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Chapter 4
'I think we can expect great things from you, Mr. Potter.'
Ollivander's creaky voice echoed in Harry's mind as he left the dusty shop, holding his new wand close to his chest.
'After all, You-Know-Who did great things too. Terrible, yes, but great.'
Shivering involuntarily, Harry slipped into the shadow of a shop window and examined his (his!) wand. The handle was brown and rough, like the bark of a tree, but the body was smooth and dark red. It was eleven inches long, made of holly, and had a phoenix feather core.
'It is curious that you should be destined for this wand, while it's brother gave you that scar.'
He didn't know if brother wands were rare or not, but he didn't like that his wand had anything in common with the wand that had killed his parents. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to hate it. Even now the wand thrummed against his palm, and Harry could almost feel its eagerness to be used. It felt like an extension of himself - a very cheerful, very powerful extension - but himself nonetheless. It was like... this wand was everything he could become.
-Line Break-
When Missus Number 3 delightedly informed Aunt Petunia about Harry's misdeeds while the Dursleys had been away, his aunt had been livid. She'd shrieked at him, telling him that he was a horrible, ungrateful little boy and that she'd done her best to set him straight. Each insult hurt, as they always did, but Harry had learned to ignore the pain, focusing instead on appearing as sorry as possible. This did no good when Aunt Petunia discovered the twenty pounds missing from her jewelry case.
Aunt Petunia had gone white with rage, seemingly unable to form sentences, so Uncle Vernon had dragged Harry to the cupboard and thrown him in, locking the door behind him. Harry's shoulder had ached, but he'd counted himself lucky that neither his aunt nor his uncle had thrown anything at him.
Now, he had reached three weeks and two days of his latest punishment, and the Aunt Petunia showed no signs of ever letting him out again, besides his morning and evening bathroom visits. He kept track of the days with tick marks on the wall beneath his birthday cake, counting down to September the 1st, which was represented by a wand and wizard hat. That morning, he added the last mark to the wall and drew a circle around the wand and hat.
Tomorrow was September the 1st. Tomorrow, he'd leave the Dursleys and go to a school for magic!
Harry woke very early the next morning, as he always did. The tiny, scratched, battery powered clock that ticked by his head said that it was half past five. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia wouldn't be up for another hour and a half, and Dudley never got up before nine. Shuffling around quietly, Harry pulled on his trainers and coat, and pulled his (magic!) bag out from where he'd hidden it among the cleaning supplies.
A few years ago, Dudley had been playing with a lighter and had burnt his finger, dropping the lighter on the hallway carpet, which caught quickly and sent smoke spiraling into the air. Harry had been in the cupboard at the time, and had smelled the smoke. That was the first time he'd ever been afraid for his life. There was no way to escape a fire from inside his locked cupboard, and he knew the Dursleys wouldn't save him, so he'd spent weeks practicing hooking a wire through the slits that let light and air into his cupboard, and pulling the latch to unlock the door.
Now, that skill allowed him to easily unlock and open his cupboard door. Silently closing the door behind him, Harry scanned the hall quickly, listening to the sounds of the house. No one was awake but him. Moving carefully, he slipped into the kitchen and laid a folded letter on the table. It was addressed to Aunt Petunia, and he'd written to explain that he was going to a boarding school until the end of June. He made no mention of magic, or the name of the school, but he did point out that as long as he attended, he'd be gone nearly ten months of the year and when he turned seventeen he didn't have to come back at all.
In all honesty, Harry didn't know if the Dursleys would even let him come back that summer, but he found that he didn't really care. He was sure he could find somewhere to live for two months each summer before going back to Hogwarts.
Heart pounding, and feeling irrationally giddy, Harry eased the front door open and stepped onto the porch. He closed the door as silently as possible, then ran down the drive, turned sharply, and sprinted down the street. He held in the urge to whoop, but he grinned wildly as he ran, putting as much distance as possible between Number 4 and himself.
He didn't stop until he'd reached the bus stop, then collapsed on a bench, gasping for breath. His gasped turned to giggles, and he couldn't stop his laughter. He was out! He was free! He was going to a school for wizards! He was going to do magic! Calming a bit, though hiccuping now, Harry hugged his bag and grinned at nothing. He couldn't wait.
