August 31 st , 1991
Unbeknownst to the Dursleys, it was Harry's last day in Little Whinging.
Their oblivion wasn't due to any forgetfulness on Harry's part; quite the opposite – the more he thought about doing it, the harder it was to face. The simple - albeit unavoidable - conversation had gone from seeming effortless to impossible. No matter how he sliced it, difficulties inevitably awaited him.
First of which was his uncle. No matter how stupid the man acted, he wasn't an idiot; his profession told that much. Vernon wouldn't want to betray the most forsaken Dursley family traditions: not giving Harry what he wants. Perhaps those watery eyes would see the shorter end of the stick, what with having to do his own laundry and prepare his own meals – no, wait... he'd make Petunia do them.
The magic itself was a whole different issue. Just saying the word "magic" around his uncle had gotten Harry locked up for two weeks before, and he couldn't imagine handing the obese loaf more justification for exaggerated punishments. His uncle's apoplexy from hearing the word would blow the door wide open, kick civilized conversation into the street, and graciously welcome the belt into the threshold.
Two things were decided immediately. One: he would go to Hogwarts no matter what. Not just because he wanted to, but because Mrs. Figg had theretofore made its importance abundantly clear. Two: he would take no shit from his Aunt and Uncle, no matter what they said or did. If it came to it, he would shoot some sparks at their dessert pudding or, Harry thought amusedly, Vernon's mustache.
He brainstormed for the right words to say, the right order to say them in, the right emotions to display; his mind pulsed like a metronome ticking down the moments he had left.
A calm evening melded into a still night. Clouds retreated like great doors, allowing the starlight to shine down on Little Whinging as darkness filled their stellar gaps.
Harry could be found sitting in his cupboard, sitting silently as a shadow. On the outside, he appeared still, but his mind was racing. He could hear that the Dursleys were having a late dinner, courtesy of some bullshit excuse about drills from his uncle, but Harry didn't mind. He had already eaten.
No sounds could be heard from the dining room besides the scraping of silverware, but it was by no means quiet. The piercing tones of forks against plates were almost a language to Harry; easily interpreted: Petunia was angry about Vernon's tardiness and lies, so she wasn't talking to him. Neither parent had reason to talk to Dudley, who usually had his mouth full anyway, so the dining room naturally fell into an uncomfortable but mutual silence. It was incredible how easily Harry could identify it – but repetition leads to memorization.
Harry realized no better time would appear, so he rose. He entered the kitchen quietly and cautiously, trying to keep his nervous shivers in check, vowing to show confidence, no matter how artificial. Their approval, or lack thereof, would make no difference, but he had to inform them either way. He gripped his wand tightly in his hoodie's oversized pocket.
He took a seat at the table with his family and looked around at them. Nobody acknowledged his arrival beside Dudley, who shot him a questioning glare as he scooped fourth helpings of microwave potatoes onto his plate. His aunt was staring at her plate, which she had barely touched, and his uncle was gazing unblinkingly at the television that was parallel to the table.
Even though this family sat together, went on vacation together, took photos together – they were all alone, and Harry could see it in their watery, unblinking eyes. Unlike Harry, they hadn't yet found solace in their solitude, and it was depressing to see.
"Er... Aunt Petunia? Uncle Vernon?"
His uncle grunted.
"Do you believe in magic?" he asked casually.
The back of Vernon's neck turned red, and he replied in a low, dangerous voice, "What did you say, boy?"
Dudley's fork stopped halfway to his mouth, and Petunia lifted her gaze in alarm. His uncle turned away from the television, piercing Harry with a razor-sharp glare.
"W-well, I-" Harry stuttered, his confidence faltering. "I... was just wondering, you know, if you think it's real..."
"If... what ... is real?" his uncle spat.
"Er..."
"Spit it out,"
"M-magic...?"
"MAGIC IS NOT REAL !" Vernon roared, practically shaking the house around them. Harry flinched.
"Vernon, calm yourself," she snapped. She looked at Harry with an undistinguishable emotion on her face, and when she spoke, it was in a careful, almost cautious tone very unlike her usual shrillness. "You're ten this year?"
"Er... eleven, I'm Dudley's age," Harry replied quietly; he was still shaken and slightly deafened from his uncle. His aunt closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"You got that wretched letter," she said quietly.
Harry's mind went blank.
"What letter, Petunia?" Vernon asked her suspiciously.
"The one I told you about, Vernon, the one she got."
Harry's and Vernon's eyes both widened.
"What, from warthogs , or whatever? That school for deranged – her lot?" Vernon stammered.
" What?" Harry was incredulous. All his preparation went out the window. " You know about Hogwarts?!"
