Chapter Ten

On the first of September, Crowley and Aziraphale escorted Harry and Astaroth to King's Cross to catch the Hogwarts Express. In spite of himself, Harry found that he was incredibly excited to begin wizard school – even if, as he suspected, he didn't really need the education: making things happen was easier and easier with every passing day, although Harry tried not to upend the laws of causality too much. It was difficult, though – Harry's blooming power felt like a steadily inflating balloon inside him, and Harry was afraid that one of these days it was going to burst unexpectedly.

He was incredibly grateful to Crowley and Aziraphale, who both treated him like just another person. Harry knew, in the way he sometimes just knew things, that Crowley was occasionally wary of what Harry could do – but Harry also knew that in his own way, the demon was growing fond of Harry.

As the three of them walked towards Platform Nine and three quarters – and Harry was charmed by the absurdity of that, he really was – Aziraphale was fussing over whether Harry had remembered to pack everything he needed for school.

"If he didn't, it's too late now," said Crowley pragmatically. "If he forgot something, you can always owl it to him."

"Me? He lives with you!"

"Yeah, but you're the one who cares," said Crowley reasonably, and Harry laughed out loud.

It was a little like having parents, Harry had to admit, and felt a even happier than he had before.

Crowley proceeded to lean nonchalantly against a wall, and immediately vanished from sight. Aziraphale patted Harry's shoulder.

"You'd better go through, my dear..."

So Harry, dragging his wheeled luggage behind him, with Astaroth slithering along next to him, crossed between the boundary of non-magical and magical King's Cross. He found himself standing on a wide platform, surrounded by other kids and their parents. Aziraphale walked through the boundary behind him.

"Goodness, it's certainly crowded," remarked the angel.

Crowley was grinning.

"Welcome to Platform Nine and three quarters," he said grandly, gesturing towards the rest of the platform. "That there is the Hogwarts Express, the traditional method of getting to Hogwarts."

Impulsively Harry let go of his luggage and threw his arms around Crowley, hugging him tight. Crowley went stiff with surprise.

"Er –" said Crowley, uncomfortably, but Harry was already letting him go to hug Aziraphale, who seemed just as startled by the embrace.

"Hush, you," Crowley hissed at Astaroth, who was sniggering.

"I'm going to miss you," said Harry. "Both of you. I'll write to you while I'm away. Promise you'll write back?"

"Of course," Aziraphale at once, while Crowley shrugged noncommittally in a way that didn't fool Harry at all. Aziraphale would probably be the one to actually write, Harry thought – but Crowley would be there hanging over his shoulder, making comments, and generally contributing to the letter-writing process, while denying the entire time that he was doing so.

"Have a good trip," said Crowley. "Now get lost."

Grinning at him and Aziraphale, Harry waved goodbye, and headed for the train. He found an empty compartment where he and Astaroth could sit comfortably, and shoved his luggage in the luggage rack.

It didn't take long before Hermione burst in, beaming.

"I thought I saw you!" she exclaimed. "With your cousin and his, um–"

"Aziraphale," Harry supplied, because trying to define what Aziraphale was to Crowley was an exercise in futility.

"Yes, him," Hermione agreed, struggling to lift her luggage into the rack. With a thought from Harry, it was light enough for her to lift easily.

While Hermione was regarding her suddenly-light luggage suspiciously, Harry sat back against the seat, while Astaroth slithered onto his lap.

Hermione gasped at the sight, and Harry hurried to reassure her.

"This is Astaroth. He's my friend," said Harry, and Astaroth lifted his head to regard Hermione.

"Your f-friend?" Hermione looked frightened.

"It's okay, he won't hurt you," Harry said. "Try not to look scary," he hissed to Astaroth.

Hermione gasped again.

"You can talk to it?"

"Him," Harry corrected. "And sure. I've talked to snakes for as long as I can remember."

"But snakes aren't on the allowed familiars list," said Hermione, sitting down warily on one of the seats opposite Harry. "Won't the teachers object?"

Harry thought about that.

"Reckon they won't notice," he said eventually.

"Won't notice?" Hermione's voice was a little shrill. "He's six feet long!"

Harry grinned at her.

"And I'm prodigiously magical," he told her, smiling in the way that usually made even the sternest of teachers unbend towards him. It worked; Hermione bit her lip, but sat a little less stiffly on her seat.

"I don't know how you expect to hide him," she said.

"Trust me," said Harry. "They really won't notice."

"What spell are you going to use?" Hermione sounded reluctantly interested.

"Don't need a spell," said Harry. "Same as I didn't need one to make your luggage lighter."

