Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to YaoiCookies87 and TheLovelessRose. I would like to thank them for their wonderful reviews!

Chapter Two: Wednesday

Harry made sure to have his thin hood be kept in place to obscure his face from anyone and everyone who would look in his direction as he headed to The Leaky Cauldron. He did not want anyone to see and recognize him by the mark. He did not know his status in the wizardry world—if he had any—but he was not willing to risk it.

Though he had already taken some risks with the Dursleys with the letter situation, Harry knew that pushing his luck was not wise.

Instead, he needed to gather more information. That was where books came in. Knowledge was everything after all.

"But, first order of operation: observation."

::Garuini, make sure you observe the surroundings for details that I may miss. But, do not come out until I tell you to do so. I do not want anyone noticing you and drawing attention to us,::Harry ordered his hidden ssnake that he decided to take to the Wizardry world.

::Fine; but, you know that I am a snake and we value our own cunningness. So, I would know not to draw attention without you telling me," Garuini retorted, seemingly insulted. "Don't worry about me. Be careful, instead, with the wizards and witches since I don't know anything about them.::

Harry pulled open the door to The Leaky Cauldron and went to the bartender—who anyone could automatically deduce by his presence that he was in charge of the place—despite the suspicious and covert glances in his direction.

None were successful in seeing his covered self—only fueling the people's suspicions.

'I should ask the bartender how to get to the wizardry world from here. Professor McGonagall should have been more specific in her instructions. '

Continuing to walk over, Harry heard his name being mentioned between the bartender and from a slightly drunk customer.

"So, what does The Prophet have on the front page, Judas?" Tom the bartender asked Judas Jack, his faithful customer of thirty years.

"N'thing but news of Harry Potter's return to our world. He turns eleven this year and will be goin' to Hogwarts."

"I see. Good thing, then, yea? He should have stayed here in the first place instead of going with Muggles from what I have heard. Rumors, of course."

Judas nodded his head in silent agreement.

"Judas, I suspect it was Headmaster Dumbledore," Tom continued, "He was close to the Potters. He must have had a good reason if Harry did spend his time with Muggles. It's Dumbledore, after all," Tom replied, and was about to continue when Jack made a face at Dumbledore's name being mentioned. He paused, most likely to berate Judas for his lack of respect until he noticed—with great difficulty—a lone figure with strange dressings listening subtly to their conversation.

What caused concern was that he seemed—based on his height, to be a young child—about nine to eleven years old.

The child had to be either a Muggle or Muggleborn since magical children did not come to his tavern by themselves, only on rare occasions to use the floo; but, even then, they were always accompanied by an adult wizard or witch since the tavern was no place for children. But, the child had to have magic to see and be at the tavern, thus a Muggleborn then.

Besides, if the child was only a mere Muggle with no magic and thus no reason to be there, there would be Aurors there already to take care of the situation and return him to the Muggle world, though not before Obliviating him, since there is a spell at all edges of the wizardry world able to detect Muggles automatically.

'But, what was a Muggleborn child there,by himself, without an escort? I didn't think it was even allowed.'

"How can I help, yea?," Tom asked as he finished his thoughts, making Jack, too, turn his attention from Tom.

'Might as well ask and get straight to the answers instead of just wondering and getting' nowhere,' Tom quickly thought to himself.

Tom tried to see the young child's face, but was unsuccessful. The cloth just covered the child's face all too well.

"I was wondering if you could tell me how to gain entrance to the Diagon Alley? Professor McGonagall explained that the entrance was through a door with a certain combination of tapping movements," the child replied.

Tom stared and was amazed that the child spoke eloquently so young. Even Pureblood children didn't speak as this child just did. When Pureblood children spoke, they did not have the speech as this child; and, even when addressing adults, if the Pureblood children weren't accompanied by their parents, many didn't talk as formal as this child.

'Must h've good parents, then,' Tom concluded.

"Right. Prof'ssor McGonagall was right. But, you need a wand to open the door from this tavern to the wizardry w'rld. She must of assumed that you would have asked for help if she was vague about how to enter. Let me take help you and be of service," Tom continued as he made his way towards the child.

"Be right back, Judas," Tom directly told Judas.

"Right," Judas answered. "Good luck, kid" Judas said as he directed his attention to the child. He found it extremely strange that a child his age was hiding. No one hid unless they had something to hide after all.

The child inclined his head once and caught up with Tom with long strides. Judas narrowed his eyes at the child. If it was a child. After all, this was the wizardry world….What also concerned him was a brief, barely there graceful movement within the child's gray whatever-it-was fabric. It seemed like a movement of a snake. That thought made Judas pause. Snakes were bad omen and not positively viewed—what with the whole You-Know-Who ordeal. It was only luck that made him see the movement. He was about to follow the suspicious supposed-kid when he was interrupted by Professor Quirrel, the stuttering fool.

Tom made sure to walk the child's pace as they both headed towards a discreetly covered corner of the tavern.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The noise was the only thing heard in the eerie silence that had come between Tom and the child as Tom tapped the brick wall that would introduce the Muggleborn child to another whole world. He still thought it was strange and unethical in letting a Muggle child all by himself. He would have offered himself to help the child, but he had work to do.

"Here we are," Tom said as the brilliant wizardry world came into view. It was still early in the morning and few people out about in the shopping district of Diagon Alley. "Enjoy your stay and come looking for me when you want. I'll be happy to tell you anything you have questions on," Tom explained to the oddly alone silent child who he couldn't feel sorry for.

Getting a polite single nod, Tom turned to leave but not before trying to get a glimpse at the child's face. What he saw made him pause abruptly, his face turning chalk white. After all, why was this child with an outline of a face he had not expected there at this very moment?

'It couldn't be him, right? But, I n'ver forget a face. But, he looks just like him…except his eyes….' He was about to follow the child only to see that he had disappeared like a ghost…as if the child was never there but only a part of his imagination.

"What's wr'ng, Tom?" Judas asked him wearily as he made his way back to the bar to get ready for the day. Tom noticed that Judas looked as if he was packing to leave in a hurry. He spied Quirrel leaving in a hurry. He had been asking strange and so had Judas since Quirrel came back from his trip to Albania.

Judas thought with narrowed eyes, "Did the 'kid' do somthing?"

"N'thing. Just…nothin.' "

It was just the mistake. It was not him.

All was well.

OoOoO

Despite the few wizards and witches that were in Diagon Alley, Harry observed them as much as they observed him. He, after all, wore different clothing than these magical beings since he noticed that the wizards and witches wore robes which covered most of their bodies. But, unlike him, their faces were not covered.

'I should get some clothing. But, first, are Muggle currency used here as well?'

::Garuini, where do you think a bank in the wizardry world would be located?:: Harry asked his snake quietly enough so no one would hear him.

::Probably somewhere noticeable. It would probably have a distinct appearance from the rest to make it stand out from other buildings,:: Garuini hissed also quietly before going back in observing the strange world as much as she could through the coat fabric.

Upon seeing a tall, white and Roman-like building he had seem from books he read in the library—his only one of two sanctuary places he had from the Durselys in the Muggle world—he knew that he had just found the place he was looking for. The elegancy of the place oozed refinement and experience Harry knew banks liked to portray themselves to be.

He read the sign outside the door before entering Gringotts. No surprise or human reaction was seen on Harry's face as one would expect from a child new to the wizardry world as he faced a goblin whose name "Griphook" appeared on his uniform clearly written.

"How may I help you?," Griphook asked abruptly in clipped language.

