Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I own the idea and plot of this story. If someone else came up with this already, then I'll go ask his or her permission to continue this story.
IMPORTANT A/N: Heh heh, I forgot to tell you in the first chapter that every even numbered chapter will follow Harry, and all the odd chapters will be with James. I should have said that earlier, especially now, since most of you wanted to know about the whole Remus Weasley thing. You'll find out next chapter. In the mean time, don't hurt me!
A-man: First and foremost, I'd like to thank you for being so nice about the criticisms you had for my story. Not only were they true, but you were respectful about how you explained it and didn't use any put downs, which seems to be most of the criticisms nowadays. Now that you've mentioned it, you're absolutely right. I do need to set up the differences between Harry's and James's characters. I'll start de-Harrying James in chapter three, and I'll work on adjusting the other Marauders too. However, they won't go about the Philosopher's stone issue the same way Harry did. In fact, none of the canon plots will be the same here, because they are dealing with different people in different circumstances. For example, in the books, Harry knew about the package that was stolen for the vault, because he was with Hagrid when he took the stone. James wasn't there at all, and so he doesn't guess that the break-in (if he does hear about it) has anything to do with Hogwarts. Even if he had, James might have investigated differently, like going straight to the forbidden corridor instead of hunting in the library and prying the truth from Hagrid. I hope you're assured that this will at least be a little different from the books.
Thanks to SilverPhoenix25, my lovely beta! Without that expertise, this story would be a smelly pile of crap.
Potter Manor, 1969In a dusty, relic-ridden attic, a small framed boy with messy black hair was reading a leather bound book, his bright eyes scanning the pages. Most would dismiss it entirely, unless they had seen the title; Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes.
Some people would be quite unsettled by this; others would think it was rubbish. Yet it wasn't odd for the boy in any case, because he was a wizard. His name was Harry Potter, son of two reputable pure blood wizarding parents, and heir to the Potter family fortune. He didn't think much of this either. He had grown up around magic, so he was accustomed to it, and he didn't think it really mattered who your parents were or what bloodline they came from.
Harry Potter was short and slim for his age, which was eleven as of yesterday, and he had round black glasses. His eyes were a vibrant green, which were easily the dominant feature on his thin face. The wizard robes he wore were slightly too large for him, and were as black as his hair.
Sighing, Harry glanced around at the antiques cluttered around him, giving his eyes a break from the ridiculously small printing. The poor lighting of the attic didn't help much either, but where else was he going to read the book? His parents had warned him earlier that summer to avoid the book, seeing as it was some heirloom from a distant, thrice removed great-great-grandparent. If they caught him with it, he would most likely be banned from his broomstick for a month.
"Don't read it, Harry," his father had said, "you'll rip the pages."
"But I want to at least know something before I go to school."
"Everyone's starting from square one, just like you. And if you handle that book any more, it'll turn into dust before your eyes."
"Then why do you still have it if you can't read it?" Harry reasoned.
"It's for display."
"In the attic? Display?"
"It'll be worth something, someday."
"I'm sure," Harry said sarcastically, "books that crumble at the drop of a wand will be in real big demand soon."
His father had shaken his head, crossed between amusement and exasperation. "You just don't get the point."
So Harry had taken his 'studies' to the attic, and was beginning to get quite bored, as the book had little on hexes or curses, or anything else that sounded fun in general. But the book was only read through half-way, and he didn't expect to be disturbed for a bit of time, so he laboured on.
A tapping on the small attic window (also dusty) caught his attention. A pompous-looking tawny owl was strutting on the ledge, rattling the glass pane with its beak. Harry looked around the owl's feet and saw a letter envelope attached to its leg, addressed to him.
Untying it from the bird, he treated it with caution. His loopy Aunt Georgina often sent all manners of ill favours to her relatives, ranging from jinxes to snapping fly traps. The hand-writing in the address wasn't hers though, and it had a familiar seal on it. Once it was free of its binding, he skimmed over the letter, let out a loud whoop (which nearly scared the owl senseless) and bolted down the stairs to the sitting room.
"Mum! Dad! I've got my letter!" Harry called out, and two people in tall, cushy red armchairs looked up at him, smiling.
