Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its universe.

A/N: Chapters will get noticeably shorter as time goes on. I am trying out something different with my writing style. I hope you like it!

Shoutouts: Thanks to Honorversefan, x102reddragon and Kit Willow for their awesome beta work. Check out their stuff!

The Shadow of Death

Chapter 6: Siren's Call

Anger burned through him. The man in the mirror made his stomach lurch. His pale skin was marred, dotted with boils. Veins wriggled like worms in the dirt.

Though the burns were healing, they pained him. His self-assured arrogance had once more surfaced. His moment of distraction had cost him dearly. The Dark Lord's quarry had escaped.

His blood surged as his thoughts turned to the grey wizard. There was nothing that stood out about the unknown man. At least until he had begun his attack in earnest.

It should have been an easy mission, one which would have secured his alliance with the giants in the Carpathian Mountains. He dashed an empty wine glass against the wall. The glittering shards reminded him of ice and snow.

The unknown wizard had caught his attention when Lucius had reported Macnair's death. The Dark Lord had thought him to be meddling in his negotiations with the giants.

Voldemort had stepped in personally. The Gurg, aware of Macnair's death, had demanded the Dark Lord prove his strength. He had seethed at the creature's demands but had acquiesced. It had been necessary.

Thus was his plan born. The giants would chase Maxime and Hagrid to a preplanned location while his Death Eaters placed ward stones across the mountain ranges. Dumbledore would, of course, follow.

His gambit had born fruit. The ward stones had been activated and the four bothersome pests had been trapped. What should have been a simple affair had been anything but.

It had been perfect, beautiful in its simplicity.

Until that wizard had ruined everything.

He was unnatural, a force of nature, and Voldemort had been ill-prepared. They may as well have battled a dragon with kindling.

But he had almost killed the wizard.

Though he was vain, Voldemort knew his weaknesses well. He preferred grandiose shows of power, showmanship that kept his followers in line. The Dark Lord could be irrational and overconfident at times.

Voldemort felt as if he were mortal again, a disturbing notion. His mistakes during the ambush were glaringly obvious. His plans required change.

Harry Potter lived, his very existence an insult. It had been foretold that the boy would be his downfall. He had to kill Harry Potter and the grey wizard. Voldemort had to become more than what he was.

The Dark Lord had cut through Europe in his quest for power, learning from the art's greatest practitioners. Where once had stood a teenage boy, a shopkeep, now stood a man whose name was feared to be spoken aloud.

Burnt arms moving in a pained blur, the Dark Lord tossed the contents of his desk's surface to the floor. Nagini, who had been nearby, hissed her displeasure. His eyes moved in frantic patterns in search of something, anything.

Finally, his eyes stilled upon an old bookcase that sat in an unused corner of the room.

Secrets of the Darkest Art

It was a tome he had not read since Hogwarts. There was one item of note that he had never been able to achieve.

Was it even possible to undertake in a body not wholly his own, one to which his soul was not attuned?

But the strength it promised. What price would he pay?

A long, spindly finger ran down the spine of the tome. He pulled the ancient book from the shelf before moving to place it on his empty desk. The Dark Lord thumbed through the pages until he came to the page he had been searching for.

It would be as difficult, but it would give him the power to vanquish his newest foe. The possible consequences of using such magic were not written, but he knew the cost would be great.

No, there had to be another way.

*****BREAK*****

Albus Dumbledore smiled when he felt young Harry's magic begin to stir. The boy would be up before long.

It had been a little over a week since their venture into the Carpathian Mountains. Their escape had been a near thing. Harry's injuries had been severe. Had they been but a few moments later, he would have succumbed.

Albus had transported Harry to Grimmauld Place when it had been safe to do so. He had also taken the time to scan his curse scar. The expected soul piece was nowhere to be found.

The assassins had likely had it removed. Albus' plans required changing.

"It is good to see you awake and well, my boy." Albus's voice croaked and cracked. The boy did not so much as twitch. "I had feared the worst for some time."

