See the end for Author's Notes.


Chapter Two

Those next few weeks were probably the worst of Harry's rather short life. For once, he had someone else out in the world, somewhere else to be. It was a foreign idea for a little boy who had grown up not belonging anywhere at all. The knowledge often had him feeling homesick for a place and a person he had never met. Or just didn't remember meeting. It was all rather strange and the Dursley's didn't seem to be able to make up their minds if they were now scared of Harry or not. Sometimes he was made to do chores while other times he was locked in the cupboard.

He went hungry quite a bit, but that wasn't entirely unusual. Sometimes he just wasn't fed.

But that particular August found Harry feeling the cramps and growling of his stomach more acutely than before. He was viscerally aware of how unwelcomed he was amongst the dark shadows of Number 4 Privet Drive.

The only thing that made it even a little bearable was knowing that soon he would be away to the magical school where he could look for his dad. He would never have to return to Privet Drive again. He would never have to return to the Dursleys. It was something that Harry looked forward to more than he was eager to attend Hogwarts. Magic was cool and all, but having a family was all Harry had ever wanted. When he was younger and especially naive he had dreamt of a long lost relative showing up on the doorstep and taking Harry away from the Dursleys. Of course those dreams had long since been disregarded as fantasy, but perhaps he hadn't been entirely wrong. From the sound of things, the Dark Lord had been a right proper monster before Harry had come along and ruined everything. (As Harry so often did: ask Aunt Petunia.) Obviously the man had other things to be doing to revive the empire that Harry had effectively destroyed with his birth. So if anyone should go out and find the other it should be him.

These were Harry's thoughts the morning of September 1st. He was dropped off at King's Cross about thirty minutes early with both his trunk and owl on the trolley that Uncle Vernon pushed into the station. Harry should have known something was up immediately. Uncle Vernon was never nice to Harry and he had been in a good mood all morning. When the rotund man left him standing at the brick wall between platforms nine and ten with no sign of the three-quarters part he was supposed to board on, Harry's stomach sank.

Maybe it was a trick? Harry wasn't really a wizard, wasn't really going to a magical school, wasn't really the son of a great and terrible monster. Just when Harry's face was sure to be turning red in embarrassment just thinking about how he was going to return to Privet Drive, he caught the tail end of a passing conversation. "-don't understand how Muggles can abide by the contraptions. Much easier to floo or fly. If there weren't so many of us, it would be-"

Harry's head shot up and without a second thought he followed the family of redheads continuing down the platform. He was rather surprised when they ran at the brick wall and even more so when they simply disappeared through it. A false wall! It wasn't a brick wall at all, but a portal of some sort that led to the train to Hogwarts. Harry didn't approach the family. After all, he was a monster and the memory of the uproar that had occurred at the Leaky Cauldron was enough of a warning. Harry was a miracle. A half-monster babe that had almost destroyed his monster father! And then there was that boy at the robes shop that had suggested Harry shouldn't be allowed to go to magical school since he hadn't grown up in the magical world. No it was probably best to stick to himself until he knew what to fully expect. He didn't want to make a mistake so soon after he had finally decided to find and help his missing father. And he never knew who was a Light wizard.

It was in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord of Great Britain by Tabatha Meliflua that Harry had first come across this distinction between witches and wizards. Magic was passed down through the bloodline. Even Muggleborns could eventually trace their lineage to a thrice removed squib great-great grandfather or what not, the book had said. And it was characteristic that each lineage of magical family were predisposed to either be a Light Wizard or a Dark one. Harry's father being the great man that he was was given the title of the Dark Lord not only because he was terrifying but because of his mastery over Dark magic. Which meant that Harry, too, was a Dark wizard. And there was to be no mixing of any kind between him and a Light wizard. One couldn't be the son of a Dark Lord and participate in such nonsense. And so far the Prewetts, the Weasleys, and the Bones families had all been characterized with red hair and were staunch supporters of the Light. Best to avoid red-heads as a rule for the time being.

But of course just such a person would find his way into the last compartment on the train. "I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from frowning. "I see," he said and buried his head further into the thome he had pulled out.

The Traditions, Holidays, and Rituals of Olde Magick wasn't the most entertaining purchase Harry had made by owl order, but it was intimidating enough to get the boy to stemmy any future attempts at conversation entirely. The same cannot be said for the girl who came through looking for a toad. "Oh! I've heard of Augustus Selwyn. He's rather notable for his treatise on the ancient origins of modern spells. I found the entire thome fascinating."

And on and on she went. Harry was actually a tad bit impressed that she knew so much. Perhaps she was a half-blood like him to know so much. There was no house colors on her robes yet so she wasn't a second year.

"Excuse me," Harry interrupted her when she finally took a breath. "But weren't you looking for a toad?"

In the same whirlwind that the bushy-haired girl came in, she left with another rush of words the door closing with a quiet snick. Harry smiled to himself as he began going over Walpurgis Night. "Well wasn't she just dreadful. You were right to send her packing. She's almost as bad as Percy. I hope she's in Ravenclaw."

And just like that his good mood was effectively soured. "I thought she was rather charming. I haven't met many who practice the proper traditions and even less who enjoy learning of them."

Aunt Petunia would have sniffed disdainfully at the lack of manners. Harry was rather intrigued by the large discrepancy between how his book said proper witches and wizards were supposed to act and the reality.