"I am here to inquire whether or not Muggle" the word was sneered a bit—and tone being noticed by Griphook who narrowed his eyes at him—"money is used in the wizardry world. If not, may the money I have brought be converted into the currency that is used here?"

The Goblin sneered at the head covered child. He could not believe that he was discussing business with a mere child by the looks of it. Where were his parents? He had no time to waste with a mere child! Ignorant wizards!

"All transactions made are between adult, or at least emancipated wizards, who I am sure you are not. We also do not service those who we cannot see entirely. Now—" Griphook was interrupted before he could continue.

"With all due respect" Harry continued in his calm, respectable neutral hollowed voice, "My parents are unable to make such transactions with you or anyone in this establishment due to their early demise," Harry explained to the Goblin who wondered who this suspicious calm and mature countenance was, though he of course did not show it. He was a goblin and his kind who did not show emotions at well.

"I was informed by Professor McGonagall through a Hogwarts acceptance letter that I was to give you, the teller, this key," Harry clearly and a bit sternly said as he reached for a gold-like key from his black second-hand pants and uncovered his head from his hood.

"She also stated that once you knew who I was through examining the key, I would be assisted in gaining access to some currency left by my parents and on any currency questions I may have," Harry finished with a blank face, completely not bothered with the goblin's face looking sternly at his face and overall self after his uncharacteristically displayed shock and then suspicion at seeing Harry's face, followed by surprise at seeing his scar.

"I would gladly show you the parchment, if you would like," Harry finished.

"That won't be necessary," Griphook replied while thinking of something. "In the future, know that any other transaction beside withdrawal –or deposit—is to be done by an adult or emancipated child only. No exceptions."

Harry headed to a garment store after about an hour speaking with the Griphook about the difference between Muggle and wizardry world and the manner in which his schooling and supplies were to be paid for. He was suspicious that McGonagall did not explain all of this in her letter, but then thought about it—after all, the professor might have thought that he would be explained by those whose job it was to do so. Still, it would have been helpful to know beforehand.

He would have to find information through books and maybe newspapers to see why some people acted surprised at his appearance. It did not escape Harry's notice how Tom (through little of what Tom saw, regrettably) and Griphook—who were the only ones who had seen his appearance up to that point—reacted to his appearance.

But before that, though, a change in outwear was in need.

'No need to stand out more than I apparently do', he reasoned, as he made sure his face continued to be covered by his hood.

He was after all, no longer in the Muggle world.

All this Harry thought while thinking back to how he got his wizardry letter and how he came to be in the Wizardry World.

Flashback

It had been on his eleventh birthday, a Wednesday, when he had finally received and opened his Hogwarts letter. It was the only good Wednesday Harry had ever had as it was the same day of the week in which he was found on his relatives' doorstep with only a blanket and a note.

Harry's Aunt Petunia had been preventing him from receiving his letter by sending him to do house chores—and redoing them—inside the house for half of the month of July. In a morbid sense of humor, his situation reminded him of Cinderella and how her stepmother and stepsisters tried to prevent her from finishing her chores to prevent her from going to the grand ball.

"Stupid boy, go and clean up the broken glass that is in Dudley's room that he accidently caused," Petunia hissed the ordered as she saw an envelope parchment just beside the door from the corner of her eye. She thought that the Freak did not notice…what with his back turned as he slowly washed the large stack of dishes from the Dursely's breakfast meal—or feast in Vernon and Dudley's case.

Harry went upstairs—with Petunia closely escorting him there so not to see the envelope by the front door—and cleaned up the mess. Garuini was in his cupboard, currently sleeping after she had comforted him all night after one of his "corrections" and Aunt Petunia's own tender and loving care.

The huge amount—of varying sizes—of broken glass, he automatically noticed, was not done by mere accident. He had learned long enough the difference between accidently made and man-made glass droppings through his years living with his relatives, as some man-made glass droppings were sometimes used to create scars on his skin. Clearly, Petunia must have made the glass mess as part of her plan to keep him preoccupied in the house.

'I have to find some way to get my letter. But, how do I get my letter? I could ask Garuini to somehow retrieve the letter for me. No, unless—'

Harry smirked, his eyes flashing triumphantly.

He went to implement his plan after finishing picking up the glass, which was hard to do without receiving any cuts from the very small glass pieces that loitered Dudley's bedroom with only his hands and no protective garments.

Unfortunately, he could not use his magic to somehow help as he had used a lot of his magic already as a result of said last night's incident.

Harry knew that his Aunt Petunia could not possibly be watching the door for all the Hogwarts letters that arrived, no matter how obsessed she was in preventing him from receiving them. Her eyes were also obsessed with watching the neighbors.

Came up with a plan and when the next letter arrived, he hurriedly took in the Hogwarts letter left right by the door and turned it invisible by painfully using his magic and putting it inside his baggy shirt, before continuing on to clean the oven he was assigned by his lovely uncle.

Good thing it worked. His magic was getting a bit harder to work with…what with the energy that it spent on alleviating his injuries.

Sighing, he went back to work.

Petunia turned around, interrupting her neighborhood watch, to see if the Hogwarts letter came before the brat took notice of it and see that it was addressed to him.

Nothing yet.

'Might as well see if the retard is doing his chores.'

Smack!

Harry flinched when he was struck unexpectedly on his wounded back.

"Hurry up with the cleaning, bastard!" Petunia shouted at the Freak when she saw that the shit had not been working to speed, as was expected from the Freak.

She was tired of his neglect and slowness in regards to his dues.

"Listen here, retard. After you're done, go to the library." It was already late and she knew that the letters stopped coming one by one when dusk approached, from what she had observed. There was no longer any risk that the Freak would receive his letter.

"I'll have company over in an hour. I don't want to see you, you hear? Don't come back until it's time for you to make late dinner for us!"

"And after, I'll deal with the wounds you've gotten," she answered enthusiastically, smiling a bit too sweetly.

The Freak nodded. Petunia continued her neighborhood watch.

After quickly finishing cleaning the oven, he stored the bit of cleaning supplies he was only allowed for that particular chore and headed for the front door, putting his Hogwarts letter inside his old grey coat that hid his oversized faded navy blue shirt.

Opening and closing the front house door to indicate his "leaving", Harry quietly made his way to his bedroom upstairs to ensure Aunt Petunia would not hear him...him, who should be making his way to the library.

Harry knew that the other reason why his Aunt wanted him to head for the library was because Dudley and his gang of friends were "playing" outside the house. She wanted Harry to be hurt by her son and Dudley's friends before heading to the library as she told him to do.

His Aunt Petunia did not have to worry about anything as no one would or cared to bother him despite his obvious abuse. His relatives long ago took care to alleviate anyone that showed any interest and concern to him with white lies.

Sometimes, his relatives were clever as snakes with the way they regarded him. But, he was much more of a Slytherin than them.

A bit of his blood stench reached his nostrils as he entered and soundlessly closed his bedroom door. He was with great reluctance moved from his cupboard after the first letters started coming in.

Opening his Hogwarts letter and reading it, he grabbed a broken but still working pen from his crushed "desk" and wrote on the back of his Hogwarts parchment letter after reading and taking note of the contents within the notice. He willed his pen markings to work with the Victorian-like parchment.

'Now, what to inquire? I know where to get my supplies and the basics of the wizardry world, but I still need more information about the wizardry world. How to get to Diagon Alley? I will have to ask for more information than I need,' Harry thought.

Professor McGonagall,

I accept the invitation to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

However, I have a few questions in regards to what is expected of future students of the fine establishment in which you, Professor, are a part of.

One question concerns the supplies that I am required to obtain that are mentioned in this Hogwarts acceptance letter parchment.

