Note: Wow! Reviews! People are reading this! It's a warm, fuzzy feeling, reading those things. With that in mind, keep it up. This chapter, and probably the one after it, will cover Harry's first year at Hogwarts. I've been really surprised at the...well, surprise from my portrayal of the Dursleys. In response to that, Let me say this: no one who puts as much time, sweat, and tears as parents do into raising their children would ever hurt them. Those who do are wrong. Just wrong.

Enough of my proselytizing.

Allons-y!

CHAPTER ONE: THE IMMORTALITY STONE


Wizards.

Madmen, the lot of them.

Harry, holding tightly to his mum's hand, had come to this opinion after spending the morning wandering around Diagon Alley. It was the only place on earth where you could find a place that sold toad's eyes and racing broomsticks with equal seriousness. Where a woman named Malkin could sell clothes-robes, for God's sake, robes- and nobody batted an eye. It was a packed, lively, insane place.

He loved it.

In that moment, Harry's refusal to call his gift magic died a quiet and unnoticed death.

There was too much to see. It was nearly impossible, he'd have to spend days here to see it all, and oh how he wanted to. If it weren't for the fact that his mum was on a shopping mission the likes of which never before seen by man, he'd try and see just what lay down the twisting roads that splintered from the main one occasionally.

The letter, which had been fantastically uninformative, had also included a list of supplies that he was required to have. Books and clothes were, as he figured for a boarding school, fairly standard. When the list deviated into cauldrons and robes, delivering warnings about having owls as pets; that's when things got weird.

Anyways, the minute Harry saw the list, he knew he was in for it. If there was one thing Petunia liked making, it was lists. She was very, very organized. He wasn't, and it drove her batty. He tried, he really did, but his attention span just wasn't long enough to keep track of much of anything.

"What's next, Harry?" the object of his thoughts asked. She held her bag in a tight grip and looked around with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Because of this combination he was losing feeling in his right hand.

"I can't feel my hand, mum," he said idly, digging the list out of his pocket with his free hand and looking it over. Her grip on his hand loosened and he sighed quietly in relief as blood flow was restored.

"Sorry, dear." she gave him a sheepish smile.

Harry waved it away. "It's okay. Let's see, next is...oh, a wand! Hmm, where do you get those around here?"

Petunia pointed with their joined hands. "There, maybe?"

He looked. A darkly painted, squat, dirty windowed old shop stood in front of them. It carried an aura of age around it. He could practically smell the magic coming from the place. The feeling of it, tingling across his skin, made his eyes go wide. Then he saw the sign hanging over the door and laughed. Ollivander's, it said, makers and purveyors of fine wands since 342 B.C.

"Huh," he said."how 'bout that?"

His mother's laughter carried them into the shop.


Petunia was worried. Harry was quiet. This was not normal for him, ordinarily he'd be chattering away at her about everything they'd seen and done in the Alley. She actually wanted to talk about it, never having been there before, only hearing about it from Lily. After a few minutes of silence she couldn't take it anymore.

"Harry?" she asked, sneaking a peek at him in the mirror. He looked up at her with a troubled expression. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, mum," he started, then shook his head. "No, it's not." he trailed off. She waited, seeing him gathering his thoughts. She didn't have to wait long. "Was it just me, or did everyone there not see me?"

"How do you mean?" she asked, though she suspected she knew where he was coming from. He needed to say it, though.

"It's just- how many people told me I looked like James? How many people said that I was sure to be brilliant, just like my parents? They didn't see me, mum. They just saw the me they wanted to see. I didn't like it."

There were moments, like this one, where Petunia had to forcibly remind herself exactly what Harry's age was. He was so perceptive sometimes, seeing things a man twice his age would sometimes miss. And it wasn't like he was wrong, she'd noticed it to. She'd seen disappointment on the face of that woman who'd sold them Harry's robes when he didn't have Lily's eyes. For his sake she hoped that those were the exception, not the rule. "I didn't either. No one would, in your position. I'm sorry it hurt you."

Harry shook his head. "That didn't hurt. It was annoying, but it didn't bother me as much as that old man-Ollivander?- just casually bringing up how he made it possible for my parents to die. He just talked about the worst thing to happen to me like it was no big deal. I thought wizards were cool, mum, and Diagon Alley is. I don't know if I like wizards, though."

