Notes: POV changes are (hopefully) broken by line breaks. If not, please let me know!
OC's: Leonardo Monsel = arithmancy teacher
Sydney Astley = ancient runes teacher
Sebastian (doesn't really count) = boa constrictor.
"speech"
Thoughts
~Paseltongue~
*Mindspeak*
'hatspeak'
Chapter 2
"What do you mean you didn't get around to cleaning the garage?!" Uncle Vernon roared, spittle flying and his mustache quivering as he towered over Harry. "We gave you plenty of time to do these chores, as well as the house to yourself, and this is how your repay us? With laziness?!"
He took a menacing step forward and Harry flinched. This was not good. The Dursley's had arrived home Monday morning (two days after Harry's trip to Diagon Alley) to find him working frantically to finish his chores. Things had rapidly gone downhill from there. And somehow, I'm going to have to tell them that I'm going to a magic school next year. Oh, this is going to go over big. He crashed into the wall, his face stinging from the sharp backhand it had received, blinking the stars from his eyes.
"It appears I'm going to have to teach you a lesson, boy…" his uncle allowed his voice to trail off menacingly, and privately, Harry admitted he did a rather good job at it. Uncle Vernon definitely did a better job than the evil villains on the telly, and the fact that he unbuckled his belt and wrapped it around his hand as he spoke only accented the point. Harry strung together numerous choice swearwords in his mind, closed his eyes, and waited for it to be over.
:~:
Sometime later, he was tossed (rather violently) into his cupboard, the door locking shut behind him, with the promise that he'd get enough food to remain alive over the next week, but not one scrap more—the Dursleys didn't want to be charged with murder, after all. Lovely, now why didn't I think to get extra food while I was at the Alley? Harry thought gloomily to himself, staring at the underside of the stairs and willing the raw pain in his back to go away. Ah, well, at least I now have almost unlimited time to go through my school stuff. While this thought did nothing for the pain, it did cheer him up enough to sit up and pull out the bag of school items.
~Olá, amigo!~ Sebastian uncurled himself from one of the loose boards of the stairs, growing from three inches to a larger, six foot size as he dropped down to the floor. The snake regarded him for a moment, his tongue flicking in and out. "You don't smell so good, amigo. Why are you bleeding?" Harry looked at the snake in slight shock, making a mental note to read up on exactly what snakes can do/sense in the near future.
~My uncle got mad because I didn't finish all my chores.~ Harry explained, deciding not to elaborate. He lit his candle, scooting off the mattress and dumping the items out of the bag, marveling at their tiny size. He touched the owl cage wistfully. The previous day, he'd decided that it was too dangerous for his owl to remain with him, as he had no idea of how to hide her, so Harry sent her off to Hogwarts, with the promise that he'd follow as soon as possible. She seemed to understand him, and now he could only hope that she'd arrived safely.
~She'll be fine, amigo,~ Sebastian commented, as if sensing his thoughts, ~I might not care for owls that much, but I can tell you that they can take care of themselves. Don't worry.~ Harry shot him a grateful smile and continued to sort through his tiny possessions. Well, he thought, First thing is first. I need to figure out how that trunk works.
:~:
For the rest of the day, all of which he spent locked in his cupboard, Harry sorted through his new possessions. He resized his trunk and found (to his relief) a pamphlet in it which described the various "features" he had as well as how to use them. Harry spent an hour making different compartments (it was quite simple, really; all he had to do was whisper what "compartment" he wanted after he said his password, and the trunk would open to reveal that specific one), making up a password (he wanted to put it in the snake language thing, because he was pretty sure that no one else could speak it, but it broke his most recent survival rule, so he settled for something long, complicated, and as muggle as possible instead), and sorting his new belongings into various piles, resizing them, and putting them into their various compartments.
This done, he set up the 'eternally heated rock' for Sebastian in the dark, back corner of the cupboard, took out the first of his school textbooks (Hogwarts: A History) and his magic-to-muggle dictionary, and began to dig in to this bizarre world.
The remainder of the week (including his birthday) followed the same pattern as the first day. Harry was required to make the family meals, allowed to use the loo, and then lock back up in his cupboard, where he spent all his time reading his textbooks (and other books which he had picked up in the store). He learned about old traditions, odd fungi and how they were used in various potions (and it was this subject he was particularly fascinated with, as it was so complex), people who could change into animals, and lots and lots about snakes (although he was no where nearer to understanding what, exactly, Sebastian was; the snake was no help either).
He'd picked the name Hedwig for his owl, having read about it from one of the history books he'd gotten at Diagon Alley. When he was finally let out of his cupboard, his head was so filled with these unbelievable ideas that he desperately needed the mechanical labor his chores required to let it all sink in. And he needed to tell his relatives about this magic school development.
"Umm, Aunt Petunia," Harry began hesitantly, looking up from the potatoes he was pealing. He'd decided that, of the two adults, she would react better to his sudden announcement and not lock him up in a mental asylum. Besides, if his mother really was a witch, then his aunt probably already knew about magic. And now we play it safe…
"What do you want," she snarled at him with a glare. Harry winced.
"Well, you know when you all went on vacation last week and left me here," he searched for the courage needed to finish this statement. Another glare from his aunt, "Well…this really weird person came by, more or less kidnapped me, dragged me to this really weird place where everyone was wearing these robe things, and told me that I had to attend this school of theirs." He finished in a rush, glancing up through the corner of his eyes to see his aunt's reaction to this statement. He was not disappointed. Aunt Petunia had gone dead white, was shaking, and staring at him as if he were a roach that had crawled out of her salad.
"What did you say?" she asked in a deadly soft voice. Oh, I'm in so much trouble…Harry repeated his long explanation again, hoping she wouldn't slap him. She remained leaning on the counter for a long moment, her eyes sparkling with fury and an emotion Harry couldn't place. Then, with the speed of a striking snake, she moved, snatching a water bottle and box of crackers from the shelf, grabbing his wrist, and throwing him into his cupboard, tossing the other two objects in after him. He heard the distinct sound of the lock clicking and then her voice hissing through the tiny vent.
"Did they notice anything about you?" there was a deadly promise in her voice, but Harry shook his head and (remembering just in time that she couldn't see him) replied out loud,
"No, Aunt Petunia," No, no one noticed the bruises on my cheek or neck or back. No, no one noticed how thin I was or that I was wearing hand-me-downs. No, no one noticed anything. He sighed as he heard her storm back to the kitchen, the survival rule ringing around in his head.
Don't bother hoping, no one ever notices
:~:
The month of August passed in both excruciating slowness and at light speed. Harry had listened that night as his aunt explained that "those freaks came by and saw him, Vernon. There's nothing we can do to stop him from going". As it turned out, both of his relatives had already known about this magic stuff, and Harry was torn between furious horror that they would try to keep him from this world and understanding as to why they hated him so much.
Apparently, the world of magic belonged to freaks (like himself) and normal people didn't associate with them at all. Well, that makes sense, no wonder why they hate me, Harry thought as he listened to his uncle roar in the dining room.
The matter might have ended there except for two factors. Dudley had done a spectacular job eavesdropping on the conversation, and an even better job of throwing a tantrum until he was told what it meant—it had taken a lot of work, as neither of his parents were particularly inclined to tell him…that it, until he threatened to tell one of the neighbors, word for word, what they had said.
