Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Long time no see! But I have come back to this story with a lot more inspiration, and a better planned-out story so hopefully it all works out for the best!
Also if you have any requests for a future relationship for Harry (and I do mean this as a ship that would happen a long way off) then please comment/DM me!
Also can someone help me come up with better chapter titles?
There were too many stairs in this place, Harry thought, and they seemed impractical. As they were walking up to the Ravenclaw common room, all the way up in one of the castle's towers, the two prefects started to call out which stairs to avoid, ("don't step here, or you'll end up in what is practically quicksand", "jump over this step, it's not really here").
And as if that wasn't bad enough, the staircases themselves started to actually move. Harry was trying to mentally map all the directions from the Great Hall to the Ravenclaw common room, ("this is the third floor, Dumbledore said this is off limits", "First years normally have their Transfiguration classes here, but it'll probably have been removed, you'll find out where it is now on your timetable that you'll get tomorrow"), as well as where his classrooms are, and now which steps he shouldn't step on.
This mission was practically impossible. They'd been travelling only two minutes and Harry already had absolutely no idea where they were in the castle.
"-timetables tomorrow morning." The prefect, Penelope Clearwater, continued. "Breakfast starts being served at 7 and then classes start 9 am sharp." The girl had a stern, authoritative tone.
Harry had already deduced that she would be quite strict, seeming to only talk about schedules and lessons, it was the other prefect, a boy named Cameron Montague who was telling them the more important information - not that classes weren't important, but knowing which step might end up making you break your angle was also very important. "Curfews at 9 pm sharp." Penelope finished.
"Also guys, Hogwarts do serve extracurriculars if you're interested. Those classes normally take place in between your final period and dinner. It's mainly us 'Claws who attend those sorts of things, sometimes some snakes - Slytherins that is - or 'Puffs are there, depending on which class it is." Cameron explained, before adding as an afterthought, "I don't think I've ever a Gryffindor attend one," He snorted slightly, "Probably don't even know they're offered."
"What sort of things do they offer?" Terry Boot asked. He was one of the boys who Harry had talked most with at dinner, and the two got along alright, so far at least.
"Magical theory is the main one." Penelope answered.
"They also offer Ghoul studies, and some muggle subjects, art, music, history - muggle history that is, obviously we also get taught magical history in Binns' class, that is on the curriculum though - also literature classes. There's some more which are offered to upper years like politics, curse breaking and xylomancy." Cameron elaborated.
"Xylomancy?" Lisa Turpin asked, "What's that?"
"A form of divination using twigs, it's offered to third years and above but it is kind of a joke. Trelawney teaches it - if you can call it teaching." Cameron replied with a small grimace.
"Divination could be an interesting elective," Penelope elaborated, "If Dumbledore had hired somebody who knew anything about it, instead of just the great, great-something of a famous seer." She finished, her tone similarly bitter to Cameron's. Clearly the Ravenclaw duo weren't too impressed with either Trelawney, or Dumbledore for hiring her.
The group paused as they - finally - reached the common room entrance. "To get in you need to be able to answer a riddle." Cameron explained. "Most houses just have passwords, but here at Ravenclaw we value intellect."
"What if you can't answer it?" Another Ravenclaw first year, who Harry hadn't spoken with yet, asked.
"You have to wait for someone else to come along and open it." Cameron said, a hint of a smirk on his face. "That's why you've got to be careful to not be the last one in at night - otherwise you might end up having to sleep out here." The prefect finished with a sly smile before tapping the eagle-shaped, bronze knocker against the door.
"What word is usually pronounced incorrectly?" The question appeared as writing carved into the door.
"Anyone?" Cameron asked.
Incorrectly, Harry thought, as Terry Boot answered having come to the same conclusion as him.
"Well done." Cameron praised Terry, who now wore a proud smile on his face. The door swung upon revealing a huge circular room, as the words disappeared from the door.
"Doesn't that mean anyone with any intelligence could enter the common room?" Harry asked Terry in what he thought was a quiet voice, but was apparently too loud as the two prefects stopped and turned round to look at him. "I mean, I understand that Ravenclaw is the house of people who pride knowledge over everything else, but surely that doesn't mean that there are no smart people in other houses who could answer a riddle?" Harry continued, now blushing slightly at the attention.
"I guess so." Cameron said shrugging slightly. "Luckily Ravenclaw is not normally the target of any pranks, and if anyone who was trying to get in had the intention of causing harm to any of us I think the door is spelled to not open for them - so it would probably just be someone's friend if it was anyone from another house, and whilst theoretically that isn't allowed, most people just ignore that rule and would let them in anyway."
Penelope huffed slightly at her fellow prefect's obvious disregard for the rules but Harry nodded at the explanation (although he wasn't entirely happy with it).