"But that goes against all the laws of magic!" Hermione protested, a little pompously.

"Wizard magic, maybe," said Harry. "I'm something different." And then he stopped, regretting having said even that much.

"What are you, then?" demanded Hermione.

"Not supposed to say," said Harry.

"But–" Hermione's jaw snapped shut, and she looked surprised at her sudden silence. She stared at Harry in suspicion, but he only gazed amiably back at her, the picture of innocence.

"You know, I never got your last name," said Hermione, instead of grilling Harry.

"Oh," said Harry. "It's Potter."

Hermione's eyes went huge.

"Are you really?" She seemed astonished. "I know all about you – you were in half the books in the bookstore."

"I am?" Harry asked uncomfortably.

"Goodness, didn't you know? I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," Hermione said, and that was so patently true that Harry laughed.

"Well, don't put too much faith in what they said," said Harry. "It's not like they ever talked to me about what happened, and it's not like anyone else was there."

Hermione looked doubtful, unwilling to question her faith in books.

"Really," Harry added. "Anything about the night my parents died is speculation."

"Well, if you're certain..." Hermione looked crestfallen.

"I am," Harry said firmly. He changed the subject, and soon he and Hermione were discussing what they knew of Hogwarts from Hogwarts: A History, which Hermione had enjoyed as greatly as Harry had.

The compartment door slid open, and a tall, gangly red-headed boy stood in the doorway.

"Is there –" he began, and ended on a squeak as he saw Astaroth.

"Don't worry about Astaroth, he's harmless," said Harry, and Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"Wait a minute, 'Astaroth?' Isn't that the name of a demon?"

"Is is," said Harry. "Astaroth's just a snake, though. I wouldn't bring a demon to Hogwarts. Not most demons, anyway. Not generally very nice people, demons."

Hermione looked like she didn't know whether to roll her eyes, or take Harry seriously. The boy in the doorway, meanwhile, was staring at Harry like he was mad.

"There's plenty of room if you want to join us," Harry added. "I'm Harry, and this is Hermione."

"How do you do?" Hermione murmured politely.

"I'm Ron, Ron Weasley," said the red-headed boy, and hesitated. "When you say Harry, do you mean Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded easily. Ron looked awestruck.

"Have you really got – you know..." He pointed at Harry's forehead.

"The scar?" Harry asked. "Yeah."

Ron looked even more awed.

"So that's where You-Know-Who..."

Harry stared at him.

"I don't like to talk about it," said Harry, and his voice was a little chilly.

"Do you remember it, though?" Ron asked eagerly, and Harry couldn't believe it.

"Do I remember the night some nutter of a Dark Lord murdered my parents, do you mean?" Harry asked coldly, and the temperature inside the compartment seemed to drop.

"Er –" said Ron, who seemed to have realised he'd said the wrong thing.

"Like I said, I don't like to talk about it," Harry repeated, and Astaroth hissed menacingly at Ron.

"What did the idiot say to you?" Astaroth demanded.

"Asked me about the night my adoptive parents died," Harry responded.

Ron turned pale at the sound.

"You can talk to snakes!" he blurted. "That's a Dark gift!"

Harry regarded him coolly.

"Do I look Dark to you?" he asked, and for the first time felt glad of his newfound fame as the Boy-Who-Lived, if only because it made it easier to shut Ron down. "I'm Harry Potter. You really think I'm Dark?"

"Um, no, of course not," Ron mumbled, looking embarrassed. "Sorry."

For a moment Harry thought about the fact that all of wizarding Britain was convinced that he, the Antichrist, was some kind of saintly saviour. It was ironic, Harry supposed, but he didn't find it funny. He resolved not to prove wizarding Britain wrong, and to be the best person he could, despite his heritage.

Anyway, all that Antichrist stuff was bollocks, really – after all, Harry's father had been an angel, hadn't he? Saying that Harry was destined to be Dark because of genetics just because his father had become Dark was absurd, when you thought about it. If genetics were involved, it was far more likely Harry would grow up to be an angel, surely. Harry nodded to himself, resolute. Maybe Harry wouldn't turn out to be an angel – much as Harry liked Aziraphale, he got the impression that Aziraphale wasn't much like other angels, and Harry wasn't sure he wanted to be like the others – he could still try to be the best possible person he could.

"Harry?" Harry blinked, to see Hermione looking at him in concern. "Are you okay? You look upset."

Harry blinked again, smoothing out his expression.

"I'm fine," he said. "Just thinking."

"What about?" asked Ron tactlessly.

"Genetics," Harry said cryptically. "Never mind."

