Disclaimer: The setting for this story and most of the characters other than Richard, Tom, and Sophia, have been borrowed without permission from J.K. Rowling. Of course, everything at FFN is borrowed from somewhere, so if this bothers you then you might want to leave the site.

If I borrow from anyone else in later chapters (and I do intend to), I'll let you know as it comes up. Enjoy!


"Hey Runt, what're you doing here?" an amiable voice interrupted Richard Davitt's reading. "You can't seriously be my age and that short, can you?" Putting down his book, Richard glanced up to see a tall, familiar red-head.

"I should be the one asking what you're doing here," Richard responded. "Don't tell me they actually let you into Hogwarts. I know you've got the blood and the magic, but there has to be some minimum intelligence requirement." The two boys glared at each other for a long moment, then burst out laughing. They made an odd pair: Richard was short, scrawny, and withdrawn, while his friend was tall enough to look at least a year older, already developing an athlete's build, and utterly extroverted. "How are you, Tom?" Richard asked, standing to join the crowd.

"A little nervous," he responded. "You?"

"It's not as bad for me, I'm just moving across the lake. And, of course, I'm a bit better prepared for classes than you are."

"Oh, give it a rest Runt. You're better prepared for class than anyone." Tom waved a hand, taking in the other students getting off the train at Hogsmeade station. "Probably including the seventh years." Richard, antisocial as he was, had decided to wait at the station rather than have his parents bring him to King's Station like most of the Hogsmeade children. He and two older students had passed a pleasant half-hour ignoring each other while they read until the Hogwarts Express arrived.

Richard's response was interrupted by a loud voice calling, "Firs' years!" His jaw dropped when he saw the voice's owner – the man was at least twice the height of any of the students and three times as wide, with a thick black beard. "Firs' years this way!"

The huge man (who identified himself as Rubeus Hagrid, keeper of grounds and keys) led them to a fleet of small boats, one of which Richard and Tom claimed for themselves. "Did you see the size of that man?" Tom whispered. "How did he get so big?"

"Either a potion gone wrong, an engorgement charm – accidental or intentional; there must be some advantages to being that size – or else he's part giant," Richard rattled off the possibilities. "I'd need to know more to guess which."

"What, you mean you don't know everything?" Tom asked in mock-surprise.

"I'm working on it. We're just now starting Hogwarts, you know, it would have been quite rude to show up already knowing more than the professors." Richard was joking. Mostly.

Soon enough, the boat landed on the far side of the lake, where Hagrid led them to the entrance hall; the door opened to reveal an older woman, familiar to Richard but not to most of the others, already waiting.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "I am Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. We will be joining the older students for a banquet shortly, but first you will be Sorted into one of four houses: Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Your house will be your family at Hogwarts. You will live together, eat together, attend classes together, and even spend much of your free time in your house common room. When you do well, points will be awarded to your house; conversely, any rule-breaking or trouble-making will cost points to your house, which will not be appreciated by your peers. At the end of the year, The house with the most points will win the House Cup. Any questions?" After a moment, when no one volunteered any, she led them into the Great Hall.

Most of the students were staring at the ceiling, which looked like a starry night with lights dangling from nowhere; Richard looked instead to the staff table. Headmaster Dumbledore, an old man with a long white beard, sat in the middle, with Deputy Headmistress McGonagall at his right; despite being head of Gryffindor, she was a friend of the family, good friends with both his mother and aunt; the aunt being a librarian he had best begin thinking of as Madame Pince, sat next to McGonagall. His aunt's other close friend, the arithmancy teacher Professor Vector, sat on the other side. The only other faces he recognized was Hagrid, the giant who had met them at Hogsmeade, and the head of Ravenclaw, Professor Flitwick; by a comic twist, the tiny Flitwick and massive Hagrid were next to each other. Richard was trying to deduce who the others were when his thoughts were broken by applause from around him and he realized he'd missed the Sorting Song while studying the faculty. He redirected his attention to the sorting hat sitting center stage as it began to call out names, starting with "Ackerly, Stewart."

It reached "Davitt, Richard" very quickly; the half-dozen or so students before him had ranged from a few seconds to over a minute and a half in their sortings, and most of those waiting were probably surprised when the hat barely touched his head before shouting "RAVENCLAW!"