Finally opening his green eyes, Harry began to search the room for threats. No emotion showed on the young assassin's face. Albus, sitting on his usual lavish throne by the fire, looked at Harry with dark bags under his eyes.

"I, too, thought myself dead," Harry rasped. Albus conjured a glass and filled it with water. "How long was I unconscious? How did we manage to escape?"

"Not as long as you may have thought," the wizened man replied, his face lined with a frown. "The Hogwarts Express will leave in a little over two hours, which leaves us some time to converse before you begin your walk to King's Cross."

A barked prek met their ears, accompanied by the flutter of large wings, before Hedwig landed on Harry's chest and began to peck his forehead.

Leaning back in his chair, Albus watched the scene with a small smile. The young man was smiling, hardly noticeable, but it was there. Hedwig, for the past two weeks, had taken to mothering the young man. The young assassin had a strange affinity with the owl.

"Hedwig, of course, has also been worried." Albus laughed. "She has hardly left your side. However, to answer your previous question, we very nearly did not escape. Quick thinking and the giants destroying the wardstones allowed for our escape. We fled to Hogwarts, where Madam Pomfrey oversaw your recovery."

Harry jerked to an upright position, Hedwig soaring in a flurry of white feathers.

"My identity?" The question was hurried. Hedwig barked her displeasure before taking flight out the study's open window.

"Remains intact." Hands raised in a placating gesture, Albus adjusted his position. "I personally ensured your secrecy. You heal remarkably quickly, my boy."

Albus watched the young man process the information. Eventually, Harry's face smoothed after a few moments. Albus steepled his hands in front of his face.

"I heal faster than a normal wizard, but not quickly enough." Silence fell over the room. Both seemed loath to label the battle as a victory. "What else did you wish to discuss, Headmaster?"

"What is your assessment of our mission, Harry?" The fire crackled as a dark shroud settled over the room. The memories were soured by failure and death.

"We…" Harry stopped, his eyes flashing. "I failed, Headmaster. I made far too many mistakes. I underestimated our enemy. Because of me…"

"Hagrid died," Dumbledore finished for him, nodding.

"No." Harry's delivery was dull. "Hagrid died because he was distracted and did not expect the giants to throw boulders. We all almost died because of me. I placed the mission at jeopardy because of my desire to see him brought low."

There was not a hint of compassion in Harry's voice, not that Albus expected any. It was far too soon for that. Albus hoped he had not made a mistake placing Harry near his students.

But part of him...it hoped Harry could be more. Albus had much to think on.

With a weary sigh, he stood, his knees popping. The aged wizard walked to the door. Upon reaching the portal, he turned, a sad smile on his face. "I wish you a pleasant journey. And please do forego your cloak while aboard the Express, my boy."

It was with a pained heart that Albus Dumbledore exited the room, assured that Harry would never be what James and Lily had wanted him to be.

Harry James Potter had died in the cold mountains of Siberia more than a decade ago.

*****BREAK*****

Once again, Harry could do little more than curse Dumbledore's existence. He stood in the centre of King's Cross and it was filled to the brim with people racing to and fro.

Thankfully, he had thought to shrink his school trunk and Hedwig's cages. Most passed him by without a second glance, a small mercy. Harry could only imagine the looks he would have garnered had he been carrying a trunk and a bird cage.

He had come to the station an hour early, but his master had not told him how exactly to enter Platform 9 ¾. The man had an annoying habit of purposefully leaving out information at times.

Harry watched the muggles go about their lives, unaware of the magical world that surrounded them. It was odd that such a large subset of the population could live in complete secrecy.

Walking over to a bench overlooking platforms nine and ten, Harry took a seat and scanned the station. Boredom settled in as he watched the muggles. Trains came and went at regular intervals in well-oiled tedium.

After several long minutes he noticed a break from the norm.

A teenage girl with bushy brown hair walked by with her parents, the father pushing a trolley carrying a trunk and a cat kennel. The young wizard watched with interest as the girl leaned against a brick pillar. A moment later, she disappeared.

Picking himself up, Harry walked over to the column. Looking around, he saw the muggles' eyes skipping over him. Without another glance, Harry walked through the barrier.

