"I can't believe that Lord bloody Voldemort was a half-blood," said Draco for the umpteenth time as they waited to be let off the train.

"So you're willing to say his name now?" drawled Harry. He really couldn't help using what he referred to as his 'Tom tone.' Draco's statement simply made it necessary.

"He's a fraud. Of course I am. For Merlin's sake, I have to wonder if he believed in blood supremacy at all, or if he just used it to manipulate a bunch of purebloods into fighting for him."

"I think it's a bit of both, really," said Harry. His expression darkened, and in a slightly more serious tone, he added, "I heard that he offered my mother a place with him several times, and she was a Muggleborn. She was simply powerful enough that he didn't care." He took a breath. "With Voldemort, power was more important than purity, but since it purity in the wizarding world was, in a way, power—or at least political power—he chose to take advantage of that."

"You mean he manipulated purebloods to do his dirty work because they were the only ones stupid enough to follow him like brainless cattle," spat Draco. "It's disgusting, is what it is."

"But is it?" asked Harry. "I guarantee that a number of purebloods at least suspected his lineage, but since he was giving them what they wanted either way, I don't think they cared. They were willing to bow to one half-blood if it meant eliminating all the Muggleborns in the process."

"He used their own ideology against them," said Draco. "That's… it's…"

"It's intelligent," said Harry. "Voldemort had a marvelous plan, if a slightly psychotic one."

Draco made a low growling noise under his breath. "Of course he did. And it resulted in my people following him like idiot bovines. Nearly every prominent pureblood in Britain groveling under a half-blood, and then the rest of the prominent purebloods willingly serving a half-blood who was trying to fight the first half-blood, because the two half-bloods were the ones who were the strongest. And then there's Merlin, who even my father toted as a genius, and he was a blood traitor, and quite frankly I'm not sure if I should be furious with you for making me doubt everything, or… grateful-" He spat the word, "-that at least I won't make an idiot of myself should another dark lord come along and attempt to mimic Voldemort's strategy." He saw Hermione looking at him, smiling tentatively, and snapped, "This doesn'tmean I'm going to willingly associate with you."

"But it means you're sensible, and won't not associate with her just because she's a Muggleborn," said Harry, before Draco could say anything truly hurtful. "Right?"

"I won't make any guarantees," said Draco gruffly.

"Remember what I said about ignorance and complacency in regards to stupidity? If you remain ignorant and complacent in your beliefs-"

"I'll be stupid," Draco finished, rolling his eyes. "Can it with the Muggleborn rights party, Potter. You obviously aren't naïve. There's more to this than simple logic and you know it. For one, if you've heard anything of my father, you'll have some idea of how he'd react if I suddenly started spending time with a Mud-" He glanced at Hermione and corrected grimly, "Muggleborn."

The crowd of students exiting the train cleared enough for them to get out, and Harry said quickly before they opened the door, "I understand. You need to objectively consider the situation, analyze everything you know pertaining to it, and decide whether forcing yourself to feign ignorance and bigotry is better than the alternative."

"I'd actually been planning to forget all of this and write a scathing letter to my father about how much of a Muggleborn-loving prat Harry Potter is, but I suppose there's some sense involved in doing things your way." He reached up as though to rake a hand through his hair, frowning when he realized that it was gelled back. He muttered something about haircare products and Narcissa wanting a daughter, then said out loud to Harry, "I wasn't lying when I compared you to the Dark Lord. My father taught me how to spot when I'm being manipulated, and I know very well that you're attempting to tailor me into someone who you can be friends with without damaging your reputation."

Harry was somewhat offended by this. "Actually, I'm trying to get you to see things clearly so I can be friends with you and Hermione, who I both like, without worrying about you two hating each other on principal. I'm not manipulating you so much as telling the truth, and if I really cared about how people perceived the friends I'm making, I would find someone from a different family to make friends with. You're a Malfoy. That's going to get me negative attention from some quarters no matter how I spin it. But I do like your company, and I'd rather not lose it because you'd chase off any Muggleborns or 'blood traitors' I'd also like to associate with."

Draco eyed him, obviously unsure whether to believe this, but then they really did have to get off the train and there wasn't any more time to discuss it.