Trust this to be the one time Dudley has a total recall memory. The Dursleys had reluctantly given in, and Dudley had spent a week staring at Harry in something torn between blind terror and awe, before realizing that Harry wouldn't dare do anything to him under his parents' watchful eyes and returned to bullying him.
The second factor was that, even with Aunt Petunia's assurances that by now it was far too late, Uncle Vernon was determined to "beat the magic out of him", so to speak. Harry had never, ever been beaten this much or this bad before (sure, he'd had worse things done to him by his relatives, but for being beaten into a pulp, the month of August won hands down), and true to form, his aunt was no help whatsoever: she simply told Vernon that it would be useless, and then warned him not to touch Harry's face, as someone "might notice".
However, aside from this, his relatives treated him more or less the same as they'd always had. Despite the fact that they were horrified as to where he was going to school, they appeared delighted that he would not return until the following summer, a sentiment that Harry thoroughly shared.
So for the rest of the month, Harry continued to do majority of the chores, pour over books on magic and snakes (in a vain attempt to figure out what Sebastian was), and have long, complex conversations with Sebastian, who appeared to be bored to tears with his time in the cupboard. Their discussions were also so long in part because once they reached Hogwarts, Harry doubted that they would be able to talk much, if at all, until he'd mastered this silencing spell he'd read about (and seeing how he couldn't practice outside of school, this might take a while).
Harry had attempted to do magic without his wand, but it hadn't really worked. He couldn't perform even the simplest charm from his Charms book, though he said the spell clearly and used his finger to mimic the wand movements. He discovered that he was still able to do the 'cover up' spell (as he'd decided to call it), which allowed him to hide any injury he received (sort of like magical makeup), but didn't actually heal the wound. Still, it was better than nothing.
He had also practiced writing with a quill and ink. Although it yielded better results that his magic experimentation, it was just as frustrating—he spilled the ink, broke quills, made his handwriting splatter, couldn't do the smooth curves despite the calligraphy book's step-by-step directions, and above all else, he couldn't make his writing legible. He was extremely glad that the stationary-store-lady had told him he was allowed to use muggle instruments to take notes, and he'd stocked up on as many pens, pencils, and notebooks/pads as was possible. He also played around with the dictation quill, pleased to see that it wrote neatly and legibly, although in calligraphy.
His other, non-school related books were just as fascinating as his class subjects. He poured over the handful of wizard mythology and legends books he'd picked up, in hopes to get somewhat of a background in the culture. His wizard-to-muggle dictionary was a godsend, to the point where he read the thing, instead of just looking up words.
He read about various historical figures, light magic vs. dark magic, cults, non-humans (werewolves, vampires, centaurs), prophecies—anything his books described. By the end of the month, he'd covered almost everything he'd bought (although he was sure he'd absorbed only about half of it), and he wished he'd gotten more books. Maybe wizards have something like mail order. Then I could get books without having to go to the Alley. Well, it was worth a shot.
:~:
August thirty-first was spent in frantic packing and worrying. Having decided to wear some of the new clothes he'd gotten in the Alley (ones that could fit into both cultures and were baggy enough to hide the bruises on his neck) and praying to all the Gods that Tom had told the truth about getting onto the platform—instead of playing a practical joke—Harry packed all his belongings, both magical and non-magical. He'd decided to bring along his handful of possessions from the Dursleys, as they would probably be confiscated by some member of the household while he was away.
So his small box of crayons, four broken, plastic soldiers, bag of marbles, candle stub and matches box, little ragged blanket that had been his favorite thing as a child (his aunt had once told him that it was the one which had been wrapped around him when he was left 'ungraciously, by those freaks your parents called friends' on the Dursley's door step; Harry liked to pretend that it was something his parents had given him), few precious ripped books, and pocket knife all went into the most recently made compartment in his trunk, fittingly named 'Dursley stuff', along with his oversized clothes that he'd have to wear next summer.
He spent a long time talking to Sebastian for what might be the last time for months, discussion ranging from everything he'd learned about snakes (~I think you might be this weird kind of hybrid, Seb, or maybe you're the snake equivalent of these metamorphmagus people who can change shape at will…sounds a bit like one of those fantasy novel shape-shifters, except that they can only do human shapes.~) to how they'd hide Sebastian from everyone while in school (~Maybe you could just pretend to be a really weird necklace? And if that doesn't work, how about a bracelet?~).
His Aunt and Uncle, presumably delighted to get him out of the house the next day, still gave him an enormous list of chores, much to his annoyance, as he had so many better things to be doing. Due to his other obligations, he hadn't managed to finish them, and his relatives were not amused; throwing him in the cupboard after a rather physical lecture on laziness. He sighed. Just one more night and then I'm gone for good…until next summer.
That night, his dreams were plagued with the normal nightmares that always happened on the day before he went back to school, except that this time, they included magical monsters, creepy, non-human teachers, and nasty peers with the ability to use magic.
:~:
September first dawned with the promise of a day far too beautiful for one that was filled with such stress, worry, and sheer terror. Harry, having gotten up at an unbelievably early hour (there was no going back to sleep when he was this nervous) showered very quickly, dressed, used that magic to hide the most obvious bruises showing around his clothes, and made breakfast for the Dursleys. He checked (and rechecked) that all his possessions were packed, put his once again shrunk trunk into his pocket along with the bag containing the remainder of his money, took one last glance in the mirror to make sure he looked presentable, scowled at his reflection, and headed outside.
He walked (trudged) a few blocks from the house, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, pulled out his wand, and brought it down in a long swish as he'd seen Hagrid do with his umbrella (maybe a disguised wand?). A long second passed while he waited in anxiety, wondering if it had worked, when…BANG, the large, triple-decker, purple bus appeared out of nowhere. Harry actually grinned in relief before realizing what he was doing and schooling his features back to being perfectly blank.
Eleven Sickles and a forty minute, jolting ride later—complete with the oddest people, places, and requests—and Harry was standing at Kings Cross, eyeing the barrier between platforms nine and ten and wondering if he actually had the nerve to do this.
The barrier looked very solid, and there was no indication on it whatsoever to show that it was the entrance to the wizarding platform. Just as he was about to start lecturing himself to just do it already!, a tall girl, looking about fifteen, wearing robes (of all things), and pushing a cart with a trunk and an owl on it, walked confidently right up to the barrier and into it, never once pausing in her stride.
Harry spent a whole minute ogling before recalling himself and walking hesitantly up to the pillar. He lightly put his hand on the (apparently) solid bricks, closed his eyes, and slowly stepped forward. One step, two steps, three steps, four ste—wait, there wasn't this much distance between myself and the wall!
He opened his eyes and regarded the sight in front of him with awe. A shining red and black train stood next to a platform containing only a few clearly wizarding families (then again, it was two hours before the train was going to depart). Harry glanced behind him, seeing a wrought-iron archway with the words 'Platform Nine and Three-Quarters' on it where the barrier had been and grinned.
I could get to like this magic thing, he thought, as he made his way onto the train and into an empty compartment somewhere near the back. After a quick glance around assured that there was no one in sight, he pulled his trunk out of his pocket, resized it, removed his Potions and Fungi textbooks as well as a notebook and pen, and hoisted the trunk up onto one of the racks up top (very grateful that he'd gotten the 'lighten load' feature).
