1.
To Speak.
Harry stared out the window, interested to see if he could light the trees on fire just by looking at them.
They were offending him.
Really.
And he was curious to see what he could do with his new-found magical ability. Of course, he wasn't sure what wizards could normally do because the moment he had returned with his school supplies the Dursleys had taken and burned them.
Harry hadn't been shocked.
At all.
It was something he had really expected.
They seemed to take a lot of fun out of setting his things on fire; it was a main reason he was trying to burn the innocent plants in the first place.
He heard a reprimanding hoot from his owl, who seemed to know what he was trying to do. He had named her Death Bringer, she had looked far too happy about the name for his liking. Even though he hadn't actually told her her name. Death Bringer, or Debby as he nicknamed her, seemed to just know things. It was oddly endearing, if not a little creepy.
But, Debby was the only mother figure he had in his life so he convinced himself not to set fire to her as well.
Harry honestly wasn't too sure what to think about the whole 'hey you're a wizard' thing. He kind of suspected something like that, but had never really thought it would have gotten him away from the Dursleys. He supposed that was the positive thing about it, along with the fact that magic could probably give him some protection. But, on the downside he was some kind of celebrity, and people found it in their duty to actively stare at him.
And try to talk to him.
Which was annoying since Harry hated all people. Probably because all the people he had met so far had been real ass-hats, and he had decided at some point that trying to understand the prejudiced and hateful views of others, oh what a terrible thing, was just not worth the energy. Not worth the energy to care. Not worth the energy to feel.
And not worth the energy to talk.
He supposed his 'selective mutism' had begun when he was five. His 'family' hadn't taken too kindly to him getting kind words from his teachers and had saw it fit to tell him what a disgrace he was, how he was a cheater, and that he should never have spoken to them in the first place.
And then promptly shoved him in his cupboard.
Harry had of course cried. Then got a little angry. Then felt a lot afraid. And then eventually decided that in the nature of self preservation speaking was a no go, taking their words to heart. So, from then on, he hadn't spoken. His teacher had missed his insightful questions, but let the matter rest.
The school nurse had diagnosed him with elective mutism, but Harry didn't think it was the case. The difference between the two, elective and selective, is that someone with elective mutism could not speak, no matter the case, most likely due to a traumatic event. Whereas, with selective mutism, it can be not speaking in public, only speaking to close friends, or only when one is comfortable.
Harry had never had a friend or been particularly comfortable, but he was still pretty sure that he could speak in the right circumstances.
Oh! Did he just see some smoke on those leaves?
Harry, reluctantly, turned away from his attempted tree burning when he heard a soft rap on the door of the compartment. After a few moments, where he didn't reply in the slightest, a gangly looking red-head walked into the compartment before saying,
"Have you seen Harry Potter around here? He's my best friend and is meant to be on the train with us."
Harry was slightly bemused that this red-head he had never met was really his best friend. Had they met? Had Harry forgotten? It wasn't likely. But, he decided to humour the boy, and gently shook his head, letting his hair cover his scar just in case, since a lot of people seemed to recognise him because of the scar. The red-headed boy sneered lightly before turning around, shutting the door, and walking away.
Harry wasn't sure if he had offended him somehow, and he couldn't muster up the effort to think too long about it.
He turned to look at Death Bringer, who looked back warmly much to his confusion, and gave her a questioning look. She simply tilted her head to the side, before promptly turning back to the door to act as a sort of guard. Her cage, of course, had been taken by the Dursleys as well, and when they failed to burn it (because metal was an extremely difficult thing to burn) they proceeded to repeatedly drop it from the window of Dudley's toy room, taking great pleasure out of that as well. Miraculously, Debby had managed to fly out in time, and spent the month primly sitting on a tree a few houses down, hunting mice for her food.
Harry wasn't sure whether he should have been impressed or scared, so he chose neither.
Breaking him out of his thoughts he heard yet another knock on the compartment door, and turned once again, wondering if he would strain his neck muscles from all the twisting about. To his meaningless surprise, it was a brown bushy haired girl, with wide eyes and buck teeth. She was obnoxiously tall. Although, everyone was tall compared to him because of his stunted growth, and he preferred, in perhaps a Dursley manner, to think that he was the normal one and everyone else was just abnormal in size.
It was the same kind of logic that locking a child in a cupboard was normal.
Of course everyone else had the wrong idea about child abuse.
Harry noticed the book in Tall Girl's hand and couldn't help but feel a tinge of envy. She had books that weren't burnt! Lucky duck. But he supposed that everyone else on the train probably also had books, so he could either be envious of everyone or none of them.
He ended up leaving the decision for later.
"Hi there, I'm helping a boy look for his toad. You wouldn't happen to have seen it per chance?"
Harry shook his head, even though he had seen a toad not too long ago. It had wondered into his compartment, even though the door had been closed, bloody ghost toads, and sat next to him for a while. After croaking just to piss Harry off Death Bringer had started to look at it in a hungry I-will-bring-you-death sort of way, as she was bound to do as the bringer of death, and it had scampered on out of there.
Of course Harry didn't tell anyone that.
Tall Girl nodded, waited for a moment in the doorway, probably expecting him to start a conversation or something, before awkwardly coughing. Harry blankly looked at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the window, because it was probably a lot more interesting, finding immense satisfaction in the harrumph and glare he could almost feel that she sent him before leaving.
Honestly. Children were so dramatic, weren't they?
Wasn't he a child...