…

Neither Harry, Hermione, nor Draco spoke at all as they rode the boats Hogwarts. Harry, because he was a bit nervous about the sorting no matter what Tom said about his house not mattering, and Hermione and Draco because it was apparent that neither was certain what to say to the other. Harry's presence obviously deterred any cruel comments Draco might have made (and Harry like to think that the readings he'd forced on the blond helped with that as well), and Hermione was smart enough to be aware of Draco's currently ambivalent feelings towards Muggleborns and couldn't have had any idea of how he'd react to any attempts at conversation she might make.

All in all, it was a very tense ride, but just as Harry was considering jumping out of the boat and swimming to shore to escape the awkwardness, the boats turned around a bend in the lake, and Hogwarts came into view in all its glory.

Tom had described the school for Harry numerous times, always in flawless detail, using his best storyteller voice—the smooth, charismatic one that all but painted pictures in thin air—but even his beautiful imagery was nothing compared to the castle itself. As intimidating as it seemed at first glance, there was a certain warmth about it—a warmth that was difficult to pinpoint or describe but that was definitely there—that made approaching the castle feel an awful lot like coming home.

"It's brilliant," Harry breathed, unable to help himself.

All at once, the tension in the boat drained as Harry and Hermione and Draco all gawped at Hogwarts with identical expressions of awe.

"I think," said Hermione, "that has to be the most brilliant school in Britain."

…

"So, which house do you think you're going to be in?" asked Hermione after they were led into a small chamber off the Great Hall. A stern-looking gray-haired woman who called herself Professor McGonagall had led them there, although Harry wasn't sure how she knew where she was going, seeing as she glanced back at him every other second as though unable to believe that he was actually standing right there in the group of first years.

Harry had made a point of pretending not to notice her attention, but obviously Draco and Hermione had, as they both gave him several sidelong glances before seeming to realize that Harry wasn't going to explain.

Even with his friends (or potential friends, was it? Harry wasn't sure as he'd never had friends before and didn't entirely understand at which point he could start referring to Draco and Hermione as such) letting the matter go so easily, Harry was relieved when McGonagall left them alone. He knew much of his first year (at least) of schooling would consist of people giving him odd looks and asking where he'd gone off to after leaving the Dursleys, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"I'm going to be in Ravenclaw," said Harry. "Or rather, I hope I will be. Draco seems to think I'm more a Slytherin, and my guardian says that I have a number of both Gryffindor and Slytherin qualities, butin Hogwarts, a History, it mentions that the Hat is known to take suggestions from students, so I'm hoping that if I ask politely, I'll get the house I want."

"Huh," said Hermione, obviously chewing that over. "I might ask for Ravenclaw as well, if you don't mind. I was thinking I wanted to be in Gryffindor because it sounds more heroic, but I do like learning, and… well, I like you, and I think I would be more comfortable, knowing someone in my house."

"I'm sure you'd meet people either way," said Harry. He smiled sheepishly. "But I wouldn't mind having a friend in Ravenclaw."

"Ask the Hat, then?" asked Hermione seriously.

Harry nodded. "Yes. Let's." His eyes darted to Draco. "Ravenclaw?" he asked hopefully.

Draco made a point of rolling his eyes, but didn't get the chance to speak before the room suddenly filled with a horde of ghosts. Tom had warned him about this, so Harry knew to expect it, and it was apparent that Draco and Hermione did too (Hermione, he imagined, read about it somewhere), but many of the other students started gasping and pointing in horror. Draco snorted and said, "Merlin, I swear some of these idiots must practice behaving stupidly in the mirror every morning. I don't see how they'd be so good at it otherwise."

"It's new to them," Harry chided. "Really, I think the ghosts are interesting as well; I'm simply not being so vocal about it."

"You can't say that you don't think it's entertaining, watching them like this," added Hermione pointedly.

Draco glowered. "No one asked you, Granger."

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from offering a condescending congrats at referring to Hermione by her last name instead of a title stemming from her blood status.

Apparently, Draco learned quickly.

"Anyway," said Harry, "I-"

"Are you really him?"

Harry took a deep breath, prayed for patience, and turned to face the source of the much too excited voice.

"Am I really who?"

The boy across from him was thin and red-haired, with a dusting of freckles across his nose. Beside him stood a slightly shorter, chubbier boy who looked like he wasn't sure whether he should be in awe of Harry or more horrified by the ghosts who were just exiting the room. Harry thought that he appeared to be the sort of person who was very much frightened by life in general.

"Well, you know," said the redhead. He made a vague gesture with his hands. "Harry Potter."

Harry managed a smile. "Yes, I suppose that I am. And you are?"

