Chapter 2 – Tragic Kingdom
AN
Well, what awonderful reception the first chapter got! I'm delighted so many of you are excited about this story. Considering the number of times I stopped and restarted it, it's a great relief. Clearly the idea of a Gellert Grindelwald raised Harry caught a few people's imaginations.
This chapter is where the story starts properly, kicking off with the first of many flashback scenes. Hopefully with this story I've avoided the clichés that other Grey! Harry tales fall into: Harry will be powerful, but not godlike. He'll be cunning, but not all of his schemes will work. He'll be ruthless, but not evil. I'll let you judge if I've got the balance right.
I prostrate myself in honour of the wondrous Arnel and her superior beta skills. Trust me, she had a lot to do on this chapter…
Harry shivered and weakly tried to drag himself forward. He knew it was a futile gesture as there was simply nowhere to go. The rough, stone floor of his cell cut and scratched his naked body, but he barely noticed.
"Where are you going, Harry?" Bellatrix's voice called out cheerily. "You're not leaving me, are you? That would just break my heart!"
The woman cackled in amusement at her own joke. Harry could hear her footsteps approaching him. He ceased trying to move and curled into a ball, but he received a sharp kick in the ribs for efforts, knocking the wind out of him.
"It's a bit late to start getting all shy, handsome," Bella chuckled and bent down to grab the hair at the back of Harry's head, forcing him to look up at her. "You're my little toy, Harry, and I can do exactly what I want with you."
"Kill me," Harry begged in a broken voice. "Just kill me and have done with it."
"Kill you?" Bella repeated in mock surprise. "Oh, my goodness, no! The Dark Lord will be the one to end your miserable little life. I just get to play with you first."
She pushed his head down with enough force that his nose smacked into the floor. Harry could hear himself sobbing softly. Everyone had a breaking point, and he had long since reached his.
"Hmm, what shall we do now? Shall we play with my little knife, or would you like me to cast your favourite spell on you again? Oh, decisions, decisions," she teased.
He didn't bother to look up. He knew either option would only mean pain and suffering for him. A second later, he discovered the Bella had chosen to play with her knife, as he felt the cold blade pressed against his shoulder.
"You know, last night I asked my Lord if he needed you completely intact when he kills you. Do you know what he said?" she breathed into his ear. "He said no! I can cut whatever bits off you that I want. Won't that be fun?"
Harry felt a shudder of fear pass through him. What was this madwoman planning to do now? He felt her trail her fingers down his back and over his backside, her nails lightly dragging against his skin. A second later, he felt a wave of agony hit him. He flipped himself over with strength he didn't know he still possessed and stared at his left foot in horror. Blood was pouring from the gap where his little toe used to be.
"This little piggy went to market…" Bella chanted, waving his severed toe at him.
Terror and revulsion filled him. The deep-rooted fear of permanent mutilation all humans possess overwhelmed him and he was nearly sick as a wave of nausea rose within him. He gazed at the blood running down his foot in disbelief as Bellatrix's harsh laughter rang in his ears. She stood and pointed her wand at him, barely able to pronounce the incantation she was laughing so manically.
"Crucio!"
White-hot knives tore into his flesh and it felt like his skin was being melted from his body. Harry's world became one unending realm of agony as he thrashed and beat the stone floor in his anguish. He heard himself scream until he thought is vocal cords would split. Screaming, never to stop, never to end…
With a start, Harry awoke and blinked owlishly. It had been a long time since he'd had that nightmare and it left him feeling shaken. Instinctively, he glanced down at his left foot, but the shiny, black boots he was wearing hid his mutilation.
A soft giggling sound made him look up sharply. When he'd drifted off into sleep the train compartment had been empty, but now he was surprised to see four young girls sitting looking at him with mixed expressions.
"Where you having a bad dream?" the dark-haired girl sitting just over from Harry asked, concern clear in her voice.
"Something like that," Harry admitted, sitting up in his seat. A glance out the window revealed lush, green countryside, suggesting they had left London behind them. He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order.
He looked back at the four girls, only to find them all staring at him intently. They were all dressed in Hogwarts uniforms displaying the distinctive black and yellow colours of the Hufflepuff House, so they were second years, at least. Harry ran a hand over his face, while surreptitiously breathing in deeply. At once, his keen sense of smell detected various feminine odours: delicate soaps, fragrant shampoos and even a few dabs of a flowery perfume from the dark-haired girl. He also smelt hints of a more earthy, irony smell.
Concentrating on that scent, he realised that the dark-haired girl and the one with short light-brown hair had both started their menstrual cycles, while the nervous-looking girl with long, straight brown-hair was right on the verge of it. The small, giggly blond child who sat nearest to the door had yet to have her first period, however. Harry pondered this; puberty in both boys and girls was immensely important to their magical development. It was the reason most children didn't begin their magical training until eleven, when puberty had at least begun to start. These girls were only just beginning their magical development and had a long way to go before they were proper witches.
"How long have I been asleep?" Harry asked the girls, offering them a pleasant smile.
Three of the girls instantly burst into giggles. The dark-haired girl who had previously spoken just turned a spectacular shade of red and hurriedly looked at her feet. Harry suppressed a grin. He knew a crush when he saw one.
"Umm, we just passed Birmingham a while back," the short-haired girl replied with a bright smile. "Who are you? I've never seen you at Hogwarts before."
"I'm just starting this year," Harry supplied. Deciding that engaging the young girls in conversation would be a good way of learning more about Hogwarts, he began to elaborate. "I've been home schooled up to this point, and actually took the German equivalent of the O.W.L. exanimations as my guardian was from that country. Sadly, he died last year, so I decided I'd come to Hogwarts to take my N.E.W.T.s."
"Oh, how old are you, then?" the dark-haired girl asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"I was seventeen last July," he replied. "By the way, my name is Harry."
