8.

A Matter of Names

Harry trundled back to his seat, dumping the pile of wizard candy. He smiled. His pockets jingled with his parents' money. Arthur had not given him an allowance, saying that if Harry wanted something he should just ask. Now Harry felt a wave of responsibility raising him out of adolescence. Ron looked at the chocolates and pasties hungrily. In his lap he had the miserable sandwiches, next to his snoozing rat.

"Want some?" Harry asked, holding out a pasty.

"No, I have these sandwiches Mum packed me."

"I'll trade."

Being a lonely child without friends his age, Harry hungered for a chance to share something, anything. And now he had a friend who he could do that with. Ron obliged happily. He explained the various candies and the cards, showing Harry one of Dumbledore. Harry regarded the old man with snowy whiskers and wiry spectacles in awe. Now he had a face to a legendary name.

Harry munched on a chocolate frog, smearing across his face. He rubbed it off with his thumb, turning out to the window. He watched as the fields spread before him, spotted with stones and plants. Trees swayed in the late summer breeze, their leaves rustling like feathers. Ribbons of river crossed the country, shimmering powerfully in the sun. Several fluffy clouds leisurely drifted through the blue sky.

"Do you have any siblings?" Ron asked. "I mean, adopted, I guess."

"No. Well, my uncles are like siblings." Harry said.

Ron leaned closer, his eyes begging to hear more.

"I have two uncles I see the most: Matthew and Alfred. They're brothers though one lives in Canada and the other in America."

"Have you been there?"

"Not yet. Though maybe I could go soon…" Harry considered it. What an adventure! He wondered if Alfred had more wild family there. "But I don't think Dad would let me stay near Uncle Alfred for too long."

"Why not?"

"Well, he's wild—that's what Dad says at least." Harry then launched into a retelling of one of Alfred's exploits as a child, where he nearly set his school on fire in an attempt to woo one of his school crushes. Ron stared, asking questions every now and then about this or that Muggle contraption. "So once he had gotten the flour and a cigarette lighter—a thing that makes fire—he went to a cage that kept the class turtle and…" Harry stopped.

The doors to their compartment had slid open. A boy with a wide, teary face stood there. "Have you seen a toad?" he asked, sniffing loudly. He was a first year, like Ron and Harry. His lip quibbled. Ron and Harry shook their heads. The boy, Neville Longbottom, left. Ron turned to Harry and complained about his rat some more.

Ron told Harry of a spell that should have made Scabbers yellow. It failed, leaving Ron's wand hanging unimpressively in the air. A girl had been with Neville. Now she returned to their compartment, giving them a toothy smile. Her two front teeth jutted out from all the others. Around her head was a mess of cottony brown hair. She had thick eyebrows and pretty eyes.

"I've never heard of that spell." She said.

Ron muttered about his twin brothers. She didn't leave and remained in the entrance. She slid into the compartment and daintily sat down next to Harry.

"I'm Hermione Granger." She said. "I think we should be getting there soon. You might want to get your uniforms on."

"There's still plenty of time." Ron mumbled to the ground.

"I'm Harry Kirk—Potter." Harry said, sticking out his hand. Hermione shook it curtly. Harry reminded himself that as long as he was at Hogwarts he needed to introduce himself as Potter. The name however refused to become personal and strayed away from him, like an alias or celebrity name. Harry tried vainly to apply it to himself, that he really was the Harry Potter. It didn't. The only thing he had to argue for it was the fancy scar on his forehead.

"Oh, yes, I've read about you." Hermione said, "As a bit of background reading, you know?"

Harry nodded. Hermione reminded him of someone. But who…? Oh, that's right—Harry thought, she reminded him of his father. Harry listened to her explain Hogwarts from what she knew about reading and could sense the same energy, the same passion for knowledge that Arthur had. Hermione was of course very different from the Arthur Harry was familiar with. If he had known Arthur only a few years prior he would have seen a greater semblance. The thought caused Harry to warm up to Hermione much more quickly than Ron. Ron still thought she was an annoying know it all girl.

