They say that when traveling down the path of life, you will come to forks in the road. Some then say that taking a fork causes a split in the universe, a moment of duality, when a new world is created, one which follows the world as it *would* be, if one thing had happened differently.
Many years ago, a man made a choice. He was presented with two options, and he took one. This choice resulted in the death of two very heroic people, the imprisonment of an innocent, honorable man, and the isolation of perhaps one of the most decent men alive, whose only fault was the result of a terrible accident when he was a child. As a result of this choice, a small boy was thrown away from a world that understood him, surrounded by people who feared what he was, and loathed his very existence. Many things happened as a result of this choice, but one thing in particular catches our eye. The boy mentioned above was made a hero, because he survived something horrific. But on one fateful summer night, he lost the most important person in his life, one of the last ties to his past. In that moment, we wonder...what *could* have happened, had the man mentioned above made the *other* choice. Worlds branch from that moment, that choice...
*
The darkness was shattered by the light, the sound of the explosion. Men and women who had been living in fear for years leapt from sleep, wands clutched in their hands. But even as they moved to doors, listening, praying for some sort of reprieve, Westing Avenue rang with the sound of lesser spells discharging on the street. One house was the focus of these spells, a place that should have been invisible, that the men in black robes and hideous masks should not have seen, much less entered. Inside this house, a large family was mobilized, trying to find a way to fight -- or flee.
A round-faced woman stood by a crib, holding a thin wand in her right hand; it was a long, willowy wand almost glowing in the dark room. Beside her stood a tall, wide-shouldered man, holding a stouter wand, and watching the door warily. With little warning, the door exploded inward, accompanied by a flash of red light.
"Get away from me-BY MERLIN!" The two adults pulled back from the door. A man dressed in black glided into the room, holding before him a branch of yew; a green glow hovered at its tip. The tight skin around the man's mouth pulled up slightly.
"Alice. Frank. I have heard a great deal about you two." Lord Voldemort's smile grew only marginally. "You perhaps wonder how I arrived here. Your Secret-Keeper, it seems, is a great deal less...durable than you might have hoped." Alice Longbottom gasped, holding her hand up to her mouth. "I had wondered who to kill first, you know. And I decided that business must come before pleasure."
"You'll not leave here alive," Alice snapped, bringing her wand about with a soft whipping sound. Voldemort chuckled, and lazily, almost negligently, flipped his wand toward her.
"Avada Kedavra," he said. The green flash of light did not hit Alice, however, as the man beside her threw himself between them, screaming in rage. In a moment, he was dead. Voldemort stepped forward. When his high voice spoke again, it was lightly amused. "The Order will not save you now, Alice. And now your husband, too, is powerless. Stand aside, and let me kill your son."
"Neville? You'll only get to him through my dead body!"
"Which, of course, is easily arranged," Voldemort said, chuckling. "Avada Kedavra!"
*
"Sirius Black, if you don't bring my son into the house this instant, I shall make sure that you will never set foot in this household again!" A woman with delicate red hair whirled from the window and stormed to the stove, where a pot of stew was being stirred by a rather scruffy-looking man, who watched her with a bemused expression. "What?" the woman demanded, sounding annoyed.
"Do you really think you could keep Sirius from coming over here? Even if you could manage to deny Harry the undeniable pleasure of having his godfather around, how would you deal with Remus' pleas to take Sirius off his hands so he can think for an hour?"
Lily walked past the man, grinning. As she passed, she slapped the back of his head. "Idiot. I have to do everything I can think of to keep 'Padfoot' in line, and if threatening him with keeping Harry away does the trick, it's fine by me. SIRIUS!" The last sentence was aimed to the back window. Outside, a boy's laughter mingled with Sirius' low voice, and the back door swung open, revealing Sirius Black and his godson, Harry Potter. Harry absently pushed up his round glasses, gave Sirius a bright grin, and then hurried to his father's side.
Harry glanced up at James Potter, a worried look sketched on his small face. "Dad...Mom wouldn't *really* tell Sirius not to come back, would she?"
James glanced down at Harry, taking a moment, as he often did, to marvel at his son. His own flesh and blood...in so many ways a picture of James himself, with his slight frame, pale face, and black hair that despite Lily's ministrations, never managed to sit flat. Whenever he looked at Harry, James was reminded, briefly, of the night they could have lost him.
"Naw; your mother just likes joking with Sirius. She thinks he's a bad influence...almost as much as me, you know." He gave Harry a sappy grin, and leaned close. "She worries about you. Just like I do, because we love you."
"More than Peter?" Harry asked.
"Yes. More than we love Petey."
"More than Uncle Remus?"
"Yes. More than Uncle Remus."
"More than Sirius?"
James glanced at Sirius, and then gave his son a conspiratorial wink. "Sure, but don't tell him, or you'll hurt his feelings."
Harry nodded, very serious. However, the parental scene was shattered when a pure black owl swooped out of the chimney, squawking. The owl fluttered to Harry, landing delicately on his shoulder. It held out one leg and dropped a letter into Harry's outstretched hand. The address read:
Harry Potter
The Kitchen
Godric's Hollow
England
"Oi! Harry, is that what I think it is?" Sirius demanded, hurrying to the eleven-year-old's side. He glanced at the writing, and smiled. "That's McGonagall's handwriting if I've ever seen it. Open it, Harry!" Slowly, as if afraid of what might happen (as he should have been; although he loved his godfather, he had learned early on not to trust the man fully when he was excited), Harry opened the envelope. Sirius crowed and snatched the letter from his small hands. "He's in, James! I knew he would, but here -- McGonnagal's writing, he's in! I gotta tell Moony!" With a sharp crack, Sirius vanished, and Harry's letter drifted to the floor.
Lily Potter gave a light 'tut', and walked to the letter, scooping it into her hand. Harry only watched, his spirit glowing. While he was a bit miffed that Sirius had grabbed the letter, his happiness far outweighed that. Even though he hadn't read the letter, due to his godfather, he had seen one word, that said everything. 'Hogwarts'.
*
Harry Potter stepped into Ollivander's wands, led by his godfather, who had 'selflessly' offered to take his godson to Diagon Alley to shop for his school things while his parents were at work. The boy was wide-eyed, taking in the sights of the shop, the many boxes containing wands...one of which would become his.
A strange, thin, ancient man drifted into the front room, pausing before Sirius Black. He looked the man up and down, and then nodded. "Sirius Black. Fifteen inches. Hazel, with a core of powdered dragon's blood. I always remembered it was an odd combination of defensive and offensive magic. Still holding up?" Sirius nodded, and then Ollivander turned his attention to Harry. "And you. A new child. Hm...Lily and James' boy? It certainly would be the right time...Very well. Come along." Ollivander paused by a single chair, and Harry sat down. "Now, let's see..." Harry started as a tape measure appeared and began to measure the length of his arms, legs, the distance between his eyes, and a hundred different things that made little sense to Harry at the time. Suddenly, the man held up his hand, and the tape stopped moving.
"Such strange measurements, child. I should not think something simple would work for you. Something strong, and full of bravery. Phoenix feathers, perhaps. And..." Ollivander paused. "Oh my. It certainly couldn't be. And yet..." He vanished, and reappeared a moment later, holding a long box. "Holly. Eleven inches, with a single phoenix feather at its core. Yes, perhaps it is something to be said that *you* should have it. Try it, Harry."
With trepidation, Harry opened the box, removing the supple stick of wood. He pulled the wand up, and swung it down. Sparks erupted from the end of the wand, a glittering storm of emerald. Ollivander nodded gravely, and took the wand gently from Harry.
"Yes, indeed. Such grave tidings, to have such a wand. It has great power, useful for protection, and perhaps Transfiguration. But it is what inside that worries me, yes..."
Sirius glared at the old man, and stepped next to Harry, slipping a hand down to grasp the boy's. "Ollivander, you're scaring Harry. If you're going to sit there spouting off nonsense-"
"Oh, I meant no offense, Mr. Black. It is just...this wand has within it a phoenix feather. A feather from a peculiar phoenix -- one which only ever gave two feathers to me. Your wand, Mr. Potter, has a twin that belongs to a very powerful wizard. Yes. Yew, thirteen and one-half inches. Unlike your wand, his wand was useful for destruction, death, and he used it well for that purpose."
"Ollivander..." The wand-seller glanced up, surprised, at Sirius' warning growl, as if he had forgotten Sirius was there.
"I always thought you would grow to do great things, Mr. Potter. Your parentage practically ensured it. But this...well, it confirms my suspicions."
"Just tell us what it is!" Sirius snapped, eyes blazing. Ollivander shook his head, frowning.
"Mr. Potter's wand has a twin...a twin wielded by one of the greatest wizards of our time."
"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry chimed in, his voice quivering a bit with excitement. Ollivander only gave a sad shake of the head.
