Harry Potter and the Garden of Stone
~o~
Chapter 3 – The Sorting
The rest of Harry's birthday flew by in a haze of presents and August passed just as quickly. When Harry awoke early on a chilly morning, it was already September. He stared at the ceiling for a minute, struck by the momentousness of the day, and then sprang out of his bed. A sudden movement at the foot of his bed made him jump right back, but it was only the cat. It had been sleeping on his open trunk, leaving a spot of black hairs all over his pants. Harry shooed it away.
"You know, I can't take you with me, no matter how often you sleep in there," he said and sat down on the floor. The cat walked over, curling up in front of him. Harry stretched out his hand and started to pet it. Its old fur still felt silky after all these years.
"Mum needs you here," he whispered. The cat just looked at Harry and meowed.
At this moment, the door opened to reveal his dad. He was wearing his pyjamas, yawning vigorously and patting his hair, which stood up in all directions.
"You were right honey, he's already up. We'll be down in a second," he shouted. Then, he turned to Harry, smiling brightly. "The big day has finally come. Are you excited?"
"I guess…"
James cocked an eyebrow.
"Yeah, that sounded really convincing. When I was about to go to Hogwarts for the first time, I almost set our kitchen on fire out of excitement, but you don't strike me as a pyromaniac today. " He strained to sit down next to Harry, his face contorting slightly. "The old leg is a little rusty in the mornings. Now, tell me. What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Harry, spill it now or you'll regret it as soon as you step onto the train."
"It's nothing important, just a stupid thought." But James looked at him expectantly and Harry had to continue. "I was just thinking that the other students probably all know each other and it's not like I am that good with new people…" He stopped, when he saw his dad's expression.
"You've been eavesdropping again, haven't you?"
Harry looked at his feet. "Maybe."
"Damn it, Harry. You know, you're not supposed to listen in on us. Firstly, because we're your parents and if we don't want you to know stuff, then we have a good reason, and secondly because when you spy on people you never get the full picture," James said exasperatedly. He drew a calming breath before continuing in a soothing voice, "We just meant that it might be a little overwhelming with all the new students. It could be true, at least in the beginning, but I trust you to adjust quickly."
"But…" Harry gulped. "What if I can't make friends? I have never made friends with anybody."
"You have. With Sirius and Remus for example."
"They don't count. They're adults."
"Well, then there's Ella and Nymphadora."
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Listen, Harry. I don't want you to worry about that. What does your mum always say about me?"
Harry looked at his dad and frowned. "That you love us nearly as much as you do love your hair?"
"Not that. What does she say when we play Quidditch?"
"That you touch your hair too much?"
James poked him.
"Okay, fine, you're childish. That's what she says. Like a lot," Harry added, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Exactly. Growing up with me is like growing up with horde of immature teenagers and I am sure that you will make friends easily. That's how it has always been and you'll see that it will be the same for you. After all, it's part of Hogwarts' magic."
"What does that mean?" Harry asked.
"You'll see. You will do great and I am sure lots and lots of people will be happy to be friends with you. If you're not careful, you might end up having to choose from all the candidates. Trust me." James smiled, but suddenly looked thoughtful, adding, "Just be sure to choose people with a good heart. Those friends are forever."
"Okaay…" Harry wasn't convinced, but he felt lighter. Something about his conversations with his dad always made him feel better.
"Oh, and don't tell anyone, but if you ever need help finding your way around the castle, ask one of the portraits. Most of them are pretty helpful," James said, winking.
"Really? Are they allowed to help?"
"I guess they must be. They helped me and Padfoot back then."
"Back when you were a first year?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Yeah, it's kind of a secret, but on our first morning at Hogwarts, we were running late and desperately trying to find our way to the Great Hall. Of course, Sirius and I got lost, just like every other Hogwarts student since the dawn of time."
When he saw Harry's wide eyes, James amended, "Nothing dramatic. Like I said, everyone gets lost, but eventually you'll learn your way around. Anyway, we were standing in this corridor arguing about how to find the Great Hall, when we heard someone chuckle. Stupid portrait of a pretentious witch was laughing at us. It was the best thing that could have happened. Sirius challenged her to show us the way, if she knew it, and it worked. A few minutes later, we arrived before any other first year did." James grinned. "Some of the older students had been betting on which house would arrive first, too. Sirius and I, of course clueless, made Fabian and Gideon win a nice amount of money. Great lads."
"Who are they?"
"Oh, two older Gryffindors. We made friends with them afterwards. The Prewett brothers were great, very funny, and they fought with us against the Death Eaters. Hogwarts definitely would not have been the same without them."
Harry frowned. "You never told me about them."
"Hm, that's because it didn't end well." James shook his head. "But I told you so much about what I, Sirius und Remus did. Probably too much, if we ask your mum."
"I am going to miss your stories," Harry said.
"Now it is going to be me who will want to hear your stories."