How and where am I supposed to purchase my supplies?

Please understand that due to my relatives not knowing much of the manner in which it is required to enter the wizardry world, you can surely imagine what questions someone in my position may have. What currency is used in the wizardry world, for example? There are, of course, other further unknown magical matters that are too numerous to detail here which I, too, lack the necessary knowledge of.

As a result, if possible, include other information that I may need in order to successfully prepare for the start of the term and any other information I may need that you may think is necessary. Perhaps you may be able to supply a title of a textbook that may explain more of the wizardry world?

No escort is needed.

Submitted Respectively,

Harry Potter

::We definitely would not want anyone with us, right Garuini?':: Harry more than stated than asked his snake who hissed in agreement as he finished his letter.

"Now, how to deliver the letter. Might as well go to the library first before Aunt Petunia comes and snoops around. I'll try to find a way to deliver the letter back once I get there. Perhaps there will be an owl there," Harry muttered to himself quietly.

::Garuini, let us leave. Hurry and grab on.:: Garuini slithered to him and went inside Harry's only coat.

They quietly left the house and successfully avoided Dudley and his friends. Arriving behind some nearby trees that created a shaded place behind the secluded library, Harry saw an owl there, staring at him eerily. He knew it was not an ordinary owl. It seemed far too observant and intelligent from the gleam in his eye. He knew it was waiting for his reply. He tied the letter onto the owl with the string that was attached to it and watched it fly away to Hogwarts. He had a feeling that he (or his relatives for that matter) would no longer have to worry about any more letter send to him.

Later that same day, after his new wounds—a birthday gift courtesy from his Uncle Vernon (as if he needed an excuse)—were treated by his Aunt, he spotted the same owl from before.

Rising slowly, but with Garuini's encouraging assistance, he let the owl in through his small window.

After detaching the parchment from owl and making sure it flew back to its owner in the night sky, he laid sideways where it hurt the least to read the letter.

::Harry, get your supplies later. Don't go tomorrow since I don't think you will be able to work as much with your injuries. Your magic and I can only do so much to help:: Garuini advised him after Harry finished reading the parchment.

Before replying, Harry's vision blurred into almost nothing but the familiar darkness he had always seen before it took shape into the usual dark figure clothed in a black garment from head to toe. The figure's hiss, so familiar from his dark nightmares, was the only thing he could hear as he again heard the haunting whisperings of dark promises as the figure's face swallowed him whole.

He never heard Garuini hiss in alarm or of her barely preventing him from hitting the rock hard floor with a loud thump as he suddenly seemingly fell asleep.

One Week Later

"Aunt Petunia and Uncle, I need for you take me to London to gather my school supplies for Hogwarts," Harry asked in a bit of a commanding tone to his normal tone as he slowly served his relatives their breakfast—or feast, for some.

Petunia and Vernon grew white with shock and disbelieve as they became still. Dudley, unlike them, was confused as to what the Freak was talking about, why the freak was asking for something, and why his parents reacted the way they were about whatever the Freak was talking about.

"Dad, Mum. What is this 'Hoffurts' thing the Freak is talking about?"

That seemed to have snapped Vernon and Petunia back to normal.

"Dudley, son. Please go to your room and stay there until we call you," Vernon said a bit shakily, though he quickly recovered when he noticed, before turning to glare at Harry.

"Yes, dear. Do what your father told you."

"But, why?" Dudley asked, starting to throw a tantrum.

"Do what I told you, Dudley!" Vernon shouted, but making sure to still keep his tone low enough that the neighbors didn't hear. After all, they—unlike the Freak—were normal and he didn't want the neighbors to think otherwise.

Dudley went to his room, shocked at his father yelling at him. He had never yelled at him before. But, he didn't want to anger his father anymore than he was.

'Besides,' Dudley thought, 'I'm sure the Freak will get punished for making Dad yell at me' Dudley finished thinking, wearing a smug smile as he turned his attention back to his sports cards.

Making sure that Dudley left, Vernon turned his attention to the Freak.

Glaring at the freak of nature, he asked, "How did you get the letter? Petunia and I made sure you won't get that damn letter!"

He would not have the Freak go to magical—he spat the word—school to learn abnormal, freakish and Devil things to be done on his family!

He clothed and housed the bastard and this is how he gets paid for his hard work?

"Understand this, you whore! You will not answer the letter and you will not go! I don't know how you got the letter. We thought that they stopped sending you them after Petunia told me yesterday that the letters stopped coming today!"

"I already replied Uncle and was informed of the wizardry world—" Harry was stopped by a powerful punch to his stomach courtesy of his Uncle.

Vernon was about to start again before Petunia stopped him.

"Vernon, if they discover about this when he goes, since he replied already he will—"

Vernon became silent with that before turning to Petunia and telling her to get the car started.

"Listen closely. I'll take you there from the goodness of our hearts. Never say we did nothin' for you. But once we return…you'll have it. I know you'll return after all," Vernon added when he noticed the retard narrow his eyes a bit.

"Good thing, then, that they gave us this Wednesday off then, huh?" Vernon continued to say before spitting Harry in the face.

"Go get dressed. Fast! We will drop you off and come back for you at three o'clock. I will be putting your freakish things in the truck as I will not have your freakish things close to us!"

"We will also lock you things in your room. I don't want those Devil's works and objects tainting our pure Godly things. I hope you bring money for yourself because we ain't givin' you any. You have five minutes, shit," Vernon finished before going outside to join Petunia, continuing to curse him in low tones.

Harry breathed harsher as he attempted to get up. His stomach primarily protested as he went up the stairs.

All the while, Harry could not help but wonder what was the meaning of the gleam that he had seen on both Aunt Petunia's and Uncle Vernon's eyes when they exchanged a glance at each other when his Uncle changed his mind on the whole wizardry situation.

'Something wicked this way comes' echoed eerily a familiar raspy sharp voice within the recesses of Harry's mind.

End of Flashback

Pulling on the black cloak's hood over his head he had finish paying for, he made his way towards a place he had observed some wizards going with a silent stealth while they made sure no one noticed them going in to the said other alley. The only reason why Harry had seen them was because he was actually looking—not just looking, but seeing—and because he often did the same.

Knockturn Alley

::Are we going to that alley? The alley seems very different than this one we are in.:: Garuini asked Harry once they reached close to the entrance of Knockturn Alley.

::Yes:: was all Harry answered back before securing Garuini onto him inside his cloak before entering slowly into the alley, observing and copying the manner of the wizards in the place.

::Make sure to keep your wits up:: Garuini advised.

Immediately, he shadowed his face with precision to hide his face even more.

All of Knockturn Alley was the antithesis of Diagon Alley. Rows of closed-packed dark buildings lined the street. One look and a wizard could tell by the atmosphere of the buildings themselves—of the whole alley—was that the majority of the products sold were dangerous and sinister. The people themselves all wore the dark black color from head to toe, many obscuring their faces and covering their entire bodies, leaving nothing noticeable to make them stand out in any possible way.

Harry moved with a deadly graceful swept into many of the stores, looking for what may be helpful to him in any way. He knew that anything at this place was not offered in Diagon Alley.

Many turned his way because of his height but he seemingly took no notice to it. Instead, he continued on his way with powerful and intimidating strides with his wand elegantly between his hands, making anyone who wanted to approach him become discouraged despite his height or his hinted age that his height indicated.

Though, all believed him to be an adult as no child would dare enter unaccompanied to Knockturn Alley….and no Mudblood was that powerful….

After entering Borgin & Burkes, he quickly went to the books aisle while quickly making note of all that the store had to offer.