He then settled down by the window as gingerly as possible—Uncle Vernon's going away present (given yesterday) had left him raw and bruised from shoulders to mid-thigh and made sitting very, very uncomfortable. He proceeded to struggle his way through the Potions textbook, attempting to understand what, in the world, it was talking about.
He got the basics (or at least the part that related to cooking) but he couldn't for the life of him grasp why adding once ingredient could make the whole thing explode (he hadn't had muggle chemistry yet); hence, he was reading some the ingredients and their effects in the fungi book and trying to figure out how they corresponded to potion making. This is going to be my worst subject, I just know it.
Over the next hour and a half, the train station slowly filled to the brim. Harry occasionally glanced out his window to observe how the families interacted with one another, but for the most part, he remained focused on his notes. One very large red-haired family caught his attentions, and he shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversations.
"Ron, you've got something on your nose." The apparently youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but his mother grabbed him and began rubbing his face with her handkerchief.
"Mum—geroff!" He wiggled free.
"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" cooed one of his older brothers, who looked like he had an identical twin.
"Shut up!" grumbled Ron.
"Where's Percy?" their mother asked with an irritated sigh, trying to herd her children into one coherent bunch. Good luck, Harry thought to her.
Another boy came striding into sight. He'd already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it.
"Can't stay long, Mother," he proclaimed breezily, "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves—"
"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" one of the twins gasped with an air of great surprise, "You should have said something, we had no idea."
"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," contemplated the other twin, "Once—"
"Or twice—"
"A minute—"
"All summer—"
"Oh, shut up," snapped Percy the Prefect.
"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" asked one of the twins, turning a pouting look on his mother.
"Because he's a prefect," she said fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term—send me an owl when you get there." She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left, striding back towards the front of the train. Then she turned to the twins.
"Now, you two—this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've—you've blown up a toilet or—"
"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."
"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."
"It's not funny. And look after Ron."
"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."
"Shut up," Ron grumbled.
The boys boarded the train and Harry turned his attention back to his notes. Much to his annoyance, Sebastian decided to break a survival rule.
~You wish you had a family, don't you, amigo?~ the snake asked gently from where he was curled around Harry's neck like a necklace (for the moment—it would undoubtedly have to change soon). Harry sent him a glare and didn't reply.
Don't talk to snakes in public
To himself, though, he had to admit privately that he was a bit jealous of that family—actually, of all the families. Listen to yourself, he mentally scolded, You've been given a chance to start over new in an amazing world. You'll probably get enough to eat, be able to sleep, be able to actually do your homework and get the grades you know you can…and here you are complaining about the one thing that even magic cannot give you. Seriously, focus on the good, not the bad! You're not the only one whose parents were killed by that psychotic maniac, so quite moping!
Harry had finally gotten around to reading that book on himself (a very bizarre experience, truth to be told; he was glad that his section of the book had been a relatively short chapter) and figured out how his parents died. Sure, he took everything mentioned with a large dose of disbelief (seriously, his mother's love saving him from the killing curse? This was real life, not a fantasy novel written by a romantic!), but all in all, he'd accepted it for the truth. This might have had more to do with everything that Ollivander guy had mentioned to him, rather than his conviction that the book was actually accurate, though if everyone had been told this propaganda…
It was his easily identifiable scar that had led him to wearing his hair down that morning; but after fifteen minutes of taking notes and having it continually slide into his face, he'd finally given up and tied it back into a loose ponytail. He was thoroughly annoyed that his chance at disguise had been taken away, but unwilling to put up with one more second of it blocking his vision.
About ten minutes later, the train finally started moving, to Harry's annoyance and delight: annoyance, because it made it harder to write and he would undoubtedly have to put up with company very soon; delight because it meant that this was really happening, and every roll of the wheels took him further from the Dursleys.
As if on cue, his compartment door slid open and the three red heads entered. Harry glanced up slightly.
"Hey," said one of the twins, "Is it alright if Ron here sits with you?" Harry shrugged and nodded, thinking NO, it is NOT alright, while Ron grumbled,
"Really, Fred, I can find myself a place to sit."
"Sorry, Ronnie, but we have to carry out our promise to Mum," the other one sighed, his voice full of fake consolation. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Oh, sorry, we forgot to introduce ourselves," the first twin exclaimed, "I'm Fred Weasley. This here is my twin George, and the little guy—"
"I'm almost as tall as you!"
"—is our younger brother Ron." Harry sighed. And here it comes; God, I wish I didn't have to be polite.
"Harry Potter," he said quietly, still not really looking up, more just glancing through his glasses and a confounded bang of hair which had the audacity to continually slide out of his ponytail and into his face.
Sure enough, they all gawked at him, their eyes traveling instantly to his forehead. Harry fought the urge to snarl. What am I, an icon? he thought with sarcastic bitterness at their focused attention. Well, probably, he finished cynically. As the silence began to stretch into the realm of the seriously awkward and their gaze still didn't shift, Harry felt himself turning red, despite his many attempts not to. Fortunately, the twins recovered fast, even if their younger brother didn't.
"Are you really?" Fred (he thought) asked, "So you'll be a first year like Ronnie here."
"Yeah, nice to meet you, mate!" George (theoretically) added. Ron seemed to shake himself out of his gawking mode, although he couldn't seem to tear his eyes from Harry's scar.
"So, is it ok if I sit here?" he asked. Harry, still wanting to scream No it's not!, shrugged and nodded again, and Ron slid into the compartment.
"Say Ron," George turned to his brother, "You got stuck with Mum's horrible corned beef sandwiches, didn't you?" at Ron's miserable nod, the twin dug in his pocket and pulled out three Sickles, "Here, buy yourself something off the cart. It's decently cheap."
"Thanks," Ron said, delighted, "Where'd you get the money from?"
"We won a bet with three other third years," Fred explained, "Now, apparently Lee Jordon has managed to get his hands on a giant tarantula, and we're going to go check it out. You'll be fine here, Ronniekins." He gave a faint wave and the twins vanished into from the compartment. Harry turned back to his notes, wishing he'd thought to keep out his dictionary, as he had no idea what a number of these words meant, and Ron alternated between staring out the window and sneaking glances at him.
"So you're really Harry Potter?" he asked finally. I knew the silence was too good to last, Harry thought in disgust. Now, be nice, you don't want to make kids hate you already.
"Yes," he replied shortly, hoping Ron would take the point and shut up. Either Ron ignored the hint or it was too subtle for him to pick up, because the next thing Harry knew, he was being chattered at by the red-head.
"That's totally wicked. What are you taking notes on, by the way?"
"Potions."
"Really? My brothers say that's the worst class. It's taught by an evil greasy git called Professor Snape."
"Hmm…" Harry hummed unresponsively.
"Anyway, do you remember it at all? How about You-Know-Who?" Harry shook his head, wondering what the boy meant by 'it all'. Maybe my being cursed by Voldemort? Though if that's the case… "Bummer, well anyway, where do you live?"
"With muggles."