" Of course I do, stupid boy." Petunia replied venomously. "My sister went for fucks sake; I couldn't forget it if I tried."
"Petunia, what's going on?" Vernon asked.
Harry's voice raised. "You knew? You knew about... well - all of it, and you said nothing?!"
" KNEW ABOUT WHAT?" Vernon yelled. He didn't enjoy being ignored.
"YOU KNEW THAT I'M A WIZARD, AND YOU KEPT IT FROM ME! YOU ALSO LIED ABOUT MY PARENTS!"
" SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH, YOU LITTLE SON OF A BITCH" Vernon roared; his face red as beets. "YOUR PATHETIC FAILURES OF PARENTS DIED IN A CAR CRASH, AS THEY DESERVED TO!"
Harry drew his wand and stuck it against his uncle's neck, speaking in a mockery of his uncle's low, dangerous voice. " Don't talk about my parents that way."
"What the bloody hell is this, Petunia?"
Harry responded for her. "You need to know your bloody place, Uncle Vernon , and right now that isn't here. Get out." He motioned at the door to the hallway with his wand. Pent-up anger from years of abuse was rising to the surface – the urge to curse him was barely containable.
"DON'T YOU DARE TALK TO ME THAT WAY, BOY! Get that fucking stick out of my face-"
Harry filled Vernon's face with sparks, perhaps more vigorously than he meant to, and everyone went still.
Harry put his face close to his uncle's and whispered, "Magic is real, and I'm not scared of you anymore." Vernon's eyes darted to the wand, then to Petunia, who reflected Harry's own warning in her gaze. "Get out. Take Dudley with you." Vernon grudgingly obliged; the wand seemed to scare him. A wet spot appeared in Dudley's pants as the pair retreated to the hall.
"If it's a car ride you want, you could've just asked, really, anything to get you out-"
"What's your problem?" Harry spat, interrupting her. "Jealous of my mother, are you? Just because she was born magical and you weren't?"
" Jealous? Jealous of what? Jealous that she could shoot sparks out of a stick?" She scoffed. "It didn't get her very far."
Anger flooded Harry, it was pumping through his veins like blood, burning his fingertips as they curled around his wand.
"Any respect I had for my sister was lost when she married that freak of a husband. I wanted nothing to do with her then, and I still don't. You really think you'd still be here if I had the choice?" She scoffed again. "No. I'd have chucked you in the dumpster behind the orphanage where you belong."
Calm down, Harry told himself. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore his aunt's hate-filled words, but they still pried their way through.
"Wait- if you had a choice?" Harry asked, realizing what she'd said.
"What?"
"So someone else made you lock me up under the stairs for ten years?"
"Did you not hear what I just said? You'd be gone if it were up to me."
Harry saw right through her words: even if she couldn't get rid of him, it was still her choice to abuse him, and the hate was certainly real. He decided that anything else she had to say wasn't worth hearing.
"I'm sleeping at Mrs. Figg's house. You'll pick me up there tomorrow morning at seven and take me to King's Cross Station. Then, thank Merlin, we won't see each other for a long time."
And he left, passing his uncle and cousin in the hall, who had their ears pressed against the door. Fists clenched, tears welling, and hatred growing, he ran down the moonlit street.
~~~~H~P~~~~
Harry grabbed his trunk from the cupboard under the stairs of #9, Wisteria Walk. Mrs. Figg was asleep; they had said their goodbyes the night before – he insisted that she shouldn't wake up early on his behalf.
A glance at the clock on the wall: 6:45. He was quietly dragging all his school supplies to the front door when something squawked at him from the kitchen.
Harry's investigation revealed that the squawk came from a glorious snowy owl sitting in a cage on the counter. A golden gift bow sat neatly on top, and a note hung down by a string.
Harry, I know you enjoyed Crookshanks' companionship, so I wanted to get you a pet of your own. When I walked into Eeylops, this beautiful snowy owl quite literally screamed at me, and I knew she'd be perfect, so here she is. I hope you like her and have a great year at Hogwarts!
P.S. - Her name's Hedwig.
He smiled down at the owl, who gazed up at him with large amber eyes.
Ten minutes later, Harry loaded his trunk into the back of the Dursleys' station wagon and climbed in, placing Hedwig's cage in the back seat next to him. This provoked a nasty glare from Petunia, who asked, "What the hell is that?"
"It's an owl, what does it look like?"
The car ride was long and silent, interrupted only a few times by Hedwig's feather-ruffling or quite hooting. It seemed that neither Harry nor Petunia had anything to say to each other, and that was just as well. The clock outside of King's Cross Station read ten-thirty when they arrived.
Petunia stopped unceremoniously outside of the building, saying nothing. Her silence itself spoke to him, clearly stating, "get out already".