Was it the mistake of the witches and wizards he had met up until this point or was the information given to him in his book dated? It had been in what had been touted as the 'best-sellers' section, so surely it wasn't entirely wrong. Maybe only certain people behaved appropriately while others didn't have the means to know any better.

Harry would have only gotten the standard black robe that his school letter had required if it hadn't occurred to him that he would be spending a great amount of time in the wizarding world from now on and very few wore black robes. (He had sent Hedwig back to Madam Malkin's with an order form and had received a parcel a week later with several more robes including a dressier set in various colors and some under clothes to wear as well. He wasn't going to wear Dudley's hand-me-downs any longer that was for sure.)

After his defense of the bushy-haired witch, Ronald Weasley had decided that he didn't much want to talk to him anymore and Harry was fine with that. The Weasley family was traditionally Light oriented anyway and he was sure his dad wouldn't want him mixing with the sort of people who wanted him to stay out of power. And he had even gotten away with not properly introducing himself (a social faux pas, but excusable considering his current situation).

By the time that they arrived to Hogwarts and had been greeted by Hagrid (whom Harry had greeted happily enough while Weasley gaped in awe at the man's larger size), Harry was focused once again on the end result as the group of first years were led across the Great Lake and up into the grand castle itself.

Those next few weeks were the worst of Harry's rather short life. This was a notable accomplishment altogether when it had very little to do with the Durselys. If anything, it was Harry that made everything so bad. He thoughts refused to shut off and the knowledge of his very own dad out there kept him up late into the night. For once in Harry's rather short life, he had someone else out in the world, somewhere else to be.

It was a foreign idea for a little boy who had grown up not belonging anywhere at all.

The knowledge had him feeling homesick for the first time in his life. Homesick for a place and a person he had never met. (Or more likely didn't remember meeting.) It was all rather strange and the Dursleys didn't help the chaos his thoughts had devolved into. They were unable to make up their minds if they were now scared of Harry or not. Sometimes he was made to do chores while other times he was locked away in the cupboard. (With his trunk and Hedwig's cage inside it made for a rather uncomfortable squeeze. Hedwig had taken to being away all day to avoid such close quarters but always returned in the evening.)

He went hungry quite a bit, but that wasn't unusual. Sometimes he just wasn't fed. That particular August found Harry feeling the familiar hunger pains more than usual. He was viscerally aware of how unwelcomed he was amongst the dark shadows of Number 4 Privet Drive. (Which was another thing not unusual.)

The only thing that made it even a little worth while was knowing that soon he would be away from it all. Away to the magical school where he could look for his dad. He would never have to return to Privet Drive again. Never have to return to the Dursleys. Never have to feel unwelcomed again. It was something that Harry looked forward to more than anything. Even his pending attendance at Hogwarts. Magic was cool and all, but having a family was all Harry had ever wanted.

When he was younger he had dreamt of a long lost relative showing up at the door. That some estranged relative would take Harry away from the Dursleys. From Privet Drive. (Harry now knew how naive he was to hope for such a thing. No one wanted to adopt a Monster.) Of course he had long since disregarded those dreams. They were fantastical at the time, but it appeared that the idea hadn't been wrong in it's entirety. From the sound of things, the Dark Lord had been a right proper monster before Harry had come along and mucked it all up. (As Harry so often did: ask Aunt Petunia.) Obviously the man had other things to take up his time since his supposed downfall. Namely reviving the empire that Harry had destroyed with his birth. So if anyone should go out and find the other it should be him.

These were Harry's thoughts the morning of September 1st. He was dropped off at King's Cross thirty minutes early with both his trunk and owl on the trolley. Uncle Vernon had kindly pushed said trolley into the station after loading it. Harry should have known something was up immediately. Uncle Vernon was never nice to Harry and he had been in a good mood all morning. The rotund man left him standing at the brick wall between platforms nine and ten. Harry's stomach plummeted at the man's retreating laughter. There was no sign of the three-quarters part. How was Harry supposed to get on the train to Hogwarts?

Was it all a trick? Was Harry even a wizard? He had thought more than once that he had dreamed up the entire thing. The Dursley's odd behavior had generally been enough to convince him otherwise though. He stared down at the train ticket he clutched in his hands. The edge where Harry's fingers grasped the paper crinkled further in his grasp. If Harry wasn't a wizard that mean't he wasn't going to a magical school. Wasn't the son of a great and terrible monster. Wasn't anything more than a Freak after all. When Harry's face was sure to be turning red in embarrassment. Thinking about how he was going to return to Privet Drive left a stone lodged in his throat.

It was at that moment that he caught the tail end of a passing conversation. "-don't understand how Muggles can abide by the contraptions. Much easier to floo or fly. If there weren't so many of us, it would be-"

Harry's head shot up. He caught sight of a flash of red hair and black robes. The latter was a little odd. He had read about the statute of secrecy and knew that everything magical was to be kept away from Muggles. (He also knew that attire violations were the most common breaches in the statute. He hadn't understood why until this moment. As long as you wore trousers and a jumper you would fit in. Most Muggles had their own eclectic style anyway. But even Muggles would gawk at a family wearing black robes. What appeared to be the father had even donned one of those hats that were part of the school uniform. Harry had had no intention of wearing his own).