He was wondering, from then on, if perhaps people would stop entering his compartment, only to be interrupted by an ironic, and possibly spiteful, knock on the door. Harry lazily turned his head, glancing at Debby all but once, before he saw the newest figure enter.
A blonde boy.
The same blonde boy he had met in the robe shop, a month earlier. Shame all his robes had been burnt. Actually, Harry didn't really care, clothes were a bother anyway. Quite like shoes. He wondered if they would expel him if he just didn't wear shoes at all.
He distinctly remembered this blonde boy being annoyed at him for some reason. Something about him 'not treating a Malfoy like that', even though Harry hadn't done anything. Although, he mused, perhaps it had been his not doing anything that had offended the tall little chap. Could it had been rude not to talk? Why, that was unheard of. Talking was just another thing for someone to say 'don't do'.
Harry really didn't like mixed messages and clashing logic.
The blonde boy took one look at him and then promptly turned up his nose and left.
Good.
Harry could finally have some peace and quiet.
He soon gave up on setting the trees on fire outside, as the train always moved away from them too fast for him to focus, and settled on trying to set the seat on fire. As it was probably an easier thing to do. Sadly, to Harry's disappointment, he couldn't do it and he had only managed to make the seat slightly warmer. Perhaps his magic had something about self preservation, and was not lighting the seat next to him on fire because he was so close to it.
He sighed and looked back over at Debby, who was steadfastly not looking at him, but the door instead. When the owl eventually did look at him, Harry made sure to glare. Sadly Death Bringer simply looked at him with a knowing pity, thinking it was some kind of defence mechanism.
Bloody owls.
After a long staring contest the scarlet train eventually stopped, and Harry stood and left his compartment. As he followed the other students off the train he saw that everyone else was already wearing their school robes, and quite a few people were looking at his rags in disgust, pity and confusion. Harry decided to ignore him, as he did to all people, and simply shrugged his shoulders repeatedly, in the hopes of dislodging Debby from her tight grip perched upon him. She was hooting soothingly at him, as if he needed to be soothed!
She may be his mother but Harry felt like he was being smothered.
Honestly.
As Harry was following the other first years, he made his way to an empty boat, in the hopes that he wouldn't have to deal with anyone. But, his wish was not to be granted, as a tall blonde haired girl with a chubby looking face, and a tall brown haired boy with the same sort of chubby face hopped into his boat. Were they siblings? The blonde girl smiled at him and said,
"Hi. I'm Hannah. I didn't see you on the train. Who are you?"
Harry stared at her blankly, until she grew uncomfortable and looked away. He wasn't entirely sure what to do about this 'Hannah' girl. What did she want?
He decided ignoring her would be best and spent his time looking out towards the castle as it came into view. Well. That was cool. Who didn't want to live in a castle? Perhaps Harry could somehow convince the headmaster or principle or something to let him stay all year 'round, that way he didn't have to return to the Dursleys and have to buy school equipment twice over every summer.
It really was just a blatant waste of money.
Harry turned to look at the brown haired boy, who was currently holding a toad in his hands for dear life. He decided to name the kid Steve, since he hadn't introduced himself, and let 'Hannah' keep her name, since he thought it was a terrible name anyway.
"Ah! Trevor no!"
Harry turned around to see Trevor hop out of Steve's hands and out into the lake. Freezing cold lake. Freezing cold magical lake; probably full of monsters. Well. That toad was dead. But, it was a ghost toad, so perhaps it didn't matter at all. Steve looked on the verge of tears and 'Hannah' quickly comforted him. Harry rolled his eyes and continued looking at the majestic lights of the castle.
After a few more minutes of travelling with his own thoughts he felt himself be tapped on the shoulder. Harry sighed and turned to the offending finger, firmly attached to Steve. Steve said,
"Hi. I'm Neville-"
Ha! Yeah right. Whatever. Steve.
"-are you excited about Hogwarts?"
Harry narrowed his eyes, and resisted the urge to jump out of the boat and swim to shore. Steve didn't seem to notice his suspicion and mistrust as he simply continued talking.
Perhaps it was nervous ramblings?
"I hope to get into Griffindor, don't you? I've never been very brave but my gran says I have to get in, and I wouldn't want to disappoint her. She'd never let me come home if I got into Hufflepuff."
'Hannah', the girl who had previously helped him, and seemed to raise his confidence, suddenly huffed angrily and glared. Steve's eyes widened, and Harry resisted the urge to grin madly, as he suspected that 'Hannah' might throw Steve overboard, which Harry could definitely agree with. The threatened party seemed to get the same idea, jumped up like he had been stabbed with a hot poker, and sat stiffly next to Harry who had decided to ignore his existence, glancing nervously at 'Hannah' every now and again.
The rest of the boat trip was spent in tense silence, which Harry didn't mind at all, 'Hannah' sending him speculating looks every now and again. As if she wasn't sure whether he was like Steve or not. Harry simply ignored her, and Steve, and settled for trying to set the boat on fire.
Was he a pyromaniac?
...And was that a bad thing?
Their lovely trip soon came to an end, and the boat docked at the shore. Harry slunk off the wooden board, and onto the dry land, wondering what on earth was going to happen next. But... the little enthusiasm and interest he had possessed in that moment quickly left him, as he found after years of the Dursleys getting him things just so they could take them away the next day had stumped his emotional growth.
It was like some sort of suction tube inside him which drained any emotions about happiness, excitement or curiosity for just about anything.
Oh well.
