Harry's last month with the Dursleys wasn't good, necessarily, because he was still hungry and bruised and miserable. But it was soothed by all the books of magic he had rotting his brain!

Fantastic books filled with magical plants, wand waving, and potions- even ones of fairytales. Magical fairytales, Harry learned, were quite different from muggle ones, in that they seemed to be treated with some degree of plausibility. They were more legend than anything else, and he'd never thought anything more fantastic. Excluding, of course, The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle, which was a mundane story of muggle ways written as if it were some other universe entirely. Automobiles and aeroplanes featured very often.

He had found himself by name in no less than five books:

Notable Magical Names of Our Time

The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts

A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry

Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century

Modern Magical History

The third book on that list was by far the most interesting, mostly because Harry's role was but a footnote, and then the rest was dedicated to the influence of legal matter in the furthering of magical development. By magical development, they meant spells and such and their regulations. The supposed defeat of a Dark wizard, famous for his terrorisms, led to a very different climate for magic. It was maybe a dry text, but Harry far preferred it to the lurid tales in the other books. They read more like novels than any sort of informational text.

The idle musings of the authors as to how he survived- and by how he must've defeated Voldemort- read like poppycock even to Harry, who knew nothing of that night, not really, and even less of the wizarding world as a whole. Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, for example, seemed like a storybook of villains and heroes.

But the simple and most important fact remained: magic was real and amazing and his and not going anywhere.

Dudley had been actually told off for even going near Harry after Hagrid and the shopping trip. Harry spent most of his time safely ensconced in his cupboard- the school trunk leaving him only just enough room to roll up and over it in order to get out. Harry's owl was a whole ordeal, Petunia near had a heart attack (no shame there).

But as it was, they point blank refused to have an owl in their home. His owl, who he had named Hedwig after the patron saint of orphans, housed in the shed in the backyard. At night, Harry would let her out to fly, and come morning, he'd bring her back into the shed so the neighbours couldn't speculate as to why an owl had moved in to the Dursley yard.

The insanity, it's like they thought magic was catching.

On the last day of August he thought he'd better speak to his aunt and uncle about getting to King's Cross station the next day, so he went down to the living room where they were watching a quiz show on television. He cleared his throat to let them know he was there, and no one moved to acknowledge him. Now that the magic secret was out they were more prone to ignore him entirely, which Harry rather liked because it meant less beatings and screamings.

"Er - Uncle Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon grunted to show he was listening, but didn't look at Harry. This was a good sign. Making eye contact with Uncle Vernon meant he felt like a beating.

"I need to be in London tomorrow- King's Cross... it's for school..." he petered off.

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Can't fight off all of you people, can I," he growled. "But remember who has you for two months of the year, boy, when you're off being an upstart at your clown school. Remember that if you think you can come back here with any of that hocus pocus. You tell your people that we provide for your stain of an existence- and remember to be grateful."

"Train's off at eleven." Harry said quietly. "Thank you Uncle Vernon."

He was about to go back upstairs when Vernon spoke once more.

"I'd be shocked if they don't see you for what you are," he added more pleasantly. "A good for nothing."

Harry didn't say anything. He tried not to let that seep into his head.

"You hear me, boy? Where's this school anyway- Timbuktu I hope." He snorted at his own joke.

"I don't know," said Harry, pulling the ticket Hagrid had given him out of his pocket. He should get that on a T-shirt: I'm Harry Potter, and I just don't know!

"I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," he read.

His aunt and uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Uncle Vernon. "There is no platform nine and three-quarters. You having me on, boy? "

"It's on my ticket."

"Madness," said Uncle Vernon, "utter madness. You'll see. You just wait. They'll just come here if we don't let you go there, or I wouldn't bother. Go on, boy, clean up in the kitchen, don't dawdle here!"

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry's trunk onto a cart himself, but Harry reckoned that was only to get his freakish things out of the car quicker.

He stopped a passing guard, but didn't dare mention platform nine and three-quarters. Harry only asked for the train that left at eleven o'clock, but the guard said there wasn't one. In the end the guard strode away, muttering about time wasters. Harry was now trying hard not to scream, because he absolutely needed to get on that train. Why on earth hadn't he thought to ask Hagrid? Or better yet, why hadn't Hagrid told him? According to the large clock over the arrivals board, he had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and he had no idea how to do it; he was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and a large owl.

He wondered if he should get out his wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand between platforms nine and ten.

