The arrival of the Boy-Who-Lived and his family at King's Cross Station had attracted a large throng of people, be it the media or mere fans. The reason for this large crowd: 'The Savior was finally going to Hogwarts." From its compartment on the massive red train, the shadow watched the Potters, an expression of utmost disdain on its regal features. Flashes of memories rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind. Fire… the screams of a woman and a child as they died … the body of an extremely fat, middle-aged man, his neck broken. The curled up form of a four-year-old boy, his face impassive as he watched the house burn. The shadow quickly suppressed these thoughts. Much had changed since then …
Saying goodbye to his parents, Liam Potter swaggered over his friends, Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas. He had just met the latter 3 days ago in Diagon, and he already had him wrapped around his finger. "Come on. Let's find a compartment." As it happened, during the time the Boy-Who-Lived had taken to pose for pictures and sign autographs, almost everyone had already boarded the train and filled the nearest compartments. They walked down the passage until they happened on one that only had one occupant. The boy inside was tall, with tanned skin and nigh-angelic features. His raven hair was tousled and his green eyes were fixed on the book that he had in his hands. What put a smile on Liam's face was the boy's Muggle attire. He wore jeans, black tactical boots, a white t-shirt, and a black bomber jacket that highlighted his muscled frame. Obviously, this one was a Muggle-born. No offense to his mother or Dean, but Liam knew that Muggle-borns were usually very easy to intimidate, due to being overwhelmed by an entirely new world. A large smirk formed on his face. He turned to his friends and said, "This one."
The door of the compartment burst open, snapping the shadow out of its reverie. Framed in the doorway were four eleven-year-old males. The first one, a relatively tall boy with fiery red hair and freckles. He had rather nondescript blue eyes and wore an almost vacant expression. The second, obviously the leader of the group was a rather short, chubby specimen with his father's hazel eyes and his mother's auburn hair. He wore large, circular glasses, and held himself with an aura of self-importance and arrogance. The other two the shadow did not even spare a second glance. They were mere insects, caught in the web of Liam Potter's fame. "We're taking this compartment. You can leave now," the Weasley child sneered. In response, the shadow merely returned its gaze to the book lying on its lap. A small smirk graced the shadow's lips as the redhead's ears slowly tinged red. "Oi, I was talking to you!"
The shadow looked at him, its glowing, emerald eyes narrowing in annoyance, "Ronald Weasley, is it?" The obnoxious boy's sneer widened into a smirk at the recognition, "The useless son who was always dwarfed by his siblings. The idiot who served absolute squat until some fat, ignoramus decided to take pity on you. As I hope you can see, considering the magnifying glasses stuck to that one's face, I have no time to deal with simpletons," the shadow gave the group a small, condescending smile. Weak minds … so easy to penetrate.
"How dare you?! You filthy little brat. Don't you know who I am?" Liam Potter was shouting now, his face getting redder and redder. The shadow had to actively deflect the large globules of spit unleashed by the buffoon.
Without even looking up at him, the shadow replied, "You're a fraud who revels in taking credit for an event that occurred when you were barely capable of autonomous movement, let alone accidental magic."
"I AM THE BOY-WHO-LIVED! IF NOT FOR ME, YOU-KNOW-WHO WOULD STILL BE ALIVE. I am also the Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter! I am YOUR SUPERIOR!" The lump was losing all semblance of self-control. The shadow noted that the boy took particular offense whenever his precious Gryffindor honor was challenged.
"You can't even say his name. In any case, there are only two ways that a being can survive the Killing Curse: one is the Anima Clypeus spell, a protection spell so powerful that it has only ever been cast on 4 occasions throughout history, by the most experienced and knowledgeable of wizards. It is completely ludicrous to imagine that an infant can pull off a feat of magic that even Dumbledore cannot fully accomplish. And the other … the other has absolutely nothing to do with anything you did or did not do. So, in conclusion, you are either a liar or an idiot."
"WHY YOU LITTLE - " The would-be Savior charged forward to attack the boy who dared insult him, only to be sent flying from the compartment by a wandless banishing charm. The three stooges soon followed, hurling headfirst into the hallway beyond. With just a flick of its wrist, the shadow slammed the door shut and locked it.
"Shame, I was expecting more of a challenge," the shadow said to the black bird that had concealed itself when he had boarded the train. His familiar flew onto his leg and fixed him with a curious expression, "Don't look at me like that. I couldn't resist taking him down a notch. Besides, more is yet to come." He stroked the phoenix's feathers and opened the window. Grateful for the chance to stretch her wings, Nyx jumped off her master's leg and soared out into the late afternoon sky.