"They aren't good with first impressions, are they?" she commiserated. "I won't say I understand how you feel, I said long ago you were unique and I meant it, but I'm here for you, Harry. I always will be."

Harry smiled at her, his first since before they'd entered the wand shop. She couldn't help but smile in return. Her son had a beautiful smile, wide and happy and completely infectious. "Thanks, mum." he said quietly, and looked out the window at passing cars for the rest of the trip home.

Petunia turned her thoughts to two weeks ahead, when Harry would leave for Hogwarts. She was worried and excited and proud, and also curious as to how she could be feeling all of those things at once. She kept her concerns to late at night, over cups of tea with her understanding husband. She was worried how the other children would treat him, how they would react to his eyes and his power. Her son was unique, and she loved it about him, but it also scared her a little. It wasn't a giant leap to see it would scare others, too.


Time, it seemed to Harry, had never passed so slowly. Two weeks dragged by. Each day seemed like it took three to end. He'd rarely been so excited in his life. It was this, and Christmas Day. It was that level of exciting, there was nothing else he could compare it to.

Finally, after two interminable weeks, the day came; September 1st. He'd gone to bed the night before fairly vibrating with energy, and had tossed and turned until the wee hours of the morning imagining what it would be like at Hogwarts. He had wild fantasies of casting spells from the backs of dragons, of rescuing princesses from foul monsters with fire and ice. When he fell asleep, he dreamed of himself, only he wasn't the same. He was old, and had a massive beard and staff. He pored over old books and mumbled to himself.

As dreams went it was fairly boring, but it was what Harry imagined being a wizard would be like.

Despite having fallen asleep only four hours before, he was up at five and bouncing around the house, stopping only around seven when he remembered that he hadn't actually packed yet. He swore, instinctively looked around for Petunia, sighed in relief, then dashed back to his room and shut the door behind him.

He drew his magic to him, pooling it into his hands. Faint streamers of gold light swirled around his fingers, and more light leaked through his eyes. A small tendril reached from him to his desk, where he'd put his wand. He pictured in his mind what he wanted his magic to do, opened glowing eyes, and whispered, "Pack."

Harry grinned at the result, panting a little at the drain. His trunk rose into the air, lid open. Books, papers, quills, shoes, they all flew into the air and sorted themselves neatly into the trunk. After that came socks, paired and folded, followed by shorts, pants, shirts, and robes. The trunk's lid closed with a snap and lowered itself gently to the floor. Then he reached for his magic again and sent it towards his wand. His desk drawer opened and it flew through the air. He caught and pocketed it.

Harry had decided that everything had gone swimmingly, until he realized he was still in his pajamas. He groaned. Now he had to dig back through his neatly packed trunk and find clothes.

"Oh, joy." he mumbled, before proceeding to do just that.


Platform Nine and Three Quarters, after he'd found it, did little to dissuade him of the opinion that wizards were mad. For a society as bent on secrecy as they appeared to be, having a great honking red train in the middle of King's Cross wasn't very stealthy. So, that was the downside.

The upside; a great honking red train.

It wasn't that Harry loved trains. He was an eleven year old boy, and machines of any sort fascinated him. Anything really, but motorcycles in particular. He'd never found the courage to admit his fascination came from a dream he'd had about a flying motorcycle. His family didn't mind his magic, but they weren't exactly thrilled about it, either.

So, as a happy result of having woken up early and pestering his parents into taking him to the station ahead of schedule, he had an entire hour to wander around the train. The sign on the engine proclaimed it to be the Hogwarts Express. His parents followed him as he wandered from car to car, helping him claim one of the ones near the back after deciding that it was the biggest.

People started showing up around nine thirty, and Harry shoved his parents out of the train to get the goodbyes over with not long after. He was anxious to be off, and yet when he was standing there on the platform about to say goodbye, he couldn't say it. His throat closed every time he tried, and his parents enveloping him in a two way hug didn't help. In fact, to his shame, his eyes welled with tears. He sniffled into the nearest shirt, which turned out to be Vernon's.

