Despite the numerous memorabilia in my room, I still do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.
Back at the Dursleys, behind the safety of the locked door of the room his relatives had grudgingly given him, Harry carefully organized all his purchases and packed them into his trunk, leaving a set of plain black robes on top to change into once on the train.
Having McGonagall as his guide to the wizarding world this time around had several advantages.
To start with, the black haired boy would bet the contents of his trust vault that the Dursleys were more frightened of her than they had ever been of Hagrid. And the half-giant, standing well over eleven feet tall and with a long mane of shaggy black hair and a beard that covered most of his face, had made quite the impression literally knocking in the door to the hut on the rock.
Harry figured it was the no nonsense aura that radiated from McGonagall's being. It was a weapon the woman had probably developed and fined tuned over many years she taught. It was probably perfect by the time the Marauders had made their debut.
With sharp words, tone glacier and eyes sharp as glass, the older woman had read his relatives the riot act, briskly informing them that Mr. Potter had obtained all the necessary items required by Hogwarts and that the Dursleys were to ensure their nephew made it to King's Cross Station to catch the Hogwarts Express, which would depart promptly at eleven.
Professor McGonagall had also explained several details she had deemed pertinent to know before he was reintroduced to the magical world, that Hagrid as much as Harry loved him (he still considered the half-giant as his first friend even though they hadn't met yet) either hadn't thought about or couldn't answer himself.
The Boy-Who-Lived's story was the first thing she told him, calmly explaining that a dark wizard, whose name she only spoke because Harry pleaded that he deserved to know, had killed his parents and then turned his wand on baby Harry. He had survived, the first and only person to do so, and somehow got rid of Voldemort. Harry was curious to note that she referred to his as gone and not dead.
There was also her description of the four houses, which emphasized each founder's good qualities. It was fair and impartial and unbiased in every way. She didn't refer to Hufflepuff as "duffers" or claim every person ever sorted into Slytherin was a dark wizard. Similarly, McGonagall didn't wax poetic about her house in attempt to convince him that he belonged in Gryffindor.
The mini lecture reminded Harry awfully of the speech she gave before leading the first years into the Great Hall, and he couldn't help but wonder if she said the same thing every year and how long had it taken her to memorize it.
His last month at the Dursleys was the most peaceful one he had ever experienced, and that included the future summers he would be forced to return. Harry's relatives were just as scared of McGonagall as first years were, and as a result, Aunt Petunia was quite civil when she asked her nephew to cook, please become Uncle Vernon's most spoken word, and Dudley still ran out of any room he entered. But at least he didn't have a pig's tail this time.
But, for all the more detailed help Professor McGonagall was, even she forgot to tell him how to get onto the platform. Luckily, Harry knew a family of redheads that would be happy to help.
The wizard flopped back on his bed, a wide grin taking over the bottom half of his face. Hermione. Ron. Neville. Ginny. Luna. He couldn't wait to see his friends again. He didn't even consider it an unfair advantage that he already knew them better than they knew him. Or even themselves. It would only make it that much easier for him to connect with them.
Harry saw no reason not to use his dream of the future to his advantage, because there honestly were some parts he would be glad not to relive. Sirius' death was at the top of that list. And breaking the Taboo on Riddle's name which ended disastrously all around, with Hermione tortured and Dobby dead.
This time around, maybe he could become friends with Neville earlier. He hadn't become close to the other boy until fifth year, really, when he stopped seemingly trembling at his own shadow. Neville had plenty of courage; he just needed to realize it.
Then next year would be Luna and Ginny. The brunet didn't even want to think about the cluster fuck that was the chamber of secrets. His future memories argued that he let the events unfold unimpeded, that they were necessary for Ginny to develop into the woman she had been. The woman he had loved (and wasn't that more than a little creepy at the moment? Harry was seventeen mentally and in love with a ten year old girl that hero worshipped him but had yet to meet. Did that make it even? Less creepy? Since she was in love with Harry without actually knowing him?) The other half of him wanted to spare her that pain.
But Harry would get back to that dilemma. He still had to get through his first year, which included Voldemort possessing Quirrell, Fluffy, Quidditch, the mirror, Snape, the stone, Malfoy, and incompetent Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers. And not necessarily in that order.
September first came quickly, the weeks flying by in a blur to Harry. He woke early that morning, triple checked the contents of his trunk, and prepared breakfast without being asked. Vernon looked rather green around the gills when he dragged his belongings downstairs, but didn't say anything. He just picked up his keys from a little ceramic dish on the hall table and motioned for Harry to get in the car.
After a brief struggle to lift his trunk into the boot, they were off. His uncle surprised him by loading his trunk onto a trolley, but Harry didn't question it. Given the way Vernon peeled out of the train station's parking lot, he was probably just eager to be rid of him and helping him caused a small amount of pain compared to his happiness of not having to deal with Harry for ten months.
