The train sets off from the station shortly after Harry finds himself an empty compartment. It's a close call, really. Hagrid, as much as Harry likes the giant of a man, is also a tad forgetful, and had failed to mention how to get onto Platform 9 ¾. Fortunately, a nice family of red-heads had helped him onto the platform.
He isn't sure if he can recall their names correctly, and he certainly isn't confident enough to go looking for them for company. Maybe if they had a child his age he would've sat with them, but it was just the three older boys and a girl who was yet to come to Hogwarts. He'll see them around the school, at the very least.
The start of the train journey is quiet, for the most part. Harry enjoys watching the countryside speed by, especially since the Dursleys very rarely took him outside of Little Whinging. There were all sorts of fields and farms Harry has only ever seen in books or on the television whenever he could sneak a peek. Maybe one day he can spend some time in one of those farms or fields; the vast open spaces were very different to the packed nature of Little Whinging - Harry thinks he might enjoy the freedom and independence they provide.
The first person Harry encounters on the train is the Trolly Witch - at least he thinks she's a witch. She has to be, right? She's selling unfamiliar yet incredibly intriguing snacks and Harry decides to purchase a little bit of everything without much deliberation.
Intriguing is the word to describe them. The Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties are delicious, in spite of their weird texture and constitution. The Acid Pops he can definitely go without, frankly - far too sour. He tries a single bean from the Bertie Bott's box and, discovering it was earwax flavour, promptly puts aside the box, though Harry has an inkling that he'll try them again if he gets bored.
What looked the most fascinating, what Harry was most excited for when he bought the sweets, was the Chocolate Frog. He doesn't actually eat the frog - it's so life like (it moves) that it'd take a fair bit of convincing for him to even think about putting it in his mouth. The card it came with, however, was very interesting. The frog dives into the box of Bertie Bott's as Harry takes the card from the case. It reminds him of the football cards Dudley collects and treasures (they were one of the few things he would manage to not damage) and he assumes that they are the wizarding equivalent.
The face of the card shows Herpo The Foul. He looks an unpleasant fellow with an unpleasant sneer and an equally unpleasant name, and, turning the card over, Harry finds a description of him. He was an Ancient Greek Dark Wizard, known for breeding the very first basilisk. It doesn't say what a basilisk is, other than being a large serpent, or what it can do with it's 'extraordinarily dangerous powers', much to Harry's disappointment. He makes a mental note to somehow look it up later. Herpo has a mischievous glint in his eye when Harry turns the card back around.
The sight of the Dark Wizard brings a thought to the forefront of Harry's mind. With what Hagrid has told him about Voldemort, and how recent he is, does that mean that Dark Wizards are common? Will he encounter any Dark Wizards, upcoming or current, when he arrives at Hogwarts? He knows it's a silly thought, it's a school after all and those types won't be allowed there for obvious reasons, but everything is decidedly odd about the wizarding world, and Harry doesn't want to rule anything out.
That oddness rears its head when a girl comes casually asking for a lost toad, a sentence Harry never thought he'd hear in his life.
"A boy named Neville's lost one," she says.
She looks to be the same age as Harry with an astonishing amount of bushy brown hair, brown eyes and a pair of slightly buck front-teeth if you look close enough.
"I haven't, sorry," Harry replies. He doesn't have much else to say, really, and he isn't one for making conversation.
The girl stands by the door for a moment longer as though expecting something, not that Harry knows what it is.
"You should get changed, you know," she eventually tells him, "We're approaching the station shortly. If you do see a toad, Neville and I are in a compartment at the front of the train so you can give it to him there."
Harry nods his affirmative and after they mutter 'thanks' to each other, the girl leaves him alone.
Following her advice, Harry gets changed into his robes and thankfully finishes before the door slamming open reveals another guest to his compartment.
"Oh, it's you," It's the blond boy from Madam Malkins, "Have you seen Harry Potter? People have been whispering about him being on board the train and I'm wondering if he's decided to show his face."
Harry decides that he definitely doesn't like him after this second impression, and the two boys standing menacingly on either side of him don't help his case.
But Harry isn't in a position to say as much.
"I haven't, sorry," he says to the boy.
The boy looks at him curiously.
"Shame," he sneers after a moment and he walks away further down the corridor with what Harry can only assume were his bodyguards, searching for the elusive Harry Potter.
The rest of the journey is relatively quiet. Every now and then someone comes by to ask if he's seen Harry Potter, though they're generally more friendly and less sneering than the other boy. He tells them he hasn't, but as more and more arrive, the more Harry worries about how he'll deal with them when they find out who he is.
