Chapter Two

Sunset was just setting and Harry had yet to finish his weeding. An hour before the Dursleys had left Petunia had demanded her precious garden to be spotless. Vernon had gruffly told Harry to remain outside until it was done. Remain outside until done, right. He locked me out. Wouldn't want the freak loose inside. Harry snickered at his thoughts; they were correct though.

Emerald eyes flickered from garden to the locked house, going to be a long night. Vernon had been invited to the company dinner party at Grunnings. Something about celebrating a special account. Harry didn't really understand, didn't care much for what his uncle did, his job never did much for me anyways. Always Dudley or Petunia, never the boy.

Finally, sighing in relief, he was done. The garden had been weeded and several flowers re-planted. Now to occupy myself. He glanced around for a comfortable spot. They had allowed him to use the bathroom before heading outside. During that time Harry had snuck out his cloak and wrapped items, thanking the over-sized clothing from Dudley. He wasn't about to let his family know about his inheritance or accounts.

Settling against the fence across from the garden, he carefully unwrapped his cloak from about his waist. Thank you, Hermione. With his journal was a small box, magically enlarged inside. Hermione had spelled a couple things for him. He wouldn't run out of ink, break his quill, nor would any candle melt into nothing. She even found a spell to brighten a candle flame but not blindingly glare in the dark. Satisfied with his arrangement, he began to unravel more thoughts.

//July 26th 6:27 p.m.

First Year---Hogwarts, friendship, and the Sorcerer's Stone September 1, 1991-June 1992 11 yrs. old

I never knew much outside my ten years with the Dursleys but neither did I believe in magic, not wanting to be punished further. I kept my dreams and nightmares to myself, even my thoughts. But it was real. I had learned the truth my eleventh birthday. I was an untrained wizard! The freaky things were bouts of accidental magic based on emotions and wishes.

And that same magic is withheld from the Muggle world. A secret! Don't they know that secrets have a nasty habit of coming out? Then again, they might. Voldemort seems bent on destroying Muggles and not caring who sees what or how or when.

Muggles know all about secrets. We've learned the hard way. The Dursleys sure did. History has a nasty habit of repeating itself. After all, many don't wish to admit knowledge that they created the monster. Many don't wish for that burden, pushing it upon the shoulders of another. Just take any history textbook or sit in a class.

I was that shoulder to be burdened. Famous Harry Potter. Someone once looked at me and sneered. "Harry Potter. Our new-- celebrity." (1) Few were unwilling to see me as the celebrity others believed.

Professor Severus Snape. Potions Master and Professor at Hogwarts. The man who seemed to hate my very being the second I stepped foot on school grounds. He was also the Head of Slytherin House. Slytherins refused to see me as a celebrity. They all saw me as a regular child. Rule-breaker. Troublemaker. Hero-complex.

Potions. Similar to Chemistry. Wonder if both could be applied as one and the same? Each need careful steps to mix ingredients...to create new experiments. Patience and time, too. Something I really didn't understand. Didn't understand this either: Snape kept me grounded, why? Why keep the one person you disliked grounded? Watch over him?

King's Cross Station. My way to the platform for school. Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Sem Sempter September 1st. Eleven o' clock. Hogwarts Express.

Vernon laughed when he learned all this. He eagerly took me to the train station, helped me drop my stuff off, and left me. A station guard even thought I was funny, making jokes. And I, I was hurt...confused. Was it an elaborate joke? I did visit Diagon Alley, a place to shop for my school supplies. That wasn't a joke. But was the platform one? How exactly is a Muggle-raised child suppose to find the platform? How does the Muggleborn find it? Would a wizard or witch be waiting in the shadows? Was there a magical station guard? Was there a letter of explanation? A map?

My saviors. The Weasleys. Molly Weasley, the Matriarch, helped me through the portal...the doorway. I was stunned watching her children run right at the pillar...one between Platforms 9 and 10. Still thought that it to be a joke even as I ran for the platform. How is it that the Muggles don't see us running for the doorway? How is it that they don't realize we suddenly vanish? Can a Muggle have access or is it just for those with magic? What keeps them from asking or suspecting? What keeps them from searching on their own? Does the Magical world even know how hard it is to keep it a secret? I wouldn't have gotten on the platform if I hadn't heard Molly arguing about Muggles. Wouldn't the slip of the tongue alert our existence? What about magical homes or businesses? Are they well hidden or what?