"Albus Dumbledore? No, certainly not. He is...older than even me, I fear; no, the wand you hold is twin to that of Lord Voldemort."
There was a long, shocked pause, and then Sirius pulled out a number of gold Galleons, tossing them on the counter. "Don't bother with change, Ollivander. We'll be going." Sirius took Harry by the hand. "Don't forget your wand, Harry." Harry glanced up at Sirius, and then shook his head. With a grim glance at Ollivander, Sirius grabbed the box containing the wand and led Harry from the shop. As soon as they were back on the street, Sirius began to swear. Loudly and violently. "Stupid bloody wand-maker, so wrapped up in his books that he forgets-"
Harry, though, was still silent, pondering the words Ollivander had spoken to him. Voldemort! He had heard enough between his parents, and Sirius and Remus, and even, occasionally, Peter, to understand how horrible it was. He glanced at Sirius, who was still raging, and wondered what it all meant. Voldemort was gone -- ten years ago, he'd vanished, struck down by his own Killing Curse at the home of Alice and Frank Longbottom, who had both fallen beneath his wand. And Neville Longbottom - their only son, had survived the attack, the only person ever to live when struck with the curse that had murdered his parents. The very idea of Voldemort, though, still frightened half the wizarding world, and if Harry was honest with himself, it terrified him, too. His wand...
"Harry? Harry, are you all right? God, Lily's never going to forgive me if I've broken you." Harry was startled out his reverie by Sirius' voice, and realized that they were sitting in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. The Wand was sitting on the table next to Sirius', and Harry shivered a little upon seeing it. "Come on, Harry. You know better than to listen to that old coot," Sirius pleaded.
Harry's gaze rested on his wand, and with a sudden jolt, he saw what Sirius meant. It was a wand. *His* wand, to be exact. And whatever similarities it shared with anyone else's, it belonged to him, Harry Potter. And he was nothing like Voldemort. "I...guess you're right, Sirius," Harry finally admitted. "I'm being silly."
"Next thing you know, you'll be worried about being Sorted into the wrong House," Sirius proclaimed. "Just you remember...no matter what House you're Sorted into, you just act the way you always do, eh? I wouldn't want you deciding to be all brainy just because you were Sorted into Ravenclaw, huh?" Sirius rubbed the top of Harry's head affectionately when the boy laughed in response. Suddenly, he stopped, and Harry glanced up, trying to see what his godfather did. Peter Pettigrew was walking along Diagon Alley, several doors down. Watching Sirius, Harry saw his eyes narrow.
"What is he doing down Knockturn Alley?" Sirius mused, almost too softly to be heard.
"Sirius? What's-"
"Ah, it's nothing," Sirius concluded, shaking his head. "Peter's probably just gotten himself lost again. Come on, let's get moving. I promised Moony we'd meet him at Flourish and Blott's, and you know how us being late gets his tail in a bunch." Harry stood, picking up his wand; as Sirius stood up, though, he bumped into someone. The man shouted, startled, and whirled about. Harry caught the strong scent of garlic before he saw the man's pale, heavily-lined face. A large turban stood above his forehead, wrapped tightly along the back of his face. Harry felt a strange twinge run up his right arm, and he glanced down, startled. He saw nothing, so turned his attention back to the strange man.
"Slatero," Sirius said, surprised. "How are you?" The man paused, and glanced around nervously. Harry wondered if he was afraid of something, or if it was just a nervous tic. It proved to be the latter when Slatero spoke.
"I-I-I'm just p-p-p-p-perfectly fine, Si-Sirius. Quite a p-p-p-pleasure to see you, isn't it?" The man wrung his hands, and glanced about with a quick head shake. "And w-what brings you to D-d-d-d-diagon Alley?"
Sirius clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm just helping Harry get his school things. Harry's going to Hogwarts this year. Harry, this is Professor Quirrel, your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Harry resisted the urge to laugh; Professor Quirrel didn't look much like someone able to protect *himself* against the Dark Arts, much less teach others to do so. Nevertheless, he switched his wand to his left hand and held out his right to shake.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Professor." The man stuck out his hand, but when he touched Harry's, he froze, like a deer in headlights.
"Oh d-d-dear...I hadn't...oh, I-i-i-I must be g-g-going, H-h-h-Harry. Urgent business, you see." He pulled his hand back to himself, clutching it close to his chest, and hurried away. Sirius waited until Quirrel was out of earshot, and then burst into laughter.
"And I thought Slatero was nervous when we were in school together! You'd never imagine he was actually a Slytherin, Harry, the way he cowers about whimpering. I don't know how he got the job as Defense professor, but I wouldn't listen to a word he says in that classroom. Come on, Harry; we're late as it is. And Moony awaits."
*
Remus Lupin was standing just outside the entrance of Flourish and Blott's, tapping his foot impatiently. As was he wont, he was dressed in gray robes, ones which were, as Sirius often said, far too tattered for his taste. When Sirius approached him, a little breathless, Remus growled at him, golden-hazel eyes glittering.
"You're late," he muttered. Sirius gave the other man a cheeky grin that included a sparkle in blue-black eyes.
"Moony, you couldn't possibly be upset that we're only-"
"Five minutes late. Really, Sirius, why can't you ever get anywhere on time? Some days I'm surprised you ever managed to arrive at your birth at the right moment." Sirius only continued smiling, and tossed an arm around Remus' shoulders.
"What matters is that we've arrived, Harry armed with the basic necessity of any trip to Hogwarts, and me having done nothing that will warrant scolding from either of his parents." There was a moment in which Remus tried to look angry, but he eventually broke down, a wry grin appearing on his face.
"As long as you haven't been buying Dungbombs or whatnot, I suppose I can excuse you this time," Remus concluded. "But why *were* you late, anyway?" Sirius paused, giving Harry a long look. Finally, he said,
"We ran into an old friend. You remember Slatero Quirrel? He's teaching Defense at Hogwarts, now. He looks a little more jumpy than I remember him..."
Remus nodded, but gave Sirius a suspicious look, one that easily showed that soon, Remus would know about the wand, and thus, so would his parents. "Very well, then. Sirius, I picked up Harry's books for him." He handed Sirius a stack of textbooks, and then, a little shyly, handed another book to Harry. "And this is...extra, Harry." Harry took the tome, grinning at the nervous man, and then examined it. Remus very rarely gave Harry presents; he never said why, but Harry had long come to understand that Remus felt uncomfortable, like he didn't belong among the happy family. Harry sometimes wondered if it had to do with Remus' illness. While he didn't know the details, it meant that every month, Sirius was away helping Remus deal with it, and sometimes, even his father went away for a few days.
The book was not, as Harry might have expected, something suitably scholarly, as Remus himself read, but rather a thin book with a simply inscribed title: 'The Book of Ages: Advice, Wisdom, and General Knowledge for Wizards of Any Age'.
"Thank you, Remus," Harry said, hoping that his lack of enthusiasm didn't show. Remus, however, gave Sirius a dejected look, and Harry remembered that his efforts never managed to conceal any emotion around Remus. Sirius, though, took charge.
"Moony, only you would expect Harry to know what this is before you gave it to him, and be hurt when he doesn't know how useful it is. *This*, Harry, is one of the most useful books they sell in here. Moony was one of its original authors, actually. Look inside, Harry." Obeying his godfather, Harry flipped open the book. On the first page, there was a short passage written.
"Congratulations, Harry Potter, on acquiring this book! 'The Book of Ages' is a book created especially for you; everything written in here is meant only to help you in your growth and journey through life. Don't look now - in the time you will spend with this book, you will discover new passages, new wisdom, new advice. I don't know what is in this book now; it may contain spells, prophecies, or anything else meant to help you. This book is charmed so that you cannot lose it, nor can it be stolen. Hopefully, this book will be greatly helpful in the future. But be warned: do not allow it to become invaluable, because one of its many purposes is to teach you how to work and live for yourself.
-Remus Lupin, Creator and Editor, First Edition"
Harry glanced up, this time his face reflecting awe. "Thank you, Remus...this is...well, it's amazing. Thank you very much." Sirius wrapped his arm around Remus', grinning.
"You see, Remus? He loves it. *You* just need to stop acting like some puppy afraid of being kicked, right, Harry?" Harry, of course, nodded. Together they left the awning in front of Flourish and Blotts, Sirius taking the lead as they headed towards Eelops Owl Emporium. "Now, Harry, it's time for my birthday present." Harry opened his mouth to protest, that Sirius had *already* given him a present, but something in Sirius' eyes convinced Harry that arguing was out of the question. As a result, when he returned home, it was with a cage carrying a snow-white owl named Hedwig. He remembered his mother mentioning that name a few times - something about a Muggle movie. For some reason, Sirius couldn't keep a straight face when he heard the name. Remus, even, allowed himself a small smile. And so by the time Harry returned home, traumas had faded, and he was in a much better mood.
