Title: The Sorcerer's Stone: Alternate Year One
Author: Jade Hunter
Disclaimer: The characters and properties of Harry Potter all belong to J.K.R. May her genius never end. Bury Lawn school actually is a private school in England, but only the name is really used here.
A.N.: Well, I seem to be on a roll. In this chapter, Hagrid finally reports back to Dumbledore, and somehow August speeds by in just a paragraph or two as September rolls around quicker than the Express.
Rubeus Hagrid was not a happy fellow.
When it had been discovered that Harry Potter was no longer listed in the Book of Names - for he had been present at birth - Professor Dumbledore had sent a letter to the Dursleys, inquiring about the boy in question. There had been no reply and, assuming the letter had been lost or destroyed along the way, the Headmaster had sent another. And another. Until it became quite apparent that the Durlseys, for whatever reason, were choosing not to respond. Thus the Headmaster had assigned his Gamekeeper the task of delivering the letter personally, and getting a reply before returning. Unable to use the Floo due to his great size, unable to apparate due to the fact that he had never learned, and unable to use a portkey due to the fact that the Headmaster hadn't wanted to explain the reason for such a trip to the Ministry, Hagrid had been discreetly authorized by Professor Dumbledore to use magic for this task, and this task alone.
Still, it didn't make flying from Scotland all the way down to Little Whinging any more pleasant - and the situation became doubly unpleasant when he didn't find the Dursleys in their house on Privet Drive. Utilizing a locating spell, he had tracked the family to the Railview Hotel in Cokeworth. He had managed to get the room number from the muggle behind the desk at the hotel easily enough, but by the time he'd gotten to the room in question, the Dursleys had been long gone. Now more than a little annoyed, Hagrid cast another locating spell, following the spell to a forsaken little hut on an island that was more rock than anything else, just as a storm blew in.
As if all of that wasn't enough, it turned out that the stupid muggle family had long abandoned Harry Potter to an orphanage! Imagine – abandoning Harry Potter! Merlin only knew what kind of folks had a hold of that boy now! Furious, Hagrid had attempted to transfigure their whale of a son into a pig, but that had only resulted in the tail, and had not erased the fact that he, Hagrid, would be the one who would have to break the news to Albus Dumbledore.
Wishing desperately that he'd had a chance to stop by the Leaky Cauldron for some liquid courage, Hagrid knocked on the door to the Headmaster's office.
August sped by in a blur for Tristan.
Not only had his schedule been filled with the usual activities - socializing (at various parties and at the Country Club) and going to his lessons (in art, piano, and dancing – because, apparently, a well-rounded boy became a great man) - but he was now preoccupied with arranging for his education over the coming summers and learning more about the wizarding world.
Tristan was no fool, and knew that ignorance was always one's worst enemy, especially in an environment one knew nothing about. Thus, he read through all the different books he'd purchased carefully. Hogwarts: A History was interesting enough, but it was the historical books about the wizarding world in general that he found most interesting. All the numerous so-called 'Dark Lords' throughout history intrigued him, especially when he considered their goals. Some of them were simply power mad, others just corrupt lunatics on rampages, but there was one particular issue that emerged several times. Apparently, some people in the wizarding world thought that normal people - that is, non-magical people - were somehow inferior to magical people. Not only that, but magical children born to non-magical parents were also inferior to magical children born from magical parents. There had been many crusades to 'purge' the wizarding world and 'restore' purity of blood, and two of the most notable names were Grindelwald and Voldemort. Tristan was interested to note that Grindelwald's reign, as it was named, took place at around the same time as World War II - and was unpleasantly surprised by how recent the reign of this Voldemort had been.
It was interesting to note that race had never been a factor of bigotry in the wizarding world, but blood...that seemed to be a big contender. Also interesting to note was how they seemed to view the normal world and its technological accomplishments - at best, the wizards marveled at what the 'muggles' had come up with to 'compensate' for their inability to do magic; at worst, they were scornful of technology, and ignored it entirely. In Tristan's opinion (admittedly biased as they were), these people had no real reason they should be so condescending towards regular people. Calling someone on the telephone seemed a lot easier than this...fire-calling that wizards did, for one. And they didn't even have televisions, and had only one major sport (this Quidditch did sound somewhat interesting, flying on broomsticks), one radio station, and only one major newspaper (The Daily Prophet, though there were a few minor newspapers, and a few tabloids). And they thought that normal people were primitive? How could there be so little creativity in an entire society?
