Chapter One: Sorting Heads

A glow was casted over the students and faculty as excitement and anticipation filled the air. The alabaster hue floating candles lit the Great Hall as one by one small, wide-eyed first years were trooped into the grand room by Professor McGonagall.

Each and every one of the students currently sitting had to go through this ritual: the humiliation, the horror, the unknown. It was a rite of passage to become a proper Hogwarts student, to be inspected like a predator does prey. They were to be judged of who and what they are at age eleven, barely out of being a child and not yet lived as a teen, but old enough to surmise and deduce their character.

The ratty, ramshackle hat being use to sort was placed on a regular wooden stool as if it was regal, as if it was a crown to be held and not relinquished. This seemingly nothing hat, here since the birth of the school, was given by the four founders power and insight in order to provide guidance to the succeeding generations in a world in which they were gone. It was to be provide awareness, knowledge and awakening, but, most of all, a sense of self and belonging.

There are four houses in which the student could be placed, named after each founding member of the school and based on specific traits in which the members were known for. The student could be placed in Gryffindor, the house of bravery and chivalry, or in Hufflepuff, the house in which one was true and just. Ravenclaw required wit and intelligence and Slytherin demanded craftiness and calculation.

As each student made their way and participated in their part of the ritual, no different from squires waiting to be knighted, the exhilaration and thrill was becoming too difficult to maintain. The harshness of tone from McGonagall and the deathly glares and scowls from the Potion Master did little to help the matter. Each house was eager to open their arms wide and accept the newcomers as their own, as if they were never strangers in the first place.

"Granger, Hermione!"

The bushy haired girl trudged up to the stool, avoiding eye-contacts and smiles of encouragement. She envisioned that she was back in gym class in the muggle school of hers. The girl who was always picked last, standing on the sidelines as everyone else had fun and hilarity. The one that no one ever wanted.

Must they be singled out one by one?

Cheer up, the hat said as it moved a bit to fit around the girl's bushy hair. You will shine at Hogwarts.

I will? questioned the girl. She was startled at first to hear an unknown voice within her mind, but then she remembered that she was currently in a vast castle, where there were ghosts and magical ceilings and everything beyond her wildest imaginations.

Yes, and, my, you'll have an astonishing future ahead of you. Though you'll have to watch out. There are those who only wish you success for their own ploy.

The girl was about to ask the magical hat more about that matter but did not as she couldn't contain her grin when the hat shouted out the house Gryffindor. Forgetting what it had said earlier, she happily placed the hat back on the stool and walked quickly, almost skipping, to her assigned table.

Other students were confident in the house in which they would be placed. It was just a matter of family honor and having the right blood. For the blonde-haired Draco Malfoy, the magical hat could not of shouted the house Slytherin fast enough before it was place on the child's head, as if the hat was avoiding fire or, worst, slow death from poison.

There will always be questionable inquires on certain placements. The brunette haired Amelia Pierce was a muggle-born, sharing Hermione's view of the magical world as a strange and wondrous alien culture. She was placed in Slytherin, a house known for pure bloods and fierce family loyalty as well as to one another. A house in which You-Know-Who claimed ownership as well as many of his devoted followers. It was not a house to take too kindly on, no matter under what circumstances.

Then there was Harry Potter, the one and only. When his name was called, the whispers that already filled the Great Hall went up a notch, similar to the constant highs and lows of a crowd mumbling. Students in the back were climbing on their seat to get a glance of the Boy Who Lived, the savior of their world. The boy who was but a tot ten years prior, yet he saved the magical and muggle world from the wrath of the You-Know-Who, his true name few dared say. The attempts by McGonagall to still the students went unheard as they anxiously wait for the outcome of his sorting. They all wanted him to be sorted into their house, save Slytherins, though if asked they would welcome the savior after some hesitation. The war was behind them...right?

Ah, Harry Potter, said the hat in a rather monotone voice. It cared not for the anticipation and excitement from the room before him.

The hat was large on his small head and Harry could barely make out the hall. Yes? the boy hesitantly answered.

Plenty of courage, I see. A brilliant mind, though not as brilliant as the one before you.

Thanks? said Harry as he moved around a bit on the stool. He didn't like the attention he was getting nor did he like being displayed and being treated not so different from an encaged animal at the zoo.

He was more than his name.

I see talent and an overwhelming desire to protect and defend. You're not a mother bear at a lost of where her cubs are, are you not? said the magical hat as he laughed along with his joke.

What? It seemed to Harry that his only replies thus far were questions. He took in a short shaky breath and tried to still his shaking hands. He gripped the edge of the stool tightly, daring not to let go. To let go was to fall from a treacherous cliff overlooking a menacing, blue ocean as the waves held out their arms and invited him in.

His aunt would spank him if he even think of asking questions. His uncle would use his mother's mother's rigid cane against his buttocks. His astonishingly over-weight cousin would laugh and taunt and gather his friends to chase the smaller boy down.

Just breathe in and out.

In and out.

In.

Out.

He was with friends here.

