Disclaimer: I r not her, k?
Summary: What if... the Weasley's came into some money before Harry's first year? How would it change things for him?
x
When Hagrid told Harry Potter he was a wizard, he was very, very happy. A little worried and scared, but mostly happy.
And optimistic; at the Dursleys he was a freak, in the muggle world a friendless delinquent. Maybe, just maybe, here in the wizarding world, here would be where he would fit in.
Maybe.
He had never been able to not sleep from excitement before.
x
When he got to Kings Cross, he almost cried.
He didn't, of course. He was 11, practically a grown-up, and grown-ups didn't cry.
But, still. There he was, at the station, alone (the Dursleys certainly hadn't stuck around), and he now knew why Uncle Vernon was guffawing so loud when he sped off.
Harry had never been to a train station before, so he hadn't known it before, but nine-and-three-quarters didn't seem to exist. There was platform nine, platform ten, and nothing in the middle.
Nothing.
He wondered if it was because he didn't have enough magic to see it, and after a while he would just have to go back to Privet Drive, and suffer the punishment for ever believing that a freak like him could ever fit in anywhere.
He shivered a little at the thought of it.
He wished now that he hadn't sent Hedwig on ahead. Maybe he could have sent a note or something to the school, asking for help. Better for them to think he was stupid than think he didn't want to come after all.
Why did the other children not come? And the teachers?
He sat down in an alcove on his trunk and wrapped his skinny arms around himself, hunching into a ball.
Perhaps someone would notice he wasn't there and...do something, he thought, without much hope.
x
Meanwhile, on the train, Ronald Weasley, Seamus Finnegan, Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas were eating chocolate frogs and talking.
Or rather Ronald Weasley was eating chocolate frogs whilst the other boys looked on enviously, and was ranting about one small, curled-up boy, currently sitting alone, cold and scared on the platform.
"'Spose he thinks he's too good for the likes of us," he sneered. "Doesn't wanna mix with us normal people on the train. Spoilt brat." He wasn't a mean boy by nature, but being a 'new money' family (as Malfoy sneered any time they met) had given him a dangerous mix of insecurity and pride, which , mixed with his natural impatience, immaturity and jealousy, had pushed him slightly into unpleasantness.
"Uh, yeah," agreed Dean. "C'n I have a frog, Ron?"
"No," Ron snapped. "Should've got your own."
Dean sighed. "Yeah. Wish I thought of asking mum for money for the train."
"Maybe he just missed the train, by mistake," Neville offered hesitantly.
Seamus was eyeing up the frogs as well. "Nah, mate, Ron's right. Me mam says he'll prob'ly be right spoilt."
"Yeah," piped up Dean, catching onto Seamus' tactic. "Well, I'm not gonna take orders from some stupid git who thinks he's all that cos his parents are dead."
"Probably wouldn't let yet," Ron sniped. "Probably thinks muggleborns aren't good enough for 'im."
Neville looked puzzled. "Wasn't his mum a muggleborn?"
"So?" Ron shot back aggressively. "Are you with us or against us, Nev?"
"N-nothing," he backed down. "'M with you."
"Brill. So we're agreed, then. Harry Potter is gonna get taught you don't mess with us." Ron paused. Strategy was a strong point of his, really. "Wanna frog?"
x
Minerva McGonagall had been looking forward to seeing little Harry Potter this year. James had been one of her favourite students, truly gifted at transfiguration and charming with it, and Lily had been a lovely girl as well.
Which made the shock of the lack of a head of messy black hair and Hagrid whispering to her that Harry hadn't been on the train even more acute.
She told the first years (minus one Harry Potter) to wait in the entrance hall and hurried to tell Dumbledore.
"Harry's not here," she hissed in his ear. "Hagrid says he wasn't on the train. You don't think...?"
Dumbledore shook his head minutely. "I'm sure he's fine. You recall we had a little difficulty with his letter, it's probably merely a similar problem. You see to the rest of the first years as normal and I'll send Severus to fetch him."
"Severus? Are you sure that's wise, Albus?" She tried to keep the incredulousness out of her voice. "He hates the boy already."
Dumbledore twinkled at her. "It will be fine, my dear, you'll see. It will give them some time to get to know each other." And he turned away from her, dismissing her, and spoke to Severus.
"I need you to go and fetch little Harry Potter, my boy. It seems that he wasn't on the train."
Severus started to protest, but Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow and gave him a hard look. "Immediately, if you please, Severus."
Severus rose to his feet and swished out of the Great Hall without a word, muttering to himself angrily about spoilt brats who thought they were too good for the train, not unlike Ron Weasley had been doing on the train. A fact that, for general safety, it was probably best that Severus didn't know.
First, he apparated to Privet Drive. He knocked on no. 4 and waited, impatiently.
Eventually, a man that somewhat resembled a walrus flung the door open. "Yes?" he said rudely, as he saw Severus standing there.