Green eyes scanned the swarming mass of people moving about the platforms, looking for the tell-tale red hair of the Weasley family.
"Come on, now! This way. This place is always packed with Muggles, of course. Hurry up now, or you'll be late," came the voice of Mrs. Weasley.
Harry turned towards it, catching sight of the woman who treated him like one of her own sons. She was short, plump, and kindly-looking, and like the rest of her brood, sporting flaming red hair. Ginny's small hand was clasped firmly in one of her own and Harry had to wrench his gaze away from his future girlfriend because he was certain he was wearing a rather stupid look on his face.
He hung back as Percy, Fred, and George (and Merlin did it feel good to see Fred alive and joking with his twin) took a run at the barrier hiding Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he called out as soon as George's foot vanished. "I don't—could you tell me how to get onto the platform?"
Harry listened patiently as Mrs. Weasley explained and pushed him forward.
"Good luck," Ginny said, smiling warmly, as he wheeled his trolley into place. Harry's heart fluttered. He was going to cherish that smile, because the next time she saw him, Ginny was going to run out of the room.
When he came out on the other side, he didn't bother to hide his grin. Before him was the gleaming scarlet engine belonging to the Hogwarts Express. In a couple of hours he'd be back at the castle.
Harry boarded the train, debating whether or not he'd get into trouble for using magic to levitate his trunk. Technically, he wasn't in the Muggle world anymore, and it's not like it was the end of the year when McGonagall handed out the notices reminding them that practicing magic over the summer was forbidden.
He located the compartment that he and his friends would essentially claim as theirs for the next seven years, when they actually rode the train anyway, and dragged his trunk inside.
"Need help with that?" Harry nodded to the twins who had entered behind him. "We saw you dragging that up that hallway," George said.
"Looked rather heavy for a first year," continued Fred. "Especially a scrawny one like you," they finished at the same time, easily lifting his trunk up onto the overhead rack. "We're Fred and George, by the way. Sometimes I'm Gred and he's Forge," George said by way of introduction.
"I'm Harry."
"Nice to meet you, Harry. Hope to see you in Gryffindor." The twins were gone with a jaunty wave.
The train ride went exactly as Harry remembered. The Weasley twins brought Ron to him, although Harry was careful to keep the redhead from performing magic so that he wouldn't embarrass himself using that joke spell on Scabbers when Hermione came by. It took a considerable amount of restraint not to just reach across and strangle the rat. He did offer to help Hermione look for Neville's toad, but she rebuffed him by saying that she and Neville were enough because they had split up, going towards opposite ends of the train.
Overall, the only one who made a bad impression was Malfoy and his goons, and Harry was okay with that.
Harry disembarked when the conductor announced they had arrived at the station in Hogsmeade, leaving behind the luggage as instructed to be brought up later. He had intended to head straight towards where Hagrid should be waiting near the boats, but was distracted by the black skeletal horses pulling the carriages.
Being able to see the thestrals, with faces like a reptiles and black, leathery wings that resembled a bat's, was new. He hadn't been able to see them until Cedric had been killed, which, now that he thought about it, was rather odd, considering he had seen Voldemort murder his mother. Maybe seeing death wasn't enough. Maybe he needed to be able to remember and understand it as well, to know that he had witnessed someone's death.
Or maybe it was a mind over matter thing. Mentally, he had seen several people die. Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Wormtail, Dobby, and Fred. Thanks to his dream, Harry knew seven years' worth of memories that he shouldn't.
Either way, being able to see the normally invisible horses was unexpected. Harry knew that he couldn't expect his future to be exactly as he had dreamed it, if only because he would give everything to change certain parts, and that he had already brought about changes, by writing to McGonagall, but he honestly didn't think his memories would affect him like this.
Knowing that he would learn to cast nonverbally in six years wasn't the same as being able to cast spells silently. Harry was certain that if he tried now he wouldn't be able to make a feather float.
The brunet clambered into a boat after Ron, inordinately pleased that Hermione and Neville found their way into the same boat. He quietly introduced himself and asked if the boy had found his toad. Neville responded with a miserable no, but Harry smiled anyway.
"I'm sure he'll turn up."
He would have said more, probably asking what house he wanted to be in, when Hagrid called for all the first years to duck. Harry twisted forward, not bothering to duck. The first years were much shorter than the friendly half-giant and the mossy vines they passed under weren't long enough to graze the tops of their heads.
Instead, he glued his eyes on the looming figure of Hogwarts. The familiar sweeping towers and turrets that stretched towards the sky grew larger as they sailed across the inky darkness of the Black Lake. The sight of the magnificent seven story stone castle stole Harry's breath.
This was the moment he had been waiting for. He was home again, finally.
Up in the Headmaster's office, stood a number of curious silver instruments on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. Noticed only by the portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses, they ceased to move.
