined to be a cursed prince.
"Trevor!" a round-faced boy cried, rushing out of the small crowd and to the man, hands outstretched.
Once the toad, Trevor, had been safely returned to his owner, the man led them out of the cavern and across the damp lawn, darkened by the castle's shadow. They walked the length of a long wall, and up a short flight of steps, before coming to a halt in front of two, huge oak doors. The man raised a large fist and knocked.
The knock seemed to resound deep within the castle and Harry shivered. The doors swung open inwards to reveal a stern looking witch, dressed in a deep colour the shade of green clovers. She looked down at them all.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," the man stated, proudly.
"Thank you, Hagrid," the witch said. She stepped aside. "In," she commanded.
Nervously, they obeyed, flooding inside. Warmth washed over them, and Harry blinked rapidly at the sudden change in light. Torches lined the smooth stone walls, lending both light and heat, and illuminated a large entrance hall. Professor McGonagall closed the doors, before turning to them all.
"Follow me."
The professor led them across the entrance hall, and into a small room, where they had to pack close together in order to fit. Professor McGonagall stood at the head of them all, watching as they peered around.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she greeted. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, whilst you are here, your house will be something like your family. You will have classes together, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.
"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourself up as much as you can while you are waiting."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, double-checking there weren't any stains on her robes.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," continued Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." She left the room.
"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" a girl a little behind him asked.
"Some sort of test, I think," the redhead Harry had shared a boat with said, frowning slightly. "Fred – my brother – says it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. A test? In front of the whole school? But he barely knew any magic, and, whilst he had read his textbooks, he could hardly say he knew them by heart. Unless it was a test of personality? That made the most sense. After all, the Houses were all separated by traits: Gryffindors were brave and chivalrous; Ravenclaws were witty and loved learning; Hufflepuffs were loyal and hard-working and Slytherins were cunning and ambitious. Harry relaxed a little bit. If it was on personality that wouldn't be so bad. And he personally felt that all of the houses had pretty good traits to have. Regardless of the stigma.
Several people suddenly screamed. Harry near jumped a foot in the air, whirling around to see what was wrong.
About twenty ghosts had just passed through the room's back wall. Shimmering white and partially transparent, they glided through the air, talking amongst themselves – not noticing the assembled first years.
What appeared to be a ghost of a monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance."
"My dear Friar," a ghost with a ruff began, "haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name, and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?" The ghost had suddenly noticed them all.
Nobody answered.
"New students!" said the Friar, beaming from ear to ear. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"
Harry, along with a few others, nodded mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" the Friar continued. "My old house you know."
"Move along now," interrupted a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."
Professor McGonagall had returned. The ghosts, under her firm gaze, floated away through the wall opposite from which they had arrived.
"Now," the Professor caught back their attention, "form a line, and follow me."
Nerves running rife within him again, Harry got into line between a girl with golden hair and a boy, who's long legs were oddly disproportionate to the rest of him. They were led out of the room, across the entrance hall, and through a pair of double doors.
In all of his reading, Harry had never imagined such a hall. It was lit by thousands upon thousands of candles that floated in the air above four long tables, which were mostly filled up with other, older students. At the top of the hall was another long table, positioned a little higher than the rest and perpendicular to them. It was here where the Hogwarts staff sat, looking down at the rest of the hall with varying expressions – most of them bemused and positive. Dotted amongst it all were the ghosts that had terrified them just moments ago, shining a misty silver. And then, perhaps most impressively, instead of a ceiling there was a velvety ceiling decorated in stars. It was as though the Great Hall opened up to the heavens themselves.
"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," whispered a voice a little ahead of him in the line. "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
Harry tore his eyes away from the spectacular work of magic as Professor McGonagall placed a rickety stool in front of them. On top of the stool she placed a frayed, browned wizard's hat that Harry was hard pressed to imagine was anything under 200years-old. He quickly glanced around and noticed that the rest of the hall was now staring at the hat, so he returned his gaze to it and stared too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence, then the hat twitched and spontaneously burst into song:
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
"But don't judge on what you see,
"I'll eat myself if you can find,
"A smarter hat than me.