-Line Break-
At 10:21am, September the 1st, 1991, a small boy with unruly black hair and vibrant green eyes entered Kings Cross Station. He was unaccompanied, carried only a weathered looking messenger bag, and as he moved silently through the crowds, heads turned to follow his progress. Though the boy's clothes were dirty and ragged, held together only by what looked like string and willpower, and though his face, arms, and hands were grubby and his hair slightly matted, what captured the attention of passersby was the magnificent snowy owl perched comfortably on the boy's left shoulder. The owl wore no hood, no tether was attached to its leg, and there was no indication of it being anything other than a wild animal.
All together, passersby gave the tiny boy a wide berth, thinking him odd, dirty, or even feral.
Harry was keenly aware of the looks he was attracting. The only thing preventing him from reflexively hunching his shoulders and ducking his head was his first ever present and favorite person, Hedwig. Her weight and warmth were comforting, and she would coo, warble, and click her beak regularly, assuring him that he was not alone.
Raising a hand to brush her shining feathers, Harry relaxed a bit and cast his gaze about the station.
'Platform 9 3/4... the wall between platforms 9 and 10... I hope.'
Relief flooded Harry as he spotted the pillar between muggle platforms 9 and 10, and he hurried forward excitedly. A yard from the bricks, he slowed and extended a hand in front of him. His books had said that you just had to walk straight at the wall here to get to the right platform, but Harry didn't want to break his nose. Moving forward carefully, he brushed the tips of his fingers across the bricks.
His fingers disappeared into the brick, and he yanked them back quickly. Watching closely, he slowly placed his palm against the bricks. There was a brief resistance, then his hand disappeared, leaving his arms sticking out of what looked like a solid brick wall. Encouraged, he stepped forward and slid right through the wall and onto Platform 9 3/4.
On the other side, Harry couldn't help staring. Dominating the scene was a spectacular scarlet steam engine, proudly commanding the attention of everyone who entered the station. It was beautiful, with pure white steam billowing out of the top, and owls swooping here and there around it.
Harry suddenly realized he was standing in the open, and moved to stand between a bench and a pillar, glancing around as he scanned people and marked escape routes.
The platform was not overly crowded, though the chattering of the families and children that filled the air made it seem as though twice as many people were there. As in Diagon Alley, the majority of adults were wearing robes, while the children wore an assortment of items closer in style to non-magicals.
Along the wall at the end of the station, Harry spotted several enormous fireplaces, and watched several figures flame into the station and brush soot off their robes.
'The floo.' Harry remembered from his books. Idly, he wished he could have used the Dursleys fireplace to get here instead of catching the bus and then wandering around London. Then he pictured Uncle Vernon's purple face and quickly changed his mind.
The noise level in the station suddenly increased as several families arrived through the barrier at once. Hedwig barked in annoyance, and Harry had to agree. The noise made it difficult to pay attention to his surroundings. He moved quickly and quietly through the crowd, glad once again that his small size allowed him to do.
"Gran... Gran, I've lost my toad again."
Harry looked toward the closest voice automatically, and stopped abruptly. The voice belonged to a young boy about his age, with short black hair, a slightly pudgy figure, and wearing robes that hung awkwardly over his shoulders.
Something in the boy's eyes caught Harry's attention, and he looked closer, frowning. His breath caught at the sadness, loneliness, fear, and sheer desperation filling the deep brown eyes. He recognized that look. It was the same look he saw every time he looked in the mirror.
'Why does he look so sad?'
Forcing his feet to move, Harry kept walking, turning his head to keep the boy in view as he did so. He found himself wanting to help that boy, though he had no idea how. He watched the sad boy being ushered onto the train by his severe looking grandmother. She didn't hug him, merely said something that made him nod miserably, then turned and left.
'I'm not strong, and I've never tried to help someone before. But, maybe...'
Continuing his slow walk along the platform, Harry scanned the faces and families around him, on the lookout for any other unusuals. Suddenly his eye was caught by a splash of white. There, standing a little apart from the rest of the people, were the Malfoys.
Harry was too far away to hear what they were saying, but the love between the three was clear, even from this distance. They were more reserved than the families around them, but their bond was strong. Turning away, Harry tried to ignore the pain in his chest. A loving family was not something he'd begrudge anyone, but he'd always wondered what it was like.
"Watch out!"