They followed a very large man, who Harry had forgotten the name of... and probably had never bothered to learn in the first place, up to the entrance of the castle. Brown Beard spared him a few glances, especially his rags, and Harry realised that he was the one who had taken him to Diagon Alley to buy his now-destroyed school supplies. He shrugged at him and continued on, wondering vaguely about the glares that both Red Head, Blonde Head and Tall Girl were sending him.
Were they his enemies or something?
The group finally reached the large stone entrance to the castle and Brown Beard opened the large door, the hinges making an audible groan, which took Harry slightly off guard. He didn't like groaning sounds. He wasn't exactly sure why, they just reminded him of... injuries? Eh. His mother caught his distress and quickly nuzzled into his cheek, hooting soothingly to him, and Harry couldn't help the small smile that filled him inside.
Of course to everyone else his face was completely blank.
But Death Bringer just seemed to know he was grateful. She was his mother after all, it would have been ridiculous if she didn't know all his emotions and thoughts... right?
As they walked into the castle a woman wearing a long flowing robes, like everyone else, was standing there. She was thin, pale, and had an ovally sort of face. There were a few frown lines marring around her mouth and brow, a few wrinkles here and there, but she seemed reasonably young. She seemed like a stern lady, her bun tied up tightly upon her head like some sort of buzzer, and Harry couldn't help but slip her into Aunt Petunia's role.
Bossy. Rude. Insulting.
Harry realised it probably wasn't fair to judge a book by its cover. Or even to judge people because of his own convoluted ideas that people would automatically fill the roles of his relatives, like some type of play. But, he honestly didn't care if it was fair or not the moment he saw the stern lady's face twist in distaste once she saw his clothes.
Insulting check.
Beard Man spared her a few words, but Harry wasn't really paying attention. He was trying to find the appropriate name for this Aunt Petunia character. Perhaps a flower name? His mother was named after a flower as well. Yes. That would do nicely. This woman was now named Violet.
Harry snapped back to reality once the group started walking, and Violet began to give them a tour of the halls. She walked briskly, glancing at him every now and again, as if he were a 'trouble maker', and explaining the halls as she went.
"Hello and welcome to Hogwarts, the school for the magically gifted. I'm Professor McGonagall-"
So her name was Violet McGonagall...
"-, the Transfiguration teacher here. Which is the magic of changing one thing into something else. You will be spending the next seven years at this school, learning about magic, how to control it, how to use it safely, and what jobs you may want to pursue in the magical world."
Harry's eyes narrowed. Jobs?
Despicable.
"At Hogwarts there are approximately one hundred and forty two stair cases, and counting, seven floors, and an innumerable amount of corridors and class rooms. There are four houses, each with their own dorms, which once you have been sorted will be shown to. Hogwarts is a magical castle, meaning that within every crevasse is magic, because of this it has been rumoured that it is, in fact, sentient. This is of course incorrect, and anyone who tells you that is confused or trying to trick you."
Harry's eyes narrowed again. Rule number three of living with the Dursleys was to never trust the word of a Dursley, Violet as the Aunt Petunia replacement, was the designated Dursley. If she said that Hogwarts was not sentient, then Harry believed it was.
The group finally stopped, for some reason, and Violet turned to them, her face as stern as ever. They were situated outside two large doors, unrecognisable noise coming from the other side. Debby hooted to him again, sensing his unease, and Harry glanced at her gratefully. Violet finished,
"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, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts.-"
Oh great. His family. But, Harry should have expected something like this. He already had his aunt after all. He would certainly be sorted into her house! It was just his luck.
"You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are Griffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."
She said the last house like it was something icky on the bottom of her shoe. Suddenly Harry had the urge to be sorted there, just because Violet didn't like it.
"Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding wizards and witches. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking-"
Violet looked at Harry, as if expecting him to jump up and break the rules in that very moment.
"-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 yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."
She looked at him again, the same way he had been looking at the trees on the train, but with slightly less I-want-to-set-you-on-fire in her gaze and more I-want-to-set-your-clothes-on-fire. Which, really, Harry could get behind. Then she turned and strode through the double doors, the noise from the other side increasing momentarily as the sound barrier was reduced, before muffling down again as the door closed once more. Harry felt goosebumps under his rags. Why was it so noisy?
He stopped himself from laughing, or making any noise at all, when he heard Red Head say with pure terror etched into his voice,
"My brothers told me we had to face a troll!"
Harry just ignored him. Really? A troll. Like they even exist!
A few people in the group looked like they were taking him seriously and gulped nervously or tugged on their sleeves, a few edged away as if he were mental, a few snorted under their breath, but most just ignored him. Blonde Head sneered,
"Don't be an idiot, Weasel breath, they're not going to make us fight a ruddy troll."
Ah. Red Head's real name was Weasel Breath. No wonder he didn't introduce himself on the train. Harry thought freak was an embarrassing name but Weasel Breath? That just took the bucket, didn't it?
Weasel Breath turned red in anger,
"I'll have you know, you-"
But then stopped, like everyone else, as a cold enveloped the room. Screams suddenly filled the room, and Harry turned to the source stiffly, only to find transparent people floating about and having a conversation. Honestly, these children were just so rude- one of them swooped and Harry quickly ducked out of the way- there was no need to call these people ghosts just because they were looking a little blue and floaty. One would think- another swooped and Harry had to dive, falling to the floor and hurting his elbow slightly- that these children didn't understand how much words could hurt.
Harry paused.
Was being called a ghost insulting?