"I thought you looked too old to still be going to school," the girl admitted shyly. "My name is Michelle, and this is my best friend Imogen. Over there is Cerys and Hannah. We're all second year Hufflepuffs."
"And a very pretty group of Hufflepuffs you are, too," Harry told them and was rewarded with more giggling and some very red cheeks. Getting these girls to talk should be easy, he decided. "So, what's Hogwarts like, then?"
"It's brilliant!" Hannah piped up, her blond curls bobbling as she bounced in her seat. "We get to do magic every day and our Head of House is wonderful."
"It's okay," the quieter and more reserved Cerys supplied. "Most of the teachers are great, but there are a few that aren't so good."
"Yeah, like Snape!" Michelle spat. "He's Head of Slytherin and he's a right nasty git."
"All Slytherins are like that," Cerys agreed. "They're all a bunch of bullies."
"Really?" Harry asked in mock surprise. In truth, he was already aware of Slytherin's reputation and particularly that of its malicious Head of House. It was partly his desire to confront the man that had convinced Harry to attend Hogwarts in the first place. Still, it always paid to gather whatever information was available before walking into any new situation.
"Oh, yes!" Michelle declared hotly. "They're all horrible. Half of them have parents who are Death Eaters and I bet most of them end up serving You-Know-Who in the end. The seventh years are the worst of the bunch. There are some real evil gits in that year."
"Pansy Parkinson is the worst," Hannah decided, her normal bubbliness subdued for the moment. "She's just cruel."
"Yes, particularly to anyone who isn't a pure-blood," Cerys noted. "I'm only a half-blood, so they pick on me a lot. What are you, Harry?"
"I'm like you, a half-blood," Harry confirmed. "Blood purity is just a fantasy, anyway. There's absolutely no evidence that being a pure-blood makes you magically stronger. Besides, there aren't enough witches or wizards in Britain for them to sustain the magical-population that way, not without them marrying their close relatives."
"Ugh, imagine you having to marry your brother, Imogen," Michelle said pulling a face.
"Oh, that's disgusting!" Imogen declared. "I feel sick just thinking about it."
"What are the other houses like?" Harry asked, grinning at the girls' banter.
"Well, the Gryffindors are alright. We Hufflepuffs get along with them pretty well, I guess. The Ravenclaws are a bit snooty, though. They tend to look down on us like we're all thick or something," Michelle explained.
"Yeah, what a load of rubbish that is! Why, Cerys is far smarter than most of the Ravenclaws in our year," Imogen said angrily.
"What house do you think you'll be in, Harry?" Michelle asked shyly.
Harry smiled at the girl warmly. In a few years, little Michelle would be stunningly beautiful, he thought. It was a shame she wasn't a little older, as she held the promise of developing into a vibrant and potentially exciting witch.
"I expect I'll become a Slytherin," Harry announced casually. The smiles dropped from the faces of the four girls instantly.
"But why would you want to go there?" Michelle demanded, sounding heart-broken. "Didn't you hear us tell you that they're all nasty bullies?"
"Yes, and I hate bullies," Harry explained. "When I was much younger, I lived with my aunt and uncle, and my cousin used to bully me all the time. Since then, bullying isn't something I will tolerate. If I'm going to stamp that sort of thing out, I'll need to be in Slytherin to do it, won't I?"
"Oh, Harry, you can't do that!" Michelle wailed. "They're a really nasty bunch in that house, and they'll all gang up on you. You might end up getting really hurt!"
"Yeah, and Snape protects all of those gits, too, so they wouldn't get in trouble for attacking you, or anything," Hannah added.
"Can I let you all into a secret?" Harry asked in a conspiratory tone. The girls nodded eagerly. "I'm really, really good at fighting. If any of them try and attack me, they'll end up regretting it."
"But… you'd be on your own," Cerys objected. "They'd outnumber you."
"You'd be better off trying to get into Hufflepuff," Michelle decided. "We could help you then."
"Thank you, Michelle," Harry said, favouring the girl with a genuine smile. She ducked her head and flushed red again, while Imogen tittered beside her. "But you girls don't need to worry about me. I know how to look after myself."
The four girls all exchanged nervous glances.
"You don't really think you can do anything about the bullying, do you?" Cerys asked hesitantly.
"I probably can't stamp it out completely, but I might be able to do something about the ring-leaders," Harry acknowledged.
The girls looked at each other uncertainly.
"That type only picks on those weaker than them. Trust me, if you four stand together, you'll soon find that those Slytherins will decide that you're not worth the trouble of upsetting. Weakness only encourages them; be strong and they'll leave you alone," he said decisively.
"Did your cousin leave you alone when you stood up to him?" Cerys asked tentatively.
"I actually left my uncle's care before I'd realised this," he explained, "but I've encounter his sort many times since. If those types aren't stopped when their young, they grow up thinking they can just get whatever they want by intimidation and violence. It's best to discourage that sort of behaviour early."
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Cerys shrug, clearly unconvinced. He decided to let the matter drop, after all, chastising Slytherins was not the reason he was going to Hogwarts this year, although if a few sons and daughters of Death Eaters got in his way… well, he wasn't exactly known for turning the other cheek. Mercy was a quality that had long been driven from him.
"So, tell me more about the school," he asked kindly.
"Well, the food is great!" Hannah began enthusiastically.
Harry sat back and listen to his new friends as they happily described Hogwarts.
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"You can leave your trunk on the train, Harry," Imogen informed him knowledgably. "The elves will bring it up later."
Harry nodded. There were many items in his trunk that he wouldn't want falling into the wrong hands, but there were enough Locking Charms and security devices that he felt reasonably confident in leaving it unattended for the moment.
The trip had passed reasonably quickly, and the four girls had proved useful sources of information about Hogwarts. Indeed, they had seemed to be competing to see who could tell him the most. Clearly having a handsome young man paying attention to them had turned their heads.