Draco snorted. "There's no need to ask, Potter. Red hair and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Weasley."

Tom had mentioned the Weasleys to Harry as well; he'd referred to them as a relatively powerful family of 'blood traitors.' They were more loyal to Dumbledore than Tom would have liked, but fierce allies to Harry in his original timeline and generally more formidable than they looked.

In other words, it wouldn't be good to let Draco chase one of them off, not even considering the fact that Harry didn't appreciate that sort of cruelty anyway.

"If I remember correctly," said Harry sharply, "there's been a Weasley Head Boy and a Weasley quidditch captain within the last ten years, and a Weasley prefect currently. Even if they are poor, the family is obviously competent, and honestly, that's more important." Draco looked ready to throw a fit, and Harry added in a softer tone, "Just think about it, alright? Would you rather have Crabbe and Goyle, or a friend with a family that's known for their magical achievements?" Then he turned to Ron and stuck out a hand. "It is nice to meet you, by the way."

He looked somewhat stunned by Harry's defense of him. "Er, t-thanks."

"And you are?" asked Harry, to the boy on Ron's right.

"N-Neville Longbottom."

Harry blinked in surprise. Tom had told him about Neville Longbottom as well. The Boy-Who-Wasn't-Quite-The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Somehow, he'd thought Neville would have been more exceptional.

Then he remembered that the toad he'd found had belonged to a Neville, and recognized that it was probably the same person. Identifying him that way seemed a lot more fitting; The-Boy-Who-Has-a-Toad suited him much better than any other titles.

"Oh, you're Trevor's Neville," said Harry. He frowned when he realized how awkward that sounded, but before he could comment on it further, McGonagall returned, gave him another piercing look, and then announced that the Great Hall was ready for them, and would the students please follow her?

Harry couldn't help it. He reached out and took Draco and Hermione's hands and clutched both for a moment, just for good measure. Hermione smiled a little and Draco looked at him like he'd gone mad, but there was something in both of their eyes that settled his nerves just a bit, and he even managed to keep his hands from shaking as he entered the Great Hall.

The hall itself was another one of those things that even Tom's most brilliant descriptions couldn't do justice. It was bigger than Harry would have expected, and something about the sheer number of students, all of them crowded around their house tables and whispering at the entering first years, made the room seem that much more impressive. The staff table at the front of the space was just high up enough to designate authority, but not so high that it made the teachers seem overly intimidating, and Merlin, the enchanted ceiling was everything he'd thought it would be and more. It was marvelous.

Then he suddenly felt someone watching him, and his awe-filled staring was cut short when he locked eyes with a greasy, dark-haired man (Severus Snape, Harry assumed as Tom had mentioned the double-agent several times) for one second before noticing the man beside him, and-

He winced, raising a hand to rub at his scar, which was suddenly on fire-

-because of the man in the turban, who he knew was important, and who Tom had already said was one of the Dark Lord's followers.

Really? thought Harry incredulously. I'm here for less than a half hour, and already I have something to think about?

He sighed, but resolved to push thoughts of the man from his head for the evening. Irresponsible, maybe. But he couldn't do anything about it anyway, and he wanted to enjoy the Hogwarts experience at least a little before he had to start playing the hero.

But why would he make my scar hurt? thought Harry with a frown. That doesn't make sense.

Only it did, sort of. Seeing as the scar was a curse scar, certain things would likely cause it to react abnormally, although he didn't know enough about the subject to determine what those things might be.

He bit his lip as he scratched his brain for more definite information, then realized what he was doing and told himself once again to drop it.

I'll research curse scars tomorrow. For now, I have to focus.

Nodding with conviction, Harry settled in and listened as the Sorting Hat begin to sing its song. When it finally finished, McGonagall started listed names. He didn't care about the first few and only pretended to pay attention, but he did straighten when Hermione was called, only relaxing when the Hat bellowed, "RAVENCLAW!"

He allowed himself a smile, elbowed Draco when he mumbled something about Muggleborn swots, and settled in while he waited for his other friend to be called.

When Draco's name was announced, he looked so nervous that Harry couldn't help but call after him, "Don't worry. We'll be friends no matter what house you're in," because it felt like the sort of thing he needed to say, even though he wasn't sure what would happen if Draco was put in Slytherin, and the progress Harry had already made in convincing him not to be awful to Muggleborns was erased by his biased-housemates.

The thought made him somewhat edgy, and it didn't help that the Hat didn't say anything for a very long time, or that Draco's face seemed to grow more and more pale as seconds on the stool grew to minutes.