"Now, now, Harry." he said gently, patting him on the head. "It's not like it's forever, after all. We'll see you at Christmas, sooner if we can swing a visit. Your mum's been working on that with Professor Dumbledore."

"Really?" Harry looked up through traitorously leaking eyes and saw Petunia giving him a wide, if watery, smile. She nodded, and he smiled happily. "That's great. Promise you'll write either way?"

Vernon placed a solemn hand over his heart. "Hand to God. Tonight if you like."

He hesitated, torn between wanting to appear older and wanting to keep in contact with home. He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and shook his head. "Nah, not tonight. Maybe this weekend? That way I'll be able to write back about what's going on at school."

"Sounds like a plan." Petunia's voice sounded thick, and she hugged Harry tightly before letting him go and pushing him back. "Now go on, before I change my mind and take you home."

Harry sniffed again, hugged them both, and jumped on to the train, making his way to the very last compartment. He closed the door behind him, flopped down onto the couch, and threw his arm over his eyes. It took a lot more effort than he'd thought not to go launch himself back into his parent's arms. He didn't trust himself not to, so he didn't move until the train chugged out from the station. Only then did he sit up and look around.

He swore.

He'd forgotten Hedwig.


Harry was still swearing when the door to his compartment slid open and a boy with a round, shining face poked his head in. For whatever reason, Harry liked him immediately. It could have been the openness in his brown eyes, or the way his cloak was fastened under his left ear. Maybe it was the easy grin. "Hey," he said. "You mind if I join you?" he spoke clearly, but his face was shy.

"Not at all." Harry waved him in. The round faced boy struggled into the compartment, lugging a trunk with one hand, the other clutching tightly at a squirming, desperate to escape toad. He watched in fascination as the toad made bid after bid for freedom. Law of averages said the thing would eventually succeed. Sure enough, after its owner had finagled his trunk into an overhead storage space the toad wriggled free and leaped for the door.

Harry waved a hand, amber eyes alight. "Close."The door slammed closed. The toad hit the glass and slid down it to land in a dejected heap on the floor. He smiled. Using magic sent pleasant tingles up and down his spine, like when Petunia or Vernon tickled him, only somehow different.

The soft "Wow." made his attention shift rather quickly. His companion was looking at him with wide, excited eyes. Harry grimaced.

"So, there's no chance I can make you not ask me to explain?"

The other boy shook his head. "Nope."

"Fine." Harry grumbled. "It's like this: I can do magic without a wand. I don't know why, or how, but I can. No one else does either. Professor Dumbledore said he had an idea, but then he said it was a dead end, so we're up a creek about the whole thing. Yes, my eyes are gold. Again, no, I don't know why. Any questions?"

"Just one."

"Shoot."

"What's your name?" the round faced boy held out his hand and smiled. "I'm Neville."

"Harry." Harry shook Neville's hand. Callouses, strong grip. Dirty fingernails. He'd had the same from helping Petunia battle her garden into submission every summer.

"Nice to meet you."

"Same."

After that the conversation died for a bit. Harry cast around for something to talk about, and finally just up and asked, "Why haven't you said anything?"

Neville blinked. "About what?"

"About this." he tapped a finger to his forehead. More specifically, his faded scar. Neville leaned forward, eyes narrowed. They widened soon after.

"God's wounds." Neville breathed. "You're Harry Potter! I didn't even notice!"

"Well, that's a relief. I was beginning to worry that someone wouldn't recognize me." Harry said acidly. To his credit, Neville blushed and stammered an apology, which Harry waved away. "'S fine. I'm getting used to it. It's just kind of annoying, being seen as a thing instead of me. I'm the Boy Who Lived, or whatever, not Harry. You know what I mean?"

Neville had gone very quiet, and somewhat pale. He shook his head. "N-no. I don't." Though the way he said it made Harry suspect he knew exactly what Harry meant, and didn't like it any more than he did.

So he changed the subject. "Soo...what house d'you reckon you'll be in?"

Neville brightened, and the conversation proceeded apace. They argued the merits of various houses; Hufflepuff against Ravenclaw, Gryffindor against Slytherin, before deciding that they weren't really bothered about where they ended up, so long as their roommates didn't fart in their sleep or snore.