"Seriously? That's so bizarre. Aren't they just plain weird? My dad's obsessed with them, keeps bringing home all these strange gadgets of theirs from the ministry and taking them apart and all that. It drives Mum nuts, but she can't seem to stop him."
"Hmm," Harry replied, non-communicatively. Again, Ron didn't take the hint, and continued to prattle on at him about all the various members of his family.
Harry, deciding that any and all information would be helpful in the future, flipped to another page in his notebook and began jotting down the members of Ron's family and what he said about them…not that the redhead noticed.
Apparently, his compartment companion (as Harry had decided to refer to him) was the sixth boy in his family, and had a younger sister who would start school next year. Two of his older brothers had already graduated, one worked for that goblin bank Gringotts and the other worked with dragons, to Harry's (hidden) astonishment. Despite all the reading he'd done over the summer, he'd been under the impression that dragons didn't exist. He made a mental note to never assume anything about the magic world again.
Ron's oldest brother attending Hogwarts was Percy the Prefect and a prat (according to his brother). The twins were in third year, troublemakers to the point of madness, but they got good grades ("don't worry if you can't tell them apart, not even the teachers are able to do it"). Ron himself was worried about all that he had to live up to, and was annoyed with his pet, a rat named Scabbers. Harry stared, wondering why the boy had a rat when it wasn't allowed at Hogwarts, but decided to drop the issue and keep Sebastian hidden.
Don't give personal information to strangers
Besides, he was quite sure that Ron was only talking to him either because there was no one else to talk to or because he was famous. Once they met some more of their peers (first years, had the twins called them) then Ron would undoubtedly leave him and talk to them; if he didn't, it was just as suspicious, as it meant that Ron was only talking to him due to his fame.
Ron, blissfully ignorant of this critical opinion being formed about him, continued to prattle on, now about Quidditch. Harry had made the mistake (in an attempt to be polite) of admitting he had no idea was Quidditch was, and after being ogled at by the red-head for a moment, Ron began a long and complicated description of the game, how it was played, the various rules, players, balls, scoring system, different teams, professional versus just school level, and on and on.
Harry didn't mind, in fact, he was rather touched by the boy's sincere effort to make him understand (though again, he believed that it was either just for show or until someone else showed up), and had he had any interest in the subject, he would have undoubtedly paid closer attention to the description.
Instead, he jotted down the basics on yet another page of notebook paper and then returned to his potion notes, Ron's voice providing a white noise to cover the rest of the sound in the train. Ron didn't seem to mind-well, either that or he was too far into his favorite topic to realize his audience was no longer paying attention—and they spent an hour in peaceful companionship. Like all good things, though, it didn't last.
The door of the compartment slid open and a smiling older lady stuck her head in.
"Anything off the cart, dears?" Ron grinned down at the three Sickles in his hand and jumped to his feet, heading out into the corridor. Harry peeked around the doorframe to see exactly what she had to eat and blinked. He was quite sure he'd never seen so much candy in his life, let alone in one place at one time. He settled back into his seat with a sigh as Ron reentered the compartment carrying an armful of sweets.
"Aren't you getting anything?" he asked around a mouthful of chocolate. Harry shook his head. There was no point in wasting his precious money on candy, though he would have dearly loved to. Yes, he did have a lot of money still in his vault, but he didn't know when he'd get back to Diagon Alley and therefore, he was going to save what little he had. He blinked when Ron proffered him a box.
"Here, have a chocolate frog. I got a lot." Harry stared before gingerly accepting the gift, all the while thinking it was a joke. However, Ron immediately turned back to his pile of sweets and Harry was left staring at the box.
"Come on, it's not going to bite you." Ron teased, "Just eat it already." Harry slowly opened the box and pulled out the chocolate frog. To his astonishment and slight disgust, it wiggled, although it wasn't as fast as a live frog would be. God, these wizard people are sick. I mean, what are they thinking; giving kids candy that represents real animals and wiggles when you eat it?
To appease Ron, he took a bite of one of the legs, and was immensely relieved to find that the frog stopped moving when he bit into it; or at least the part he bit off did. Who came up with this idea? If animal rights people got a hold of one of these…he finished the frog quickly, noticing that once he got over the creepiness of eating something that seemed alive, the chocolate was actually really good. It probably helped that he rarely, if ever, had chocolate.
"What card did you get?" Ron asked, from where he was bouncing on his side of the compartment. Is he really on a sugar buzz already?! Harry looked for the mentioned 'card' and finally pulled a trading card out of the remains of the box. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and a flowing silver beard and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.
So this is Dumbledore, he thought in silent appraisal, only slightly startled when the picture winked at him. He'd read about how pictures in the wizarding world moved around, but it was one thing to read about it and another to see it. He turned the card over and read:
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS
Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.
When he turned the card back over, the picture was gone. Well, this is unexpected, I wonder if they all do this or if he's gone for good. Picture moving is one thing, I read about it, but there was nothing on them vanishing. Idly, he stuck the card into his Herbology textbook to use as a bookmark and thanked Ron, before turning back to his notes and leaving his companion to devour the remainder of the candy.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door of their compartment and a round-faced boy came in. He looked tearful.
"Sorry," he said, voice quivering, "but have you seen a toad at all? His name's Trevor." Harry managed to keep his eyes from widening, remembering the toad which had hopped into the compartment an hour before the train left. He'd only just stopped Sebastian from eating it, and then had to deliver a stern lecture on not eating anything that Harry hadn't given him—as odds were, it was someone's pet. The snake had been sulking ever since. Harry decided that it was probably best not to mention this incident or the fact that he had released the toad back into the corridor.
When they both shook their heads, the boy wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"
"He'll turn up," murmured Harry, hoping that Sebastian would remember his promise and not stalk him again if the toad did decide to reappear.
"Yes," mumbled the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him…" He left.
"Don't know why he's so bothered," commented Ron around a mouthful of candy, "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."
The rat was still snoozing in Ron's lap.
"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," sighed Ron in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work—"
"You know a spell to turn something yellow?" Harry was suddenly interested. "Where did you learn it? I've gone through most of the textbooks, but I haven't found anything on color-changing."
Ron blinked at him for a moment, seemingly mouthing 'most of the textbooks' in incredulous disbelief before shaking his head.
"George, one of the twins, gave it to me. I think it's a dud, I mean, I don't know a lot about spell or anything, but aren't they supposed to be in Latin?"
"Some," Harry continued, suddenly more cautious; it was never a good idea to make someone inferior or show more intelligence than them, "They can be in a lot of different root languages, but all of ours these days are in Latin and I don't know of any in English."
"Yeah, that's what I thought, although it did rhyme." Seeing Harry's curious look, he cleared his throat and chanted:
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,
Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."
Harry choked back a laugh, and Ron looked at him again.
"Yeah, makes you wonder they're ever going to stop making fun of me. Oh well, it was brief hope and entertainment." He managed a pitiful look which had Harry silently snickering again. Just then, the compartment door slid open and a girl stuck her head in.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she declared. Her voice was rather bossy, and she had lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth.
"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron.
"Oh," replied the girl, "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"
"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered. Here we go again.
"Harry Potter," Harry stated in a soft voice, not meeting her eyes.
"Are you really?" exclaimed Hermione, "I know all about you, of course—" No you don't, we've never met before, "I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."