The normal world had many different types of major sports, dozens upon dozens of radio stations, hundreds of major newspapers all around the world. Art, too, seemed to be kept to the standard portraits and landscapes in the wizarding world, with none of the different concepts and fads that had marked the artistic society of the 'muggle' world. The book on the Ministry of Magic and its history increased his conviction that, despite all the amazing things magic could do, it still didn't mean the magical world was better than the normal one. If anything, these wizards seemed to be crippled by their ability to do magic. The way their government was run was unbelievable - the Minister of Magic was voted in by the Wizengamot, but the members of the Wizengamot were placed in their position at the recommendation of the Minister - the people didn't seem to have a say in anything! He wasn't naive enough to believe for a minute that wizards and witches were any bit less prone to corruption than normal people.
He freely shared these books and his thoughts with his parents, and the politics of the wizarding world joined the weekly discussions of the politics of the normal world each Sunday night over dinner. The potential dangers of tyranny and dictatorship and human nature were debated thoroughly, as were the various laws and their intended effects, their actual effects, and how they were received by the people.
Tristan also made sure to spend a good portion of every day with his owl, whom he had named Hedwig, after Hedwig of Poland. He knew from experience with their hunting birds in their villa estate that a close bond of trust had to be cultivated, and made sure to treat Hedwig well. It was surprising how intelligent the owl was - he knew that animals were far smarter than what most humans gave credit for, but Hedwig seemed to go above and beyond all of that. He didn't know if it was because she was from the magical world or if it was just the way she was, but Tristan appreciated it nonetheless. She seemed to like having free run of the considerably large Cabot estate and the freedom to come and go as she wished, but always chose to come back to his room to sleep.
On the last day of August, a dark screech owl dropped off a letter from Professor McGonagall, beating a hasty retreat after an unfriendly reception from a territorial Hedwig. As the snowy owl smugly began to preen herself, Tristan ripped open the letter and read:
Dear Mr. Cabot,
To get to Hogwarts, all you need to do is find your way to King's Cross Station on the 1st of September. You can board the Hogwarts Express from platform nine and three-quarters, which can be found by walking through the barrier between platforms nine and ten. The Express will leave for Hogwarts at precisely eleven o'clock.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Tristan woke at five o'clock on the morning of September 1st to the shrill ring of his alarm clock. It took a moment for him to remember why he had set the alarm so early; he sprang out of bed, took a quick shower, and changed out of his pyjamas and into a pair of jeans and a plain black shirt. If his mother could see him, she would have prompted him to change into something more formal, but Tristan knew that his parents would not wake before he left, so he could wear whatever he wished. Shoving his feet into his sneakers at the same time as he put his arms through a dark green sweater, Tristan hobbled out into the sitting room portion of his quarters, eyes automatically landing on the large trunk that sat near the door. He had packed and double-checked everything last night - nonetheless, he was just looking through the Hogwarts list yet again when the knock came.
It was the maid; "Sir, your breakfast is waiting."
"I'll be right down - tell a few of the others take Hedwig and my trunk to the entrance hall, please," Tristan called through the door, and faintly heard the maid murmur an agreement before he gazed around again.
It was new, this feeling of nervous anticipation that welled within him, and it was...interesting. All his life, he had known exactly what was going to happen to him. Bury Lawn for his primary education, Eton for his secondary, Oxford for his university studies, then came marriage with the proper girl, taking over the company, and finally producing an heir. That was what his father had done, and his father's father, and so forth.
No Cabot had ever gone to...Hogwarts.
He, Tristan, was the first - and it was probably the first time he'd ever felt such terror. He had grown up regaled with tales of what his future schooling was going to be like and suddenly, none of those tales held true anymore. He was stepping into a strange world with no prior experience, without knowing anyone except Professor McGonagall, and it was nerve-wracking.
Tristan took a deep breath to quell the nauseous feeling within.
He was a Cabot - he could do this.
Nonetheless, the hearty breakfast the cook had whipped up barely registered with him, and before he knew it, it was six o'clock and he was in the backseat of one of the cars. Andrew was driving him today, because Marcus had the day off. It was a long drive to King's Cross Station - a little over four hours - but Tristan remembered nothing of it.
All too soon, it was a quarter past ten and Andrew was loading his trunk onto a cart.
