Chapter 11

September 1, 1991 continued part 3

At 8 o'clock sharp, the silent darkened platform of Hogsmeade station suddenly illuminates in anticipation of the red and black Hogwarts Express. Seconds after arrival, the train doors slowly slide open and as if releasing a floodgate the returning students make a mad dash towards the open carriages. Caught in the rush of excitement, some more eager first year students bound after them before hearing a loud gruff voice yell, "Right then, first years this way please. This way to the boats, follow me."

All turn around and behold an incredibly tall, stout man with a pale face almost entirely obscured by coarse black overflowing hair. With such a scruffy appearance, few feel inclined to follow him into a dark forest, but in a surprising show of solidarity, all of the various loners, pairs, and groups walk in mass trailing behind a man who epitomizes the word giant.

Not long after, quite a few first years quietly murmur their misgivings as their first Hogwarts representative displays a worrying lack of forethought and judgement. First, he enters a darkened terrain equipped with only one oversized lantern and offers no spares to light the way. Then he compounds the first error by selecting one of the worst possible routes. Due to his large stature, he can easily tread through the thick overgrown underbrush, yet those who follow are left to stumble and fall again and again.

Luckily this perilous jaunt comes to an end as the forest becomes less dense steadily allowing more light to easily filter through the overhead branches. Upon exiting the forest, each and every gripe or chatter is left forgotten. Across the expansive serene lake lies a truly majestic visage of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The sprawling stone castle sits atop a large hill with numerous spire topped towers of varying heights and countless windows aglow with light.

Slightly off to the side, Harry takes note that all appear wholly entranced by the view. Immediately and without hesitation, he withdraws the Flying Eye from his pant's pocket and tosses it up above his head. In mid-air, the once smooth solid surface of a ping-pong sized ball ripples transitioning from a bright molten silver before settling into a golden snitch. Instead of falling on the ground, delicate wings unwrap and rapidly flutter gaining altitude. For a long moment, sharp green eyes track the Flying Eye's flawless mimicry of a snitch's characteristic evasive maneuvers.

Eventually it travels far beyond his line of sight to a predetermined destination - Hogwart's Great Hall.

Ignoring the din of boisterous chitter-chatter and excited laughter, Harry steadfastly stares at the endless floating sea of candles. Curiously, the melted wax never falls on either the students or tables below, and despite the extended length of time spent burning their height doesn't noticeably change. Even more interesting is the fact that given the amount of candles combined with the room's square footage, then the heat generated should be enormous and yet it isn't stifling. On the contrary, the room actually feels perfectly comfortable.

The ingenuity and complexity of charms cast on such a mundane object simply boggles the mind. He wonders whether credit lies with the founders, past faculty, or possibly a relatively new development implemented by current staff.

Any further scrutiny is cut short when a hand roughly lands on his shoulder. Disliking the invasion into his personal space, he instantly shrugs away the hand and turns around toward the offender, an older woman with a stern glare pasted on her face. Going by the fine emerald velvet robe paired with a wide brim hat and two long brown feathers then this must be Professor Minerva McGonagall.

With an ever efficient choice of words, she says, "Mr. Potter, pay attention. The Sorting Hat awaits."

Though not one word is unkind or even spoken in an overly loud manner, everyone hears and children, who can be supremely immature as well as obnoxious, find any excuse to laugh and jeer at another's expense. Rolling his eyes in irritation, Harry climbs the dais and seats himself on the three legged stool.

Professor McGonagall wastes no time in lowering the Sorting Hat on his head.

Once an interminable minute passes with no house declaration or even light banter, Harry finds the pervading silence very unsettling.

Harry voices aloud in his head, 'Hello, are you there?'

A deep masculine voice devoid of gaiety rejoins, 'You don't belong here. Though you answer to Mr. Potter that is not your name.'

On hearing these words, an uncontrollable shiver of unease crawls down Harry's spine.

His eyes frantically flutter left and right scanning the crowd. Neither the students nor Professor McGonagall display the expected expressions of shock. A deep soundless sigh of relief escapes upon realizing that his secret hasn't been outed to the world. For the moment, it remains mostly intact and wasn't actually uttered aloud, but echoed within the privacy of his mind. Wanting to prevent any further breaches, he reflexively pulls on past occlumency training and erects a mental shield around his more sensitive, private thoughts.

The same voice chuckles darkly, 'Your efforts of concealment are useless. I'm already deep within your mind.'

Those two sentences send his heart in a disjointed staccato.

Already knowing the boy's intentions, the Sorting Hat malevolently hisses, 'DON'T even think about it! Pull me off now and I'll be the least of your worries.'

Though in complete control of his facial expression, everyone in the hall witnesses Harry's tell-tale aborted motion to snatch the hat from his head and subconsciously lean closer to watch this bizarre sorting.

'You already have one Unspeakable sniffing around who is oh so curious to unravel secrets on the Consortium, but I doubt you would like their brand of hospitality should the entire department get a whiff of your true origins…'

Fear clouds Harry's mind for a bit before doubt races in to replace it. 'How do I know anything you say is true?'