*
"Harry, I don't care what your father or Sirius says; you are to be nice to everyone!" Lily straightened Harry's jumper, frowning in concentration. Behind Harry, Sirius rolled his eyes. Before he could interject, Lily stood up and stabbed him with her finger. "Sirius Black, I don't care how you feel about a certain *head* of a certain House, because I did not raise my son to be a hooligan."
"I'd be personally offended if Harry didn't learn to give Slytherin hell, Lily," Sirius replied. Harry, still in his parents' living room, stepped away from the growing tension between his mother and godfather.
The redhead approached Sirius, her eyes glinting. "Sirius, I know perfectly well why you spent your entire school career trying to make the Slytherins miserable. I am not going to let your family problems affect Harry's life-"
"The Slytherins are-"
"You were very nearly one, Sirius! James told me a lot more about your school days than you did, and I think there were about three pranks and a rules violation away from Slytherin...putting *aside* the way you treated Severus!"
"Severus was a sniveling bastard who tried to steal-"
The words died away as Remus stepped through the front door, his smile dying away as he heard the latter part of the argument. His face glassy, he turned to Lily.
"The car's ready; James is outside. And I think Sirius and I will stay behind for this. We have...some things to discuss."
Lily nodded, and turned to Harry, nudging him towards Sirius, who embraced his godson in a tight hug.
"Hey, good luck, Harry. Uh...do what your mom says, okay? I don't want trouble."
Harry nodded. Then, letting his mother take his hand, he said goodbye to Remus, and let his mother lead him outside to the car. He did, however, try to figure out what was going on with Sirius; all he caught was an exasperated expression on Remus' face. The next half-hour was boring, as his parents were silent on the way to King's Cross Station. But finally they were there, and ready to pull off the visual trick of keeping Muggles from not seeing anyone falling through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. However, Lily paused before they reached the barrier, and pointed, startled, at a group of people with violent red hair.
"Look, Harry. It's the Weasleys. You remember them, don't you?" Harry nodded, uncertain. After all, there were a number of people that his parents knew, half-remembered faces from parties and whatnot. But the Weasleys were more unforgettable than the others; that flaming red hair tended to make an impression. "Molly!" The plump, shortish woman who led the group, turned at Lily's shout in order to wave. By the time the Potters arrived, she was left standing with two children, a boy about Harry's age, and a girl who looked a bit younger.
"Ah, hello, Lily," Molly said, absently. "I'm seeing the lot off again. And this must be Harry's first year, eh? Ron's going for his first, too." She patted the boy's head; he tried to duck away, but failed in the face of the unerring instincts of a mother embarrassing her children. Harry tried to only nod amicably. However, his mother's elbow in his ribs forced him to acknowledge Ron's presence by offering his hand.
"Hey. I'm Harry."
"Ron," Ron responded, glancing away from Harry a little. "You don't remember me much, do you? The quiet kid who tried to avoid Fred and-"
"No, I remember you, Ron," Harry responded. "Do you want to sit in the same car as me? I want to know someone on the train." Given Ron's look of, well, awe, Harry decided the suggestion was a good one. Then Mrs. Weasley's voice broke into the conversation.
"Harry, Ron, why don't you go through? Here's your stuff...there you go." With that, Harry and Ron, both at a run, to take away nerves, passed through the barrier to Platform 9 and Three-Quarters, the platform that held the Hogwarts Express.
"Wow...that's bloody awesome," Ron muttered. Harry had to admit that the scarlet train was an impressive sight, even with the crowds around it dealing with everything from packages and long goodbyes to crates containing very suspicious animals. Harry decided to take the lead, heading towards the rear of the train, carrying his trunks and owl. When they reached the last car, they slipped in and found an empty compartment. Ron immediately slumped into a seat, while Harry spent a moment trying to find a way to stow his trunks and Hedwig. When Harry sat down, he was surprised to see Ron watching him. Upon meeting Harry's eyes, Ron turned away, his face flushing almost as darkly as his hair.
"Ron, are you all right?" Ron, who had suddenly found his trunk very interesting, nodded wordlessly. "Okay." Harry shook his head, wondering what Ron was thinking; his thought, process, however, was interrupted by the door to the compartment opening. A blond, round-faced boy slipped into the area, lugging a large trunk and trying to keep his grip on a small potted plant. He didn't seem aware of the two other boys until he had closed the door. In response, he screamed and dropped the trunk. He kept a tight hold on the plant.
"I'm sorry; I didn't see you two here," he said softly. "I'll just be going-"
"No, wait," Harry said, holding out a hand. "We don't mind. Come on, sit down. I'm Harry Potter. This is Ron Weasley. And you are...?"
The first response was too quiet to be heard, so Ron spoke up. "I didn't hear that."
"Neville Longbottom," the boy said again. Ron gasped, his eyes flying up his forehead. Harry glanced between the two of them, only slightly less startled.
"Neville...?" The boy nodded, miserably. Harry looked closer, and saw a faint scar on Neville's forehead, a jagged line that looked very much like a lightning bolt. Like most wizards across the world, he'd heard the story of how Voldemort had come to the Longbottom house, after having tortured the Secret Keeper that would have kept them safe. How he had murdered Alice and Frank Longbottom, only to turn his wand on a one-year-old boy. And how the spell had turned back on its caster, rebounding and leaving Neville to live with his grandmother, and with a scar upon his face. With a sudden realization, Harry nudged Ron, sharply. "Don't stare!" he hissed. Wiping away the instinctive awe from his face, Harry stood up and help Neville get his trunk up above. "Welcome, Neville. This your first year? Ron and I are..." Harry trailed off. Something was grabbing onto his leg, and he had a horrible suspicion. He glanced down and saw Neville's plant, a mass of thorned tentacles, wrapping around his ankle. "Neville?"
Neville very nearly swore, and grabbed the pot from the floor. He tapped the side of the pot with a thick, oak wand, muttering something. The plant let go of Harry's leg and retreated to its pot. "S-sorry, Harry. It's Devil's Snare; harmless, really. I...it's useful in making paralyzing potions. Gran likes me tending to plants. She says it helps me be responsible."
"Your Gran lets you grow magic plants?" Ron asked. "My mum won't let me get near the potion supplies, much less weed the garden. Not after the twins nearly poisoned themselves." Ron sounded a little bitter, his voice protesting the treatment his parents gave him.
"Well...even though, you know, my family thought I might be a Squib," Neville responded. "I...Gran was so excited when she realized I had a green thumb, she decided to encourage it."
"That's amazing," Ron concluded. "I don't know *anything* about that stuff. Could you tell us about it? Like what's this stuff?"
Neville, at first cautious and timid, began responding enthusiastically as he realized that the two boys were interested in what he had to say. So for a few moments, perhaps a minute or two, they were happy sitting together listening to Neville talk about his plants. But the room fell into silence when a thin blond boy dressed in his school robes. He was fingering a sleek, almost black wand. Ron almost immediately leapt to his feet, his own wand, a tattered stick, out and ready for a fight.
"Get out of here, Malfoy!" The blond boy drifted past Ron, ignoring him.
"I'd heard that Neville Longbottom was back here, and it looks like the rumors were right. Of course, he's already got a fan club. A Weasley and...is this Harry Potter? Really, Potter, you should choose a better group of friends. I mean, with the right guidance, you'd know all the right people to go with. What do you say?"
"I don't even know your name," Harry responded.
"Oh, do forgive me. My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." Draco gave Harry a thinly-disguised sneer. "And I would advise that you not make me your enemy." Harry glanced at Ron, who was looking just moments away from a breakdown, and Neville, who was near tears. Finally,
"Look, Malfoy, I don't think I need friends who treat people like that. I...it was a pleasure to meet you. Good bye."
Draco stood in the doorway for a moment, almost shocked.
"Fine! If you want to play that way, Potter, just remember that you've made a terrible mistake scorning me. Good BYE!" The blond boy stalked from the compartment, slamming the door behind him. Ron sighed in relief.
"Thank Merlin he's gone. The Malfoys are bad news, Harry. Back when...You-Know-Who died, Mr. Malfoy was tried as one of his supporters. His mum got out of any conviction, but his dad's still in Azkaban. Nasty lot, the whole of them." Harry was about to respond, but then he noticed Neville was shaking.
"Neville? What's wrong?"
The boy didn't respond, allowing Harry to notice the tears running down his face.
"Neville?"
"I...Malfoy..." Neville shook his head, suddenly sobbing. "His dad..." The connection hit Harry like a heavy weight in his stomach. Mr. Malfoy had been part of the group that had attacked his parents. And here the boy was reminded of that horrible incident; Harry tried to use glances to get advice from Ron, but the redhead looked just as helpless. In a flash of realization, Harry grabbed the book Remus had given him and flipped it open. The first page had changed; now, there were two phrases written on it.