A scarlet steam engine. Impressive. The only way, apparently for students, get to Hogwarts. Enough compartments for all seven years to ride comfortably. I found myself nervous and scared. I was going to a place I had never heard of until just recently. Never even knew about except my name was down since I was born. Is that how and why I got my letter? Is that how the others got their letter? Is that how Muggleborns are found? Or is it just a coincidence?

I'm guessing Muggleborns felt the same way as I did. Meeting a strange new world. I wonder. I had known no one. The only ones who did know had been murdered or kept it a secret for ten years. Not one soul.

Do Muggleborns know? Do they read ahead about it? I know Hermione did. Said so as we entered the Great Hall. Maybe they had a feel fellow friend going to Hogwarts. Maybe they knew someone from another magical school. Maybe a Half-blood had a Muggleborn cousin, niece, nephew, or sibling. Even a Pureblood could possibly have a disowned, removed, relative. Squibs might have someone in the Muggle world. Couldn't they have known? Or did the Muggleborn learn on their eleventh birthday in the same way I did? A secret suddenly revealing itself?

Everyone here were absolute strangers yet knew my name! They thought they knew me already! Knew my interests...my fame...my life! They knew nothing. It's rubbish what they believe without truly knowing me. My name was in their history books...books on various events! Wonder if they even have the correct information or is it all about how Voldemort came after me on Halloween night?

Scabbers. A pet rat belonging to Ron. Use to belong to Percy. Science class once mentioned the life spans of various creatures. And a common rat could live up to five years but that's pushing it. Usually only about three years. I made the connection but didn't act. Oh, how I regretted that. I've seen strange things in this new world and thought it was possible that rat lived on magic.

But all doubts had washed away at my first glance of Hogwarts. Lit up at night as we floated across the lake upon magically driven boats.

Professor Minerva McGonagall. Deputy Headmistress. Transfiguration Professor. Head of Gryffindor House. A no-nonsense woman. Strict and fair.

Most schools group by age, all in one year. Rarely do they split that one year among classes and homerooms. But this...Four Houses with seven years. Each year dedicated to age...First Years, 11 yrs...Second Years, 12 yrs...Third Years, 13 yrs...Fourth Years, 14 yrs...Fifth Years, 15 yrs...Sixth Years, 16 yrs...Seventh Years, 17 yrs. But not all are the same age. Like high school, some graduate at age seventeen and others at age eighteen. Unless they are exceptionally gifted, then they can graduate at a very young age. But Hogwarts doesn't believe in exceptional or advancing in grades. If so, Hermione and a select few wouldn't be held back, forced to compete with their own age and grade, forced to hold back what they know.

Salazar Slytherin...Helga Hufflepuff...Godric Gryffindor...Rowena Ravenclaw. Four Houses with a single trait separating them from others. Cunning...Loyalty...Courage...Knowledge.

Slytherin House. Hated...Dark...Mistreated...Dishonorable. Everyone blames them for their troubles. Dark witches and wizards turning their backs on the society that raised them, taught them. Loyal only to Dark Lords. A burden on society. In the Muggle world they would be children like me. Down on their luck. Abused: physical, emotional, verbal, sexual, neglect, starvation. Orphaned or ignored. We struggle to survive. Fight for our identity. Fight for a place to belong, especially in society.

"Never judge a book by its cover." (unknown)

Dursleys fit. Perfect to the neighborhood, graciously raising an orphan nephew. Neglectful to me, raising me as if they had no other choice.

Desperate for friendship, for companionship. I defended Hagrid against a snobbish blonde boy. Met Ron and defended him against the same blonde. Draco Malfoy. I turned him down, refused his hand because Ron was nice to me, because he made fun of Ron. Stupid, yes, but I was desperate. I refused to pay attention to that quote most Muggles would use.