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Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry loomed above them, and the shadow had to admit, he certainly was not disappointed. The school radiated power; he could feel it like a tsunami, washing over him. The shadow exited his meditation trance and opened his eyes. Defty, he donned the flowing, black, dragon-hide cloak over his Hogwarts robes, and vanished from the compartment.
'Where is he?!' The Boy-Who-Lived's gaze swept over the assembled mob of first years, searching for one in particular. How dare that filthy brat disrespect him? If it weren't for him, You-Know-Who would still be out there. A muggle-born especially should have been groveling at his feet. In his mounting rage, the words the odd boy had said completely faded from Liam's mind. He was going to find that Mudblood, and make his life hell!
"Firs' years follow me!" A mountain of a man was calling them. Rubeus Hagrid. Liam had never liked the half-giant, and vice versa. He found the oaf to be an uncivilized, unintelligible, simpleton. Furthermore, Hagrid's love of measly animals never ceased to disgust him. Followed by his gang of sidekicks, Liam strode over to the shore of the lake. Ungrateful whelp aside, he was definitely looking forward to this year. Both of his parents worked at Hogwarts, with his dad teaching the new Duelling class, while his mother worked as Professor Flitwick's assistant, while she gained her Charms Mastery. Dumbledore had never seemed to like him though, which, to Liam's small point of view, seemed completely incorrect. Shouldn't the 'Leader of the Light' train and dote on the boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Lost in his thoughts, he didn't realize the boat had started its journey to the castle and was subsequently hit in the face by the stone cliff.
When the first years reached the doors of Hogwarts, a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes awaited them. "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid. Minerva McGonagall, ICW certified Mistress of Transfiguration, and Professor of the subject. James had told Liam many stories of his detentions with this witch, and though she had favored his father, Liam knew that this was not someone to cross.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." The stern witch led the assembled first-years through the gates and into the entrance hall. "Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is very important … " Liam scoffed internally; he knew all of this already. Tuning her out, he resumed his search for the unfortunate Muggle-born who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. Once again, his efforts ended in failure. Returning to face the Professor, he realized that she had completed her speech and had left.
"So, Liam Potter is finally attending Hogwarts," Liam turned to find a tall boy with platinum-blonde hair. He scowled at Draco Malfoy's smirk of contempt.
"What's it to you, Death Eater scum?" He almost growled these words.
Malfoy's ears grew red, yet he spoke with a menacing, quiet voice, "That's quite the accusation, Potter. Got any proof?"
Liam smirked, "Don't need any. Everyone knows that the Malfoys are a family of murdering, evil Dark wizards. Besides, I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. My word IS proof."
Before Malfoy could retort, McGonagall returned, "Move along now. The Sorting Ceremony is about to start. Follow me." The line of eleven-year-olds filed into the massive hall. Liam pushed all thoughts of the Malfoy brat from his mind and waved at his parents. As he strode through the Great Hall, whispers broke out, "Its Liam Potter … the Boy-Who-Lived … I wonder if he remembers what You-Know-Who looked like."
"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History," Liam heard a bushy-haired girl say. 'Ugh, know-it-all,' he thought.
The line of first-years stopped, and McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing: "Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, But don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find A smarter hat than me. You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall, For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat And I can cap them all. There's nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can't see, So try me on and I will tell you Where you ought to be. You might belong in Gryffindor, Where dwell the brave at heart, Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart; 94 You might belong in Hufflepuff, Where they are just and loyal, Those patient Hufflepuffis 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 folk 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!"
Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"
Soon after, a loud, "HUFFLEPUFF!" sounded from the Sorting Hat. Minutes ticked by, as first-year after first-year was called up and sorted into their houses. When his name was called, Draco Malfoy swaggered up to the stool and fixed Liam with a condescending smirk. The hat barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" A loud cheer rang from the Slytherin table. There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne." Liam knew that he was next, he was confident that he would get Gryffindor, like his father. He held his breath, eagerly awaiting the whispers that would fill the hall.
"H-H-Harry Potter?" Shock was clearly plastered across McGonagall's face, soon followed by those of Dumbledore and his parents. But no one's shock compared to that of Liam Potter, but before his shock could boil over into rage, every brazier and candle in the hall suddenly went out. A loud boom was heard, as the doors of the Great Hall swung open, to reveal a figure cloaked in black. Its glowing, green eyes staring out from the shadows of its hood.
A/N: Some quotes are directly taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J. K. Rowling