Platform 9 ¾ was a bit of a disappointment. It looked as if he were still on the muggle side of King's Cross Station, if he discounted the magicals there.

Harry looked around the large area. Families stood in small groups, hugging and talking to their children. He was glad for his lack of attachments. Emotion was a tedious thing.

The teenager walked onto the rear-most car of the train. The interior was of an older muggle design. Walking into the first compartment he saw, Harry took a seat. Luckily, it was empty.

Normally, he would have cast wards over the compartment. However, his master wished for him to interact with the students. Harry grumbled under his breath and closed the door.

Staring out the window, Harry watched families come and go as time passed. The sound of excited children on the train grew louder as the platform began to empty.

The last family to arrive, predictably, had been the Weasleys. They had been at Grimmauld Place when he left, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction behind. They arrived just as they had left.

Far too soon, the family of gingers parted ways. He could only hope they would not seek him out.

The jerk of the train signalled the next step of his mission. He had been dreading this moment ever since Dumbledore had broached the topic.

It was odd, going to a school for magic. Harry had been thoroughly trained in all forms of magic, though it had focused heavily on the combative side of the art.

There was little to be done for it. For some reason beyond his understanding, the old wizard had thought it important for him to develop ties to the insipid children at Hogwarts.

All too soon, his peace was broken. The compartment door slid open to reveal a tall boy with blonde hair and hints of baby fat. The wizard opened and closed his mouth several times. Harry hoped the boy was not a dullard.

Harry made no move to help him, only giving him a dull, flat stare. He hoped the teenager would leave him in peace and was soon disappointed.

"Sorry about that," the newcomer mumbled as he rubbed the side of his neck. "I thought the compartment was empty. Mind if I join you?"

Waving a hand to the empty bench, Harry turned to stare at the passing buildings of London. He wished to return to the overbearing darkness of Grimmauld Place. At the very least, his study would have offered him some privacy.

Loud, clunking noises caused Harry to wince as the young man struggled to place his trunk on a rack. Harry rolled his eyes and settled in for what promised to be a long journey. Finally, the awkward teenager managed to stow his trunk.

Taking a seat, the blonde wizard sat staring at Harry while twiddling his thumbs. Even his silence annoyed him. His shyness created a tension in the air so palpable that Harry could have cleaved it with a cutting curse.

"What?" Harry's eyes narrowed at the blonde boy. "Is there something on my face or is there some other reason for you to stare at me?"

The addressed boy jumped and loosed a small squeak. Harry glared at the young man, hoping he would leave him be. Unfortunately, the young man shook his head, his cheeks crimson.

"S-sorry about t-that," the blonde wizard repeated. Harry was certain the boy was a simpleton. "It's just that I've never seen a new student as old as you are before. I was just curious, was all. I'm Neville, by the way. Neville Longbottom."

Longbottom leaned forward in his seat and held out an open hand. Harry stared at him. After a few moments, the blonde raised an inquisitive brow.

"You're supposed to shake my hand, you know?" The pudgy wizard smiled, amusement dancing in his hazel eyes. "It's the polite thing to do, after all."

The boy gained a measure of confidence at Harry's social gaffe. With a put-upon sigh, Harry reached out to grasp the other wizard's hand in a firm handshake.

"Harry Potter."

Longbottom leaned back in his seat, content to watch passing scenery. Both boys sat in silence and Harry grabbed a book from his mokeskin pouch. It was peaceful, as long as he ignored the noises leaking in through the closed door.

"You weren't pulling my leg, were you?" Harry looked up from his book. Longbottom was still looking out the compartment's window. "When you said you're Harry Potter? Most people believe you're dead."

The wistfulness in the other boy's tone took Harry aback. Harry cocked his head as he took in the boy's hunched posture. Longbottom's hazel eyes betrayed his sorrow and a profound sense of loss.

"No, I was not." Harry his head, his gaze flat. "I am Harry Potter."

"Our families were friendly at one point," Longbottom mumbled as he pulled his knees up to his chest. "At least that's what Gran told me. 'Been allies since old Charlus Potter saved my dear Albert during the War,' she'd always said. That is at least until… Where've you been if you don't mind my asking?"

