The Secret Train

Harry noticed a marked change in atmosphere around Privet Drive. While Petunia still ordered him about with a bit more coldness than usual even for her, Dudley and Vernon seemed inclined to ignore Harry's existence with a sort of invisible scorn that made him feel somehow more lonely than before. They didn't bother locking the cupboard any more, seemingly unconcerned with anything he might do.

The night before his eleventh birthday, Harry had to stay up late to finish scrubbing out Dudley's second bedroom. It had long been a storehouse for everything the bigger boy had broken but refused to throw out, and only at Petunia's sharp command had her son subsided in his moaning over his precious belongings. Petunia had insisted in the morning that Harry must finish it before he went to his cupboard for the night, and he was well and truly exhausted.

Still, that meant he was awake as the livingroom clock quietly struck twelve, and he threw out the last pile of dirty rags with a satisfied sigh.

He went into the livingroom, flopped out full length on the sofa, and stared over at the clock.

"Happy birthday, Harry Potter, wizard."

He smiled to himself, then went to wedge himself into his cupboard alongside Hedwig's cage. (He'd found the name in one of the schoolbooks and thought instantly that it fit her.)

He stroked her feathers, the best birthday present he'd ever been given, and fell asleep within minutes.

He awakened in the morning to find, to his utmost surprise, that he'd been allowed to sleep in. Aunt Petunia was already cooking breakfast, while Dudley and Vernon watched Harry with matching looks of disgust.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, glancing between his relatives.

"It's your birthday," Aunt Petunia said, her tone making it clear she thought Harry was being stupid.

"I know that," Harry said, annoyed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm giving you the morning off," she said in the same condescending tone. "As you'll need the time to move your things."

Harry's heart sank. "Move? Where am I going? Out in the yard?"

Petunia spun on him. "Do you really think so little of us? Your own family? You'll be moving upstairs. The room's all cleared out, I trust?"

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Dudley's second bedroom?" he asked.

"Your bedroom now. You're getting too big for that cupboard, now go and move your things."

Harry just stood and stared at her, dumbstruck. Was she. . . being nice to him? It had to be some kind of trick.

He lugged his trunk up the stairs, set Hedwig's cage on the single night table and opened both the cage door and the window so she could come in and out freely. She'd been out for a few hours each day exercising or delivering letters, but this would be much more comfortable for her Harry was sure.

He dragged his mattress up the stairs too, though he noticed his snakes looking at him reproachfully. He supposed they wouldn't be terribly pleased with needing to go up the stairs to see him now.

"Sorry," he whispered to them.

The bedroom seemed vast. With his mattress by Hedwig's table, he still had enough floorspace to fit a dozen trunks, and the walls had enough shelves for all his possessions.

Uncle Vernon didn't give him a present, nor did Dudley, but Harry didn't care. He had his own room, and his own owl, and only one more month to go before he would be leaving this place for so many months it may as well be forever.

August passed quietly, slipping one day to the next without much to break the rhythm.

Dudley got over his disdain, returned to chasing Harry around the yard with his gang, but Harry didn't mind so much. He wouldn't have said it was enjoyable, but it was dependable and even if it was only his brutish cousin wanting to hit him it was the only social interaction he got in person with anyone close to his age. And it certainly passed the time faster than sitting staring at the wall. Kept him in shape, at any rate.

His afternoons with Mrs. Figg remained a highlight of his week. He cleaned for her, then they played games, and talked about cats. It wasn't the most engaging way to spend his time, her games were always slow and her stories always fairly uninteresting, but she had been a friend to him when he needed it most and was always happy to see him. And she was the only person he could talk to who didn't think 'wizard' meant he had the plague or something.

Quirrell continued to write each week, giving Harry a patchy summary of life as a wizard. Harry's questions always led to more questions which inevitably ended with them on some obscure topic, but he was starting to get a feel for how magical society went.