The owner seemed to be in the back and did not hear Harry come in.

It is within one of an ancient small book that he saw a section mentioning the mark on his right cheek.

Mark of Lineage

Wizards of both Pureblood and half-blood birth are born with a black lined mark on their right cheek distinct from other wizards dependent on the family the wizard child descended from. A Mudblood is exempt from this heritage marking. A squib child will still receives the mark.

The mark cannot be hidden, not even with a glamour.

The mark is only visible to those who have magical abilities. Squibs are the exempt as they are known to have ability to see the mark.

The mark on an offspring corresponds to the one the father—the one who sires the child—carries. This is why many Purebloods and Half-bloods try to marry amongst themselves and not with Mudbloods so the mark's legacy remains, aware of the risks of having their mark disappear.

[See Page 200 for illustrations of recorded marks with the corresponding lineage family].

'So, his mark marked him as the offspring of a Potter. Interesting. No wonder the people who so far recognized him knew who he was'. Well, that and his lightning bolt scar on his forehead that marked him as the Boy-Who-Lived.

THAT mark. The mark that marked him as the killer of his dad's own killer and that of his own mother—

Harry made his way to other stores without being noticed, talent he came to possess from his years with those despicable…Muggles. He bought more books and a few other supplies, with the advice of Garuini.

Harry quickly took note of the school supplies he still needed. He had spent almost all his money he found while cleaning up his relatives and the neighbors's houses but it would have been worse if he was not such a good bargainer. He did still have plenty of money left that his dad had left him for his Hogwarts education. Even so, he knew it was wise to spend wisely.

He continued on and re-entered Diagon Alley, his face still covered. At least he already had his beloved wand. It was the first thing he had purchased.

Flashback

"Yes, you would out of everyone…I would expect you to have this wand."

"Is there something unique or particular about this wand, Sir?"

Watching for Harry's reaction, he replied slowly, "Willow, ten and a quarter inches long. Excellent for charm work. Your mother's wand, that is."

"Quite unlike your father, who had a mahogany wand, eleven inches and wonderful at transfiguration," Mr. Ollivander paused briefly.

"Yours is an unusual combination: holly and phoenix feather, eleven feathers. Quite curious indeed," Mr. Ollivander gave him a grave look as he continued to stare at him intently, almost missing the widening of the boy's eyes on his father's, James', wand information. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather—just one another. The very curious thing, Mr. Potter, is that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar."

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember…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," Ollivander finished, looking at both the marks that he adorned on his face.

After Harry Potter left, Ollivander stared continued to follow Potter with an unreadable expression before losing his sight of the boy in the crowd.

"Curious indeed."

End of Flashback

::We must leave now, Garuini. We will have to wait for the Dursleys longer than I thought since I finished earlier than planned.::

::Good thing we managed to escape from the Judas man in the beginning. Imagine if he had followed us.::

Harry narrowed his eyes in annoyance.

Two Months Later

Vernon grumbled in annoyance one last time after hauling the Freak's luggage from his car's trunk.

"Definitely the freak will be corrected once he comes back from the Devil's playhouse. I know what to do; I'll do what I've always done to him," Vernon thought maliciously, glancing at Harry once. Petunia was not there since she was currently taking their precious son to his old private schooling, Smeltings. "No use in having the both of us with the Freak."

"Have fun, you retard. Just wait until you come back from that Devil's school you're heading off to!" Vernon said.

Seeing no reaction as usual from the Freak, he was about to "correct" him a bit, but restrained himself from doing so once he noticed that people had started to trek into the platform despite the fact that they had arrived early on the Freak's threat. The Freak went unpunished for threatening them with telling the other Freaks about his living conditions...

'But when the retard returns next summer, that will would be a different story. The Freak's scars will bleed once again with the help of the threads embedded within the whore's body….'

"Get out of my sight and don't come crying to us when you don't find the platform. What kind of Freaks have Platform 9 ¾?" He laughed loudly, drawing attention to himself.

Then, he grew an ugly red before driving the car when he saw the people staring at him who seemed to be talking to himself. That Freak! It was the idiot's fault for making him look…freakish!

Refusing to sigh, Harry immediately left to find the platform, leaving Vernon to himself.

He chuckled darkly as he thought about the picture his Uncle Vernon must have made and the thoughts of the people who saw his Uncle seemingly being mentally unstable for talking to himself.

'Oh, the irony.'

::Wipe that smirk off your face. You should not be acting like you have these past few months. You have grown careless, Harry:: Garuini hissed.

::Garuini, you know that I do not have to worry anymore.::

::Yes, but you are being arrogant. Arrogance has brought demise to many great rulers. You must trend softly. You more than anyone should know of this! Always.::Garuini answered softly back.

Harry nodded once in reply. Reaching between the platform between the ninth and tenth platform, he came upon the invisible magical made entrance towards Platform 9 ¾. Despite everything, Harry was fascinated with the physics and nature of magic.

::Make sure you get the last compartment.:: Garuini instructed after seeing as best she could from Harry's coat that Harry was the only wizard there, besides the train's employees who were inside the stationed train getting ready for the busy day.

::Yes, we would not want anyone snooping around and catching attention to ourselves, now would we?.::

Harry and Gaurini sat in the last compartment on the scarlet train. While Garuini slept inside his coat, Harry returned to his thoughts of what he learned from his textbooks.

'The Boy-Who-Lived. I wonder how people think I survived?… Dark Lord Voldemort was the murder. At least I now know the name of the murderer. Tragic—'

The compartment's door opening stopped Harry's thoughts.

"Sorry, I thought this was empty—" a Hogwarts student said before starting to turn around to leave.

Harry stopped him with a wave of his hand.

Percy turned his attention to the young student, whose face was covered by his black cloak.

"Do not worry it; I understand," the obviously first year student said and with a hand gesture, he continued, "Please, take a seat. I was just reading this textbook," the boy said as he gestured to his book.

Taking his seat, Percy took out his Potions book from last year—he always liked to review what he had already learned—but he stopped when he realized what the first year was reading. A Dark Arts book.

"You do know that you are not supposed to be reading those types of textbooks, right—?," Percy hesitated and unable to finish, not knowing who the covered student was.

"Hadrian. And, no, I was not aware that I could not read this 'type' of book as you say. Care to explain why?"

"Percy," he stated his name in return before answering Hadrian's answer, "You must be a Muggle, then," he said, not missing the abrupt change in Hadrian's subtle body language .

"Is he those prejudice Purebloods? But, he wouldn't of even acknowledged me with my second-hand clothes and obvious Weasley lineage. Unless—yes, that had to be it. He must not know what a 'Muggle' is. He must think that I'm ridiculing him."

"A Muggle is—"

"I know what a Muggle is, thank you," Hadrian said. "I am not a Muggle…I am a…half-blood, actually."

"Then you should why you can't read that book, then?" he asked, still confused.

"Despite me being a half-blood. I do not know a lot about the wizardry world due to certain circumstances."

Percy nodded his head in understanding, though inwardly, he was still confused as to why a half-blood wouldn't know. Knowing propriety, unlike his siblings, though, he chose not to ask…for now.

"Now, do not tell me that this book is illegal and that its spells and curses are also."

"Yes, to both. Where did you get that book in the first place. The only possible answer would be—KNOCKTURN ALLEY!" he shouted, inwardly admonishing himself for not coming to this conclusion earlier. He would perhaps have to report Hadrian once they arrived at Hogwarts to McGonagall depending on how the future Hogwarts student answered his statement.

Hadrian narrowed his eyes a bit—though Percy was yet to see him.