Suppressing a scoff, Harry stared at the boy. He could not tell the young man that he had been raised by a group of ruthless killers and that he was a killer. It would have been amusing to watch him squirm.

Though it was dull, Harry parroted some of the backstory his master had given him. Thankfully, the goblins had forged the necessary paperwork a week prior.

"I was in the colonies for my own protection," Harry replied evenly. Longbottom looked at him in interest. "I did not even know my real past until a few months ago and decided I wanted to see my…home."

"You grew up with relatives in the colonies? Didn't know the Potters had any family there."

Harry shook his head. "No. I was placed with a family for my own protection. It just so happens that my adoptive parents were British emigrants."

Longbottom guffawed, his feet falling to the floor with a soft thud. Harry failed to see what was so humorous about his statement.

"Explains your rubbish accent then." Mirthful tears threatened to leak from Longbottom's eyes. "Your folks' accents must've been corrupted by the Yanks."

"Is it that bad?" The assassin knew that his accent was not perfect, but he had thought it passable.

A small smile spread across Longbottom's pudgy face. "No, not particularly. But your English is oddly formal. Just easy to pick up on if you pay attention to such things. Most people won't notice, though."

The unassuming boy was more perceptive than Harry would have thought. Augusta Longbottom was well known for being a political animal. She had no doubt taught the sole heir to House Longbottom.

"I never considered it, truth be told," Harry replied. "Perhaps my accent will become more natural while I am at Hogwarts. Tell me, Longbottom-"

The assassin's hand twitched as the compartment's sliding door slammed open to reveal two females. For his part, Longbottom had only jumped in his seat and let out a small, pathetic squeak.

The witch closest to him was the same bushy-haired girl he had seen earlier. Her eyes were a shade of brown that held a deep intelligence. Upon the chest of her red and black school robes rested a silver badge imprinted with a large "P".

Though the bushy-haired witch looked like an average, if overbearing teenager, her companion was of particular interest.

The second girl was short with waist length, dirty blonde hair which had not been properly cared for in some time. Her protuberant silver eyes gave her a perpetually surprised look. However, it was not her physical features that had captured Harry's attention.

The short witch saw something, her distracted appearance not indicative of a lack of wit. What she saw, Harry could not say, but she did see something, or somethings, others could not.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Neville." The taller witch's tone was reproachful. Harry knew she would grate against his every nerve. "The prefects' meeting will start soon, and I just know I'm going to be late and make a bad impression. Why weren't you in our usual compartment?"

"Sorry, Hermione." The boy rubbed the side of his neck again. "I tried to get our usual one, but it was occu-"

Hermione shoved her trunk into the compartment with a strained huff, cutting the wizard off. An animal in the carrier on top of the trunk let out a hiss at the witch's action.

"It's fine." The girl waved her arms erratically. "Just, please, try to inform me next time, Neville. I'm sorry to cut this short, but I really do need to be early to the meeting. First impressions are important."

The frazzled witch left as quickly as she had come, muttering timetables under her breath.

"Sorry about that," Longbottom muttered. "That was Hermione Granger, by the way. She's great, but she can be a bit…much sometimes."

Harry hummed, his eyes never leaving the small blonde girl. She had moved into the compartment, dragging her own trunk behind her. Her unfocused silver eyes rested on him. Her gaze reminded him of Ollivander. It was almost as if she could see straight through him.

"You're Harry Potter." Her voice was musical in quality. It held a lilt that Harry had never heard before. "Or, at least, you used to be until the Umgubular Slashkilters took him away. Though, I might be mistaken. It could have also been Stubby Boardman. The Wrackspurts prevent me from seeing you clearly, you see."

"Erm, Luna." Longbottom smirked. "I thought you said Stubby Boardman was innocent."

The blonde girl shrugged, her odd smile never faltering.

"Right," Harry replied. For one of the few times in his life, he was at a complete loss for words.