"I'd thank you for the car ride, but why waste gratitude," Harry said. "You know how they say, 'It's been a pleasure?' It hasn't."
He hoisted his trunk out onto the sidewalk, and before he could even close the door the car sped away; the force of its acceleration pushing the door closed as it disappeared into the heavy London traffic.
Good-bye, Harry thought sarcastically. So far, he had surpassed every barrier keeping him from the magical world except one – a literal barrier that he... had to walk through? He didn't completely trust the loopy words residing on the back of his ticket.
He put his luggage on a cart and wheeled it into the station. It was busy: people were crisscrossing across the huge floor, talking loudly among themselves. Don't Stop Me Now could be heard, barely audible, from the overhead speakers. His luxurious owl attracted some strange glances, but nobody did anything more than whisper behind their hands, which he was used to; that was the public school experience for a scrawny, strange kid with broken glasses and no friends.
He passed a large ginger family arguing fiercely. The youngest girl's face was as red as her hair, and her arms were folded tightly. "Why can't I go? I'm only a year younger than Ron," she whined.
He nonchalantly passed them and arrived at the barrier between the platforms. People were scattered around the area, taking idle glances at the barrier every few seconds. Clearly, he wasn't the only one who didn't know how to get through.
A short minute later, the same red-headed family appeared, offering Harry a better look at them. There was an older woman, he assumed the mother, who was rather larger than her slender sons, of which there were three: Ron, as he had learned from the little sister, was taller than the others but had a younger face and lanky stature. The other two appeared to be identical twins, completely identical; Harry could tell them apart only by their differently colored shirts of maroon and orange. Lastly, there was the small girl. She still seemed distressed, and her words clicked in Harry's mind. She was seeing her brothers off but was too young to join them.
"Alright," the older woman started, "Ronald, you go through first."
At her words, the tallest boy nervously pushed his cart toward the barrier, accelerating to a run shortly before the barrier. Harry braced himself for a thunderous crash, but none came. "Ronald" simply vanished through it.
"Fred, you're next," the plump woman said, motioning at one of the twins.
"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the twin. "Honestly woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"
"Sorry, George, dear."
"Only joking, I am Fred," said the twin, and he too disappeared through the barrier. After the rest of the family had disappeared, Harry looked around, expecting someone else to go, but was disappointed when they all looked at him expectantly, recognition briefly flashing across some of their faces. He pushed his cart to the barrier, remembering what his ticket said. Do not hesitate. He walked quickly toward it, nearly running, bracing himself – and slid ride through it onto a different platform entirely.
A violently scarlet steam engine blew its whistle on the tracks adjacent to the walkway. He glanced at the sign: Platform 9¾. He barely had time to process the fantastical environment before he heard, "Golly, is that who I think it is?" from somewhere on his right. Subconsciously brushing his unruly bangs over his scar, he took off in the other direction, intending to find a bench where he could double-check his trunk.
He took a seat on the far side of the platform where there were fewer people and observed the conglomeration of wizards interweaving and interacting within itself. Most of them were dressed in wizarding robes and tall hats, but like Diagon Alley, some had poor interpretations of Muggle attire strung across their bodies. About a third of the crowd looked confused and dazed, another third incredibly nervous, and the rest like they were merely visiting a good friend's house. He saw a set of twin girls, a boy with a toad resting atop his head, and another boy who seemed to have set his hair on fire; smoke was rising from his black eyebrows. The diverse crowd was like an ink blot: it looked different every time Harry shifted his gaze.
After a few minutes, he decided to board the train. He walked over to the entrance nearest him and hoisted his trunk into the car, where he quickly found an empty compartment – the train seemed to have a lot of extra room. With great difficulty, he put his trunk onto the luggage rack above him and sat down by the window, where his mother's emerald-green eyes were reflected at him in the glass. He gently removed his taped glasses, laid his head back, and shut his eyes in relief.
~~~~H~P~~~~
As the train made its way across the countryside, Harry stared out the window at the passing fields, cliffs, mountains, and lakes, his wand twirling idly between his fingers. He was itching to try some spells, but he didn't know if they were allowed on the train.
He was contentedly alone in his compartment for several hours. Occasionally he would see people pass the compartment door through the square of glass on it, but none of them stopped or noticed him. It was four in the afternoon when someone finally opened the door, startling him out of his daydreams, and greeted him warmly.
"Would you like anything off the cart, dear?" She motioned to the cart she was pushing, which was covered in a wide assortment of wizarding sweets and confectionery. Harry, who had forgotten to eat that morning and, if he was being honest, had not expected a twelve-hour train ride, dug his money bag out of his trunk.