They were still laughing at the idea of someone doing both of those things when the compartment door opened again, this time admitting a girl. One who seemed to be made almost entirely of hair.

At least, that was Harry's first impression.

It was wild. Untamed. The Serengeti of hair. Brown, bushy, straining the ponytail she had it in. She had a pretty face, warm brown eyes rather like Neville's, and ink stains on her fingers. She also had perfect posture and unnaturally clean teeth. She looked, Harry decided, eminently interesting. "Excuse me," she said. "but do either of you mind if I sit with you? It's only that people are acting very childish, running up and down the halls and yelling and the like."

Harry grinned at her and said, "I don't mind. Do you, Neville?" Neville turned bright red and stammered that no, he didn't mind, and the interesting girl joined their compartment. She sat primly near the door on Neville's bench, Harry having taken up the other one when he decided to lay down and prop his head on his hands.

"I'm Hermione Granger," the girl was saying. "you're obviously Neville, but I'm afraid I don't know who you...are..." she trailed off and frowned for a moment, looking repeatedly at Harry's forehead.

Harry, for his part, sighed. "Yes, I'm Harry Potter. Go on, get it out of your system."

Hermione looked offended. "Get what out of my system? I was simply going to say that it was very nice to meet you and thank you for letting me stay with you."

"Oh. Sorry." she waved him away, and it was only then that he realized how annoying that was. Harry resolved to not do that ever again. "Let's start over, shall we?" he sat up and offered his hand and a wide smile. "I'm Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She smiled back at him, and he decided he liked it when she smiled. "Hermione. Likewise, Harry."

After the initial awkwardness of a new member joining the conversation, the three of them entered into an easy discussion of what subject they were looking forward to most. Neville surprising no one, picked Herbology. "I'm just good with plants." he said, shrugging.

Harry, for his part, was torn between Charms and Transfiguration. Both of them looked, from the brief peek through his books that he'd done, extremely interesting. Plus, one of them taught you how to turn stuff into other stuff, and that was cool.

If Harry had any lingering doubts about Hermione's status as a bookworm supreme, they were dispelled when she informed them that not only had she read all of their course books for the entire year, but also that she'd memorized-memorized- two of them. It was both awe inspiring and a little bit scary, and he wasted no time informing her so.

To his surprise, she turned a bright shade of red and mumbled something about it "probably not being enough."

"What?" Neville looked bewildered. "You've read all the books and committed two of them to memory, and you're still worried about it? Hermione, I realize that we've only known you for like, what, an hour? But still, you gotta relax about this. My gran told me that we put on a hat to get sorted, that's all."

"Really?" Harry sat forward. "What sort of hat?"

"A talking hat." Neville replied, as if that were a common, everyday thing.

"You mean they actually have those? Huh, and just when I thought things couldn't get any weirder- oh, come on!" The compartment door opened yet again and there stood three unpleasant looking people. Unpleasant was putting it lightly. They looked like bullies, and the middle one looked like he'd never even heard of the sun. He looked down his nose at Harry, Neville, and Hermione. " Now what do you guys want?" Harry asked.


What they wanted, it turned out, was an argument. One started in fine style by the vampire looking one in the middle saying, "They're saying Harry Potter is on the train, and that he's in this compartment. Is it true?"

"You mean you don't know?" Harry asked, confused. "I thought everyone knew what he looked like." out of the corner of his eyes he saw Neville looking bewildered and Hermione watching with a raised brow. To his surprise, the pale blonde only nodded.

"So, he is. Right..." he pointed at Hermione. "Not you," at Neville, "You're a Longbottom," then finally at Harry. "Which means that you are Harry Potter. Not only that, you are rude."

"Rude? Me?" Harry asked. "I blow smoke about who I am because everyone has been trying to see me since I showed up, and I'm rude for wanting to avoid that?"

"No," the boy countered. "you were rude because you failed to answer my question appropriately."

"Well, how was he supposed to answer?" Hermione asked. The blonde boy ignored her, and focused on Harry.

"Terribly rude of you." He informed Harry.

"So's ignoring someone." Harry retorted. "And you're doing a fine job of that."

"Who? I'm talking to you, and Longbottom's not said anything."

"What about her?" Neville demanded, pointing at Hermione.