He read his schoolbooks and the supplementary texts he'd purchased, or at least skimmed through them. As much as A Basic Introduction to Spellcrafting sounded interesting, it had grown quite dull after the initial novelty of a book about magic wore off. Far too much geometry and seemingly arbitrary magical words, none of which made any sense to him.

He desperately wanted to succeed, to have some understanding of spells before he reached school so he wasn't at the bottom of all his classes, but life at Number Four Privet Drive was not an atmosphere conducive to study of magic. The years and years of being told off for even thinking about anything behaving the way it shouldn't had left deeper imprints than he'd have guessed.

Harry often found himself drawn outside, into the beautiful summer weather, rather than struggling through another textbook. A lot of the books wouldn't be any use without a proper teacher anyway, he reasoned. He would jog around the yard, watching Hedwig's flight, or crawl through the hedges, talking to the outdoor snakes who didn't deign to enter the house.

So the summer passed, less unbearable than he'd ever imagined possible. And if his progress toward becoming a proper wizard was minuscule, well, Quirrell's letters had promised the professor's assistance. Harry would be able to catch up with his help, even get ahead perhaps.

Finally the day arrived, September first. Uncle Vernon drove him to the train station, though he scoffed at Harry's insistence that his platform was Nine and Three Quarters.

"There's nine, there's ten," Vernon said with a nasty smile. "Have a good term."

He turned to leave, and Harry smiled. The secret passageway was hidden in the barrier. He walked toward it slowly, tested it with his hand. It felt solid enough, but he pressed a little harder and felt his fingers slip through into nothing.

He brought his trolley around, pushed it through the passage and came out into the wizard's train station. A bright crimson steam engine waited next to the packed platform. Cats and owls were everywhere, students in robes and some in muggle clothes, parents giving last-minute instructions and farewells.

Harry felt suddenly very alone. He didn't see Professor Quirrell or Mr. Hagrid - no, 'just Hagrid' - anywhere, and he had no idea who anyone was. He pushed aside the veil over his thoughts to help him more clearly remember Quirrell's letters of instructions from over the summer. Stand straight, be gracious, don't make promises. Be respectful to those of higher blood-status. He took a breath, stood as non-nervously as he could manage, and pushed his cart forward toward the train.

The first several compartments were filled, of course. Harry finally spotted an empty one, near the center, and tugged his cart over. A red-haired older student with a 'P' badge helped him load his trunk into the train, gave him an encouraging smile. Harry nodded politely.

He settled himself into the empty compartment, brought out his wand and schoolbooks. He hadn't finished reading most of them, the summer weather having been a great distraction. Despite the exotic subjects, they had still been school books, which except from the standard book of spells meant they were dry and bland with far too much information that he'd never need to know.

The train whistle blew and the last few students rushed to climb aboard. A minute later, the train lurched into motion.

The door of the compartment slid open, and another boy with red hair peered in. "Is that spot taken?" he asked, pointing to the seat opposite Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head. "Just me."

The boy smiled, sat down. "Thanks." He held his hand out. "I'm Ron Weasley."

Harry shook his hand politely, gave a little nod. "Harry Potter."

From what he remembered of Professor Quirrell's extensive notes on students, Weasley was an ancient pureblood family. Despite their generally disgraceful behavior and lack of dignity, they were still worthy of respect.

Ron seemed stunned. "H.. Harry Potter?" he squeaked. "You're joking, right?"

Harry shook his head. "Do the maths," he said quietly, glancing at his stack of books. He was in two of them, which made him feel very strange.

Ron stared around the empty compartment. "I'm sorry I intruded. I can leave if you'd rather be alone to study."

Harry shook his head. "It's no bother."

Ron grinned. "Can you wait here a minute? I've got to tell my brothers. They'll be so jealous I found you first."

Harry shrugged. "I wasn't planning on going anywhere."

Ron laughed, then left the compartment and hurried off. Harry turned his attention back to Modern Magical History. Ron hadn't been gone long before the compartment slid open, somehow quieter than before. A blond boy with a pale, pointed face entered, gazing at Harry with an appraising look.