He followed the family as they continued down the platform. Harry made a point to be several paces behind them so as not to draw attention to his own unusual owl and trunk combo. With so many children in their group they were sure to be heading for the Hogwarts Express. Harry could follow their lead to gain admittance.

This didn't mean he wasn't surprised when the entire group ran at a brick wall. (Or completely aghast when they disappeared onto the other side.) It wasn't a brick wall at all, but a portal of some sort that led to the train to Hogwarts.

Harry didn't approach the family but did follow their lead. It was best to avoid interactions- and most importantly introductions- whenever possible. The memory of the uproar at the Leaky Cauldron was warning enough for him.

Harry was regarded as something of a miracle. A half-monster babe that had almost destroyed his monster father! And then there was that boy at the robes shop. He had suggested Harry shouldn't be allowed to go to Hogwarts since he hadn't grown up in the magical world. No it was best to stick to himself until he knew what to expect. He didn't want to make a mistake so soon after he had finally decided to find and help his wayward dad.

Besides, he never knew who was a Light wizard.

Harry was introduced to this concept in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord of Great Britain by Tabatha Meliflua. Before this he had had no idea there was a distinction of any kind between witches and wizards. (Outside the different name based off of gender, that was.)

Magic was passed down through the bloodline. Muggleborns- witches and wizards born of two Muggles- were not an exception. The author stated that they could trace their magic to a thrice removed aunt or uncle. Or some other distant relation like a great-great-grandfather.

Their magical leaning was characteristics of each family and remained through the generations. Light married Light and Dark married Dark. (Which meant his mother must have been a Dark witch to catch the attention of the Dark Lord.)

Harry's father being given such a title was not only because the monster was terrifying. It was because of his mastery over Dark magic.

Which meant that Harry, too, was a Dark wizard. (Ms. Meliflua was rather reticent about what exactly made magic Dark. She had stated that the Ministry maintained a firm anti-Dark stance since his father's reign. A stance that was endorsed by the general public.) This put him in a precarious situation. Harry was upheld as the anti-thesis to everything his father stood for. The single chapter devoted to the topic of the Dark Lord's demise at his hands was sparse to say the least. It had been a total of three pages- one of which was the fanciful account of how he had been raised in the lap of luxury. (Harry had snorted particularly loud at that paragraph.) Another page was about his mother and someone named James Potter. Harry assumed the man was his step-father who's name he shared. He was a Light wizard, to be sure and a Pureblood. (A status Harry had to read The Sacred Twenty-Eight by Cantankerous Nott to understand. It had been clear that with Harry being a monster- a creature- he could not be the scion of a Pureblood. The brief moment of hysteria he had about his identity had resolved at that bit of information.)

Why his mother had left his father for a normal wizard was not even mentioned in the book. Harry doubted it would be written anywhere. Such a thing would be personal in nature.

What had been clear by the rather sparse description was that no one knew how exactly Harry had gone about destroying his father.

The ending chapters had made another thing very clear: there was to be no mixing of any kind between Light and Dark. The Ministry- and the public- had a firm stance that had resulted in strict regulations over the years. Many Dark spells and practices were against the law. Holidays and potions and magical items. Harry's entire heritage was being eradicated by the Ministry with every passing year. If he hoped to do anything about it he would have to take a firm stance early on. No middle ground. No neutrality.

No mingling between him and a Light wizard. After all, he couldn't be the son of a Dark Lord and take part in such nonsense. Until he knew which side this family was on it was best to keep his distance. (And it wasn't as if he could go up and ask them. His reading had indicated it was a rather taboo subject that wasn't discussed in public.)

It was his luck that such a person found his way into Harry's compartment soon after the train pulled out of London. "I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from frowning. The Weasley family was always Light. Without exception. "I see," he said and buried his head further into the thome he had pulled out.

The Traditions, Holidays, and Rituals of Olde Magick wasn't a very entertaining read. Harry had owl ordered several books within that first week when the Dursely's ignored him. (Such a stance on their part hadn't lasted forever. He had had to sneak to read most of those books late at night.) what the lengthy named book did do was appear intimidating by it's mear presence. Thus preventing any future attempts at conversation from the other boy.

The same cannot be said for the girl who came through looking for a toad an hour later. "Oh! I've heard of Augustus Selwyn. He's rather notable for his treatise on the ancient origins of modern spells. I found the entire thome fascinating."

Harry hadn't actually heard of that specific text but thought it sounded interesting. The girl continued on to give him a brief synopsis of the book furthering his own curiosity. He was actually considering purchasing it later to read during his free time. Harry was more impressed that she knew so much about it and several other topics therein. Perhaps she was a half-blood like him to know so much? (Not that Harry would have known anything at all if the Dursely's had gotten their way.) There were no house colors on her robes so she wasn't a second year.

"Excuse me," Harry interrupted her when she finally took a breath. "But weren't you looking for a toad?"

In the same whirlwind that the bushy-haired girl came in, she left with another rush of words. The door closed behind her with a quiet snick. Harry smiled to himself as he began going over Walpurgis Night. 'She will be a boon to have a study group with,' he thought as he started the paragraph.

"She was barking, that one. You were right to send her packing. She's almost as bad as Percy, that's one of my brothers. I hope she's in Ravenclaw."

And like that his good mood soured. "I thought she was rather charming. I haven't met many who practice the proper traditions and even less who enjoy learning of them."