What on earth is going on? thought Harry, and it was clear that the rest of the Great Hall was wondering the same thing; whispers broke out amongst the students, and McGonagall started looking concerned. Draco's hands trembled so visibly that even Harry could tell that they were shaking. After a long while, Draco mouthed, "Please," and Harry couldn't tell whether he was pleading for or against the Hat's evident decision. Really, he wasn't sure whether Draco knew himself.

Then the Hat yelled, "RAVENCLAW!"

His shoulders sagged in relief. He couldn't hold back his smile, and Draco met his gaze as he shakily got off the stool. There was hope on his face, and horror, and disappointment and wonderment and too many emotions for Harry to interpret, no matter how much Tom had worked with him on reading people.

In the end, because Draco did look upset, Harry mouthed, "Are you okay?" and Draco mouthed back, "I don't know," and then he had to go to Ravenclaw table and even though Harry was worried, there wasn't time for him to say anything else.

Unable to help himself, he looked over his shoulder and saw that Draco had taken a seat next to Hermione. She seemed cautious for a moment, but then she murmured something and Draco's lower lip trembled, but he quickly readjusted his expression and said something else—this something that earned him a glare from Hermione—and she said something back, and both of them got this 'we're being ridiculous' expression on their faces and their gazes softened. Hermione said something that was obviously (from the look on her face), along the lines of 'You'll be alright,' and Draco said something that (from the look on his face) was more or less 'What do you care?'

Hermione shrugged and offered some sort of reply, and Draco stared at her, but he looked a bit less ready to cry and some of the tension had left his shoulders.

He caught Harry looking at him and offered a shaky smile and a thumbs up, and Harry relaxed a little. He had no idea what'd just happened, but if Draco was trying to smile and Hermione didn't look ready to kill him, it couldn't have been anything too bad.

Of course, just as Harry started to relax, McGonagall said, "Potter, Harry," and not only did the entire Great Hall go silent and all eyes in the room fly towards him, but he had to get in front of every single staring person and put on a Hat that would set him on a certain course for the rest of his life, and also possibly separate him from the first two friends he managed to make.

Then, of course, there was the fact that Draco would literally kill him if Harry didn't follow him into Ravenclaw, a thought that caused him just enough panic that he was surprised he didn't start hyperventilating.

Heart thudding against his ribcage, Harry feigned confidence as best he could and carefully strode towards McGonagall. He took care not to move too slowly because he didn't want to come across as hesitant, but also made sure not to move more quickly than necessary so that he didn't appear jittery. He stood with a confident bearing but not so confident as to potentially be considered arrogant, because Tom had told him numerous times that it was only the bad guys who got away with being arrogant (and antiheros, Harry had protested, to which Tom asked how he thought the savior of the wizarding world could possibly be considered anything less than a squeaky clean protagonist), and he kept his face as carefully blank as he could while not appearing apathetic.

He wasn't sure how good a job he did at comporting himself appropriately, but no one pointed or laughed, and he got to the stool without tripping or making an idiot of himself.

Only vaguely reassured by the small victory, he nervously took a seat and held his breath as McGonagall placed the Hat atop his head.

Immediately, the Hat laughed out loud. So that the whole Great Hall heard.

"Harry Potter, cared for by Tom Riddle himself," it said, except this time the voice was in his head. "Ah, now this is quite diverting."

"You can't tell anyone," thought Harry.

"Oh, I never do," said the Hat. "You have my word on that. But my goodness, I must admit that even I hadn't expected this. The things that man has done with your mind… it's fascinating. Such potential, and he's given you the drive to reach it. Two great wizards, working as family, both of them thirsty to prove themselves, albeit for different reasons… Ah, with his help, Harry Potter, you will do great things."

His cheeks burned with pleasure. Although Tom told him similar things every once in a while, it was different when someone else said it. "Er. Thanks, I guess. But people are starting to stare, and you're supposed to be sorting me, so could you maybe get around to that?"

The Hat chuckled. "Of course, Mister Potter, although the decision really isn't difficult; brave and ambitious though you are, you've already all but made up your mind. It's a good enough fit—you are exceptionally intelligent and have more than your share of wit—so I'm content to place you in RAVENCLAW."