"Is it true?" he asked, his voice sounding simultaneously interested and utterly bored. Harry was immediately intimidated.

"Is what true?" Harry asked, standing at once. He was fairly certain who this boy would be. The Malfoy heir, one of the most prominent and wealthy pureblood families left after the war with Lord Voldemort thinned the old lines to near breaking point.

"Weasel was shouting all down the train that Harry Potter was in this compartment. That's you, then?"

Harry nodded, gave a little bow, offered his hand. "Harry Potter, and you are?"

"Draco Malfoy," the boy replied, taking his hand. "You're associating with Weasley already? That's not a very good start to your school career."

Harry shrugged. "He approached me, no one else had. And he is pureblood."

Draco smiled nastily at this. "Well, you'll have to learn that some families are better than others. I can help you there."

"I don't doubt you can." Harry had the oddest feeling about this meeting, like he and Draco were dancing around each other with words beneath what they said, as though they were each trying to determine something about the other.

Harry didn't know what he was supposed to learn, and he didn't know what Malfoy was trying to find. He glanced away to the two larger boys flanking Draco.

"Vincent, and Gregory," Malfoy said, gesturing to each in turn. "My friends, allies. We could be friends and allies too, Potter."

Don't promise anything to anyone. "I think we may be able to come to an arrangement," Harry said carefully. "I will keep your offer in mind. Thank you."

Draco watched him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Nice meeting you. Remember what I've said about Weasley, you would upset a lot of powerful people if you get yourself in too deep with someone like that."

Harry nodded again, waited politely until Draco and his friends had left the compartment before returning to his seat. His hands were shaking slightly, but he thought he'd done well. Talking to people was stressful. At least Ron hadn't seemed to want anything from him. He had the distinct impression that if he wasn't careful, Draco would soon have Harry following at his shoulder like a servant or bodyguard.

He decided to keep Malfoy at a distance. He would be respectful, certainly, they could be valuable allies to one another. The Malfoy family was one of the most powerful in all of wizarding Britain. But Harry would not be anyone's servant, not here, not where he had a chance to be free and himself. And he had a feeling Malfoy wasn't used to being anything but the very best and the very highest authority.

Harry wasn't sure how best to go about proving that he was worth being on equal standing with someone who was so obviously above and beyond him in so many ways, but if there was one thing he was resolved in it was that he would not accept subservience ever again.

He might not make many friends, Harry didn't even know where to start with trying to do such a thing, but he could make allies. And he would, probably, make enemies along the way despite any attempts not to. Moving in any direction meant moving away from something else, and the school was too complicated and vast for him to move without consequence.

But he would not let that stop him. In primary school, he'd been alone and vulnerable. Weak. Isolated. The same would not happen at Hogwarts.

Ron returned with two identical-looking older versions of himself. "See?" he demanded, pointing at Harry. "There he is!"

"So, you're Harry Potter?" asked the one on the right.

"I'm Fred Weasley," said the one on the left, holding out his hand.

The other one smacked it away. "I'm George Weasley," he said, holding his own hand toward Harry.

"Nice to meet you," Fred said, shoving his own hand in front of George's.

Harry sighed, shook both hands at the same time. "Nice to meet you both," he said politely. They certainly did not display much dignity.

"We hope you'll have a good term," they said together. "Just remember," Fred said. "The Weasley twins are the masters of pranks, call on us if ever you have need of our services."

George waved his wand dramatically, conjured a cloud of mist that drifted down around them. Harry heard them run off, laughing, as the fog dispersed from where they'd been standing.

He shook his head. No wonder Draco had been so disdainful of their family. They were wizards, yet they spent their time running around playing pranks? How undignified could you get?

"Yeah, they can be a bit of a handful," Ron said. Harry realized he'd forgotten the younger Weasley was still there.

"Hmm," Harry said, noncommittally.