The Sorting Hat. A weird artifact used to sort new students into their Houses. "You could be great, you know, it's all in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that" (2) I rejected Slytherin, chose Gryffindor because Ron wanted to go there. Didn't want Slytherin. Maybe I should have. Should I have? Would my parents still love me if I chose Slytherin? Would the world turn against me if I did? Would I have no friends? Would I lose what friends I did make?

Greatness. How is it that someone takes one look at me, peeks in my head, and tels me I'll be great? How is a wand going to make me just as great? Ollivander of wand making said that. "I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter...After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things--terrible, yes, but great." (3)

How does a wand say I will do great things? How could they say that Voldemort did great things with a wand: thirteen-and-a-half inches, yew, phoenix feather? How can I do great things with my wand: eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather? I haven't begun training. So what, we share the same core from the same phoenix. That says nothing. Only that they are brother wands, probably won't be able to do much against each other.

But I'm not great. All my adventures, I had help. I had friends. They solved my riddles, my puzzles, my strategies. I couldn't survive without them. It wasn't pure luck. It was friendship.

Quirrell. Strange and peculiar. First time we met, the Leaky Cauldron. He was the first person refusing to touch me...in the magical world. Everyone wanted to touch the savior, to shake his hand. But this man...this professor was terrified to touch me. I wasn't sure what to make of him. But I knew something was different, wrong. Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. My head hurt, particularly in my scar whenever I was in his presence. Hearing voices whispering, calling to me.

I wasn't alone in my suspicion. Snape wasn't sure about him either. My first night here, the Welcoming Feast. I had grabbed my forehead, right over my scar as I stared at Quirrell and Snape. The look in Snape's eye told me I was possibly on the right track. There was something wrong about Quirrell but Snape seemed to know what my scar was about.

Things soon became stranger on Halloween night.

He came running, screaming, "Troll--in the dungeons." (4) Screams of terror roused the panic of fleeing. I, I was confused. Yes, terrified. I knew about trolls in classes and Muggle fairy tales. Dangerous and deadly creatures. But here's what I want to know. All the Professors were already in the Great Hall. Why wasn't Quirrell? Where was he? Hiding in his office, his classroom, his bedroom? What was more important than eating dinner and celebrating Halloween? Even Snape was in the Great Hall, pushing his duties off until a little later.

More began to bounce about. Why was Quirrell in the dungeons? What was he doing there while the Potions Master was in the Great Hall? Obviously not going for Potions. I know for a fact that Snape keeps his stores well warded, only his magical signature opens it. I know that because of a detention I served. I couldn't open the store-room to replace some ingredients that had been left out, not even a passing Prefect could open it. I had to find the Headmaster who in turn had to find Snape.

Still, wasn't the Defense class on the upper levels, even his office? The dungeons belong to Snape and Slytherin House. Wouldn't Snape have some type of wards or system to allow him the knowledge of what's going happening in his domain? I would think so. Snape's very...obsessive with his House...almost protective. So, if a troll had entered, Snape would be the first to know, right?

Or was it a trick created by Quirrell?

Here was the other thing that confused me. He was the Defense Professor, right? Of course he would have the degree and experience for that position. So, why couldn't he defend? Why did he run? Were we learning the wrong things? Was he not capable? If not, it would get us hurt, even killed! Or was there something missing? Like that trick idea I was wondering?

Ron and I had gone for Hermione, saving her from the troll in the girl's bathroom. That's a long way from the dungeons where the Professors were. How did they come to the bathroom? Were they doing a routine check of the castle? Did they know three students weren't in their Common Room? And where did the bleeding on Snape's leg come from? I thought he was suspicious of Quirrell?

Fluffy. That was the answer and key. A three headed dog. I thought Cerberus belonged to the Greek myth about Hades and Tartarus, the Guardian of Hell. Huge and scary, three mouths of slobbering tongues and sharp teeth. A gift from Hagrid to Dumbledore. A monstrous animal guarding something. According to Hermione, it was a trap door.