Harry grabbed the animal carrier and set it beside where he had been seated. Pulling his wand, the wizard levitated both trunks onto the overhead storage rack.

"Thank you, Harry Potter." Silver eyes looked Harry up and down before her inquisitive gaze stopped on the Elder Wand. A knowing look crossed her face before she turned and jumped onto the seat next to Longbottom.

Pulling a crumpled magazine from her jeans, the witch began to read a magazine called The Quibbler. Upside down. Harry stared at her, his eyes narrow. After a few moments, her silver eyes widened and she looked at Harry.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "How very rude of me. My name is Luna. Luna Lovegood. It was a pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter."

And with that, the odd witch named Luna returned to reading her magazine.

Harry took his seat, shooting Longbottom a questioning look. The knowing look and shrug sent his way told Harry that even Longbottom did not know what to make of her.

Both wizards opened a book, settling in for the long journey. Harry was thankful for the silence.

Some time passed by in silence. Though Lovegood did let out the occasional giggle or hum, Harry found some peace in the compartment. Thankfully, Granger had not returned from her meeting yet.

Harry released a put-upon sigh as the compartment door crashed open again. Lost in her magazine, Lovegood did not budge. Raising his eyes, Harry saw a trio enter the compartment. The leader of the small group was obvious.

The tall, pale boy had a thin aristocratic face framed by platinum blonde hair. His grey eyes held some intelligence, but his face seemed as if it were stuck in a permanent sneer.

The two bookends were nothing of note, all brawn and no brains. They looked as if they had descended from trolls, not unlikely given who their ancestors were. Harry knew exactly who they were: Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle.

They ran Slytherin House, or so he had read, through intimidation rather than cunning. Fear of the Malfoy name ran rampant through the country. And through Hogwarts, it seemed.

"Oh, look," Malfoy drawled, waving his hand across the compartment, "the dregs of society are in one place. I thought I smelled something foul. Tell me, squib, when are you going to start associating with those worthy of someone of your standing? Loony Lovegood can't make for good company."

"Shut it, Malfoy." Longbottom's words were low and lacked true conviction.

The bookends chuckled a few seconds late. The Malfoy scion silenced them with a sharp motion.

"Though the smell isn't as rancid as it normally is." Malfoy smirked. "But that's to be expected since the mudblood isn't here."

Rushing to his feet, Longbottom opened his mouth to defend his friend. Harry rolled his eyes at the childish posturing. He had grown weary of the interruption as soon as Malfoy had opened his mouth.

"I believe it is time for you to leave." Harry's voice was dangerous, stilling the room's occupants. Even Lovegood looked up from her magazine. "Your presence is an affront and I wish to return to my book."

Malfoy arched one thin eyebrow, amusement dancing in his grey eyes. "I believe you don't know who you're speaking to, but where are my manners? Draco Malfoy. These two are Crabbe and Goyle. And you are?"

Harry looked down at the offered hand with a sneer.

"He's Harry Potter, or, at least, I think he is," Lovegood added unhelpfully. He could hear the joy in her voice.

"Yes, I am Harry Potter," he clarified. Malfoy's eyes widened and Harry knocked the boy's hand away. "Now that the niceties have been observed, leave."

The annoying child narrowed his eyes and made to draw his wand. His hand shot out as quick as a snake's strike. Harry grasped Malfoy's wrist. Harry's other hand grasped the wizard's neck, lifting him off the ground. At long last, Crabbe and Goyle drew their wands. Eyes cold, Harry stared them down.

"I suggest you take this with you and leave." Harry's words left his mouth in a hiss. "If you do not, be assured my next actions will not be so kind."

Throwing the pathetic excuse for a wizard into the hall, Harry drew the Wand. A banishing spell tossed the two simpletons into a heap. Task complete, Harry closed the door.

"Harry." Longbottom's voice was timid as a kitten. "That was amazing, but Malfoy could give you a lot of trouble over this. You should probably be careful at Hogwarts."

"I can handle myself. Malfoy is no concern of mine," Harry replied as he took his seat and opened his book.