He didn't pay much attention as the boy talked at great length about Quidditch, which was one facet of wizarding life that Professor Quirrell had neglected to mention at all. It sounded exciting to play, but first years weren't allowed broomsticks and never made the team, so he consigned it to the unknowable distant future and tried to pay attention to his history book.

History was very dull, Harry decided, noticing that he'd been paying more attention to the talk of quaffles than of great events in wizarding history. He hoped the teacher would be able to make the subject interesting, then remembered that Professor Quirrell had said he was a particularly dull ghost who never varied his curriculum from year to year.

Harry groaned.

"Yeah, they should have called that a foul, I was incensed for weeks over it. But they won the next year, so it's alright now."

Harry glanced out the window as Ron carried on. He felt restless, contained. He wanted to walk around the train, but the thought of so many people staring at him made him sink back farther in his seat. He bounced his knees instead, tapping out the rhythm to a song running through his head.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?" came a witch's voice.

Harry realized he was hungry, and jumped to his feet. He'd never had so much spending money before, or spending money at all to be honest, and was excited to try everything the wizard world had to offer.

He bought one of everything, and several of the chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties as they sounded the most obviously delicious. He spread it out on the seat beside him, trying to decide where to start.

"Pumpkin pasties are the best," Ron said approvingly. "Good to see you're a man of proper tastes."

Harry glanced over at him. The red-haired boy was watching the pile of sweets longingly.

"Did you want one?" Harry offered. He knew the Weasley family wasn't exactly wealthy, so Ron probably couldn't afford anything for himself. But he didn't want to offend a pureblood family by acting overly charitable. . .

Ron grinned. "Please!"

Harry tossed him over one, and opened his own. It didn't taste like anything he'd ever had before, but his exposure to sweets was admittedly quite limited. They demolished the pile between them, Ron explaining the finer points of each type of candy as Harry reached them.

The chocolate frogs came with cards, collectibles with moving pictures of famous witches and wizards. Harry ended up with a Morgana, a Merlin, and two Dumbledores by the time they were through with the pile. He slipped past his veil, examined the portrait of Dumbledore appraisingly. The old wizard had twinkling eyes that somehow appeared cheerful and unknowable in the same moment, half-moon spectacles, and a calm look that made Harry think he knew absolutely everything about you.

He understood why Quirrell would want any private memories hidden, the look in that wizard's eyes was intimidating. Even if he couldn't really read minds, it made Harry feel much better knowing that his true secrets would be safe.

He let the veil drift back in place, obscuring that part of his mind, and examined the portrait again. Dumbledore looked deep, wise, and incredibly welcoming while aloof at the same time. He was the sort of person that you would instinctively trust, if you could get through the mystique and actually get close to him.

Harry wasn't sure what to make of it, but now he had a face to put to the name.

The compartment door slid open again, this time to admit a fluffy-haired witch with a nervous-looking girl behind her. "Have any of you seen a toad?" she asked. "Nereva's has run off on her."

Harry shook his head. Ron mumbled, "nope" through a mouthful of chocolate.

She turned to leave, then stopped. "You're Harry?" she asked, looking him up and down. "They were saying, up front. . ." she let the sentence trail off.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"You're probably the most famous living wizard apart from Albus Dumbledore, you know," she said. "How does it feel?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know yet."

She laughed. "Good answer. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"The same," Harry said, shaking her hand. "Good luck finding your toad."

"It's not mine, it's Nereva's," she corrected automatically. "Have you tried any magic yet? We can, now we're on the train. I did a few simple spells, they all worked perfectly."

"I only know one," Harry said, bringing his wand up in a smooth arc. "Lumos," he whispered, and the tip flickered and glowed.

Hermione crossed her arms, nodded. "Not bad. Mine's not as bright, but it holds steadier. Is your wand defective?"

Harry's light flickered one last time and went out.

"Temperamental," he said. "Phoenix core wands can take longer to trust you."