They heard a sizzling noise from the kitchen and smelled melted butter. "Best get down soon, your mum is planning on feeding you a double breakfast, lest you could starve on the train." James groaned standing up and left Harry alone with the cat.
Harry looked at the doorframe, where his father had disappeared and whispered, "I am still going to miss your stories, dad." Then, he went downstairs.
The morning that had started out calm soon turned chaotic, when Sirius arrived jollily waving a bag full of jokes and sweets. Harry was ecstatic and almost emptied his entire trunk to fit them in. His mum was not amused. Especially after Harry let a spinning top fall, which started wheezing and whistling furiously through the room. The cat went crazy, trying to catch it, and sprang all over Harry's clothes. Underpants went flying around; Sirius got a bad scratch on his forearm and Harry's clothing ended up covered in a ridiculous amount of cat hairs. After a tedious clean-up, they were finally ready to leave for King's Cross station. Sirius took the trunk and disapparated. James however wanted to take the floo.
"The Ministry has installed a few fireplaces along the platform. It makes it easier for magical folk to come and go without being seen by the muggles behind the barrier," he said propping the floo powder couch up on the mantelpiece.
"Why can't we just apparate there?"
"Because apparition has been banned at Platform nine three-quarters. One can only disapparate." He continued, when he saw Harry's curious face. "For safety reasons. It's an old law; has been in place since the end of the war and never been removed."
"But Sirius did just apparate."
"He did. To a spot a few blocks away. He'll make the rest of the way on foot." James lowered his voice. "Now, don't argue and come here, because we don't have much time." He gestured for Harry to come nearer. They stood close together in front of the fireplace. James glanced over Harry's shoulder towards the kitchen, where Lily was still busying herself. Then, he crouched down, his face now at the same level as Harry's.
"Listen," he whispered, "your mum doesn't want me to give this to you and I understand her, but it's a family tradition and it wouldn't feel right to send you off to Hogwarts without it. I want you to promise to be good, though. Don't do anything foolish, do not get yourself into trouble or – and I can't believe it is me saying this – but don't roam around too much, promise?"
Harry nodded slowly. His grandfather was beaming at him from the photograph on the mantelpiece and he had a good idea of what his dad would want to give him, but it couldn't be…
"Well, then, this is yours." James reached into his robe and pulled out a silver cloak. Harrys stared at it for a few seconds, gobsmacked.
"Is that really-?"
"The cloak you've heard so much about," James said, "I trust you with it just like my dad trusted me, but I want you to do a better job in being responsible. I don't mean that you should have no fun, just be very careful and don't run around outside the castle at night." He looked towards the kitchen door. "Or inside."
With a dry mouth, Harry touched the cloak. It was soft and felt like water sown into silk, like air that had densified and taken form.
"Don't forget, don't tell your mum. Here." James stuffed the cloak into Harry's pocket, just as Lily entered the living room. She was holding a brown paper bag and looked around red-eyed.
"James, let's get going. I've got the snacks and a few sickles for the trolley witch. Harry, don't forget to put the change back into the money bag in your trunk. Oh God, where is the trunk?"
"Sirius has already taken it. It's too big to fit in the fireplace, remember?" James said.
"Right, right. Of course. Well, then we should go. Harry, you've put all your clothes in, right? All of your socks, the gloves and scarves? Your school supplies and extra parchment?"
"Yes, mum."
"Shall I get you another roll? Maybe I should…"
"No, don't worry you so much." James took Lily at her elbow. "He has everything he needs, and even more, I'd say. In case he forgot something, we'll simply sent it by owl. Now, let's leave and find him a nice compartment, shall we?"
He didn't wait for an answer, but guided Lily to the fireplace. She went first, disappearing in a roar of green flames. James glanced at Harry.
"Are you ready?"
Harry looked around one last time. It was the strangest feeling to leave the only place he had ever known to be home. He took in the warmth of the room, the exhausted cat sleeping on the sofa cushion and the family pictures over the fireplace.
"Yes, dad. Let's go."
Together they stepped into the fire. A few seconds of raging flames later, Harry tumbled out onto a stone floor. He sprang up, already feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks. His dad however didn't seem to have noticed his embarrassment, he just took Harry by his shoulder and led him away. They turned around a huge pillar and now Harry could see Platform Nine Three-Quarters for the first time. A large, red train stood ready, steam streaming out of its chimney at the front. A few feet away was an impressive wrought-iron archway. Hundreds of witches and wizards littered the platform. Parents with their children, even some grandparents were present. A little girl was crying while desperately hugging her sister's waist. Her weeping melted with laughs, rattling trunks, the metal clattering of countless feet ascending and descending the train and hooting owls.
Harry followed his parents closely along the platform, dumbstruck by the mass of people. The crowd thinned a little and when they arrived at the middle of the train, they spotted Sirius.
"Your trunk is already inside," he said.
Harry peered through the window but the train was too high for him to see more than the overhead luggage rack where his trunk was stored.
"Thanks. Ehm, what we do now?"
"Wait," Sirius said simply. "And probably give your mum a last chance to fuss over you."