Immediately, Harry ducked and spun toward the shout, Hedwig taking off to circle in the air above him. Something soared over Harry, exactly where his head had been scant seconds before. His eyes darted around the platform and fixed on the form of three boys jogging toward him. He automatically cringed, remembering Dudley and his gang, and the many, many games of Harry Hunting.
"Sorry 'bout that!" The lead boy stopped in front of Harry with one of his friends. The other circled Harry to retrieve whatever had nearly hit him. Feeling distinctly trapped, Harry backed up a bit, trying to keep all three in his sights.
"Me brother bought a Fanged Frisbee behind Mum's back last week," The boy continued, unaware of Harry's internal panic, "and he thought it'd be a laugh to chuck it here."
"Fanged Frisbee?" Harry repeated, scowling warily at the lime green disk that was snarling in the grip of one of the boys.
"Yeah, sorry." The lead boy shrugged sheepishly, then held out a hand. "I'm Ernie MacMillan. I'm startin' Hogwarts this year."
He missed Harry's trepidation and shook the small boy's hand, then introduced his companions as Justin Finch-Fletchley and Terry Boot, also first years. Once Harry was no longer shaking anyone's hand, Hedwig swooped down to perch gracefully back on her boy's shoulder.
"Nice owl!" Finch-Fletchley grinned, "She looks like a right queen."
Smiling slightly, Harry had to agree. "Yeah, she does."
"Anyway, sorry about the frisbee." MacMillan grinned crookedly, "We'll toss it at me brother next time, yeah?"
Harry's smile widened hesitantly as the others chuckled. From behind them, a woman called, and Boot groaned. "That's my mother. We'd better go... what's your name, anyway?"
"Oh, I'm Harry." Harry said, mentally wincing as he finished, "Harry Potter."
Their reactions weren't quite as bad as he'd thought they would be. Finch-Fletchley and Boot's eyes widened comically, but MacMillan just looked Harry up and down quickly, then nodded in greeting. Before anyone could say anything else, thankfully, Boot's mother called again.
"Well, we'll see you at Hogwarts then, Potter." MacMillan smiled at Harry's answering nod, then turned away. Boot followed after waving briefly, and Finch-Fletchley mirrored him.
'I really hope the rest of the students are like that.'
Glancing at the clock, Harry realized he had fifteen minutes before the train left. With one last scan over the sea of black robes and trunks, he clambered somewhat awkwardly onto the train. Looking around, he realized that most students were walking up and down the corridors, looking for their friends. Hopefully that meant there was an empty compartment somewhere. Briefly, Harry wondered if he should look for that sad boy, but a sudden wave of students entering the train quickly changed his mind. He'd rather get out of the crowds now.
Weaving through the throng of students, Harry made his way down the train. Thankfully, Hedwig's presence on his shoulder meant students moved out of his way faster, and he quickly found the first in a series of empty compartments and closed the door behind him. He leaned against the glass and sighed heavily. Hedwig fluttered onto one of the lowered armrests and churred softly at him.
"There's too many people, girl." Harry sat heavily in the window seat by his owl and stroked her back gently. "How'm I supposed to deal being surrounded by people all the time? I hope the school is big enough for me to disappear."
Hedwig barked reproachfully, and Harry grimaced. "Yeah, I know. I don't have to disappear anymore. But still..."
He stared out over the people still milling about on the platform. A large family of redheads in robes suddenly entered through the barrier, and Harry briefly wondered why such an obviously wizarding family hadn't taken the floo.
'I wonder what people will expect from me. Harry moved his gaze to the empty seat across from him. Harry Potter is a famous wizard. People might want to get close to me because of that, and not because of... who I am.'
He'd read the books he'd gotten on manners and the culture, and had practiced the bows and forms of address. He'd also read each and every one of his school books during the three weeks he'd been locked in his cupboard, as well as a few interesting books on other magical beings and beasts, wizarding history, and magical plants that he'd gotten that weren't on the school list.
'All this so I can survive this new world.'
Shaking his head at the dramatic thought, Harry tried to think about something else, something not involving all the expectations he could face. Maybe his classmates wouldn't care that he was the Boy-Who-Lived.