It wasn't with false modesty that Harry thought of himself as handsome. He knew he was good looking, although it wasn't something he tended to flaunt. His guardian had often told him he could achieve more through his good looks and a bit of charm than with the more blunt tactics he usually favoured, and Harry had to admit that over time he'd come to understand that the old man was probably right. Aunt Bathy, too, had repeatedly told him his piercing green eyes and wild, untamed hair would drive young witches wild, bless her soul. Merlin, he missed that dear old woman.
"It's your first year, so you'll get to travel to the castle in the boats!" Hannah declared brightly, shaking him out of his musings.
"Don't be silly, Hannah," Michelle practically spat. "Harry's far too big to go in the boats!"
"I guess I'll just tag along with you girls until someone tells me differently," Harry said, smiling reassuringly at Michelle. The small girl blushed prettily and smiled shyly back.
The girls ushered him off the train and onto the crowded platform of Hogsmeade Station. The mass of bodies were all shuffling towards the exit, situated just beyond the station buildings, so Harry let the girls lead him in that direction. They had just passed the door to the ticket office when a sharp, clear voice called out.
"Mr Potter?" a female voice with a distinct Scottish burr said forcefully.
Harry turned and saw a tall, severe-looking witch with black hair tucked into her pointed hat. She had a prim expression on her face, although her eyes seemed to be examining him in minute detail.
"Yes?" Harry said, stopping and turning to face the witch. The four girls also stopped with shocked expression on their faces. Harry supressed a grin, he'd purposely not mentioned his surname and clearly they had just realised who they had been talking to all this time.
"My name is Professor McGonagall and I am the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. The Headmaster has requested to have a few words with you before the Sorting. If you would kindly follow me, I will take you directly to him," she stated.
"Of course, Professor," Harry agreed politely before turning back to his new friends. "Ladies, I fear this is where we part company for the moment. Thank you for being such wonderful travel companions and I hope to see you at the castle."
The girls looked disappointed to have to leave him, especially so soon after his true identity was revealed, but none of them were going to argue with their Deputy Head. They all bid him goodbye before hurrying off. Michelle, in particular, looked rather sad. Harry gave her an encouraging smile and a small wave as she left.
"It appears you've already made some friends," McGonagall noted in what Harry thought was a slightly disapproving tone.
"They came into the compartment I was in and virtually adopted me," Harry smiled. "They were extremely helpful, actually, and told me quite a lot about the school."
"Very gracious of them," McGonagall noted, her inflection rather less hostile this time. "Well, come along, Mr Potter, our transport is waiting."
Without a backward glance, the tall witch strode towards the exit with rapid steps. Harry followed on behind, slightly amused that McGonagall had not even bothered to check if he was still behind her. Clearly, this was a witch who was accustomed to having her instructions followed without question.
Once they left the station proper, Harry saw a line of carriages positioned along the far side of the road. The pupils were all hurrying to try and find seats within them, and there was a great deal of pushing and shoving going on. Several older children, no doubt prefects, were attempting to restore order with limited success. Harry could only smile at the chaotic scene and briefly felt a pang of regret that he was never given the opportunity to experience Hogwarts in more carefree days. Not that he really had a choice in the matter, but still.
McGonagall led him away from the crush and they headed towards a solitary carriage situated well away from the others. She opened the door to the carriage and held it open, pointedly looking at Harry. With a gracious nod of his head, Harry stepped inside, but not before he noticed that a Thestral was pulling it. A slight tightening of her eyes suggested McGonagall had noticed his reaction. Very little escaped this witch's notice, he surmised.
Once they were both seated, the carriage began to move without any visible instruction from McGonagall to do so. She sat opposite him, her back ram-rod straight and her face unreadable. Harry took the opportunity to breathe deeply and take in her scent, an almost automatic reaction for him after all this time. What he discovered surprised him.
At first all he could smell were McGonagall's freshly laundered clothes and a hint of her scented soap, but underneath he caught a distinctly animalist aroma, almost feline in nature…
His eyes widened before he quickly hid his surprise. Animagi were extremely rare, and he had only ever encountered a couple of other people with that gift in his life. To find another sitting right opposite from him was both shocking and troublesome. If she detected he was also an Animagus, that would eliminate a huge advantage for him. Unfortunately, it appeared the confined quarters of the carriage had allowed the stern witch to capture his scent, too, judging by the look of disbelief that appeared on McGonagall's features.
"Mr Potter, am I correct in believing that you have inherited some of your father's talents?" she asked carefully, her eyes watching him calculatedly.
"While I have no memories of my father, I do believe I've inherited many of his skills, yes," Harry hedged carefully.
"I believe you know exactly the one I'm referring to," she said bluntly.
"I'm not sure as to what you're referring to," Harry replied blandly.
"What are you; some sort of dog?" McGonagall demanded.
"I really don't know what you're talking about," Harry said firmly. "I know you can't be suggesting that I'm an Animagus, because that would require me to be registered with the Ministry, which I can assure you I'm not."
"Where have you been all this time, Harry?" McGonagall asked, her curiosity finally spilling over. "We all thought you had died in that fire at your aunt's house. Why didn't you let us know you were alive until now?"
"I was well looked after," Harry said evasively. "As I had only just escaped from an abusive home, I wasn't exactly in a hurry to reveal myself to the people who put me there in the first place."
McGonagall stared at him like he had just slapped her in the face. Her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes seemed to be trying to bore a hole through him. He merely returned her gaze blandly.
The rest of the journey was conducted in silence, which suited Harry just fine. He stared out of the window and watched the scenery roll by. The weather in London had been grey and overcast, and here in Scotland there was a fine drizzle falling. Although it was only the afternoon, it was already becoming dark and a mist hung in the air, partially obscuring the pine trees that lined the road. A strange sense of melancholy filled Harry as he pressed his forehead to the glass.