But it was at that precise moment a large group of orange heads hankered past him. In fact, he recognised three of them from the bookshop in Diagon. They must know how to get on the platform!

After a bit of pushing and shoving while the group was at a standstill (Harry lingering at distance behind), one of the boys took into a run straight at the wall between platforms nine and ten.

And he vanished, trolley and all.

Magic, Harry thought with a smile threatening to split his face, is amazing.

Out of politeness, and perhaps not feeling ready to talk to any magical people just yet, Harry waited until they'd all passed through. Then another couple with a girl went through, shooting unhappy glares around.

Harry sucked in a strong breath and pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.

He started to walk toward it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that barrier and then he'd be in trouble- leaning forward on his cart, he broke into a heavy run- the barrier was coming nearer and nearer- his logic told him that he was about to have a nasty bruise- lord this would hurt-

But no pain came... and he opened his eyes. A beautiful, hulking scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it, He had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. When Harry meant a lot of people- he really meant it. The platform seemed to stretch on endlessly in both directions, with a glass overhead showing a sunny blue sky. And between carriages he could see the opposite side of the platform was just as bustling busy. There had to be thousands of people, animals, and trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families. He passed a huddled group of students with blue trimmed robes lined with a metallic brown (maybe more of a bronze) that were listening to a very stocky boy. "And legend is, they''' take one victim each year, fresh from the carriages. They only like them fresh and screaming to eat..." Harry didn't like the sound of that at all, and hurried along towards one of the train doors. They were all slid wide open, and people were ferrying in and out, hopping about like rabid frogs.

"Hello." A voice chimed from his left side. It came from a girl of rather average height but most impressively large hair.

He spun to face her head on, "Hello."

"Are you a first year?"

"Yes," Harry said confidently. That was something he actually knew.

"Oh! So am I but you see, I'm from a muggle family," she said proudly.

"I grew up with muggles too," Harry said sympathetically. "Unfortunately."

"I was so surprised," she gushed, "when I got the letter. But it did explain a lot, didn't it?"

"S'pose odd thing always happened, so maybe I should've been more trusting when the mail came." Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"What exactly gave it away? For me, I'd always managed to get my books back on time, even a day or two late, the librarian would never ask or even fine me. I'm the first magical in my family so of course I didn't think anything much of it, other than the librarians being rather terrible at their jobs- I wrote a letter about that, rather silly of me now looking back. Then, whenever I bumped something over- it's never broken after! Not even the China vase that mummy got on her birthday, and dad was awful pleased it didn't break, sure, but that's when I was certain odd things really were happening around me. Still the letter was so out of the blue- glad the Professor came around to explain everything- because although it made a frightening amount of sense, I'd never even read about magic being real, not like this-"

"Hold on," Harry interrupted the girl. He didn't feel too bad about it because she looked like she needed to breathe. She'd said that all very fast. "Hold on, did you say a Professor came to see you?" She nodded and her hair bounced with. "I only got the groundskeeper to come round. He was nice though-" He gestured to Hedwig. "Bought me a birthday gift."

"That's really nice of him!" She agreed primly. "I didn't get any sort of gift, though I suppose my birthday was all the way back in February."

"Top of the morning to you lot," came a new voice. One of the tall orange headed boys had snuck up on them. His brother- well twin, by the looks of it- joined up quickly.

"Ickle firsties, have you seen a large spider?"

"Can't say I have," Harry answered.

"Oh dearie," said the first one. "This is spiralling."

"Excuse me, but are you upper years? Haven't they taught you spells to find things yet?" The girl said saucily. Harry thought that was a bit presumptuous as they couldn't know what exactly the boys were dealing with... but he also secretly agreed. He had privately imagined being a fabulous talented wizard by the time he was done with first year, so this was already a reality check.

"Why, excuse me," said an affronted twin. "You do see this platform we're on, don't you?"

"Of course I do!"

"So firstie, how am I meant to be casting spells? We're not allowed outside Hogwarts."

"Sorry we're muggle raised," Harry interrupted. They looked at him with less hostile expressions.

"Muggleborn," they said in unison. "That's wicked. Give these a toss like a proper wizard." One of them was producing a small package from the folds of his coat pocket.

"You won't regret it-"

"-Welcome to Hogwarts!" Harry felt overwhelmed before even getting on the train. He looked at the little box in his hand. It looked like candy… it was Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. He supposed that was nice of them, giving new student sweets right off the bat. Already, wizards seemed loads better than Stonewall.