Aunt Petunia would have sniffed with disdain at the lack of manners. Harry was confused at the discrepancy though. His reading had said proper witches and wizards acted a certain way. Reality was showing them to be a different way. Was it the mistake of the witches and wizards he had met up until this point? Or was the information given to him in his book dated? It had been in the 'best-sellers' section, so it couldn't be complete nonsense. It was more likely that only certain people behaved as was proper while others didn't. This could be either because they didn't have the means to know any better or didn't care.

Harry would have only gotten the standard black robe required for school if it hadn't stopped to think. He would be spending a great amount of time in the wizarding world from now on and very few wore black robes. (He had sent Hedwig back to Madam Malkin's the very next day. He had received a parcel a week later with several more robes and some under clothes to wear as well. He wasn't going to wear Dudley's hand-me-downs any longer that was for sure.)

After his defense of the girl, Ronald Weasley had decided that he didn't much want to talk to him anymore. Harry, for his part, was fine with that. The Weasley family was Light oriented. His dad wouldn't want him mixing with the sort of people who wanted the monster to stay out of power. The fact that he had gotten away with not introducing himself was even better. It was a social faux pas, but excusable considering his current situation.

By the time that they arrived to Hogwarts the two had fallen into a silence that was tangible. The only interruption had been when an elderly woman had knocked on the door pushing a trolley of sweets. Harry had been curious. Dudley had been rather agressive in his enjoyment of his sweets and had taunted Harry with them. (Harry had once snuck a leftover biscuit when doing the dishes and found it to be too stale to enjoy.)

He was a little more cautious when he noticed that none of them were familiar. Chocolate frogs. Cockroach clusters. Acid pops. Fizzing Whizbees. Ice Mice. There was a box labeled Bertie Bot's Every Flavor Beans and seemed to be one of the more tame sort. Harry got a box of those and a licorice wand. It took three beans to realize that when the box said every flavor, they meant it. The taste of grass was something he was familiar with and did not wish to relive in a sweet. He switched to the licorice wand after that. He immediately noticed he did not like licorice. Thus ended his early experiment into wizarding sweets.

It was night outside by the time they arrived to Hogwarts. Hagrid collected all the first years, his booming voice cutting through the rabble. Harry greeted his first friend with cheer while Weasley gaped in awe at the man's larger size. (Which was fair. Hagrid was astoundingly large.)

His expression of awe was on everyone's face when they were ferried across a lake and to the school. It was more accurate to call it a castle for that is what it was. Harry had bought Hogwarts, a History but hadn't spent a lot of time going through it. He had figured that since he was living at the school he would have more than enough time to learn. Harry would have to remember to not be so complacent in the future.

This was a new experience- a new world. Harry was already at a disadvantage to other children who had always known about magic. There was sure to be a lot of nuances to the culture he would need to know if he wanted to find his father. That is find him without alerting the Ministry.

He needed to find out what happened that night his father disappeared. That would help him discover where the monster had been all this time. Most importantly he would have to convince him to take custody of Harry away from the Dursleys.

Harry had researched the topic. He knew that it was impossible for a magical parent to not receive custody of their child. Especially if it was against non-magical guardians. The Ministry held the opinion that only magical guardians could raise magical children. (Muggleborns were the gray area no one wanted to meddle in even under the most dire circumstances. No one except for his father, of course.)

"Harry Potter!"

Harry's head jerked up and out of his thoughts. By the look on the woman's stern face she had called him more than once. ( His brain reminded him that her name was Professor McGonogall, the Deputy Headmistress.) He walked forward, being sure not to rush but to move with purpose. Aunt Petunia detested running but Uncle Vernon hated to be kept waiting. "Yes ma'am?"

Her lips pursed and she gestured to the stool with the hand that held an old leathery hat. Harry blinked at her a couple of times and she let out a sharp breath. "Please sit down."

He moved to comply. (Again with enough alacrity to not cause impatience but cautious enough to not be rushing.) When the old hat rested on his head it fell down over his eyes, obscuring the entire room. After only a moment, Harry heard a voice in his head. He assumed belonged to the hat; it must be a magical hat, after all.

"Oh. Difficult, very difficult. You've got quite a mix in this head of yours. A bit of bravery, not a bad mind, unerringly loyal and there's this drive in you. Not quite ambition, but a need to prove yourself. Or rather avarice. Now that's interesting indeed..."

Harry shut his eyes and thought really hard. 'Please sort me in a good house.'

"Make no mistake, Mr. Potter, they're all magnificent houses. Each will cultivate you into a skilled wizard. But... I think Slytherin might be the one for you... It is that thirst of yours..."

"Hagrid says that Slytherin is the house the Dark Lord came from," Harry whispered to the hat.

He didn't want the stern-looking Professor McGonagall to hear him asking after his father. The general consensus seemed to discourage all talk of the Dark Lord. In fact it was outright forbidden in some aspects. Why else would the entire country refer to him with those silly monikers? Harry had understood the concept without difficulty. The Durselys treated Harry much the same way.

"That he was. Slytherin has a way of helping one's such as yourself and the Dark Lord on your way to greatness."

And there was that word again. Ollivander said his father had done terrible, but great things as well. He would be one step closer to the father the Dursley's had spurned all his childhood. If he was Harry's only chance of leaving Privet Drive, he was going to seize this opportunity with both hands.