"Calm down. And, no, I did not get this book there. In Knockturn, was it? My escort warned me of such a place. I actually purchased it in Diagon Alley. They must have ordered the wrong book which I happen to have found and then purchased. The cashier on that day was on a rush with the long line that was there. I did not even realize it was a Dark book; but, now that you mention it, it does seem like one. No need to worry, though, it is a mere introductory book despite the title's suggesting. I will return it to a professor once I arrive. No need to worry," Hadrian said before quickly gathering a Potions book instead to read.

"Right," Percy said, not quite sure and slightly unconvinced. But, his reason had to be true. Knockturn Alley was a very dangerous and ruthless place. A first year student wouldn't be able to navigate and survive there. Besides, Hadrian's escort wouldn't have allowed such a trip to such a ruthless place.

In order to make Percy believe him since he did not seemed fully convinced, Harry decided to pull down his cloak's hood.

'Might as well. Besides, who would think that the Boy-Who-Lived on purpose bought a 'Dark' book?' Harry thought.

Percy could not believe that the person which he had been conversing with was none other than the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. It was obviously him as he recognized the telltale black lined mark of the Potter heir and his infamous lightning-bolt scar. He hid his surprise quickly, though, when Hadrian quickly returned to his textbook, clearly none taken with his reaction to who he truly was.

However, he did not know why he was told he was "Hadrian"…unless… the formerly known "Hadrian" didn't want his identity to be revealed.

"Your right," Percy said relaxing, referring to what they were discussing earlier. It must have been a mistake and coincidence that Potter came across the book because—well, it is him!

Despite his more liberal approach to magic compared to his family, he didn't really pay that much attention to Dark magic. He was against practicing such kind of magic. That didn't mean he didn't read a bit about them a bit though since it was somewhat required for the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum after all for basic background information.

A comfortable silence reigned between Harry and him. Percy returned to his Potions textbook as well while enjoying the relaxing atmosphere that permeated between the two occupants.

Percy rather enjoyed Potter's presence, maturity and willingness to speak to him, rather unlike his other siblings.

But, despite enjoying Potter's companionship, Percy knew that no person that age should carry him or herself in the manner Potter currently did. Despite his own nature, even he himself did not compare to the composed and too mature nature of Potter.

He looked very intelligent and very serious for his age. Many of the older years would surely take notice and perhaps even envy such characteristics, before remembering who they held such ill feelings towards, of course.

What made Potter stand out if one should pay close attention, though, besides his looks and mannerisms, were his sad emerald eyes whose sorrow that radiated was not one that someone would expect from a prepubescent child but one from a fully grown betrayed soldier. What in his life had he witnessed or experienced to have such eyes? Emotions that his eyes reflected coming from his soul—his entire being?

'But, this was the Boy-Who-Lived'.

His observations did not vanished with that thought; for, knowing who this person was didn't deter him from objectively knowing that despite Potter's status and assumed by all luxurious living situation, something must have happened. Who would allow such a thing and why had no one noticed and do something?

Percy knew that he wouldn't be getting answers any time soon though, especially just after having introduced themselves.

"Potter—"he started.

"Harry."

"Right, Harry," he paused, since he would never of had imagined before being on a first name basis with this individual, though, for some reason, he felt privileged at the same time, "I would advise to get yourself acquainted with that potions book of yours that you're reading since the Potions Master at Hogwarts is very strict, demanding, difficult and does not allow for many, if any, mistakes—" he was soon interrupted when his annoying little brother came inside the compartment.

Sighing in annoyance at being interrupted, he turned to his brother. He noticed that Harry had put his cloak hood on.

"Oh….Hey, Percy. I have to sit with you since I can't somewhere else since everywhere else is full" Ronald Weasley, his younger brother continued to mumbled before taking a seat and without waiting for a reply, all the while not looking or even acknowledging the other occupant of the compartment or even his own brother.

Harry in response continued to read, Percy noticed, with, what he felt somehow, a glance and a small frown on his face.

"You know, it is rude to come in without asking if you could be permitted to sit with us. You should also use a better tone and with some respect, especially with your elders and obviously brother. Not to mention with me, a total stranger—what a lovely introduction of yourself to someone who does not know you. Imagine what impression you have brought upon yourself. You're a Pureblood, right? Yes, I can tell by your Mark of Lineage. I would have expected better from you, no matter your financial situation," Harry coldly said as he looked at Ron's cloths.

The kid irritated Ron. Ron didn't like that he was being told how to act, especially since the kid was his age. It was not like he was perfect as well. He had no right to say anything. What irritated the most was that Percy didn't say anything to defend him despite being brothers!

Besides, it's not like he should waste his energy and "properness" on his boring brother.

"What would you know? You must be one of those dark Pureblood supremist with the way you are talking—"Ron countered, automatically knowing who this student must be after his lecture. But, Percy stopped him before he insulted any longer.

Percy could not believe that Ronald had just accused THE Harry Potter of being Dark. The same boy whom his brother was always wanting, wishing and dreaming of being best friends with.

"Ronald, mind your attitude. Just sit down and go read or do whatever it is that you do," Percy told him as he sat next to Harry.

Percy sighed inwardly. He knew that his brother—as well as the other two, the Twins—needed to get their attitude in check before either of them get expelled by his behavior and/or words.

"You should change into your Hogwarts cloths by the way. I suspect that we should be arriving soon. I shall return shortly," Harry suddenly said. And with that, Harry left the compartment as an announcement proclaiming what Harry had advised them erupted throughout the train.

Moments past by until Percy rebuked Ron with his manner of being.

"That Bloody kid! He insulted us with how we are—"

"You should not have acted that disrespectful and you know it. Our mother taught us manners—use it. Besides, you shouldn't insult potential friends, Ron. I suspect that he'll be in Gryffindor."

Ron could not help but stare at his brother. 'Was he serious? He must be mental? Couldn't he see that that kid did not act like a true Gryffindor?'

"Gryffindor? No, he'll probably end up in Slytherin."

Percy uncharacteristically laughed.

Ron was not deterred by his brother's out-of-character outburst.

"I thought you kept on talking about how you've always wanted to be his friends since ever. He's Harry Potter. Nice presentation of yourself," Percy said as he saw Ron pale dramatically.

Ron could not believe that that was Harry. How could that…person be the Boy-Who-Lived? There was no way, no way at all, unless he was imposter.

Outside the compartment, Harry frowned. He did not like how Percy thought himself knowledgeable of him just because of his status and his background. After all, he might not be a Gryffindor just like his dad and mother. He narrowed his eyes as he waited to hear more. No one would be able to detect him after all. He truly was a Slytherin. He smirked eerily…silently laughing at the irony.

Harry's smirk changed to a wide smile on his face, so wide because it was hiding the devious smirk that pulled at his lips.

No one, not even the sorting hat would be able to tell that the snake had essentially killed the lion almost eleven years ago.

x-oOo-x

"Who will be the tour guide who will call and take us to get sorted once we arrive? I heard about this when I went to redress in the bathroom from some gossiping second years telling first years," Harry asked Percy as he ignored Ron who merely stared in disbelief at Harry.

"His name's Hagrid. You will know who he is once he calls on your group. You can hardly miss him," Percy informed Harry with a bit of a smile, which surprised Ron since he rarely did smile at anyone or anything…then again, he rarely talked as well. It was a bit strange to Ron that he would be talking to a stranger, Boy-Who-Lived or not, as he had known him his whole life. He was never like this with his parents either. Not that Percy totally changed with Harr—Potter's presence. He was just a bit more…open and relax.