"I can go alone from here," Tristan said, in what he hoped was an offhand tone. "You'd best start back, it's a long drive."
"Are you sure, sir?"
He nodded, even though he wasn't sure at all, because he knew that Andrew couldn't see him all the way to platform nine and three-quarters. "Yes, I'll be fine."
Above all things, it had been drilled into him that one of the most important thing for someone of his stature to refrain from doing was to look weak in front of his own employees; and so Tristan put Hedwig's cage on top of his trunk and pushed on with feigned confidence keeping his shoulders straight. He was intensely aware of the stares he drew - or, rather, the stares Hedwig drew with her presence alone - but clenched his jaw and ignored it, drawing a purposeful air around him. In his experience, looking like one had something important to do was a surefire way to keep people from approaching and asking questions.
Once at the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Tristan hesitated, gazing at what certainly looked very solid, no matter what Professor McGonagall said in her letter. He wheeled the cart up very close, pretending that he was simply another person waiting for their train to arrive, and discreetly tried to poke the barrier with a finger behind his back.
No matter how far he pushed, his hand did not meet wall.
Turning sideways so he could see the barrier from the corner of his left eye, Tristan tried to poke the barrier again - and this time, saw as his hand disappeared through what was supposedly solid wall. He pressed his lips together in order to keep his jaw from hanging open, maneuvered his cart around, and pushed through the barrier, noticing at the last second that, the moment he aligned himself in front of the barrier, everyone's eyes seemed to slide away from him.
And then he was on a large platform, looking at a scarlet steam engine. A sign above said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock, and when he twisted around to look at the barrier he'd come through, he saw a wrought-iron archway there, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. The number of people on the platform was quite moderate, as it wasn't even half past ten. Tristan stepped over a cat trying to rub up against his legs and pushed his cart down the platform towards the middle of the train. None of the carriages seemed full, but he didn't want to sit up front or in the back. He passed a girl and half jumped out of his skin when she suddenly shrieked and ran with arms flailing to wrap them around another girl, who had screamed just as shrilly as they reunited.
Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Tristan chose a compartment further down the line. He moved Hedwig inside first, then contemplated the problem of the trunk. Andrew had been able to lift it by himself, but Tristan had no delusions about his own ability to do the same. With a sigh, he lined up the cart as close as he could get it to the train and, taking hold of one end, he dragged the corner onto the first step. But the cart began to roll back, and the trunk landed on the platform with a thud, Tristan choosing to let go in favor of possibly losing a layer of skin from his palm.
"Need a hand?" It was a tall boy with gray eyes that asked, swooping up the other end of the trunk without even waiting for an answer.
Tristan nodded anyway, and with the obviously older boy's help, managed to get his trunk tucked away in the corner of the compartment.
"Thank you," he said to the older boy, holding out a hand. "Tristan Cabot, first year student, which was probably quite obvious."
"A little," the boy replied, smiling in a good-natured fashion. "Cedric Diggory, a fourth year who remembers all too well what it was like being a first year. At least my mother was here to cast a levitating charm for me when I was your age."
"Your parents are, ah, magical, then?" Tristan asked.
Cedric nodded, "And you're a muggleborn?"
The term 'muggle' sounded no less derogatory now than when he'd first heard it, but Tristan ignored that and simply nodded.
"Well, no worries, there are always loads of muggleborns in each year - no one's really ahead of anyone just by being from a wizarding family," Cedric said genially.
Truth be told, Tristan really hadn't been all that worried about it. He'd assumed as much, since no decent school system would have it any other way. But Cedric was trying to be helpful, so Tristan nodded and thanked the older student again.
"No problem," was the other boy's answer, before he excused himself.
Tristan was understanding, of course, and shook his head a bit when he was alone in the compartment. Unlocking the combination lock that he had placed on his trunk to safeguard the contents, Tristan pulled out his copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and settled back in the otherwise empty carriage, sitting sideways, leaning against the window and stretching out his legs to take up the entire bench seat. His English professor for the next few summers had given him a list of books to read over the year, so that they could discuss and analyze the books over the summer sessions and not waste any time - time that they didn't have, if Tristan truly wished to squeeze in a year's worth of studies into two-and-a-half months.