The carriage followed the road as it took a sharp turn to the right and Harry got his first glimpse of Hogwarts. The uppermost towers were lost in the grey haze, but even so, he was impressed by the sheer presence of the place. The building's multiple towers and spires dominated the skyline and gave the place an ominous, foreboding feel. Lights were already twinkling from hundreds of windows and contrasted starkly against the dark grey/brown stone work. Harry was left with the feeling that the place looked less like a school than some massive, deranged cathedral built for the worship of some omnipotent god. It gave him a strange feeling of excitement that he couldn't begin to explain.
As the carriage pulled through the main gates, Professor McGonagall stirred and looked at him with expectantly, like she was waiting for him to ask her something. Harry kept his silence until the carriage finally came to a halt directly in front of pair massive oak doors. McGonagall immediately stood and exited the carriage, pointedly holding the door open for Harry to follow her. He did as he was bid and stood, looking around him interestedly.
"If you would follow me, Mr Potter, I will take you directly to the Headmaster's Office. Please try to keep up as I'm required elsewhere to look after the first years," she told him primly and without another word turned and entered the castle.
Harry followed obediently behind her. He was slightly surprised at the woman's frosty attitude to him as he was aware from his research that McGonagall had been very friendly with his parents. Possibly her hostility was down to the fact he'd allowed the world to believe he was dead for years, or maybe the outrageous articles printed in that worthless rag the Daily Prophet about him following his re-emergence this year had coloured her perception. Either way, it was painfully obvious that she didn't trust him.
Once inside the castle proper, McGonagall led him up a massive staircase which she climbed at a rapid pace. Harry was somewhat taller than her, and in superb physical condition, so he had no problem matching her speed, but even he had to admit that her fitness was impressive for her age. Her speedy ascent didn't falter once until they reached the seventh floor, where she turned and marched through a dark archway that led to a long corridor with numerous portrait paintings mounted along it. Her heels clicked rhythmically on the bare, stone floor until she halted crisply in front of an impressive statue of a gargoyle.
"Ginger Newts," McGonagall said firmly, causing Harry to cock an eyebrow at her in surprise.
A second later, the statue swung aside, leading Harry to believe that the Deputy Head's strange exclamation had been a password, not that she had suddenly become peckish. He followed her as she stepped onto a circular stone staircase which began to move as soon as they both had mounted it. Despite himself, Harry couldn't stop himself smiling as he rose upwards in a corkscrew fashion, as if he was on some sort of medieval-styled fairground ride. The staircase halted in front of an exquisitely polished oak door boasting a highly-decorative knocker fashioned after a griffin. McGonagall knocked once and the door swung open, seemingly by itself.
Harry was presented with a large, beautiful circular room. Several windows were set into the walls and through the furthest one Harry could just make out the imposing sight of the mountains that surrounded the school. Numerous candles and lamps were already lit, giving the room a warm glow. More portraits, this time apparently of previous Headmasters, glared at him as he walked into the room. Harry's eyes drifted over to a number of spindly-legged tables upon which sat a curious collection of metal devices, some of which omitted puffs of white smoke while others made whirring or ticking noises. He could hazard a guest to most of the devises' uses, but some were beyond his knowledge.
Finally, Harry turned and faced the large, claw-footed desk that dominated the room. Behind it sat an old man with a long white beard who was watching him intently through bright, blue eyes. He wore rich purple-coloured robes which were decorated with intricate silver markings. His fingers were lightly entwined and resting on the desk in front of him and Harry wondered if this was a deliberate act to show that he wasn't holding a wand. Irrespectively, he had to keep a tight rein on his emotions as he looked at him.
So this was the legendary Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
Bastard.
"Mr Potter? I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. In case you didn't know, my name is Professor Albus Dumbledore." He rose sprightly from his seat and offered his hand. Harry stepped forward and shook it firmly. The man smiled and sat back down, gesturing with his hand that Harry should sit one of the chairs arranged on his side of the desk. Harry sank down onto one of the straight-backed chairs gracefully and regarded the old man with a polite smile.
"I must say, I was extremely surprised to receive your letter requesting acceptance into Hogwarts this summer," Dumbledore began in a conversational tone. "While I am, of course, delighted that you wish to continue your education here, I must enquire as to why you chose to do so now?"
"I think the letter made my intensions quite clear," Harry replied carefully. "Following the death of my guardian late last year, I decided that taking my higher qualifications in this country would be beneficial to me. As you will have seen from the certificates I sent, I took the equivalent to the O.W.L. exams in German the year before last, but I felt that having actual N.E.W.T. level qualifications would be of more use to me later in life."
"Ah, your guardian," Dumbledore pondered. "I wonder if you could provide me with a few details in that regard. You see, most people in this country thought you dead until this year, and I'm most curious about the circumstances that led to the death of your previous guardians, Vernon and Petunia Dursley."
"I understand that my uncle and aunt died in a tragic gas explosion," Harry said blandly. "I really can't tell you anything about that as I'd already left their care by that point. I should mention that they were most happy to see the back of me, and had hated looking after anyone with a magical heritage and ability. Personally, I believe that as I'd been forced to do most of the cooking and cleaning for them, when they suddenly found they had to look after themselves they simply forgot how to use a gas cooker and left the damn thing on. That would certainly fit with what I remember of their intelligence levels."
"You don't seem very upset that they're dead," Dumbledore noted sternly.
"I'm not," Harry replied calmly, his smile not faltering once.
"What do you mean? You were forced to do most of the cooking? Why, you must have only been ten years old!" McGonagall said in an outraged tone from her position behind him. Harry turned in his seat to look at her.
"Yes, I was ten when I left Privet Drive," he confirmed, "and by that point I'd been cooking and cleaning for the Dursleys for several years. If I was lucky, they occasionally even allowed me to eat some of the food I cooked. Still, the playful beatings and all that delightful verbal abuse more than made up for any lack of sustenance."
McGonagall stared at him in horror.