He was currently in a magical, enormous, dreams come true castle.

Be happy.

Harry slowly released his fingers from the stool, one by one.

Never mind. I'm only to be use once a year and I must entertain myself to pass the time, revealed the seemingly living fabric. There was silent for the next moment or so as the hat continued on with his search. This youngster will have a difficult path ahead of him. Ah, a thirst to prove yourself...Now, where to put you?

Harry didn't like that a hat of all things was searching through his mind, getting to the very core of who he is, even he himself didn't know what he is capable of. He just...he just...will they stop whispering about him already? Gryffindor. I'll be able to make use of my position in Gryffindor.

The hat paused in his pondering. It was not uncommon to have the student suggest the placement of their house, why the student before him had the same objective. Ah, a plan, I see. Suppose I can change your mind? Slytherin, you see, would do you good. No? Well, if you so wish then it shall be...GRYFFINDOR, the last word shouted out for all to hear.

Cheers and shouts greeted Harry as he walked shakily to the table with the red and gold pennants magically hung from the ceiling. He glanced around and made out a few faces he saw on the train. Ron Weasley had yet to be sorted, but seeing his older brothers Percy and the twins at the same table as he, Harry was sure that his new found friend would be in the same house as him.

The other houses seemed to be sadden by their lost prospect of having the savior of the magical world under their name. Even some of the Slytherins had the appearance of a child who's been told that he or she couldn't have a lollipop for a job well done.

Seeing that there were a few more students to go, Harry began to observe the faculty at the High Table. The Headmaster seemed to be pleased with his placement. The elderly wizard raised his golden goblet when they made eye contact. The one they called Professor Snape would not stop staring at him. Harry again cursed his famous name. Professor Quirrell didn't look at all that much different compared to the day Harry met him at Diagon Alley, though a bit more put together and less spooked. Hagrid just gave him a mountainous smile, as if he was the father sending his child to his first day of school, placing his dreams and desires on his son and wishing him everlasting success.

After hearing the Headmaster choice of a "few words," Harry gave a small sigh of relief as he glanced down at his suddenly filled plate of food.

He had done it. He had made it to Hogwarts, where there were wands and owls and magic. He would not fail his mother and father now. No, just the opposite. He will make them proud. He will make them all proud.

Now, if only he could stop his scar from hurting.

Professor Snape patrolled quickly and quietly through the castle empty hallways, making sure that none of the students got the stupid idea of sneaking out of their dormitory on the first night, like so many years before. He was not born yesterday. He knows what students like to do in the dead of night.

Inconsiderate brats.

...

But it was his mission to protect them.

The start of the term banquet went well, though he could do without the cheers, the tears, the shouts, and definitely, definitely without that hideous, repulsive, outrageously annoying dimwitted school song. Just one year, just one year without that thing they call singing. Was that too much to ask?

The creaks and light thumps of his footsteps proved to be his only allies as he continued walking down the corridor near the kitchens. No hurried footsteps of students trying to sneak out food, nor where there hushed tones littering the hallway.

All was quiet.

Well, if they weren't here, they must be somewhere else causing trouble. Snape quicken his stride and headed to the revolving staircases.

Draco Malfoy was in his house. He should write to Lucius, informing the family, though why he even bother when he was sure Draco already owled his father the news.

Ah, yes.

Draco's mother.

Snape must look out for him, as he promised Narcissa. She had always been a bit too overly protective of her son for Snape's taste, but he must take on the obligation of being the boy's godfather seriously and without questions. The Malfoys were there for him during the years after the war, and he was for them, though not entirely out of respect and gratitude. It was more of an insurance, making sure he had a second home when the first succumb to fire and treachery. He had Albus on one side and the Malfoys on the other.

Snape must also be on alert to Amelia Pierce, a blue-eyed child in a house of snakes and poison. A muggle-born in Slytherin? She would be eaten alive, no doubt about it. She'll be chewed up, spited out and chewed up some more, if not by her housemates, then by others afraid of the color green and silver.

But, most importantly, Harry. Though that brat contained the good for nothing appearance of his father, the boy had Lily's soft, gentle green eyes. Eyes in which the owner could look upon him and see through to his very core, to his soul and beyond. Eyes in which he felt a sense of failure as well as a sense of loss when looked upon.

And, of course, eyes belonging to a child of James Potter.

Snape had no doubts about it. Harry will get into trouble, break school rules and care not for his classmates, just like his father.

Typical.

How he managed to make peace with James under Lily's encouragements...it was a God forsaken miracle. He had made peace with him, but that did not mean he couldn't still blame him with all the horrid things he and Sirius had done upon him during his years as a student here.

However, Albus must had sense an aura of loathing for it was he who had put Snape back into place. After everyone had eaten and went back to their dormitory, Albus surprised the Potion Master by taking him aside and voicing his thoughts.

Remember your promise, Severus. Do not forget your role in the matters.

