1
Harry Potter ran his hand through his hair, tidying it up into a half-presentable state, as he strode through King's Cross Station. He wore a loose, tattered t-shirt and baggy jeans, hand-me-downs from his cousin, and was pushing a trolley carrying a large wooden trunk. He was feeling quite smug, having told his uncle that his train left at ten o'clock when it was actually scheduled to depart an hour later, knowing full well that his uncle would find it amusing to drop Harry off at the last minute. Thus, he was walking through the station at an easy pace forty minutes early.
The summer sun shone down through the skylights and covered the station with warmth. Crowds of families, commuters, and tourists strolled this way and that, like a system of worker bees following paths that may on the surface seem chaotic, but in reality, are the epitome of elegance. Harry let himself get carried away by a stream of travelers, seeing as the platform numbers they passed were steadily rising to the number nine. Finally, after almost crashing into a station guard, he reached platforms nine and ten and he was left to ponder over the location of platform nine and three-quarters, as was stated on his ticket.
Knowing that he couldn't be the only wizard heading out to Hogwarts, he stood aside where he wouldn't obstruct traffic and waited until he saw someone who might look like a witch or wizard pass by. He didn't wait long; a boy in a plaid sweater was being accompanied by his parents, both noticeably posher than everyone in the surrounding crowd. They looked distinctly muggle, in contrast to all the oddly dressed folk that Harry encountered in Diagon Alley, but the boy's trolley was the tell: above his trunk was a caged owl startling all the passerby with its out-of-place appearance.
Harry saw the family huddle together, whisper with some nervousness, before they took off at a light sprint and passed right through the column dividing platforms nine and ten. All of the muggles walked by with their eyes glazed over for just a moment, before their expressions resumed their normal airs. Harry pushed his trolley forward and caught no sight of the family on the other side of the column.
While he felt as if the answer was now rather obvious, he still found himself nervous as he aligned himself at the same location from which the family started their sprint. The wall seemed very real, painfully real even, but Harry took in a deep breath and exhaled before dashing towards the barrier, closing his eyes, and –
He was through. He knew this before he opened his eyes because of the screeching owls, croaking toads, and spirited chatter.
"You will bring back better Potions marks, won't you?"
"Did you hear? Oliver Wood was made captain of the quidditch team."
"We'll miss you, son. No reason to fret, though – you'll be back for Yule!"
Harry opened his eyes. A crimson red steam engine awaited him, next to a platform filled with families who had come early to drop off their kids. Harry maneuvered his way around adults, children, and the occasional cat, trying to avoid all attention. He approached one of the train doors and opened it, lifted his trunk with some difficulty, and boarded the train, entering the nearest empty compartment.
He immediately let down all the blinds and opened his trunk, dug through the clothing compartment, and pulled out a pair of grey flannel trousers and an Oxford Shirt. He changed out of his horrid clothes and into the new ones he had purchased in London after converting some galleons to pounds, well aware that his shirt was slightly wrinkled, but he had no better option. He replaced his cracked round-rimmed spectacles with a new pair of tortoise-shelled glasses and his vision improved instantly. This was his chance to finally be a new person, to reinvent himself now that Dudley wasn't around to bully everyone into isolating him. More importantly, these people treated him like a celebrity and with all the scrutiny that was bound to come, he would not have anyone suspect what his life had been like before he had rejoined their world. A couple of minutes later, Harry exited the compartment and dragged his trunk through the aisle, peeking into the various compartment windows.
After passing by compartments occupied by older kids and groups of girls, he came across a boy sitting alone reading a textbook. He was dark-skinned and seemed like a first-year, so Harry knocked and tried to display more confidence than he truly held.
"Hi, mind if I join you?" Harry asked after sliding the door open.
The boy looked up and held eye contact for a brief moment before inspecting him from top to bottom, perhaps judging his clothing or his posture. Finally, he nodded his assent.
Harry entered and tucked his trunk away in the corner, doubting that he could lift it and place it on the overhead rack. Seeing another trunk in the adjacent corner, he realized he had nothing to be embarrassed about given that his companion had arrived at the same solution. Once he was comfortably seated, the boy across from him closed his book: A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. Harry smiled in recognition; his summer studies would hopefully reap benefits.
"Name's Zabini," he said. The boy was dressed in black chino pants and a black cardigan with a stand-up collar. His accent seemed slightly foreign, his vowels a touch more relaxed and drawn out than what was typical of the average Brit. "Or you can call me Blaise."