Long had he awaited the luxury of buying whatever he wanted, so he treated himself. While he was requesting various treats from the plump cart-witch, a toad hopped its way into his compartment through the open door. Harry sat back down across from the toad, his money bag several galleons lighter.
He opened a chocolate frog first, which to his surprise jumped right out of his hand, bouncing across the compartment before coming to a rest next to the toad seated across from him. They both stared unseeingly at Harry, throats expanding with lazy breaths. The sight of his food breathing was unsettling; He pushed away the rest of the chocolate frogs.
He noticed the packaging also contained a small card labeled "Albus Dumbledore". A long-bearded, white-haired, and grand-looking wizard stairs up at him from the front of it. The back of the card sported a small paragraph about his accomplishments in various fields of magic. So that's Dumbledore, Harry thought. Before his eyes, Dumbledore simply walked out of the frame and disappeared; Harry pocketed the card.
For nearly an hour he sat rotting his teeth out but barely made a dent in his pile. This was mainly by fault of the "Never-ending jawbreaker – exclusive gift inside!" which Harry took an embarrassing amount of time to realize was not worth eleven sickles.
The packaging on his fourth pumpkin pasty was rather stubborn. While he was trying to cut it open with a discrete diffindo , a bushy-haired witch in his year opened the compartment door. As she spoke, Harry could see a pair of slightly bucked teeth.
"Have you seen a toad around here, by chance? Neville's lost him," she said in a slightly bossy voice. The toad stared stupidly at Harry.
"Well, this one's been staring at me for a straight hour," Harry said, gesturing at the toad, "he came in with the sweets cart, I think,"
The girl turned down the hall and yelled, "Neville, I've found Trevor!" A few moments later a short, chubby wizard appeared next to the witch, panting heavily. He walked into the compartment, hastily scooping up "Trevor". The chocolate frog jumped out of the slit window.
"Thanks, he keeps getting away from me," the boy said. "I'm Neville, and this is Hermione."
"Harry," he greeted. Recognition dawned on Hermione's face, but instead of staring at his scar, her eyes went straight to his wand, which was still pointed at the pumpkin pasty in his lap.
"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."
Here goes nothing, Harry thought nervously. He made a shaky cutting motion with the tip of his wand, muttering " Diffindo " under his breath. The package split open neatly, and the pasty fell apart into three pieces. It wasn't Harry's intention, but at least he didn't set his hair on fire. He handed a piece each to Neville and Hermione.
"Finally, someone else who opened a book before they came to Hogwarts," she said, stuffing the pasty in her mouth and sitting down across from him. "When I was looking for Trevor, this one boy tried to turn his rat yellow with some childish rhyme about sunshine and daisies. Honestly, I'd expected people to be more prepared for school, given its importance – I've read the entire book list for this year, I just hope it's enough, the classes are supposed to be quite difficult and I justwannabeprepared, because -"
"Shut it, beavermouth," said a drawling voice from the open doorway. Standing there was a snarling boy with white-blonde hair flanked by two massive cronies.
The blonde boy glanced at Harry's forehead. "You're Harry Potter," he said matter-of-factly. " I'm Draco Malfoy – Pureblood. You're a half-blood, right? You've got some purity left – a don't waste it hanging around the wrong type," he took a disgusted glance at Hermione and extended his hand. Mrs. Figg had warned him about blood purists – essentially just a bunch of racist and fanatical dickheads. Harry looked distastefully at Malfoy's hand.
"I think I can judge ' the wrong type' for myself, thanks," Harry said casually. "I think you should apologize to Hermione." There was no threat or demand in his voice. Malfoy laughed coldly.
"That was your one chance, Potter, and you chose wrong." Malfoy's bodyguards cracked their knuckles as he turned to leave, which Harry had no intention of letting him do without an apology. He really thought he could just barge into Harry's compartment, insult a random person twice, and then leave?
Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy. " Carpe Retractum ," he muttered, pulling his wand back like a rope and causing Malfoy to stumble backward into the compartment. "Apologize to Hermione," he repeated politely.
Malfoy quickly regained his composure, the anger evident on his face. "Piss off, Potter, she's just a filthy mudblood."
Neville gasped. Harry didn't know what mudblood meant, but it sounded bad. He tugged his wand back again, this time making Malfoy fall backward to the ground.
"Name-calling should have proper provocation. That's why, if she feels, Hermione is perfectly justified to call you an arse," Malfoy's bodyguards took a step forward. "Now, friends, I just want Malfoy here to apologize for being rude to Hermione." He addressed the boy on the ground. "Any pride that you were trying to protect is surely gone now anyways, so please be polite."
He pocketed his wand and leaned back in his seat. Malfoy stood up slowly, a murderous look on his face. He turned to face a very shocked Hermione. "...I'm... Saw-ree," h e said through gritted teeth, and immediately left the compartment, slamming the door behind him so hard that the glass shattered.