"Slytherin. I want to go to Slytherin."

The Sorting Hat was silent for a few seconds. Like Harry had surprised it. "You are a very interesting sort, young man. I look forward to seeing what you become in SLYTHERIN!"

The last word echoed through the entire Great Hall. The hat had announced his sorting. Harry blinked in surprise in the next moment. The hat had been taken off his head so suddenly his glasses were askew. He blinked at the shift from darkness to light as he fixed his glasses. A thousand candles was nothing to sneeze at, he thought as he stumbled blinded from the stool.

The blond boy from the robe's shop was already seated at the table and had a rather mean looking smile on his face. He clapped with gusto at his seat. Harry made it a point to sit at the furthest end of the table away from his other housemates. (And not only to avoid the smirking blond although that was a plus.) Rather it was because he knew that placed into their house didn't mean they were going to treat him well. The Dursley's had taught him that well enough.

Harry glanced up at Hagrid as the sorting continued. He felt much better when he received a wave from the man. The groundskeeper had a fascination with dangerous creatures. He had told Harry that he would love to own a dragon when they had first met. (Later expounding that such an act was illegal.) Such a fascination meant that he didn't so much as flinch away from a monster like Harry. Although the same was not true in regard's to Harry's father. When Harry grew up, he was likely to garner the same reaction from his first friend.

The last boy sorted- Zabini, Blaise- sat down next to Harry. As the sorting concluded it had become obvious that Harry wouldn't be able to sitting by himself. He was fine with that knowing it was unavoidable.

The headmaster stood and with a few nonsensical announced the start of the feast. Before that moment it hadn't occurred to Harry just how much food there would be. The older students had mentioned the Welcome Feast when disembarking from the train. He had expected a lot of food but they paled in the face of reality. There were sandwiches, sausages, and rolls. Stewed carrots, roasted potatoes, and beef wellington. There were three different kinds of roasted birds and at least seven kinds of pudding. Harry could have sworn he saw a roasted boar on the Gryffindor table- with an apple in its mouth and everything!

"Aren't you gonna eat?"

Harry turned to see the blond boy who had sat to his right was frowning down at his plate. He followed the boy's gaze to see he had put a slice of one of the several pies and some mash on his plate so far. Deciding that dessert was in order he reached for the tray of tarts in front of him and added that as well. (It was his first day of magical school after all. With that thought still in his head, he grabbed a second. He hoped there was more than enough for him to get two. "Cheers," he mumbled to the Zabini boy when he passed him a jug of some sort of juice.

Harry was happy to find that everything was delicious. He wondered how long it had taken Professor McGonogall to cook all the food. She did seem like the more likely culprit than the Headmaster. The other professors must have helped too. Harry could only imagine how long it would have taken him to cook such an amount of food by himself. He was sure the castle's kitchen was three times the size of the Dursely's but the task was no less daunting. Aunt Petunia normally made him cook by himself unless it was a dessert dish. He wasn't often allowed anywhere near sweets even during their preparation.

Thinking on it further Harry supposed that the other students had helped her finish up. They had gone a different direction and had already been present. The trek across the lake had taken quite a bit of time as well. "How was your summer Harry?"

Harry's bright green gaze fixed to the blond again. He scrunched up his nose in confusion. The bloke's hair was straw-colored while the boy from the Madam Malkin's had silvery locks. That was neither here nor there. What bothered Harry was that the other boy had called him by his first name. All the books on proper etiquette insisted that first names were only used in two instances. To show the utmost disrespect or a fond regard. Seeing as Harry didn't even know this boy, he hoped he was oblivious to such customs and not actively trying to be rude.

Harry hadn't done anything to him to justify such actions if he were. Then again, that had never stopped the Dursleys... "I didn't give you permission to use my name," he pointed out, hoping for the best.

Zabini, who sat to his left, started laughing as if Harry had told a very good joke. "Careful there, Nott. Potter's old-fashioned he is."

Nott must have been the blond bloke. He bared his teeth to Zabini in a feral parody of a smile but didn't bother replying.

Seeing as everything had resolved itself, Harry returned to his plate. The food was delicious, though a bit too much. He ate smaller portions at the Dursleys- Uncle Vernon and Dudley needed it more than him. But that didn't mean that Harry was stupid. He knew it was likely that he would be hungry later and sequestered dinner rolls and a slice of ham away in his robes. (The tart he had eaten earlier had been a favorite of many and hadn't lasted past the first twenty minutes of dinner.) He felt a little bad for using the nice dinner napkin but figured there were more than enough to spare one.

The Headmaster chose that moment to call an end to the meal. The second speech that the Headmaster gave was much more sensible than the first. He warned students away from the Forbidden Forest and a section of the third floor corridor. This took up most of the time, which was to say it took about thirty seconds. Harry thought the man should have done better than this. Especially after the mention of death for trespassers. He went on to highlight the restriction for spells within the corridor. This Harry found odd as it was a magical school. This particular notice lasted about ten seconds.

When he released them for the night, Harry had a rather poor opinion of the old Headmaster. After reading about the man's defeat of a different Dark Lord he had expected much from him. Admittedly, Grindelwald had been completely human but it was still a notable achievement.