Harry sighed in relief as McGonagall pulled the Hat from his head. She looked shocked and disappointed—he vaguely recalled Tom saying that she was Gryffindor's Head of House, and being that Harry's parents had both been in Gryffindor, it was likely she would have expected him to be placed there as well—but her gaze was more curious than cold when Harry met her eye. He smiled to let her know that he was grateful she wasn't angry, then turned and headed to Ravenclaw's table, not even bothering to hide his grin.

Draco and Hermione separated when he came over, leaving space for him in between the two of them.

"You're lucky, Potter," said Draco. "If you'd have left me with her, I believe I would have defected."

"Oh, shut up," said Hermione. She looked at Harry. "He's really not so upset to be here as you'd think."

Apparently her statement wasn't entirely accurate, because Draco looked at Harry with slightly panicked eyes.

"The bloody Hat caught onto all the questions you were making me ask, and it said something stupid about me wanting to understand things and not just believe them, and I told it that I was a Slytherin but then I remembered what you said about how you don't think it's smart to pick a house because it's the one your parents were in, and the Hat laughed and said that's what he meant about me questioning things—you've suddenly become curious, it said—and I asked for Slytherin anyway, and it said he'd put me there if I made it sound like I meant it. I did mean it, or I mean, I wanted to mean it, but I saw cattle and Voldemort and that was all I could think about, and the Hat caught that and put me here. So I come over and Granger starts trying to tell me about things like electicity-"

"That's not-"

"Whatever," Draco cut in. "Anyway, now she thinks I want to learn about her Muggle ridiculousness, as though they've really figured out how to get to the moon-"

"But they have," Harry cut in. "Over twenty years ago, actually. They went in a rocket."

Draco banged his head on the table, ignoring the looks that the other Ravenclaws were sending him. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Um, Draco?"

"No, don't say anything. Leave me to collect the ruins of my childhood in peace."

Harry had a feeling that he was genuinely troubled and only feigning melodrama to hide it (or perhaps he was really that melodramatic and was simply upset enough that he couldn't hide it behind his cool Malfoy mask), so he refrained from prodding Draco further, instead relaxing into his seat while the sorting wrapped up. Before long, Zabini, Blaise had gone into Slytherin (to a muttered, "lucky bastard" from Draco), and Dumbledore stood to give a brief (and ridiculous) speech before the food appeared and they were allowed to start eating.

"You're Harry Potter," said an older girl with long, curly hair. A bright silver 'P' was pinned on her robes.

Harry looked up from his meal.

"Yes, thank you. I forgot for a moment there," he said, then realized how rude he sounded and winced. "Um, I didn't mean that. I meant to say that yes, I am Harry Potter, and it's a pleasure to meet you."

The girl smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. You've probably been getting that a lot."

"Just a bit."

"Right, well. I'll try not to fawn. I was just going to say that if you need anything—or if anyone bothers you because of who you are—just let me know, and I'll try to take care of it." She stuck out a hand. "I'm Penelope Clearwater, by the way. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Harry reddened at having reacted to her initial statement like such a smartass when it was obvious that the girl was so genuinely sweet. "Um, thanks," he said, shaking her hand.

Penelope cautiously looked to Draco and added, "The same goes for you. Ravenclaw is generally a neutral house, but some people might lash out at you because of your father. If that happens, tell me or another prefect, and we'll take care of it."

Draco looked genuinely shocked by this, and just a little bit of the melancholy drained from his expression. It was clear by the veiled wariness in his eyes that he knew Clearwater wasn't a wizarding name, but he said nothing of it, only nodding tersely in response to Penelope's comment before he resumed picking at his food.

Harry took that as a sign that it was safe to tuck into his meal as well, although Hermione elbowed him in the ribs before he could start.

"That professor is staring at you."

He glanced over his shoulder, making a face when he saw that it was the greasy man again. "Oh, I'm pretty sure that's just Professor Snape. Don't worry—he has a reason for glaring at me. Not a good reason, but he isn't being malicious or anything. I mean, not 'trying to kill me' malicious. I'd just ignore him if I were you."

Draco looked up at that, his sullen mood temporarily forgotten in favor of curiosity. "Why would Severus be glaring at you?"

"Severus?" blurted Hermione, and everyone else close enough to have heard Draco's comment stared at him in disbelief.

Draco's cheeks pinked, but he said in his most imperious voice, "Yes. Severus. I won't call him that in class obviously, but he is my godfather. I've known him forever."