"Sometimes the greatest gifts are those wrapped in the most base of wrappings."
"The joy of new friendship can drive away the tears of the ancient past."
Well, that was unhelpful. The door to the compartment swung open again, this time revealing a slender brunette with bushy hair, dressed in school robes, and sporting a rather severe frown.
"Hello; one of the prefects asked me to go along the train and tell students to start getting dressed. We're almost to the school, you know. Oh, are you homesick? Well, don't worry. We're going to be learning lots of things at Hogwarts. You'd be amazed at some of the classes we're going to have. I'm Muggle-born, you know, name's Hermione Granger, and I'm so looking forward to our classes, especially Transfiguration, although Charms sounds like it will be exciting as well. I'm not certain about Herbology, though, I've never been good with biology, and memorizing all of those plants and their uses - oh, is that Devil's Snare? Isn't it a dangerous vine? How can you have it in here?"
Harry had almost given up hope of the girl, Hermione, shutting up, but now she was watching Neville, waiting for an answer.
And, miraculously, Neville was recovering. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, and, sniffling, picked up the Devil's Snare. "Oh, it's not dangerous; all you need is a little light or heat and it'll back right off. My Gran's got a whole patch of this stuff. I could have taken the wolfsbane, if I'd wanted, but this reminded me of home..." And they did manage to spend the rest of the journey talking, drifting from their original topic onto the topics of home lives, Muggles, wizards, Hogwarts (about which Hermione turned out to be a remarkable source of information), and myriad other topics. And so they had to scramble for their robes when the train finally rolled to a halt. But it was all right.
*
Harry was still wondering about the advantages of being taken to the castle by rickety boat in the middle of the night; Neville had almost fallen in twice, and so Harry was already taking him out of the running for House Quidditch team. And now a tight-lipped teacher dressed in emerald robes had led them to a large hallway and told them to wait. And even though he knew what was going to happen next - the Sorting - he was still nervous. Hermione was talking faster than she had been on the train, probably indicating her own nervousness. Harry was trying to ignore her musings about the future and Ron's panic when he caught sight of Draco's head.
Harry suddenly remembered the passages in Remus' book, and a moment passed when Harry felt a touch of sympathy for the boy. With that moment, he decided something. Harry tapped Draco on the shoulder, and the blond boy turned around. The sneer appeared on his face before Harry started talking, but Harry jumped into conversation.
"Look, Draco. I realize we didn't get off to a good start. But you were being really mean to my friends, and Draco-my mum told me to be nice to everyone, and, well, if you want to be friends, I'd be happy to, but not if you're a prat like you were before. I...well, that's all I've got to say." Harry turned around to join his new friends, so didn't see the shocked look on Draco's face. And the boy didn't have time to respond to Harry, as the severe-looking witch appeared again, holding a small clipboard.
"Come along, children. We are going into the Great Hall where you will be Sorted. When I call your name, come forward and do as I tell you."
The first-year students filed into the Hall after the woman, who picked up a small stool covered in ratty felt on her way in. It was only when she walked past the high table to place it in the middle of the hall, in front of all of the other gathered students, that Harry realized the felt was in fact a very old hat. And then he actually realized what was in the rest of the hall, and froze. Hundreds of students were seated at four long tables, watching the front of the room intently. On the other side, at the high table, sat a number of witches and wizards. Among the others, at the center, sat a venerable gray-bearded wizard dressed in dark purple robes. He smiled at Harry and gave a little wave. Harry's gaze then slid up to the ceiling; he nearly fell over when he saw the glittering stars there.
"This is amazing! I'd read that the ceiling in here is enchanted to reflect the sky outside but I hadn't realized it would look so real! I wonder if we're going to learn anything about how to-"
"Hermione, shut up," Ron said amiably. "We're about to start."
Harry barely heard the Sorting Hat as it burst into song, going on about what each House meant, and then only just managed to hear Hermione and Neville Sorted into Gryffindor, and Draco Malfoy into Slytherin. And then, too soon, the stern witch called out, "Potter, Harry!"
Harry approached the hat nervously, and, as each student before him had, sat on the stool and slipped the hat over his head. The next thing he heard was a quiet voice that may very well have been in his head. "Hmm...quite difficult here. Certainly a lot of bravery. Talent, too. I see a bit of Lily here. Of course, you're like your father, too. A disregard for the rules, a definite streak of loyalty...well, where would you like to go?" The question caught Harry by surprise. The hat was supposed to choose where Harry went; he wasn't supposed to give it advice!
'I don't know! That was your job, right?'
"Well, normally. But you're much too difficult to decide on. You could do well in any house. Although...Slytherin could be a better fit." Harry felt a wave of disappointment hit him. He'd been hoping that he'd get Sorted into Gryffindor, like his father and Remus and Sirius. But the hat was telling him-
"Well, what will it be? I haven't got all day."
Harry decided to explain himself. 'I wanted to get into Gryffindor; my dad would be really proud of me.'
"Well, if you're sure...I'll put you in GRYFFINDOR!"
The hat was pulled from Harry's head, and he stumbled towards the Gryffindor table, managing to find a seat beside Hermione. Some older children had evidently caught a hold of Neville and were busy interviewing their new celebrity. She gave Harry a half-hug, smiling brightly.
"I'm so glad we're in the same House, Harry. I was worried I'd end up somewhere that I didn't know anyone at all, and I'd be horribly lost, but I suppose getting to know new people is part of what going to school is about, but it just feels different, because I feel so ignorant, even though I've been reading all of our textbooks over the summer-did you know that our History of Magic course only covers the history of European witches and wizards? I should talk to the professor about that because it seems awfully ethnocentric to only discuss Europe, especially because a lot of advances in magic have come from other countries-"
"Breathe, Hermione," Ron said as he approached the table. Harry reached an arm back and grabbed Ron's hand.
"Congratulations on making Gryffindor!" Harry said. "Sit down, don't mind Hermione. I think she's overloaded." The last student was Sorted, and then the old wizard at the center of the high table banged for attention.
"Ooh! Headmaster Dumbledore's about to speak," Hermione exclaimed, shushing the two boys next to her. Indeed, Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat and gazed out among the gathered students. Beside him was seated a dark-haired, rodentlike man. He suddenly turned to the Gryffindor table, meeting Harry's eyes; suddenly, Harry was aware the teacher was glaring at him.
"Wha-?"
"Good evening, and welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Although to some of you, it is a first year. Now, there are a few things I must mention to you. First, I must ask you all to remain out of the Forbidden Forest. There are a number of unpleasant creatures out there, and I do not wish to be responsible for retrieving you from the forest in pieces. Secondly, we are pleased to be welcoming Professor Quirrel back from Albania, where he was studying vampires." Professor Quirrel, looking paler than he had at Diagon Alley, waved nervously from his seat. Dumbledore smiled and then turned to his right. "And it seems that Professor Binns has decided that perhaps retirement is in order." There was a pause as the Great Gall erupted in spontaneous applause. Dumbledore attempted to look as if he hadn't heard, and continued, plowing forward. "So, I would like to introduce you to your new History of Magic Professor [A/N: Come on; you know what's coming], Professor Lupin."
Harry's head shot up. 'Remus?' Indeed, the familiar head of honey-colored hair was sitting a few seats to Dumbledore's right. Once again, Harry found his gaze drawn to the black-haired teacher seated to Dumbledore's left. The man was watching Remus with a very odd look on his face. Harry couldn't think of any way to describe it except as being similar to a very hungry man seeing a steak for the first time in a month.
"Harry, what's up?" Ron asked, leaning close.
"That's my 'uncle' Remus; you must have seen him once or twice," Harry responded. "I didn't know he was working here."
"Well, it could have been very sudden; maybe he didn't know until recently."
"-horrible death. Now, let's eat." Harry's mind froze. He had the feeling he'd just missed something very important. However, everyone else was digging in to the food that had suddenly appeared on the tables, so Harry joined in. He could ask someone later.
*
Hours later, Harry sat in a four-poster bed, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't asleep yet, and from the sound of things, Ron wasn't either.
"You okay, Ron?" He heard the other boy shift in his own bed, and then an answer.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Harry. Just thinking. I'm just a little worried. I mean, what if I don't know anything? What if I don't make friends? What if I lose Gryffindor a thousand points?"
"Don't worry," Harry responded. "Look, if there was anything to worry about, you'd already know. I mean, this is just a school. Sure it's a wizarding school, but...really, as long as we follow the rules, the worst that can happen is fail Potions. We'll be fine...after all, what really is the worst that can happen?"
There was more shifting, and then a long sigh. "Thanks, Harry. I think that helps. 'Night."
"G'night, Ron." Soon enough, Ron was asleep, and Harry was well on the way. And for most of the night, 'The Book of Ages' held a small message on the first page that Harry might have been interested in.