Silence fell, the three of them content to sit and watch the countryside go past.

"Oh," said Hermione suddenly, "I forgot to give you your book back!"

She scrambled up to get her luggage down from the rack, and opened it, pulling out Hogwarts: A History and handing it to Harry, who put it down on the seat next to him.

"Thanks," said Harry. "I'll put it away later, when I put my school robes on."

"Are you two friends?" Ron asked, having watched the two of them quietly for a while now.

"We met in Diagon Alley," Hermione explained.

"And bonded over books," said Harry, grinning.

"I don't really like books much," Ron confessed, eyeing them both oddly. "Not unless there's pictures."

Hermione looked scandalised, but Harry said, "Well, that's okay. What do you like, then?"

Which was how Harry was introduced to the great wizarding sport, Quidditch, played on broomsticks.

Hermione looked bored, but Harry said thoughtfully, "Think I'd like to play a game like that. I expect I'd like flying."

He was fairly certain it was one of those things he was going to instinctively be good at. Memory came back to him, of the time he'd ended up on the school roof. He had a much better idea of how he'd ended up there, now.

If Harry thought hard enough, he could almost feel the feathers of imaginary wings against his back, stretching towards the sky and brushing against the ceiling of the carriage.

Harry shook his head, dislodging the impression.

"Flying's brilliant," said Ron, with a knowledgeable air. "And Quidditch is loads of fun."

At about half-past twelve, a woman with a trolley full of food stopped by and asked if the three of them wanted anything. Ron looked wistfully at the food trolley, while Hermione went through her coin purse to see how much money she had.

"We'll take some of everything, thanks," said Harry, because Crowley had given him a ridiculous amount of pocket money before they'd left the flat that morning, with the excuse that Harry would need a lot if he was going to be away all year.

Ron and Hermione stared as Harry returned from the trolley carrying a large pile of sweets and snacks, which he tipped onto an empty seat.

"Help yourselves, there's no way I can eat all this," said Harry. Hermione immediately reached for a pumpkin pasty, while Ron looked at the food longingly. "Go on, Ron, have a cake or something."

The compartment was filled with the rustle of sweet wrappers, the sound of and contented munching. Hermione didn't touch the sweets ("My parents are dentists," she explained), but she had several pasties and one of the small cupcakes.

Harry ate one of the chocolate frogs, which was packaged with a small collectible card. Albus Dumbledore, said the label beneath the portrait on the front of the card. As Harry watched, the photograph of Albus Dumbledore gave him a small smile.

As they sat there, Harry noticed, for the first time, that there was a rat on Ron's lap. Harry stared at it.

He stared at it so hard, in fact, that Ron and Hermione began to stare at him.

"Harry," Ron asked uncomfortably, "why are you staring at my rat?"

"That," said Harry darkly, "isn't really a rat."

"What are you going on about?" asked Ron. "Of course he's a rat, see–" He held the snoozing rat out for Harry to get a better look.

"That rat," said Harry, "is really a person. And I think it's best if he stopped pretending to be a rat."

And just like that, the rat was gone, replacing by a balding, grimy looking man.

Ron and Hermione both screamed and scrambled back, and the sleeping man jerked awake, his eyes widening in alarm as he realised he was wearing human shape.

Before he could move, Astaroth was wrapped around him, and Harry's wand was pointed at his heart – more for show than anything, of course, but no one but Harry and Astaroth knew that.

"Name yourself," Harry ordered, while Ron and Hermione clutched each other at the far end of the compartment.

"I – I – I –" stammered the former rat, eyes wide and terrified.

"Answer me, or my snake will bite you," said Harry. "Astaroth –"

The rat man looked like he was going to pass out as Harry hissed, eyes popping as Astaroth opened his jaws wide, revealing sharp fangs.

"He's terribly venomous, Astaroth is," Harry said conversationally. "Now tell me who you are." The strength of command was in Harry's voice.

"Peter Pettigrew," blurted the rat man, looking horrified at himself, but unable to stop the words from coming out. "I betrayed your parents to You-Know-Who, and framed your godfather, Sirius Black for it. I also murdered twelve people."

Ron looked like he was going to be sick.

"Right," said Harry decisively. "You're going to go to sleep, Mr Pettigrew, and you're not going to wake up until the police are here to arrest you."

Pettigrew fought it, but couldn't do anything to stop his eyelids drooping. A moment later he let out a soft snore, his head lolling forward.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione.

"Wizards do have police, don't they?" he asked. "To arrest bad people?"

"You're talking about Aurors," said Ron, and swallowed. "My brother's a prefect. I'll go get him. He'll know what to do."