The first was a woman – Mrs. Potter. Harry had inherited her hair, which was trying to escape from behind her ears where she had attempted in vain to tuck away the black mess. Kind hazel eyes peeked out under dark lashes, and she had a slight build that never changed with even the most extensive of eating.
The second was Mr. Potter, who was tall and gangly. A head of short, brown-blond hair was set apart by extraordinary green eyes. Rectangle spectacles rested on his thin nose.
"You've got which letter, Harry?" said Mrs. Potter. She had a faint French accent that had faded with time, revealing that she had once been a foreigner.
"My letter to Hogwarts!"
Mr. Potter grinned even more. "Excellent!"
"Harry, I thought you agreed to going to Beauxbatons?" Mrs. Potter's face drew a small frown. She had wanted him to attend her old school in France, which, she had concluded, had a better curriculum than Hogwarts. Hearing some of the tales about the ghosts, poltergeists and singing suits of armor from Harry's father had helped her reach the decision that it was a rather ridiculous and unkempt school as well. Mrs. Potter had high hopes that her son Harry could become a true Frenchman, like her own father was. Harry, however, had different plans.
"But Mum, I want to go to Hogwarts," he protested. "All the people I know will be going there, and it's much closer." Seeing his mother's disapproval was remaining, he tried a different tactic. "I could learn French through an owl course. And we could always go to France on holidays or something."
Mr. Potter put an arm around his wife. "Come on, Natalie. He'll be fine at Hogwarts. It's a great school," he said encouragingly.
There was silence as Mrs. Potter seemed to be coming to a decision. Her arms were crossed and her eyebrows furrowed, staring at the mahogany buffet as she thought. Finally, she met Harry's gaze sternly.
"You promise to study your French every day?" she queried suspiciously.
"I promise," said Harry, crossing his fingers behind his back.
"I'll know if you don't, Harry."
"I will, I will!"
Mrs. Potter inhaled deeply through her nose. It was clear she didn't agree with this arrangement, but Harry was hoping against his mother's patriotism that she would let him go to Hogwarts.
"Yes."
Harry grinned brilliantly and stepped forward to give his mother a one-armed hug.
"Thanks, Mum," he said truthfully. "You're the best."
"But you must behave!"
"Only when you consider it worth your time."
"Jon!"
"Harry, run along before your mother explodes," Mr. Potter ordered.
Mrs. Potter's face began to blush crimson. "I am not going to explode!"
"You said that the last time."
Harry's shopping at Diagon Alley had been rather uneventful. Mr. Potter had flat out refused to buy him a broom ("First-years aren't allowed, so quit complaining."). He did, however, buy Harry an Exploding Snap set, a new game Harry had never heard of.
Two long weeks had to drag by before the first of September arrived, and even then getting ready to leave seemed to take an eternity. Firstly, breakfast was burnt, courtesy of his Mother's expert culinary skills, so Harry had to make due with a frigid muffin. Then they had to hastily stuff all of the supplies into his trunk when his cauldron alone took up half the space. Then their Muggle car, a rather fancy sports model, refused to start.
Travelling to the train station was rather hectic as well. His mother must have gone through the checklist with Harry at least three times before Mr. Potter had intervened. The traffic was as horrid as imaginable, and they were pelted with heavy rain halfway to their destination. Each had kept a close, glaring eye on their watches, but that failed to stop time in their favour.
As one would guess, they arrived fairly late at the platform. Mr. Potter was muttering curses under his breath, and Mrs. Potter was wringing her drenched hair. Harry was doing a combination of both.
"Next time, we're taking Floo Powder. I'll be damned if I want to drive through that bloody intersection one more time," Mr. Potter growled as he heaved Harry's trunk into a compartment, with Harry trying to help at the other end. "Should've hexed that Austin Mini into the ditch."
"Take care, sweetheart," Mrs. Potter said hurriedly as she gathered Harry into a hug. "I'll write to you often, alright?"
"Okay, Mum." Harry climbed onto the train, poking his head out the window as the doors clamped shut and the engine started. "See you later, Dad!"