"I'm not-"
"Of course you are and I'd wager you're no exception. Or have you ever seen a mother who did not fuss when her kid left for Hogwarts? Especially with a first year."
"There are some."
"Only cold-blooded hags like mine." Sirius sighed and took in the sight of the platform. "It's been pretty long since we've been here the last time. The Express still looks exactly the same."
"Yeah, it's almost eerie. Like time has stopped," James said, his eyes drifting over the train with a longing expression.
Harry followed his gaze. Steam was pouring out of the chimney and blurring the distant figures along the platform, but about twenty yards away, he spotted two sober looking wizards, watching the crowds. They wore characteristic dark blue robes.
"Aren't those Hit Wizards?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Sirius said. Looking at Lily, he quickly added, "Don't worry. They're here because of protocol. They always are. The minister is very adamant about safety."
Harry did not notice his mother's sigh of relieve.
"So cool," he said.
"The minister?" Sirius asked bewildered.
"What? No! The Hit Wizards of course."
During the next half hour, the platform got steadily more cramped as students and their families poured in. Harry was barely able to contain his nervousness. Every time he glanced at his wristwatch, he felt like hours had passed, but time belied him, showing that only minutes had gone. His dad and Sirius did their best to distract him, talking about their Hogwarts memories, but they were even more vague than usual, as if they wanted to tease, but not spoiler him, now that his departure was so close. With every passing minute, Harry grew more conflicted. He wanted to leave. At the same time, he discretely slid nearer to his mum such that their shoulders touched. Lily understood without words. She put her arm around him and Harry felt himself relax a bit. They stood there together, his mother holding him close, both watching James and Sirius argue about who had caused some toilet or else to explode. At some point, Harry forgot to check his watch, and after what seemed only seconds, Lily removed her arm.
"I think it's time." She sounded like she had a bad flu.
Harry's heart suddenly jumped. He nodded mechanically. The clock above the platform showed that the train would depart in three minutes.
"I want you to promise to write often, but none of those short letters that rather seem postcards. Be diligent, study, and tell us if anything bothers you. Never forget that we will always be there for you, even if we are far away."
Harry could see the tears in her eyes that she had been holding back so fervently the whole day.
"I will."
"Promise?"
"O'course, mum," Harry choked.
Lily pulled him into an embrace. He could feel her tremble slightly and squeezed her tighter.
The conductor blew his whistle once and his mum let go. She immediately turned around to hide new tears. Sirius stepped forward and patted Harry on the back. "Have fun! But don't forget to take the time now and then for a few words to your godfather."
"I won't."
"Or to your father," James said gravelly.
Harry looked up. His dad was smiling, but he too had treacherously shiny eyes.
"I would never, dad."
When James hugged him, he suddenly felt so tiny. Harry had to bite back his own tears now. He could feel the invisibility cloak in his pocket, scrunched up between him and his dad. Strangely, the thought of having it with him, was soothing.
Another whistle blew and they broke apart.
"Now, board and keep your promises," James said softly.
Harry stepped onto the train, turning around one last time, before the doors closed. He ran to his compartment and opened the window. The train had already started moving. His parents and Sirius stood a few feet away, but Harry could still see the tears streaming down his mother's cheeks. He waved madly at them, as they quickly grew smaller. Then, the train took a turn and they disappeared.
It had all happened so fast.
Harry felt like he had left half of his consciousness on the platform. Somewhere inside the fast shrinking building that was King's Cross. He closed the window and sat down. This was the first time he realised that he was alone in his compartment. The train was gaining speed and London quickly flew by. An indistinct mass of grey buildings. Harry looked at them, but didn't really see them. Instead, he stared at his reflection. An afraid boy with messy hair and his mum's eyes stared back. He gulped and suddenly missed the weight of her arm on his shoulder. Then, he forcefully shook his head. It wouldn't do to cry right now. On the seat in front of him, lay the paper bag Sirius had gifted him. He ripped it open only to find a few of the things he couldn't fit in his trunk. During the next hour, Harry ate an extravagant amount of ice mice, cherry liquorish wands and the occasional Bertie Bott's Bean and distracted himself with the newest issue of the Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. By the time he had finished it, his stomach felt funny from all the candy and he decided to go for a walk. He was hoping to run into Ernie. If he was fortunate enough, Ernie would remember him.
Unlike his compartment, the train overflowed with laughter and chatter, eager students exchanging gossip and tales from their holidays. Harry made his way through the first carriage. The rattling of the train testified to the speed with which they were rushing towards North. He could see fields of green. They were speckled with corn cockles. Without the sight of a familiar face, he made it halfway through the second carriage before a scream made him startle.
"PUT THAT THING AWAY!"
The door of the compartment to his right opened abruptly and a boy stumbled out. He ran right into Harry. Both toppled over and fell onto the floor.
"Ron, come back! The tarantula is in its box."