Richard himself was hardly surprised – there had never been any doubt. He went and joined his new house-mates at Ravenclaw's table, watching attentively until his friend's name – "Prewett, Thomas" – was called. The hat took no longer deciding to put Tom in Gryffindor than it had putting Richard in Ravenclaw, and it wasn't any more surprising. Thomas' family was noted for their courage far more than their ambition, intelligence, or work ethic; some uncharitable observers felt this was why they were among the poorer of the pureblood families.

When Tom had been sorted, Richard turned his attention back to his year-mates, who were, in true Ravenclaw fashion, discussing their most prized possessions: books.

"Davitt," Ackerly, who had also wound up in Ravenclaw, pulled him into the discussion, "are you any relation to Mrs. Davitt who works at Bagshott's books?"

"That's my mother," Richard said proudly. "Bagshott was her maiden name."

That got him the attention of his room-mates. "Do you think we could get a discount rate?" asked Lee Bradley.

"I'd have to ask her about that. But I have plenty of books beyond the required ones. I assume I'm not the only one?" The other four boys laughed; they were, after all, Ravenclaw. "Then why don't we set up shelves in the room," Richard continued, "and we can see what we all have; that ought to get us through at least until Christmas, and then you can all come and look around the store before going home. Sound good?"

"First-rate," said Ackerly, and the others agreed, turning toward the older students to ask about the shelves.

"This is Ravenclaw," a third-year answered. "There are already bookshelves in your room, one for each of you and another one already stocked with books provided by the house."

"Excellent," Richard said with a grin. "Mom told me I was going to love it here." Before anyone could answer, a chorus of groans called their attention back to Dumbledore.

"What'd he say?" asked Bradley.

"No Quidditch," hissed back one of the older girls furiously. Holding up hands for silence, Dumbledore continued, explaining that they would instead be reinstating the Tri-wizard Tournament. Along the other three tables, whispered comments indicated the better-read students explaining what it was to the others; at Ravenclaw, anyone who didn't know would rather look it up later than admit ignorance in the face of their classmates' shock.

"Are they insane?" Richard muttered. "Quidditch is dangerous enough, but the Tournament?"

"My grandfather warned me," said Bradley. "When he went through, Dumbledore was head of Gryffindor. 'You never know what kind of trouble the school will get into when you put a lion in charge of the zoo,' he said."

"I'd have thought Dumbledore was smart enough to be Ravenclaw," Richard objected. His mother and aunt both spoke highly of him, McGonagall seemed to see him as a role model, and even Professor Vector said Dumbledore knew as much as she did about Arithmancy.

"Is that supposed to make it better?" asked Bradley. "Smart enough to be in Ravenclaw, how reckless must he be to have been Gryffindor instead?"

"Perhaps he's mellowed as he aged?" suggested Ackerly hopefully.

"Of course," Bradley answered, rolling his eyes. "That would explain the tournament being back, wouldn't it?"

That seemed to settle the matter – they were doomed – but at that point, the speech was over, the food arrived, and they all had more immediate concerns than which of the older students would find their life in jeopardy for the glory of the school.


In the early days of Hogwarts, the Gryffindors' courage had driven them to obsession with battle; in these more peaceful times, the first years entering the Gryffindor common room had turned to the activity most closely approximating the dangers of war: Quidditch.

"Oh, be serious," Tom laughed at a comment from one of the other first years. "Perhaps the Cannons could pull off that sort of teamwork, but the national teams don't play together long enough. At the World Cup, it's all about individual skill."

"Wouldn't know much about that, would you?" asked one of the other boys, a Michael Foster. "I head about your little accident last month."

"Like to see you try what we do," answered Tom. "Probably wimp out before you came anywhere close."

"Want to try it?" the other boy snapped.

"What?"

"You. Me. Right now. First to back off loses."

"You're on," Tom agreed. "Fred, George!" he called to his cousins, who were whispering in a corner. "I need your broom."

"Right that way," George answered. "Not like we're using them with no quidditch." Tom went to the door George had pointed at, found his cousins' brooms, and came back; he and Foster were just leaping together out of the window when George realized his mistake.