Harry's musings ceased when an older girl in Slytherin robes walked up to their end of the table. "Listen up first years! I'm Prefect Helena Dodderidge and I'll be showing you the way to the common room. Gather around me and we'll wait for the mass of bodies to clear out a bit."

She had a rather roguish smile that made her look more like a pirate captain than a prefect. This was offset by the loose brown ringlets she adorned. They made her appear softer than the smile would otherwise suggest. "Can't believe anyone would make you a prefect," Nott grumbled as he stood up from the table.

The smile sharpened around the edges. Prefect Dodderidge had heard him. (Harry thought it was rather stupid to say anything mean when someone was around to hear it. Especially if they were older than you. That was a lesson Harry had learned quickly in regards to Uncle Vernon.)

"Ow! You stabbed me with those talons you call nails, you crone."

Harry smiled to see the prefect wrap an arm around Nott's shoulders.

"Hush," she brushed Nott's complaint aside with little concern. "It was a love tap, cousin. You hardly even bled."

Ah so they were cousins, then? And it appeared that it was acceptable to nick someone with your claws and fangs...

Harry frowned down at his own hands. Prefect Dodderidge's nails were much longer than his own. While hers were a bit terrifying his own were ragged and chewed to the kwik. Maybe she was also part monster?

Harry made a promise to himself that he would stop biting his nails that very moment. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to bite them off anyway. He thought that a monster's nails should be much stronger than a normal person's nails. (But by the same strand so should his teeth so it actually did.)

He wondered if the Nott family had any monster blood in their line or if they liked to appear as such? "This looks clear enough. Don't want any of the other houses following us down into the dungeons."

Harry's head snapped up. "The dungeons?"

Isn't that where they locked up monsters? Did they decide they didn't want to teach him after all and it was best to lock him away before his father found out? The Dursley's had put a latch onto his cupboard door when he was younger.

"Don't worry," Dodderidge called back as she manhandled Nott towards the doorway. "It's not as creepy as you sound."

The grin she sent back wasn't offering any comfort. Nor did it convince Harry he wasn't about to be trapped in the bowels of a Scottish castle. True to her word, it wasn't as creepy as Harry thought.

It was much much creepier.

He spent the entire night glancing around his new room. The window that looked out at the Black Lake had him paranoid to be sure. The earlier meeting with his new head of house had his eyes drawing to the doorway as well. With the mermaid he had glimpsed earlier and Professor Snape Harry he was restless. It took him a long time to fall asleep.

Harry awoke in pitch blackness to the sound of swearing coming from somewhere to the right of him. "Can someone get the torches? What's the use of a ruddy house elf if they can't keep a fire going?"

It took him a moment to remember where he was. Not in his cupboard- or the spare bedroom upstairs he now had.

He was at Hogwarts.

He was going to learn magic.

He was going to find his father.

With a smile on his face Harry hurried to get dressed. He was still a tad unsure how to don his new clothes. A tunic appeared the same a as a normal shirt but bigger. Then the grey trousers had several tiny buttons instead of a zipper. The vest he knew to don last (per Madam Malkin). The color of the vest and trousers matched with the sole exception of an embroidered leaf in the top. Harry followed the lead of Crabbe on how to dress. The bigger boy donned a similar attire and tucked his tunic in his trousers before he buttoned up the vest. Harry followed suit.

By the time they were all down in the common room , Harry thought he looked like a proper heir. (Malfoy took the longest in the bathroom and still looked tired when he finally joined them.) Prefect Dodderidge had been waiting for them, her brown ringlets pulled up into an up-do. It was a fancier version of Professor McGonogall's tartan bun and much prettier for it. After she gave them all a quick once over (and fixed Tracey Davis' robe) she escorted them to breakfast.

Harry was thankful to find that breakfast wasn't as fancy as dinner. He doubted he could eat so much for every single meal, especially with three meals a day already provided. He grabbed a couple links of sausage, some eggs, and a slice of toast. (Harry didn't think he would be able to finish even that much. But for the sake of habit he did slip two slices of wrapped toast in his bag. Such an access to plentiful food did not mean it would always be available for him. It was best not to become too complacent with this new luxury.)

"Your schedule, Mister Potter."

Harry looked up to see a sheet of parchment outheld. His Head of House stood above him with his beetle black gaze narrowed and analyzing. He grabbed the schedule and the man continued further down the table. Harry wondered the necessity of handing out individual schedules to first years. As far as he could tell, they would have the exact same classes. First years weren't even allowed to join clubs during the first term unless permitted. Besides, the Prefects would be showing them to their classes. No one else seemed to share his opinion. Crabbe, Malfoy, and Goyle looked over their own respective schedules as if they expected to see a deviation.

A quick glance at his own showed that Potions was the first class they had after breakfast. Harry had never felt more pleased that he had read a book before in his life. He hadn't gone through and taken notes but he had read through the first handful of chapters. He was never very good in school but he had tried to memorize the more unusual tidbits from the textbook. He hoped it would be enough to keep him away from his head of house's ire.

(For the sake of being thorough, he took out his potion book again.)

Thirty minutes later Prefect Dodderidge came down to the end of the table. Harry finished his goblet of milk and wiped his hands down at her smile. "Good morning Potter," she greeted with a smile.

"Good morning Prefect Dodderidge," he returned.