"Have fun, Harry!"
He waved until his parents disappeared from view. He would miss them, of course, but the prospect of finally using his magic overrode that feeling. For now, he had to find some one to sit with. Sighing, he collected his baggage and trudged on, hoping to find someone he recognized.
He passed by compartment full of fifth-years he didn't know, another one with a large, surly-looking boy who seemed better to avoid than befriend, and a group of giggling Hufflepuff second-years. He was beginning to give up when he sighted a head of short red hair.
"Excuse me, are you one of the Weasley's?" Harry inquired, holding onto the door frame as he talked to the boy.
"Yeah, why?" the boy replied, glancing at him. He suddenly squinted at Harry, trying to get a better look. "Do I know you?"
"I'm Harry Potter. Our parents used to get together for tea all the time," Harry provided. He took the liberty to step a bit further into the compartment. A look of remembrance crossed the red head's face.
"That's right, I remember now," he said, "Fred and George tried to convince you that the family ghoul liked to be poked when I was five." He smiled mirthfully, though Harry groaned. Of course, that would be the first thing the boy would remember. Anything remotely embarrassing seemed to stick permanently in people's minds.
"Yeah, that was me," Harry replied glumly. "Can I sit here?"
"Sure."
Harry slumped into the seat gratefully, and heaved his trunk up beside him. Silence erupted between them as the minutes passed.
Harry decided to finally say something.
"You're the youngest boy, Ron, right?"
"Yeah," Ron said.
"Bet it's great, having all those brothers and sisters. You must never get lonely," Harry said.
"I wish I could get lonely once in a while," Ron said wistfully. "It's the worst, being the youngest. Besides my sister, Ginny – she's only a year younger. My brothers have done pretty much everything already, so there's nothing you can do that's really special. Mum expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it won't be a big deal, because they've already did it."
"I can see what you mean. But I haven't got any brothers or sisters at all. Must be tough for you," Harry added.
"Really?" Ron asked, turning to look out the window, "It must be brilliant, being an only child. Can't count how many times I've wished for that."
Harry shook his head. "It's not that great. It gets really boring sometimes, and it's not the same, trying to talk to your parents."
Ron seemed to think for a minute, and then responded. "I guess so."
There was silence for a few moments. Without any warning, a young girl around their age burst into the room, destroying the tranquility. A mound of bushy brown hair flew behind her as she strode purposefully into the compartment. She looked at both of the startled boys, and opened her mouth to speak, revealing two large front teeth.
"May I sit here? Everyone else is being so foolish, running about, giggling their heads off." She seated herself before either boy could interject, and brushed a branch from her jungle of hair out of her face. "It's all so fantastic, isn't it? I mean magic, of course. I never knew I was a witch until I got my letter. My parents were fairly surprised, naturally, but they're really proud of me after all. Especially when they found out all the sorts of things magic can do, when I let them read through some of my textbooks. I've already memorized them, I just hope it's enough. I'm Hermione Granger by the way, who are you?"
Harry and Ron blinked a couple times before they realized that they were suddenly included in the conversation. She looked at them placidly.
"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron said finally.
"And I'm Harry Potter."
She smiled, and nodded politely to each of them. "Nice to meet you. Are you new to magic too?"
"We're both from wizarding families," Ron said.
"Really? It must be fantastic. Do you know any spells?" Hermione's expression oozed enthusiasm.
"I don't know any yet," Harry confessed, partly from the truth and partly from the probability that Hermione would ask him to perform them. "Do you, Ron?"
He made a face and looked at his forlorn wand. "Mum says I'm not supposed to know any until I learn them in school. Not that they might work, anyway."
Hermione frowned. "Why wouldn't they?"
"This isn't my real wand," Ron replied glumly. "It was Charlie's first. It's supposed to be easier if you have your own wand. 'Spect I'm going to be horrible at Transfiguration with this old twig."
The wand spouted gold stars indignantly. Ron didn't look the least bit surprised.
"It keeps on doing that. I don't know why," he said, shrugging. "I reckon it's because it's nearly broken."
This time, Ron got a face-full of the sparkles.