The boy started, then waved an airy hand. "I don't speak to Mudbloods. So, Potter, I see you've received a somewhat adequate introduction to the right sort of person. Allow me to further that," he stuck out his hand. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Harry pieced together a number of things in a few seconds. First, judging from the way Neville squeaked and turned pale at the mention of the word Mudblood, it was not nice word. Second, this Draco Malfoy was unbelievably arrogant.

Finally, and most importantly, Harry did not like Draco Malfoy. It was the sort of instantaneous thing that made him decide Neville was so likeable. He just knew from looking at him that he wouldn't be any good.

Harry remained seated, in fact he laid back down on the bench, ignoring Draco's offered hand. "You know," he said conversationally. "the right sort of person tends to knock before entering a room that's occupied. The right sort of person thinks for themselves instead of regurgitating their parents' opinions. The right sort of person doesn't insult a person's friends. So thanks, Draco Malfoy, but I already know who the right sort of person is. You aren't it. Goodbye."

Draco flushed, which looked odd on his pale skin, and stammered angrily for a few seconds before snarling, "You'll regret this, Potter!" and storming out, followed by the two who hadn't spoken.

Silence fell for a few moments, before Neville swore.

"Language!" Hermione scolded. Neville ignored her.

"Harry, do you have any idea who that was?"

Harry shrugged. "A ponce?"

"Well, yes, but that's not what I mean. He's a Malfoy." Neville said, as if that explained everything.

"And..."

Neville looked at him like he was mad. "Harry, their entire family served You-Know-Who back when he was in power. There's not a single member that didn't go dark, not one! They're dangerous. My gran said to watch out for them."

Harry had gone very still at the mention of You-Know-Who. "You mean they worked with Voldemort?"

Neville nodded.

"Then why," Harry continued, much too calmly. "are they not in prison?"

"Money. Malfoy's dad bribed the Minister, got away Scot free."

"Money." Harry growled, and didn't say another word for the rest of the trip. After several attempts at drawing him out, Neville and Hermione gave up. She dug a book out of her trunk and started to read, and Neville watched the countryside pass.

Outwardly, Harry appeared calm. Inside, though, he seethed with anger. He hated Voldemort for taking his birth parents from him. Yes, he had a loving family in the Dursleys, but they weren't his.

Voldemort had taken that from him. He had taken his family.

Harry didn't notice, and his companions weren't paying attention, but his eyes were glowing, and wisps of light were escaping from behind his closed lids.


So, he was a Gryffindor. Neville had been right, all he'd had to do was wear a hat. They'd had an interesting conversation, then he'd been sorted into Gryffindor, the house of the courageous and brave. However, none of that had occurred before a ride across a lake, an interminable wait in a crowded room, and listening to the hat sing.

Harry shuddered. Hats weren't meant to sing. It was a pity no one had told the Sorting Hat.

He was immensely pleased when he found out he was in the same house as Neville and Hermione. They weren't close enough for him to consider them friends, but he knew and liked them, which was more than he could say for most anyone else. His roommates were all asleep, and snoring horrendously in one case, but he was still wound up from everything that had happened.

Luckily, Hogwarts in the night was gorgeous. Massive towers, imposing walls, lit windows like fairy lights in the woods. The cool moonlight painted the whole castle silver. Harry lay in his bed and watched the castle until he fell asleep. Tomorrow classes started, and he couldn't wait to see what they offered.


To Petunia Dursley, a week had never passed so slowly. All throughout the week, once the sun had set, she found herself going to the window every so often to see if Harry had written ahead of when he'd said he would. Even though he didn't show it, Vernon was just as anxious for news as she was, pausing in whatever activity he was doing every time she went to the window. The wait was driving her batty.

Friday evening rolled around, and she finally got her letter. A barn owl of some size winged its way to the sitting room window and tapped its beak on the glass. She rushed to let it in, offering it a bit of the sandwich she'd halfheartedly been nibbling on. Trading the letter for the sandwich, the owl took off, and Petunia hastily unrolled the scroll, smiling when she saw her son's messy handwriting.