The train lurched suddenly, and Harry watched as the platform slid slowly from view, leaving behind London, the Dursleys, and his cupboard. They picked up speed, and Harry stared out the window as the city disappeared and green hills and countryside came into view. His stomach was a ball of knots. He'd been giddy that morning, but now he was simply scared. What would Hogwarts be like? Would he make any friends? Were the classes hard? Did they send report cards home, like at Harry's old school?
Determined to ignore his churning thoughts, Harry dug through his bag and pulled out Beasts, Beings, and Between: Races you'll run into in Magical Britain, then settled in to read. He'd just reached the chapter on banshees when his compartment door slid suddenly open. Jumping slightly, Harry hid behind his book as he scanned the intruder. Tall and gangly, with a shock of red hair, a smudge of dirt on his nose, and clothes that, while clearly taken care of, had certainly seen better days.
"D'you mind?" The redhead indicated the seats across from Harry. "Everywhere else is full."
Harry shook his head and the redhead sat down.
"I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley." The redhead announced, staring intently at Harry, who, with a sinking heart, realized he had to introduce himself again.
Grimly, he replied. "I'm Harry Potter."
Weasley's eyes widened in awe and shot to Harry's forehead, only to be clouded with disappointment when he realized the famous scar was hidden by Harry's hair.
"Really? Wow!" Weasley seemed impressed, and he leaned forward to ask, "Have you really got... y'know... the scar?"
The last word was said in a whisper, and Harry crushed the urge to pull his knees up in front of him and hide his entire body behind his book. Instead, he hunched his shoulders a bit and replied carefully.
"I do, but I'd rather people not stare at it."
"Huh? Why not?" Weasley frowned in confusion. "It's a really big deal."
"Exactly." Harry replied quietly, not looking at the other boy. He really, really didn't want to talk about this.
"But," Weasley sounded even more confused. "How do people know you're you if they can't see the scar?"
Harry blinked, looking up and meeting Weasley's gaze with a confused expression of his own. "Um... I usually introduce myself to them."
Weasley flushed, but any other comment he may have made was cut off by the compartment door opening again.
"Anything off the trolley, dears?"
A kindly faced, middle aged woman was standing behind a trolley of sweets and snacks in the corridor. Weasley scowled at the offer and shook his head, though his eyes lingered on the bright packages.
'Can you make friends through sweets?'
Harry wasn't sure he liked the redhead much, but maybe if the boy forgot about Harry being the Boy-Who-Lived, he'd be a good friend. So he set his book aside and approached the trolley.
A while later, Weasley was munching happily on a licorice wand, and Harry was examining a cauldron cake. He wondered if wizards baked them like non-magicals would, or if they used magic to speed up the process or make them taste better. His thoughts were interrupted as the compartment door slid open for the third time. This time the intruder was a bushy haired girl about his age, with sparkling brown eyes, and rather large front teeth.
"Have either of you seen a toad?" Her tone was a bit abrasive, and she scanned the compartment as she talked, rather than looking at either Weasley or Harry. "A boy named Neville's lost one."
A rather short "no" was Weasley's reply, and Harry shook his head. The girl huffed and turned to go, but then spun back abruptly.
"I'm Hermione Granger."
Harry blinked at her abrupt tone, but Weasley didn't seem to notice as he was opening a Chocolate Frog. Realizing that Weasley wasn't going to introduce himself, Harry addressed the girl.
"I'm Harry."
She frowned at him, and her eyes narrowed at the sight of his ragged clothes and dirty hands. "You ought to wash up before we get there. And put on your school robes."
"Ah." Harry was forcibly reminded of Aunt Petunia's sharp commands, but pushed the thought away and nodded to the girl - Granger.
She shot Weasley a slightly superior look, which he didn't notice, then left the compartment. Harry glanced at his redheaded companion, who had turned his attention to a Pumpkin Pastie, then tucked himself behind his book, content to wait out the rest of the ride.
-Line Break-
"Firs' years, this way! Firs' years, over 'ere! Firs' years, firs' years!"
Harry got the distinct impression of being a chicken in a jostling crowd, moving toward the farmer calling them. He had sent Hedwig off to the school when he'd exited the train, and somehow he'd gotten separated from Weasley.
"This all the firs' years? Righ' then, follow me!"
The speaker was an enormous man, with a great mass of shaggy black hair, and a massive coat that looked as if it was sewn from the hides of several different mammals. The man's sheer size had Harry taking a quick step back, eyeing the enormous hands warily. They were much bigger than Uncle Vernon's.