At that moment, a trolley and a plump witch chose to enter, offering plenty of wizarding snacks to the three of them. Hermione looked warily at the selection, and carefully picked out only three pumpkin pastries. Harry bought several treats, planning to save some for later, but Ron hadn't bought anything.
"Here, Hermione, try some of these," Harry said, holding out some chocolate frogs. "Just make sure they don't jump away on you."
Hermione flushed a bit and reached out tentatively to take them. "Thank you," she said shyly, glancing at him with a little awe. Harry nodded, then noticed Ron was sitting in the corner, picking at an unappetizing sandwich.
"Have some of my candy, Ron." The boy looked uneasily at the sandwich, and without a second thought reached for the offered treats.
"Thanks."
Silence overcast conversation as they munched on the candy. After a while Hermione stood up and made her way to the door.
"I'm going to go change, you two had better too. And thanks again for the candy Harry. See you at Hogwarts!"
She turned on her heel and strode out of the room.
And then she poked her head back in, "Don't eat all that candy at once – you'll spoil your appetite for the feast." She left once again.
Ron furrowed his eyebrows at where she had disappeared. "I didn't need her to tell me that."
Harry shrugged, and continued his banquet with Ron.
"What card did you get?" Harry asked, gesturing to the empty chocolate frog package in Ron's lap.
"Agrippa."
"I got Merlin."
"Want to swap?
"Why not?"
"Did you say Merlin?" a voice asked. Both boys turned to see a girl with short, violently pink hair in her Hogwarts robes standing in the compartment door, looking at their cards with great interest. "I'm missing him. Mind trading for maybe, Morgaine? Or Flamel?"
Staring at her with just as much interest, Ron replied "You have Flamel?"
"Sure," she said, grinning. "How about it? My Flamel for your Merlin."
"It's my Merlin," Harry said quickly, holding out the card. "I'll trade you."
"Deal," she said, and they exchanged their cards. Ron looked disappointed. Noticing this, she sidled into an open seat and pulled a bulging velvet bag from her side pocket. Harry wondered how he hadn't seen the overstuffed pocket before, but he decided that her loud hairstyle must have distracted him. "I've got plenty more, you know. I'm a collector." She surveyed the two and grinned again. "Who am I doing business with here?"
"Ron Weasley."
"Harry Potter."
She nodded at them. "Tonks," she introduced herself, holding out her hand. "Just Tonks."
Both shook hands with Tonks, then fished out more cards from each of their trunks.
"Let's see your lot then," Harry said, spreading out his collection.
"Not bad," Ron said approvingly.
Much of the rest of the train ride was spent in swapping cards with each other, each one's collection growing substantially. Chatting with Tonks was fun as well; she had a wicked sense of humour and seemed very free-spirited (although one could have guessed from the colour of her hair).
In the middle of a trade of Harry's Ptolemy for Ron's Hengist of Woodcroft, Hermione decided to make another appearance.
"Harry, Ron are you –" she trailed off at the sight of Tonks, who winked at her.
"Wotcher," she said, tilting her head to the side. "Was I being too loud again?" Hermione only gaped at her.
"Wasn't your hair –"
"Green? Yes." Tonks ran a hand through her cropped mane, grinning even more. "I decided pink was more festive, seeing as it's the start of school and all. Can I help you?"
Hermione cast an apprehensive and somewhat sad glance at Harry and Ron. "No – no, it's no trouble. I'll just…um…find another compartment." With another look at the boys, she spun around and walked away.
"Prefect material, that one," Tonks said reflectively, "mark my words. She'll be one for sure."
"What was that all about?" Ron asked as he pulled out his robes from his trunk. Harry followed suit. Tonks waved it away.
"Not important. She just doesn't appreciate my loud way of fun, I suppose. Nice enough girl, but a little stiff, if you ask me." She gathered up her now larger collection of cards and got up to leave. "I'll let you boys change. Not that I'd be interested in peeking."
"Wait," Ron said, but she was already gone. He blinked. "Why was Hermione saying her hair was green before?"
"Maybe she carries dye with her?" Harry shrugged. "We'd better get changed.