"Danger comes from an unexpected source, but so does aid, so it all works out, really."
Many years ago, a man made a choice. He was presented with two options, and he took one. This choice resulted in the death of two very heroic people, the imprisonment of an innocent, honorable man, and the isolation of perhaps one of the most decent men alive, whose only fault was the result of a terrible accident when he was a child. As a result of this choice, a small boy was thrown away from a world that understood him, surrounded by people who feared what he was, and loathed his very existence. Many things happened as a result of this choice, but one thing in particular catches our eye. The boy mentioned above was made a hero, because he survived something horrific. But on one fateful summer night, he lost the most important person in his life, one of the last ties to his past. In that moment, we wonder...what *could* have happened, had the man mentioned above made the *other* choice. Worlds branch from that moment, that choice...
*
The darkness was shattered by the light, the sound of the explosion. Men and women who had been living in fear for years leapt from sleep, wands clutched in their hands. But even as they moved to doors, listening, praying for some sort of reprieve, Westing Avenue rang with the sound of lesser spells discharging on the street. One house was the focus of these spells, a place that should have been invisible, that the men in black robes and hideous masks should not have seen, much less entered. Inside this house, a large family was mobilized, trying to find a way to fight -- or flee.
A round-faced woman stood by a crib, holding a thin wand in her right hand; it was a long, willowy wand almost glowing in the dark room. Beside her stood a tall, wide-shouldered man, holding a stouter wand, and watching the door warily. With little warning, the door exploded inward, accompanied by a flash of red light.
"Get away from me-BY MERLIN!" The two adults pulled back from the door. A man dressed in black glided into the room, holding before him a branch of yew; a green glow hovered at its tip. The tight skin around the man's mouth pulled up slightly.
"Alice. Frank. I have heard a great deal about you two." Lord Voldemort's smile grew only marginally. "You perhaps wonder how I arrived here. Your Secret-Keeper, it seems, is a great deal less...durable than you might have hoped." Alice Longbottom gasped, holding her hand up to her mouth. "I had wondered who to kill first, you know. And I decided that business must come before pleasure."
"You'll not leave here alive," Alice snapped, bringing her wand about with a soft whipping sound. Voldemort chuckled, and lazily, almost negligently, flipped his wand toward her.
"Avada Kedavra," he said. The green flash of light did not hit Alice, however, as the man beside her threw himself between them, screaming in rage. In a moment, he was dead. Voldemort stepped forward. When his high voice spoke again, it was lightly amused. "The Order will not save you now, Alice. And now your husband, too, is powerless. Stand aside, and let me kill your son."
"Neville? You'll only get to him through my dead body!"
"Which, of course, is easily arranged," Voldemort said, chuckling. "Avada Kedavra!"
*
"Sirius Black, if you don't bring my son into the house this instant, I shall make sure that you will never set foot in this household again!" A woman with delicate red hair whirled from the window and stormed to the stove, where a pot of stew was being stirred by a rather scruffy-looking man, who watched her with a bemused expression. "What?" the woman demanded, sounding annoyed.
"Do you really think you could keep Sirius from coming over here? Even if you could manage to deny Harry the undeniable pleasure of having his godfather around, how would you deal with Remus' pleas to take Sirius off his hands so he can think for an hour?"
Lily walked past the man, grinning. As she passed, she slapped the back of his head. "Idiot. I have to do everything I can think of to keep 'Padfoot' in line, and if threatening him with keeping Harry away does the trick, it's fine by me. SIRIUS!" The last sentence was aimed to the back window. Outside, a boy's laughter mingled with Sirius' low voice, and the back door swung open, revealing Sirius Black and his godson, Harry Potter. Harry absently pushed up his round glasses, gave Sirius a bright grin, and then hurried to his father's side.
Harry glanced up at James Potter, a worried look sketched on his small face. "Dad...Mom wouldn't *really* tell Sirius not to come back, would she?"
James glanced down at Harry, taking a moment, as he often did, to marvel at his son. His own flesh and blood...in so many ways a picture of James himself, with his slight frame, pale face, and black hair that despite Lily's ministrations, never managed to sit flat. Whenever he looked at Harry, James was reminded, briefly, of the night they could have lost him.
"Naw; your mother just likes joking with Sirius. She thinks he's a bad influence...almost as much as me, you know." He gave Harry a sappy grin, and leaned close. "She worries about you. Just like I do, because we love you."
"More than Peter?" Harry asked.
"Yes. More than we love Petey."
"More than Uncle Remus?"
"Yes. More than Uncle Remus."
"More than Sirius?"
James glanced at Sirius, and then gave his son a conspiratorial wink. "Sure, but don't tell him, or you'll hurt his feelings."
Harry nodded, very serious. However, the parental scene was shattered when a pure black owl swooped out of the chimney, squawking. The owl fluttered to Harry, landing delicately on his shoulder. It held out one leg and dropped a letter into Harry's outstretched hand. The address read:
Harry Potter
The Kitchen
Godric's Hollow
England
"Oi! Harry, is that what I think it is?" Sirius demanded, hurrying to the eleven-year-old's side. He glanced at the writing, and smiled. "That's McGonagall's handwriting if I've ever seen it. Open it, Harry!" Slowly, as if afraid of what might happen (as he should have been; although he loved his godfather, he had learned early on not to trust the man fully when he was excited), Harry opened the envelope. Sirius crowed and snatched the letter from his small hands. "He's in, James! I knew he would, but here -- McGonnagal's writing, he's in! I gotta tell Moony!" With a sharp crack, Sirius vanished, and Harry's letter drifted to the floor.
Lily Potter gave a light 'tut', and walked to the letter, scooping it into her hand. Harry only watched, his spirit glowing. While he was a bit miffed that Sirius had grabbed the letter, his happiness far outweighed that. Even though he hadn't read the letter, due to his godfather, he had seen one word, that said everything. 'Hogwarts'.
*
Harry Potter stepped into Ollivander's wands, led by his godfather, who had 'selflessly' offered to take his godson to Diagon Alley to shop for his school things while his parents were at work. The boy was wide-eyed, taking in the sights of the shop, the many boxes containing wands...one of which would become his.
A strange, thin, ancient man drifted into the front room, pausing before Sirius Black. He looked the man up and down, and then nodded. "Sirius Black. Fifteen inches. Hazel, with a core of powdered dragon's blood. I always remembered it was an odd combination of defensive and offensive magic. Still holding up?" Sirius nodded, and then Ollivander turned his attention to Harry. "And you. A new child. Hm...Lily and James' boy? It certainly would be the right time...Very well. Come along." Ollivander paused by a single chair, and Harry sat down. "Now, let's see..." Harry started as a tape measure appeared and began to measure the length of his arms, legs, the distance between his eyes, and a hundred different things that made little sense to Harry at the time. Suddenly, the man held up his hand, and the tape stopped moving.
"Such strange measurements, child. I should not think something simple would work for you. Something strong, and full of bravery. Phoenix feathers, perhaps. And..." Ollivander paused. "Oh my. It certainly couldn't be. And yet..." He vanished, and reappeared a moment later, holding a long box. "Holly. Eleven inches, with a single phoenix feather at its core. Yes, perhaps it is something to be said that *you* should have it. Try it, Harry."
With trepidation, Harry opened the box, removing the supple stick of wood. He pulled the wand up, and swung it down. Sparks erupted from the end of the wand, a glittering storm of emerald. Ollivander nodded gravely, and took the wand gently from Harry.
"Yes, indeed. Such grave tidings, to have such a wand. It has great power, useful for protection, and perhaps Transfiguration. But it is what inside that worries me, yes..."
Sirius glared at the old man, and stepped next to Harry, slipping a hand down to grasp the boy's. "Ollivander, you're scaring Harry. If you're going to sit there spouting off nonsense-"
"Oh, I meant no offense, Mr. Black. It is just...this wand has within it a phoenix feather. A feather from a peculiar phoenix -- one which only ever gave two feathers to me. Your wand, Mr. Potter, has a twin that belongs to a very powerful wizard. Yes. Yew, thirteen and one-half inches. Unlike your wand, his wand was useful for destruction, death, and he used it well for that purpose."
"Ollivander..." The wand-seller glanced up, surprised, at Sirius' warning growl, as if he had forgotten Sirius was there.
"I always thought you would grow to do great things, Mr. Potter. Your parentage practically ensured it. But this...well, it confirms my suspicions."
"Just tell us what it is!" Sirius snapped, eyes blazing. Ollivander shook his head, frowning.
"Mr. Potter's wand has a twin...a twin wielded by one of the greatest wizards of our time."
"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry chimed in, his voice quivering a bit with excitement. Ollivander only gave a sad shake of the head.
"Albus Dumbledore? No, certainly not. He is...older than even me, I fear; no, the wand you hold is twin to that of Lord Voldemort."