"I am not…," spluttered the ginger-haired boy named Ron. He propped himself up, glaring. Harry looked at the compartment door. Two identical face looked back at him. Their gazes were tight, as if they forced themselves not to laugh.
"I'm not sitting in a room with that!"
"Oh, come on. It's just a spider," said the first twin.
"Yeah, Ronnie. No big deal."
Ron huffed and turned around.
"Wait, don't leave!"
"If you get lost on the train, mum will kill us," said the second twin, but Ron already stalked away.
That left Harry sitting on the floor alone. He hurried himself to straighten up, while the twins eyed him intently. He noticed that they even had their freckles in exactly the same spots.
"Oi, did Ron knock you over?"
Harry nodded.
"Well, sorry for that. He really hates spiders. You a firstie? I don't think I have ever seen you at Hogwarts."
Harry nodded again. The twins glanced down the corridor and then at each other.
"Well, it was nice meeting you –erm..."
"Harry."
"Hi. I'm Fred Weasley. That's George and the run-away is our little brother Ron."
"You wouldn't mind checking in on him, would you? Sometimes he's a bit delicate," George said.
Harry shook his head and the twins grinned. A muffled scream came from the compartment. Half disgust, half excitement.
"Okay, then," said Fred.
"Bye, Harry," added George and the compartment door slammed shut.
Harry remained alone in the corridor, unsure what to do. When he heard another boisterous shriek, he leaned forward and saw black boy with dread locks slowly opening the lid of a box, a hairy leg pocking out of it. The boy caught his eye and Harry hurriedly left. His first chat with fellow students hadn't gone too bad, he mused, except for him actually not saying a word that wasn't his own name. Maybe it was more an interaction than a chat, but still good enough. Now that he thought of it, the twins seemed to be at least two years older than he was. He couldn't expect them to invite a first-year student to join them. However, he would have liked to see the tarantula up close. The magical spiders that he had found years ago sucking the pollen from his mother's plangentines had been surprisingly boring. Of course, the forbidden trip to that section of the garden had concluded with a nasty bite from the Fanged Geranium and thus ended up being more exciting than was strictly necessary in Harry's opinion.
"Funny, he?"
Harry spun around. The twin's brother was standing in an alcove in front of the washing room. Red-headed, red-eared and red-eyed, he glared at Harry with crossed arms. Harry's confusion must have shown on his face, because he continued: "My brothers. Funny blokes making fun of me. You had a good laugh?"
Over Ron's angry glare, Harry forgot his own trepidatious muteness.
"Actually no. They just asked me to see if you're alright. So, you're fine then?"
Ron seemed to shrink a bit.
"I'm good. I just-"
"-really hate spiders. I know."
Ron raised an eyebrow.
"Your brothers told me."
There was a wave of uproarious laughter from the compartment where the twins were seated.
"I reckon you'll want to go back?" Harry asked, moving to the side to let Ron pass, but the other boy shook his head.
"Are you crazy? I am absolutely not going anywhere near that thing ever again. I'd rather just sit down here and wait. All the other compartments are full anyway."
"Mine is empty. I mean… It's not like nobody wanted to sit with me. Just no one came and asked. So, if you wanted to, you'd have a seat, is all," Harry said quickly before he was again at a loss of words.
"Well, sounds good to me," Ron said. "Let's go."
"R-really?"
"Yeah, where to?"
At little overwhelmed, Harry led Ron back to his compartment. Had he known that he would not be alone he might have picked up the wrapping paper that littered the floor. Harry sat down desperately trying to hide the half-eaten sugar quill on his seat. Ron forced a smile.
"Sorry for the mess," Harry mumbled.
"Oh, no it's not that. I'm not Percy. Just, well, I left all of my food with Fred and George," Ron said, his face reddening again.
"You can have some of mine. I have plenty. " Harry gestured towards the ripped open bag of chocolate frogs on the seat in front of him, but Ron looked sceptical.
"I haven't hexed them," Harry supplied after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
"Why would you do that?"
"Uhm, I don't know, but my dad has once spelled liquorice to turn my hair green just to get me."
"That sounds fun," Ron said, adding in a bitterer voice, "My mum would never allow it."
"Oh, mine is used to my dad doing silly things." Harry took a chocolate frog and offered another to Ron. "Please just take it I have so many of them anyway."
Shrugging, Ron accepted the chocolate frog. He ripped the package open and swiftly grabbed the frog before it could run off. "George once managed to make the frog hop right into his mouth. I guess it was luck, but he insists the frog just couldn't bear listening to Percy anymore."
"Who's this Percy?"
"My annoying, rule-obsessed older brother. Do you want the card?" Ron asked.
"No thanks", Harry said. "I prefer to collect Phanimizzard figurines. My dad gave me his collection when I was six. We have nine out of ten dragons."
"That sounds pretty cool, but I kind of like the cards of famous wizards. This one must be rare. I've never seen him before. Look," Ron said, handing him the card.