Her smile remained fixated but somehow appeared to be less pleasant in the next second. To all the world she might have looked pleased for the first day of classes but her eyes had sharpened. She pitched her voice lower and Harry realized that he only heard her next words because he was so close. "I'm not sure if you've noticed or not but the Headmaster has been staring at you all morning."

Harry resisted the urge to look up at the head table. He had noticed. But the barmy old Headmaster seemed harmless enough... if one disregarded he had defeated a Dark Lord that had terrorized all of Eastern Europe fifty years ago. "I have. But he hasn't approached me so I thought I'd leave it be for now."

The prefect nodded but set something down on the table in front of him. "Just in case. I'm not sure how good your occlumency shields are but by the looks of it you don't have any. Wear this until you've learned how to occlude your mind."

It was a necklace of some sort. There were odd designs etched into the pendant. "Is this a runic necklace?" he asked in awe.

He had read about such things and knew had a brief understanding of how difficult they were to make. It appeared to take considerable control over one's magic to make enchanted items of any kind. The more complex the magic the more precise the spell craft must be. He hadn't delved into the subject in depth. There wasn't any time as and he was already working at a disadvantage to other magical children. Harry could only imagine how much effort would go into creating the necklace he now held in his hand. He put on the necklace and traded a smile with the fifth year student.

(He promised himself that during his first break from classes he was sure to look into the craft in more detail. And find out what an occlumency shield was.)

Prefect Dodderidge raised her voice to reach further down the table. "We have about fifteen minutes until first bell. I'll show you the way to the potions classroom now. Professor Snape will not tolerate tardiness, even on the first day."

She waved them towards the corridor after grabbing an apple and stowing it away inside her robe. Harry followed her example. It was always a good idea to have fruit handy. That was just good sense.

"We escort first week of classes so you don't get lost. Hogwarts may look massive on the outside but its worse inside. There are trick stairs, moving staircases, and changing classrooms. The charms classroom the first years use is in the closed corridor so you won't have to worry about it with Flitwick. Professor McGonogall's door, on the other hand, likes to move up and down the hallway."

Harry couldn't help his excited smile as he followed Prefect Dodderidge. The castle sounded amazing and bursting at the seams with magic. He hoped to explore more once he got his bearings. She continued to prattle on as they wound themselves further into the dungeons. It was a maze of epic proportions down here and Harry was sure if he hadn't been with someone he would have gotten lost. (It would be useful to put maps here like at the zoo. With a 'you are here' sticker and everything.)

"The professor is the youngest person to receive a potions mastery in three centuries. He's considered a prodigy amongst the community," Draco added his own two-pence.

Crabbe and Goyle pushed their way through the other first years to join them and the blond continued. "My father says that my own skills are as refined as his when he was our age."

"Then your father is mistaken," snapped Nott behind him.

Between one step and the next both Crabbe and Goyle turned on the bloke. Draco did not bother to even acknowledge him. "It's a shame that we have to have Potions with the Gryffindors," Malfoy continued without concern. "They're bound to smoke us out of the dungeons in the first half hour. Weasley might even set his cauldron on fire."

Harry frowned and turned his head to glance back at Nott who was being crowded to one side of the corridor. "Malfoy," Harry said. "It's not a crime to speak ill of someone. Only rude to do so in front of their family."

Draco sniffed with disdain and lifted his chin. "Yes, you're right. It's not Nott's fault that he has the manners of a street urchin. Crabbe! Goyle! Hurry up. I want to get the best seat."

Harry's frown deepened into a scowl. "That's not what I said," he grumbled to himself. (Not that anyone was listening.)

He was coming to the realization that Draco Malfoy was a bit of an idiot. Not cruel in the way Dudley had been- because he could. Rather the blond was cruel out of obliviousness. He was too stupid to realize that no one else bought into his own sense of self-importance.

It was a good thing that Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be much more easy-going than Malfoy. Harry didn't much care for the blond but he knew he had to be polite somehow. He didn't want to say something to bollocks up their new friendship. At least Malfoy didn't beat up anyone he bullied (even if he did send Crabbe and Goyle to scare them).

"This is you lot here," Prefect Dodderidge gave them a sharp smile that made her hazel eyes narrow. "Don't be too concerned when the professor is a bit late. He and Professor McGonogall have an ongoing bet for 'Most Dramatic Entrance' for the first years. He'll come barging in a minute or two late with an awe-inspiring speech prepared."

With that she waved in farewell and strutted down the hallway. She passed a small huddle of Gryffindors that had appeared from around the corner. "Come on then," Draco called as he pushed his way into the indicated doorway.

All Harry's initial observations about the space were completely based in his senses. The smell was sharp and almost palatable but the far corners were hidden in a swath of shadows. The scents reminded Harry of a mixture between the garden during early spring in some facets. But it also was reminiscent of the dumpster behind his primary school in how it was thick in his mouth. He wrinkled his nose and tried not to breathe deeply as he followed the bright strands of Draco's hair. It was darker in the classroom than the dungeons outside. This was due to the gross lack of torches lining the walls in here. There were windows at the front of the classroom that bordered a large chalkboard. They seemed to produce all the light that filtered into the rest of the room. It might have even been effective if it hadn't been raining all morning. The overcast day outside allowed very little sunlight to filter in.