Voldemort was still alive. A spirit living on unicorn blood. Inhabiting the body of another. Scrounging the school for a source of immortality. The Sorcerer's Stone. A creation, an elixir of life. Discovered and created by Nicholas Flamel. The reason for Hagrid's gift. Hidden beneath the school among enchantments and obstacles. And the only reason he knew, Hagrid had a habit of letting things slip. How easy it was to learn of Fluffy, Nicholas Flamel, how to tame a beast.

Someone was going for that stone. I suspected Quirrell but Snape was beginning to act weird himself. It was Snape Ron and Hermione suspected. But our suspicions were founded.

Seeker. I hadn't realized the magical world would have it's own sports. I couldn't believe that they were true blue cauldron brewing, broom flying and spell casting people. Ironic. Muggle fairy tales had stated as much. Why not just come out? Then again, I can understand. Salem Witch Trials. And that would explain it all to any and every magical being.

Quidditch was quite unique and weird. A sport played on brooms. Three type of balls. Quaffle, a misshapen object used by Chasers to score goals. Reminds me of soccer. A team chasing a ball across the field to kick it into a goal on the other end. Instead of one goal there are three in Quidditch and only six Chasers (three per team). Ten points per score, if made, not blocked.

Bludger. A ball enclosing some type of creature, one with a bad temper...vicious. Beaters use a short club to bat them around at the opposing team. Baseball. Tennis. Golf. All using some type of club (different shapes, sizes, and names) to whack around a varied sized ball. Hurts like hell when hit by one. Four Beaters (two per team).

Snitch. A tiny golden ball with wings. Extremely fast and agile. Able to fly at top speeds, loves confusing its chasers by twisting around various objects and suddenly changing directions or performing daring drops and turns. Seekers are the chasers of the Snitch. Chasing down a fast ball, sounds like a Pitcher tossing a baseball to the Catcher. Basketball might be easier. Two teams chasing around a ball, hoping to be the one to steal and catch it before the other scores. Two Seekers (one per team). One hundred fifty points. Wins the game if caught unless the Chasers are able score higher without needing to catch the Snitch.

Keepers are the only ones not really playing. All they do is block, watch the goals. Any game needed a blocker or goalie to perform the same action. Hockey. Soccer. They have the easiest yet toughest job. Sitting in one place for a long time, trying to keep the other team from scoring.

School Rule: First Years cannot play Quidditch. Somehow I erased that rule, obliterated it actually. And I have Malfoy to thank for that. Never rode a broom that I can remember but people say I'm a natural. I felt free, released from reality. Remembrall, Neville's gift from home. He lost it during our first flying lesson. Fell from his broom and broke his wrist. Malfoy tossed it as hard and far as he could. I chased it down, barely stopping before I hit a window, catching it.

James Potter was a Quidditch player in his school years. Made me feel closer to him. Flying high and fast. Freedom and joy. Something that would make him proud because I made the team as a First Year. I didn't want to let him down. Every game I've played and won, dedicated to my father. Ones I lost, if rarely, I still dedicated. The sky and wind made me feel as if he was there, helping, cheering. Never wanted to lose that.

I have yet to find something in common with Mum. I want to feel just as close as I do Dad.

I dreamed of holidays with people who cared. Presents left under the tree for me. Imagine my surprise, my joy to receive a gift. Every year with the Dursleys I wanted to cry. They barely gave me anything. A piece of lint. Pair of old socks. Unusual and undesirable. At night, I would cry. Missing the love and joy I saw the Dursleys shower upon Dudley. I wanted that. I desired that. I needed that.

More and more I learn of James Potter. The invisibility cloak. It was once his and now mine. A gift for Christmas along with a sweater from Molly, created just for me. Not sure why but it's what Ron stated. And that cloak was useful, not just for wandering the halls or scrounging the kitchen.

First dilemma. Someone had called Dumbledore from Hogwarts. The so-called Ministry. He always seemed to know things as they happened or before they happen. If that is true, why couldn't he see that someone wanted him out of the way? Is it just the castle he knows? Is there something alerting him to those things? Do the portraits run and snitch about every students' whereabouts, their actions? Is he all seeing, all knowing? Or is he just guessing, hoping to be right?