The train arrived at Hogwarts a mere fifteen minutes later. The first-years, all nervous and excited, piled out of the train, looking a little lost. The other students seemed to be trickling off towards the castle, but a voice was calling them from the opposite direction.
"Firs' years, over this way! Firs' years!"
Feeling a little queasy, Harry followed the crowd as they edged towards the voice. They could see a lantern, and holding it had to be the largest man Harry had ever seen.
He was as tall as two men, and was easily four times as wide as Harry's father. A great, shaggy black beard covered most of his face, and his hair was identical. If it weren't for the kind, beetle black eyes peeking out from his mass of hair, he would have been fairly intimidating.
"Everyone here?" A couple of nods and some hesitant "Yeah"'s confirmed the answer, and he waved them to follow him. "Alrigh', come on this way, yer boats are righ' here."
A familiar drawling voice behind Harry whispered to his neighbour.
"I suppose that's Hagrid, the gamekeeper. He's a bit of a savage, from what I've heard. Gets drunk and tries to do magic."
He whirled around to see Draco Malfoy, another wizard from a pureblood family. He had a pointed, pale face and a slight build. His white-blond hair was slicked back, and his eyes were a steel grey.
Harry hadn't often met with Draco, but the few times they did see each other they had found reason to despise one another. The Malfoy's prided themselves on being purebloods, and assumed everyone who was not was below them. They were rich and stuck up, and Draco was no exception.
Harry narrowed his eyes. From the way Ron was glaring at Malfoy, it was apparent he was acquainted with him as well.
"Spreading rumors already, Malfoy?" Harry said coldly. Malfoy turned to face him and sneered.
"Hello, Potter. I didn't expect to see you here. So you're not a Squib after all, congratulations." He looked at Ron. "And a Weasley as well? I thought it was too expensive for your family to have another child go to a Muggle school, let alone Hogwarts."
Ron was positively seething now. Harry felt anger threatening to boil up inside him.
"Shove it, Malfoy. Being a git probably isn't good for your precious reputation."
Malfoy glared daggers at Harry, and would have likely retorted or started a fight, if Hermione hadn't pushed through the crowd at that time.
"Harry, Ron, the boats have starting boarding. You don't want to miss them," she informed, and then moved past the boys, oblivious to the tension.
Ron shot another venomous glare at Malfoy, then made his way to the boats. Harry climbed in, noting that there were two other people in the boat. One was Tonks, who was grinning madly, and the other boy had a round face and was a little plump.
"Wotcher!" she said brightly as they climbed in. "Good to see you so soon again. I don't know who this boy is, he's too sick to tell me." The round faced boy nodded glumly, and was determinedly not looking at the water.
Harry couldn't blame him; the lake was a little shakier than could be expected. It was most likely the work of the ugly clouds overhead, brewing a start of term storm. Harry looked closer at the boy and recognized him.
"He's Neville Longbottom," Harry provided. Neville retched over the side of the boat. Ron crinkled his nose in disgust.
The rest of the trip went rather quickly. The boat rocked dangerously while they rowed, and Neville continued to look worse for wear. One small girl from a boat ahead of them had shrieked when she saw something move in the water.
"It was this great tentacle! Swept right past the boat!" she gibbered, pointing fervently at the lake's surface.
Finally, a gargantuan, beautiful castle came into view. Harry could make out tiny, lighted windows through the rain that had sprouted thickly.
"Alrigh', everyone dock up 'ere," Hagrid said. "Off ter the castle, now, don' dawdle."
No one wanted to; the rain had turned into an all out downpour, and they were rushed indoors. Hagrid led them to a stern looking woman with black hair pulled into a strict bun and emerald robes.
"All righ', Professor, they're all yers," Hagrid dismissed. Waving merrily to the students, he quickly exited.
A lot of the students looked scared under the intimidating glare. The witch gave off a distinct aura of discipline. She began to speak.
"Welcome to Hogwarts. Before the feast begins, you all must be Sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each of the houses has certain traits they look for in students, and which house you are put in depends on which traits you possess. The houses will be something like your family while you are here. You will take classes with them, eat, and sleep with them. Your free time will be spent in the common rooms of your house as well.