Severus sneered. "Mr Dursley? I'm here for Potter. From Hogwarts," he informed the walrus, shortly.
Dursley narrowed his already piggy eyes at Severus. "We dropped the damn freak at the station hours ago. If he's not there that's none of our fault." He started to slam the door, but a strategically placed foot soon stopped that. He looked up in outrage.
Unfortunately, he never had the chance to begin another diatribe, as Severus intoned "Legilimens" as soon as he did so, and then obliviated him and left.
Next stop, Kings Cross Station.
If Severus was a little disturbed by the images of the boy he had found in the repulsive wale's mind, this was cemented by the sight that greeted him in the station. Having invoked the 'point me' spell to locate the boy, he strode over only to see the dejected, starved, trembling figure of one Harry Potter, still huddled in his alcove.
"Mr Potter," he called as soon as he got close enough not to have to shout. "Why were you not on the train?" he asked in a neutral tone.
The boy looked up at him shyly through his unkempt fringe. "'M sorry, sir."
Severus kept his irritation in check. "I'm sure you are, Mr Potter, however that does not answer my question."
"Couldn't find the- the station, sir," Harry replied, in a slightly trembling voice that was almost a whisper. "Sent He- m'owl ahead 'nd no-one else w-was here." He looked even more unsure for a moment. "D-do I have to go back to the Dursleys, sir?"
Severus looked at him strangely. "Don't be stupid, boy." Harry flinched slightly. "Would I be wasting my time here coming to fetch you if you were just going back to those blasted creatures?"
"'M sorry, sir," Harry repeated.
Severus rolled his eyes and exhaled exasperatedly. "Come on, Potter, come here." Once the boy was on his feet, Severus scanned him over again with his eyes. Too damned short for an eleven-year-old. Malnutrition, probably. Squinting, despite the glasses. Wrong prescription, perhaps? Ridiculous clothes, holed and huge. And that Malfoy house-elf attitude, like one wrong move or word would bring about harsh punishment.
Harry stood block-still as the strange, tall, foreboding man evaluated him, and jumped when he finally spoke.
"Give me the case and take hold of my arm."
He tentatively followed the instructions, briefly entertaining the idea of saying he could manage his case himself, but not wanting to question the man.
"Hold on tight. This will most likely be unpleasant," Severus instructed, then he stepped further into the alcove, glanced around quickly, and they disappeared.
x
When they reached Hogwarts, Severus directed Harry straight to the hospital wing, where he left him with Madame Pomfrey, before going in search of Dumbledore, who was still at the Welcoming Feast.
He waited a few minutes until Dumbledore dismissed the children to their dormitories, and then strode over to the waylay him on the way back to his office.
"Albus," he greeted.
"Ah, Severus. You located our Mr Potter?"
"Yes," he agreed, his expression inscrutable. "I wish to speak to you about him, perhaps on the way to the hospital wing?"
Albus raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced. "Of course."
They started to make their way to the destination in silence.
Severus broke it after a moment, stating that, "I found Potter at the station. Cowering. Having visited his place of residence and witnessed his behaviour, I would have to inform you that I could not support his returning there after the school year was finished."
"Indeed?" Albus replied, lightly.
"Yes." Severus nodded for the headmaster to enter the infirmary before him.
As they made their way over to the bed Harry was occupying, Madam Pomfrey came towards them.
"Albus, there you are," she remarked briskly. She nodded. "Severus."
"Madam Pomfrey," he acknowledged, with a slightly questioning tone.
She hesitated slightly, then sighed and nodded minutely.
He moved forward the last few feet to sit by the small boy's bed, as Madam Pomfrey ushered the headmaster into her office. Thankfully, the boy was asleep, looking even smaller and younger, despite the knot in his brow.
It was almost a pity, Severus mused, that the boy was bound to be in Gryffindor, where his parents were. Which reminded him. He hoped that Dumbledore and Pomfrey emerged soon, so that he could visit his first years before curfew.
Several minutes later Dumbledore came out of the office, glanced at Harry, nodded at Severus, and left the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey came back over the tend to the boy, and they discussed his condition quietly for a few moments, confirming Severus' suspicions, before he left for the Slytherin dormitories.
x
The next morning, Albus explained to Harry as he led him down to the Great Hall from the Infirmary that he would need to be sorted before breakfast, although this was nothing to worry about.
Harry would have begged to disagree when he was led into the Hall and sat on a stall in front of the whole of the rest of the school.
As the headmaster explained to the rest of the school that Harry had been "unavoidably detained" last night and therefore required sorting this morning, Harry surreptitiously glanced around at the different tables. There were 4, one with students with yellow ties, one with blue ties, one with green ties, and one with red ties.