Hey mum,

School's been pretty good. No, before you get in a tizzy, it's not the classes that are bothering me. Well, not only the classes. I like everything but Potions, and the only reason I don't like that is because of the teacher. He hates me, mum, and I don't know why. He's this skinny man with black hair and eyes and I was wondering if you knew him, cuz maybe you could make him back off.

Anyway, enough moping. Hogwarts is gorgeous. Seriously, it looks like it was built to be on a calendar. It's got spires and towers, which aren't the same thing, I learned. It's got huge battlements and a great big lawn and a huge lake. There's a forest that we aren't supposed to go into, so naturally everyone's been in there at least once.

Oh, hey, before I forget: I talked with Professor Dumbledore about my eyes and my magic. Remember that lead he said he was tracking down? Well, it was a bust. Guy was a fraud, or something. So we can go back to knowing bupkiss about what I can do.

I gotta go do homework now. You know they assign essays on length, right? I have to write six inches on the benefits of Earwigs. I don't know what Earwigs are. Which is why they assign the homework. I'm onto their games now, Mum.

I love it here, but I miss you and dad and even Dudley, though don't tell him. I'll write again next week. Supposedly we have flying lessons on Wednesday, though how or on what I don't know.

Bye,

Harry.

Petunia put down the letter, putting aside everything else but the one thing she recognized off the bat. Severus. It had been years, but she never forgot his black eyes. She went to the puce colored dish in the kitchen and touched it. "Albus, it's Petunia," she said. "We need to talk about Severus."

The dish sighed before Albus' voice came through. "Yes, I thought so. It seems he is less forgiving than I had hoped."


Flying lessons had been an unmitigated disaster. It was as if God had looked down and decided that Harry's Wednesday needed to be messed with, and had done everything in His considerable power to make that happen. For starters, it was with Slytherin. That in itself was bad enough, but Malfoy, who had decided he had it in for Harry, had decided to make a scene before Harry had shown up.

Then Neville happened.

Harry genuinely liked Neville. The round faced boy was kind, friendly, and clever. He was not, however, graceful. He tended to trip over his own feet, or fall into a trick door and get stuck, or bump into a particularly rude suit of armor and get chased down the hall. This minor fault displayed itself to full effect in their flying lesson.

Which was why Neville ended up with a broken wrist, Harry with detention, and Malfoy with two broken legs.

Now, however, Harry was standing outside the Headmaster's office with his arm in the death grip of Professor McGonagall. The stern woman was practically seething with anger, though at whom Harry couldn't guess. Him, probably. Malfoy a little. Probably not Neville. But mostly him.

The gargoyle swiveled aside and he was frog-marched up the stairs and into Professor Dumbledore's office. After a moment's glance the general impression was similar to Dumbledore himself. First opinion was that of a amiable, somewhat strange old man. But dig a little deeper and you find a incredibly keen mind and razor sharp wit. His office was a reflection of that.

The man himself sat behind a claw footed desk covered in paperwork. He had his half-moon glasses perched on his nose and was mouthing his way through a long scroll. He looked up at the sound of Professor McGonagall dragging Harry into the office. "Ah, Mister Potter. Please, have a seat."

Harry sat, not that he was given a choice in the matter. Professor McGonagall led him to a seat and shoved him down into it, nodded to Dumbledore, and left. "I'm sorry, sir." Harry said, when he could no longer bear the silence.

"For what, my boy?"

"I didn't mean to hurt Malfoy like that, I just wanted him to give Neville his photograph back."

Professor Dumbledore frowned. "Photograph? Do you know of what?"

He fidgeted. "Yes, sir. But I don't know if you know about Neville's er...situation."

"If you mean that he lives with grandmother, yes, I am aware. Your loyalty is commendable, but unnecessary. So, young Mister Malfoy stole Mister Longbottom's belonging and then, what?"

"He took off on his broom and said he was going to leave it in the forest, sir."

"And what did you do?"

Harry mumbled something, looking down.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter, my ears aren't what they were. Would you mind speaking up?"

"I said, 'I blew up his broom', sir."

There was a long silence, during which Harry fidgeted and Dumbledore leaned back in his seat. In this period of time Harry became aware of a large, red bird perched on a bookcase behind the desk. It was watching him, and sorting its feathers every so often.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke. "I assume you used this ah, ability of yours to do this."