"While I am deeply distressed to learn that your relatives didn't treat you well, Harry, the fact remains that they were your legal guardians and you could not just up and leave them without agreement from the correct authorities," Dumbledore said forcefully. "Who exactly was this guardian you mentioned?"
"I can't tell you," Harry said regretfully.
"Come, come, Harry. Removing you from your aunt's home was a potentially criminal act, and I must insist that you provide me with more details," Dumbledore replied strictly.
"I see we need to set some ground rules here," Harry began. "Firstly, I don't recall giving you permission to address me by my Christian name. I am legally an adult in the Wizarding world, not to mention the last remaining member of an ancient and respected family. I would appreciate if you addressed me as 'Mr Potter' during this conversation. Secondly, I fail to see why you feel you can insist on asking me anything about my family. I'm fully aware that you are Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, but today you are acting in your capacity as Headmaster of Hogwarts. I have already answered all the Ministry's questions regarding my disappearance, entirely to their satisfaction. I also believe I have already supplied you with all the information required to gain admittance to your school, so you have no basis for demanding anything further."
"My apologises for my presumptuousness, Mr Potter," Dumbledore apologised formally. "However, as befitting my role as Headmaster, I have to be satisfied as to the character of anyone I permit to attend Hogwarts. With that in mind, and taking into account some of the stories that have been circulating about you in the press recently, I feel I have no alternative other than to demand further background information from you."
"Then we have a problem," Harry admitted. "You see, I gave an Unbreakable Vow not to reveal the identity of my guardian to anyone. I could give you a name, but I would instantly lose all my magical powers, which rather defies the point of me trying to enter Hogwarts in the first place, don't you think?"
For a second, Dumbledore looked frustrated, but then he looked at Harry directly with a penetrating stare.
Harry resisted the urge to sneer at the man. Everything he'd been told about Albus Dumbledore appeared to be true. He was an infernal meddler who couldn't stand to think that someone knew something he didn't. Somehow, he'd appointed himself as custodian of the Wizarding world's greatest secrets, and believed that only he had the wisdom and knowledge to decide how that information should be used.
What a stinking pile of Hippogriff shit.
Almost contemptuously, Harry blocked the old man's Legilimency assault on him. Dumbledore would need to use his wand to have any chance of breaking through his defences, and that would be illegal for him to attempt. Being Chief Warlock didn't give him any special legal powers, not outside of the Wizengamot, anyway.
"Headmaster, I need to look after the first years," McGonagall interrupted impatiently. "Can we please Sort Potter so I can take the hat?"
Dumbledore reluctantly tore his gaze away from Harry, and regarded his deputy with a faint smile.
"Of course, Minerva," he replied graciously. "Please do carry on."
McGonagall walked swiftly round the desk and picked up a battered and extremely dirty hat. She turned to Harry expectantly.
"Mr Potter, this is the Sorting Hat which…" she began.
"…will sort me into one of the four school Houses. Yes, I know the story," Harry interrupted. "Please, I know you're a busy woman, do continue."
With a disapproving look, McGonagall strode over to where Harry was sitting and placed the hat on his head. Harry relaxed back into his seat.
After several minutes of silence, Harry began to frown.
"I know you're sentient," he thought clearly. "Are you going to actually do something, or are we going to sit here all day?"
"You'll have to forgive me, Potter," the Hat's voice said in Harry's mind. "I'm rather used to looking into the minds of eleven-year-old children. You are rather a fascinating subject in comparison."
"I don't doubt that," Harry agreed. "Still, if you don't sort me quickly, I suspect that McGonagall will explode. She's getting rather impatient, you know."
"She can wait," the Hat snapped. "Frankly, I'm wondering if you should even be allowed into this school. You're clearly not here to learn."
"But you can see why I am here, though, can't you? You know that I won't allow anyone, or anything for that matter, to get in my way," Harry countered.
"Indeed, and I can also see what will happen if I refuse you entry," the Hat noted bitterly.
"Well? I would have thought that you would choose to do what's best for the school in that case. Just let me in, let me do what I have to do, and I'll just walk out of the front gates. Everyone will be happy," Harry reasoned.
"But it's not that simple, is it?" the Hat pointed out. "We both know what will happen if you encounter the sons and daughters of the Dark Lord's supporters here. You would delight in the slaughter of any relative of Bellatrix Lestrange, for instance. Can I in all good faith accept you into Hogwarts knowing you have an agenda of death and destruction?"
"It's a problem partly of your own making, anyway," Harry retorted. "This ridiculous system of sorting has just created a cesspool of intolerance that has been a breeding ground for racist attitudes. If you'd separated the pure-blood extremists and left them as minorities in other houses, we wouldn't have half the problems we have today."
"I can only act as my creators intended," the Hat argued. "The Founders were dedicated people and is it so wrong for them to want witches and wizards who closest match their personalities to carry on in their name?"
"Yes, when one of those Founders was a mad, racist bastard," Harry snapped. "Salazar Slytherin should be mocked and derided, not emulated. Do you know what affect his teachings have on our society? Do you even care what happens beyond these four walls?"
"I can only do what I was created to do," the Hat repeated. "It is not my place to question the morality or wisdom of my instructions."
"Then what use are you? Just sort me, before I decide to turn you into a pile of smouldering ashes," Harry threatened.
"Do you have any preference in what House you are placed in? You could, after all, be realistically placed in any of them," the Hat said stiffly.
"There's only one place you're going to put me, so just get on with it," Harry growled.
"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat bellowed and was silent.
Harry reached up and removed the hat from his head, before handing it to a shocked Professor McGonagall.
"A Potter in Slytherin? Unthinkable!" she gasped in an appalled voice.
"First time for everything," Harry replied breezily. "Sorry, are you suggesting there's something wrong with being a Slytherin? That there's some sort of problem with that House? As Deputy Headmistress, you should probably try and sort out any problems that exist, shouldn't you?"