Harry considered the boy's now expectant face. The truth of his identity would be revealed regardless of his efforts, so he may as well accustom himself to the reaction of others.
"I'm Harry Potter," he replied and then pointed at the boy's textbook. "So, you're studying ahead for history?"
"Hold your hippogriffs," Blaise said with widened eyes. "You cannot just move past that introduction."
"Can't blame me for trying," Harry smiled.
Blaise laughed. "No, I guess not. You must be annoyed by all the attention, but now that I think about it, you've stayed out of sight since forever. No one knows anything about where you've been. You're a ghost."
"I am good at hiding," Harry said. "I doubt the professors will appreciate it if I skip classes and hole up in the dormitory though. I'll make sure to put in an appearance and haunt the classroom two or three times a week."
"Yes, that should be enough to keep them happy."
Both boys stared out the window at the families dropping off their children and spoke sparsely of some inanity or another: quidditch (which Harry professed to have no interest for, mostly to cover up the fact that he only had a superficial idea of what the sport entailed), their chess prowess, and their lack of pets.
"Mother will probably be sending me letters every day," he said as the hands on the clock outside approached eleven. "So, I'll just use her owl, Locusta. She's become really oblivious as of late – I suspect the bird is going deaf."
"My guide at Diagon Alley wanted me to get an owl, but I don't really have many people to write to. I wanted a cat instead, but turns out he's allergic to cats."
Harry recalled stepping into Magical Menagerie and being overwhelmed by the cawing and screeching and squawking. The shop was an orchestra of bats, cats, rats, toads and hooting owls. There were a few animals, however, that disturbed Harry just as much as the specificity of the address on his Hogwarts letter had disturbed him. In one corner of the shop, there were cats in cages that reminded Harry an awful lot of Mrs. Figg's cats. Mrs. Figg, one of Harry's neighbors, owned a number of cats with abnormally large ears and lionlike tails. Most disconcerting of all, was their intelligent eyes which followed him many a time as he walked around the neighborhood. These cats, or kneazles as the label on the cages identified them, looked incredibly similar. Too similar.
The departure time approached and they saw the last of the crowd scramble to board the train. It was a chaotic assault, with a team of redheads being the unruliest of the bunch. A minute later, after a horrible rail squeal, the train was on the move and all the waving families slid out of view.
"So, what else do you do for fun?" Harry asked, breaking the lingering silence.
"Well, besides quidditch and chess, I'm really into history and I like to collect Chocolate Frog Cards. I got one of Tristan the other day."
"You referring to the Tristan from the medieval romance, the one with Iseult?"
"Yes, what other famous Tristan is there?"
Harry shrugged. "I can't say I'm as excited about history as you, but I do like legends and myths."
"Can't disagree with you there. I'm Italian so my mother and I still honor the Roman pantheon. Anyways, I've heard that the history professor at Hogwarts is beyond dull, so I'll have to read about it on my own time. Hogwarts is in shambles; I almost applied for Beauxbatons instead."
"Isn't Hogwarts supposed to be the best school there is?"
"Don't be naïve," Blaise said. "Hogwarts is the best school in Britain, but that's mostly because all the kids who mean something go there. Most students are legacy students or they were sponsored by a legacy family. You can also get in if your parent has an important position with the ministry or if you are rich enough to just buy your way in. Muggle-born are enrolled, because they've been accepted since the time of the founders and it's a risk to the Statute of Secrecy to have untrained witches and wizards running around in the muggle world."
"And those that can't get into Hogwarts?"
"They go to trade schools and get apprenticeships. Some are homeschooled – mind you, some of the rich families like the Selwyns opt out of sending their kids to Hogwarts and hire private tutors instead."
Their attention was drawn to three boys who peeked into their compartment. The leader, a pale boy with slicked-back platinum blonde hair, seemed to recognize Blaise and gave him a sharp nod before leading his two rather large companions further down the train.
"That's Draco Malfoy and the two following him are Crabbe and Goyle," Blaise said and then continued when Harry failed to contribute with a comment. "Obviously, the Malfoys are a legacy family and they're very wealthy. Years back, long before any of us were born, they sponsored the Crabbe and Goyle families. They all live in Wiltshire, so it made a lot of sense. Any time I go to parties, you'll always see those two trolls following Malfoy around, loyal to the end."
"But enough about that," Blaise finished. "What do you do for fun?"