"You can keep your bowlers black,
"Your top hats sleek and tall,
"For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
"And I can cap them all.
"There's nothing hidden in your head,
"The Sorting Hat can't see,
"So, try me on and I will tell you,
"Where you ought to be.
"You might belong in Gryffindor,
"Where dwell the brave at heart,
"Their daring, nerve and chivalry,
"Set Gryffindors apart;
"You might belong in Hufflepuff,
"Where they are just and loyal,
"Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,
"And unafraid of toil;
"Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
"If you've a ready mind,
"Where those of wit and learning,
"Will always find their kind;
"Or perhaps in Slytherin
"You'll make your real friends,
"Those cunning folks use any means
"To achieve their ends.
"So, put me on! Don't be afraid!
"And don't get in a flap!
"You're in safe hands (though I have none),
"For I'm a thinking cap!"
The whole hall burst into applause and it bowed to each of the four tables before it, then became quite still once again. Harry blinked. 'Did that really just happen?' he wondered.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said, her voice ringing clear. She paused. "Abbott, Hannah!"
Harry watched as a girl with blonde ponytails shuffled out of line, put on the Hat and sat down. There was a moment's pause, before,
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Harry let himself drift a little, suddenly dreading his own name coming up. People were bound to mistake him for the Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived. He'd have to set them straight, but he never had been good at…well anything social. He was socially awkward to the core – not helped by the constant having to explain that he was not the famous Harry Potter, just a Harry Potter.
"Potter, Harry!"
Internally groaning, Harry reluctantly left the line to the backdrop of an outburst of whispers: "Potter, did she say?" and "The Harry Potter?" being the most common. The last thing Harry saw before the Hat fell past his eyes was the entirety of the Hall craning to get a good look at him. He sighed.
'Hmm, well that is an awkward name to have, isn't it, Mr Potter?' the Hat chuckled in his mind, startling him slightly. 'It will be difficult being your own person when the saviour of the wizarding world shares your name.' The Hat paused. 'Oh? What is this? You wish to shine…'
Harry squirmed uncomfortably. 'Yes. For my mother.'
'And what lengths would you go to, to shine, Mr Potter?' the Hat asked.
'I'd do anything to make her proud,' he mentally whispered, his eyes suddenly stinging. 'I promised her.'
'Yes,' the Hat said sombrely. 'From what I can see in your mind, Ravenclaw or Slytherin would suit you best. Ravenclaw because of your love of books and learning. Slytherin for your ambition, and that cunning streak you hide so well behind your fantastical ideologies. Any preference, Mr Potter?'
'Not really,' he admitted. 'They both seem okay.'
The Hat chuckled. 'Most students these days beg me to put them anywhere put Slytherin. It's nice to see a change – I'm sure Salazar would be proud to have you in his House.'
'Does that mean…'
"SLYTHERIN!"
Harry took the Hat from his head, placed it on the stool, before turning out to face the hall. It seemed to be in a state of shock. Feeling hot all of a sudden, he all but fled to what he hoped was the Slytherin table and sat down – desperately trying to hide from the eyes that followed him.
Professor McGonagall gave a cough, before saying, "Potter, Harry!"
Harry watched as the raven-haired boy he had felt that strange tug towards stepped out from the line. His backdrop was to: "Wait, what?" and "There's two of them?" Harry couldn't help but feel a little bad for the mess he'd caused but swallowed it down and watched with the rest of the school as the second Harry Potter put on the Hat. There was a long stretch of silence – lasting almost five minutes – before the Hat yelled,
"SLYTHERIN!"
Uproar. Slytherins clapped, appearing a little confused, whilst some Gryffindors shouted, "HOW COME THEY GET BOTH OF THEM!" and both Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs alike broke out into bewildered and disappointed gossip, no doubt hoping that Harry Potter (preferable the famous one) would be in their House.
Harry gave Famous Harry a nervous smile as he sat down next to him. He received a wolfish grin in return. Famous Harry leant in and whispered into Harry's ear,
"Why not make the most it? Think of the fun we can have if we don't tell them which Harry is which."
Harry swallowed. It was just his luck that Famous Harry thought that they could use this turn of events to prank the school. Just his bloody luck.