Even Harry hadn't been aware of that. It was, however, an interesting piece of knowledge, and a potentially useful one at that. Tom respected Snape's competence, but had warned Harry that Snape wouldn't respect him. After Voldemort defeated Harry the second time, details about the double agent's allegiances had slowly come forward, and it'd eventually been pieced together that he'd been on Dumbledore's side for the entire second war. Apparently he'd loved Lily Potter and had made some sort of vow to protect her son.

He'd also hated James, and despised Harry because of how much the two looked alike. That meant Harry would have his work cut out for him if he wanted an ally in Snape. However, befriending Draco would be a good start. If Harry could prove that he was a really good friend to someone the potions professor potentially held in high esteem, then maybe—just maybe—he could get the greasy bat on his side.

He'd also have to curb his sarcasm a bit. He could tell just by looking at the man that he wasn't the sort who'd appreciate that particular brand of humor. Not when it was coming from anyone other than himself, anyway.

"That's impressive," another Ravenclaw said, whistling low under his breath. "I mean, you know. That he's your godfather and you aren't dead yet."

"He's not so bad," said Draco, puffing up at the positive attention. "A bit strict, but he wouldn't killme." Refocusing on Harry, he repeated, "Anyway, what were you saying about Severus's glaring?"

"It's rather personal on his part. I don't think he'd want me to say anything."

"I just want to know if you're spreading slanderous rumors."

"Let's just say it has to do with my father being an attractive Gryffindor Quidditch captain, and Snape being a Slytherin with a big nose and greasy hair." There. He hadn't told Draco anything that the blond couldn't have guessed himself, so no one could accuse him of sharing personal information about Snape. Not really, anyway.

"Ah, so your father was a bit of an arse."

"In that one, particular context," Harry admitted reluctantly. "But could you not call him my father? I sort of see Tom like that now, and it's weird, hearing the term when it refers to someone else."

"You'll need to tell me who Tom is at some point," said Draco. "You can't avoid something like that if we're going to be friends."

"Oh, he really isn't anyone important. Just a distant family member who took me in a couple years back," said Harry, not untruthfully. Tom had even shown him once, how they were loosely related through the Peverell line.

Very loosely.

"What's his surname?" said Draco skeptically.

"He was an orphan. He took up a false name and doesn't tend to call himself by his real one." Another half-truth. Harry wondered absently whether the Hat would've put him in Slytherin if it'd known the sort of conversation he'd be having just a few minutes after it was taken off his head.

Then again, he was being intelligent in how he went about manipulating the conversation, and he was only manipulating it in the first place because it was logical to do so.

It was an odd balance, really. How intelligence and ambition and logic and manipulation all went hand-in-hand when placed in the right context. Of course, there could be intelligence without ambition, and certainly ambition without intelligence, but more often than not whoever had one was very likely to have the other.

Hermione and Draco seemed to possess both qualities. He himself did. Tom did.

"Alright, but what does he call himself?" demanded Draco sharply, tearing Harry from his musings.

"Tom Smith," lied Harry. He locked eyes with Draco a moment, making sure that the blond registered that Harry had not only given a full name, but one that sounded appropriately like something a person would call themselves to get out of using a less appreciated real name. When Draco nodded, satisfied, he turned back to his plate and began stabbing at carrots.

He'd just captured the final vegetable when Dumbledore stood and the Great Hall fell silent.

"Ahem—just a few more words now that we're all fed and watered," he said. "I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." He looked towards the Gryffindor table when he said this.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to inform you all that using magic in the corridors between classes is forbidden. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing on the house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"Furthermore, I must tell you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to anyone who doesn't wish to die a very painful death."

Harry did his best not to splutter, because for all the dottiness in Dumbledore's tone, he had a feeling that the headmaster wouldn't include something like that unless there was an underlying truth to it. Tom had warned him not to ignore anything Dumbledore said or did. His senile old man act was nothing more than a façade, and writing him off because of it would be a mistake that only a fool would make.

In other words, the comment about the third-floor corridor likely wasn't a joke, and that meant Harry had something else to look into. Already.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. "Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!"

He groaned and looked to Draco, relieved that the other boy looked just as horrified by the proceedings as he himself did. They stayed firmly silent, unwilling to subject themselves to the indignity of it all, while the rest of the Great Hall burst into song around them.

"Ugh," said Draco when it was finished.

"Ditto," said Harry.

"Such… immature plebeians."

"Philistines, really."

"Oh, be quiet, you two," snapped Hermione, cheeks slightly flushed. "It was fun."