"There's a small library here," Penelope said gesturing to the book-case lined walls, "They mostly just contain textbooks, and course essential material. There is a proper library here as you probably already know. The Hogwarts library contains the biggest collection of books and resources in the entire of magical Britain." She explained as if she was reading from a manual.
"That shelf over there," She pointed gesturing at the only shelf not completely jam-packed with books, "Is a direct transport to the library. If you place a book on there that you've gotten from the library then it will go back to the library, and don't worry it will alert Madam Pince - the librarian - so she knows you've checked it in."
"Parchment is always over there," Cameron said pointing to a corner of the room where a table stood. "As well as extra ink and quills. As Ravenclaws we prioritise our research and studies over most things so as a house, we expect everyone to do their best in their subjects. If one of you is struggling in a particular homework we have designated people in sixth year who will help, one, sometimes two, per subject who are studying the subject for their NEWTS.
"They can help you with essays and point you in the direction of the right resources for them too. If the issue is with a practical aspect of the study, such as casting spells, we have a room over there where you can practice." The boy tried to adopt a stern tone, but he sounded like he was just ticking the boxes.
"Is that safe?" Terry asked. "I heard you weren't allowed to practice magic outside of the classrooms because you need teacher's supervision."
"Professor Flitwick, our head of house and the charms professor, has a direct link to that room through floo portal, and there is a magical mirror which allows him to see what's going in on there. You're only allowed to be in there between 4 and 6 for those reasons, and as a first year you must have a sixth year there as well." Penelope explained.
"That's about all." Cameron said, "We'll meet you all in here at 8 o'clock tomorrow morning to take you down to breakfast. There you'll get your timetables and we'll give you directions on how to get to all of your classes. Those are the boys' dormitories," He said pointing to the staircase on the left, "And those are the girls. Boys cannot go into girls dormitories, and vice versa." He explained in a bored tone.
"Guys follow me, I'll show you which is your dormitory." He gestured for them to follow him, as Penelope took the girls to their own dormitories.
He then led them up the stairs, showing them to a large room containing four king-sized beds for each of the boys, Terry, Harry and the other two who introduced themselves as Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein. There were also four desks and storage spaces where they could put their clothes. There was another door in the back of the room which Cameron had told them, before he left, led to the bathrooms and showers.
The room seemed a bit lavish, Harry used to a single bed in a small room at home - and before that a cupboard - but he supposed that this would be their home for the next seven years, and it wasn't as if the entrance fees weren't expensive - it was the reason many muggleborns (according to McGonagall at least) were on a bursary.
After Cameron left them to it, the four didn't have too much time to chat and get to know each other, each too exhausted from the long day behind them they all hurried to sleep, eager to reach tomorrow quicker. Harry was the last to get to bed, his night-time routine taking slightly longer than the others. He took a few of the prescribed pills (an aftereffect of the coma) before following the examples of his already snoring roommates, mentally promising to write to his father tomorrow, before he climbed into the huge bed and went to sleep, his eyes shut before he even hit the pillow.
Harry woke up early the next morning, checking his watch - a gift from his father when he'd turned 11 - and sighing slightly as he realised it was 7 am.
His father had drilled into him the habit of waking up early in the morning - a doctor used to irregular hours and plenty of night shifts during his earlier years. This habit was normally fine, good even, but right now Harry had absolutely nothing to do. There were no assignments set by his tutor, or extra reading and work, he couldn't exactly go for a run around the castle - not only would that be a little too much effort, but he'd also almost certainly get lost coming back - nor could he go back to sleep.
It was, in Harry's opinion, his biggest flaw. He knew most people would wake up at early hours and just will their way back to sleep, but perhaps it was a leftover routine from the Dursley days, a survival instinct in a home - no, a house, home is certainly not the right word for that hell-hole - where going back to sleep would've been 'asking' for a beating - Vernon's words of course. As if anyone would ever ask for a beating.
He could hear from the lack of movement, and the light snoring, that all his roommates were still asleep, and whilst it was tempting to switch on his bedside lamp and read, he doubted that that would go down well with his new roommates, - waking them up at 7 in the morning probably wasn't the fastest way to make friends.
Harry ended up grabbing some clothes, a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and a small wash bag before going into the bathroom to get changed. His morning ritual was, well, a ritual. It didn't change on a day to day basis, and wasn't just some sort of decision on a whim.
It was the way he'd started his day for the last two years. It was simple, and in parts necessary.
He'd go to the bathroom, brush his teeth, shower and get changed. Then he'd apply concealer to his face - make-up being one of the few skills he'd learnt during his time with the Dursleys - carefully masking over the scars on his face. He had two prominent ones.