"Slytherin is a fine and respectable House," Dumbledore interrupted. "I'm sure Professor McGonagall was just surprised that a member of your family was Sorted anywhere else but Gryffindor. Both your mother and father were in that House, you know."
"Numerous Potters have been Sorted into Houses other than Gryffindor," Harry said dismissively. "My great grandfather, for instance, was a Ravenclaw."
"But no Potter, as I recall, has ever been sorted into Slytherin," Dumbledore pointed out coolly.
Harry looked at the steely expression on the Headmaster's face. It was clear that McGonagall already believed he was the devil incarnate, and he suspected Dumbledore was well on the way to forming that opinion, too. As loath as he was to give these two any information, there was no point causing problems for himself so early on.
"I admit I am rather an ambitious sort, Headmaster, which is probably why the Hat placed me in Slytherin," Harry explained in a placid tone. "I can see you're worried, however, and perhaps I can dispel those worries, a little. While I can't say who my guardian has been for these past seven years, I can tell you who it wasn't. It wasn't Voldemort, or anyone associated with him."
Dumbledore sat back in his chair with a surprised look on his face. "Mr Potter, I never once thought any such thing," he protested.
"I find it pays to be absolutely clear about such matters," Harry clarified.
"Perhaps while you are in such a frame of mind, you could confirm if any of the stories in the papers hold a grain of truth," Dumbledore pressed. "I'm aware that you were definitely involved in the capture and imprisonment of Lucius Malfoy, but perhaps you could clear up some of the other rumours?"
Harry smiled darkly. It was just bad luck that Malfoy had been taken into custody at all. Those Aurors had turned up just at the wrong moment. He'd been forced to watch them cart the slimy bastard off to Azkaban, instead of gutting him like a pig as he truly deserved. Still, Voldemort was bound to break the arrogant arse-wipe out of prison sometime, so he'd have another crack at him then.
"You're quite right. I was responsible for Malfoy's capture," Harry confirmed. "I even received a commendation from Minister Scrimgeour, you know. As for the other stories, I have been forced to defend myself against Death Eaters several times now, and, yes, I was at Godric's Hollow that day when Voldemort's forces attacked."
"You just happened to be there?" Dumbledore asked lightly.
"No, I was living there at the time," Harry told him. Might was well throw the old prick a bone.
"Really? I'm most surprised. You are a striking young man, and that scar on your forehead is very distinctive. I would have thought your presence in a village with such a large magical population would have attracted some attention," the old wizard pointed out.
"There are such things as Glamour Charms, you know," Harry smiled in a slightly condescending manner.
"Headmaster, we really must go," McGonagall interrupted urgently.
"Of course, of course," Dumbledore agreed. "Mr Potter, perhaps you would accompany me to the Great Hall, where you will be able to meet your new Housemates. Your coming here was a complete secret, so naturally most of the school is aware of it. I suspect your placement will cause some controversy, however."
"I've never been one to play things safe," Harry said with a shrug, and let himself be guided out of the door by the old man.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Harry allowed himself to be led out of the Headmaster's Office and down the stairs. Conversation was thankfully kept to a minimum and consisted mostly of everyday chit-chat that two strangers standing in a queue in a shop might share. Even so, Harry was on the lookout for hidden subtext and meaning in the Headmaster's bland questions. The man was a master of subtle interrogation, and Harry was wary.
They entered the Great Hall to find it already packed with pupils, all noisily reacquainting themselves with their fellow students. Harry found himself rather disappointed by the Hall, which he had been told was quite spectacular. The enchanted ceiling just seemed a cheap gimmick to him, and the grandeur of the room diminished by the presence of so many juveniles mindlessly chattering away. It was safe to say, Harry wasn't greatly looking forward to his time at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore led Harry over to the table situated against the far right wall and identified it as being the one belonging to Slytherin House. With a cheerful exclamation that he hoped Harry would settle in well, the old man turned and strode purposefully towards his seat at the top table.
There was a notable drop in the volume around the Slytherin table as its occupants began to notice Harry's presence. Walking slowly up the length of the table, Harry took the opportunity to observe his new Housemates. He caught sight of many half-familiar faces, obviously relatives of Death Eaters or other such undesirables. He was halfway up when he glimpsed a pale-faced boy with white-blond hair glaring at him with a look of utter hatred on his face.
Harry suppressed a smirk. He was fairly certain that this was the son of Lucius Malfoy. Clearly, the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree with that one, but it remained to be seen if the boy inherited any of his father's talents. Although he hated the senior Malfoy with all his heart, Harry would never deny that the man was a dangerous foe.
The younger Malfoy appeared to have gathered himself a cluster of hangers-on, judging from the sycophantic behaviour of those closest to him. Harry noted the dark stares coming from the two burly boys situated to one side of Malfoy and the hard-faced girl who sat practically in his lap. A dark-skinned boy with a prominent scar on his cheek just gave him a withering look, while a small, weedy looking youth sneered at him evilly. What a delightful bunch.
Deciding now was not the time to cause a scene, Harry kept walking towards the end of the table. This end was not so heavily populated, no doubt due to its proximity to the teachers table. Spotting a gap near the end, Harry sat himself down, while cautiously keeping an eye on Malfoy's merry bunch of toadies.
"There are other seats, you know," a female voice said in a flat, unfriendly tone.
Harry turned his head, for the first time noticing the girl he had taken the seat opposite to. She was small, almost petite, but could never have been mistaken for a little girl. She had fiery-red hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. Her skin was pale, which highlighted the dusting of freckles across her nose and upper cheeks. Her large, brown eyes were calculating, and not particularly welcoming. She possessed a distinctive sent of wild flowers and thundery weather. All in all, Harry had to admit the girl was bloody gorgeous. If all the Slytherin girls looked like her, maybe his time here at Hogwarts wouldn't be so bad, after all. Shame she looked like she wanted to hex him.
"True, but most of the other free places are close to the Malfoy boy, and I'd rather not be anywhere near him if I can possibly help it. I suspect his presence would spoil my appetite," Harry replied in a polite voice.