A wizard with sharp eyes, framed by wrinkles, looked up at Harry. He was standing in a medieval room, holding a roughly cut ruby. When he saw Harry eying it, he smiled and the gem disappeared behind his back. Harry gave the card back.
"I think I have already seen him. Sirius has an almost complete collection."
Ron froze. His hand with the chocolate frog card remained suspended in mid-air. He held it upside-down, which meant that the painted wizard had fallen headlong against the stone ceiling of the cavern in which he had been immortalised. His robes hung in a distinctly disgraceful manner round his waist. Harry grinned, when he saw the long underpants covering his bottom.
"Did you just say Sirius? As in Sirius Black? The Sirius Black?"
Harry frowned. "Why are you saying his name like that?"
Ron did not register the question.
"You don't happen to know him, do you?"
"Ehm, I do. He's my parent's friend and my godfather."
Ron's reaction was as hilarious as it was mysterious to Harry. His jaw dropped, he let the card fall and stared at Harry for three full seconds. Then-
"You're Harry Potter," he deadpanned.
Now, it was Harry's turn to gape.
"How-?"
"Your parents are famous. They fought You-know-who."
"Oh." Harry blinked, trying to regain his composure. "Right, they told me about the war. But that was years ago and there were many others."
"Twelve. There were twelve wizards and witches the night when You-know-who was defeated."
"You seem to know quite a lot about that," Harry said. Ron blushed immediately.
"Well, when I was smaller Bill always told us about them," he said, looking down at his fingers. "That's when he still lived with us, I mean. So, I sort of grew up with stories about the Twelve."
For a split-second, Harry wondered if Bill was yet another one of Ron's brothers and how many more he had, before he focused on the truly pressing matter.
"The Twelve?"
"Yes, the Twelve Sung Heroes." Ron puffed his chest and began to recite.
"The Twelve fought together,
To save us forever.
They vanquished You-know-who
'cause no one else could do.
Only their great sacrifice,
made possible our peaceful life,
grateful we must be
for now we live in liberty
lest never will we forget
the lives that they have led,
The Twelve will be eternally
In our hearts and books of history"
Speechless, Harry decided it would be best to put his mouth to a better use than gaping open. He grabbed the rest of his previously discarded sugar quill and shoved it in.
"I have known it since before I could read. It actually continues," said Ron embarrassed. "It's strange that you don't know it though. I don't reckon you fancy hearing the verse where they rhyme Potters with swatters?"
Harry almost choked on his sugar quill. "Th-there's a rhyme?" he spluttered.
"Of course. The song lists all heroes, dead or alive." Ron inhaled.
"Before the end of night,
Six of them had died."
He fell silent, when he saw Harry's expression, and his face turned into an even deeper shade of red.
"Everyone knows it," Ron muttered.
"I didn't." Suddenly, Harry felt as alone as if the compartment were still empty. "That's just great. I bet I am the only one who doesn't know this kind of stuff."
"I don't think so. There's loads of people who come from muggle families and didn't even know about the magical world until they got their letter. And you're not from a Muggle family. Not at all."
Ron's admiring look made Harry squirm.
"Still, I bet you already know half of the students with all your brothers at Hogwarts. How many do you have exactly?"
"Five." Ron's expression darkened. "And they are all just so perfect. Bill is the oldest, he was everybody's darling and even became head boy. Charlie made captain of the Quidditch team. Now, Percy is a prefect and Fred and George are so funny that they're popular, despite their messing around. Of course, everyone expects me to do the same, but even if I could, it wouldn't be a big deal because one of my brothers already did it."
"At least you must know loads about Hogwarts. My dad told me a bit, but it doesn't seem enough."
"Not really," Ron said, tilting his head. "I mean, I heard many stories, but with Fred and George you can never be too sure if they are true. This morning Fred actually told me that the sorting hurts, but I think he was joking."
"I guess he must have been," Harry said. He made an effort to sound more confident than he felt. "My parents have never said anything similar and my mum would freak if the sorting was actually painful."
Ron scrunched up his face. "You do have a point." He grinned. "Mine would probably scold the teachers and that's something I'd love to see."
Harry chuckled. "Do you know a lot about the teachers?"
"Not really. Dumbledore is headmaster, of course, but everybody knows that. Oh wait, the twins always go on about a certain Professor McGonagall. She has given them a fair amount of detentions. Pretty strict and all. She's head of Gryffindor. All my brothers were sorted into Gryffindor. That's where I hope I'll end up."
"Me, too!" Harry smiled brightly.
"I guessed that. Your parents and Sirius Black were in Gryffindor, weren't they?"
It was not a real question, not even a request for confirmation, but Harry nodded all the same.
"Gryffindor it is then. Wouldn't want to become a Hufflepuff or, even worse, a Slytherin."
"Hufflepuffs aren't that bad," Harry said immediately. "Sirius' cousin is a Hufflepuff and she's really nice and was just accepted for auror training."
Ron did not look convinced. "Well, I guess Hufflepuff might be okay then, but Charlie says they're rubbish at Quidditch."
"Oi, you like Quidditch?"