There was a long, shocked pause, and then Sirius pulled out a number of gold Galleons, tossing them on the counter. "Don't bother with change, Ollivander. We'll be going." Sirius took Harry by the hand. "Don't forget your wand, Harry." Harry glanced up at Sirius, and then shook his head. With a grim glance at Ollivander, Sirius grabbed the box containing the wand and led Harry from the shop. As soon as they were back on the street, Sirius began to swear. Loudly and violently. "Stupid bloody wand-maker, so wrapped up in his books that he forgets-"
Harry, though, was still silent, pondering the words Ollivander had spoken to him. Voldemort! He had heard enough between his parents, and Sirius and Remus, and even, occasionally, Peter, to understand how horrible it was. He glanced at Sirius, who was still raging, and wondered what it all meant. Voldemort was gone -- ten years ago, he'd vanished, struck down by his own Killing Curse at the home of Alice and Frank Longbottom, who had both fallen beneath his wand. And Neville Longbottom - their only son, had survived the attack, the only person ever to live when struck with the curse that had murdered his parents. The very idea of Voldemort, though, still frightened half the wizarding world, and if Harry was honest with himself, it terrified him, too. His wand...
"Harry? Harry, are you all right? God, Lily's never going to forgive me if I've broken you." Harry was startled out his reverie by Sirius' voice, and realized that they were sitting in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. The Wand was sitting on the table next to Sirius', and Harry shivered a little upon seeing it. "Come on, Harry. You know better than to listen to that old coot," Sirius pleaded.
Harry's gaze rested on his wand, and with a sudden jolt, he saw what Sirius meant. It was a wand. *His* wand, to be exact. And whatever similarities it shared with anyone else's, it belonged to him, Harry Potter. And he was nothing like Voldemort. "I...guess you're right, Sirius," Harry finally admitted. "I'm being silly."
"Next thing you know, you'll be worried about being Sorted into the wrong House," Sirius proclaimed. "Just you remember...no matter what House you're Sorted into, you just act the way you always do, eh? I wouldn't want you deciding to be all brainy just because you were Sorted into Ravenclaw, huh?" Sirius rubbed the top of Harry's head affectionately when the boy laughed in response. Suddenly, he stopped, and Harry glanced up, trying to see what his godfather did. Peter Pettigrew was walking along Diagon Alley, several doors down. Watching Sirius, Harry saw his eyes narrow.
"What is he doing down Knockturn Alley?" Sirius mused, almost too softly to be heard.
"Sirius? What's-"
"Ah, it's nothing," Sirius concluded, shaking his head. "Peter's probably just gotten himself lost again. Come on, let's get moving. I promised Moony we'd meet him at Flourish and Blott's, and you know how us being late gets his tail in a bunch." Harry stood, picking up his wand; as Sirius stood up, though, he bumped into someone. The man shouted, startled, and whirled about. Harry caught the strong scent of garlic before he saw the man's pale, heavily-lined face. A large turban stood above his forehead, wrapped tightly along the back of his face. Harry felt a strange twinge run up his right arm, and he glanced down, startled. He saw nothing, so turned his attention back to the strange man.
"Slatero," Sirius said, surprised. "How are you?" The man paused, and glanced around nervously. Harry wondered if he was afraid of something, or if it was just a nervous tic. It proved to be the latter when Slatero spoke.
"I-I-I'm just p-p-p-p-perfectly fine, Si-Sirius. Quite a p-p-p-pleasure to see you, isn't it?" The man wrung his hands, and glanced about with a quick head shake. "And w-what brings you to D-d-d-d-diagon Alley?"
Sirius clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm just helping Harry get his school things. Harry's going to Hogwarts this year. Harry, this is Professor Quirrel, your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Harry resisted the urge to laugh; Professor Quirrel didn't look much like someone able to protect *himself* against the Dark Arts, much less teach others to do so. Nevertheless, he switched his wand to his left hand and held out his right to shake.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Professor." The man stuck out his hand, but when he touched Harry's, he froze, like a deer in headlights.
"Oh d-d-dear...I hadn't...oh, I-i-i-I must be g-g-going, H-h-h-Harry. Urgent business, you see." He pulled his hand back to himself, clutching it close to his chest, and hurried away. Sirius waited until Quirrel was out of earshot, and then burst into laughter.
"And I thought Slatero was nervous when we were in school together! You'd never imagine he was actually a Slytherin, Harry, the way he cowers about whimpering. I don't know how he got the job as Defense professor, but I wouldn't listen to a word he says in that classroom. Come on, Harry; we're late as it is. And Moony awaits."
*
Remus Lupin was standing just outside the entrance of Flourish and Blott's, tapping his foot impatiently. As was he wont, he was dressed in gray robes, ones which were, as Sirius often said, far too tattered for his taste. When Sirius approached him, a little breathless, Remus growled at him, golden-hazel eyes glittering.
"You're late," he muttered. Sirius gave the other man a cheeky grin that included a sparkle in blue-black eyes.
"Moony, you couldn't possibly be upset that we're only-"
"Five minutes late. Really, Sirius, why can't you ever get anywhere on time? Some days I'm surprised you ever managed to arrive at your birth at the right moment." Sirius only continued smiling, and tossed an arm around Remus' shoulders.
"What matters is that we've arrived, Harry armed with the basic necessity of any trip to Hogwarts, and me having done nothing that will warrant scolding from either of his parents." There was a moment in which Remus tried to look angry, but he eventually broke down, a wry grin appearing on his face.
"As long as you haven't been buying Dungbombs or whatnot, I suppose I can excuse you this time," Remus concluded. "But why *were* you late, anyway?" Sirius paused, giving Harry a long look. Finally, he said,
"We ran into an old friend. You remember Slatero Quirrel? He's teaching Defense at Hogwarts, now. He looks a little more jumpy than I remember him..."
Remus nodded, but gave Sirius a suspicious look, one that easily showed that soon, Remus would know about the wand, and thus, so would his parents. "Very well, then. Sirius, I picked up Harry's books for him." He handed Sirius a stack of textbooks, and then, a little shyly, handed another book to Harry. "And this is...extra, Harry." Harry took the tome, grinning at the nervous man, and then examined it. Remus very rarely gave Harry presents; he never said why, but Harry had long come to understand that Remus felt uncomfortable, like he didn't belong among the happy family. Harry sometimes wondered if it had to do with Remus' illness. While he didn't know the details, it meant that every month, Sirius was away helping Remus deal with it, and sometimes, even his father went away for a few days.
The book was not, as Harry might have expected, something suitably scholarly, as Remus himself read, but rather a thin book with a simply inscribed title: 'The Book of Ages: Advice, Wisdom, and General Knowledge for Wizards of Any Age'.
"Thank you, Remus," Harry said, hoping that his lack of enthusiasm didn't show. Remus, however, gave Sirius a dejected look, and Harry remembered that his efforts never managed to conceal any emotion around Remus. Sirius, though, took charge.
"Moony, only you would expect Harry to know what this is before you gave it to him, and be hurt when he doesn't know how useful it is. *This*, Harry, is one of the most useful books they sell in here. Moony was one of its original authors, actually. Look inside, Harry." Obeying his godfather, Harry flipped open the book. On the first page, there was a short passage written.
"Congratulations, Harry Potter, on acquiring this book! 'The Book of Ages' is a book created especially for you; everything written in here is meant only to help you in your growth and journey through life. Don't look now - in the time you will spend with this book, you will discover new passages, new wisdom, new advice. I don't know what is in this book now; it may contain spells, prophecies, or anything else meant to help you. This book is charmed so that you cannot lose it, nor can it be stolen. Hopefully, this book will be greatly helpful in the future. But be warned: do not allow it to become invaluable, because one of its many purposes is to teach you how to work and live for yourself.
-Remus Lupin, Creator and Editor, First Edition"
Harry glanced up, this time his face reflecting awe. "Thank you, Remus...this is...well, it's amazing. Thank you very much." Sirius wrapped his arm around Remus', grinning.
"You see, Remus? He loves it. *You* just need to stop acting like some puppy afraid of being kicked, right, Harry?" Harry, of course, nodded. Together they left the awning in front of Flourish and Blotts, Sirius taking the lead as they headed towards Eelops Owl Emporium. "Now, Harry, it's time for my birthday present." Harry opened his mouth to protest, that Sirius had *already* given him a present, but something in Sirius' eyes convinced Harry that arguing was out of the question. As a result, when he returned home, it was with a cage carrying a snow-white owl named Hedwig. He remembered his mother mentioning that name a few times - something about a Muggle movie. For some reason, Sirius couldn't keep a straight face when he heard the name. Remus, even, allowed himself a small smile. And so by the time Harry returned home, traumas had faded, and he was in a much better mood.