For just a second, Harry was certain he saw a glimmer of amusement in those hard eyes, but it was gone before he could be certain. The girl continued to stare at him for a moment before speaking.
"I guess I can't blame you for that. Draco Malfoy is enough to turn even the strongest stomach. I suspect that putting his darling father in Azkaban means the two of you aren't going to be bosom buddies, then?" she noted calmly.
"I highly doubt it," Harry said with a grin. "Will that fact put us on opposing sides?"
"I'm not on anybody's side, apart from my own," the girl responded. "If you're not part of Malfoy's little clique, it's best to keep your head down and mind your own business. Still, if you two intend to be at each other's throats, it might provide a little light entertainment, Potter."
Harry nodded, not surprised that the girl knew who he was. After all, that stupid lightning bolt scar on his forehead did make it rather obvious, even if the damn thing wasn't real. His guardian had dealt with the problem that had been lurking behind the scar years ago, with the result that the blemish was barely visible now. However, fame was a tool he could use to his own advantage, so a little Muggle make-up had helped make him more recognisable.
Harry was about to ask the girl another question, but he was interrupted by the entry into the hall of the first years, led by Professor McGonagall. As he watched their progress through across the hall, he happened to glance over at the table one over from the Slytherins', and his eyes briefly locked with a startled Michelle's. He gave her a quick wink, and she broke into a smile.
His attention was diverted by the first of the new arrivals being called forward. Harry watched with detachment as each of the children was Sorted into their respective houses, thus labelling them for the rest of their lives. He almost snorted with disgust as the members of each House clapped and cheered each new arrival, delighting at the stereotyping of the young, impressionable minds.
Bloody sheep, the lot of them.
He turned away, only to find the redheaded girl staring at him with a frown. Clearly he had allowed his disgust to show on his face. He schooled his features into a more neutral expression, and returned her questioning gaze impassively.
"Welcome, one and all, to new faces and old hands alike," Dumbledore's voice boomed out, signifying the end of the Sorting. "There is a time for speeches, but this is not it. Tuck in, everyone."
No sooner had the Headmaster finished speaking, then the table filled with plates of food, seemingly out of thin air. There was an explosion of activity as all the occupants of the table immediately began to grab food off the platters, as if afraid that it might vanish at any moment. Sighing at their lack of decorum which seemed unbefitting of a group of pure-bloods, Harry picked up a fork and served himself some chicken breast, followed by several spoonful's of mixed vegetables. He began to eat with a dignity that most of his Housemates apparently completely lacked.
He'd just eaten his first mouthful when a blond-haired girl slipped into the seat next to the redhead. She smiled at Harry warmly.
"Hello, Mr Potter," she began sweetly. "As I'm sure Ginevra here won't have done so, may I be first to welcome you to Slytherin. I'm sure you'll be very happy here amongst all the blood supremacists, traitorous backstabbers and assorted evil arseholes."
Harry snorted with laughter despite himself.
"Thank you for that warm welcome," Harry responded, "and you would be…?"
"Davis. Tracey Davis," she replied holding out her hand to shake.
Harry offered the girl a warm smile as he shook her hand. She was undeniably attractive, with bright blue eyes and long, curly blond hair. She wore slightly too much make-up for Harry's taste, and her blouse was unbuttoned sufficiently to allow her impressive cleavage to gain even more attention than it normally would. Despite her slightly slutty appearance, the intense and calculating glean in her eyes suggested an intelligence that was at odds with the image she presented. Her perfume was rather subtle, too.
"Well, you obviously know who I am. I gather my appearance here today wasn't a complete secret," he noted, watching her intently. He was getting the feeling that no one here was going to be exactly as they presented themselves.
"No, most of us knew you were coming before you stepped onto the Hogwarts Express this morning," she confirmed cheerily. "I very much doubt, however, that any of us were expecting you to be wearing green and silver."
"It just proves that assumption is a bad habit, doesn't it?" he countered.
"That's true, I suppose. Although I do have to say, it's not normal that someone so apparently dedicated to fighting Death Eaters such as yourself would end up in Slytherin," Tracey noted. "Or were those stories in the Daily Prophet not true?"
"Bloody hell, Davis, the poor bastard has only just stepped through the doors. You don't waste much time trying to interrogate him, do you?" snorted the redhead that Tracey had identified as Ginevra.
"We're just having a friendly conversation, Weasley," Tracey replied stiffly, looking a little irritated at the girl's words. "No harm in that, is there?"
"Depends what you do with the information you manage to weasel out of him," she responded, before turning to face Harry. "You'll need to watch this one, Potter. Tracey Davis is Slytherin's go-to girl if you want some dirt on anyone. I'd be careful what you say around her, if I were you."
"Thanks for that kind description of me," Davis growled, now clearly angry. "Don't be too put off by the lovely Ginevra's description of me, Harry. It's not that she dislikes me, especially; it's just that she hates everyone equally. Be careful not to breathe too deeply in her presence or she's likely to hex you for stealing her air."
"I'll try to be careful, then," Harry agreed calmly as he watched the two witches glare at each other. "So, you're the person I go to if I want information, are you?"
The blond turned her attention back to him, her smile immediately returning. "Absolutely, although nothing for nothing, eh?" she said sweetly, before picking up a serving spoon and scooping several helpings of roast potatoes onto Harry's plate. She then reached over and picked up one of the carrots already on his plate, and began to nibble on it in a rather suggestive manner.
"Eat up, Potter," she said in a sultry voice, "we can't have a big, strong boy like you wasting away, can we?"
Harry ignored the girl's actions. "So, what exactly will this information cost me?" he asked.
"More information, of course," Davis shrugged as if her answer was obvious. "Knowledge is power in Slytherin, and that's what I trade in."