From there, the conversation became easier as it spilled over to quidditch teams, quaffle sizes and quarrels on the pitch during the last season. Harry was not surprised to find out that Ron knew all about his dad's short quidditch career.
"It was so unfair that they kicked him off the team, no matter his leg!" Ron said, outraged.
"They kept him as a coach, though. It's not the same, but he still gets to fly on most days."
Ron just huffed his disagreement, which made Harry smile. He thought to himself that his dad would like Ron a lot. He very much seemed like one of those good-hearted people he had talked to him about this morning.
"Does he really-?" Ron suddenly looked shy and leaned forward. He spoke in a hushed tone. "Does he really have a leg of pure goblin-made gold?"
"Why- no," Harry said baffled, "that would be stupid because I'd be way too heavy."
"I'm going to kill Fred," he mumbled under his breath and adverted his eyes. The tip of Ron's ears turned progressively redder.
"Er, I think, he might have had a golden leg once," Harry lied helplessly. "Can't be too sure, they often try out new prototypes and it's not like I'm all that involved." He shrugged apologetically and was relieved to see Ron look up. "Dad always jokes the healers should rather spend their time trying to grow it back, instead of attaching stuff to him as if he was an empty Christmas tree."
Apparently appalled, Ron opened his mouth: "They should do that!"
"Can't really, since it was dark magic, which cut it off. No growing back anything thanks to Voldemort."
Suddenly, Ron sat at up straight. "Why would you say his name?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't think… My parents always use it."
Still pale, Ron murmured, "They're heroes of course… But the rest of us never say his name."
"Sorry, I forgot that…"
Ron glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. When he spoke he was looking out of the window instead of at Harry.
"My uncles used to say his name," Ron said in a low voice. "You-Know-Who and his followers killed them and my mum says using his name is bad luck."
"Oh." Harry opened and closed his mouth. He suddenly had the urge to say something, but his throat only gurgled embarrassingly. Ron did not mind. He stared out of the window for a moment, before shaking his head.
"Well, it happened many years ago and I think mum's over it now, but she did name Fred and George after them. Fred for Fabian and George for Gideon."
The names made something click in Harry's brain.
"I know them!" he cried, making Ron flinch. "My dad told me about them this morning. The Pruwitts, no wait, the Prewett brothers, right? They faught together against Vol-, erm, against You-Know-Who."
"You're kidding!"
Excitedly, Harry repeated every word of what his dad had told him a few hours ago. Ron's jaw dropped while Harry spoke, but he seemed pleased and shared more about his home life. Harry laughed, when Ron told him about his childhood adventures and soon felt at ease in his company. Before they knew it, the sun was starting to settle and they changed into their Hogwarts robes. Harry had just finished tying his shoes when the train slowed down noticeably. Both boys ran to the window. They were travelling across a passage between a mountain and a vast forest.
"Can't be far now." Ron pointed to the train corridor where a small group of older students had gathered, all clad in their robes. He was right, of course, and a moment later, the train slowed down further, made a turn and rolled to a stop in a tiny station. The students on the corridor pushed their way outside. Harry and Ron joined the commotion and soon stepped onto a small platform. The night was already dark and damp. Just as Harry and Ron wanted to follow the older students, a booming voice called: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
Fighting against the current of students, they turned around, thanking Merlin that they didn't have to pull their luggage, and walked up to a bobbing lamp, which was held by the largest man Harry had ever seen. He had gigantic hands and feet, broad shoulders and looked wild with his untamed mane and tangled beard, but he smiled warmly when he saw Harry step into the lamp light.
"That's Hagrid," Harry whispered into Ron's ear. He vaguely remembered him. Ron nodded, still gaping at the giant.
"Charlie told me about him, but I didn't imagine him being this big."
Harry snickered, but Ron was too entranced to notice. His eyes scanned the growing crowd of first-year students gathering around Hagrid and his lamp like a swarm of midges. Among them, Harry spotted Ernie standing next to a blonde girl. Harry caught his eye and smiled. Ernie waved back, but before he could move, Hagrid announced, "C'mon, follow me", and the student throng herded together, trying to stay as close to Hagrid's light as possible, while he led them down a steep path.
Thick vegetation blocked their sight left and right. Harry and Ron had to jog, needing four steps for each step Hagrid took. They could hear the other students breathe heavily, too, all struggling to keep pace, but none willing to stay behind alone in the night. Nobody spoke, until they reached a bent.
"Merlin's pants!"
Ron's exclamation was possibly the most fitting description of Hogwarts Harry would ever hear. They stood at the shores of a black lake. On the other side, atop a mountain towered the castle with countless turrets and hundreds of sparking windows, which shone bright through the night, like the stars in the sky above them. Harry gulped.
Hagrid directed them to the small boats at the shore. Harry and Ron climbed into one, positioning themselves at the front. Ernie, of whom Harry had lost sight in the shuffle, shot forward and climbed in after them.
"You didn't tell me you were a Potter," he said a little out of breath.