"I'll go with you," said Hermione quickly, eyeing Pettigrew with perturbation. "Will you be okay, Harry?"

"I'll be fine, Astaroth'll bite him if he tries anything," said Harry. "Go find Ron's brother."

It was a good ten minutes before an older boy with a prefect badge opened the compartment door, saying, "What's all this nonsense about – great Merlin!"

"I told you!" said Ron's voice from the hallway.

A second prefect peered in past Ron's brother, and frowned at the sight of Pettigrew.

"We'd better tie him up just in case, Percy," she said. "We can turn him over to the teachers when we get to Hogwarts. Even if he's not really Peter Pettigrew, the fact that he was masquerading as your brother's pet is suspicious."

Percy swallowed, and said, "Of course, you're right."

By the time they got to Hogwarts, it was all over the train that the prefects had taken someone who might be Peter Pettigrew into custody. It didn't take long for two of the teachers to hurry down to inspect him.

Harry made himself difficult to notice, and sidled into the prefect compartment, where Pettigrew was trussed up.

"Good heavens!" gasped the older, black-haired woman. "It really is Pettigrew!"

The other teacher, who had dark hair and a hooked nose, looked down at Pettigrew with an expression like thunder.

"He said he betrayed my parents to Voldemort," said Harry, making himself noticeable again. The female teacher gave a small start, her eyes going to Harry's forehead, and the hook-nosed teacher glared at Harry with utter loathing as he took in Harry's scar.

"Harry Potter," said the female teacher. "I am Professor McGonagall, and this is Professor Snape. Mr Weasley said that you captured Mr Pettigrew?"

"He turned back into a man in front of us," said Harry, wondering why Professor Snape was exuding such malice towards him. "Told us everything. And then he... passed out?"

Harry didn't mention Astaroth's role, or the fact that Harry had made Pettigrew unconscious. It seemed best not to.

"Passed out?" Snape sneered, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

"I don't think he's very well," Harry replied, meeting the disbelieving gaze unflinchingly.

Harry felt an itch in his brain, and instantly knew what Snape was doing.

"That's not very polite," said Harry reprovingly, stopping the mental probe in its tracks. "Looking into people's minds, and all. You should keep your mind to yourself."

McGonagall looked sharply at Snape, who looked flabbergasted and furious.

"Severus?" asked McGonagall.

"The boy doesn't know what he's talking about," Snape said contemptuously.

"I know when someone's trying to mess around with my head, thank you very much," said Harry.

McGonagall frowned at Snape.

"We'll discuss this with the headmaster later," she promised, and Snape's scowl grew even darker. "Mr Potter, you should rejoin your classmates. The other first years will be taking the boats to the castle very soon."

Taking the polite dismissal for what it was, Harry left the compartment, and went to find Ron and Hermione.

They were standing with the rest of the first years, still looking a little shaken. Harry joined them.

"It's alright," said Harry. "The teachers have Pettigrew, now."

"We've had Scabbers for years," said Ron, "and none of us ever thought he was anything but a rat. He was Percy's before he was mine, you know." Ron turned pale again as a thought occurred to him. "I used to let him sleep on my bed!"

Hermione patted Ron's shoulder comfortingly.

"Well, I'm sure the Aurors will take him away," she said.

"Good," said Ron savagely. "When I think of him living in my house, all this time, pretending to be a rat–" He shuddered.

Just then a giant of a man started calling out for the first years, directing them to get into the boats by the edge of the lake. Harry scooped Astaroth into his arms, and climbed into a boat. He, Ron, and Hermione all ended up in a boat together, along with a boy with dark hair and green eyes, who introduced himself as Marcus Weatherby.

"Nice to meet you, Marcus," said Harry, as the boats began to move, across the surface of the lake towards the castle on the other side.

"Are your families magical?" Marcus asked. "I mean, I know about Harry Potter, everyone does, but what about you two?"

"I'm muggleborn," said Hermione loftily, while Ron said, "Oh yeah, my whole family are wizards. Well, I think there's a cousin who's an accountant, but we don't talk about him."

"Why not?" Harry asked, frowning. Ron just shrugged.

"Dunno."

Harry frowned some more, but let it go.

"What about you?" Hermione asked Marcus.

"Well, my parents are both magical, but I'm adopted, you see," said Marcus. "So no one knows about my biological parents. But I was found outside St Mungo's when I was a baby, so it seems likely they were wizards, whoever they were."

Harry snapped to attention at that, remembering Crowley's story of how Harry had ended up with the Potters, and what had happened to the real Potter baby.