"Each of your triumphs will earn your house points, and rule breaking will lose points. At the end of the year, the points will be totaled and the house with the most wins the House Cup and has the end of term banquet in their honour."
An excited murmur grew amongst some students at this prospect.
"I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly. In the meantime, I suggest you smarten yourselves up." She looked pointedly at Neville, who looked particularly ruffled.
When she had disappeared behind a door, the students began to chatter.
"How will we get Sorted?" seemed to be the main topic on everyone's minds. Theories flew around wildly, and what Harry caught from some of the snippets he heard from people around him, they were all quite ridiculous. He highly doubted that they would drop them from the ceiling and see what kind of magic they used to save themselves, or that they would empty all the first-years' memories into a Pensieve and examine them.
Harry leaned over to Ron. "My dad told me it's an enchanted hat that Sorts you."
"I hope so," Ron said, "Fred told me that we had to wrestle a troll, though I don't know how that'll tell us what house we're in."
The woman had come back, taking another surveying look at them. "We're ready for you now. Follow me." She turned on her heel and swiftly lead the very nervous first-years away.
The arrived in what had to be the biggest room Harry had ever seen. The ceiling looked like the sky outdoors, which explained the billowing black clouds. It could fit the whole of Potter Manor inside. Harry supposed this must be the Great Hall. There were four long tables, each packed with students and a banner waving overhead. He looked hopefully at Gryffindor, the scarlet and gold flag with a lion on it, the house his father had been in. He wished that that would be his house as well.
The staff table was at the head of the room, and he recognized only a few of its members; Albus Dumbledore, in particular, who had a long white beard and hair, half-moon glasses, and twinkling eyes.
On a stool in front of the room, there was a tattered old wizard's hat. Harry grinned at Ron, while the others settled for looking slightly puzzled. Suddenly, a rip in the brim of the hat opened wide and began to sing.
"While I may not be much use
For any normal wear,
I'm an unusual sort of cap,
A hat beyond compare.
I can tell who is who
And which belongs to where,
For I'm the Sorting Hat, you see,
Just set atop your hair.
If you are noble and courageous,
I have a house for you,
A place where valor is honoured most
Surely Gryffindor will do.
Great minds will think alike,
And some of yours may too,
If you have wit and knowledge galore
Ravenclaw will see you through.
The shrewd and cunning do belong
With those of similar kin
If nothing will deter your goals
I'll put you in Slytherin.
Good-natured folks should stick together,
To not would be a sin
If you're loyal and hard working, well,
It's Hufflepuff you'll be in.
Don't be shy, step up, step up!
I promise, I cannot bite.
Just put me on, and I'll decide,
Which house for you is right."
The whole hall echoed with enthusiastic applause. Many of the first-years were looking considerably relieved. Neville Longbottom appeared to have missed the message of the hat's song, as he had leaned over to Tonks and whispered, "What did it say?"
The witch took out a long piece of parchment. "When I call your name, you will come to the stool and put on the hat. After you are Sorted, you will go to the appropriate table," she instructed. "Abbot, Barbara!"
Harry watched as each person ran up to the hat and jammed it on their heads. Some were eager, and some looked quite unsettled. Hermione Granger nearly ran to the hat, and shoved it on her head. The hat seemed to be considering its options for a moment, for it was silent.
"GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted. Hermione happily ran off to the table with the gold banners. Harry heard Ron groan behind him.
The list went on, and they had finally arrived at the 'P' section. A knot had cleverly tied itself in Harry's stomach, and it grew with each name that passed.
"Patil, Agit!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Potter, Harry!"
Shaking madly, Harry stepped up to the stool. He gingerly picked up the hat and placed it on his hair. A buzzing voice sounded in his ear.
"Hmm…very loyal, yes… a fairly good mind, too…you've got ambition, I see…and plenty of bravery. You would do well in Slytherin, but you are in preference to Gryffindor, am I correct?"
Harry thought furiously. Gryffindor! Not Slytherin! Please not Slytherin…
"Alright then," concluded the hat, "GRYFFINDOR!"