...Hmm
He didn't get to finish that train of thought as the doors creaked open again, and Violet stepped through, eyes twitching slightly in irritation at the scene of almost everyone on the floor, there to avoid the 'ghosts' antics. She lifted her head primly in a I'm-better-than-you sort of way, and Harry turned to see his mother doing the same thing, if not better, and looking upwards at Violet in distaste. Because even sitting on Harry's shoulder, who was incredibly short, she was not taller than her.
Harry's mother could obviously see an Aunt Petunia a mile off, and was there to protect him.
Violet beckoned them through, and they hastily made a single line, following her like sheep to a shepherd. As Harry entered the hall the first thing he noticed was the abundance of people, which made him scowl inside, whilst still keeping his face blank. The next thing he noticed was how the sky was open above them, exactly how the night sky would look. The third thing he noticed was the table at the end of the hall, filled with teachers, all of them looking at the newbies in different states of boredom to interest to hunger?
Maybe the one who was scowling at him, with black hair and too-pale skin, was a vampire?
Actual hunger perhaps.
Harry vaguely heard Tall Girl say something about the ceiling, but he was more focused, now, on the hat looming at the end of the hall. Sitting on a three legged stool, was that structurally sound?
Soon enough, Harry reached the stool, noticing a lot of looks in his direction. Perhaps it was the rags? Everyone else, literally everyone else, was wearing robes. There were a few confused and concerned looks coming from not only students but also teachers. Perhaps, most noticeably the vampire. He didn't look happy at all, quite worried in fact. Wasn't he scowling before?
Well its not his fault! The ones to blame were whoever placed him with the Dursleys. Harry didn't blame the Dursleys because they were always like that, it was just who they were, one cannot change them.
Brown Beard! Brown Beard brought him back so... he should have to pay for new robes.
Whatever.
People stopped focusing so much on him and more on the hat, for some reason. Then something vaguely unexpected happened and the hat opened its mouth and began to sing. What the hell!
"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 Griffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Griffindors 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!"
Alright then. That didn't make much sense. And why were they listening to the hat sing anyway it was-
Oh great. Cheering. That certainly hurt his ears. Harry wasn't used to loud noises, spending most of his days in the peaceful and foreboding quiet of his cupboard.
Violet pulled out a scroll and started to call out names,
"Abbott, Hannah."
'Hannah' stepped forwards, so her name had been Hannah, surprising, and sat on the rickety stool. Violet placed the hat upon her head and after about five seconds it called out,
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
The hat seemed excited, for sure, to shout like that. Perhaps it didn't get the chance to go out much. The next person called was,
"Bones, Susan."
And after that Harry lost interest. Drifting off into his own mind and chuckling inside himself as Debby glared at everyone reproachfully. He wondered for a moment why the only other people carrying their pets with them were Weasel Breath, his rat, Steve, his toad, and some dark haired girl, her cat. Everyone else didn't have any pets with them. Did they not have pets at all? Or did someone steal all of their pets?
When Harry heard,
"Longbottom Neville."
Be called out he couldn't help but be intrigued. Then he saw Steve step up to the stool.
Who had he paid to change his name? Goodness gracious. Steve thought he could pretend to be a Neville. Who was he trying to fool?
And why?
Harry was suddenly three-hundred percent more suspicious of 'Neville', and had decided he would probably end up being the most annoying of the other people there. His number one suspect for pet stealing was suddenly Steve.
The hat stayed on his head for almost thirty seconds before it called out,
"GRIFFINDOR!"
It was an almost hesitant call, but Evil Steve was happy. Was that a good thing?
Harry tuned out the world again, looking up at the ceiling, and started to count the stars. Was this really enchanted? Could magic do something so beautiful? Harry would need to find out what else it could do.
He was yet again, rudely, broken out of his stupor when he felt his mother peck him and give a pointed look to the stool. The hall seemed to be holding its breath, for some reason, and Harry simply shrugged and payed attention. Violet repeated,
"Potter, Harry. Please come up to the stool."
Harry nodded, inside himself, in understanding, and quickly walked up to the death trap. The school looked quite shocked and there were a few murmurs and shouts of,
"Is that him?"
"He looks a bit... thin."
"And look at his clothes!"
"Its not really him, he's so... emotionless and creepy looking."
"Why does he look so sad?"
"The Boy Who Lived!"
"Do you reckon the books were right? He looks a bit mental to me."
Harry sat down on the stool, waiting for the hat to be placed on his head, and turned to Violet. Who was standing looking quite shocked and quite pale. He turned his gaze to Weasel Breath, still in line, who was... Was that anger? He was angry for some reason. And then to Blonde Head, who sat at the table with green banners, looking pouty and upset. And then finally to Tall Girl, who was at the red bannered table, looking almost excited.
So. All enemies accounted for.
Harry turned to the vampire, who was looking... confused. No longer concerned, but as if his mind was fighting with itself. And back to Violet, who was finally shaking herself out of her shock. The hat fell down in front of his eyes and all he could see was blackness and all he could hear was the silence of the hall breaking into whispers, and slowly growing louder, into a threatening rumble like thunder on the horizon. Suddenly Death Bringer's tight grip on his shoulder was all the more welcomed.
Mr. Potter, a pleasure to meet a mind like yours.
Hi... Disembodied voice. Don't eat me?
I wouldn't dream of it, and I am the hat, not a carnivorous disembodied voice.
Cool. So. Is this stool safe? Is three legs structurally sound?