Harry nodded.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Luckily, young Mister Malfoy has no lasting injuries other than his pride which, admittedly, is rather substantial. I take it that there were witnesses to your using your power?"

"Yes, there were, but I don't think they knew it was me, sir. They were all watching Malfoy."

"All of them? Are you sure?"

"No, sir."

"I see. I expect you will be facing some uncomfortable questions in the next few days. How you answer them is, of course, entirely up to you, though if I could make a recommendation: accidental magic doesn't really stop until about sixteen."

Harry, glad for seeming to escape punishment, took the dismissal and the advice with a nod and hurried out of the office. His heart sank once he reached the bottom of the stairs. It looked like he wouldn't be escaping punishment after all.

Professor McGonagall was waiting for him, and she did not look happy.


Tonight was the night his punishment was to take place. The wrath of McGonagall had hit Harry, and hit him hard. She'd given him detention, which was bad enough, but when she told him what he was doing, and with who, it got worse.

He was going into the Forest with Hagrid. Why or for what, he didn't know. All he knew was, he was probably going to be eaten.

Then, to make matters better, McGonagall had taken fifty points.

So, Harry's mood was, to say the least, foul. He didn't want to talk to anyone and, save Neville or Hermione. It was fine with him, he didn't want to talk to them, either. To that end, he'd claimed the couch nearest the fire and kept an eye on the clock. He had about an hour before he had to go.

"You'll be okay," Hermione said suddenly. "Hagrid's the groundskeeper. He must know the forest. And he likes you. He won't get you hurt."

"Yeah, but Hermione, Hagrid's enormous. What hurts for him and what hurts for Harry are two different things and I'm not helping so I'll stuff it."

That brought a smile to Harry's face. "Thanks, Nev." he smiled. "You're probably right, Hermione, but still...I don't like it."

Hermione frowned. "But, Harry, you broke the rules."

"No, I know that. I broke the rules, this is the consequence. What I don't like is how Malfoy looks at the end of all this."

"How?" Neville asked. It was Hermione who answered.

"Like a victim. People will forget why he got hurt, only that he did. Christ, he'll be insufferable now."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. "He wasn't before?"

Neville burst into laughter, and Harry's black mood was broken. The quarter of an hour he had left he spent talking quietly with his friends. So he was feeling somewhat content when he made his way to the entry hall to meet Professor McGonagall. The glare she hit him with deflated that somewhat. They proceeded in silence to Hagrid's hut.


Hagrid himself looked kitted out for hunting. A giant vest with a variety of tools dangling off it, crossbow in hand, quiver on his belt. In the lamplight of his house, he looked primeval and imposing. The massive boarhound sitting next to him completed the image of a hunter.

"Here he is, Hagrid." McGonagall said.

"Thanks, Professor. Alright there, Harry?"

"Fine, thanks." Harry replied on instinct.

Before she left, McGonagall said, "I'll return for him at dawn, Hagrid. He's yours until then."

"Right," Hagrid said after she'd left. The sound he made when his hands clapped together reminded Harry of a sonic boom or clap of thunder. "Well, you're here. I'm not pleased about that, let me tell you, but that's done and done, and there's no point fussing about it." he produced a vial of some silvery liquid from his vest and handed it to Harry. It was slightly warm to the touch.

"What is this?" Harry asked.

"That, Harry, is unicorn blood. Something out there's killing them, and we're going to find out what. Ready?"

He wasn't, but there was no point in saying so. "Yeah, let's go."

With the attitude of a man walking to face the firing squad, Harry followed Hagrid and his hound into the forest.

Harry had been to a few forests before. Once, when he was little, Vernon had taken them all camping in the Forest of Dean. He'd liked it much better than the forest he was in now. The Forest of Dean had clearings and fens and streams and he could see the sky when he looked up. When he was there he'd felt at peace, like he was finding an old toy he'd once taken comfort from.

The Forbidden Forest was nothing like that. The trees were mossy and twisted and so overgrown he could only see leaves when he looked up. The ground was covered in dead leaves, stones, and twisted roots. It smelled like old socks and the only source of light was Hagrid's sputtering lamp. It was, overall, a very oppressive place.