Hermione left to help Neville find his toad before they arrived.

"We should get dressed soon." Ron said, starting to clean up.

Before they could, the doors rattled open again. Standing like a wax candle was Draco Malfoy. Ron frowned, recognized the Slytherin. Harry smiled again. Draco's grin twitched and became a fragment gentler.

"So, I hear you are the real Harry Potter." Draco said.

"You bet he is." Ron said defensively. Harry nodded mutely. He still didn't feel like Harry Potter.

"I believe I met you before." Draco said, giving Ron a venomous look.

"You did, while getting fitted for your robes." Harry said.

"Don't listen to him, Harry." Ron interjected. "He's a bloody Slythern. They're all cheats!"

Harry turned to Draco, still offering a small smile. Draco faltered. His face visibly shifted expressions until he decided on one of vague worry. "Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, then." Draco said and moved away with his two silent goons following him.

"How can you stand to smile at him?" Ron asked, aghast.

"He doesn't seem all bad, just a little… lost." Harry said, searching for the right words. Later Harry would realize that Ron and Draco were more similar than either would admit.

. . .

"Hmm… You'd make a good Slytherin, Potter."

Harry stared into the inner lining of the Sorting Hat. "They don't seem all bad, but everyone makes it out like they're evil." Harry thought with little conviction.

"True, true, that seems to be the case. But you can't deny that they have some respectable qualities. They're cunning, ambitious, and unrelenting. Besides, in some cultures green is a natural, earthy color. Aye, I see something a little deeper. What is it?"

Harry waited. The rest of the hall held their breaths, wondering where the marvelous Harry Potter was bound to go. The Hat seemed to be taking its time with this one. Even the teachers spared Harry a longer glance.

"Ah I see it!" The Sorting Hat exclaimed in Harry's head. "You were raised by Arthur Kirkland, I can see it, you're Harry Kirkland and Harry Potter both, oh yes, let's put you then in the right house for your courage and valor.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The table erupted into a flurry of applause. Ron's older brothers hooted with glee. Harry cast his eyes briefly at the Slytherin table. Draco met his gaze and seemed both disappointed and friendly. Harry was thumped across the back. He was in for a wild year.

Minerva examined the tables before her. Food glittered and appeared before them, following Dumbledore's speech. Dumbledore had sat down. Now, as he dragged his hand through his beard, he turned his attention to her. "How interesting," she said.

"What's so interesting, if I may ask?" He picked his goblet and took a sip.

"When Potter was first enlisted, he was under the Ks. Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know. If he took his aunt and uncle's name he would have been under D. Why would he be under K?" Dumbledore conjectured, his thin eyebrows rising.

"It could have been an error." Minerva suggested, looking around and finding Harry.

Harry sat among a sea of his peers, chatting and gazing around the marvelous hall. They tossed their heads back to enjoy the enchanted ceiling and floating candles. Many pointed and let out streams of giggles. Harry turned to his newfound friend, Ron, and started to wonder about how the year would go. It didn't even seem like school, or real.

"He looks much too happy to have been raised by that atrocious family." Minerva said quietly.

"Are you trying to say he was raised by someone else?"

"I am only making a hypothesis. He looks like a healthy young boy with a proper, even good, upbringing. I doubt his uncle and aunt could have changed their ways so quickly. I had seen them, you know, they overstuffed their own son and treated him like a pig ready for slaughter."

Dumbledore turned pensive. He stared into the crowds, his eyes hard as stone. He raised a fork to his lips and didn't taste the food as it passed over his tongue. When Minerva began to worry he would never answer, he cleared his throat. "I'll ask Hagrid, then. He went to the house to get him, after all."


I won't write all of what happened during the school year. You've all already heard the story so why repeat it? I don't plan to rewrite the entire books.

Thank you again for your reviews!