"You really didn't have to do that, you know," Hermione said sheepishly. " Reparo ." The glasses flew together and slid neatly into the window.
"If he talks to everyone that way, I reckon he had it coming," Harry said, popping a fizzy candy in his mouth. He realized that Draco reminded him of Dudley. "Besides, he really got on my nerves,"
"Are you kidding? That was great!" Neville said, an awed expression on his face. "You are Harry Potter, then. Can I see it?"
Harry briefly lifted his bangs, revealing the lightning-bolt scar that defiled his forehead as Neville took a seat next to Hermione. He continued to stare even after Harry covered it with his hair.
"It's super cool, I know," Harry said sarcastically. "Handy, too. I never have to introduce myself,"
"What spell was that, anyway?" asked Hermione, "I've never seen it before. Was it in our books this year?"
"Carpe Retractum ," Harry said, pulling Neville's toad away from his pile of candies. "It's like an invisible rope, I guess...
"Feel free to have some, by the way," Harry said, gesturing at the sweets. "I reckon I bought too much."
The trio talked for a while. Neville and Hermione properly introduced themselves, which Harry had no reason to do, given that the only exciting things about him were already in newspapers and history books. He learned that his first impression of Hermione was pretty much accurate ; she was a complete bookworm obsessed with learning and her laugh was contagious, especially when it made her huge mane of springy hair bounce up and down. She was Muggle-born, as Malfoy had pointed out rather offensively according to Neville. Her parents were dentists.
Neville was on the opposite side of the "pure-blood spectrum" from Malfoy He was more of the nervous type but extremely respectful and polite. He confessed that his main trait was forgetfulness.
The topic of conversation wavered for a bit before landing on the Sorting.
"What's the sorting?" Harry asked Neville, who looked at him in slight disbelief.
"It's where we get sorted into our Hogwarts house. My grandma said they do some kind of test , I think. I don't remember that well, "
At Harry's bemused expression, Hermione clarified, "There are four houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin," she folded her hands in her lap. "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
" I better not be in Slytherin," said Neville, shivering. " Gran said she'd disown me,"
"A lot of dark wizards have come from Slytherin," said Hermione. "You-Know-You did,"
"I'd bet ten galleons that's where Malfoy will end up," Harry said grimly. Hermione out the window at the setting sun.
"I reckon we'll be there soon. I'll leave you two to change." She got up and left the pair of boys sitting awkwardly.
Harry had no intention of changing in front of Neville, who seemed to feel the same.
After changing in the bathroom. He returned to the compartment where Hermione and Neville were both waiting in their school robes. The train came to a stop at the station – well, maybe station was an overstatement – and students started pouring out onto the walkways.
The trio walked out onto the platform , where the crowd channeled them toward an extremely large man calling the first years. When a sizeable group had accumulated, he cleared his throat.
"My name's Hagrid," he spoke over the crowd, "I'm the gamekeeper here at Hogwarts. If all the firs' years could follow me..."
They started down a slight slope that led away from the platform; moonlit water shone through the trees as they followed the trail down toward it. They turned the final corner, where a vast lake reflected a colossal stone castle that drew gasps from many of the students. Its dark towers and turrets pierced the low clouds, and torchlight shimmered through endless columns of windows. A colony of boats was butted against the shore.
"Breathtaking, innit?" Hagrid chuckled, smiling down at their awed faces. " Alrigh ', four to a boat max, yeah? No sneaks." He climbed into his own boat.
Harry, Neville, and Hermione got into the same boat, and around them, people boarded their own. When everyone was sitting comfortably the boats pushed off the shore, and they drifted silently across the water, leaving no wake. Harry turned to look back at the shore, where a healthy number of boats lie forgotten and empty, slowly sinking into the water as the students drifted away.
They soon arrived in a boathouse on the other side of the lake; the castle towered above them. Up a grand stone staircase, they walked toward a massive wooden door that opened dramatically as they approached. An older witch dressed in a green suede robe and a tall, pointed hat greeted them.
"Welcome, first-years, I'm Professor McGonagall. The sorting ceremony will begin shortly."
Her eyes raked across the woeful crowd. "There you will be sorted into one of the four houses. During the next seven years of your education, your house will be your family. You will sleep in the house dorms, spend free time in your house common room, and earn points for your house. I am the head of Gryffindor, Professor Flitwick is the head of Ravenclaw, Professor Snape is the head of Slytherin, and Professor Sprout is the head of Hufflepuff. We all look forward to your joining us. "
The doors closed behind them as they entered. Harry looked around the high-ceilinged entrance hall: suits of armor stood silently on their stands, and grand windows of stained glass lined the walls, refracting a spectrum of moonlight across the cold stone floor. Many of the first years were talking quietly among themselves, gazing around at the walls, muttering their anticipations to each other.