Dumbledore's voice cut off the retort Harry planned to offer. "Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here." He wiped his eyes. "And now, bedtime. Off you trot." He thought for a moment before adding, as though it'd just occurred to him, "But, ah. Would Harry Potter please remain behind? I'm afraid I must speak to him before he goes off to bed."

Harry banged his head on the table in a manner identical to what Draco had done a short while earlier.

"A meeting with the Headmaster before the first day? Aren't you special, Potter?" said Draco, although it was clear that he was teasing.

"Aaaactually," said Harry, "I think I'm in trouble. Or at least about to be interrogated."

"What did you do?" asked Hermione.

Harry ducked his head. "Well, see… When I said that Tom took me in, he sorta did so without Dumbledore's permission, and without letting him know where he was taking me…"

Hermione and Draco gaped at him.

"You're kidding," said Hermione.

"Tom really didn't do anything wrong," Harry insisted. "Dumbledore placed me with cruel Muggles who didn't even let me know I was a wizard, and Tom thought I shouldn't have to deal with them, so he took me off to an old manor house and started teaching me about magic, and he's never once treated me anywhere near as badly as the Dursleys."

"But you think Dumbledore will be angry," said Draco.

Harry swallowed. "Oh, maybe not angry, per say. I think he'll assume that I don't know what's best for me because I'm 'just a child,' and then he'll try to convince me to quit living with Tom, and he might try to get Tom in trouble, and really, I'd hoped I could put this off a bit longer."

The other Ravenclaws were already leaving. It was time for Draco and Hermione to go as well.

"Don't worry, Potter. I'm sure things will turn out alright. I doubt Dumbledore would let the wizarding world's Golden Boy be too unhappy."

"Yeah, it'll be fine," Hermione added.

She tried to smile reassuringly, and Draco said, "Good luck," and then they had to leave.

Harry nervously watched as they and the rest of the students filtered out of the Great Hall, until he was left alone with Albus Dumbledore.

"Ah, Harry Potter," said the headmaster, walking forward to meet him. "I'd been wondering whether you were going to show up this year, seeing as your legal guardians reported you as kidnapped over two years ago."

His tone was perfectly friendly, but his words made something unpleasant twist in Harry's gut.

He forced a smile and hoped it was convincing.

"Professor Dumbledore. I… well, to be entirely honest, it's kind of a long story."

"Then let's return to my office." He smiled benevolently. "I assure you, I have more than enough time."

…

…

Author's Note:

So I've been busy lately, hence the slightly late chapter. It's also unedited, which I do apologize for. I'll try to at least proofread within the next few days, but please point out any grammar/continuity mistakes if you see them before then.

Firstly - I know people have expressed reluctance towards Ravenclaw Harry, both because he's not a bookworm in cannon and because the idea of that much neutrality can be boring. In regards to the first- not all Ravenclaws are bookworms; the Harry Potter wiki gives the following as characteristics of the house (this is off memory, so one or two might be off): wisdom, individuality, intelligence and creativity. None of those traits imply that Harry will spend excess time studying, nor deviate excessively far from who his cannon character could have developed into in this particular situation. As for lack of excitement; that's an issue of plot, not necessarily house. Things will soon get interesting enough that Harry's effort to stay neutral won't remove him from conflict for long.

Let's see... other repeated concerns that are easier to address here than in individual reviews:

Harry being too smart/not eleven-year-old enough: Firstly, Harry won't have special abilities; he'll be more advanced than his peers because he's spent the past three years receiving personal tutoring from a five-hundred year old legendary dark wizard, but I will do my best to keep his abilities in the realm of the realistic. As for being too mature - he's spent the past three years in solely Tom Riddle's company, only speaking with others during brief trips to Diagon Alley. That means every significant conversation he's had since he was nine has been with an extremely eloquent adult. Not only does that mean he'll have picked up particularly good grammar, but he'll have learned catchphrases and specific arguments and turns of phrase that he would incorporate into his own conversations. Cannon Draco and Hermione both speak with very good diction and vocabulary (at least in the movies), and they'll have had more traditional childhoods than Harry. That being said, he is still eleven; he'll act older than that often, but his childishness will come through on occasion.

Pairings: Nothing concrete yet, and they won't be a focus of the story either way. They also won't come up at all for several years.

That's the big stuff that's been asked about, I think. Anyway, thanks for all the amazing review (hopefully things will settle down so I can get all my replies in), and please continue to tell me what you think.