A few chapters in, Tristan was interrupted by a blur passing right next to the window, which he caught only out of the corner of his eye. After he got over the minor heart attack he'd suffered, Tristan realized that the platform was now completely packed, and the corridor as well. He could hear snatches of conversations as whole troupes passed:
" – a giant tarantula – "
" – saw it; it's huge!"
" – it's been so long - "
" – how was your summer – "
It was intrusive, due to the fact that once he was made aware of the noise, he could not completely forget it. Nevertheless, Tristan valiantly made an effort to read again - only to be interrupted once more, this time by the door of his carriage sliding open.
It was an old woman, dressed in the most atrocious outfit Tristan had ever seen - including Halloween costumes. The green robes by themselves would have been all right, but she also wore a fox-fur scarf, a hat topped with a stuffed vulture, and carried a large red handbag. Despite her clothing, however, there was a formidable set to her shoulders and a great amount of dignity in the way she carried herself that had him scrambling up onto his feet.
"Good morning, young man," she said in a clipped, business-like tone.
Shoulders straight, feet together, and chin up, Tristan inclined his head and said politely, "Good morning to you as well, Mrs...?"
"Longbottom," the old woman replied, and turned to address someone behind her. "You see, Neville, this is how a proper young man should hold himself. He was reading, too." And then Mrs. Longbottom turned back to him, "And you are...?"
"Tristan Cabot, ma'am," he replied.
She nodded, "Well, Mr. Cabot, my grandson needs a place to sit."
"Plenty of room here, ma'am," Tristan said instantly, knowing it was expected of him. "He's more than welcome."
"Good. Thank you," Mrs. Longbottom responded, her tone implying that she hadn't expected anything less, and turned to address the Neville person behind her, who Tristan assumed was the grandson in question. "Neville, you now have a seat. Put your trunk in here, and try not to lose Trevor again. It is always inconvenient and embarrassing when you have to summon something in such a crowded place - not to mention dangerous."
This time, Tristan heard a reply, a mumbled, "Yes, Gran."
"Well, I'll leave you boys alone to get acquainted," Mrs. Longbottom said, and nodded at Tristan. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Cabot."
"The pleasure was all mine, ma'am," he responded automatically, inclining his head again.
She turned back to her grandson, "Goodbye, Neville. I hope you do well in your studies."
"I will, Gran," came the response. "Bye."
And then she was gone, clomping in all her formidable glory down the corridor, and the boy named Neville stuck his head in. He was round-faced, and had the uncertain sort of air to him that had Tristan pegging him instantly as someone who had been walked on for most of his life.
"Hullo," Neville said and added unnecessarily, "I'm Neville Longbottom."
"Tristan Cabot," he replied, resuming his previous position and opening the book again.
That would have been that, except Neville lingered at the doorway for a while, shifting uneasily until Tristan looked up, eyebrow raised in a silent question.
"If you don't want me to sit here, it's okay," Neville said in a sort of rushed tone. "I know Gran can sometimes be a little pushy..."
Tristan shrugged, "She wasn't that bad. Take a seat, it doesn't matter to me."
With a quiet word of thanks, Neville came in and slid the door to the carriage closed, sitting down on the opposite side of the opposite bench, as if trying to get as far away from Tristan as possible. Tristan took note of it but said nothing, keeping his eyes on his book. It wasn't long before the train began to move, houses flashing by and the platform being left long behind, but still the compartment was filled with utter silence, one boy looking out the window watching the fields and lanes flick by, the other reading. The rattling didn't bother Tristan at all; he was one of those people who could read in vehicles without suffering from headaches or motion sickness.
Around half past twelve, there was a great amount of noise outside in the corridor. A smiling, dimpled woman slid back the compartment door and asked, "Anything off the cart, dears?"
Tristan, whose six o'clock breakfast was long gone and forgotten, immediately got up to view the selection. He was only mildly surprised to see that the wizarding world had their own kind of candy - there was Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things. There were a few things that Tristan decided at once that he would never put in his mouth, but most of the selections seemed interesting, so he got a little bit of each, paying with a galleon.
Neville bought a few pumpkin pasties and cauldron cakes, but no candy, and as the woman closed their door and clattered past, the sounds of wrapping paper wrinkling filled the carriage. The two of them ate in silence, making their way slowly but surely through the pasties and cakes, until Neville was dusting off his fingers and Tristan was examining the candy pile.