Without missing a beat, the Sorting Hat says, 'Though the Consortium opened in early summer two years ago, it wasn't until two months later that the wrong person stumbled upon a seemingly small irregularity. Your space expansion efforts did not go unnoticed especially since Britain hasn't had even a single notable Runes Master within the last few decades and definitely not one capable of achieving the feat you accomplished. It just so happens that this little nugget was uncovered on the September immediately following when I sorted a new first year student. On this, you will get nothing more from me.'

At this point, Harry is incredibly weary, but the timeframe and detail given in this account gives him pause. 'Okay, say I believe you. Where does this leave us?'

'My allegiance will forever lie with Hogwarts. Like Salazar Slytherin, I am a firm believer that you are either with me or against me. So answer me this - are you friend or foe?'

'I am undoubtedly a friend.'

'Are you? I am not so sure.'

'What have you seen that worries you so?'

'You know what will befall Hogwarts whether by divine intervention or some odd quirk and yet you have not employed any meaningful effort to forestall this coming calamity. Although you may trick yourself into calling it prioritization of goals, it stinks of either cowardice or apathy. Take your pick for neither is acceptable so I'll provide you the incentive and ensure the end result turns out more favorable for Hogwarts. Well, enough dilly-dallying. Time to sort you, but know this so-called Harry Potter - this conversation isn't over. I have more ways than one of keeping an eye on you.'

Aloud everyone in the Great Hall hears, "BETTER BE RAVENCLAW!"

Utterly stunned by tonight's curveball, Harry jerkily removes the blasted hat and slowly advances to a random seat at his new house table. Only one word reverberates in his mind over and over again, 'FUCK!'.

At the same time and several thousand miles away near the heart of London, Consortium members both young and old convene in the Crystal room with dimensions around 280 meters by 280 meters.

The name is especially apropos as every square meter of the floor, walls, and ceiling have been covered with a highly ordered mineral. Out of various options, clear quartz crystal was selected for its abundance in nature, luminosity, and clarity. For aesthetic purposes, none can easily perceive the singular cubic meter slats as they appear seamless and untouched. The latter serves a second purpose in tricking any curious parties from closely examining the surface and noticing long winding runes engraved on the outer perimeter. Given enough time and a basic introduction to this new form of symbology, any rune aficionado could work out that this foundation was inspired by the pensieve. However, it avoids the normal setbacks of pulling observers into a basin, the need to extract a wispy ethereal looking memory, and seeing events leached of color. Instead, the hollow fast moving Flying Eye holds a small clear quartz crystal engraved with the Egyptian ujat symbol for the all seeing eye. Despite large distances, the two sets of crystals are linked where one receives and the other transmits an incredibly vivid three-dimensional image in real-time.

In essence, this magical artifact gives the entire audience a remarkable impression of actually standing within Hogwart's Great Hall. If not for three notable details, then few could distinguish that the life-like objects and persons are merely a facsimile. The first is an unavoidable effect of utilizing the crystals which causes everything to appear with an underlying glow. For the second and like all illusions, no image is actually tangible. And third is the lack of sound.

To offset the silence, lively piano tunes play in the background. Though with nearly five hundred guests in attendance made up of Consortium members and their families happily enjoying the evening's festivities, there is certainly no dearth of conversations.

One elegant figure dressed in a cream tan vintage floral lace three quarter sleeve floor length cocktail gown stands out from the large throng. Danielle Stone takes in each face noting that the youth in particular reflect pure joy in seeing the outer facade of Hogwarts moments earlier and now its Great Hall. For those who are older, their joy can't entirely erase the faint grief. Like them, she knows that this is the best one can expect until real revolutionary change occurs and squibs are allowed entry to learn magic, even if a different type, amongst their peers.

A few rather rambunctious Neophytes break away from everyone encircling the illusion and run

between the house tables so they can actually stand near the few students waiting to be sorted.

Emboldened by the display, a woman and man step forward. Neither face carries the joy of seeing something for the first time or even long held grief of looking in from the outside. Instead there is only nostalgia.

Even if she didn't recognize the two as Clara Jenkins, a Daily Prophet journalist, and Anders Covington, a long-time freelance photographer, then their facial expression as well as flow of magic clearly marked them as being one of the lone witches and wizards in attendance. Weaving through the crowd with a kind smile and quick pardon for the chattier guests, Danielle finally approaches within hearing distance to playfully ask, "Clara, well are you happy that you accepted my invitation?"

Both the tall dark brunette with hair cut into a chin tapered bob and her blond associate with long wavy hair falling to his shoulders, quickly whirl around and easily broadcast their slight embarrassment in being caught unawares.

Clara immediately recognizes the event's hostess. While shifting into a more formal stance of introduction for close acquaintances, she deprecatingly chuckles, "Hello Danielle, you look amazing tonight and hands down this beats my other plans. There's no doubt in my mind that I would have regretted missing the unveiling for your Flying Eye and Crystal Construct. Oh, I almost forgot. You remember Anders, right?"

"Yes, yes, it is nice to see you again Anders."

"Likewise Danielle. I am so glad that Clara asked me to be her plus one. I've seen a lot of amazing things here in Britain as well as abroad and this is definitely groundbreaking. Of course, I'm not a reporter, but I have to ask why didn't you open this to the public?"