"Don't you dare!" he bellowed, a moment too late.

Davitt, Tom knew, could have calculated to the second how long it would take to reach the bottom of Gryffindor tower, and to the meter-per-second (if not centimeter) how fast they would be going when they got there; he would also have made an estimate of how much damage would be done if you landed improperly, and, being Ravenclaw, concluded that it was insane to leap out of a building and see how close to the ground you could get before pulling up.

Tom, of course, was Gryffindor.

The other boy glared at him as they fell, turning greener the faster the went. When they passed the top of the trees growing at the base of the tower, his nerve broke and he pulled up. Tom, practiced and now relaxed with the competition won, came to a stop, hovering, no more than two feet off the ground.

His pleasure was abruptly ended by a furious voice shouting, "Prewett!"

Feeling his stomach drop, he turned to find himself face-to-face with McGonagall.


On the far side of the castle, a group of less courageous but more intelligent students were enjoying a safer and quieter first night at Hogwarts. "Queen to king's bishop six. Check and mate." Sophia Stebbens smiled as Ackerly stood and moved aside. "That leaves you and me, Davitt." She began resetting her pieces as Richard sat across from her and did the same. "White or black?" she asked.

"Your choice," answered Richard politely. "Though I'll take white if you don't care."

"All yours."

Only in Ravenclaw would a group of eleven-year-olds spend their first night away from home in a chess tournament. Richard and Sophia were now the last two undefeated, and the other eight gathered around to watch.

Sophia, much to Richard's surprise, began by moving her pawns out in staggered lines, defending each other and providing a shield for her stronger pieces. Richard preferred to move his stronger pieces out as quickly as possible, and rapidly set them up to defend one another. With the opening complete, Sophia proceeded to march down the right side of the board, clearing it off in short order and winding up slightly ahead in the bargain; Richard slid a bishop and knight past her pawns on the other side, taking her castle and evening things up. In an inattentive moment, he let Sophia force him into trading queens, but then used his remaining pieces to clear her pawns while she did the same to his. Two profitable trade-offs later, the board was clear except for his king and a bishop and her king. Unfortunately, she managed to maneuver her king to the middle, and he could not force her into mate.

"Call it a draw?" she suggested.

"I suppose," he sighed. "Try again?"

"Definitely. Can we trade colors?"

"Certainly."

They opened the same way, but Sophia made a more focused middlegame, focusing on reaching his king rather than killing his pieces; her defenses were well-set, but her focus too narrow, and Richard was able to force her to stalemate two turns before she would have beaten him.

"One more," Stebbens insisted, and he didn't argue. This time he tried her opening, which led to a rapid tradeoff that killed most of the pawns. The more powerful pieces came out quickly, and in a quick series of trades they found themselves with only kings and opposite colored bishops. Richard stared at the board for a moment, calculating moves. "Not a chance. Unless one of us does something stupid we'll wind up in an infinite loop. Shall we try again?"

Four games later, Richard finally had it: her king was held in the corner by a rook, the rook guarded by a bishop, and his knight on its way to check the King. "I've got you this time," he noted.

"Queen's rook pawn to queen's rook eight," Stebbens answered. "Queen it." Her pawn slid forward a space and shifted to become a queen, which now threatened both his king and bishop.

"Well. That was stupid of me." He moved his king, sacrificing the bishop. He took the queen immediately after, but with the bishop gone her king could kill the castle, and now her king was out of the corner and he had only a knight left, with his own king across the board. "One more?" he asked, smiling.

"Another time, perhaps," she answered. "At this point if either of us wins the loser can chalk it up to sleep deprivation, and I'll not have my victory tainted." A slight smile indicated that the arrogance behind her assumption was a joke, or at least that she was passing it off as such. For his part, Richard was more than willing to call it a night; their classmates were long since asleep, and if he hadn't realized that her only remaining move gave her a Queen and put him in check he was clearly already too tired. "Good playing, Stebbens. See you tomorrow."

"Not bad yourself, Davitt. See you in," she glanced at the clock, "about four hours. Let's start earlier next time we do this."