"You might want to watch the Every Flavor Beans," Neville volunteered. "There really is every flavor, even ones that taste like liver and onions, or moldy cheese. Once, I had one that tasted like steamed cabbages."
"Ugh," Tristan replied, making a face. "Thanks for the warning." He dropped the box of beans and picked up a Chocolate Frog. "What about these - anything wrong with them?"
Neville shook his head, "They're just regular chocolate. They've got charms on them, though, to make them hop around a little. And they come with cards of famous wizards and witches that you can collect. Some are really rare, like Agrippa and Ptolemy, and there are folks who'd pay good money for those."
"Huh," he said, and unwrapped the Chocolate Frog.
It did jump and move, but settled down after a little while, upon which Tristan deemed it safe enough to eat. All the moving around aside, they really were just like regular chocolate. Tristan picked up the card; it showed an aged man who wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and had a flowing silver hair, beard, and moustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.
So this was Dumbledore. Several of Tristan's books had mentioned him, had gone on and on about his brilliance and greatness, but none of them had pictures. He turned the card over and read:
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
Currently Headmaster of Hogwarts
Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.
Tristan smirked a bit; the last bit made the whole thing sound like an ad for some love match service. He turned the card over to look at the picture once more, and stared.
"Uh, Neville," he said slowly, and held up the card so that Neville could see the empty box where a picture was supposed to be. "Is it just me, or is there no picture where there once was a picture? Because there was a picture here, I swear it, there was, but now there is no picture."
Neville actually cracked a smile, "In the wizarding world, people move around in their photos."
"Neat." Deciding to thank Neville for all his explanations, but not wanting to actually thank him verbally (although he had thanked a lot of people today, it was different when the bloke was the same age as you), Tristan tossed him a Chocolate Frog. "Here, have one."
Neville fumbled for it and stammered out his thanks.
"No problem. You can have more, if you want, I've got plenty," Tristan shrugged. It was no big deal.
They made their way through Tristan's pile of Chocolate Frogs, Neville never actually taking one, making Tristan resort to tossing him one every few minutes. He turned a deaf ear to both the thanks and the protests, simply waving them away, and ate frog after frog, adding card after card to his pile. There was Morgana, Paracelsus, Alberic Grunnion, Merlin, Cliodna, and many more. Tristan wasn't much interested in starting up a collection - it seemed like a stupid idea to him - but kept the cards anyway, tucking them into his back pocket when the frogs ran out.
"Um," Neville said, bringing Tristan out of his intense internal debate as to whether or not he should brave the Every Flavor Beans, "is that your owl?"
"Yes, her name is Hedwig," he replied, following Neville's line of sight to his owl, who began to preen at the attention.
Neville smiled a little at that, "She's very beautiful."
"It's why I bought her," Tristan said simply.
"I have a toad," Neville mentioned, digging in a pocket. "His name is Trevor, and - oh no!" Suddenly, Neville looked absolutely crushed. "He's gone! Trevor's gone!"
Recalling Mrs. Longbottom's words from her lecture before she left, Tristan gathered that this Trevor got lost mighty easily. "I'm sure he'll turn up."
"He's just a toad! I don't understand how he keeps doing this!" Neville wailed, standing up and emptying all his pockets. He then looked around the carriage, but Trevor was nowhere to be found, and, looking utterly miserable, he declared, "I'm going to find him."
"Good luck," Tristan called out after Neville as the distraught boy stepped out of the carriage, closing the door behind him.
He turned back to the box of Every Flavor Beans. The thought of helping Neville find his toad didn't even occur to him - Neville hadn't asked for help, and, in the society Tristan was raised in, one never offered help when it wasn't asked for. Pride was powerful and constant in their lives, and while asking for help was a harsh blow, being offered help without prompting was an even bigger blow, because it meant that everyone knew about personal matters. And while everyone might know anyway, the polite thing to do was to pretend not to know, so the person in question could, at the very least, save face and keep their dignity.
After a long moment of turning over the box in his hands, Tristan tossed it aside and picked up To Kill a Mockingbird once more. The writings of Harper Lee seemed far more appealing than possibly eating a haggis flavored bean. As the countryside scenery outside the window began to change into wild woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills, Tristan let himself get absorbed in the tale.
The door slid open again, and a girl was saying, "Sorry, Neville, I don't know how a toad could have just disappeared like that - oh, who're you?"