Second dilemma. Neville Longbottom. Okay, this was a little tricky. Neville's a shy boy, desiring friendship as much as I had. He's sweet and friendly. Quiet, fearful. He seemed to wilt in most classes until Herbology, plants seemed to bring him from his shell. Bringing him back to reality before he closed his door, hoping to hide, make himself smaller to his enemies. He feared our losing points. For some reason we, the Golden Trio, constantly lost points in one fashion or another. A Petrifying Spell was all it took to keep him from stopping us. Sorry, Neville, but it was the quickest and painless way to keep you safe. We were on a dangerous mission.

Third dilemma. Fluffy. Someone had beaten us to the trap door, forcing the dog to sleep with an enchanted harp. We almost lost. I wanted Ron and Hermione to locate Dumbledore. We needed him. He was powerful enough to stop Voldemort. I wasn't kidding myself. And believed McGonagall, sheer dumb luck, it was all I had. I had no choice but to take them along. Neither would reach the door before Fluffy got a hold of them.

Fourth dilemma. Devil's Snare. Who in the world would want this plant? Is there something about it useful in Potions, Herbology? Does it make the perfect watch dog? More struggles made, the tighter it grips. Deadly to its foes. But if one sits still, it'll let you free. Poor Ron. He refused. Hermione was his savior this time. A sunlight spell freed him from his vine encased prison.

Fifth dilemma. Flying keys. Who in the world enchanted keys to fly?! Those things hurt! Come on, people! You can't expect someone to fly around on a broom, dodging keys, and pray not to be hit. That's like hoping the Beaters wouldn't miss on your team or the other team would stick with the Chasers. Those keys hurt almost as much as the bludgers. I suffered trying to catch a key with a broken wing to unlock the only door to our next obstacle. Bruised already before we even got to the stone.

Bruises became worse on the sixth dilemma. An enchanted chess board. Okay, seriously, the Professors really wanted the intruder to hurt. I definitely did. I know Ron and Hermione soon felt it when we had to play. But thankfully we had Ron. He was always playing chess, winning too, usually against me. I wasn't much of an opponent. He sacrificed himself for a check, for me to make a checkmate. Oh, how Hermione and I wanted to run to him.

Did Quirrell play through all the obstacles? Or did he know the spells and enchantments holding them? Did he take the easy way out? Coward. He cursed my broom during Quidditch, hoping I would fall to my death or be injured fatally, permanently. Snape was my savior. Still haven't figured out why yet. Why save the boy you dislike? Or is it a Professor's duty to protect all their students, even of other Houses?

Mirror of Erised. Shows one's heart's desire, unless the person is truly happy. My family, my parents. "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi." (5) The promise to have them again tempted me. Oh, how I wanted. But I can't. I may have dreamed but living with the Dursleys taught me strength. I fought. I struggled. All my life was a battle, a war of wits and strength. I had one desire above all else, to prevail. I was going to survive no matter what the Dursleys did.

Even now I would prevail.

But I will admit this. In that split second of decision, I wavered. Oh, to have my parents. To have the life I desired. No more Dursleys. No more starvations. No more neglect. No more second hand clothing. No more heavy chores. I would be loved. I would be happy. I could almost see it, taste it, hear it, feel it. I wanted it!

I could see my parents coming to me with open arms. Handing over the stone to Voldemort to seal our deal. Having James and Lily alive once more. To hear their voices and to feel their touch. We would be happy again. Living in our new house. Never having to fear anything again. Death leaving us until we were of old age, ready for our next adventure. Playing Quidditch with my dad. Cooking with mum. Christmas wrapped in a thick quilt, surrounding a roaring fire as we pass out gifts. Birthdays planned and elaborate. Laughter, tears, smiles fill the house. Possible sisters and/or brothers. Siblings. Someone to help train, protect, raise, play with, love. A dream come true.