Crowley had said that the abandoned child would likely be in Harry's year, after all.

"That's interesting," said Harry. "But your parents take good care of you?"

"Of course," said Marcus, a little snobbishly.

"No 'of course' about it," said Harry. "Not everyone's lucky enough to have parents who take good care of them, you know. You're lucky."

Marcus seemed to remember then that Harry didn't have parents, and looked suddenly embarrassed.

The rest of the boat ride passed uneventfully, and soon Harry found himself in the castle, waiting in a small hall with the other first years. One of the other boys detached himself from the small group he was with, and strolled over to Harry, his eyes on Harry's scar.

"So you're Harry Potter," he said. "It's been all over the train that Harry Potter captured Peter Pettigrew. Is it true?"

"It's true," said Harry.

"My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," said the other boy. Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Harry, while Ron turned red with anger.

"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out a hand for Harry to shake.

Harry just stood and regarded him.

"The way I see it, everyone in the wizarding world is equal," said Harry thoughtfully. "So I'm guessing you and me are going to have to disagree on that one, Draco." He didn't shake Malfoy's hand.

Malfoy looked like a spoiled toddler whose favourite toy had been taken away from him. He turned faintly pink, but it wasn't from embarrassment.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys–"

Malfoy suddenly stopped.

"You should learn when to hold your tongue," said Harry, taking a casual step forward. Malfoy frantically opened and shut his mouth, but no sound came out. "I defeated a Dark Lord, you know, and me only a baby at the time. Don't you think it might be a good idea to be careful what you say around me?"

The other first years were crowded around, staring. Harry thought, I could make Malfoy do anything I wanted, and they wouldn't even remember if I didn't want them to.

Instead, there was a gasp from Malfoy as he found that speech was returned to him, but instead of speaking, he shot Harry a frightened look, and hastily rejoined his friends.

Harry turned back to Ron and Hermione and Marcus.

"How did you do that?" Ron looked impressed.

"Magic," Harry said vaguely.

They stood around for a little while longer, before one of the teachers finally showed up. She gave them a little speech about the different Hogwarts houses, before asking the first years to form a line and follow her into the Great Hall. They did so.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was charmed to resemble the sky outside, Harry remembered, and looked up, taking in the sight of stars twinkling high above. It was difficult to believe there was a ceiling there at all.

The teacher who had led them into the hall – Professor Burbage, she'd introduced herself as – placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she placed a pointed wizard's hat.

The hat was frayed and patched and dirty, but Harry had only to look at it to know that here was complicated magic indeed. He waited to see what happened next.

For a few seconds, there was total silence within the hall. Then the hat twitched, and a rip near the brim opened wide, and the hat began to sing.

"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The entire hall began to applaud as the hat finished its song. Harry looked around. Most of the other first years looked bewildered.

Burbage stepped up again, and began calling names off a roll. With each name a student came forward, and was directed to sit on the stool and put on the hat. A few seconds later the hat would yell out a Hogwarts house, and off the student would go to the correct house table.

Harry wondered what, exactly, the hat was doing.

Of Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Marcus, Hermione was the first to be called up to try on the hat.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat yelled after a moment, and Hermione – looking very pleased – went off to the Gryffindor table.

Several more names were called, and then it was Harry's turn. At the sound of Harry's name, the hall filled with murmurs, and the students craned their heads to get a better look at him. Harry ignored the attention, walking forward to sit on the stool and put on the hat.

He waited.

There was an itch in his brain, just like there had been with Snape, and Harry realised that the hat was reading his mind. This time, Harry let it happen.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "You're a tricky one, aren't you? It's not every day we get the Antichrist here, and that's a fact. Difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness yes – more power in your little finger than the rest of Hogwarts put together, if I make my guess. And you certainly have ambition, given your resolve to protect the world and your two guardians. So where shall I put you?"

I'd like to be with my friend Hermione, Harry thought firmly.

"Gryffindor? Are you sure?" asked the hat. "Slytherin would suit you just as well. You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that – no? Well, if you're sure – better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry took off the hat to the sound of applause, and walked over to join Hermione at the Gryffindor table.

Ron was sorted into Gryffindor like Harry and Hermione. Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder as he joined them. Marcus, however, was sorted into Ravenclaw, which he seemed to be happy about.

The headmaster – Albus Dumbledore, from the chocolate frog card – stood up, and gave a brief, peculiar speech, before sitting back down. Food appeared on the tables, and students began eating and talking amongst themselves.

Harry looked around curiously at his new housemates, and wondered what was in store for him and his new friends.