Harry withdrew a journal from his leather messenger bag and handed it to Blaise. He flipped through the pages, looking over Harry's sketches of dragons, hydra, sphinxes, and other mythical beings, his eyebrows climbing up in slow ascent.
"These look really good, although I question the accuracy of some of these. Where'd you learn to draw like that?"
"Self-taught. Sketching is all I'm good at though. I tried painting a couple of times and let's just say the final results were painful to look at. Other than that, I like puzzle games and figuring out how things work if that makes sense."
"You know how to sketch portraits?"
"Can't say I've tried, but I can give it a go."
"Well, what you're waiting for, Potter? I'm the attractive subject all artists desire."
"Maybe over the weekend, Zabini," Harry laughed. "The train car sways too much. Unless you were hoping for an unflattering picture."
Before Blaise could reply, the door slid open and a cheerful woman pushed a trolley full of candy into view. She beamed at them and said, "You boys want any sweets?"
Blaise purchased some chocolate frogs, liquorice wands, and toothflossing stringmints, and when Harry eyed him with bemusement after the last purchase, Blaise defended himself saying "This handsome smile needs upkeep, Potter."
Harry went for what he thought to be safe options, chocolate frogs and exploding bonbons, while avoiding the more dubious sweets such as acid pops, shrieking sherbet, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.
"One time, I swear I got one that tasted like dung, but I've heard of people getting worse flavors," Blaise shivered.
Harry opened his chocolate frog box and if it weren't for his quick instincts, the frog would have leapt onto the luggage rack. Feeling a bit of queasiness, he chewed into the struggling piece of chocolate and with the sweetness, his disquiet passed.
"So, what card did you get?" Blaise asked.
Harry picked up the card and saw a dark-haired witch in shackles and the card read:
Carlotta Pinkstone (1922—present): Famous campaigner for lifting the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy and telling Muggles that wizards still exist. Ms. Pinkstone has been imprisoned several times for her blatant and deliberate use of magic in public places.
"Wicked," Blaise said, leaning close to get a better look. "I haven't got that one. Maybe you'd like to trade for one of mine?"
"Let's see what you have."
His first card was of Clíodna, a druidess who discovered the magical properties of moondew and was capable of taking the form of a bird.
"And this one is – Dumbledore. He turns up very often in these so I don't suppose you want it?"
Harry didn't respond. Blaise looked up, just noticing the pause in the conversation.
"So that man is Dumbledore?" Harry asked.
"Wait – you've never met him?" Blaise seemed shocked.
"Obviously not," Harry spat. After Harry had sent Professor McGonagall a reply asking if he could apply for a scholarship, Hagrid had arrived at Privet Four Drive and, in the bizarre conversation that followed, had eagerly told Harry that they had met before. Indeed, it was he, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Dumbledore that had dropped Harry off at the Dursleys all those years ago. For once, Harry's ire allied with that of his relatives and they all glared at the giant man, though they were all too intimidated by his size to do much of anything about it. It led to a rather awkward trip at Diagon Alley as Harry had refused to talk to his chaperone more than necessary, despite admitting to himself that the man was just too amiable to truly despise.
"Funny, everyone seems to think he trains you over the summers and is molding you in his image," Blaise said, eyeing Harry with cautious interest.
"It's a good thing he isn't; his clothing's color palette is a real eyesore." Harry was about to point at the hideous yellow robes in the card, but then noticed that the picture of Dumbledore was gone and a black abyss remained.
Blaise bit into a liquorice wand. "Well, for a kid who's never met the man, you sure have a lot of anger towards him. You are not what people are expecting."
"What type of wand do you have?" Harry asked.
"Liquorice?" he said, bewildered as he inspected his half-eaten treat.
"I meant your actual wand."
"Oh, pine wood and dragon heartstring."
"Mine's sycamore and dragon heartstring. The shop owner was really disappointed with me, though I couldn't tell why. Did you find the owner to be a bit of a creep?"
Blaise laughed. "Ollivander? No, he's just eccentric. Old too."
Harry threw his Pinkstone card at him. "I'll take the one with that druidess you mentioned."
"Fair trade," Blaise said after making the switch, looking very pleased with himself. Harry proceeded to the exploding bonbons and found that he enjoyed their explosive texture more than the sensation of biting into a squirming chocolate frog.
After finishing his sweets, Harry pulled out his potions textbook and tried to make sense of it since he had failed to do so over the summer. The brewing method seemed more poetic than scientific, and he was not at all unpleased by this irregularity. Blaise caught the hint and returned to his history textbook, and they both sustained a peaceful quiet for a large portion of the train ride. This quiet was broken when an older redheaded boy with a prefect badge slid the door open and informed them that they were approaching the arrival time and they best put on their robes.