Despite the strong smells and the barely lit room Harry was able to make his way to a desk with very little problem. It was only a small concession on his part that he ended up sitting next to Malfoy. He didn't want to risk tripping over his own feet or worse, a classmate, in his attempt to sit elsewhere. (Besides, the brightness of Malfoy's hair was as good as a beacon in the dark room. Harry was sure it was the only thing that allowed him to reach his seat without incident.)

The rest of their classmates trickled in with much less alacrity. The Gryffindors segregated themselves to the complete other side of the classroom. There was a boisterous conversation from them as they sat down. (The sole exception appeared to be Hermione Granger who was reading at her own seat.) His own house maintained conversation at the volume of a quiet murmur in contrast. (Harry wondered if this was intentional or not on their part.)

True to Prefect Dodderidge's claims Professor Snape came storming in in a whirl of black robes. The effect made him appear like a living shadow. He went through roll call and then started an introduction to the arts of potion making. Harry had heard from upper years how no-nonsense the man was and immediately took out his quill. The professor didn't mention anything without reason, others had warned. He took careful notes on what he believed to be important points of his speech. "Bottle fame... brew glory..." Harry whispered under his breath as he scratched into the parchment.

"Mister Potter."

Harry glanced up from his notes eager to excel in his head of houses' class. The smells were rather strong, but nothing he wouldn't get used to with time. With the promise of such fantastic rewards Harry doubted he would care for much longer. He wondered if stoppering death could be brewed after the event that might cause one's own death. Like something to bring someone back from near-death, like Harry's father. "Yes Master Snape?"

He watched as whatever forward momentum the man had built up staggered and he came to a brief halt.

Was Harry wrong to address him by his professional title? His textbook had said it was proper to address someone with a mastery as such. Especially while receiving instruction from them. Perhaps his head of house preferred the more informal 'professor' title?

"What... what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry tried to think (and ignored Hermione Granger's hand shooting straight up in the air a few tables to his left). He knew from his reading that wormwood as a base augmented anything and everything added to it. But an infusion wasn't the same as a base. Rather it was like a concentrated... something or other. "...it would be extracted through boiling it, I think... You wouldn't get a very concentrated version just by soaking up cut bits..." Harry thought out loud. "And asphodel is... a sleep aid when brewed in a tea..." He knew that much from gardening. "So a sleeping potion? A strong one too, like a draught. I don't think sleeping potions can be elixirs..."

He looked up at the Professor. "A sleeping draught, Mast-Professor."

The man stood frozen like a statue. Harry felt his face flush and he ducked his head away from the narrowed gaze of his head of house. "I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I do not know the exact name."

Silence met his admission. Harry had begun to accept his fate of losing the man's regard during the first day of classes. It might appear too fast for the common student but Harry was known to exceed expectations in the worst of ways. The professor's voice cleared away such maudlin thoughts. "It is called the Draught of the Living Death..."

Harry immediately wrote down the name to look for later. He was sure that something about that particular potion was sure to be on their test. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry glanced up from his notes to see the professor's eyes still trained on him. Oh. He'd have to keep answering until he got one right, then. "That's the goat hairball from chapter three. It cures certain types of poisons."

The potions master arched an eyebrow and Harry flushed. He realized that he had once again not answered the actual question. "Goats make it... so they throw it up? Like a cat?"

By the flurry of arm-waving in his periphery, Harry had fallen short. Again. It was obvious he would have to be more careful about his readings in the future. Skimming the book was not enough.

"It is found in the stomach of a goat. It is not the same as a cat's hairball and resembles a stone in appearance."

Harry flushed in embarrassment and quickly jotted down the correction. He looked back up to the professor almost immediately, waiting for his next try. He was sure that if he didn't get this question right he would lose house points. (He had heard that Professor Snape never took points from his own house. But Harry was sure it couldn't really be impossible if it was because of him. He had such luck anyway.)

Professor Snape stared at him for a few seconds in silence. The sound of snickering came from the Gryffindor side of the room. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry shot the man a quick smile of gratitude. This was an easier question, most likely picked for his benefit. "Nothing, sir. It's the same flower. It's also called aconitum."

They were very pretty blue-purple flowers that grew in the shade of Privet Drive. "They're poisonous in great quantities, but shouldn't be if brewed with care. Actually it might be a counter to the sleeping draught you mentioned earlier."

The professor remained silent for a few seconds before he nodded his head once and turned to head to his desk. "As you say. The wide-eye potion is what you seek."

Harry added it to his notes. Professor Snape continued in this manner for the next twenty minutes. He was met with various levels of success and failures. He even called on Miss Granger once, but cut off her when she was three minutes in and no closer to finishing. (Harry couldn't help but notice that the man made a point not to look in her direction afterwards.)

Slytherin house received three points by the end of the class period and Gryffindor ended up with a negative one. (Seamus Finnigan made a rather slanderous comment about the function of amortentia.) All in all, it was a good start to magical school


A/N: I know I said bi-weekly updates, but I've written three chapters in the last week and felt that it wouldn't be a problem to post this early. This is one of the chapters I warned you about. It had gotten so long I ended up cutting it in half. So just imagine if chapter two and three were just one long update. I imagine that this one is chunky enough to not necessitate anything more being a little north of nine thousand words. The next two chapters are markedly smaller, but will develop some relationships between Harry and those who will come to be rather important in the years to come.

Updated: January 2021