I think so. I've never actually been asked that. Well, lets get on with the Sorting shall we? Quite a nice mind... yes... yes... Very intelligent, but you don't care about the knowledge. You see it as a bother. You understand what would be wise but you don't care about acting with your wisdom. Not Ravenclaw then. Cunning, yes, but ambitious? No. You don't want anything except... to maybe not have to return to your abusive relatives, and to live in relative peace. Not very ambitious, and you don't really care much about your goals. Definitely not Slytherin, and I fear what would become of that house if you entered it. Courage? I suppose, but it is more no regard for your own safety than courage. And you never did stand up against the bullies did you? Resignation. A sad trait for a child so young to possess. Saving others? You hate everyone. Have never met a person you liked.
I don't mind the vampire. He's interesting. I like puzzles.
Ah. That too. Seeing people as either puzzles to solve, or enemies. And I assure you that Professor McGonagall is nothing like your aunt. Her first name is Minerva.
Violet. And I have a mother now! She is not a puzzle!
Your mother is an owl, not a person at all.
Oh.
Whatever. Hufflepuff might do you some good. The other houses would annoy you too much, I fear, and you need some friends. I do see loyalty, but you have never had anyone to give it too. Maybe when you find someone right you can give them that fierce protection you harbour. And hard work, yes, you can work hard, but you simply need the motivation to do it. Yes. It better be "HUFFLE-"
A new voice entered his head, very different to the hat's voice.
Sorry about that. I must have made a mistake. "GRIFFINDOR"
As the hat was lifted off Harry's head he could hear the calls of,
Meddling old coot he doesn't belong th-
And then the cheers drowned out his thoughts and he was led over to the table with Tall Girl and Evil Steve. How did he end up here? As he sat down, most of Griffindor turned to him, faces expectant, excited, confused and annoyed. Some black boy, sitting across from him, who he decided to call Jim, said,
"Hi, I'm Dean Thomas-"
Too late Jim.
"Are you really Harry Potter?"
Harry tilted his head to the side for a moment, interested in how he might not be Harry Potter. He definitely wanted to deny his name and say he was a 'ghost' or something, but he realised, with dismay, that he still couldn't talk. Normally he liked to convince himself that he chose not to talk but... but... He felt... Couldn't breathe... Hands on fire... Shut up... So many people... Everywhere... Everywhere...
His mother quickly hopped down from his shoulder and into his lap, hooting worriedly and nipping him, hoping to push him out of his panic ridden state. Selective mutism, is an anxiety disorder in which a person who is normally capable of speech cannot speak in specific situations or to specific people. Harry couldn't speak. He couldn't. His heart felt like it was tearing out of his body. His mouth felt dry and his eyes stared unseeingly at his empty plate. He was uncomfortable. He didn't know these people. Didn't trust them. Didn't trust anyone.
Hurt... Hurt... They could hurt him. And he wasn't allowed to speak. And... And...
"Hello? Are you alright?"
Harry had always convinced himself that it was his choice not to speak. Now he knew it was not. He couldn't. He was... scared.
Tall Girl's voice struck through his consciousness. Her question finally making some sense. Harry blinked to himself, returning his gaze to the people around him. He nodded minutely, just enough so she could see, and then returned looking at Jim. Who was looking at him with narrowed eyes. Harry sighed inside himself, outside was a stone cold exterior, and turned his gaze back to the Sorting, petting his mother as she sat in his lap, nuzzling at his concave stomach.
Harry was too thin.
The hat called out "GRIFFINDOR" and Weasel Breath jumped down from the stool and walked over, plunking himself next to Harry. Two other red heads which Harry decided to call Mole and No Mole, as they were identical except for a tiny mole, congratulated Weasel Breath, smiling at him in a kind fashion. Harry decided he liked them, they could fill the role as the flowers in his garden. He hated gardening but liked his flowers, they were mischievous like Mole and No Mole.
Weasel Breath turned to him with a smile on his face, the face of anger gone from before, and said,
"Harry, why didn't you tell me who you were on the train?"
There was a slightly threatening edge to his voice and Harry realised in that moment that he had two, possibly three, enemies at the table. Weasel Breath, Tall Girl and maybe Evil Steve. Harry wasn't entirely sure if Evil Steve was going to be a problem, but he decided to look out for him just in case. Harry didn't answer Weasel Breath, as his very presence seemed to make his throat close up more, and instead turned back to the Sorting where the hat called out "SLYTHERIN" and a tall, elegant, feminine looking black boy, flew off the stool and glided over to the green bannered table.
Did angels exist in real life?
...And why was he asking?
Harry turned back to Weasel Breath and saw his smile faltering somewhat, his eyes had a dangerous gleam, and he wasn't sure what to do. Should he... run away? He did that with Dudley's gang. Was Weasel Breath the Dudley from this world? The red head said,
"Harry?-"
Why did everyone keep calling him by his first name? No one ever did that.
"-Why aren't you saying anything?"
This was the time when Tall Girl felt it her place to intervene. She said, some sort of excited and curious light coming into her eye,
"Are you mute?"
Harry turned to her, interested to see if his enemy was in some way plotting his downfall. Then she did some weird hand gestures and he tilted his head in confusion. She said,
"Sign language? Do you know sign language?"
Harry had no clue what she was talking about and shook his head. Why was he being so responsive with her? He never reacted to people! Although people didn't want him to react. Harry looked down at Death Bringer, seeing she was ready to spring up and defend him from all these new threats if need be, and continued petting her. Tall Girl said,
"Are you deaf? Or just mute?"