However, Ron didn't like this Potter. 'He's like a Pureblood. He's not supposed to be acting like how he is right now.'

The train stopped and Harry bid Percy good-bye before going to the giant man who was calling the first-years. Standing outside the group, Harry noticed Ron near him despite seeming weary of him. In fact, he had a sort of glare every time he would turn and look at Harry. Not that he cared. He felt indifferent towards him.

'Besides, I have more important things to worry about than him.'

He had plans to implement.

Ron, meanwhile, went to stand next to a boy he had briefly met up with earlier instead. A boy named Neville Longbottom. They had been childhood friends.

' Afterall, Potter is dark', Ron thought as he decided against joining Potter who had ignored him, 'and probably hiding secrets. I can't prove it, but I just know. I won't trust him. He is no Gryffindor, but a bloody snake'.

He would not associate himself with a Dark wizard. He knew from how Potter carried himself.

Hagrid went looking through all the first years while making sure Harry Potter arrived, as Dumbledore ordered him—not that it was a bother, he wanted to see the little tyke he hadn't seen since THAT night.

Dumbledore, the good old man, told him to make sure Harry arrived safely, especially since Dumbledore had been concerned given that none of the staff had picked Harry up to take him to Diagon Alley. Dumbledore seemed even more anxious after reading the letter Harry had sent to McGonagall and his want for independence….

He noticed the other wizardry students were not paying attention to Harry who he quickly recognized. The other students were in their own groups conversing intensely except Harry, of course, who was off to the side, and a bushy haired girl who was staring at the floor intently.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Hagrid who he knew had been staring at him before turning abruptly. He was confused at the look that Hagrid kept shooting him out of the corner of his eyes. He ignored him though—it was probably because he knew he was—and got into a boat with a bushy haired girl who was the only one in the boat. They rode in silence.

The castle came into view. Harry could feel the magic twirl and just was a part of the castle. He felt the magic pulse, wrap around him until it continued on it was way, leaving a speck of magic that interacted with his to make him stronger.

Suddenly, a strict looking woman came into view once the boats had stopped and were taken by Hagrid outside Hogwarts. He knew who it was: Professor McGonagall.

Upon her inspection of the students, her eyes widened a bit when her gaze landed on him… but there was something behind her stare—that she quickly broke—that he did not dismiss. The Durselys sometimes had that same look.

::Garuini, make sure to stay quiet and do not move. I feel that the professors will be watching the first years very closely, especially me for obvious reasons::

::Make sure we talk next in your dorms so no one hears us now. I would also watch out for that Ron and Neville. I sense resentment from both; deep hatred from Neville and hurt, confusion, disappointment, resentment and a bit of anger from Ron::Garuini informed.

Harry discreetly walked to the end of the line, making sure he blended so that no other recognized him. Though, he did notice that Ron and Longbottom, kept looking for him, both whispering to each other, obviously talking about him.

He settled behind a relatively bigger and taller boy than him. Harry knew he had done right to hide behind the boy once he noticed that even McGonagall, who he knew kept an eye out on students, could not find him however discreetly she was trying to be.

Gazing at the ceiling once he entered and was guided by McGonagall to the front, he pretended to continue on gazing at the ceiling of the dining room, pretending to concentrate on it when in actuality, he was making sure to listen to what the other classmates of his year and those of the upper year, were talking of. He as well quickly and discreetly observed the professors and the Headmaster. Each one, except Professor Snape who looked with loathing, looked with enthusiasm at the incoming class.

"My name is Professor McGonagall and I am the Transfiguration Professor at this institution. As such, you will refer to me by my given title," Minerva said as she was trying to find Mr. Potter but failing, which was most troubling.

"Now, when I call your name, please come and sit down on the stool to my left. You will be sorted by the sorting hat here," she said as she pointed to the hat on top of the stool, "where you will the promptly sit in your appropriate house in accordance to where the sorting hat put you in."

"It is strange that McGonagall did not give her same yearly speech to use before guiding us here. She even changed it from all the others. I wonder why," Harry thought. Unknown to Harry, the other Professors and older students, were thinking the same.

Minerva took out her blank parchment and waited until a student's name, which would appear in a non-alphabetical order one by one, appeared to be sorted. It did not take long.

"Susan Bones"

A girl with long red hair stepped nervously to the stool. The sorting hat only took a few seconds before shouting her house with a loud, "Hufflepuff!"

The sorting continued on in the same manner, with few sorting worth Harry's time and notice from his thinking and observation.

"Draco Malfoy."

"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat shouted even before the hat sat on top of Malfoy's head.

"Hermione Granger." Harry immediately recognized her as the student who he rode the boat with and who kept glancing at him once he entered Hogwarts every so often. Harry scoffed. 'These students have no stealth or tactfulness.'

"Gryffindor!"

"Neville Longbottom."

"Gryffindor!"

"Ronald Weasley."

"Gryffindor!"

Minerva paused for a second, which didn't go unnoticed by the staff. The automatically knew who was next. The same person they were all eager to see. Though, they all knew which House he would end up in, so his sorting was not the most anticipated part with Harry Potter's return to the Wizardry world.

"Harry Potter!"

Silence took place and then suddenly, whisperings were heard throughout the spacious room, echoing until nothing but murmurs were heard. The professors looked impassively with the exception of who Harry knew was Dumbledore from his memories, as he leaned forward to the table. His bright blue eyes twinkled brightly before fading once he took in his appearance.

As Harry step forward, he looked discreetly, analyzing people's reactions to him. All but Snape looked closely at him while the Headmaster was unreadable—almost as good as Harry's own blank mask he always wore.

'Hmmm…difficult…difficult…and interesting, very interesting. There's talent, oh my goodness yes—and a vast pure knowledge. A nice thirst and…. But what's this—something, something underneath, something hidden…I wonder what secrets you're guarding, Mr. Potter? For, even I can't read. What powerful magic that works with you. You remind me of another. Fifty years— Yes… There's no doubt about it. You definitely belong in—'

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Headmaster did not do anything but stay still in his seat, sitting rigidly and watching Mr. Potter's every move. Perhaps it should not be such a shock when—. His mouth thinned slightly.

The professors also watched Harry—though not with the same intensity—for they could not believe that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, vanquisher of Voldemort, the offspring of two Gryffindors, of Light origins, a half-blood, was sorted into Slytherin of all places.

The other houses just looked at Harry, trying to assess him, to make sense of what happened, coming up with theories—after all many knew that Slytherins were evil.

Severus Snape, though, looked uninterested. Underneath his mask, he was livid.

Blood suffused had his sallow cheeks when the Potter boy strutted up, every inch as arrogant and spoilt and thoroughly repellent as his father, and he waited impatiently for the instant shout of 'GRYFFINDOR!' which had met James Potter almost before the Hat touched his head, and which never came for his son.

He had known, they had all known, that the boy would be in Gryffindor, just like his sainted father and grandfather.

Yet he, Severus Snape, had heard the Hat's declaration with his own ears, and Harry Potter was walking to the Slytherin table. And now, the child — Snape's fingers unclenched. He had sworn to protect it, but he had always thought that would be from a distance, that it would be James Potter again, a living James Potter who would finally pay — but James Potter had had no more of the Slytherin in him than Lily… how had this happened?

'Imagine, the offspring of Potter in my house! A Slytherin! The very House his own father,' Severus mentally spat and snarled 'hated. Potter must be spinning in his grave— the only good thing from all of this.'

The Slytherins themselves did not reaction in a positive manner. They were shocked that The Harry Potter was sorted into the last house they and everyone else thought he would be sorted in.