There was cheering from the house, and the knot in Harry's stomach undid itself. He happily took off the hat and went to the Gryffindor table, where several people clapped him on the back and congratulated him. Smiling brilliantly, he waved at Ron, and watched the rest of the Sorting.
It seemed to take forever to get to the 'W's. Harry had his fingers crossed for Ron to be in Gryffindor.
"Weasley, Ron!"
A pause, and then – "GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry clapped very loudly amongst the cheers, and so did about three other redheaded boys, two of which he recognized as Fred and George, the Weasley twins. Ron came and sat down beside him, grinning from ear to ear.
"My whole family's in Gryffindor," he said proudly, "I was worried it was going to put me in Hufflepuff."
When the final student had at last been Sorted, the witch rolled up her scroll and carried off the stool and the hat. Professor Dumbledore stood up, and began to make his announcements.
"I regret to say that I must delay you from your feast a bit longer," he said mildly. "First-years will please note that the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students. A number of items have been tallied and put on a list of Objects Forbidden Inside Hogwarts, too many of which can be said now. The list will be in our caretaker's office, if you should ever wish to view it. I am sad to note that the list contains nearly every item sold by our local joke supplier." A few groans around the Hall indicated that this was indeed quite tragic. The Weasley twins were looking absolutely mortified.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term, should you be interested in playing for your house teams, please contact Madam Lemay." He gestured to a haggard, shoddy-looking witch, who looked as if several poorly ridden broomsticks had bashed her in the face. She was glaring at all the first-years. "If that is all, which I believe it is, we shall begin our banquet."
Mountains of food had appeared on the table, and the students immediately dove in. There were all amounts of delicious foods, which would have normally been exceptionally tempting. To the ravenous pupils it was nothing short of irresistible.
People were chatting happily all around Harry, so it was difficult not to get caught up in the talk. He and Ron were talking about the last Quidditch World Cup when Harry heard someone addressing him.
"Oi, haven't I seen you before?" one of the twins asked, looking at Harry.
"Er, yeah," Harry said uneasily. He wasn't sure he trusted these two.
"Aren't you the one whose clothes we put paste in?" the other twin said.
"No, he was the one we put in the bucket, Fred. Remember? It took Mum and Dad ten minutes to get him out," said the first.
Ron butted in. "Harry's the one you made poke the ghoul, George."
"Oh yeah!" George said, grinning at Harry.
"Sorry 'bout that," Fred said, "We didn't know any good magical pranks back then, so we had to improvise."
"Thanks for the warning," Harry said sarcastically.
When Harry thought he could eat no more, the prefects were already starting to lead the first-years away to the Common Rooms. Getting in line behind a sandy-haired girl, Harry followed the train out of the Great Hall.
They were lead up several flights of stairs and three corridors. They came upon a portrait of a fat lady in a silk pink dress, where they stopped.
"The password is Bloomsbury," said Percy Weasley, another one of Ron's brothers, who was the prefect for Gryffindor. The portrait opened, and there was a hole large enough for a person to climb through left in its wake.
The first-years all climbed through, and found the Common Room to be quite cozy, decorated in scarlet and gold, with plenty of squishy sofas, armchairs, and little tables. There were two sets of staircases, and Percy told them that one led to the girl's dormitories, and the other to the boys.
Ron and Harry trudged up the stairs until they came upon a landing, and a door that read in peeling letters "First ears". They found the missing 'Y' lying forgotten in the carpet.
Harry soon found that he liked school, even if the assignments were particularly trying. He had always been fascinated by the spells his parents had performed at home, and had been eager to learn magic. His favourite teacher by the end of the week was Professor Cliff, a brunette with laughing eyes who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. She always made even the dullest subjects bright, and teased every student in the class, who in turn teased her back.
It was unanimous, it seemed, among all the students in Hogwarts, that Professor Binns was the least popular teacher of all. He taught History of Magic, which could have possibly been slightly interesting had Binns not been directing the subject. He had a bushy, pointed white beard and tiny brown eyes, and his skin seemed to be sagging off of his bones. His boring voice seemed to lull everyone except Hermione to sleep. Ron told Harry that most of the students couldn't believe Binns was still alive, let alone teaching. He had to agree with them.