Harry didn't deign her with a response, instead continuing to pet Debby. He realised that not responding to her when he didn't look at her would convince her that he was deaf, and that he could read lips or something. So he wasn't surprised when she next said,
"He must be deaf, I think we should go to a professor."
Jim said,
"No wonder he didn't tell us who he was, he couldn't!"
Weasel Breath said,
"Still. On the train I asked him if he had seen Harry Potter and he shook his head. I don't know why."
Tall Girl scolded him,
"He was probably shy!"
Harry was a little confused. Were his enemies fighting amongst themselves? Did that mean that his enemies could bind together against him, or him against them, because of the whole 'an enemy of my enemy is my friend' thing. And he was enemied with everyone! (except maybe the vampire)
Did that mean he could be allied with everyone too, against everyone else?
Gosh.
Harry decided to tune out the rest of their conversation, where they were probably plotting his demise, and turned to look suspiciously at Evil Steve. He had obviously been plotting himself, so silent and cunning. Harry was twenty three percent more suspicious just because of that. Harry pulled his mother slightly closer to himself. He wouldn't get her too!
Old Beard stood up from his throne. It was a literal throne, talk about arrogance. And addressed the hall. Harry turned, curiosity at who Old Beard was.
"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwick! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
Harry simply sighed inside himself and turned to the table, watching in vague amusement at the faces of awe on all the other first years as food suddenly appeared. At every table. He overheard one of the fifth years saying,
"I still don't get how he can conjure a feast. No one can conjure a feast! Its one of the laws of conjuration; food cannot be conjured."
Another fifth year said,
"He's Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard alive. Of course he can conjure a feast."
Someone else piped up,
"Its house elves, you dim wits, Dumbledore is just trying to look cool."
The second fifth year said,
"House elves? At Hogwarts?"
Hmm... So Old Beard's name was Dumbledore. Normally Harry couldn't believe something like that but it... did seem to suit him somehow. Dumbledore. And conjuring a feast, that just seemed... manipulative. Somehow. Harry wasn't sure how it was manipulative yet, but it was. Especially taking the credit for something these mysterious 'house elves' did.
Harry looked up to see adoration in his fellow's eyes.
Yes.
Manipulation indeed.
Harry looked about the different foods, wondering what he should eat. Everything was so... rich. So fatty. So meaty. Full of protein. Energy. Sugar.
Food.
Harry hadn't eaten in two days. His stomach was hurting, vaguely, but he barely noticed the hunger pains any more. But all this food... He wouldn't be able to eat it all. Barely any. It was just so... much.
Harry decided he just couldn't eat it. All of it was too rich and thick and layered. His stomach was too delicate for such foods, and he knew, yes he did, if he ate it he would end up sick.
The enemies, and others, didn't pay much attention to him, basically seeing that as he was deaf he couldn't contribute to their childish conversations. Harry didn't care. He hated them anyway. And this gave him more time to himself. His mother cooed sadly to him, and Harry picked up a piece of bacon and fed it to her. Then Debby hooted happily, nuzzling into him again, and Harry felt... contented about finally having a parent to watch over him. Something he had never dreamed of.
After most of the school had had their fill, Harry spending the time looking about the place, sussing out the different tables, Old Beard stepped up from his throne again, to the groan of the other side of the hall (the green bannered people) and began to speak,
"Now, I have some announcements to share with you all. Firstly, I would like to remind you that magic is banned in the hallways, along with Billy Hoppers, Fanged Frisbees, Bang Crackers and 312 other items. The list of banned items is posted on the common room notice board, done so by our own Argus Filch. Secondly, is the Forbidden Forest. It is that, forbidden. I thought it prudent to make first years aware of this fact, and perhaps remind upper years that need it. Lastly, one who enters the third floor corridor should only do so if they wish to die a very painful death. Heed this warning."
So much for a magical school that doesn't have death corridors. It was only too much to hope for.
Old Beard's smile was too bright after that, making Harry just slightly less suspicious of him than Evil Steve.
"Now, let us all sing the school song."
What followed, in Harry's opinion, was spine freezingly terrifying. So much noise. Everywhere. Everywhere. Even Debby's hooting had a hard time pacifying him. No, Harry had to fold deep in on himself to stop himself from standing up and shrieking like a dying chicken. There was no harmony, no melody, no tempo, nothing but waves of uneven sound hell bent on destroying his will. But he did not back down! He held strong, held onto himself, found solace in the safety of his mutism, and in the end he was... okay.
Although he lost all his respect for Mole and No Mole since they sung the loudest and longest of the whole assembly. Alas, the flowers would have to be someone else, they would have never subjected him to that torture.
When Harry reached up to feel his ears, for some reason, he was surprised when they weren't bleeding. Tall Girl looked a little curious as to why, as the action caught her attention. Anything that caught her attention was sure to lead to disaster, so Harry placed his hands back on Debby as quick as a whip.
Once the territory exploding rainfall of distorted and tortured screams was over, the 'song', Old Beard said, almost tauntingly,
"Ah... Music. A magic in and of itself."
Then he dismissed them.
Harry desperately wanted to strangle the old coot but managed to stop himself, because logically there would probably be magic to stop him and afterwards he would be a murderer.
...Did he care?
Perhaps it could be his new hobby or something. Instead of slowly trying to poison the Dursleys, by adding slightly more food to their meals each time in the hopes they would have a heart attack, he could try to find a way to kill Old Beard. Or perhaps he should just search for someone better, someone more evil, maybe some sort of monster or something.