*
"Harry, I don't care what your father or Sirius says; you are to be nice to everyone!" Lily straightened Harry's jumper, frowning in concentration. Behind Harry, Sirius rolled his eyes. Before he could interject, Lily stood up and stabbed him with her finger. "Sirius Black, I don't care how you feel about a certain *head* of a certain House, because I did not raise my son to be a hooligan."
"I'd be personally offended if Harry didn't learn to give Slytherin hell, Lily," Sirius replied. Harry, still in his parents' living room, stepped away from the growing tension between his mother and godfather.
The redhead approached Sirius, her eyes glinting. "Sirius, I know perfectly well why you spent your entire school career trying to make the Slytherins miserable. I am not going to let your family problems affect Harry's life-"
"The Slytherins are-"
"You were very nearly one, Sirius! James told me a lot more about your school days than you did, and I think there were about three pranks and a rules violation away from Slytherin...putting *aside* the way you treated Severus!"
"Severus was a sniveling bastard who tried to steal-"
The words died away as Remus stepped through the front door, his smile dying away as he heard the latter part of the argument. His face glassy, he turned to Lily.
"The car's ready; James is outside. And I think Sirius and I will stay behind for this. We have...some things to discuss."
Lily nodded, and turned to Harry, nudging him towards Sirius, who embraced his godson in a tight hug.
"Hey, good luck, Harry. Uh...do what your mom says, okay? I don't want trouble."
Harry nodded. Then, letting his mother take his hand, he said goodbye to Remus, and let his mother lead him outside to the car. He did, however, try to figure out what was going on with Sirius; all he caught was an exasperated expression on Remus' face. The next half-hour was boring, as his parents were silent on the way to King's Cross Station. But finally they were there, and ready to pull off the visual trick of keeping Muggles from not seeing anyone falling through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. However, Lily paused before they reached the barrier, and pointed, startled, at a group of people with violent red hair.
"Look, Harry. It's the Weasleys. You remember them, don't you?" Harry nodded, uncertain. After all, there were a number of people that his parents knew, half-remembered faces from parties and whatnot. But the Weasleys were more unforgettable than the others; that flaming red hair tended to make an impression. "Molly!" The plump, shortish woman who led the group, turned at Lily's shout in order to wave. By the time the Potters arrived, she was left standing with two children, a boy about Harry's age, and a girl who looked a bit younger.
"Ah, hello, Lily," Molly said, absently. "I'm seeing the lot off again. And this must be Harry's first year, eh? Ron's going for his first, too." She patted the boy's head; he tried to duck away, but failed in the face of the unerring instincts of a mother embarrassing her children. Harry tried to only nod amicably. However, his mother's elbow in his ribs forced him to acknowledge Ron's presence by offering his hand.
"Hey. I'm Harry."
"Ron," Ron responded, glancing away from Harry a little. "You don't remember me much, do you? The quiet kid who tried to avoid Fred and-"
"No, I remember you, Ron," Harry responded. "Do you want to sit in the same car as me? I want to know someone on the train." Given Ron's look of, well, awe, Harry decided the suggestion was a good one. Then Mrs. Weasley's voice broke into the conversation.
"Harry, Ron, why don't you go through? Here's your stuff...there you go." With that, Harry and Ron, both at a run, to take away nerves, passed through the barrier to Platform 9 and Three-Quarters, the platform that held the Hogwarts Express.
"Wow...that's bloody awesome," Ron muttered. Harry had to admit that the scarlet train was an impressive sight, even with the crowds around it dealing with everything from packages and long goodbyes to crates containing very suspicious animals. Harry decided to take the lead, heading towards the rear of the train, carrying his trunks and owl. When they reached the last car, they slipped in and found an empty compartment. Ron immediately slumped into a seat, while Harry spent a moment trying to find a way to stow his trunks and Hedwig. When Harry sat down, he was surprised to see Ron watching him. Upon meeting Harry's eyes, Ron turned away, his face flushing almost as darkly as his hair.
"Ron, are you all right?" Ron, who had suddenly found his trunk very interesting, nodded wordlessly. "Okay." Harry shook his head, wondering what Ron was thinking; his thought, process, however, was interrupted by the door to the compartment opening. A blond, round-faced boy slipped into the area, lugging a large trunk and trying to keep his grip on a small potted plant. He didn't seem aware of the two other boys until he had closed the door. In response, he screamed and dropped the trunk. He kept a tight hold on the plant.
"I'm sorry; I didn't see you two here," he said softly. "I'll just be going-"
"No, wait," Harry said, holding out a hand. "We don't mind. Come on, sit down. I'm Harry Potter. This is Ron Weasley. And you are...?"
The first response was too quiet to be heard, so Ron spoke up. "I didn't hear that."
"Neville Longbottom," the boy said again. Ron gasped, his eyes flying up his forehead. Harry glanced between the two of them, only slightly less startled.
"Neville...?" The boy nodded, miserably. Harry looked closer, and saw a faint scar on Neville's forehead, a jagged line that looked very much like a lightning bolt. Like most wizards across the world, he'd heard the story of how Voldemort had come to the Longbottom house, after having tortured the Secret Keeper that would have kept them safe. How he had murdered Alice and Frank Longbottom, only to turn his wand on a one-year-old boy. And how the spell had turned back on its caster, rebounding and leaving Neville to live with his grandmother, and with a scar upon his face. With a sudden realization, Harry nudged Ron, sharply. "Don't stare!" he hissed. Wiping away the instinctive awe from his face, Harry stood up and help Neville get his trunk up above. "Welcome, Neville. This your first year? Ron and I are..." Harry trailed off. Something was grabbing onto his leg, and he had a horrible suspicion. He glanced down and saw Neville's plant, a mass of thorned tentacles, wrapping around his ankle. "Neville?"
Neville very nearly swore, and grabbed the pot from the floor. He tapped the side of the pot with a thick, oak wand, muttering something. The plant let go of Harry's leg and retreated to its pot. "S-sorry, Harry. It's Devil's Snare; harmless, really. I...it's useful in making paralyzing potions. Gran likes me tending to plants. She says it helps me be responsible."
"Your Gran lets you grow magic plants?" Ron asked. "My mum won't let me get near the potion supplies, much less weed the garden. Not after the twins nearly poisoned themselves." Ron sounded a little bitter, his voice protesting the treatment his parents gave him.
"Well...even though, you know, my family thought I might be a Squib," Neville responded. "I...Gran was so excited when she realized I had a green thumb, she decided to encourage it."
"That's amazing," Ron concluded. "I don't know *anything* about that stuff. Could you tell us about it? Like what's this stuff?"
Neville, at first cautious and timid, began responding enthusiastically as he realized that the two boys were interested in what he had to say. So for a few moments, perhaps a minute or two, they were happy sitting together listening to Neville talk about his plants. But the room fell into silence when a thin blond boy dressed in his school robes. He was fingering a sleek, almost black wand. Ron almost immediately leapt to his feet, his own wand, a tattered stick, out and ready for a fight.
"Get out of here, Malfoy!" The blond boy drifted past Ron, ignoring him.
"I'd heard that Neville Longbottom was back here, and it looks like the rumors were right. Of course, he's already got a fan club. A Weasley and...is this Harry Potter? Really, Potter, you should choose a better group of friends. I mean, with the right guidance, you'd know all the right people to go with. What do you say?"
"I don't even know your name," Harry responded.
"Oh, do forgive me. My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." Draco gave Harry a thinly-disguised sneer. "And I would advise that you not make me your enemy." Harry glanced at Ron, who was looking just moments away from a breakdown, and Neville, who was near tears. Finally,
"Look, Malfoy, I don't think I need friends who treat people like that. I...it was a pleasure to meet you. Good bye."
Draco stood in the doorway for a moment, almost shocked.
"Fine! If you want to play that way, Potter, just remember that you've made a terrible mistake scorning me. Good BYE!" The blond boy stalked from the compartment, slamming the door behind him. Ron sighed in relief.
"Thank Merlin he's gone. The Malfoys are bad news, Harry. Back when...You-Know-Who died, Mr. Malfoy was tried as one of his supporters. His mum got out of any conviction, but his dad's still in Azkaban. Nasty lot, the whole of them." Harry was about to respond, but then he noticed Neville was shaking.
"Neville? What's wrong?"
The boy didn't respond, allowing Harry to notice the tears running down his face.
"Neville?"
"I...Malfoy..." Neville shook his head, suddenly sobbing. "His dad..." The connection hit Harry like a heavy weight in his stomach. Mr. Malfoy had been part of the group that had attacked his parents. And here the boy was reminded of that horrible incident; Harry tried to use glances to get advice from Ron, but the redhead looked just as helpless. In a flash of realization, Harry grabbed the book Remus had given him and flipped it open. The first page had changed; now, there were two phrases written on it.
"Sometimes the greatest gifts are those wrapped in the most base of wrappings."