"Erm, sorry?" Harry supplied, unsure what to say.
Ernie smiled and introduced himself to Ron, before a loud moan made him turn around. The blonde girl from the platform stood behind him, struggling to get into the boat. "Oh, right, here take my hand, Hannah" he murmured and helped her in.
As soon as she had sat down, Hagrid gave a commando and all boats move off at once, sliding across the calm waters effortlessly. When Harry squinted his eyes, with the slight breeze on his face, it almost seemed as if he was flying towards the castle.
"Heads down!"
Harry crouched low, as their boat reached the cliff and carried them across a heavy curtain of ivy to a secret entrance. Complete darkness followed. From the way the water was splashing onto the walls, Harry gathered that they were passing through a narrow tunnel. At its end lay an underground harbour hewn out of stone and scarcely illuminated by a few abandoned torches. They had to be right below the castle by now. The first years scrambled onto the uneven floor, then headed up a series of steps that had been carved in the rock and finally tumbled out of the passageway onto grass. They huddled together in front of wide stone steps, leading to an immense oak front door. Hagrid walked up and turned around to smile at them encouragingly, before he knocked three times with his enormous fist. The door opened wide to reveal a stern looking witch in emerald-green robes.
"This must be Professor McGonagall," whispered Ron. "Fred said she'd look right steely."
Harry just nodded, not wanting to be shushed by the professor, before he had even entered the castle. They followed the other students to the top of the stairs and then finally set foot into the castle. Hogwarts' entrance hall was more impressive than anything Harry had ever seen. He craned his neck to see the ceiling, but couldn't make it out. The marble staircase in front of them was colossal, but Harry could only take a glance at it, before Professor McGonagall led them into the Great Hall.
Despite the many times he had heard of this place in his father's stories, despite the detailed descriptions and hundreds of adjectives Sirius had used to paint him a picture, the Great Hall wasn't like anything he could have imagined. It was a magical, mesmerizing place with its high starry ceiling, floating candles and glittering golden plates. The first years stopped in front of the High Table and turned to face a three-legged stool, which carried an old, extremely tattered wizard's hat. A rip appeared right above the brim. Just when Harry thought that it looked almost like a mouth, the hat started to sing. The hall burst into applause as soon as it had finished and Professor McGonagall called the first student forward. Harry watched as one after the other were sorted and tried to count the other students in the line, but he could not make them all out. He glanced at Ron, who looked back as pale as Harry felt.
"Longbottom, Neville!"
A new sort of silence took over the Great Hall. Many of the older students, who had been following the sorting clearly bored, perked up. Most muttered conversations stopped and Ron craned is neck to see a blonde boy sitting down on the three-legged stool, before the Sorting Hat slid over his head. Now curious and for once not feeling the nod his entrails seemed to have formed since he had arrived at Hogwarts, Harry observed Neville Longbottom's sorting with baited breath. After what seemed an eternity, but it might have been only two minutes, the hat shouted:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The table on the left exploded in cheers as Neville hurriedly ran over. Harry used the tumult to whisper: "Who is he?"
Ron looked at him as if he was contemplating whether Harry had gone mad.
"He's the son of Frank and Alice Longbottom. They're heroes, too. Both died fighting Voldemort. I thought you would have known that."
Harry shook his head. He looked back at Neville. He was now sitting at the Gryffindor table and a few older students patted his back. The sorting continued. Harry's patience was wearing thinner with every sorted student, but so did the line of students waiting to be sorted and finally, with only a few handfuls of students left, Professor McGonagall called his name.
"Potter, Harry."
After what Ron had told him on the train, he probably should have expected a similar reaction. However, Harry was stunned and admittedly frightened, when all heads turned towards him and a second ringing silence fell over the Great Hall. He hurried to reach the stool, grabbed the hat and jammed it on his head. The hat's inside was comfortably black and devoid of any starring eyes. For a couple of seconds, nothing happened, until a small voice whispered in his ear. Harry flinched.
"Oh, a Potter. Afraid of your own family name, are you? " The hat chuckled. "Oh, don't you quail, Mr. Potter. For only those who fear, will know the true courage of a GRYFFINDOR!"
The last word rang through the Great Hall and made Harry's heart leap. An uproarious applause washed over him as soon as he lifted the hat off. Harry put the hat back on the stool and rushed to his new house table. By the time he plopped onto his seat, he grinned from ear to ear, although his face was burning. He could see the High Table properly now. In a golden armchair at the centre sat Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster smiled bemusedly at the noise his students were making. Professor McGonagall instead seemed less enthused. Under her stern stare, he clamour died down and the sorting continued. By the time Ron was called forward, his face was green. Harry crossed his finger. Fortunately, it took the hat no more than ten seconds to make his decision and a euphoric Ron soon fell onto the seat next to Harry. Once the last student had been sorted, Dumbledore stood up. The way he looked down onto his students, like an immensely proud grandfather, made Harry feel a strange rush of homesickness and comfort.