Evil Steve?
Weasel Breath?
Perhaps Harry was slightly homicidal after years of abuse and emotional repression.
Just a smidge.
Never mind.
Snapping back to reality Harry saw his table standing up around him, and turned to hear another red head calling out,
"Follow me, I'll be showing you to the dorms. Yes yes, follow me first years, I'm the prefect."
As he stood, Debby flew up and perched on his shoulder, using him as some sort of observatory tower so she could keep an eye on everybody else. Harry wasn't sure whether it was insulting to think that all the red heads were related or not, simply because they looked quite similar, but decided to say nothing.
As he was bound to do anyway.
Harry found that he was slightly apathetic to the whole experience of being showed to the dorms. He was used to being given things, keeping them until he grew a sentimental attachment, and then those things being taken away in destructive manners. Honestly, he was a bit shocked that the Dursleys had been so impatient as to burn and destroy all his school things straight away, when it would have been more productive, or destructive, to his psyche to wait a while so he grew to like them. Even just a little.
Now he felt a bit emotionally closed off, as if deep down as a way of coping, his mind expected the Dursleys to burn Hogwarts to the ground. So it was probably better that he didn't grow attached anyway. Harry was already far too attached to his mother, but that was basically unavoidable because he had never really had a mother, that he could remember, so she was impossible not to cherish.
As if solidifying his point Death Bringer took that moment to nuzzle up against his face, almost making him break out in a smile because it was ticklish and gave him a warm fuzzy feeling deep down in his chest. She then hooted worriedly, making him think she could most definitely feel his emotions.
The group walked briskly, led by the possibly-related-to-Weasel-Breath Boy, who constantly carried the sort of 'I'm better than you' expression Aunt Petunia sometimes got when she saw something particularly below her. Like Harry. It made him wonder if perhaps there could be more than one Aunt Petunia at the school, and if perhaps one could also be a boy.
Harry hung at the back of the group, noticing uneasily how Tall Girl kept glancing at him. As if her 'revelation' that he was 'deaf' meant that she had some sort of twisted claim over him. Harry tried to ignore her constants looks and walked alongside Evil Steve, who looked nervous. Probably plotting something evil Harry thought to himself, getting a squawk from Death Bringer that meant she agreed. Weasel Breath was standing just back from possibly-related-to-Weasel-Breath Boy, glancing at him half-excitedly half-snidely, as if the older boy was to be faulted for his snootiness.
Harry didn't want to get involved in sibling? rivalries so he did the only sensible thing he could think of.
Ignored him.
He actually ignored everyone, even Jim who wasn't really doing anything wrong except looking around in excitement. Bloody children.
…
Harry had become interested in the subtle beauties of buildings which most people chose to forget over the more obvious beauties of people and arts. After a lifetime of never having any toys, games or much free time at all, he learned to enjoy the general, ambient beauty that flowed out of everything. Including buildings, no matter how hostile they appeared. He had often spent his time in the garden relishing the fact that he could peer at the neighbours houses, a little disappointed at first realising they were all the same, only to then come up with a game to amuse himself 'spot the difference'. He would stare from house to house looking for subtle changes, and there were many, if one knew how to look. From the slight deviations in colour, to gardens, foyers, furnitures, fences, and placements of garden gnomes, hoses and ornaments.
One would most likely think that Harry cared more about buildings than people. Which would be correct.
This left Harry feeling conflicted when he glanced around the tower.
The tower they were led to was beautiful in a structural sense, and harsh in a decorative sense. The stairs were brilliantly sculpted, making Harry believe magic might be more wonderful than he had first through. The walls were smooth and smelled of refined stone, a smell so much better than mouldy cupboard boards. Cornices, engraves torches, small golems, gargoyles, paintings (moving paintings, had Harry just never bothered to see paintings move before or were paintings in the normal world simply different?), small tiny snake, lion, badger, bat, bird and cat sculptures, all carved, painted, glued or engraved in or on the very walls, banisters and stairs themselves. Arches, arcs, smooth flowing floors and smoother curled ceilings, shiny pale stone, all paved in a certain manner that made one think 'larger than life' and 'breathing'. Reflected mirrored tiles and enchanted lights that seemed to glisten with the energy filled air.
But the decoration... was a different story. The colours were harsh reds, yellows and oranges wherever they could be fitted. The lights almost blinding in their wish to be noticed, quite like the people being illuminated by them. Squashy ugly chairs that reminded Harry of slugs, just placed willy nilly, and a roaring fire with an uncomfortable heat.
Everything was too bright and too loud and Harry almost forgot himself, forgot his stoic attitude, and nearly sneered. He hadn't sneered in years. Debby hooted to him playfully, amusement (and an almost indecipherable worry) in her eyes as she looked at him fondly. Harry stroked a hand down her feathers and listened with half an ear as the 'prefect' (whatever that was) gave a vague explanation of the 'House'.
The Red Bannered House was apparently called 'Griffindor'. So yeah. And they were apparently enemied with a House called 'Slytherin', the Green Bannered House, everyone there was evil. Evil eleven year olds, Evil Steve's heaven more like it. Ravenclaw, the Blue Bannered House, was home to snobs and book worms. Hufflepuff, the Yellow Bannered House was home to duffers and weak-willed push overs which "were just a bunch of babies". Griffindor was apparently for the brave, chivalrous and courageous.