"So you're just going to eat that? You don't even know those boys, and you're not meant to be taking sweets off strangers in the first place."

"They gave it to me."

"Well, sweets aren't any good- you know they'll rot your teeth." Honestly Harry though she was just a bit pressed the older boys hadn't given her a box of her own. "my parents are dentists."

"Oh, alright."

"What do your parents do?"

"They, um, died." He said awkwardly. The girl looked very distraught over this so he quickly added, "When I was baby though, it was ages ago."

"Were they magical?" She asked more hesitantly.

"Yeah," Harry said proudly. "They died fighting a dark wizard, or so I've heard."

"Like You-Know-Who?" She said with awe. "That's very brave of them. I heard there were lots of bad wizards a few years ago. Now it's much safer according to the introductory pamphlet!"

"Oh erm, Voldemort do you mean," Harry got out from behind a mouthful of grass and roast beef. These Bertie Beans were something else. He wasn't sure if he would thank the guys that gave it over or-

"Rude," sniffed the girl. "We're not meant to say the name, you know." Although they were the same height, Harry had the distinct feeling she was looking down her nose at him.

"Right, yeah." He said. "Sorry then." They stood there awkwardly as the train let out another impatient hoot. He didn't feel like missing the train, or sitting with this girl the whole ride to Hogwarts. "Er, see you then." He tried to quickly walk past her but what with having to lug his trunk behind and a frenzied Hedwig, he didn't feel like it looked quite so smooth.

With a forceful tug he managed to drag in his trunk off the trolley into the train's corridor. Many other students, some wearing wizard robes in different colours, were pushing and chattering inside. Compartment doors would slide open and shut with bangs and muffled laughter. Harry felt extremely lucky to walk past only six different compartments before finding one completely empty. He had only made the mistake of opening the first two, in which he got a sliding door slammed a breadth from his nose and a book thrown at him. He hastily, and somewhat gently tossed the book back to childish snickers and decided to find somewhere he wouldn't be bothering anyone.

When Harry sat down next to the window half hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

"Mom- geroff." He wriggled free. Harry looked away, feeling a strange nausea in his stomach. It happened sometimes when Petunia was sweet on Dudley, too.

A vaguely familiar boy with blond hair was dragging his luggage into Harry's compartment. Which was sort of upsetting, because he hadn't even asked and this was Harry's compartment, clearly.

"Bit heavy?" Harry said more snidely than he needed to.

"Mother said it's more authentic if Father's not always casting feather-light charms on my things, because he won't be there at Hogwarts." The boy said grouchily, not even looking at Harry until he'd managed to shove the trunk onto the overhead by standing on the seat like Harry had done. It took Harry much longer though. "I'm Draco Malfoy, by the way, and you are?" There was strong emphasis on his last name, he noted.

"Harry Potter," he said starchily.

"No way," he said back, eyes wide as dinner plates. "You've got to be joking." Harry pushed back his fringe to reveal the jagged cut and the other boy, Draco Malfoy, lunged forward.

"Yeah, alright fine then. It's really you." he breathed. "You've got really long hair, you know. My father does too. But his is actually a lot longer and well, blond and straight- like me." Harry tried to subtly lean back from the boy. He could feel his breath fanning over his cheek, and it was pretty uncomfortable. But it would do no good to be rude. He- Malfoy- hadn't really done anything to him. Maybe he just really wanted to make friends, and well, so did Harry. Even if this boy was very strange and a little annoying.

It seemed like all wizard people were just a tad odd, however, so what could he really say?

"Zabini'll come by soon, you remember him?" The boy sat back on his side of the compartment. "Sure he didn't mean to ignore you at the shop, you know. I mean I didn't even know who you were." Then Malfoy rubbed his chin. "Why were you of all people with a groundskeeper?"

"I don't know," Harry said with a resigned sense of deja vu.

"Well that's useless." Malfoy huffed at Harry as if he was meant to do something about it.

Sure enough a tall, black boy with tightly coiled hair stepped in right about then. He also looked kind of familiar to Harry, and he realised that these were the boys he'd seen in the wizarding clothes shop.

"Draco, have you seen a large spider? Apparently someone's lost a tarantula," he carefully pronounced the name. "and its wildly venomous."

"If we find it we'll kill it or keep it," Harry added in as a way of greeting.

"Oh, er, hello," the boy, probably Zabini, said. "I'm Blaise."