After locking the compartment, Blaise removed his cardigan and then pulled his robes over his head. The plain black robes covered him up entirely. Harry followed suit and despite the robes being a perfect fit, he still felt somewhat ridiculous. Blaise, however, seemed to be in his element as he put on his hat.
"It's going to be cold out there," Blaise said. "It's at times like these that I miss Palermo."
A loud voice announced that luggage must be left behind where they will later be collected. Not much later, the train slowed down and came to a halt.
"Hey, Harry," Blaise said, suddenly serious. "If we get sorted into different houses, would you still want to meet up.
"Of course," Harry said, still unsure what all this fuss about houses was about. "We're friends after all."
2
Standing in the Great Hall, Harry felt as if he was in a dream without being wholly lucid. From the moment he first saw the castle, he knew he had fallen in love with the place and his sense of adventure only increased upon entering the underground harbour where the boathouse awaited them (he wasn't all that ashamed to say that he had ignored his boat companions, one of whom was named Dean and the other Justin, who happened to be the same posh boy he had covertly followed onto the platform earlier that day). The gothic architecture had stolen his heart and the Great Hall's grandeur assured him that he was now a part of something important, something beautiful.
The hat's song enticed him further with talk of puzzles and mysteries, dungeons and labyrinths, and while he wanted nothing more than to gawk at the floating candles and beautiful stained-glass windows, he did his best to remain collected lest anyone call him an excitable kid, too immature to be taken seriously.
"Potter, Harry," Professor McGonagall called. Harry held back a sneer and tried his best to show cool confidence. Head held up high and shoulders back, he took long strides and grabbed the hat, sitting swiftly before placing the ragged garment on his head.
"Oh, how conflicting," a voice whispered, advertising the hat's presence in his head. Harry didn't know what he was expecting, but this mental link surpassed his considerations. "You certainly have resourcefulness and a bit of cunning, but you've got to work on your ambition."
"Excuse me?" Harry asked. "I'm going to start fresh and become a new me. Isn't that ambitious enough for you?"
"Too short-term and too reactionary, I'm afraid. There's nothing wrong with changing yourself as long as you're doing it for yourself and not for others, much less strangers."
"I am doing this for myself."
"Shush, you're distracting me. You have a curious mind and a creative soul. I would be remiss in my responsibilities if I didn't sort you into a house that will cultivate those traits."
"I think I'd like that."
"Yes, you would, wouldn't you? It would be very easy to sort you into Ravenclaw, but Slytherin calls and you speak his tongue. The potential is there."
"My French is not that good," Harry said, just a tad bemused.
"No, it really isn't. That's beside the point. I know just where to put you."
"Before you do, may I ask how you're able to have sentience?"
"What makes you so sure that I am sentient?"
"This conversation, mostly. That can't be an illusion, can it?"
"That's for you to ponder. Yes, Rowena would have loved you. You will go far in…"
"Ravenclaw!"
There was a brief moment where Harry could not hear a thing; the silence itself seemed to echo through the hall. Then, the students wearing blue badges, ribbons, and scarves burst into applause. Harry smiled and made his way to the other first-year Ravenclaws, stopping to shake hands with a few enthusiastic students. As he finally took a seat, the students started to thump the table with their fists and only after a quarter of a minute, did it taper off. The conversations across the table, however, did not.
"Blimey, Potter's an eagle. What odds do you think they'd have given us on that bet?"
"We're glad to have you, Potter. Wait till I write to my cousin – she's going to be stunned."
"Is it true that you live in a castle in the Isle of Man, Potter?"
Harry tried his best to answer the less ridiculous questions before Professor McGonagall's glare killed their whispers. The sorting continued until one boy remained.
"Zabini, Blaise."
Blaise marched to the hat and a mere second after placing it on his head, the hat yelled "Slytherin!"
The Slytherin table applauded respectfully and Harry joined in. Blaise noticed him and nodded with a smirk. The neighboring Ravenclaws looked a bit befuddled at his show of support.
"I met him on the train," Harry explained to one boy with blonde hair sitting across the table whom was less than subtle in his wariness. Before he could say more, everyone's attention was drawn to Professor Dumbledore. He had stood up while Professor McGonagall was withdrawing the hat and stool.