"Am I?" Harry asked sarcastically. Apparently, she didn't pick up on it.
"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," Hermione asserted disapprovingly. No you wouldn't have, Harry thought acidly, Or do you really enjoy or want to read about your parents' deaths over and over again?
"Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad…Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad," with that, she left. Well that's a way to choose a house to be in; how in the world does she know it's the best. Just because the Headmaster was in it doesn't mean anything. I hate biased people.
"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not," said Ron.
"What house are your brothers in?" asked Harry.
"Gryffindor," groaned Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."
"That's the house Voldemort was in?" Ron gaped at him.
"You just said You-Know-Who's name!" he breathed in astonishment. Harry shook his head slightly.
"I don't think that's his real name, more of a nickname. I mean, who names their kid 'Voldemort'?" Ron stared at him in disbelief.
"But you're not supposed to say it!" he exclaimed.
"Why-ever not? To not say his name it to simply add to the fear it inspires, sort of like the swastika and the Nazis."
"What?"
"Never mind."
"Anyway," continued Ron, giving Harry an odd look and making him cringe. Great, they weren't even at school yet and he was already pushing people away. "What house do you want to be in?"
"I don't know. I read about all of them in Hogwarts: A History and I like traits from all of the houses."
"You want to be in Slytherin?!" Ron asked in shocked horror. Harry looked at him calculatingly.
"Would it be a problem if I was?" he asked softly. Ron blinked at him, apparently at a loss for words.
"Well, yeah. I mean, everyone expects you to be in Gryffindor and everyone knows Slytherin is all dark and their members turn out evil."
"Why does everyone think I'll be in Gryffindor?" Harry asked curiously, cautiously, though honestly confused.
"Well obviously, you defeated You-Know-Who. You are therefore the hero of the light. And light wizards come from Gryffindor." Harry made an attempt to follow this somewhat dubious logic, not really wanting to dig himself into a deeper hole with his compartment companion; however, his desire to understand won out. Curiosity killed the cat.
"What about Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? Are they light too?"
"Well, yeah, but Gryffindor is the main one."
"And if I do get into Slytherin?" Harry was genuinely curious. He sometimes wanted to kill the part of him that played Devil's Advocate, as once it got started it didn't want to stop. He didn't actually believe that he'd be in Slytherin (or Gryffindor, for that matter), as Ravenclaw fit his interests the best, but he wanted to see how far Ron was willing to go. Ron, for his part, looked absolutely horrified at the prospect of Harry being in Slytherin, but seemed to be actually making an attempt to not hurt Harry's feelings when he answered.
"Well, I don't know. I guess it would be ok. I mean, you defeated You-Know-Who, it's not like you're going to become a dark wizard. You just might have a hard time. Most of that house is You-Know-Who supporters, and they'd probably hate you." He shot a sidelong glance at Harry, "If you are in it, unlikely, I could try to stay friends with you." WHAT?! Since when were we friends?
Harry was at a complete loss at this sudden change in direction. Seeing his expression and misunderstanding, Ron hurried on to explain, "I mean, if you don't want to, that's ok, and it would be rather hard anyway; Slytherin and Gryffindor don't get along really at all, but we could try." Harry managed to get control of his emotions for a moment and nod, causing Ron to smile shakily at him.
Harry fought to regain his equilibrium, and feeling sort of bad for upsetting Ron, he decided it would be best to get his companion (Friend? No, not yet, not by a long shot) chattering again. An offhand comment about one of the Quidditch dates he vaguely remembered Ron mentioning before, and the redhead was off, exclaiming about this world cup and that move, and Harry sank back into his notes with relief.
He'd never had a friend before, which was probably why he had reacted the way he had. When he was little, Dudley had bullied all the kids to keep away from him, and by this point in time, they avoided him because he was an antisocial freak (not by choice, but they didn't know that). The teachers had been no help whatsoever, either oblivious, or thinking they could solve the problem by making 'partner groups' for projects, which had only made the matter worse.
Harry really didn't know what he thought of this 'friend' idea. He was still positive that Ron would stop associating with him once they started class, and that this was either a joke or just a brief moment of entertainment for him until he had something better to do, though the redhead had seemed genuine enough. His musings (and Ron's chatter) were interrupted when the compartment door slid open again and a pale blond boy entered.
"Is it true?" he asked softly, "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you then?" Harry mentally sighed. Is there anyone who doesn't know who I am?
"Yes," he replied quietly. The other boy eyed him appraisingly.
"My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." Harry snickered in the back of his mind. I wonder if wizards see movies. Honestly, Malfoy, Draco Malfoy? Cut me a break. Ron gave a light cough, which might have been hiding a snicker, although Harry got the feeling it was for a different reason than his had been. Draco Malfoy looked at him.
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." He turned back to speak to Harry, but Ron, unable to take insult to his family silently, interrupted.
"Oh really, and my father told me all the Malfoys are Death Eaters and care less about incest than the Blacks." Draco wheeled around, a snarl on his face. Harry had to admit—although he was at a total loss as to why these two hated each other and why they were insistent on insulting each other's families—that had been a rather good comeback. As Draco hissed another insult (about red hair) back at Ron, Harry returned to his notes. Ron seemed more than capable of defending himself, so Harry didn't feel guilty about not helping him (which he felt he would have owed to Ron due to the 'friend comment', genuine or not).
In primary school, Harry had seen enough family feuds carried out onto the playground to know better than to get involved. He sunk back into the shadows with his book and notes, zoning out the continued verbal combat, and painstakingly copied down where to find a bezoar and what in the world it did.
:~:
The sun slowly traveled across the sky and began to set. Harry paused in his note taking to watch the vivid colors outside the window, gazing at the peaceful scene which was so drastically different from what his compartment had been for the last few hours. Ron and Draco hadn't paused once in their quest to rip each other to shreds, and having finished with family background and each other's intelligence, they had moved onto Quidditch teams. Harry was privately amused to note that their two favorite respective Quidditch teams appeared to be archrivals, adding even more fuel to the argument.
He sighed, turning from the window to his notebook again, which now not only contained Potions notes, but also information on Ron's family and Malfoy's family (he'd jotted down the tidbits of information he'd gotten from their insults—not that it would all be correct, but it was better than nothing), Quidditch (the basics, famous games, and loads on his two compartment companions' favorite teams), some of the better insults which had been thrown around, Ron's opinion on the various houses, Neville's toad's name, various landmarks they'd passed and what direction they were going at what time (ok he was paranoid and wanted to be able to find his way back if he had to. So what?), and the names of various wizarding sweets and a brief description of what they were (including a small sketch; his artistic abilities weren't that bad).
Both Draco and Ron appeared oblivious that he was taking notes on them, which was just what Harry wanted. No point in letting them know he had this information.
A tall prefect knocked on the compartment door, announcing that they would be arriving at Hogwarts shortly and telling them to change. Ron and Draco stopped snarling at each other for the first time in over two hours, and with one last glare at Ron and a rather polite nod at Harry, Draco rose from his seat and stormed out of the compartment. Ron and Harry shared a glance, helped each other get their trunks down, and took out their robes. They both pulled them on in record time, and Harry slipped his textbooks back into his trunk along with the chocolate frog box. He kept his pen and notebook out in case he needed to jot down more information. A voice echoed through the train:
"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately." Harry's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron turned pale under his freckles. They exchanged a frightened glance.