He looked up from the book to see a girl with busy hair staring expectantly at him, Neville standing next to her forlornly. She was, he noticed, already wearing her Hogwarts school robes.
"Tristan Cabot," he said finally.
She had been rude, of course, by demanding to know who he was in that brusque tone of hers, but that didn't mean that he had to be rude in return.
"Any relation to Hugh Cabot of Cabot Enterprises?" the girl asked, her tone still bossy, but now ringing with a tone of interest.
He raised a brow. This girl knew about Cabot Enterprises? People outside their society rarely knew their names, because the average person couldn't be bothered with knowing things that didn't pertain to their own private little lives. "That would be my father."
"Really?" she sounded awfully interested now, and actually came in to sit down next to him. "That must be exciting. I keep up with the stocks, you know, and the business section of the newspaper, and your father's company seems to be doing quite well now, isn't it?"
"It always does relatively well," Tristan replied in a clipped tone. He had given her his name, but she was being rude by not offering hers in return. "And you are?"
"Oh, I'm Hermione Granger," the girl said absently, and plunged right back to, "I didn't know Cabots were magical."
He bristled at the implications - that the company only did so well because of magic. "I'm the first, actually."
The hostile tone seemed to wash right over the girl, this Hermione Granger. "Really? Me too! My parents are both dentists, and it was a right surprise for all of us, but we were all terribly pleased, of course. Hogwarts is the best school there is, or so I've heard - I've learned all the course books by heart, you know, I just hope it'll be enough and - is that To Kill a Mockingbird?"
Amazed that she had said all of that in one go, and that she had actually learned the course books by heart, Tristan just nodded and held up the book so she could see the cover. "Yes."
"So you're a reader, too, then?" Hermione asked, and looked quite delighted by the fact, her tone becoming twice as eager as before. "Have you done any background reading on the wizarding world? I've read Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, as well as Hogwarts: A History."
"Yes, actually, some," Tristan replied, taken aback. She seemed to be waiting for a list, so he added, "I've read Hogwarts: A History as well, along with The Life and Times of the Wizarding World, The History of the Ministry of Magic, and Modern Politics and Policies."
Hermione seemed to notice the immediate difference between their subjects of interest as well. While she had focused on all she could learn about the wizarding world's history, undoubtedly to know as much as the others did, Tristan had largely concentrated his efforts into understanding the workings of the wizarding world to minimize the culture shock he was sure to experience.
"Did you find those books informative? Perhaps I could borrow them from you," she asked. "I could lend you the ones I've read - I brought them all with me."
Saving his place by folding in the page he was on (and ignoring her scandalized look), Tristan resigned himself to entertaining this girl with conversation until she felt like leaving.
"You probably should read them. I found them very informative, especially all the differences between our culture and theirs," he said offhandedly.
"There are so many amazing things, aren't there?" Hermione agreed.
He shrugged, "That, too. And some less attractive points as well. It's to be expected, of course, since no society is virtually perfect."
She and Neville both seemed a little taken aback - Hermione because he had not gushed about the wonders of the wizarding world with her, and Neville because this was the first muggleborn he'd ever heard of being so casual about things.
"Er, well, do either of you know what House you'll be in?" Hermione said finally, including Neville in the conversation as well. "I've been asking around, and I hope I'll be in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I heard Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad..."
She trailed off expectantly, whereupon Neville said glumly, "I expect I'll get Hufflepuff. Not that it's a bad House, mind you, it's just my father was in Gryffindor, and everyone's always comparing me to him."
Before Hermione could make soft, sympathetic noises to go with the soft, sympathetic face she was wearing, Tristan (who was also expected to follow in his father's footsteps and found no reason for being so down about it) interjected, "I doubt it would matter what we expect, since the matter of sorting seems to be a tightly kept secret. No one will know until we get there and get sorted, so why bother hypothesizing?"
"I suppose you're right," Neville replied, just before Hermione could open her mouth to argue. "There's no point in worrying about the inevitable."
Tristan simply shrugged, even as Hermione started to lecture Neville about not thinking so badly of himself. He was amused to note, however, that the stern tone she was using was quite similar to Mrs. Longbottom's lecturing tone - and even more amused to note that Neville seemed to have noticed, too.
He decided to save Neville, "It's getting dark. Is the train slowing down?"
Hermione paused for breath, and looked thoughtful, "I think so. You'd best get into your robes, then shouldn't you? I'll need to get back to my carriage, too."