Harry tried to disappear into the crowd of students, glancing around nervously. Alone and surrounded, every survival instinct he had was kicking in. He was tense, his heart pounding, eyes constantly scanning the surrounding throng. He flinched each time he was unexpectedly touched, which was quite a lot in a crowd like this.
"Alrigh', 'ere we are."
Harry managed to separate himself from the crowd as they came to a halt beside an enormous lake. Bobbing in the water were several dozen little boats, each with a lantern swinging merrily from the prow.
"No more'n four ter a boat." Was their guide's instruction, before he turned to cram himself into a boat.
Harry glanced around, panic gripping him briefly. He was always the odd one out when his old class had separated into groups. Then he caught sight of Draco Malfoy, and moved forward before his nerves got the better of him.
"Excuse me." Harry said, going for polite, but sounding nervous. "May I sit with you?"
Draco turned around, and grinned as he saw who had spoken. "Just Harry! I wondered when I'd see you here. Come on, I'll introduce you to my friends."
Before Harry could protest, Draco had beckoned two other boys over. One was long limbed and graceful, with dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. The other was smaller, with brown hair and dark blue eyes.
"Harry, this is Blaise Zabini-" Draco indicated the tall, dark boy, "-and Theodore Nott." He gestured to the blue eyed boy. "Blaise, Theo, this is 'Just Harry'. I met him in Diagon Alley a couple weeks ago."
"Just Harry?" Zabini repeated, raising an eyebrow. He had an accent Harry didn't recognize, and stared at him as if he could see right through him. Nervously, Harry glanced at the ground and fiddled with the cuffs of his robes.
"Yep." Draco grinned, "He's a mystery!"
"Which explains why you like him, Draco." Theo extended a hand to Harry. "It's nice to meet you, Harry."
Hesitantly, Harry shook Theo's hand, then followed the other three as they approached the water's edge and selected a boat.
Zabini's movements as he boarded the tiny craft were very elegant, as though this was something he did every day. Draco was just as poised, if not quite so elegant, but Harry and Theo floundered a bit, Harry more so, before finally being securely seated.
There was a beat of silence as the boats began to move on their own, setting a course across the lake, then Draco addressed Harry eagerly.
"What classes are you looking forward to, Harry?
Harry repressed the urge to hunch his shoulders, trying to sit straight like the others.
"Um... I like Charms, and I'm excited to learn about Potions."
"Really?" Draco asked, interestedly, "You know, my godfather is the Potions Professor at Hogwarts. He's the youngest wizard to get a Potions Mastery in the last two hundred years."
"Yeah, yeah, we know." Nott rolled his eyes, then sent Harry a wink. "Draco loves bragging about his godfather. I think he likes him more than he likes his father."
Harry gave a small smile as he watched Draco loudly protest this comment while Nott smirked.
"Do you know which house you'll be in?" Zabini asked quietly, startling Harry.
"Oh... no, not really. I mean," He glanced at Draco and Nott, noticing that they were listening to him now as well. "I think I'd like Slytherin or Hufflepuff, but I guess we'll go where we're supposed to."
"You'd be happy with any of the houses then?" Nott's tone was surprised, and Harry nodded, hastening to explain.
"My father was a Gryffindor," Harry began, thinking back to that wonderful book Nature's Nobility that contained his family tree, "his aunt was a Slytherin, and his cousin was a Hufflepuff. So I think, no matter what house I'm in, my family would be proud of me."
At least, he hoped that was the case.
Silence fell then, but it wasn't awkward. It was contemplative and peaceful, like the dark lake they were sailing across. Then it was broken by a call from up ahead.
"'Ere's the castle! It's somethin' isn't it?"
It really was.
Harry's breath caught as the castle came into view. He knew he was gaping, and that he should pay attention to those around him, but he couldn't do anything to move his gaze away from the sight before him.
The castle was enormous, with thousands of windows glowing gold, and several towers stretching up to touch the starlit sky. The stone walls flowed seamlessly into the cliffside below, where the lake lapped up against the rocks. It was a masterpiece of history, architecture, and magic.