"Don't worry," Ron commented quietly as Harry reached up and pulled out his hair tie, letting his long hair fall and cover his face—especially his scar, "I don't think it's that bad." Harry graced him with a look of sheer disbelief as they exited the compartment and left the train. A lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice:
"Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere! All right there, Harry?" Hagrid's big face beamed over the sea of heads. "C'mon, follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"
Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.
"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "Jus' round this bend 'ere."
There was a loud "Ooooooh!"
The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its many windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. Harry had to admit to being more than impressed. Hogwarts: A History might have contained pictures, but it was nothing to seeing it in person. This is so surreal. I'm going to go learn magic in a giant castle that looks like it came out of a fairy tale and nothing like the medieval castles are supposed to. Someone pinch me.
"No more'n four ter a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione.
"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself, "Right then—FORWARD!"
And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.
"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.
"Oy, yeh there! Is this yer toad?" said Hagrid, who what checking the boats as people climbed out of them.
"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then, they clambered up a passageway into the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.
"Everyone 'ere? Yeh there, still got yer toad?" Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.
The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes and a wide brimmed hat stood just inside. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross, at all, ever.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid politely.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She pulled the door wide, revealing the entrance hall. Harry blinked, and he heard quite a few people gasp.
The entrance hall was huge, larger than Gringotts', with stone floors and a marble staircase which seemed to lead to upper floors. The first years followed Professor McGonagall, all the while craning their necks around to try and catch a glimpse of the ceiling. Harry was torn between containing his excitement and looking at the floor or following suit and not standing out. They crowded into a side chamber, where they were able to hear the drone of hundreds of voices, but unable to see anyone.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "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 houses will be something like your family within Hogwarts." I sincerely hope not, Harry thought, but maybe that's just me, "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 called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you 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 honor. 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. I shall return when we are ready for you; please wait quietly." She left the chamber. Harry swallowed, fighting the urge to ask how they would be sorted. Ron leaned over to comment to him.
"I think it's some sort of test. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking." Harry shot him a rather disbelieving look. He was nervous, sure, but not nervous enough to believe that. Next to his ear, he heard Sebastian snicker quietly and fought the urge to reply.
Instead, he glanced around at the other first years. Everyone seemed to be mumbling to whatever friend they had picked up on the train ride, while Hermione Granger was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Harry sighed. Odds are we won't need the stuff in our books. I mean, honestly, I know I'm the total exception: no one else (except Hermione, obviously) has read the course material!
Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air (to his utter fury; wasn't he supposed to be able to hide his emotions?), while several people behind him screamed.
"What the…" he stared, clenching his teeth so his jaw wouldn't drop. About twenty ghosts—ghosts!—had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to by arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying:
"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—"
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he'd not really even a ghost, we all know the Bloody Baron is the only one able to control him in the slightest, and ever since he reappeared he's been hiding from us—I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed them. Nobody answered, to Harry's secret amusement.
"New students!" the Fat Friar crowed, smiling down at them, "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"
A few brave souls nodded mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know."
"Move along now," snapped a sharp voice, "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." Professor McGonagall strode back into the antechamber. One by one, the ghosts floated through the opposite wall.
"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "And follow me."
Feeling oddly as though his legs had been turned to lead, Harry slid into line behind Ron and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
Harry stared. The Hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, which were set with glittering golden plates and goblets. The students at the tables craned their necks and peered around one another to get a look at the incoming first years. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.
Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years; on top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched, frayed, and extremely dirty. Everyone in the Hall—students, teachers, and ghosts—stared at the hat in silence. It twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth…and the hat began to sing.
Harry listened to the song, absently making a note about what it said about the houses compared to what he'd read and been told; however, most of his attention was focused on the song itself, the rhyme, meter, rhythm, etc. Harry actually liked to read poetry (to the horror of his classmates), and was rather critical of it. So while he tried to absorb the message the hat was making, he was also noting that the rhythm was a bit off and the rhymes were stretched.
The song ended and the whole hall burst into applause. The hat bowed to each of the four tables and then went still. Harry could swear, in the slight silence that followed, that he heard one of the teachers behind him comment:
"Is that seriously the best it can do? I'm going to have to read it decent lyrics and poetry the next time I'm in Albus's office!" and another voice scolding in a hissed whisper,
"Leo!"
"So we've just got to try on a hat!" Ron whispered to Harry, "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!" Harry refrained from commenting, but snickered in his head. Yes, wrestling a troll would have been bad. Professor McGonagall now 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. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blond pigtails stumbled out of the line, put on the Hat (which fell right down over her eyes), and sat down. A moment's pause—
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat shouted.
The table second from the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry sighed. Oh boy…
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the Hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah. I've got a bad feeling about this…
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them. Yes, this calling out of names is going to get me a lot of stares, I just know it.
"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw, too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded in cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling. He sighed again. Why me? Why do I have to be 'famous'?
"Bulstrode, Millicent" became the first Slytherin. Maybe they won't react, I mean, they're just cheering normally for these people…
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!" …Yeah, like I believe that. Nope, I'm screwed.
"Finnigan, Seamus"
"GRYFFINDOR"
"Granger, Hermione"
"GRYFFINDOR" Ron groaned and Harry shot him a reproving glance which he totally missed. Right, don't think about the public, think about the Houses.
"Longbottem, Neville"
"GRYFFINDOR" Well, that's interesting…wouldn't have picked him for that House, not that I would know.
"Malfoy, Draco" the hat had barely touched his head before announcing:
"SLYTHERIN" …Surprise, surprise.
"Nott…Parkinson…Patil, Patil…Perks…" the names continued to tick down to his. Harry was nervous, but more for other people's reaction than what house he'd end up in. What he'd told Ron on the train had been entirely truthful: he didn't really care. However, if 'everyone' expected him to be in Gryffindor and he wasn't…
"Potter, Harry!" As Harry stepped forward, whispers broke out in the hall like little hissing fires.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?!"
The last thing Harry saw before the Hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Lovely, just what I always wanted: even more people staring at me!
'Quite' said a small, amused voice in his ear, 'My, my: what a sarcastic mind you have. I haven't seen a first year with one developed this far in a long time.'
Hello, nice to meet you too, Harry thought acidly, Why yes, go right ahead and take a look at all my very privet thoughts. Don't mind me; I'm just here for your entertainment.
The Hat laughed. 'Oh, are you ever amusing. Reminds me of someone I used to know, back when I was made.'
Really, the sudden possibilities opened up to Harry. How long ago were you made? Who made you? Have you always sorted students? There was a moment of silence.
'You know, you're the first person to ever have a conversation with me,' came the startled Hat's voice.
Oh, great. Yet another thing only I've done. Sorry.
'No, don't apologize; a healthy dose of curiosity is a good thing. Besides, the longer we sit here, the more the students will panic.'
Yes, exactly, you'd better sort me soon. Think of the chaos.
'Ahh, but think of the fun!'
You might have a point.
'Now, to answer your questions, I was made by Godric Gryffindor way back when the school was created. Yes, I was made to sort students, but before that, Godric had the other three Founders try me on. The one you remind me of was his best friend, Salazar Slytherin.'