Harry buried his face in his book, his peace having been disturbed more than he preferred. Just as he was beginning to calm, however, the door slid open to reveal Granger.

"I saw Malfoy and his goons scrambling down the hall." Her eyes turned on Harry, a look of disapproval on her features. "I overheard him saying something about getting back at you and he looked far more dishevelled than normal. Did you fight him? That's against the rules!"

"You know what?" Harry closed his book, letting it fall to the seat beside was not even a day into his assignment and he wanted to strangle two of the students. "I think I am going to go for a walk."

Standing, Harry exited the compartment, Hermione scolding his back. His eyes narrow, Harry walked through the car. Students, young and old, gave him as wide a berth.

But after two cars he realized there was not anywhere he could escape to. Looking to his right, he saw the outline of two older students through a compartment door. Harry shivered, shaking his head at their lack of tact. He decided to continue down the car.

A tingling feeling washed over his skin and he realized he had forgotten his book. Harry was halfway through the car when he realized he had not meant to bring the book.

Walking back, Harry reached out. Students passed by him, giving him odd looks. Ignoring them, he let the magic in the air flow over him.

Wards.

It was impressive that a student could weave wards together so well. It was certainly beyond anything taught at Hogwarts. The magic felt soft and subtle.

It was not something he expected to find on the Hogwarts Express. They were so refined he had not realized he had walked into them until they had already affected him.

Harry walked through the wards, pushing down on the sudden need to leave. There was only one student inside the compartment. The glass made it difficult to see, but he could make out long pale blonde hair, a fair complexion, and a set of light blue robes.

There was a different type of magic that flowed here, one he had never experienced but had heard of from the other assassins.

The magic pushed at the edges of his consciousness, beckoning him to draw closer. Shoving down on the sensation, the foreign presence left his mind and body. Harry narrowed his eyes at the figure.

The witch, whoever she was, would be one to watch out for.

Turning, Harry made his way out of the car as the blonde witch in the compartment stood to. Harry needed to gather himself. His morning had been mad, and he was sure more madness would follow.

*****BREAK*****

A sea of black cloaks took up most of his vision as Harry walked to the lake. Voices fought to raise over the others as the group of students clambered into old, rickety rowboats. The only person who seemed capable of keeping quiet was the person who was leading them, Argus Filch.

His dislike of the children was obvious. Harry thought he might grow to like Argus Filch.

Seeing a flash of silver in his peripheral vision, Harry edged his way closer to the crotchety Hogwarts caretaker.

The grungy man opened his mouth as Harry climbed into the rowboat but held his tongue. With a humph, Filch climbed into the boat and whispered a command. Filch glared at him and mumbled under his breath.

Perhaps he would not grow to like Filch.

Riding the boat across the smooth, glassy surface of the Black Lake with the irritable caretaker was peaceful. Most would have found the view spectacular, and Harry supposed it was in its own way.

To Harry, the true beauty of Hogwarts were its wards. His eyes darted back and forth as he studied the bright, criss-crossing web of magic. It shifted and undulated, brightened and dulled. They thrummed in the cool night air.

They were ancient and strong. Masters of their craft had erected wards that only got stronger over the millennium. Harry could study the wards for hours, and not unravel all their secrets.

Perhaps coming to Hogwarts would not be a complete waste of his time. The magic of the castle settled over him like a blanket in the winter.

The bump of the boat coming ashore broke him from his thoughts. The students walked up the path toward the castle, yelling in their excitement. They quieted as Filch opened a set of large doors.

Grey brick extended as far as the eye could see. Portraits lined the grey walls, dashing between frames. Ghosts made their way through a large set of double doors. It was a house of bedlam, a stark contrast to his former home.

Harry, along with the rest of the group, watched as Filch nodded a quick farewell to an imposing witch before scurrying away. The older woman, Minerva McGonagall, stared at them imperiously. The younger students finally fell quiet.