It was with no little feeling of relief that Tristan closed the door behind her; she really was amazingly intrusive, wasn't she? Opening the lid of his trunk, Tristan tossed in the book and pulled out one of his black robes, shrugging off his green sweater and placing that inside before locking the trunk. Neville was quietly gathering all of the trash into a tidy little pile, already having slipped on his robes; after Tristan pulled on his robes, he picked up the abandoned box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and slipped them in his pocket.
A voice echoed through the train, "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."
Neville slid open the carriage door and they joined the throng outside. The train slowed right down and finally stopped, making a few of the people stumble. People pushed their way towards the nearest door, and Tristan was dragged along with the crowd, finding himself stepping onto a small, dark platform. He breathed in the crisp night air and thought idly that he probably should have kept the sweater on.
Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Tristan heard a loud, coarse voice saying, "First years! First years, over here!"
The source of the voice was a gigantic fellow, who had to be at least twice as tall as a normal man and possibly five times as wide. And not only was he too big to believe, he also had a wild sort of look to him, with a great long tangles of bushy black hair and beard that hid most of his face. In the night, with only the light of the lamp in his gargantuan hand, he looked ten times as terrifying as he probably would have in daylight.
"C'mon, follow me - any more first years? Mind your step now, follow me!" he said boisterously, leading them into the dark.
Tristan hesitated to go with the large, feral-looking man who might or might not be a serial killer, but there didn't seem to be anywhere else to go. All the older kids had gone off somewhere on their own, and it was just people around his age that were milling around. And so, slipping and stumbling, they followed the man with the lamp down a steep, narrow path. It was pitch black and nobody spoke much; Tristan thought he heard Neville sniff once or twice, but that was all.
"You'll get your first sight of Hogwarts in a sec," the man called over his shoulder. "Just around this bend, here."
There was a loud, "Oooh!"
Even Tristan couldn't help but be impressed. The Cabot estates, their villa in the countryside, their chateau in France, their vacation homes dotted across the globe - none of it compared to this, his first sight of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake, and across the way, perched high atop a mountain, was an honest to goodness castle in perfect condition, with towers and turrets and all, windows sparkling in the starry sky.
"No more than four in a boat!"
The large man's booming voice jolted him out of his thoughts, and Tristan climbed into one of the tiny boats that lined the edge of the lake. Neville clambered in with him, as well as that Hermione girl, and a redheaded boy that Tristan didn't know.
"Everybody in?"shouted the large man, who had an entire boat to himself. "Right then - FORWARD!"
The fleet of little boats moved as one, gliding across the lake which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, gaping up at the castle as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.
"Heads down!"
They all bent their heads, and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached some kind of underground harbor where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles. The large man hung behind to check the boats as everyone piled out.
"Oy! Who's lost a toad?" he bellowed.
Neville brightened at once, "Trevor!"
He went fearlessly up to the giant of a man, holding out his hands, and came back with a blissful expression on his face. Then they all clambered up a passageway in the rock, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door. The large man raised a huge, meaty fist and banged three times on the castle door.
TBC…
A.N. 2: Hedwig of Poland was, again, a real person. Also known as Saint Hedwig, she ruled Poland from 1384 to 1399. She was ten when she ascended to the throne as King - to distinguish the fact that she was the ruling monarch and not just a queen consort. She, of course, gave up that title to her husband when she got married, and died giving childbirth. Although she probably had very little actual power as monarch, she nonetheless was very actively involved in her kingdom's political, diplomatic, and cultural life, and also gave much of her wealth to charity, including her own jewelry, dresses, and even her royal insignia.
Heh, the main thing people asked me was:
Q: When will they find out Tristan is Harry?
A: Not for quite some time. It definitely will not be revealed by the Sorting Hat, nor will Dumbledore automatically know.
athenakitty - Erm, no. Adelaide does not like wizarding fashion at all - after all, it only consists of robes, and some people don't even wear anything underneath - yuck! One point I'm glad they didn't go with for the movies. As for the other questions...they will be answered sometime in the story. :)
siriouslysexysirius - No ships, at least, not at this particular stage. They are only eleven, after all, and it would be squicky beyond anything to do that now.
Carolina - Shut up! ;) Lol, you and I think far too much alike for it to be safe. We must maintain a distance of four webpages at all times for life to continue on as normal.