"Welcome," the headmaster said, lifting his arms and extending them wide as if to draw in every single student into his warm smile. "A new year at Hogwarts is before us. There is no better way to settle in than with a nourishing meal and plenty to drink. On that note: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Please, tuck in!"
The previously empty plates were now piled with food. There was roast chicken, pork chops, sausages, steak, bacon sandwiches, boiled potatoes, black pudding, and shepherd's pie, and all of it seemed very alluring to Harry, who hardly ever got the chance to eat anything that he himself hadn't prepared. His cooking skills had improved, no doubt about it, but his meals could not compare to the glistening meats that awaited his knife and fork. Glad that his relatives, the Dursleys, weren't around, he filled his plate with a bit of everything.
"Your stomach is going to regret that later," said the blonde-haired boy who had been staring at him when he had applauded after Blaise's sorting. "My name is Anthony Goldstein."
"Terry Boot," said one dark-haired boy seated next to Harry, who had been whispering to a black-haired boy throughout the sorting. "And this here is Michael Corner."
Michael smiled shyly.
"Nice to meet you all," Harry said, concerned with the fact that many of their faces seemed to indicate that they were waiting for him to perform some circus feat.
"Oh, stop staring at him like that or you'll make him uncomfortable," an older girl said. She was blonde and had a large smile that had to be contagious. "I'm Penelope Clearwater and I'll be your prefect. If you ever need anything, I'll be glad to help."
"How about a map?"
"The castle changes too much to be accurately mapped, but I'll be showing all the first-years the best routes to get to class tomorrow."
After they had finished their plates, a variety of desserts had appeared, replacing the leftover food. Ice cream, pudding, chocolates, and pastries further tested Harry's appetite. By then, the topic of conversation switched to their families.
"My dad is a member of the Wizengamot," Padma Patil said. "He represents London – you may have heard of him in the paper."
"Enough of that. So, Harry, what can you tell us of your family? Got tender parents or the strict no-nonsense type?" Anthony Goldstein asked before Padma could signal that she had finished. The surrounding students stopped eating, some even dropped their cutlery, and stared at him in shock.
"I don't know, Anthony," Harry said. "For some reason, they really don't pay much attention to me. You'd think they'd have grounded me by now, but I could probably wreck the house and they wouldn't say a word."
Anthony snorted and then broke into laughter while some looked horrified.
"I like you, mate. Not everyone can appreciate a dark sense of humor."
"Goldstein, that was an awful thing to say!" Su Li chastised him. The others nodded in agreement.
Soon after, the conversation resumed and Harry did his best to memorize everything they mentioned. Su Li's parents were originally from Hong Kong and they ran a tailor and seamstress shop in London. Terry Boot and Michael Corner were both obsessed with quidditch, the former supporting the Appleby Arrows and the latter supporting Puddlemere United. Lisa Turpin's greatest dream was to become a top journalist and her greatest fear was ending up in the entertainment division of some tabloid.
Once the dessert had, for the most part, dwindled away, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet and the students quieted down.
"With the start of term, I ought to give some notices to the first-years, while also reminding our older students that while they do have more seniority, the rules do still apply to them."
"Firstly, the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils unless you're being accompanied by Professor Kettleburn."
"Next, students must refrain from using magic in the corridors. Corridors are, after all, meant for walking. A most controversial opinion, I am sure."
"Quidditch trials are held the second week of term. Those interested should contact Madam Hooch or, preferably, your respective quidditch captains."
"Finally, I must warn you that for the remainder of the year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds. Death awaits those who do not take this advice to heart."
Harry had been silently wishing all his anger would strike down the headmaster for he was responsible for most of Harry's misery thus far, but his resentment dissipated at the last remark. He almost laughed until he noticed that most were taking in his words with the upmost seriousness.
"Your warm beds are calling, so let us sing before we send you off. Pick a tune and have fun with it."
Professor Dumbledore waved his wand like a conductor and a golden ribbon rose high and displayed words to a song. It began:
'Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.'
Some sang catatonically and others put far too much effort into maintaining high notes. The melodies clashed and there was a distinct lack of harmony. The song was further dragged on by two redheaded twins and their slow funeral march. Dumbledore, however, beamed at them and clapped at the end.
"Music," he said as he wiped a stray tear. "There is no greater magic. Alright now, off to bed!"
"Kill me now," Anthony said.
"Gladly," Harry agreed. For the second time that night, Anthony roared with laughter. Su Li did not look amused.