"The joy of new friendship can drive away the tears of the ancient past."
Well, that was unhelpful. The door to the compartment swung open again, this time revealing a slender brunette with bushy hair, dressed in school robes, and sporting a rather severe frown.
"Hello; one of the prefects asked me to go along the train and tell students to start getting dressed. We're almost to the school, you know. Oh, are you homesick? Well, don't worry. We're going to be learning lots of things at Hogwarts. You'd be amazed at some of the classes we're going to have. I'm Muggle-born, you know, name's Hermione Granger, and I'm so looking forward to our classes, especially Transfiguration, although Charms sounds like it will be exciting as well. I'm not certain about Herbology, though, I've never been good with biology, and memorizing all of those plants and their uses - oh, is that Devil's Snare? Isn't it a dangerous vine? How can you have it in here?"
Harry had almost given up hope of the girl, Hermione, shutting up, but now she was watching Neville, waiting for an answer.
And, miraculously, Neville was recovering. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, and, sniffling, picked up the Devil's Snare. "Oh, it's not dangerous; all you need is a little light or heat and it'll back right off. My Gran's got a whole patch of this stuff. I could have taken the wolfsbane, if I'd wanted, but this reminded me of home..." And they did manage to spend the rest of the journey talking, drifting from their original topic onto the topics of home lives, Muggles, wizards, Hogwarts (about which Hermione turned out to be a remarkable source of information), and myriad other topics. And so they had to scramble for their robes when the train finally rolled to a halt. But it was all right.
*
Harry was still wondering about the advantages of being taken to the castle by rickety boat in the middle of the night; Neville had almost fallen in twice, and so Harry was already taking him out of the running for House Quidditch team. And now a tight-lipped teacher dressed in emerald robes had led them to a large hallway and told them to wait. And even though he knew what was going to happen next - the Sorting - he was still nervous. Hermione was talking faster than she had been on the train, probably indicating her own nervousness. Harry was trying to ignore her musings about the future and Ron's panic when he caught sight of Draco's head.
Harry suddenly remembered the passages in Remus' book, and a moment passed when Harry felt a touch of sympathy for the boy. With that moment, he decided something. Harry tapped Draco on the shoulder, and the blond boy turned around. The sneer appeared on his face before Harry started talking, but Harry jumped into conversation.
"Look, Draco. I realize we didn't get off to a good start. But you were being really mean to my friends, and Draco-my mum told me to be nice to everyone, and, well, if you want to be friends, I'd be happy to, but not if you're a prat like you were before. I...well, that's all I've got to say." Harry turned around to join his new friends, so didn't see the shocked look on Draco's face. And the boy didn't have time to respond to Harry, as the severe-looking witch appeared again, holding a small clipboard.
"Come along, children. We are going into the Great Hall where you will be Sorted. When I call your name, come forward and do as I tell you."
The first-year students filed into the Hall after the woman, who picked up a small stool covered in ratty felt on her way in. It was only when she walked past the high table to place it in the middle of the hall, in front of all of the other gathered students, that Harry realized the felt was in fact a very old hat. And then he actually realized what was in the rest of the hall, and froze. Hundreds of students were seated at four long tables, watching the front of the room intently. On the other side, at the high table, sat a number of witches and wizards. Among the others, at the center, sat a venerable gray-bearded wizard dressed in dark purple robes. He smiled at Harry and gave a little wave. Harry's gaze then slid up to the ceiling; he nearly fell over when he saw the glittering stars there.
"This is amazing! I'd read that the ceiling in here is enchanted to reflect the sky outside but I hadn't realized it would look so real! I wonder if we're going to learn anything about how to-"
"Hermione, shut up," Ron said amiably. "We're about to start."
Harry barely heard the Sorting Hat as it burst into song, going on about what each House meant, and then only just managed to hear Hermione and Neville Sorted into Gryffindor, and Draco Malfoy into Slytherin. And then, too soon, the stern witch called out, "Potter, Harry!"
Harry approached the hat nervously, and, as each student before him had, sat on the stool and slipped the hat over his head. The next thing he heard was a quiet voice that may very well have been in his head. "Hmm...quite difficult here. Certainly a lot of bravery. Talent, too. I see a bit of Lily here. Of course, you're like your father, too. A disregard for the rules, a definite streak of loyalty...well, where would you like to go?" The question caught Harry by surprise. The hat was supposed to choose where Harry went; he wasn't supposed to give it advice!
'I don't know! That was your job, right?'
"Well, normally. But you're much too difficult to decide on. You could do well in any house. Although...Slytherin could be a better fit." Harry felt a wave of disappointment hit him. He'd been hoping that he'd get Sorted into Gryffindor, like his father and Remus and Sirius. But the hat was telling him-
"Well, what will it be? I haven't got all day."
Harry decided to explain himself. 'I wanted to get into Gryffindor; my dad would be really proud of me.'
"Well, if you're sure...I'll put you in GRYFFINDOR!"
The hat was pulled from Harry's head, and he stumbled towards the Gryffindor table, managing to find a seat beside Hermione. Some older children had evidently caught a hold of Neville and were busy interviewing their new celebrity. She gave Harry a half-hug, smiling brightly.
"I'm so glad we're in the same House, Harry. I was worried I'd end up somewhere that I didn't know anyone at all, and I'd be horribly lost, but I suppose getting to know new people is part of what going to school is about, but it just feels different, because I feel so ignorant, even though I've been reading all of our textbooks over the summer-did you know that our History of Magic course only covers the history of European witches and wizards? I should talk to the professor about that because it seems awfully ethnocentric to only discuss Europe, especially because a lot of advances in magic have come from other countries-"
"Breathe, Hermione," Ron said as he approached the table. Harry reached an arm back and grabbed Ron's hand.
"Congratulations on making Gryffindor!" Harry said. "Sit down, don't mind Hermione. I think she's overloaded." The last student was Sorted, and then the old wizard at the center of the high table banged for attention.
"Ooh! Headmaster Dumbledore's about to speak," Hermione exclaimed, shushing the two boys next to her. Indeed, Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat and gazed out among the gathered students. Beside him was seated a dark-haired, rodentlike man. He suddenly turned to the Gryffindor table, meeting Harry's eyes; suddenly, Harry was aware the teacher was glaring at him.
"Wha-?"
"Good evening, and welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Although to some of you, it is a first year. Now, there are a few things I must mention to you. First, I must ask you all to remain out of the Forbidden Forest. There are a number of unpleasant creatures out there, and I do not wish to be responsible for retrieving you from the forest in pieces. Secondly, we are pleased to be welcoming Professor Quirrel back from Albania, where he was studying vampires." Professor Quirrel, looking paler than he had at Diagon Alley, waved nervously from his seat. Dumbledore smiled and then turned to his right. "And it seems that Professor Binns has decided that perhaps retirement is in order." There was a pause as the Great Gall erupted in spontaneous applause. Dumbledore attempted to look as if he hadn't heard, and continued, plowing forward. "So, I would like to introduce you to your new History of Magic Professor [A/N: Come on; you know what's coming], Professor Lupin."
Harry's head shot up. 'Remus?' Indeed, the familiar head of honey-colored hair was sitting a few seats to Dumbledore's right. Once again, Harry found his gaze drawn to the black-haired teacher seated to Dumbledore's left. The man was watching Remus with a very odd look on his face. Harry couldn't think of any way to describe it except as being similar to a very hungry man seeing a steak for the first time in a month.
"Harry, what's up?" Ron asked, leaning close.
"That's my 'uncle' Remus; you must have seen him once or twice," Harry responded. "I didn't know he was working here."
"Well, it could have been very sudden; maybe he didn't know until recently."
"-horrible death. Now, let's eat." Harry's mind froze. He had the feeling he'd just missed something very important. However, everyone else was digging in to the food that had suddenly appeared on the tables, so Harry joined in. He could ask someone later.
*
Hours later, Harry sat in a four-poster bed, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't asleep yet, and from the sound of things, Ron wasn't either.
"You okay, Ron?" He heard the other boy shift in his own bed, and then an answer.
"Yeah, I'm fine, Harry. Just thinking. I'm just a little worried. I mean, what if I don't know anything? What if I don't make friends? What if I lose Gryffindor a thousand points?"
"Don't worry," Harry responded. "Look, if there was anything to worry about, you'd already know. I mean, this is just a school. Sure it's a wizarding school, but...really, as long as we follow the rules, the worst that can happen is fail Potions. We'll be fine...after all, what really is the worst that can happen?"
There was more shifting, and then a long sigh. "Thanks, Harry. I think that helps. 'Night."
"G'night, Ron." Soon enough, Ron was asleep, and Harry was well on the way. And for most of the night, 'The Book of Ages' held a small message on the first page that Harry might have been interested in.
"Danger comes from an unexpected source, but so does aid, so it all works out, really."