What? But according to history, Salazar and Godric were rivals.
'Oh, they were, but they were also the closest of friends. And Salazar was quite a lot like you: bitter, sarcastic, distrusting, physically and mentally hurt, disturbingly morbid, brilliant, and of course, a Parseltongue. Come up to the Headmaster's office sometime and put me on again, and I'll tell you more about them. Though don't tell anyone what I said or will say. It'll cause a general panic. Slytherin and Gryffindor are supposed to hate each other, after all.'
Ahh, but think of the fun! Harry shot back.
'You catch on too fast. Now, let's see, your sorting. Hmm…my, my, sneaking a snake into the school, are we? Don't worry, I won't tell.'
You'd better not, Harry snarled, or I'll give you a bath! The Hat paused.
'That's the best you can come up with?'
You don't look like you've had one in a long time. Who knows, can hats drown?
'Point taken…you'd do well in about any House. Hufflepuff will let you make friends who will notice your home issues and help you out of them—"
NO! No noticing!
'Very well…I'd put you in Ravenclaw, but you'd hog the library worse than they already do and besides, you're more interested in surviving than learning.'
Well, there goes my choice!
'Now, Gryffindor or Slytherin, Gryffindor or Slytherin. People expect you to be in Gryffindor, you know.'
Duh
'Charming. Well, you certainty have a saving people complex, so you'd fit right in there…what do you say?'
Is this thing rigged and that's the reason you're trying to put me in there? And I do so not have a saving people complex!
'…Or maybe not Gryffindor. No, the sorting is not rigged, idiot! And yes you do have a saving people complex!'
And who writes your song, anyway? Harry had a vague idea of what was going to happen if the Hat had the nerve to put him in Slytherin—and if the entire wizarding world was going to murder him, then he was going out with a bang.
'Such morbid thoughts, kid. And I write my songs, why do you ask?'
Well, I was just going to comment that the message was rather oddly worded to get the thing to rhyme and you should really avoid doing that. Some of the rhymes weren't even that good, anyway, and the rhythm was totally off. Have you ever considered reading a poetry book for help? I promise to bring a good one if I ever visit you…
'Ok, that does it. Deal with the consequences, you sarcastic brat. Salazar would have been proud of you.'
"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat screamed to the hall.
There was dead silence as Harry took the Hat off, set it on the stool (maybe just a tad more forcefully than he should have), and walked over to the Slytherin table, mentally grumbling about stupid hats who can't do poetry and have a nasty sense of humor and he said Godric made him? He's got the personality of a Slytherin and so on and so forth.
He slid onto the bench at the end of the table (where the other first years were sitting) and idly wished everyone would stop staring at him. His expressionless mask was in place, no problems there, but the staring was getting a bit annoying. He hadn't exactly expected anyone to clap, though it would have been nice (and polite), but the ridiculously long pause was getting on his nerves. He stared fixedly at his plate.
After the silence stretched to beyond awkward, Professor McGonagall drew an unsteady breath and called out:
"Thomas, Dean", who went to Gryffindor, "Turpin, Lisa," who became a Ravenclaw, "Weasley, Ronald," who also went to Gryffindor (Harry clapped as his former companion seemed relieved), and lastly, "Zabini, Blaise," who slid into the seat next to him at the Slytherin table and shared a high-five with Draco Malfoy.
Albus Dumbledore got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.
"Welcome!" he said, "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" He sat back down. Everyone clapped and cheered, and Harry wondered if this was who the Sorting Hat had gotten its peculiar humor from. Or maybe it was the other way around. He turned his attention back to the table and blinked.
The dishes in front of his were piled with food. He had never seen so many different foods on the table at once: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some reason peppermint humbugs. He glanced around as everyone piled food onto their plates, grimacing at the amount of meat and starch. Not that he didn't like those things, but there weren't many other options.
Just remember, he informed himself silently as he spooned small amounts of food onto his plate, You haven't eaten in a while and you don't want to get sick, so no rich stuff and only eat a little. And fruit/nutrients for breakfast tomorrow.
Aunt Petunia had always ignored the various nutrition things, but since Harry rarely ate except at school, he had to be careful to eat the right things or else he'd pass out. It had happened once and had not been pleasant (the Dursley's had been furious at having to pick him up from school, especially at the nurse's pointed questions). He sighed and began to dig into the vegetables, eavesdropping on his tablemates' conversations, which seemed to be centered on pureblood families and gossip.
"Yes I know, did you hear about the marriage between…"
"Yes, Mother is on her fifth husband now, I wonder how long before she kills him off too…"
"Only you, Zabini, could say something like that about your mother."
"What, it's true."
"Hey Draco, did you really go to Italy this past summer? How in the world did you manage to stay so pale? Hide inside all day?"
Harry zoned back out again, instead glancing up through his hair at the high table. There was the Headmaster in the center, and to his left was Professor McGonagall. Sitting next to her was another witch, and next to her was a wizard with black hair, a hooked nose, dressed completely in black, who seemed to look familiar. I think I saw him before, once. He appeared to be sneering at a comment made by the wizard sitting next to him, an odd, quivering man wearing an absurdly large purple turban. Hagrid sat at the very end, drinking deeply from his goblet. Going the other way were even more witches and wizards, including two younger men, who, for all appearances, were teasing the poor witch sitting between them mercilessly.
"Those two are Professors Monsel and Astley, who teach arithmancy and ancient runes, respectively. We won't be able to be in their classes until third year, but I hear they're very good." Harry fought not to jump and slowly turned to the boy who was sitting next to him, eyeing him in quiet appraisal.
"Theodore Nott, but call me Theo," he murmured, holding out his hand. Harry shook it gingerly, wondering why this boy was bothering to talk to him. "Ignore them," he added, nodding at the other first years who had been pretending Harry didn't exist. He didn't really mind, supposing that it was better than the alternative. "They're ignoring you for appearance sake. Can't be seen talking to the Boy-Who-Lived without getting a measure of you first. That's…Gryffindor-like." He added with an amused smile.
Harry simply arched an eyebrow at him, subtly cuing him to continue. Theo gave the faintest nod in silent approval. "Don't worry, they might all be stuck-up purebloods, but they're not that bad, all things considered. Ever since the Black children passed through, there hasn't really been any totally ingrained pureblood children around. They're not that bad, once you get used to them."
Harry considered this for a moment then gave a short nod and turned back to his meal, filing the information away for later. He'd read about purebloods, of course, and their feuding war with muggleborns and halfbloods (who chose one side or another in the conflict; either way, they got the low cut, not belonging to either group). According to a history book he'd read, it was this conflict that caused all the wizarding wars, ever; from the split of the Hogwarts Founders to Voldemort's reign of terror. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure where he stood in the conflict. He was pretty sure his mum was a muggleborn (because otherwise, Aunt Petunia was a squib, and she seemed to know too much muggle culture to have grown up outside of it), but he had no idea what his dad was.
I'll have to be careful about the Voldemort stuff, too, he thought, Especially if Ron was right and most of the people in this house support him, when I obviously don't. Alright, new Survival Rule: refer to Voldemort as You-Know-Who.