He had seen the professor at Headquarters a few times during the summer but had never spoken to her. Her tartan robes, severe expression, and greying auburn hair cut an impressive figure that demanded respect.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, her Scottish brogue carrying through the hall. "I am Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration Professor, Head of Gryffindor House, and the Assistant Headmistress of the school. In a few moments, you will be sorted into one of four houses, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, or Slytherin. Those in your house will be your family while you are here. Achievements will see you gain points for your house, while any tomfoolery will see you lose them. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will win the House Cup.

"This year will be slightly different." The woman paused as if waiting for questions. "Prospective first years shall follow me through the double doors to my left. The rest of you shall go directly into the antechamber. The entrance to the antechamber is through the small door at the back of this room. You will wait there until called. I suggest you take this time to get to know one another. If there are no questions?"

The Transfiguration Professor hardly gave them a chance before she turned, the first years following her. Harry set out for the door at the back of the room, the exchange students following a few metres behind.

It was a small room, but he was able to secure himself a corner before the remaining students poured in. Using a bit of magic, Harry coated himself in shadows that would discourage any from approaching.

Harry observed the older students. There were a little over twenty of them, but he could not recognize any of them. .

Accented English floated across the room. This, apparently, was another of Dumbledore's surprises. The man had never mentioned an influx of foreign students at Hogwarts.

His shadowed eyes watched as they floated between groups, speaking of their parents and their homes. His eyes locked onto the only other figure in the room standing by herself by a small hearth.

Her straight, platinum blonde hair fell to rest between her shoulder blades, framing a thin and petite face that held ocean blue eyes. A foreign presence, akin to a siren's call, pushed against his mind..

A Veela.

As if sensing his stare, the blonde witch turned her blue eyes onto his darkened form. Her face formed a dark glare. Recognition passed through her features before she returned her gaze to the fire.

Harry noted that many of the males in the room had gone slack-jawed and glassy-eyed. Other wizards, those of stronger wills, were fighting off the allure's effects.

Several minutes crept by as the students in plain, black robes waited for McGonagall's return. Harry ignored the Veela. She would be little more than a distraction, something his mission would not allow for.

At long last, McGonagall arrived to gather the small group of students. The group was led through another side entrance into the Great Hall. Twinkling stars adorning the enchanted roof drew their gaze.

Dumbledore, who stood at the staff table, clapped his hands with a twinkle in his old, blue eyes.

Irritation bubbled in Harry's gut.

"Ah, yes," the man exclaimed. "As I mentioned previously, this year's welcome feast shall be a bit different. But first, let us get the usual announcements out of the way, shall we?"

A chorus of groans met the man's question. The Headmaster let out an amused chuckle. The foreign students stared at Dumbledore with expressions ranging between amusement and disbelief.

"As always," Dumbledore continued, his eyes settling on Weasley twins, "the Forbidden Forest is exactly that, forbidden. Magic is not allowed in the halls and a list of banned items can be found pinned outside Mister Filch's office in the dungeons. I believe the list is now over some seven-hundred items. Professor Hagrid, sadly, is no longer with us and Professor Grubby-Plank has kindly returned to her position as the Professor of Care of Magical Creatures. Also, please join me in welcoming this year's new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Professor Dolores Umbridge."

Pausing to lead an applause, which few of the students joined in on, Dumbldore's eyes darkened as the woman stood to begin a speech. Harry listened to much of it as the woman droned on about slipping educational standards that gave the Minister concern. It was little more than political rhetoric that did not appeal to the students.

"Thank you for your illuminating words, Professor Umbridge." The Headmaster's voice shook many of the students from their stupor. "And lastly, we shall be joined this year by several exchange students and another transfer, someone who will easily be recognized by the lot of you."

Hushed whispers that contained the names Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy broke out across the hall. The man allowed the murmurs to continue unabated for a few moments before a small bang from his wand quieted them.

"Some of the countries in the ICW decided to continue building international relations in light of the Triwizard Tournament's reception, discounting its unpleasant finale. Children of ambassadors to the participating ministries will attend the country's primary school their parent is ambassador to. This would explain why some familiar faces are no longer among us. This year the program will be in its trial phase to determine if it should be implemented permanently. As such, the students you see before you shall be treated as Hogwarts students and will be sorted accordingly. Without further ado, if you would be so kind, Professor McGonagall."