"Really?" Hermione said, sounding shocked. "I didn't know that. I must find a book on wandlore, this is unacceptable."

She waved at them and departed, toadless Nereva in tow.

"Pretty nice," Ron said, glancing at Harry's wand. "Brand new?"

"Got it a month ago," Harry said. "You've had yours a long time?" he guessed.

"Not even mine, inherited it. Unicorn hair's almost coming out, if you wave it too hard." Ron stared at his worn wand glumly. "I bet I'll be rubbish with magic."

"Hmm," Harry replied noncommittally.

Ron brightened. "I have one spell to try."

He rolled up his sleeves, pulled a dead rat out of his pocket, and pointed his wand at it.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow," he intoned, waving his wand as though about to smack the rat over the head repeatedly.

Nothing happened. The rat lay there, quite grey.

From what little Harry had read on the subject, custom chant spells were notoriously difficult to create. Rhyming was unnecessary, often detrimental in fact, but the rhythm and flow of the words had to fit together with the wand motion and the intent behind the spell in some intricate and mysterious way.

There was a reason spells weren't invented willy-nilly for every little thing. Spellcrafting was incredibly complicated and often required an instinctive understanding of things beyond what you could learn from formulas. Gifted spellcrafters often turned out new spells by the dozens, while those without the knack for it just never seemed to manage.

"I think you're pronouncing it too distinctly," Harry said. "There shouldn't be so much emphasis on the words as words, they are part of the whole. You say DAIsies instinctively, try it daiSIEs, and emphasize melLOW."

Ron tried it again, but the rat didn't change.

"Are you sure you have the right wand movement?" Harry asked.

Ron scowled at him. "You're an expert on spells, now? Just because you can make a light? I can do that. Lumos."

His wand tip glowed feebly, but it was a steady light that didn't waver.

Harry glared back. "I'm not claiming to be an expert, but it obviously isn't working."

Ron sighed. "You're right. It's a rubbish spell. I bet it was just another prank, I should have known better than to think my brothers would tell me something useful."

"Hmm," Harry said, noncommittally.

The train arrived at the dark Hogwarts platform amid announcements. Leave your luggage on the train, it will be brought separately. First years were to wait in the field outside the station for direction, while other years went to the carriages.

Harry drifted away from the Weasley boy, stayed a bit more central and stood alone. He remembered Quirrell's letters, stood straight, looked ahead and didn't fidget. He would have loved to just run around the entire group in circles, work off some of his pent-up energy, but that would be the worst possible first impression to create for himself. There would be time to exercise later.

He felt so overwhelmed, he was glad that no one approached him. It was easier to hold his facade of strength by imagining people being intimidated.

In all likelihood, they were absorbed in their own affairs and gave no heed to the lone dark-haired boy with taped up glasses. He was glad he had wizard robes now, at least he wouldn't be showing up in Dudley's old things.

"Firs' years, this way!" shouted a familiar voice. Hagrid walked toward them, towering above the children, waving a lantern. "This way, follow me, firs' years!"

Harry joined the crowd trickling after the huge man, down a path that curved around and down to the lake. Lights from castle windows glowed out in the evening dark, stars and tower lights reflecting on the surface of the water.

Harry had never seen anything so beautiful.

They crossed the lake in a fleet of little boats, gliding along the mirror-calm surface. Then they swept under a curtain of hanging moss into a deep tunnel beneath the rock, right under the castle it seemed, and came to a rest against a pebbled shore.

Hagrid led them up the steps and around to the grounds, across the front yard to the huge oaken front door of Hogwarts Castle.

"Still got yer toad?" he asked Nereva. The girl was clutching the frequent runaway in both hands, nodded.

Hagrid raised his hand and pounded once on the door with an echoing boom. The door swung open. A tall black-haired witch wearing deep green robes stood watching them sternly. Harry was immediately intimidated. She pulled the doors open wide, led the little group into an entrance hall so huge Harry could have fit the Dursleys' entire house inside. Flaming torches lined the walls, and a magnificent marble stairway led up to the higher levels.