McGonagall slipped through the door and pulled Hagrid aside. Harry, whom the crowd had channeled near the wall, was rather close to the pair. Their hushed speech was clearly audible to him:
"This is all of them?" McGonagall whispered, arms crossed tightly across her chest.
"Sure is, counted em ' meself," Hagrid replied in a hushed voice.
"And how many are there?"
"Forty,"
" Only forty ? How many were there last year, two hundred? And the year before that, four hundred? I've never seen the hall so empty,"
"I dunno what to tell yer, Professor-"
"Harry is here?"
"I've no idea which one he is, but he's here. Mus' be,"
"He's got a damn lightning bolt on his forehead!"
Hagrid stared at her. "With all due respect, Professor, most of em ' got hair. I can check if yer want me ter-"
"No need, Hagrid," she said, twirling her thumbs, "we'll know soon enough."
The nature of the conversation was slightly alarming and made Harry wonder if he was in trouble. Surely he'd done nothing wrong; he'd been there for two minutes, just peacefully observing the environment and other students. He hadn't even moved.
"The hall is prepared," McGonagall called out, "please follow me."
Harry fell into line near the back and walked into a wide corridor running perpendicular to them. Another huge set of wooden doors opened to dying chatter as they crossed the threshold.
Four long tables stretched the entire length of the massive hall. Massive banners hung above the respective tables of their houses: Harry recognized the serpent, lion, eagle, and badger emblazoned onto the different badges as described by Neville. A fifth, raised table lay at the end, perpendicular to the rest, where the professors were seated. To call the hall high ceilinged would be an understatement – the walls seemingly extended into the night sky above.
"It's bewitched to look like the sky above it," Hermione whispered to Neville. "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
The group of first-years arrived at the far end of the hall, where McGonagall stopped them. She retrieved a small stool, which she placed before them, and laid an ancient, dusty, and battered hat upon it. A muggle magic trick flew to the forefront of Harry's mind, making him grin as the entire hall stared intently at the brown wizarding cap. The silence was palpable.
A ripped seam suddenly tore wide open and a great voice resonated from the hat. It stood upon the stool (if that's what hats do) and burst into song:
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 hat fell limp once more amidst gales of cheering, but Harry did not join in. He was troubled – the hat was going to read his mind; something he wasn't supposed to let happen under any circumstances.
He was expected to put on the hat, however... as everyone else did. The last thing he wanted was to be polarized further from his classmates, and denying the Sorting Hat would surely draw unwanted attention.
As for when the hat came off: he expected that Hermione would end up in Ravenclaw, she certainly seemed the brainy and witty type that was described in the song. Neville, if he had to guess, would be in Hufflepuff.
His drafted ideas of which house he belonged to – Ravenclaw – faded as he gazed around the hall. The only differences between the houses, it seemed, were the accents of their clothes, and their attitudes toward the other houses.
McGonagall stepped forward, a long scroll pouring out of her hands. "When I call your name, take a seat on the stool here ," she said. "Abbott, Hannah."
A blonde girl nervously stepped forward. She took a seat and put on the hat, which went past her eyes. All was silent for several seconds before, "HUFFLEPUFF!" She walked with shaking legs to the Hufflepuff table, a look of obvious relief on her face, where she was welcomed by cheers and applause.
Harry observed as many students adorned the hat. They all took different amounts of time to be sorted and rose from the stool with different expressions, which he used to amuse himself, sarcastically pondering what ran through their heads as they walked to their house table.
Neville was, to Harry's surprise, sorted into Gryffindor. In a way, it confirmed a suspicion he had about Neville – that there was more about him than meets the eye. Hermione, to his further surprise, was also sorted into Gryffindor. Harry liked to think of himself as a good judge of character, but he clearly didn't know his new friends very well . But hey, it was something to work on.
Harry soon found himself the last waiting to be sorted. Pondering eyes pierced him from every direction, prodding at his bangs, threatening to push them aside and reveal who he was. He closed his eyes and waited for his name to be called.
"Potter, Harry."
The hall's collective inhales left the room void of sound. Hundreds of prying eyes were wrenching at Harry, boring into him like tiny drills. He sat down, trying to ignore the countless necks craning toward him, and dropped the hat on his head. To his relief, it covered is eyes. A voice sounded from far away, he heard it not with his ears, but with his mind; it was as if the voice was coming from in his head.
"Harry Potter..." whispered the hat, tickling his mind. "Let's see... Intelligent, you've been studying... lots of determination... a thirst to prove yourself... quite an introvert," the hat paused. "My, my, such a tragic past and – what's this? A tragic future..."