And then reality crashed. My dream came true, yes. My desire. But just behind the reflections of my parents was the truth. Houses and buildings roaring with burning flames, turning to ash within the wind. Streams drying up, polluted with death. Muggles crying and trying to fight back against something they couldn't understand. The magical world in an uproar, terrified. Darkness overlaying what little light could be produced. Muggleborns and Half-bloods scream with pain. Tortured to the Purebloods' delight. Voldemort high on power. Blood slicking the ground with death. Tears, frowns, sobs fill the air. Families torn apart. Magical creatures in hiding. Refugees desperate for a new home. Friends and family turning on each other. A nightmare come true.

No! I couldn't do that. The mere thought of Hermione suffering beneath Voldemort's hands, given over to Death Eaters to torture, rape, murder. No. I refused to see her soul suffer, destroyed, crushed. She didn't deserve that. No Muggleborn did. Innocence deserved to be innocent, clean and pure. Never defiled by the most vile creature upon Earth.

I had made up my mind. I wasn't going to give in. I wasn't going to lose. I wasn't going to let him win. I wasn't going to betray my parents' sacrifice for my selfish needs.

I struggled to keep the stone, even as Quirrell crumbled to dust beneath my touch. He feared my touch because it burned! He turned to ash and dust, blowing away in an invisible wind. Why? I have his life and blood upon my hands, though it's really dust. All that was left, a shadow, a spirit. Voldemort fled when his host vanished in the wind. I collapsed, knowing the stone was safe, wondering how I almost gave in to his promise of regaining my parents. My family. My mother's love (protective barrier she left me upon her death) was my salvation that time.//

"Potter!" Harry winced at his uncle's cry. He bet Vernon thought he was being quiet or whispering when dealing with his nephew. Soon he would be allowed entrance. Knowing Vernon would hurry to the back door, Harry gathered his things. He waited for Vernon to allow him entrance. Then rushed to his room, knowing the locks would soon turn.

Once alone, he re-lit his candle for a last few words. //Leaving Feast. The House elves, the magical version of servants or slaves, depending on who you ask, would out-do themselves. I didn't want to leave, knowing who and where I would return to. The House Cup. A reward to the winning House with the most points. Not quite sure why. What exactly does it imply? Which House is the best or what? What kind of reward is it suppose to symbolize?

Slytherin was the winner. Rightfully the owners of the Cup. Leave it to Dumbledore to ruin it for them. The way I saw it, they deserved it. Sure, I wanted it but we caused too many lost points to truly own it. They needed something to prove their worth, not to push them further away.

Fifty points for cool intellect in face of danger. Hermione deserved that. Yes, she did. If it wasn't for her, Ron would be in terrible danger with the Devil's Snare.

Fifty points for the best played game of chess. What?! So, Ron made a good game. He does that every day against a human opponent. Big deal. That wasn't worth fifty points. Now if it was for sacrificing himself, that was different but that particular item was left out.

Sixty points for love and courage. Okay, this one made absolutely no sense. Who cares? Yes, we all love. Yes, we all have courage. But that has nothing for points. I didn't deserve it but loved knowing we were close to wining. I deserved points really for sacrificing myself to protect the school against Voldemort.

Ten points for standing against one's friends. Now Neville truly deserved more than ten points. But the look on his face was worth it. Stunned and speechless. He truly needed to shine. I know it's hard to stand against your enemies but to stand against the ones you love, the ones you have faith and belief in is even harder.

Inside I raged for the unfairness dealt to the Slytherins. Outside, I cheered with my classmates. We won the highest honor possible. But life is never fair. Cold and cruel. Much like nature. Cold and hot. One time happy to serve, the other time happy to destroy. Magic reminds me much of nature. Wonder if that's where magic resides. Does it? Is nature the means of evolving human nature?

For now, I am lighter in burden. Thank you for your love and protection, Mum, Dad. One day I hope to repay that.// Harry forced back his tears until he was ready for bed. I miss you. I need you. Help me. His silent pleas were all he remembered as the night claimed him, dropping him deep into slumber.

Footnote: Quotes from J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone: Quote 1: Page 136...Quote 2: Page 121...Quote 3: Page 85...Quote 4: Page 172...Quote 5: Page 207