Quickly regaining their reactions as true Slytherins that they were, they made it so that no room was left for the blood traitor to sit in. Sneers and dark looks were plastered, hoping to intimidate their new…member. It did not work.

Harry had seen far worse

"I can't believe he is in Slytherin. Ron was right. But, it must have been a mistake…though how could the Sorting Hat make such a mistake?" Percy thought.

"I'll have to write Father about this even though he ordered me to befriend Potter. It will make everything so much easier" Draco thought as he continued to study Potter.

"Potter in Slytherin, isn't that rich, Ron? I actually am not surprised. Being who he is—"

"What do you mean, Neville?" Ron said with his eyes going to Potter before returning his gaze on Neville while he attempted to eat his chocolate his friend had bought him earlier.

"Don't you worry. I know his kind," Neville said as he turned to look anywhere but Potter.

Hermoine, who was sitting by herself of to the side, listened on to the conversation. "Just because he is in Slytherin doesn't mean anything…right?," she questioned uncertainly as she saw Harry drink elegantly what looked to be coffee as he looked at the rest of the first years that needed to be sorted. "Though, something tells me that he is more alert than he seems." Unbeknownst to her, the professors were thinking the same thing.

"Who is that man who keeps on glaring at me?" Harry asked the boy next to him.

"Professor Snape. Potions Professor and Head of Our House," the boy who he later learned was Theodore Nott muttered quietly and quickly, returning to his meal, not that Harry blamed him, especially when looking at his housemates.

Harry would have to look into the Room of Requirement.

"He," the boy quickly added, "helps us for anything," trying to convey to Potter that he might want to ask him for help with their housemate and maybe some people from the other houses based on their reaction to his sorting.

"I will."

OoOoO

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Yes," a calm and silky smooth voice said as the owner of the said voice opened the door. That was at least until the owner of the said voice saw who was knocking.

It was the Potter brat. He didn't know what he wanted but the last thing he wanted to see and deal with was in regards to the son of his nemesis. Just looking at him, there, alive while Lil— all because of that.

"What do you want, Potter!" Snape barked. He knew that he should control himself but he just couldn't. No matter that he was a Slytherin, Potter, just like his father, seemed to rouse out of him someone else of his being! He needed to get rid of him now; besides, he didn't want to waste his time with the imbecile more than he had to.

"It is not bad enough that you were—," he couldn't finish as he looked into the thing's emerald eyes before glancing away, something that Harry noticed, "and now, have you in my Slytherin House and that—" Severus took a deep breath to stop himself. He could not continue on. He needed to get rid of the heathen before he did something that he might have to pay for.

Severus thought that he had everything in control. But, the sorting and its results, coupled with just having the brat in Hogwarts and knowing that he would have to teach the whelp and now—and now, having him in his house—

His mind also filled him with longing and grief, which only doubled once he saw Potter's emerald eyes, so alike his mother, yet so very different and his own.

"Get out of here or so help me God, I'll—"

Harry, who had said nothing up till now, turned up abruptly at his harsh tone.

"That imbecile I bet never had heard a voice speak to him so harshly. No, not where I am sure that he was catered," Severus thought while also mentally sneering when he saw Harry's reaction.

"You will what, Professor," Potter spat. That was not the tone of voice he had been expected from Saint Perfect Potter. He was in disbelief in hearing and seeing the thing act in a different manner than his ignorant father. He would have to take it up to the Headmaster as he had instructed.

"You cannot do anything since I am student here. I can always report you. The Headmaster seems to care about me to a degree from what I have seen"—Harry said, while thinking of the mistrustful stare Headmaster Dumbledore kept shooting him throughout the meal—"and I could use that for my advantage."

Red flags seemed to appear once Potter spoke his words. This was not who he had been expecting. It didn't matter though; he wouldn't make anything out of Potter's threat since Severus knew from the meeting earlier that the Headmaster would not be catering to the Potter spawn as he thought he would have.

Plus, he would be dammed before he had Potter of all people best him. He wouldn't allow such thing. Not especially after what his father and his gang did in his Hogwarts years, and especially not after Potter Senior took Lily away from him, leading her to her untimely and undeserved death.

Potter turned around, clearly not interested in the conversation, from his blank expression.

"I will take my leave then. You are the Slytherin Head of House. I had thought I was —how wrongly I thought. But, now I see. How wrongly I was to feel," Potter sneered and continued in a mocking manner, reminiscent of the late Voldemort, Severus observed keenly and disturbed, "that I was welcomed to," Potter spat, "and come to you for—"

"You will not continue with that sentence, Potter," Severus whispered menacingly, getting close to Potter's face.

He had enough of Potter's talking and rudeness.

"Get this stuck in your pea sized brain, Potter. You and I will not 'interact'—ever—as you so call it. You do what you must, by yourself. I am your Head of House only in name and nothing more."

"And one more thing," Severus continued while stalking Potter around, robes billowing, "don't ever speak to me in that way. I am your professor and whether you want to or not, you will show me respect. Or, perhaps you've never heard of such concept?"

Potter gazed at him with a blank expression with only fueled his current predicament.

SLAP!

Snape could only stare in disbelief at Potter for what he had done. Never would he have thought he would stoop so low and in front of Potter of people. He abruptly left, shutting his iron door on Potter's face. He couldn't believe what he had just done.

Yet, he had a feeling that Potter would not tell. Despite not liking to admit it, Potter was sorted into Slytherin for a reason. He would have to tread carefully with Potter.

Whatever comfort he thought to himself, he could not escape hearing the promise he made to Lily play in his head as he stared at the red hunger-blazing fire that blazed inside his darken room.

"Promise—swear to me—Severus! Promise me that, should anything happen to me, you will to protect my child."

Severus looked at Lily. Not being able to deny anything to her, he uttered a reply in what he later would learn would doom him and seal his fate.

"I swear, on my life and magic…Lily," Severus uttered in hidden agony.

Lily's eyes gained color.

Harry, meanwhile, stared at the hard metal door as his face was obscured by the shadows as his face turned murderous.

"I see…." He said to himself though his empty words echoed back into the empty dungeon.

Garuini hissed in annoyance all the while, trying to sooth Harry but failing as he made his way towards his room. Garuini was right; he would have to tread softly.

As the black and graceful movements of a black silhouette vanished into the morning moonlight, a puddle of water could be heard dripping from a pipe where the young student had just been, splashing onto a broken piece of abandoned glass.

.

.

.

.

"Well done, Severus. Well done," came a raspy voice from under a turban that one of the Professors wearing who had heard and seen what had just transpired.

OoOoO

Summer 1938

A tall figure with long auburn hair and beard crossed a road in front of a horse-drawn carriage. He did not seem deterred from the many curious glances from his flamboyant cut suit of plum velvet he was wearing.

The man continued on his way as he finally passed through a set of iron gates into a courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building that was surrounded by high railings. Mounting on a few steps leading to the front door, he knocked thrice. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.

"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"

"Oh," said the bewildered-looking girl as took in Dumbledore's appearance.

"Um…MRS. COLE!" the young attendant bellowed over her shoulder.

The girl turned to Dumbledore who waited patiently and was trying to get a better look at the orphanage from where he was standing. "Come in, she's on her way."

Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean he observed as he followed the young girl.

Before the front door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She had a sharp-faced face that appeared more anxious than unkind.

"Good afternoon," said Dumbledore, holding out his hand.

Mrs. Cole simply stared at his outfit. He didn't know why since he thought it was in fashion.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."

Mrs. Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, "Oh yes. Well—well then—you'd better come into my office."

She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.

"I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future," said Dumbledore.