He puts that issue to one side, knowing he can't do much about it now, and instead eats the rest of his purchased snacks (at least the ones he likes), even managing a streak of five tasty beans before once again putting aside the box, put-off by the earthworm flavour.
The mutterings from around the Great Hall after the announcement of Harry's name were incredibly annoying, and frankly intimidating.
Sitting atop the stool, the Sorting Hat upon his head, Harry's eyes flicker around the hall, taking in each and every person staring at him (which happens to be everyone). Some of them Harry had already met on the train; they'd been the ones to go actively looking for him. They look betrayed at the realisation that Harry had lied to them, that he was Harry Potter. Others appear to watch him with adoration, or curiosity, or even amusement.
Others look at him with disdain.
'Not Slytherin,' Harry repeats in his head, 'Not Slytherin'.
'Are you sure?' asks the Sorting Hat, 'Well, better be…'
"GRYFFINDOR!".
The House of Lions live up to their name as they roar for Harry's sorting. The disappointed groans from the other houses are easily muffled by the noise made by the Gryffindors.
Harry takes a seat next to Neville Longbottom, though numerous pats on the back from his new housemates causes him to lurch forwards repeatedly and he can't even begin to form a sentence. He really hates this.
Neville seems alright, in Harry's opinion. The girl the other side of him, Hermione Granger - the one who asked about Neville's lost toad on the train - seems nice as well, if a bit talkative. The three of them had made the boat journey across the Black Lake together, along with another girl called Morag MacDougal who was sorted into Ravenclaw shortly before Harry.
When Harry had introduced himself to them (following their own introductions), he'd been met with a mixed bag of reactions.
"Are you really? I've read all about you, of course," Hermione had said. She was excited to meet him - recalling book after book that he was mentioned in - and Harry expected that and didn't begrudge her of it, even if it was a little annoying and a sign of what was to come. What surprised him was the oddly disappointed look she gave him throughout the boat ride. He didn't like the feeling it gave him.
Morag was shell-shocked, it seemed. Meeting the famous 'Boy-Who-Lived' (Harry had heard it whispered so many times by that point - let alone now when people finally realised he was Harry - that he wondered whether or not there's a way to prevent certain words from even being said) seemed to have short-circuited her brain, and for the rest of the boat ride she sat gobsmacked staring at Harry.
Neville was clearly nervous to be meeting Harry. He had awkwardly stuck out his hand - the one not holding down a struggling toad that he must've finally found - which Harry awkwardly accepted, and avoided eye-contact with Harry for much of the journey.
Again, they seem nice.
Back in the moment, Harry's finally able to focus on the next lot of sorting, but he can still hear mutterings about him.
With polite applause following the final sorting, a boy named Blaise Zabini going into Slytherin, an old man with the most eye-catching robes and the longest beard Harry has ever seen stands up. Harry had barely taken notice of him during the sorting, trying to ignore all the mutterings and staring, especially once his name was called. Based on what Hagrid had told him previously, that must be Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster.
He says a few words, "Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak!" and sits back down.
What a strange man.
The feast is delicious.
It's like nothing Harry had ever seen. No book or television show or movie had ever shown something as grand as the feast in front of him.
Though he couldn't take his mind off the constant muttering, the constant mentions of his name or his already despised moniker: the 'Boy-Who-Lived'.
Harry tries to focus his mind on the conversations happening on his table.
"How much homework should I expect to do for each class?" Harry hears Hermione Granger ask Percy Weasley - one of the boys who helped him onto the platform, Harry noticed when he introduced himself - who had a shiny prefect badge placed proudly on his chest.
"As a first year, you should expect about twenty to thirty minutes of homework for each lesson. Some teachers, like Professor McGonagall - she does Transfiguration - issue homework for every lesson. Others, such as Professor Flitwick - your Charms teacher - generally only issues homework to those who struggle in class, or as pre-work for the next lesson."
Hermione looks oddly disappointed by this (did she want more homework?); the same look she had given Harry on the boat ride. Harry thinks she might be a bit mad.
Harry hears his name again, though this time it's louder, seemingly more direct. He turns his head towards the source and, looking at the Ravenclaw table, he sees a group of older girls staring at him and giggling.
"Do you want to come join us, Harry?" one of them stage-whispers, batting her eyelashes, "I'm sure we're more entertaining than that lot you're sat with." The other girls giggle again.
Harry scowls and turns away.
He wishes everyone would just be quiet.
"What do you think, Harry?"
He wishes that they'd stop staring at him, stop talking about him behind his back, or even to his face for that matter.