Harry grimaced.
" You've got something to say, eh?" the hat growled. "Speak up, boy. I don't get much conversation,"
You can see everything in my head, then?
"Yes, I can. I do have some respect for privacy, but certain ...things... are unavoidable."
You know, then?
"Yes, it's right at the front of your mind. You think about it often."
Harry couldn't think of a response.
"I may be just a hat, but I've been burdened with infinite memory. I've read every mind that's passed through this school – and I don't forget. I could recall every single detail of your parents' minds from all those years ago... but I know better.
When nobody is wearing me, I feel nothing at all. My entire existence has consisted of a thousand Sortings and hundreds of thousands of different minds. I've collected the events of the wizarding world through these minds, piecing it together in the uncomfortable moments that I am worn. I know who you are, why you are here, and what you are destined to do."
...Er...Why are you telling me this?
"You are a very important wizard, Harry Potter; Not a single mind in the past thirteen years has been void of you. Your burden is too heavy and has been placed too young, but you can use it to your benefit. Continue training. Continue learning. Most importantly of all – continue living. Don't let it take over your entire life as I fear it will. There are parts of the mind even the host can't see... It's where the true character lies. In all my years panning through minds like novels, I've never read a more tragic story – but I've never seen more potential. Don't waste it."
The hat paused for a few seconds.
"Onto your Sorting, then... I must admit I almost prematurely sorted you into Slytherin. The initial tragedy I saw, the frustration, the guilt, the anger, even the strange hatred you have tucked away – it fit fell. I had to tell myself to keep searching; the Boy Who Lived couldn't be so simple, and what a horribly ironic placement it would be. Your beliefs, virtues, fiery determination, unceasing selflessness, and the absolute acceptance of the future that was forced upon you tell me plainly that you are truly, undeniably, a GRYFFINDOR!"
He heard the last word yelled from the hat's brim, a stark contrast to the soft voice in his mind. The hall was filled with the loudest cheering yet – and suddenly, the dark, strangely comforting depths of the hat were gone, and he returned to reality, where he was in front of the entire school sitting on a tiny stool with a massive hat hanging over his face.
" Good luck, Harry Potter..." the hat whispered as he shed it. The Gryffindor table was cheering wildly, and the ginger twins yelled "We got Potter! We got Potter!" He handed the hat to McGonagall, who quietly welcomed him to Gryffindor, offering a small but genuine smile. He shook her hand and walked down to the Gryffindor table.
By the time he could sit, it seemed like every Gryffindor had shaken his hand or slapped him on the back. He absentmindedly returned their greetings and welcomes but couldn't get his mind off what the hat had said. Besides, if he was willing to give them his full attention, he still wouldn't know how to go about it. Crowds were quite new to him – having been to London only on very rare occasions. It was also one thing to be part of the crowd, like in Diagon Alley, versus being in the center of the crowd, as he was now. Everyone was treating him with uncanny carefulness and respect like he was fragile.
The table was covered in shiny golden goblets, plates, and cutleries; the prospect of food making his stomach thunder. The unexpectedly long train ride had starved him, so he turned to his fellow Gryffindors.
"Any idea when these plates become – not empty?" Harry asked timidly, but a loud tapping sounded from the teacher's table. Dumbledore was standing and tapping the tip of his wand on his goblet, magically magnifying the sound across the hall.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
He sat back down to roars of laughter and applause. Harry stared at the old man, amused but befuddled. "Is he... a bit mad?" he asked no one in particular.
"Mad?" was a taller red-headed boy's reply. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"
His eyes went wider than his mouth if that was possible. Before him lay mounds of food stacked high and low. Without a moment's loss, he delved into the various receptacles and nearly gorged himself Ancient-Rome-style for ten minutes. He didn't talk to anyone; he just ate like he never had in his life.
After practically inhaling all the food around him, he sat back in his chair and looked around. On his left sat Hermione and Neville; the former explaining how thoroughly excited for classes she was, and the latter occasionally replying with nervous laughter at her enthusiasm. On his right sat several other first years whom he had learned to names of through his mid-meal observations. There was Seamus immediately to his right, who still had singed eyebrows, and Dean, a black boy with a kind face. Across from Harry were several members of the prominent red-headed family he had seen so many times, including Fred, George, Ronald, and their older brother Percy, who had offered Harry some potatoes. Further down the table, Harry saw a ghost pull its head (nearly) clean off its neck, provoking screams from some Gryffindor girls nearby. Any trace of an appetite left Harry at the sight.
He yawned, looking up at the High Table. In the middle sat Dumbledore, eyes twinkling as he looked merrily around the hall. McGonagall was taking large gulps of wine from her goblet, trying to ignore conversation with a ghost next to her. Hagrid was seated next to an extremely small man with brilliantly large eyes, and they were chuckling together in shocking juxtaposition. His attention was caught by a large purple turban.