He wasn't exactly sure what the difference was between brave and courageous, part of him thought the words were synonyms, but he didn't care enough to find out.
Harry quickly realised Griffindors were just a bunch of bullies, and was a bit perplexed of how he had ended up there.
He liked to think, or was simply resigned to think, that he was a weakling. As he was so often bullied and thought it would be silly to stand up for himself. Better to simply gather up his rage, internalise it, and let it all out in one go doing incredibly stupid, self-inflicted, damaging, spiteful or murderous things.
Like slowly poisoning his relatives.
Like wishing for trees to burn.
Like stabbing himself with a pencil because he needed to do something only to be rewarded with a week in the cupboard with no food, no kindness, no light and no pencils.
Like outsmarting Dudley by hiding behind a corner and then throwing something heavy at him. Like a brick. Or two bricks. Or three bricks until he learned to stop chasing him because he was going to get hit with actual bricks. Even the most stupid of animals could realise cause and effect. 'Chase Harry' and 'get hit with a brick'. Apparently not Dudley. For no matter how many bricks, tricks or plans, his cousin never relented, never second guessed and never stopped. Perhaps the true reason he was leader of his gang was not because he was the fattest and dumbest, but because he was the most stubborn and short-sighted.
But Harry learned to tame himself, chain his inner wolf and place a muzzle on it so it would no longer howl at the unfairness of life. No longer speak. After years of sporadic acts of anger, quite like accidental magic, he settled to stop his anger by simply dulling his emotions, because anger helped no one. Realising that life was unfair, no one cared, and he was alone. Finally letting his will be broken, a will he had never known he had, and spending years simply following orders and drifting through life.
If what the rest of the lions thought about the other houses were true, he would consider himself a Hufflepuff.
But he supposed it didn't matter much what house he was sorted in. They were probably all treated the same anyway. People wouldn't be stupid enough to think one could control their personalities.
After the explanation finished, and Harry reluctantly dragged himself back from his thoughts, they were led to a new set of stairs. Well... two sets of stairs. One to the girls dorms and one to the boys. Apparently if a boy stepped onto the girl's steps, excluding professors, the stairs would change into a slide.
It seemed like an interesting way of murdering someone, simply levitating them to the top of the stairs and dropping them... so they would crash head-first into the ground.
Plus, the majority of Harry's most suspicious enemies were boys anyway. All except Tall Girl.
It was a handy tool. Just handy enough to make it suspicious enough that Harry would never use it, because it was just so handy.
He followed Evil Steve, Weasel Breath, Jim and an unnamed fourth boy who was ratty looking with dirty blonde hair, up the right hand set of stairs. Harry called the new boy Billy, because he looked a bit like a farmer. And looked about the room they had entered. There was about seven beds all scattered about and a bathroom en suite. The walls were a pale yellow, with bits of stone, and the carpet was a deep red.
Would help with blood spills Harry supposed.
As Harry looked out the window that night from his bed, trying to ignore the noise the other pre-pubescent teens were making, and the obnoxious colours of the room, he wondered if perhaps it would be better sleeping in the forest that was 'oh so forbidden' and 'oh so dangerous'.
He simply sighed and went to sleep, not bothering to shower since he always woke early anyway, snuggling into the first bed he had slept in since his cot as a baby.
And sadly Harry couldn't even remember it.
…
The next day, Harry woke up, wondering if the Dursleys had died and he had slept in Dudley's bed as revenge. Since the bed was the softest he had ever felt. Only to realise he was in a magic school now, and internally shrug to himself. He slipped out of the covers, noticing the darkness still outside, and managed the make his way down to the common room without waking any of his dorm-mates.
As he sat down in front of the stone cold fire pit, which had been put out last night, he felt the need to sigh. Quite heavily. Harry had realised a few problems.
The first, and most obvious, was that he didn't have a magic stick. Harry had spied almost everyone waving their magic sticks about when they were performing magic, and thought to himself that he needed to find one before class.
He had a vague recollection of buying a magic stick in Diagon Alley, and that there was this creepy grey-eyed guy that smelt like mould. But, Harry had been a bit out of it that day, realising that magic was real, and trying to lift up some thicker emotions than 'faint amusement' and 'tinged curiosity'.
The second, and something that would probably end up being more important than getting a magic stick, was finding the school books for his classes. As he distinctly remembered buying them in some bookshop whilst he was trying to ignore all the prejudiced opinions that Brown Beard had been sending his way.
Could Harry steal them? Or was there a way to replicate them?
Magic could do anything. Anything at all. Or at least that was what Harry was going with for the moment. So, replicating things didn't sound too troublesome. There was the small problem that Harry had only used his mysterious powers when doing accidental magic, or that was what Hagrid had vaguely explained to him, and Harry really had no clue how to do any magic at all.
Maybe Harry could sneak into his dorm and steal all of their course books. That would probably be easier. And he was here to learn magic, not try and guess how it worked.
Yep.
He'd do that instead.
The third problem Harry had was his lack of school robes. It had probably been fine the night before but the school didn't seem like the type of place to be okay with someone walking around in rags.
He was about to stress out (as much as he could stress) about that too when he heard a hoot coming from across the room. Harry turned to see his mother, flying through an open window, with... something in her beak.
Was that?
Robes.
School robes.
And not just one pair, but three.
Harry raced over to her, sitting down beside her on the ground, holding the fabrics close to him.
Like a mother she provided.
Debby nuzzled into his neck again, hooting happily to him, and Harry realised she was probably going to stick with him the whole day. Not that he minded.