One was the scar he got when Vernon Dursley had hit him with a baseball bat, he'd gotten splinters from it across his forehead and freckling his cheeks, but those scars had faded over time, the one which remained was the scar from the brain surgery he'd been forced to receive instead.
It wasn't too big, a careful, neat incision, but having a scar like that on your face tended to bring questions, questions on a topic Harry certainly didn't want to broach.
The other scar was one he'd had for as long as he could remember. He'd used to love it when he was younger, it seemed cool, and unique - it made him special. Then one day Petunia had sat him down - after he'd asked one too many questions and been a little but too annoying in his thirst for answers about his parents.
She'd told him the sordid tale, his alcoholic father had been driving around town with his mother, with him, a baby at the time, in the back seat.
Apparently his father and some form - any form - of alcoholic were a match made in heaven, and Petunia, whilst less open on the topic of her sister, didn't exactly portray her as an angel either. They'd crashed - though that part of the story was clearly predictable - and both of them had died.
They'd been reckless and irresponsible and put Harry's own life in danger, and then put him in further danger once more by leaving him in the custody of the Dursleys. That cursed scar was a reminder of all of that. Not so cool anymore
When Harry had finished concealing his scars he replaced his glasses with his contacts, grinning as his eyes no longer stared back at him in that cruel emerald green. Those were his mother's eyes. He then ruffled his hair, as he always did, trying each day to remove his father's genes, but it was not so easily replaceable as his mothers. As always he conceded that fight; it would always be messy no matter what.
It was a simple routine, elements of it as normal as you'd expect from an eleven year old boy, the other a disguise from his previous identity. He didn't want to be a Potter. Nor did he want to be a Dursley. He took painful measures to reinsure that he would never look like his blood relatives. Instead he looked well and truly like Luke Reynold's son.
Once he'd finished in the bathroom he went and wrote the letter to his father, knowing that the doctor would be on the look out for any sort of communication (Harry had promised him after all). At dinner the night before Terry had told him that the school had an owlery, and Hedwig would be sent there along with all of the other students' owls, as well as owls which belonged to the school itself.
He'd have to wait until later on to send it, the castle was huge and he currently didn't even really know where he sat in it, let alone where the owlery was. The winding, ever-changing staircases seemed designed to confused students, to make them lost and give teachers excuses to reprimand them.
However, even if he didn't know where on earth - or, where in Hogwarts - the owlery was, he could at least make headway (before he got set mountains of homework), and write about the school, and the sorting feast, people who he hoped were his new friends, before adding the extra details about all his classes after dinner.
It only took him around five minutes to pour out everything that had happened, the words flowing out into the ink - of a ball-point pen, Harry wasn't quite used to the insistence of the school to use ancient quills, as though writing hadn't evolved beyond feather quills. However, despite their being loads to talk about, it didn't take as long as Harry had expected to get to the end of the previous night, and as such the end of content to discuss. Checking his watch a groan escaped out of him. It was only 7:20.
That meant he still had forty minutes to burn before the Ravenclaws would meet in the common room, and be escorted to breakfast by the prefects - which Harry couldn't be more grateful for, as otherwise he'd be spending this forty minutes getting lost in the maze that was this castle as he tried to find the Great Hall once more.
As such Harry took the time to start reading. Not having a book of his own that he was reading at the moment he took a random one from one of the bookshelves, a book on potions. After a couple of pages he realised it wasn't the light-reading he was expecting, but by this point he was too intrigued to put it down.
Potions sounded amazing, like cooking but instead of making food you could make love potions, or truth serums, apparently there was this thing called a bezoar which served as an antidote to almost any poisons, if you ground it up and ate it all - though Harry was slightly confused why it wasn't heard of in the non-magical world as goats weren't exactly a magical animal.
Harry was mostly interested in the healing aspects of the book - his interest in healing partially from his father's profession, and partially from other, obvious, reasons. Looking through the index he quickly found a section on the healing aspects to potions.
Whilst some things made more sense to Harry (as far as bizarre ingredients combined together to make potions which regrow your bones does make sense) he was very confused by the amount of non-magical things which apparently had magical healing powers.
There was a plant he was reading about called aconite, which when used in a potion with some other ingredients could apparently be used to prevent the drinker from falling to sleep, and could also awake someone from drugging or a concussion (causing Harry to absentmindedly wonder if in the magical world his coma would have been cured in days instead of years).
It was confusing mainly because the plant wasn't exactly going to be exclusive to the magical world - surely plants can be found nearly anywhere - leading Harry to question how magical potions class really was. There were obviously some potions which would be exclusive to the magical world, one containing basilisk venom (whatever the hell a 'basilisk' was, Harry had no clue) and another potion that was used solely to help werewolves during a full moon - not exactly a muggle issues.