It seemed one of the teachers had wrapped the turban around their head, which while looking peculiar, gave the strange impression that they had no face while they were turned away, as the man was at that moment. He was talking with a greasy, long-haired and long-nosed man dressed in all black.
The sallow-faced wizard glanced past the turban, right into Harry's eyes, and the man wearing the turban twisted in his seat. A sudden and sharp pain shot through his scar.
His recoil was noticed by Percy. "You alright there, Harry?" he asked.
"Yeah, just an itch." He replied vaguely, rubbing his forehead. He looked back at the raven-like teacher, hoping to catch his eye again, but he had returned to conversation with the turbaned man beside him.
Dumbledore rose, and the hall fell silent once more. "To our first-years, welcome! To our former students, welcome back! I know a good feast always leaves one drowsy – but before you go to your dorms, I have some announcements.
"First-years will be given their schedules during breakfast tomorrow, and lessons will commence immediately afterward. I understand the castle can be intimidating at first, so if you need some directions, don't hesitate to ask – but avoid Peeves, if you can, you will get no help from him.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the next few weeks by your house's Quidditch Captain, please refer to the house board in your respective common rooms for the proper dates and times, as well as information about classes, events, supplies, etc.
"Argus Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to remind you of the very long list of banned items. He is mistaken if he expects me to read them aloud -" he held up a length of parchment taller than him, "-but you can read the full list pinned outside his office. Prefects will be attending a lecture on the banned items tomorrow evening in Filch's office." This provoked groans from several places in the hall, even Percy looked pained.
"As always, the Forbidden Forest is ... forbidden, and magic is to be used sparingly in the halls. The third-floor corridor is completely off-limits; I advise you do not enter unless you want to die a very painful death."
Some people laughed, but Harry detected no humor in the old man's voice. "He's serious?" he asked Percy.
"Must be. Strange, though – it's gotta be something really bad if he didn't tell us prefects about it," he inflated his chest, pushing the shiny prefect badge into better view.
"Right."
"If I've forgotten something, please stop me, but I believe that's all..." Dumbledore said. McGonagall stared at him with wide eyes but said nothing. "Oh my, how did I forget! The Hogwarts School Song!" McGonagall's face fell into a very forced smile. "Pick your favorite tune and follow along!" Dumbledore yelled, waving his wand in the air. Ribbons burst forth, forming lyrics:
Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling,
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.
Everyone had chosen different tunes to sing to, so everyone finished at different times. Harry heard a Hufflepuff rap the entire song in under ten seconds, and he also heard the ginger twins singing painfully slow to a funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines.
"Ah, music!" he wiped his eyes, "A magic beyond all we do here. Now off to bed!"
Harry rose with the other students and followed Percy out of the hall. He took them through the halls and up various staircases, some of which disappeared or shifted away behind them. He also pointed out various paintings, sculptures, classrooms, and other "attractions" like a tour guide.
"Your home for the next seven years will be Gryffindor tower," he said as they arrived at a painting on the seventh floor. "Meet the Fat Lady. She is the guard, so to speak,"
"Password?" she asked politely .
"Caput Draconis," Percy replied loudly, making sure everyone heard it. "The password will be changed monthly."
The painting swung forward, revealing a large hole on the other side. They all stumbled through into a large, round room; almost fifty feet across. Large, soft chairs and couches were pointed toward a massive roaring fireplace, and there were many tables lined along the outside wall. Two staircases on opposite sides of the room curved upward toward the respective halves for the dormitories. Artwork and magical torches covered the walls, and large notice boards hung below the staircases.
"There'll be time to explore tomorrow, now you should all get to sleep," Percy told the yawning crowd. "Boys up the left staircase, girls up the right. Come along, now." Harry felt no desire to do otherwise.
The boy's dormitory was a half-circle, half the size of the common room below it. At least a dozen floors stretched up toward the top of the tower, which Harry assumed housed the older students. His desire for sleep distracted him from properly examining the room, but he easily found his trunk. It was laying on a bed so large that he inquired the person next to him.
"The bed's pretty huge, isn't it?" he asked Ron, the youngest Weasley.
"You mean these?" he gestured at his own. "No, I reckon it's the same as mine back home," He collapsed onto it, his look of distaste vanishing. "Softer, though. I'll give it that."
Everyone seemed too tired to talk, so Harry shoved his trunk under the edge of the bed and crumpled beneath the sheets. It was bliss – the soft mattress massaged every part of his body and the blanket immediately filled with cozy warmth. Before long he fell into a deep, weightless sleep.