But for all the magnificence of the castle itself, what was holding Harry's attention was the pure feeling surrounding the building. There was a warmth, and a song, and the smell of home, all at once, but not really...real. The warmth slowly filled every part of Harry's being, like what he imagined hot chocolate on a cold day must feel like. He could hear the castle's song, and couldn't quite tell if he imagined the whisper that came to his mind-
'Welcome, little wizard.'
Blinking, Harry tore his gaze away from Hogwarts. Nott had said something to get his attention, but Harry hadn't heard what it was. Vaguely, he realized his eyes were full of tears.
"Are you alright?" Draco's gray eyes watched Harry intently.
"She's beautiful." Harry's voice was nearly a whisper, and weighted with what could only be described as reverence.
"Who is?" Nott asked, his confused and slightly wary
Harry looked at each of the boys sitting by him and smiled freely, opening up his heart and letting his wonder and joy, sadness and loneliness, and reverent awe shine out through his bright, green eyes.
"Hogwarts." He replied, "Hogwarts is beautiful."
-Line Break-
Harry's eyes were wide as he took in the Great Hall, though he'd at least remembered to close his mouth. The enchanted ceiling was dark blue and speckled with stars, just as the sky outside, and the students were a sea of black cloaks and hats. Candles floated gently in the air, accompanied by the low murmur of voices sounding like small waves lapping at the shore. The severe looking witch who'd brought them in, Professor McGonagall, was standing at the front of the hall, a scroll in one hand, and an ancient wizarding hat in the other. The hat had just finished singing a rather funny song about the different Houses, and Harry wondered if it spent each year making up a new one.
"As I call your names," Professor McGonagall had a carrying voice, with a hint of Scottish brogue, and the students immediately quieted. "you will come up. I will place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be Sorted."
She's very respected. Harry realized, and instantly added her name to the list of people to treat politely, but be careful around.
As 'Abbot, Hannah' made her way nervously to the front, Harry studied the staff table, keeping an ear out for his name to be called.
The huge man from the train station was there, his black eyes sparkling cheerfully. Three witches were seated together on the giant's left, and a tiny professor Harry would bet money was at least part goblin sat by a short curvy witch with a friendly demeanor.
"Granger, Hermione." McGonagall called, and Harry pulled his gaze toward the bushy haired girl he'd met on the train. She moved nervously, but quickly to the front of the room where she sat on the stool and allowed the Sorting Hat to be lowered onto her head. After a few tense seconds, the Hat's 'mouth' opened.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry clapped along with the hall as Granger scampered to sit with her newly assigned returned his gaze to the staff table, this time scanning from the right. A witch with a pale complexion was seated on the end, and beside her was an aging wizard missing both an arm and a leg, though he didn't seem bothered in the least about it. By him was a twitchy young man in an odd purple turban whose eyes constantly darted back and forth around the hall.
Cataloguing the man as 'odd and should be watched', Harry continued scanning the table. On the twitchy man's right was a wizard with black, shoulder length hair and a bearing of a noble dignity, especially considering his neighbor. He had an aquiline nose, and sharp black eyes that scanned the room constantly, searching out threats and anything out of the ordinary.
This professor struck Harry as someone very powerful, used to keeping secrets, and resigned to carrying the weight of the world alone. He was not a man to cross or make light of.
"Longbottom, Neville."
Harry looked around and realized that this boy was the sad one he'd seen on the platform. The nervous boy tripped over his robes on the way there, and stumbled clumsily. The students around him snickered, and Harry could see the embarrassed flush on Longbottom's cheeks even from where he stood.
The boy picked himself up, sat on the stool, and his eyes were lost from sight as the Sorting Hat fell over them. Several seconds passed... thirty... a minute... a minute and a half...
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Longbottom stumbled gratefully to his new house and collapsed beside Granger, who patted his back encouragingly.
After two students were Sorted into Hufflepuff, McGonagall called. "Malfoy, Draco."
The blonde moved toward the stool in what was very close to a swagger, radiating arrogant confidence. The hat had barely touched his head before it made its decision.
"SLYTHERIN!"
Harry applauded as Draco headed to the silver and green house. A girl was Sorted into Ravenclaw, then...
"Nott, Theodore."
The boy strode confidently up to the stool and sat down with unhurried movements. A few seconds after the Hat fell over Nott's eyes, the decision was made
"SLYTHERIN!"
Again, Harry applauded, but a twisting sensation was manifesting in his gut. His name was coming up. And then, four names later, it was his turn.