The witch led them to a small chamber off the hall. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "I am Professor McGonagall, and your start of term feast will begin shortly. First, you will be Sorted into your houses. This is an extremely important ceremony because for the seven years you spend learning here, your house will be like your family. You will eat with your house, attend classes with your house, stay in your house dormitories, relax in your house common room. There are four houses, each with a great and noble history which you will doubtless learn a great deal about during your time here.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. While you are at Hogwarts, your accomplishments will earn you house points, and any rulebreaking will lose house points. The house with the most points at the end of each year is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will do your best to be a credit to whatever house you are chosen for.

"The Sorting will begin in a few minutes, please wait here quietly. I'll return for you when we are ready. It will be in front of the rest of the school, so you may wish to tidy yourselves up a bit while you wait."

McGonagall nodded briskly, then swept out through another set of doors, leaving the first year students alone.

Whispers and mutters started up at once.

"How do they sort us?"

"Do we have to do magic?"

"I don't know any spells yet!"

"I wonder if I'm ready."

"I hope I'm not in Ravenclaw, I don't want to be stuck in the same house as my sister for the next four years."

"I heard it was a test, my brothers told me it really hurts."

Harry had no idea what to expect. He shouldn't be so nervous, but he was. Suddenly more nervous than he'd ever been about anything. He had one chance. One chance to make the right impression. Once sorted, that was it. He would be stuck in the same house. What if it was Hufflepuff? What if it was Gryffindor?

He tried to flatten his hair down, then forced himself to stand tall and not fidget. He watched Draco, standing tall and confident, speaking calmly to his friend Vincent and betraying no hint of anxiety. Mimic that poise. Show confidence even if there is none to draw upon.

"It'll be fine," Harry whispered to himself in parseltongue, realized what he was doing, and stopped quickly before someone noticed.

Poise. He watched the door, heart thudding wildly, not letting his face betray his fear.

Someone behind him screamed. He turned, wand raised by instinct, but it was only a collection of ghosts. He put his wand away, watched them curiously. They seemed so much less substantial than he'd imagined, always having pictured ghosts as more foglike or wispy, but these seemed somehow less solid and more real at once. Their outlines were sharp and vivid, but glimmering white and see-through.

The ghosts drifted through the wall, intent on an argument without hardly glancing at the assembled students. One, though, separated from the bunch while still arguing, paused to wave cheerily at them. "Greetings, newcomers! About to be sorted, of course. Hope to see you in Hufflepuff, that's my house you know. Tah!" He returned to the argument, drifting off through the other wall after the departing swarm of ghostly figures.

McGonagall returned, clapped her hands to quiet the speculation. "We're ready to begin, line up and follow me."

The line of first-years followed McGonagall through the side doors into the largest room Harry had ever seen. The ceiling was so far above that it seemed to vanish, in fact it looked as though there were only a row of elegant supporting struts and no ceiling at all.

"I read it was enchanted to look like the sky," Hermione Granger muttered from somewhere behind Harry.

Candles floated in the space between the sky-covered ceiling and the four long tables in the main area below. The candles were slightly different in colour and drifted slowly about, giving a mysterious shifting light to the entire scene.

Behind the first years, on the raised dais, was the faculty table. Longways across the hall, it faced out toward the assembled students. As did the nervous line of newcomers.

In front of them, between them and the rest of the students, sat a ragged old pointed hat on a stool. Harry wondered if he was supposed to pull something out of it, perhaps they would be drawing houses by lot.

But then the hat opened a rip in its brim and started singing.

It was a silly song, but it described the virtues of each house and made him more sure than ever that he wanted to be in Ravenclaw or Slytherin. On the one hand, from the mutterings he'd heard about the train and through the students, Slytherin was seen as a house of villains. But it was his heritage, and he could dispel that stigma by proving himself there. Couldn't he?