His curiosity only grew as he further examined each potion. The Wideye potion for example, most of the ingredients were muggle, and the method of brewing didn't involve any spellwork, so he wondered that if the required ingredient of billywig stings - which certainly didn't sound like a muggle name - could be replaced by a muggle equivalent, or if it was simply 'found' by muggles whether they would be able to create the potion themselves.
The forty minutes Harry had no longer seemed to be an age away as Harry scoured through the book, seeking an explanation for all of his questions whilst trying to find a potion that didn't involve a magical ingredient when suddenly Terry plopped down onto the couch besides him, stretching dramatically as if to reaffirm that he had indeed just crawled out of bed and thrown his robes on.
"I figured you'd be down here when I saw your bed empty." He yawned.
"I'm an early riser." Harry explained, smiling at the boy as he closed the book, careful to mentally note what page he was on.
"I am definitely not." Terry groaned. "8 am is too early." He joked, and then frowned as his eyes scanned over Harry's body, immediately making him feel self-conscious as he wondered what was wrong. "You're not wearing robes?" He asked and Harry hid his feelings of relief - his paranoia fading away as he realised it was just a question of clothing.
"They're not exactly the most comfortable." Harry explained, "I figured I'd run and get them before we go to breakfast, got a bit distracted reading though."
"I always do that. One second it's two in the afternoon, and the next my mum's yelling at me to come downstairs for dinner."
Harry laughed at the boy. He seemed confident, and at ease, chatting to Harry as though they'd known each other more than 24 hours, which in turn let Harry's own confidence grew as he relaxed into the conversation, with a boy who he was hoping was becoming his friend. Something he'd never really had before.
Dudley's bullying and Vernon's borderline neurotic behaviour hadn't exactly made that aspect of his life easy... but that was in the past, and now he was here, in Hogwarts, practically untouchable as far as the Dursleys were concerned.
He wouldn't be forced to hide who he was, to stay in Dudley's shadows, he could make friends, which, if everyone in Ravenclaw related to Harry's love of reading, wouldn't (hopefully) be too hard. Perhaps he was wrong in his earlier verdict that sorting people into houses by their traits wouldn't work - or maybe he'd just gotten lucky so far.
"Do you think I'm allowed to take the books away to the dormitory?" Harry asked curiously, not wanting to break any rules, but also wanting to make sure that no one else took the book whilst he was in the middle of reading it.
"Probably - you know the Ravenclaw slogan, 'intellect first'." Harry raised his eyebrows and Terry laughed, "Well, come on, it probably is their slogan. Ask Cameron?" Terry suggested, causing Harry to look up and realise both prefects were in the room, it was currently 7:58, Terry and Harry the only first years in the room, actually ready.
"Hi, Cameron." Harry said, trying to supress his nerves as he talked to the other boy. "I was wondering the rules for the books?" He asked.
"Yeah?" Cameron asked, trying to rub the sleep out of his lies - clearly Harry was not in the company of another early riser.
"Are we allowed to take them and keep them whilst we're reading them?"
"Yeah of course. We tend to say you should keep them in the tower though." Cameron explained.
"Okay thanks." Harry started walking away before he remembered his earlier musings, "Also, I was wondering who the Potions person is?"
"Already have questions?" Cameron joked.
"Sorry." Harry replied sheepishly.
"No," The older boy quickly waved off, "Don't be sorry for being curious. That's literally what this entire house is about. Seems you're Ravenclaw through and through, Harry is it?" Cameron asked, and Harry blushed slightly as he nodded, realising he'd never introduced himself to the boy.
"Matthias is the Potions prefect - that's what we call them, subject prefects," He elaborated, "He's got dark hair, quite tall." He explained before waving himself off, "Never mind, that explains half of the Ravenclaws." He laughed. "I'll point him out to you at breakfast."
"Thank you." Harry said gratefully, returning to the couch to grab the book and shooting a smile at Terry, before going to put the book, and the half-written letter in his dormitory. Michael and Anthony were in the room, both nearly ready and about to come downstairs, so Harry carefully put on his robes - it would definitely take a while before he got used to wearing these - before joining them.
"Big day ahead of us." Anthony began. "I feel like I've been waiting for the day I finally get to study at Hogwarts my entire life. And now it's here - it's today." He rambled, his clear blue eyes lit up with excitement as Harry nodded in agreement.
He hadn't been waiting his whole life to go to Hogwarts like Anthony, or some of the other students, in fact he hadn't even known about the existence of Hogwarts - or magic in general - until McGonagall knocked on their door and changed his life forever, but he understood the sentiment.
He'd spent his entire life wishing for something like this... wishing he could go to school and learn, apply himself and flourish, a school where he wasn't constantly looking over his back or dodging Dudley's fists, a school where he'd be able to find friends for life. And here he was. Finally, for the first time in his life, he could just be Harry.