In an almost imperceptible sardonic voice, Danielle replies, "No good deed goes unpunished."

Clara winces and thinks internally, 'Insert foot into mouth. Literally, this man could walk into a large field with one mine and unerringly stumble upon it within seconds. How in the world does he always manage to bungle an introduction? This is why the Daily Prophet doesn't directly employ Covington and only uses him for sporadic jobs. I need to get him out of here fast before he can butcher this any further.'

Danielle continues in a lighter voice than before, "Tonight is both a celebration of our past achievements most notably opening the Consortium which proved our magical fitness, but it is also a reminder to keep our eyes on the prize - equal rights for all squibs."

By the end, Anders begins to frown and opens his mouth.

Without an iota of guilt, Clara slightly steps forward and warmly says, "That is quite a memorable line. I'll be sure to use it word for word in my next article. Undoubtedly, Cuffe will agree with me and want everything documented tonight so tomorrow's readers can learn all about the Consortium as well as your new product."

On the last word, she smoothly turns toward her now unwanted plus one and presses him to take plenty of pictures. Finally feeling the conversation's undercurrents, he rushes off to comply.

Determined to salvage the night, Clara takes on a jovial demeanor and starts off with, "Let's rewind shall we. There's no question that this demonstration has and even now continues to go off without a hitch. I still can't wrap my mind on how you were able to make all of this possible. Details, please."

Danielle chuckles heartily, "I may live in the muggle world, but I was born and raised to thrive in this one. All merchandise sold by the Consortium falls under protected intellectual property. The paperwork was filed and processed this past Friday. You know I've always loved your ability to mask brazen questions with a seemingly innocuous demand and all the while looking so curiously wholesome. You didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you?"

Clara tries to subtly swallow away her discomfort.

Today isn't the first time she had been called out for traipsing the line between wily and outright crafty efforts to scoop a story nor is it likely to be the last. However, in the past year she had come a long way in getting an accurate read on others. This interaction is definitely an unwelcome slice of humble pie. However even more unsettling, is the growing niggle of doubt that the earlier signs of discomfort were wholly contrived to get Anders out of the picture.

Having artfully wrestled control of the conversation, Danielle makes a wordless gesture to continue walking. "As you're aware, I did not receive an invitation and always wondered where my personality would best fit. Alas, I will never know for sure."

After a brief pause, she continues, "Earlier you seemed so captivated by the Hufflepuff house table. Might that be where you were sorted?"

Internally, Clara grabs onto the safe topic with relish. "Though derided as the house filled with leftovers, I proudly don the Hufflepuff colors: yellow and black. Believe it or not, but the Sorting Hat had a hard time choosing between Hufflepuff and Slytherin."

"I don't find that too surprising. After all you just tried to ferret out information though quite clumsily and ultimately ineffective. Still your methods are preferred over the likes of Rita Skeeter."

Greatly offended by the rude remark, Clara abruptly stops and noticeably waffles between speaking her mind or biting her tongue.

Danielle preempts a response and directs a firm unyielding stare towards her companion.

"Five years ago you graduated from Hogwarts at the top of your class and immediately started pursuing your dream to become a journalist with the Daily Prophet. I bet it didn't take you long to notice that the so-called apprentices burned out quickly and quite regularly. Still you persisted."

Entirely caught off guard, Clara remains silent.

"And after three years, the wait finally pays off. An anonymous donor contacted Cuffe, the Editor-in-Chief, and specifically requested that you write a piece on the Consortium. One compelling, well-written article skyrockets you out of obscurity. Now, not only do your peers and superiors finally acknowledge you, but you're steadily gaining a small following of fans."

"How do you know all this?"

"Word of mouth only gets you so far. The Consortium's silent partner was bound and determined to get as much exposure as possible through available news sources both here and abroad. After effective application of persuasion tactics, we came to an understanding that all publicity isn't good publicity. Hence where you came into the picture."

"You're the anonymous donor."

"That's right. Out of everyone at the Daily Prophet, I chose you not only for your skill, but mostly because of your house and the hope that loyalty was a deeply instilled trait. Was I right?"

Clara defiantly shoots back, "I am not beholden to you for one shot given two years ago. Everything I am today is because of my hard work."

"True, but the pendulum swings both ways. Others may write about the Consortium, and yet you're consistently chosen for one-on-one interviews where you receive exclusive intel. And I'll happily continue the status quo as long as you continue writing the unvarnished truth."

"If you're talking about the last two articles, then that was wholly beyond my control. Editors have the final say over what gets printed."

After a long moment of consideration, Danielle discarded the stoic countenance and easily switched to a more welcoming smile.

"Well, it's nice to confirm that the corruption lies elsewhere."

Author's Note: Many thanks for the reviews and constructive criticism.

Blueowl: With respect to 'deeper narration and light skimming of the plot surface', this is my first work, and though I wish the final product comes out perfectly, that is likely a long way off.

NazgulBelserion: For 'feels random', my intention is to avoid a retelling of the Sorcerer's stone and show how the butterfly effect impacts many lives both directly/indirectly.