3
The prefects had led them out of the Great Hall and to the west side of the castle, passing through various halls and corridors. There were elegant tapestries hanging on the stone walls telling their own stories if you only took the time to look. The subjects of the many portraits moved in between frames and gave all types of greetings, some loud and bombastic, others graceful and serene. Suits of armor would straighten up at their approach and some even kneeled as if royalty had just walked by.
Finally, they arrived at a tower which seemed empty until a spiral staircase unfolded before them. Climbing the stone steps, Robert Hilliard, another prefect, spoke up. "This is the Ravenclaw Tower and it houses the common room. Hopefully, you'll memorize the location soon enough, but entering poses another challenge."
At the top of the tower, they came across a wooden door with a bronze eagle-shaped knocker, its sharp eyes were remarkably intimidating. There was no handle. Penelope reached for the bronze ring and knocked it against the door. The eagle's beak opened and a melodic voice said "What is time's greatest limitation?"
"As you've just witnessed, our common room is protected by an enchanted doorknocker," Penelope said. "It will always ask a new question after it has received a satisfactory answer. Just try and give your best guess and if you're denied entry, someone else is bound to come along soon. These first few days, the older years will stand by and help until you get a hang of it. So, any takers?"
"Perhaps something to do with how slow time moves?" Michael Corner suggested, looking around as if to find some support.
"I've got an idea," Padma said, pushing her way to the front and tapping the knocker.
"What is time's greatest limitation?"
"That it only moves in one direction."
"Does it?" the eagle asked before the door swung open. Penelope smiled at Padma's confused look.
The Ravenclaw common room was spacious. It was circular and surrounded by tall arched windows, much like a lantern room in a lighthouse might look on a moonlit night. The domed ceiling was painted with stars that almost seemed to twinkle and glow. Blue and bronze silks decorated the walls and midnight-blue carpets covered the marble floor. There were bookcases, tables, armchairs, and divans scattered around the room. A fire flickered in a round stone fire pit on one side of the room and a marble statue stood tall on the opposite end.
As all the students filled into the common room, Harry approached the statue and guessed that it depicted Rowena Ravenclaw. She was tall and beautiful, her half-smile seemed to tease the onlookers. A circlet rested on her head and close inspection revealed the words: "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure." Behind the statue was a wooden door which, Harry assumed, could only lead to the dormitories.
"Alright, listen up," Robert Hilliard spoke and despite the soft tone of his voice, everyone stood at attention. "First of all, welcome to Ravenclaw. We're the house with the cleverest witches and wizards. Our founder, Rowena Ravenclaw, loved to both learn and teach. We expect you to carry on her legacy."
"While I'm sure most of you will learn to love the knocker and its questions," Penelope continued. "I do advise you all to double and triple check your bags whenever you leave the tower. You don't want to run late for class because you forgot something in the common room and were given a tricky question."
"In this house, we encourage people to be different. Believe what you want and say what you want, but don't be surprised if you find that you've started a debate in the common room. We're all here to learn and challenge our beliefs."
"Our Head of House is the local charms expert, Professor Flitwick, whom you'll be meeting tomorrow morning when he hands out your schedules. His office door is always open to an eagle in need."
"Our resident ghost is the Grey Lady. Her reputation is that of the silent type, but she actually does open up to Ravenclaws every now and then. If you're lost and run into her, be respectful and she may just help you find your way."
"Finally," Robert said after Penelope gave him a nod. "you'll find your dormitories in the turrets through the door behind Rowena's statue. I hope you all find the whistling wind to be as relaxing as I did on my first night at Hogwarts."
The boys followed Robert to their dormitories whereas the girls followed Penelope. Harry found himself sharing the room with Terry, Michael, and Anthony, as well as Stephen Cornfoot and Kevin Entwhistle. The four-poster beds were covered in blue silk eiderdowns and enclosed in blue velvet curtains; Harry's trunk was already next to a bed and both Anthony and Kevin took the neighboring ones.
After changing into his pajamas, Harry laid down and tried to ignore the whispered conversations. He succeeded, not because he fell asleep but because he was distracted by his upset stomach. He reflected on his day and couldn't help but smile. Not long ago, he had been in Little Whinging bemoaning the fact that he was surrounded by a bunch of boring suburban houses filled with boring people who held boring jobs. He had wondered if there was more to life than this, and now, as he listened to the wind caressing the tower's windows, he knew that there was much more than he could possibly imagine.
It was with these thoughts in mind that he drifted off into his dreams with a smile on his face.