How could he forget? How he gotten his best friend killed? How he should had used his place as a spy within the inner circle to prevent that said murder? How he failed in saving someone very close to Albus' heart as well as his own? He did not need reminding of his place and his mission. The blacken mark on his skin already proven to be an effective reminder.

And, of course, Quirrell.

That stupid idiot had gotten back worst then ever, though he couldn't imagined how. A teacher with a stutter? Albus should've sacked that man and given Snape the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He would certainly do a tremendously better job than that blubbering idiot. Why he should be on alert around Quirrell was also another troubling matter, but Albus...was that snickering?

Why, those brainless brats.

Snape's black robes made a whoosh as he quickly turned around and headed back to the kitchens, his footsteps loud and distinctive. The air around him suddenly felt more charged. He gripped his wand in anticipation of the encounter. The figures in the moving paintings shook their heads as they watched the man in black hurried away.

There was a job to be done.

And he was there to make sure it gets done.

The dust particles danced around each other in a tango as they made themselves known in the moonbeams. From the window, one could see the brilliant shine from the stars as well as the distinguishing white-gray moon in the clear, cool night sky. All was quiet, expect for the insects' hums and hooting owls. The sounds of the ticking clock softly lured the sleeping boys to a deep, dreams filled sleep. The constant snores of his roommates around him kept Harry company as he reflect back on the day and the month last.

It had been a long month at the Dursley's, ever since Hagrid showed up with his Hogwarts letter. He had been counting down the days, the hours, even the minutes. He had heard so much and looked so forward to finally be within the castle walls, to finally feel what his parents had felt when they walked through the front gate.

What he didn't count on was him being so, being so...well-known. He gotten a gist of it when he went to Diagon Alley with Hagrid, but to have so many eyes and admiration upon him...it was all too much. All too very much. How could he be regarded as a hero, a savior, when he was anything but?

He was just a tiny, little helpless toddler when he defeated the Dark Lord. He was nothing special. He had done nothing to accept the honor and privilege of being the knight in shining armor, saving the world from eternal darkness.

I'm just Harry.

Sighing and turning over so his back faced away from the moon-lit window, Harry thought back to the banquet, an event that seemed so far away now. He had never seen so much food before in his life. He had never experienced a full belly nor had he experienced what it was like to actually be the one to choose his food and eat to his heart content without worrying about any other.

His new friend Ron kept Harry's spirit up by talking about the wonders of the castle, of his stories his brothers told him and of the magical world in general. His fellow Gryffindors did not allow him a moment rest, asking him questions about his up-bringing and his life back home.

Harry just nodded and stuffed his mouth with food to avoid answering any of them.

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington introduced himself as the resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower and preceded in grossing the majority of the first-years with the demonstration of his nickname. His purpose was to get them to win the House Cup, though Harry didn't really care for the competition. He was just trying to get through the fest.

Though the banquet was delicious and exquisite, he could not of help feeling watched throughout dinner. The oil-slicked hair Potion Master did not lift his eyes from him and Harry swore that the purple turban wearing Professor Quirrell was eyeing him in a hostile way, a fleeting moment in which Harry actually felt fear for some unknown reason.

Maybe it was just his imaginations. His aunt always said that his daydreams would be the death of him some day.

Nevertheless, Harry did not imagine his scar hurting. The sudden pierce of pain radiating from the disfigurement down to his neck and out through his fingers and toes.

It was a sign. He knew it was. But, what?

Harry fingered the necklace he always wore around his neck, hidden away and always beneath his shirt. Hanging from a gold, thin chain, the charm letters S and L intersect in such a way that the S was connected and attached to the lower L, as if the S was holding the letter up, wanting not to be broken apart and given away. He was told that his mother was wearing this necklace when she was killed.

Will it give him luck when it had failed to do so for his mother?

Harry also had another charm that he could not deal without. Underneath his pillow was a broken piece of mirror, its edges sharp and jagged. His only friend's mother had the mirror placed in a locket especially made for it, protecting the mirror from the cruel, outside world.

The mirror was a gift. A gift he would cherish and adore till the end of his days. It was perfect because he liked to observe people, to get into their mentality and figure out why they act the way they act. It was all he got to do at the Dursleys', other than hiding out at the library, since Dudley would not go within two hundred meters of that place.

If he couldn't be part of the family, he could try to envision what it was like to be part of another, one that loved and adored him. He would look at himself in the mirror and wish for more, more than what he was given in this life. The mirror was not exceptional, nor was its ordinary, just different. It was made for him and him only.

Or, that was what he liked to believe.

It was given to him by his only friend. And now...she was too far away to comfort him on his first night here, at this strange and wondrous magic-filled castle. He shouldn't feel homesick, especially since he lives with the Dursleys, but he couldn't help but admit that he was...a bit homesick that is.

But, having his necklace and the mirror here with him, he'll never be alone.

A wolf howled from the Forbidden Forest, signaling a flight of birds from their perch. The sudden flaps of their wings broke through the once silent night.

He should probably get to sleep. It wouldn't do anyone good, especially him, if he was to fall asleep in class on the first day.