"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you."
He sat down and piles of deliciously smelling food appeared on all tables. Suddenly hungry like a wolf, Harry grabbed roast chicken and potatoes. With a full mouth and a satisfied smile, he looked around at his new classmates. He could see one of the twins, who had followed him and Ron into their boat, stealing glances at the Ravenclaw table, while a bushy-haired girl rattled on animatedly in her ear, never even stopping to swallow her food. She was talking so fast that she attracted the attention of two blonde girls, whose names Harry did not recall. One rolled her eyes and whispered something in her neighbour's ears. Both snickered. In front of them sat a boy, whose name Harry had not forgotten. Neville Longbottom had golden hair, a round face with a pleasant expression and apparently parents, who were part of the Twelve Sung Heroes. Harry noticed that he was not the only one observing Neville. Many of the older students curiously glanced at him, whenever they thought he wasn't looking. With a slight jab of panic, Harry realised that people were staring at him, too, and he hastily looked down at his plate. When dinner drew to a close and the students started groaning from their last pieces of apple pie, Dumbledore got to his feet and all chatting stopped once more.
"Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. Mr. Filch asked me to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors and that all first years should consult the comprehensive list of forbidden objects available in Mr. Filch's office. Should one of these objects be found in your possession, he assures me that it will be confiscated.." He stopped, eyes twinkling. "Classes will start tomorrow at nine sharp, except for the first years, who I invite to gather in the entrance hall for the introductory addresses with their Head of House. And finally, I'll expect you all to be on your best behaviour for the Commemoration ceremony at the end of the month," Dumbledore added, suddenly looking grim. The fleeting moment passed and the headmaster's expression melted into a soft smile once more. "And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
A redheaded, slim boy leaped up a few seats away from Harry.
"Follow me first years," he beckoned importantly, puffing his chest. "I am your new Prefect."
Harry turned to Ron and mouthed: "Percy?"
Ron nodded, slightly disgruntled. The Gryffindor first years lined up and Percy frogmarched them to Gryffindor tower. Harry felt as if someone had filled his shoes with lead, while he climbed more staircases than he could count, marched through a doorway hidden behind a tapestry and almost ran into a ghost. A near heart attack later, his tired feet finally stopped in front of the portrait of a rotund woman. Despite his sleepiness, he tried to get a good look at the Fat Lady he had heard so much about. Sirius had been right. Her cheeks were just as hideously pink as her gown.
"Password?" she drawled.
"Caput Draconis," said Percy in a tone that seemed fitting for nothing less than the proclamation of a king. He turned around to the first years, as the portrait swung forward. "Go ahead."
One after the other, they scrambled through the hole and finally found themselves in the Gryffindor common room. Harry couldn't help but grin. He looked at the cosy armchairs, the dark red carpet and impressive fireplace and suddenly home didn't feel so far away. Harry and Ron climbed up a spiral staircase, until they reached their dormitory. A brown-haired lad was already inside looking thoroughly impressed. He noticed Harry and Ron and stuck out his hand.
"Hi, I'm Dean, Dean Thomas. It's mighty cool here, isn't it? I'm a Muggleborn, so I had no idea that I was magical before I got my letter. And you are?"
"Ron Weasley."
"And Harry Potter."
A snort interrupted their conversation.
Neville Longbottom stood in the doorway.
"What?" asked Harry, but Neville ignored him. Instead, he looked at Dean, who was sitting on his bed, and pointed to the trunk at the feet of the neighbouring bed poster.
"Whose is that?"
"Er- mine," answered Ron. "Why?"
"Would you mind switching?"
"I- ehm no, I guess."
"Thank you." Neville crossed the room, grabbed his own trunk, which stood next to Harry's bed, and dragged it to the opposite side of the room.
To Ron's questioning look, Harry could not respond anything but shrugging his shoulders. He suddenly felt hot, as if a searing stage light was pointed at him. Neville reached his new bed, turned his back and began rummaging through his trunk. Harry stood still at the entrance, frozen to the ground.
"What was wrong with the bed next to mine?" he asked, taken aback.
"That's none of your business, Potter."
Harry gaped at Neville Longbottom, unsure how to react. It was Ron, who tugged at his sleeve and led him away.
"Looks like he doesn't like you," Ron whispered. "Do you know why?"
Harry shook his head.
"Hmm, maybe he'll cool off." Ron glanced at Neville and shrugged. "Anyway, looks like we're bed mates now." That was the last Ron said, before he threw himself on the bed and he fell asleep in his robes.
Harry put on his pyjama with an uneasy feeling. Then, he closed his bed's curtains and slid under the covers. Despite his tiredness, he lay awake. The bed was warm and soft, but unfamiliar. He thought about his parents back at home. His dad was probably reviewing the training plan for tomorrow and his mum… What would his mum be doing without him? She and Harry usually spent the evenings together. It took some time, but with the comforting thoughts of his mum's voice, Harry finally dozed off.
~o~ ~o~ ~o~