Harry was old enough to admit it was scaring the pants off him. Each time he stepped on a fallen branch he jumped, the crack of dead wood breaking sounding unnaturally loud in the unending silence. Neither he nor Hagrid spoke. Even the dog stuck to his master's side and kept his tail tucked under his legs.

It had been ten minutes before Harry saw a flash of...something out of the corner of his eye. He whipped around, fumbling his wand out of his robes and pointing it into the trees. His eyes strained to see in the diminishing light cast by Hagrid's lamp. Had he actually seen something, or was the forest playing tricks on him?

There!

He spun, again following a flash of movement in his periphery. Again, all he saw was trees. "Hagrid, do you see anything?" He whispered. There was no reply. Fingers of worry starting creeping up into his gut. "Hagrid?"

Silence.

Harry's free hand clenched and unclenched, and his heart rose into his throat. He kept his wand up and ready and turned, looking desperately for the dim orange light that would tell him that Hagrid was fine, that they'd only gotten separated for a moment. There was only darkness.

"Hagrid!" he shouted. His voice echoed dully back to him. "Hagrid!"

No reply. He swallowed thickly and tried to calm down. He told himself that he was safe, that Hogwarts was right there, and there was no way something dangerous would get so close to so many powerful wizards and witches. It worked enough for him to remember what he could do. He pulled power into his hand and whispered, "Light."

A ball of golden light sprang into being above his open palm. He frowned in concentration for a moment and it rose to hover two feet above his shoulder. The light it cast was cleaner and brighter than Hagrid's lamp.

Harry picked a direction and started moving. He looked around for any sign of Hagrid, whispering his name and trying desperately to remember what his dog was called. He could only see about five feet in front of him, and it was all he could do to not trip over a gnarled root.

A tree limb snapped off to his left, and he whipped his head towards the sound. It was then that he tripped over something that was much larger and softer than a tree root. It also groaned softly when Harry landed on it. His wand flew off into the dark. "Hagrid!" he scrambled to his knees and gasped.

The big man was a mess. His face was a map of bruises and open cuts. Both of his eyes had impressive black eyes blooming. His crossbow was a twisted, broken mess behind them, and the dog was nowhere to be seen. "Hagrid!" Harry hissed. "Hagrid, are you all right?"

Hagrid groaned in reply. A sound, unlike anything he had ever heard before, made him shoot to his feet and stare into the impenetrable dark. He heard it again, off to his left, then from behind him, then to his right. It was with cold dread that he realized it was circling him.

Harry breathed deeply and swiftly through his nose. If he opened his mouth he was sure to throw up. His stomach was a gnarled mess and his heart pounded in his throat. He heard the sound again, directly behind him, and his heart stopped.

Slowly, he turned.

What he saw would have made him scream, if only he could move.

It was Death. Tattered black robes swirled in a nonexistent wind. The hood was drawn up over its head. Gnarled, blackened arms ending in clawed fingers at its sides. The sound he'd been hearing was coming from underneath its hood. Rasping and harsh. It was breathing.

Harry stared, and it stared right back.

Then it moved.

Faster than a heartbeat, faster than Harry could blink, it was across the distance between them and slamming into him. Harry's feet left the ground and he flew backwards, slamming into a tree trunk. His body punched a dent into the mossy bark. He heard his ribs break, and every breath became an agony.

Death floated above him, staring without eyes down at him.

Harry was suddenly very tired. He looked wearily up at the cloaked figure and just wanted it to go away. Didn't it see he was tired? He was about to go to sleep and this thing was keeping him up.

Even though his thoughts were scattered, he pulled ropes of power into his eyes. He closed them tightly and felt the pressure building behind them. He pulled and pulled and pulled until he was sure that his eyes would explode from keeping the power contained.

When his entire body was shaking and he'd vomited from the strain, he opened his eyes.

A second sun bloomed in the Forbidden Forest.


END CHAPTER 1

Note: I know, I know. This chapter was longer than I'd expected. First Ollivander wanted to be odd all over the place, which I didn't allow. Then Neville and Hermione wanted to build character with Harry and fight with Malfoy. I let that happen. So...yeah. It got away from me a bit. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure this doesn't suck.

Agree, disagree, either way, let me know.