But. . . what if he was put in Slytherin? His parents were both Gryffindors, he was the most famous wizard of his age, but only a half-blood. They would probably hate him. He thought himself rather clever, was good at finding ways to work things to his ends. But he hadn't had much opportunity to do so at home. Perhaps he wasn't good enough, perhaps he'd be a Hufflepuff after all. . .

"So we just try on the hat?" Ron's voice sounded relieved. "I'm gonna kill Fred, he had me all worried."

Harry wasn't ready. He was too young, too inexperienced. Why would such an important, life-shaping decision be made so frivolously at the very start of his first year?

Poise. Strength. He could do this. He would not panic.

"I will call you forward by name, sit down and put on the hat to be sorted," McGonagall said, opening a parchment scroll.

She began calling names, and students began stepping forward. Each sat for a moment, several moments, or hardly at all, and then the hat would call out their house. The first two were both Hufflepuffs, and then a scattering of others. Hermione ended up in Gryffindor, as did Nereva-with-the-toad. Draco and his two friends went to Slytherin.

Harry was getting more and more nervous. Why did his last name have to be so far down the line? He wanted it over with. But then it was almost his turn. Why couldn't he have been farther down the line? He wasn't ready for this.

"Potter, Harry."

He stepped forward stiffly, forced himself to hold his head high and not betray the pounding nervousness that made him feel ill. He heard the whispers start up among the students below, smiled faintly. This was the first most of them had seen him.

Then he was by the stool, and he reached out with trembling hands and set the hat on his head.

"Hmm, well now, what have we here? Quite a mind you have, and a good bit of courage too. You'd do well in Gryffindor, you know. You are braver than you think."

There was a voice in his ear, whispering gently, but he tensed and had to stop himself leaping off the stool in shock.

"I don't want to be a hero," he whispered back. "I want to live."

"Oh, you want much more than that, my boy. You can be great."

Harry instinctively tried to say he didn't care about that, but the words caught in his throat. He did want to be great. He wanted to prove the Dursleys wrong, show that he wasn't worthless. He wanted to show the world that he wasn't done. That he was more than a baby a curse had bounced off of. He wanted to learn all he could, find new ways, make new discoveries. Change the world.

"You are an eager one, aren't you?" the hat whispered. "Most would think that list of yours lines up perfectly with Ravenclaw, but you wouldn't be happy there. You're clever, determined, but not studious. You need a more practical application for your intellect; you seek knowledge for ambitions' sake, not its own merits. And if you're sure you won't take Gryffindor, then that only leaves one place for you."

Harry hoped fervently that he wasn't about to say Hufflepuff. He didn't think he'd survive the pressure of being around that many friendly people for the next seven years.

"SLYTHERIN," the hat declared aloud.

Harry grinned with relief, his fears temporarily forgotten. He swept the hat off and bowed to it as he replaced it on the stool. "Thank you," he said quietly, to scattered laughter from the mostly-silent room behind him, then strode proudly over to the green and silver table.

Author's Note: This will be the last chapter for a while. Now that Part One is posted, I'll be shifting my attention to giving it a thorough editing before returning to posting new content. This will take some time, as I'm going to be continuing to work on the first-draft of later chapters as well, and also have four other in-progress fics to write in between. I'm setting aside November, national novel writing month, to focus on finishing the first Hogwarts arc, but will not be resuming posting until these first chapters are edited.

I estimate that it will take until mid-January to early-February of next year (2018) at my current rate of progress before I'm able to resume, though fair warning that it may be longer. I don't want to just slap up half-baked chapters and then have to do major retractions. (As it is, I may end up changing things significantly enough in this first part, and it's considerably shorter than those remaining.)

Thank you all for your enthusiasm thus far! It's always incredibly encouraging to see new favourites or reviews.

(And please, if you've noticed anything in what I've posted so far that I should address while editing, now is the time to mention it.)

See y'all in a few months~