As he was wondering how the sorting happened, he noticed a few of the students who stood out. The yellow table kids all seemed fairly non-descript and friendly, smiling at him and each other and the teachers and everyone. One girl in particular at the blue table, a bushy-haired first year, was paying such attention to the headmaster that a casual observer might have concluded that there would be a test on the contents of his speech afterwards. The red and green tables seemed to be very similar in that most of the students sat there didn't seem to be paying much attention to him or the headmaster, except a group of three boys on each of the two tables, both of which seemed to be led by snooty-looking boys, one blonde and one red-headed who were alternating between sneering at him and whispering furiously to their cohorts.
Suddenly, his attention was snapped back into focus by a stern-looking professor with a Scottish brogue, who handed him a worn hat and told him to put it on.
He placed it carefully on his head and waited.
After a moment, when he was just wondering if he had perhaps missed part of the instructions, a voice piped up in his head. "Ah. Mr Potter."
He jumped, and it chuckled.
"I had wondered where you were last night. Now, how should we sort you?" it mused. "Ah, but I see you don't even know what I mean by sorting. It's a disgrace."
'Sorry,' thought Harry, hoping he was doing the right thing.
"Don't apologise, lad, it's not of your doing. I have to sort you into one of the four houses; Gryffindor-for the brave-; Slytherin-for the ambitious-; Ravenclaw-for the studious-; or Hufflepuff–for the kindhearted." It paused for a bit. "So what's it to be? You have elements of all the houses in your personality, lad. Your parents were in Gryffindor, you could do well there. Or perhaps Slytherin, you could be great in Slytherin."
'I just want to fit in,' thought Harry desperately.
"Hmm. Could be Slytherin. Professor Snape would look after you well there. You've met him, I believe. Or Hufflepuff, they look after their own. And everyone else, for that matter. Your choice, lad."
Harry thought of the boys sneering, and of Professor Snape, and of the table full of smiling people.
'I can't choose,' he thought. 'Please, help me.'
"Hmmm," the hat mused. "Alright. Good luck, lad. I've a feeling you're going to need it." The it opened its brim wide, and shouted; "SLYTHER-...PUFF!"
There was a shocked silence. No-one clapped. A few Gryffindors and Slytherins jeered, although the Slytherins were soon quietened by the look given to them by their prefects and head of house.
Then, slowly, Professor Snape and Professor Sprout started clapping, and the Hufflepuffs, and finally the rest of the staff and even some Slytherins and odd members of the other two houses.
Dumbledore stood up, eyes twinkling obscurely. "Mr Potter, if you will take a seat at the Hufflepuff table for the moment as it is closest. It would seem that Mr Potter has been sorted into two houses, an uncommon but known-of event. Mr Potter, if you would like to come and see myself and Professors Sprout and Snape in my office after breakfast we can discuss this in more detail then." He sat down and clapped once, and breakfast appeared on all the tables.
Harry sat quietly at the end of the Hufflepuff table, glancing around. The red-haired boy at the Gryffindor table and the blonde-haired boy at the Slytherin table were still glaring at him, but Hagrid, Professor Sprout were smiling at him, and Professor Snape nodded to him approvingly when he caught his eye. And when he looked around the table at the other smiling faces and at all the delicious-looking food strewn across the table, he began to believe, as he had when he had first learned that he was to attend magic school, that perhaps, just perhaps, he could fit in here where he hadn't at the Dursleys'. A girl to his right nudged him and passed him a bowl of strawberries.
"Here," she said amiably. "They're really good, you should try some."
"Thanks," he replied, shyly.
"I'm Susan," she introduced herself. "It's nice to meet you."
x
A/N: I know Ron etc. seem a bit out of character, but there you go. I think it could happen. And I know sorted into two houses/sorted into Slytherin (sorta) is a massive cliché, but it just happened that way. I figure there was no-one on the station because the Weasleys could afford a Portkey into the station this time, and there was no-one else around in PS, so.
The way I'm justifying Ron's OOC behaviour is that the money only turned up (hell if I know how btw) about a year before this, so he's not had the upbringing like Draco to give him that sort of comfortable, arrogant, 'this is my birthright' behaviour (minus the bigotry); he's just got the insecurity, jealousy and strategy skills that he has in canon, added to a meaness and tightness brought about by having no money until he was 10 and not wanting to go back to that, and almost a feeling that he should emulate Malfoy to an extent (even though he wouldn't admit to doing it) because he doesn't really know how to do this rich pureblood thing.
Further twisted by the fact that, like Malfoy, he was looking forward to getting on the train and becoming friends with Harry Potter, and he feels betrayed that it didn't happen. I figure that it'd be a bit like telling a little boy that he's going to meet Superman, then Superman doesn't show.
I'm rambling.
I don't think there's anything else I should explain, even though there undoubtedly is. Ahwell.
Ehhh, these things happen when you're looking for anything except revision to do (grins).
If you think that this would be worth extending or have got any other whatif ideas for me to do stick it in a review (hint) and I'll have a go after my exams are over. Concrit/any kind of general feedback would be awesome.
I think this might be the longest one-shot I've ever written.