The witch that had led the Sorting turned out to be the Head of Gryffindor House, and taught Transfiguration. Her name was Professor McGonagall. Harry's first impression of her had been correct – she was indeed not one to cross. She felt no inclination to favour them, Head of Gryffindor as she was, which she made clear when Ron accidentally aimed for Suzanna Collins (the sandy-haired girl) with the spell they were learning instead of at the match.
Harry's dorm mates weren't bad either. Of course he and Ron were in the first-year's room, as well as Neville Longbottom (although how he had made it into the house of bravery was a complete conundrum). There were two others Harry hadn't met before; Kavis Jones, a dark haired boy more interested in drawing than making friends, and Taichi Ishida, a Japanese boy with an avid obsession with Quidditch.
Draco Malfoy had been wisely Sorted into Slytherin, and had made fast friends with a boy Harry hadn't met before. The boy had extremely greasy chin length black hair, and a large hooked nose. His eyes were cold and black, and he looked as pale as a vampire. Ron had heard of him, but only knew that his surname was Snape.
It also seemed that Hermione was now dorm mates with none other than Tonks, whose hair was now shoulder length and aquamarine blue. When Harry finally became curious enough, he asked her how she constantly changed her hair.
"I'm a Metamorphagus, dear chap," she replied in a stiff, elderly voice. "I can change into whatever I want to be." Tonks promptly altered her nose to look like a pig's snout.
"Can you teach me?" Harry asked excitedly.
"Sorry, natural talent only," she explained. "Still can't change my eyes without ending up blind, though. I need to work on changing some other parts, too."
She practiced her unique talent during class time. Not only did the teachers tell her to stop distracting the other students by molding all the professor's faces together into what she affectionately called the "Super Faculty", but Hermione told her off for disrespecting the staff.
Hermione hadn't made any friends at all. She sat alone at dinner, in the library, and always got left with Neville when it came to picking partners. When Harry heard the reason why, he felt a little guilty.
"She's such a know-it-all! How can anyone be so bossy?" people would say. However cruel it might be to say, it was true. Every time the class was asked a question, she'd be waving her hand in the air impatiently, and she would always get it right. Hermione had told off the Gryffindors for misbehaving in class a number of times as well, and it was quite annoying. Although Harry was a little ashamed for not standing up for her, he did agree with the other students.
He and Ron were surprised one day when Hermione caught up to them while walking to their next class.
"Hello!" she said brightly. "May I walk with you?"
Ron hesitated, then nodded.
Hermione chattered happily to them all the way to class, with Harry and Ron only nodding a every one in a while, not sure what to make of this. She sat down next to them in class, and even followed them to the Great Hall and sat down beside them, chattering happily about lessons while they nodded unsurely. This continued throughout the whole day, with some questioning looks from other classmates and even a few professors. Harry and Ron were just as confused as everyone else by this sudden tag along, so they managed to ask her once they were in the Common Room working on homework.
Hermione suddenly looked very downhearted. "I'm sorry if I was bothering you, then," she said apologetically, "It's just that – well, no one really wants to be my friend. They all say horrible things about me behind my back. It's really like how it was in Muggle school, and I didn't have any friends there, either. I don't like feeling alone here, even if this is a magic school and the subjects are fascinating. You two are the only ones who have been half decent to me. I mean, you treated me nicely on the train and all…" she trailed off, picking at her parchment. "If you want, I – I'll just go sit somewhere else."
This wasn't news to Harry, but it made him feel even worse. From the look on Ron's face, he felt a bit bad as well. That made up Harry's mind.
"Listen, you can hang around with us," Harry said encouragingly. Hermione looked up at him and started to smile. "Maybe the only reason they say mean things about you is because you're a bit too – er, bossy, no offense."
"Yes," she replied thoughtfully, "I suppose I am."
"Well, you could just, you know, tone it down," Ron suggested. "Not saying you should let people get away with bullying or anything, just to lay off a bit."
Hermione's grin spread widely across her face. "I'll do my best."