"Are you family?" asked Mrs. Cole.

"No, I am a teacher," said Dumbledore, "And, I have come to offer Tom a place at the school where I work."

Raising her left eyebrow sharply, Mrs. Cole asked, "What's school's this, then? And why are so interested in Tom?"

"It's called Hogwarts. To answer your second question…we believe he has the qualities we are searching for," was the reply.

"You mean he's won a scholarship? How could he have? He's never been entered for one?"

"Well, his name has been down for our school since birth—"

"Who registered him? What it his parents?"

"There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman," Dumbledore thought.

Making a plan, he slipped his wand out of his pocket of his velvet suit at the same time picking a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop.

"Here," he said, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, "I think this will make everything clear."

Mrs. Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently as the blank paper for a moment. "That seems perfectly in order," she said placidly, handing it back.

"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?"

"That's right," said Mrs. Cole. "I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her in and she had the baby within the hour. She died in another hour."

"Did she say anything before she died?" asked Dumbledore. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"

"Now, as it so happens, she did," replied Mrs. Cole. "I remember she said to me, 'I hope he looks like his papa,' and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty—and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father—yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus—and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died after that without another word.

"Well, we named him just as she'd said as it seemed so important to the poor girl. But, no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all. So, he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since." Then, she said, "He's a funny boy."

"Yes," said Dumbledore, "I thought he might be."

"He was a funny baby, too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was…odd."

"Odd in what way?" asked Dumbledore gently.

"Well, he—He's definitely got a place at your school, you say? And nothing will change that?"

"Nothing," said Dumbledore.

She squinted at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, "He scares the other children."

"You mean he is a bully?" he asked.

"I think he must be," said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, "but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents….Nasty things…. Billy Stubb's rabbit…well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"

"I shouldn't think so, no," Dumbledore said quietly.

" On the annual summer outing—well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I'm sure of it. They have never been the same. They avoid Tom like the plague. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things… I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him."

"You understand that we will not be keeping him permanently?" asked Dumbledore. "He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer."

Mrs. Cole looked disappointed before she sobered up. "I suppose you'd like to see him?"

"Very much," said Dumbledore, rising too.

She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to the helpers and children as she passed. The orphans, Dumbledore saw, were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered.

As they entered slowly, Mrs. Cole announced themselves in. "Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumblerton—sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you—well, I'll let him do it."

The door closed, signaling the departure of Mrs. Cole.

The room was a small bare room with nothing but an old wardrobe and an iron bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets with his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.

There was no trace of the Gaunts in Tom Riddle's face. Merope had got her dying wish: He was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. There was a moment's silence until Dumbledore broke it.

"My name is Professor Dumbledore," he said as he sat back down, indicating Tom to do the same. Tom stayed standing.

"How do you do, Tom?" he first asked, holding his hand out.

The boy hesitated, then took it, and shook hands.

"I am Professor Dumbledore," he continued after moving his hard wooden chair beside Riddle so that the pair looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.

"Professor? Like from a university?" Tom looked a bit wary, but a stony look quickly came across his face so fast that Dumbledore at first doubted whether the wariness had been there at all.

"Is that like a 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" he pointed at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.

"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling.

"I don't believe you," said Tom. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

He spoke the last words with a ringing force that was almost shocking to Dumbledore. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue trying to, successfully, smile pleasantly. After a few seconds, Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still.

"Who are you?'

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school—your new school, if you would like to come."

Riddle's reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course—well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. Whatever they told you, it was a lie. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!"

Dumbledore blinked in surprise. "I am not from the asylum," Dumbledore repeated patiently, "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Tom," Dumbledore said slowly, "I am professor, but I am not from a university. No, I'm from a school in Scotland. It's called Hogwarts, like I mentioned before."

Tom kept his face blank.

"Hogwarts is a school special abilities—"

"I'm not mad!"

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

Silence reigned. Tom's face had gone blank. He was no longer glaring, nor doubtful; in fact, there was nothing to read on Tom's face at all. His eyes, though, kept flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's eyes, as though trying to catch one of them lying.

Eventually, he whispered, "It's…it's magic, what I can do?"

"Yes, Tom," said Dumbledore seriously. "And what is it that you can do?"

"All sorts of things," said Tom. "I can make things move without touching them, I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can turn some things into other things, and" – Tom hesitated, a small smile growing on his face, a smile that seemed cold and vicious – "I can make bad things happen to others. I can make them hurt if I want to."

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

"I knew I was special," said Tom, before Dumbledore could get a word in, "The others, they called me a freak. But now, I know…how could I not have known? No one else could do what I can do. Always, I knew there was something."

"Yes, Tom, you are indeed quite right–" Dumbledore said, no longer smiling for a long while now. "You are a wizard. But you are not the only one with these abilities. As I said before, Hogwarts is a school dedicated to finding people like you, and educating them."

Tom lifted his head. His face was transfigured: there was a wild happiness upon it that made his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

"Are you a wizard, too?"

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it," said Tom at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he said, "Tell the truth."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts—"

"Of course I am!"

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir'".

Riddle's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant—please, Professor, could you show me—?"

Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a wave a casual flick.

The wardrobe burst into flames.

Riddle jumped to his feet, howling in shock and rage as all his worldly possessions was there. As he rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Tom stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand as he said, "Where can I get one of them?"

"All in good time," Dumbledore replied.

With still a stern look on his face, he looked at Tom from over his half-moon glasses.

"At Hogwarts, you learn how not only how to use magic, but to control it. You should know, Tom, that we do not tolerate violence of any kind. We do not tolerate nor teach to use your powers in such a way. Magic is a gift not to be misused, and what you have been doing – not knowing the consequences of your actions of course – to your peers is against the rules. You should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic—yes, there is a Ministry—will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Of course, sir," said Tom, trying to hide his irritation. It was impossible for Dumbledore, though, to tell what he was thinking as Tom's face remained quite blank.

"I can go myself, sir." Tom interrupted his thoughts on the matter. "I'm used to doing things by myself. How do you get to this Diagon Alley—sir?" Tom interrupted abruptly as he looked very opposed to the idea of anyone coming with him.

Dumbledore frowned once again. All this was very unsettling indeed—there was no denying the obvious.

"I suppose if you are determined to go on your own, I cannot stop you. But I do advise, Tom, having someone accompany you, for it is a confusing time for any -"

"How do you get to Diagon Alley, sir?"

Dumbledore sighed. If the boy really did not want his company, then he could not impose himself.

Deciding that he had imparted all the information he needed to, Dumbledore held out his hand once more for Tom to shake. As Tom did so, he seemed to contemplate something, as if he was debating with himself. Dumbledore wondered if he was reconsidering his decision to go to London alone.

Just as he was out the door, he was stopped by Tom's voice. "I can speak to snakes, you know.

I found out when we've been to the country on trips – they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

"It is unusual," Dumbledore after hesitating with the information he was given, "but not unheard of," he finished with a casual tone but with eyes moving curiously over Tom's face.

They stood there for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other deep within their eyes.

Breaking their handshake, Dumbledore pausing for a second to say "Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts," before heading for the door and leaving.

.

.

.

"Do you understand now, Severus?" Dumbledore begged with a tired whisper.

"Yes, Albus."

OoOoO

Author's Notes:

Some of Mr. Ollivander's lines came from Heir of Darkness by Otaku no Hime.

Several of this Sorting Hat dialogue comes from Strange Likenesses by Elizabeth Culmer.

Many of the material from the last section with Tom and Dumbledore is from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling and First Impression by Taure.

I hope you enjoyed reading it! Please review!