"Potter, Harry."
Harry moved forward slowly as whispers broke out through the Hall.
"Potter-"
"Harry Potter-"
"-thought he'd be taller-"
"-see his scar-"
"-doesn't look like much-"
"-think he'd sign my-"
Finally, Harry reached the stool and clambered onto it. Ten years of little food and regular imprisonment in an enclosed space had left their mark. He was easily the tiniest first year at Hogwarts.
The Hat fell over his eyes and he was suddenly assailed with the not entirely unpleasant smell of dust and leather. When a voice spoke directly into his head, he jumped and nearly toppled off his perch.
'Good evening, Mr. Potter'
Heart pounding, Harry tentatively thought back his answer.
'Um, good evening Mr... Sorting Hat, sir.'
'So polite! I've sat on thousands of eleven year old heads, and few were as polite, or as intriguing, as you.'
Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, but the Hat chuckled warmly.
'Don't fret, Mr. Potter. Just allow me to sort you. Now... let's see...'
The young boy was then treated to a singularly unusual experience. It felt as though a fishing line was carefully tugging specific memories and thoughts to the forefront of his mind, before something tucked them back into place with surprising gentleness.
'Hmm... difficult, very difficult... Despite the circumstances surrounding your childhood, you have a pure soul. Not a bad mind either. Ravenclaw would suit your curiosity and nurture your unique talent for magic. Though, you're unafraid to work yourself to the bone for what you want, especially if it's on behalf of someone you care for. That deep loyalty is something Hufflepuff herself was famous for.
'And speaking of fame, you certainly have that, though it is unwanted. In Slytherin I believe you could do great things, Mr. Potter, both in magicks and politics. The cunning and subtly that house is known for are already second nature to you. But there is something here... something you possess in spades, more so than loyalty, intelligence, or ambition. Courage.'
What? The Hat's soul (or head?) searching had taken Harry completely off guard. He wanted to be placed where he belonged, but he hadn't really thought of himself as possessing the traits needed for each house, especially not courage. Courage, sir? Are you sure?
'Oh, absolutely. In fifty years, I've only sat on the heads of two other students that possessed such pure courage and sheer tenacity.'
'I... I'm afraid I spend more time being scared than being brave.'
Unbidden, the countless nights he'd spent curled up in his cupboard came to mind, and the way he flinched around people. Not to mention the gut-wrenching fear that filled his heart at the thought of returning to the Dursleys, of never having friends, of never finding a family...
'I disagree, child.' The Hat's 'voice' was gentle, and Harry found himself calming as the Hat continued. 'Gryffindors today are considered loud, reckless, rash, unruly, and stubborn. This is not what courage is. Real courage, true courage, isn't dying in a dramatic or flashy way. It comes from the quiet, unseen choices a person makes.
'A son left an orphan decides not to wallow in self-pity or sorrow, but to live on.
'A nephew, imprisoned and ridiculed for being different, gets up every morning and lives in a way that would make his parents proud, even knowing the pain and tears it will cost.
'A child loses his childhood and is forced to grow up too fast, but chooses to be kind to those around him and give them the time, love, support, and respect he was denied.
'A schoolboy is bullied and punished for his intelligence, but refuses to cease seeking knowledge and understanding.
'A survivor is injured and abandoned, but still strives to be strong and to protect those who are unable to protect themselves, as he was.
'Harry Potter. You possess a quiet, unbreakable courage, like the foundations of this ancient castle. It is this courage that fills your heart and strengthens your resolve into something unshakable. You chose to enter the Wizarding World, even knowing you would face impossible expectations, ridicule, manipulation, pain, mistakes you will be unable to avoid, and even the certainty of your own suffering.
'What is this, if it is not courage?'
Silence filled his mind as Harry squeezed his eyes shut and a tear fell down one cheek. The Hat's words filled him with the same warmth, and he made a sudden vow, to himself and the Sorting Hat, that he would live the way the Hat had described. He would be courageous.
'Thank you, sir.'
The quiet though rang with sincerity and all the strength the Hat had seen in the soul of the small boy.
'You are very welcome, Harry.'
And so, two minutes and forty-two seconds after being placed on Harry Potter's head, the brim of the Sorting Hat opened.
"GRYFFINDOR!"