Harry frowned. While what the girl said was true, information was only useful if you had a purpose for it, otherwise anything you gathered was just so many useless facts. If Davis wasn't after money, which had been his first thought, what was she after?
"So, what's in this for you?" Harry asked bluntly. "If I give you information about myself, which is obviously what you're after, and you give me information on my new Housemates, what's the benefit to you?"
Weasley snorted at Harry's direct questions, her face showing outright amusement for the first time. "Go on, Davis, you might as well tell him. He's got you worked out already," she laughed.
Davis scowled. "I'm a half-blood," she said simply.
If the blond girl's statement was meant to immediately explain her actions, it was rather lost on him. Clearly, being a half-blood meant something significant within Slytherin, probably something detrimental if the number of junior Death Eaters he had already seen was anything to go by. Why would trading information be so important to someone of a lowly status in her own House? Unless…
"I take it half-bloods are not treated well within Slytherin," Harry began cautiously.
"Oh, we're treated like dirt," Davis confirmed. "You're a half-blood, too, aren't you, Potter?"
"Yes, I am," Harry agreed. "So, I take it this… information gathering service you provide is very useful to all the pure-bloods around?"
"Got it in one," Davis smiled tightly. "If you're not part of a powerful pure-blood family, or don't have a ton of Galleons to splash about, life can be pretty miserable in this place, assuming you survive at all. If you're not in with the in-crowd, you'd better find a reason for them to leave you alone. Take sweet, little Ginevra, here. She's from a family of blood-traitors who have been Sorted into Gryffindor for generations. She found that being the exception to that rule came at a heavy price, so she realised she needed to use her natural talents if she wanted to survive. Weasley here is one of the most vicious duellists I've ever seen. Basically, she keeps her head down and makes sure that it's simply not worth anyone having a go at her, not if they don't want to be hexed from here to Diagon Alley, that is. Me, I was never that powerful, so I had to find another way of making myself untouchable. Now the pure-bloods leave me alone, simply because I'm too useful to them."
"I don't remember saying that you could talk about me," Weasley growled dangerously.
"Yeah, well, you were happy enough to blab about me, so I thought I could return the favour," Davis retorted sarcastically before addressing Harry again. "This doesn't mean that I won't give information to you, Potter, for the right price. The fact that I'm completely neutral is what makes me so valuable. I'll deal with anyone."
She smiled at him and, very deliberately, picked a piece of chicken off his plate and popped it into her mouth.
Harry pondered her words and her food-stealing activities. Davis was obviously a smart girl and she could prove very useful to him, even if she was rather annoying. Why didn't she just get her own food if she was… oh, wait. He resisted grinning as he realised what the girl was up to.
"I'm sure we can trade information in the future," Harry confirmed with a smile. "You don't have to try and confuse me by breaking social conventions, either. I understand this food-stealing bit is just a ploy to distract me, as is that low-cut blouse of yours. Sorry, Davis, I'm sure your breasts are lovely, but I'm not going to blurt anything out just because you wave them in my face."
Weasley broke out into peals of laughter, while Davis just looked annoyed.
"Well, it looks like I shouldn't underestimate you, eh, Potter? We were all thinking you were going to be some brainless, noble hero who charged into danger without a moment's thought, but it actually looks like you have a brain in that pretty head of yours," Davis noted in a detached voice.
Harry was going to reply, but Weasley interrupted by pushing her empty plate in front of her and standing up.
"As fun as this has been, I've things to do," the red-head declared. "It was almost nice meeting you, Potter. I would say that I was looking forward to hearing whatever other little secrets you have, but I don't think you'll last the night here. One word of advice: Malfoy hates you. He's been boasting about how he's going to get even with you for getting his father imprisoned. If you've any sense, you'll leave Hogwarts immediately. See you later, Davis."
With that, Weasley walked off without a glance. Harry's eyes watched her as she left.
"Oh, trust me, Potter, you can forget about that," Davis snorted.
Harry turned to look at her. "What do you mean?" he demanded.
"Weasley. You can forget about trying to get in her knickers. No bloke has ever succeeded in that feat and the last one who tried ended up scarred for life afterwards: literally. Nah, if you're looking for female company, you'd be better off trying elsewhere," she told him earnestly.
"I really wasn't thinking along those lines," Harry replied, which was only a slight lie. "I was just thinking there must be more to her story then you told me. I mean, that's one very dangerous young woman. I thought she was going to curse you right in front of everybody when you started talking about her history."
"Yeah, and the sad thing is that I get on better with Ginevra than anyone else in this House. We're just two girls trying to survive in this shit-pool called Slytherin," Davis said regretfully. "Still, you have more important things to worry about than her. What Weasley said was right: Malfoy will be coming after you tonight. Unless you have some amazing trick up your sleeve, I'd suggest faking an illness so you can stay in the hospital wing tonight."
"Not really my style," Harry replied dismissively.
"Then I hope you know what you're getting into. Malfoy never fights fair, you know. He'll probably get all of his horrid little entourage involved, including Crabbe and Goyle, and they're nasty pieces of work," Davis informed him sagely.
"Should you be telling me all this?" Harry asked in amusement. "What happened to nothing for nothing?"
"I like you," Davis replied lightly. "Besides, if you do come out of this alive, you'll owe me, and I like the thought of that."
"I may just surprise you," Harry told her, before taking a sip from his goblet.
"Anyway, it looks like your time is up," Davis told him looking down the table. "The fifth year prefects are starting to round up the first years. You'll need to go with them, unless you want to spend the evening wandering around Hogwarts wondering where the Slytherin common room is."
"It's hidden behind a stone wall, down in the dungeons," Harry responded while rising to his feet. "I do, however, want to know what room they've assigned me. I am correct in thinking that all Slytherins get their own private rooms, aren't I?"
"Bugger, you're going to put me out of business," Davis laughed. "Have fun, Potter."
Grinning to himself, Harry turned and made his way towards the group of first years. It was time for him to make his mark.