Producing a scroll from her robes, McGonagall scanned the list. "Anderson, Emily from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in MACUSA."

Harry tuned out the sorting in favour of looking at the assembled Hogwarts students. Many of them were easily recognizable, though there were a few he could not place.

Their eyes were on him and he fought the desire to squirm.

Looking at the staff table, Harry took in each of the teachers he would be "studying" under during the coming year. Hogwarts boasted itself as the premier magical institute in Europe, and for good reason. Many of the teachers sat at the head table were world-renowned talents in their fields of study.

Harry had read through the history of the ancient school. Hogwarts had been the premier institute when it had allowed for harsh punishments.

Now, the students were overseen by soft, spineless magicals. It was no small wonder why exceptional witches and wizards were now considered a rarity.

"Delacour, Fleur." McGonagall's voice brought Harry from his reverie. "From Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France."

Harry watched, his stomach plummeting, as the platinum-haired witch stepped forward with a graceful gait. Harry saw her send one last glare at him before a ratty hat covered her blue eyes.

'No, not her. Anybody but her. Dumbledore never mentioned…'

Anger boiled in his body, his lips straining to contain his rage.

A Veela.

His betrothed was a Veela.

Harry shook his head. It did not matter. He would just have to be sure to avoid her.

Though the thought of it filled him with revulsion, he would marry her as the contract required. There was no need for him to become romantically tied to her, nor anyone else for that matter.

"RAVENCLAW!" The hat's shout echoed through the hall.

Delacour stood from the stool, her black robes' edges turning blue, as McGonagall lifted the hat from her head. She shot him one last scathing glare before making her way to the Ravenclaw table. The students near where she sat scooted away from her as if she carried a disease.

Harry bided his time until it was his turn to be sorted, mentally taking note of any who would be of use to him.

"Potter, Harry." The called wizard walked to the stool and whispers erupted through the hall.. "Privately tutored in MACUSA."

His vision blocked by the hat, Harry focussed on the magic that invaded his mind. It was a marvel of enchanting. He would be unable to keep the hat from accessing his mind.

"Ah, Harry Potter." The hat's masculine voice fit seamlessly amongst his thoughts. "The Vanquisher of the Dark Lord. You are of particular interest as your name has been in the mind of nearly every student for the past thirteen sortings. However, you are far different than I expected. An assassin, a tool that brings naught but death."

"Can we hurry this along?" Harry requested. "I have better things to do than discuss my history with a hat."

"Oh, but that is what is most interesting, Harry Potter. You present a conundrum. You are far more than most of the witches and wizards who have walked these halls, but where to place you? Gryffindor is for the brave, but you fear nothing. Whilst you are no stranger to hard work, Hufflepuffs are loyal. You hold loyalty to none."

Harry mentally snorted. "What? Are you telling me that I am not, in fact, the heir of the founders and owner of Hogwarts? As mad as this country is, I was almost expecting it. How disappointing, hat."

The hat scoffed. "Hogwarts cannot be owned, boy, not even by the founders' descendants. But you digress. Slytherin, home of the cunning, would suit you well. But I know the mission you have set for yourself and finding yourself in their den would make success nigh on impossible. Ravenclaw, in its tireless pursuit of knowledge, would also fit you well. But not so well as Slytherin. Hmmm."

Harry offered his rebuttal. "Would not the most Slytherin move then be…"

Chuckling, the hat yelled, "Better be…RAVENCLAW!"

The table with students adorned in black and blue erupted in cheers of "WE GOT POTTER! WE GOT POTTER!"

Despite her best efforts, Professor McGonagall could not calm the normally placid students as Harry walked down the table's length. Ignoring Delacour's expectant look, Harry continued along his way. The table finally quieted as he took his seat across from Luna Lovegood.

"You should not be here, Harry Potter." The girl's whisper was hardly audible. "You were not meant to be unleashed on these halls. She will be most wroth at your defiance."

Her warning complete, Lovegood smiled brightly at her companion before turning her attention back to the sorting.

'A puzzle that requires solving,'