Suddenly, the food on the plates disappeared, and was replaced by desserts. Harry watched as an all-out war started of who could get to the sweets faster. It was especially obvious at the Gryffindor table, and least noticeable at the Slytherin (but just as, if not more so, present). Harry helped himself to the fruit, which no one else seemed to want and was therefore easiest to get, and a treacle tart, which he nibbled on, not really hungry but unwilling to leave without trying a sweet.
Privately, he admitted that he was rather astonished no one had stopped him from eating, and incredibly glad that one of Dudley's relatives had sent Dudley a book on etiquette for his birthday. Dudley had immediately thrown it away, but Harry had fished it out of the trash and read it from cover to cover. It had been incredibly dull, but at least he now knew table manners.
At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.
"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered." He makes us sound like plants. "I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." …And the Hat had the nerve to tell me I was morbid.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry stared in disbelief and noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it. The ribbon hovered high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune," exclaimed Dumbledore, "and off we go!"
Harry listened to the song in horrified disbelief. The idea itself (of all singing to different tunes) was rather amusing, but he'd thought the sorting song hadn't rhymed and had bad rhythm. It was nothing on this. The next time I talk to that Hat, I'm asking him who wrote this, he thought, reluctantly mumbling the words under his breath along with the rest of Slytherin. And if it was him, we're going to have a serious conversation on poetry. God, this is awful!
Everyone finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Harry mentally snickered at the sheer morbid-ness of it all.
"Ah, music," Dumbledore sighed, wiping his eyes, "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
Harry followed the other Slytherin first years, careful to keep in the shadows and out of quick reach. The others seemed to be content to ignore him, except for Draco Malfoy, who shot him curious glances every once in a while. They went deeper and deeper into the school, down and down. It got a lot colder, though it was still warmer than his cupboard in the winter, so he didn't really mind. Finally, they stopped in front of a blank, stone wall. Harry noticed for the first time that they were following a tall, older year girl, who had a prefect badge on. Pay more Attention!
"This," she began, "Is the entrance to the Slytherin common room and dorms. The password this week is snake pit. The other houses change their password every month, Slytherin changes theirs every week. Inside the common room, there is a board with general notices, the current password included. No one from another house is to know where this entrance is. No one from another house is to ever learn our password. Is that clear?" She spoke slowly and quietly, every word weighted with a soft threat. The first years nodded, terrified. "Good, then say it with me. Snake pit."
"Snake pit." The first years dutifully droned, and a concealed door in the wall rolled back, revealing a short hall. She entered and they followed.
The hall led to a large round room, with tables, chairs, filled bookcases, and a couple fireplaces with armchairs around them. The room was decorated in silver and green; the whole place was dark but managed to give off a slight comforting air: comforting as long as you didn't mean harm. It was a little intimidating. The prefect jerked her thumb at the few students lingering in the common room and they vanished through one of the passages leading out of the room. She then turned to address the first years.
"Welcome to Slytherin. This is the house infamous for ambition, secrecy, and deceit. What the world does not tell you is that we're more loyal than Gryffindor to our own." She paused for a moment to let them consider that.
"In Slytherin, you will learn many of your peers' secrets. They are NOT to leave this house without the expressed permission of that person. To break this rule is to be outcast from this house, for while you will still live here, to Slytherin, you will cease to exist. Is that clear?" They nodded.
"The dorms are split in two, the boys' dorms, and the girls' dorms. The head prefects, myself and Marcus Flint, room totally separate from everyone else, to make us easier to access in the case of an emergency. Don't come crying to us over every single problem, as you are expected to solve most of those yourselves, but if you do need us, we are available at all times.
"Slytherin is a very private house. You are expected to behave in class, win any fights you get into, be polite if it is required, and have control over your emotions. It is expected that this will take some time to master, but the quicker the better for all of you. Do not, under any circumstances embarrass Slytherin.
"Professor Snape is our head of house and the Potions teacher. He's also the youngest potions master in history, so keep that in mind. Come to us before you go to him to solve your problems—although, like us, he is available at all times. Taking care of the Slytherins is his job, so if you are having issues with bulling, harassment, a particularly hard class, teachers picking on you, etc, you are to go to him. Understood?" Another series of nods.
"Now, Marcus will be out in a minute to take the boys to their dorm. The girls' dorms are this way." She indicated the passage off to the left. "Prefect dorms are the center passage, and the boys' are on the right. Opposite sexes will be able to get into one another's dorms, but the consequences are your responsibility. Goodnight." With that, she headed off down the left passage, the girls hesitantly following her. A tall, muscular boy exited from the prefects' dorms.
"Come on, snakes," he told the boys in a soft, deep voice, which rang with the same quiet power and warning as the girl prefect's had. They followed him down the right passage and to the last set of doors on either side of the corridor. "These are the first year boy dorms," Flint stated.
"This one," he gestured to the door on the left, "Is the smaller dorm, having room for two people. This one," now the one on the right, "Is the larger one for four. It up to you who sleeps where. You're expected to keep your dorm neat as possible, though considering you're boys and eleven at that, there really isn't much expectation of that happening. However, do try to pick it up at least once a week.
"Each dorm is equipped with a bathroom; remember, be nice and share. Blood purity doesn't mean you have top position." He added with a glance at Malfoy, who gazed innocently back. "A bell will ring every morning at six. You do not have to get up at this time, but it is the only alarm which will go off. Breakfast is at eight and classes start at nine. Goodnight." He turned and left.
The first years looked at each other—Harry a bit more warily than the others, who seemed to have known each other before Hogwarts. Draco took charge.
"Right, Vince, Greg, you two get the little dorm, you get along well enough. The rest of us will share the larger." Everyone nodded, and the two hulking boys went through the door on the left, while everyone else entered through the right.
The dorm contained four, four-poster beds with dark green, velvet curtains, and green comforters and pillowcases, all embroidered around the edge with silver snakes. Draco immediately claimed the closest bed on the left, and Blaise Zabini took the one on the right. Theodore Nott and Harry took the ones in the back corners, Harry on the left and Theo on the right. The instant they sat on their beds, their trunks appeared off to the side. Too tired to do anything else, they changed for bed (Harry pulled the curtains so no one would see the still open marks on his back) and went to sleep.
Harry lay awake for a long time, silently petting Sebastian (who he had fed when no one was looking). He'd never been in a real bed before, and the sheets were incredibly soft, the blankets thick and warm; the whole bed seemed geared to enticing him to sleep. Yet when he finally drifted off, he slept lightly, the slightest sound causing him to jerk awake. There was no way in the world he trusted his roommates.
Notes:
First of all, I know that some of this chapter was copied straight out of the books, although some of it was changed. So yes, not all of this is mine. I've also taken JKR's words and reworked them to fit with my writing style more so that the sections aren't glaringly obvious.
Second: I don't hate Hermione. I didn't intend for her to turn out to be a little cruel, but when I was reading the lines in the books, I couldn't help but notice she wasn't that sensitive. Don't worry, she'll change.
Ron's a little AU; he's a bit more sensitive and willing to befriend Harry. I don't know how this will turn out.
Yes, I'm aware that Crabbe and Goyle were with Draco when he entered the compartment. However, this just didn't fit my purposes, so out they went.
The sorting hat...I couldn't resist. Enough said. And yes, it'll come up later.
Thank all of you who reviewed.