"Harry?"
He wishes he was back at the Dursleys, where no one gave a toss about him, where they'd ignore him with all their might.
"Harry?"
"Oh could you please just shut up," Harry snaps.
The group around him goes quiet. Harry puts his head in his hands, desperately ignoring the intrusive stares being sent his way.
"Prick," he hears someone mutter.
The rest of the feast is filled with an awkward tension. Harry miserably pokes at his food for the next fifteen or so minutes, the only comfort coming when Dumbledore stands up once more, easing the feeling of many eyes searing into him.
Dumbledore makes his second speech, something about a Forbidden Forest and a Forbidden corridor, but Harry's only half-listening. All he wants is for everyone to shut up about him, he just wants to go to bed and sleep, he just wants his parents back so he'd have nothing to be famous for. He wants to go back to Little Whinging where he was no one and would forever be no one.
Harry's first couple weeks at Hogwarts aren't particularly great.
He quickly develops a reputation of being cold, distant, and rude. A prick, in a succinct word.
Harry's mostly fine with that perception of him; if it manages to keep people from talking to him, he couldn't complain, though some don't seem perturbed by his off-putting attitude. They offer to let him hang out with them when he's in the library doing homework, or relaxing in the Transfiguration Courtyard, enjoying the sun whenever it decides to come out. He tries to ignore them, but if they don't get the message, he walks away.
His classes go alright. Harry picks up the practical aspects of magic fairly quickly; he's more often than not able to cast the spell being taught adequately by the end of the lesson and then help Neville. They partner together in most of their classes, but don't hang out outside of them. The only person that frequently beats Harry is Hermione Granger, and he learns early on that it's best to not try and keep up with her. She'll win every time.
The theoretical aspects are a struggle, though. A lot of his time in the library is spent going over the theory, but that doesn't always help and, as a result, his homework is subpar in comparison to his classwork.
"Another P, Potter," Snape will snarl when he hands his Potions homework back to him, this time on Flobberworm Mucus. Harry hates Snape, and Snape hates him. They don't pretend otherwise.
Harry also hates Defence Against The Dark Arts, though more the classroom than the actual subject itself - even so, Harry doesn't think Professor Quirrell is any good at teaching the subject either - it gives him a headache. Must be the stench of garlic.
Hagrid invites him to afternoon tea. He accepts, happy that he'll be able to talk to someone he considers a friend. It's nice to be able to talk to someone without snapping at them, though part-way through tea Harry's distracted by the Daily Prophet front page on Hagrid's table. Gringotts had been broken into the day Harry went there, specifically the vault Hagrid took a package from. Tea ends shortly after that and Harry tries to put the article out of his mind.
In the library, he finds a small desk to work at so no one tries to sit down with him. Most everyone goes to the library at some point or another. Ravenclaws aren't there as often as Harry thought they would be, but whispers of their own personal library in their common room explained that mystery.
Hermione Granger is there all the time, however. She's always sitting in the eyesight of Harry's desk with that disappointed look on her face whenever she looks at him. It's starting to get on his nerves.
"Would you stop looking at me like that?" Harry snaps at her one day. They were sat in the common room by the fire and she had given him one disappointed look too many.
"Like what?" she replies, confused. She isn't doing it consciously. Harry's a little miffed by his own aggression.
"Like I just killed your puppy," he mutters, turning back to the Astronomy chart he was filling in.
There's a long moment of silence before Hermione speaks again.
"You're different from what I expected."
Harry looks up at her. She's avoiding his gaze, playing with her quill.
"Excuse me?"
"I read all about you before we came here, I didn't know of you until I went to Flourish and Blotts for the first time and saw you mentioned a lot in the books I bought. You're nothing like how you're described in them."
Harry realises only then that she's a muggleborn. That surprises him but he isn't sure why. She's always correctly answering questions in class, seemingly more knowledgeable than anyone else, even those in the years above, and her spellwork is second-to-none, so he must've subconsciously assumed she was at least a half-blood. He's impressed by her. But still annoyed.
"So you're disappointed that I'm not what? A knight in shining armour? Do you want me to give you an autograph? A photo, perhaps?"
Harry's being rude but he knows he shouldn't be. He can't help it.
"No," she says quietly, still not looking at him.
"What then?"
Hermione goes silent again. Harry returns to his work but he can hardly focus.
"I thought you'd be kinder," she whispers eventually.
That gives Harry pause, and an ache somewhere inside him.
"I'm sorry I was wrong," Hermione says, and packs up her things before walking to her dorm.