"I'm Harry." So it was only Malfoy who said his last name so, um, strongly. "Wild guess says you're a first year, too."

"Yeah," Blaise said, sitting down next to Draco Malfoy. "thrilled to be out of the house. Mum's been proper fretting all summer long."

"Your mum's fit."

"Shut up, Draco!" And he shoved him in the arm only to get shoved back.

The train was trilling, and suddenly moving. Harry watched the platform turn into a distant speck.

"Er, sorry, have you got any room? Everywhere else is... full." One of the orange boys was standing by the sliding door.

"Oh sure," Harry said easily. "I personally know how unfriendly some of those compartments can be." He already liked this boy more than Draco because he'd asked to come in, and seemed a lot less... Draco-ish altogether.

"Thanks, I'm Ron by the way."

"Harry."

"Harry Potter," Draco chimed in with a very evil look on his pointy face. "And I'm Draco Malfoy and this is Blaise Zabini." Harry nearly groaned, they'd only just got over Blaise's surprise.

"Ron Weasley," the boy said more warily to Draco. But he turned to Harry with excitement. "Harry Potter, really? Are you sure?"

"Yes," and he sighed.

"That's wicked that is!" Ron was very pleased and settled in next to Harry. There seemed to be some sort of tension between him and Draco, but neither boy did anything to explain it.

The train rolled on.

Seamus from the bookstore- who's full name was Seamus Finnigan- even dropped by the compartment. He'd been looking for a Prefect but only ended up going in a circle after a girl with flat, blonde hair gave him shoddy directions. He was looking for Prefects because his compartment's curtains had burnt to a crisp most mysteriously, and hypothetically he wanted to know if someone could be penalised for that.

He was still nervously explaining to them his propensity for setting things on fire when a woman pushing a large cart appeared in the open doorway.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?"

"I've got sandwiches," Ron said with a curiously depressed face.

"Could I have a batch of Canary Creams?" Blaise was reaching into his pocket for some money.

"Sugar quills, and chocolate frogs, and some blood pops!" Draco added expectantly. Oh dear, Harry thought. Wizarding had special candies too!

"Could I just, erm, got something of everything?" Harry asked. "We could all share," he said to the compartment at large. This was a good plan according to everyone else, Ron particularly, but only after he swore up and down he was paying for it.

"It's only candy," Harry said, not sharing how he'd never bought anything at all in his short life, let alone something so fantastical as candy. Wizarding candy. Excluding the 'nasty surprise' box of beans that Ron's brothers gave him.

Harry unwrapped a Chocolate Frog first, because chocolate seemed a good place to start. The frog immediately leapt at his face, and then jumped off in a suicide dive out the top of the window.

"Could've told me they jump away!"

"Nah," Ron snorted. "You look liked like a right idiot, you know."

In the oddly shaped package was left a card. It showed a man's face, and Harry picked it up for a closer inspection. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So this is Dumbledore!" said Harry. "He looks positively ancient, he does."

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa- thanks-"

"I've heard of him," Harry said offhandedly, turning the card over for inspection. "He's our Headmaster after all. I must've read the letter a million and one times."

Harry read on the back of the card:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her... do you want it? You can start collecting."

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself, you're looking awfully wanton," said Harry. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"That's horrid," Draco said. "But that's muggles for you." Harry grunted.

Seamus made his leave after asking the trolley lady for directions to the Prefects compartments, and they all wished him luck.

It was, after all, pretty cool that he set stuff on fire.

It wasn't more than than a minute before they were interrupted again, this time by a round-faced boy clutching a toad.

"I'm avoiding a girl," he said, and they welcomed him in. "I'm Neville, by the way, Neville Longbottom. And- oh hi Draco," he said defeatedly.

"Hi Nev," Draco Malfoy said with the worst sort of smile.

"I've got sandwiches," Ron said loudly over the awkward air. "My mum always cooks loads. But I don't want them at all, I think I'll chuck them out the window."

"What sort of sandwiches?" Neville said politely, sitting across from Ron and next to Blaise.

"It's pulled pork," Ron said. "If any of you like actually, you can have them." Draco looked like he was about to say something weird again, so Harry pounced. Ron was already fidgeting from the attention.

"Ah, I love pulled pork, hand it over! Why'd you want to toss perfectly good sandwiches out the window for? Any of you lot want some before I take them all?"

Hesitantly, both Draco and Blaise took a wrapped sandwich. Neville shook his head, with a quiet "No thanks."

"Oh what," Malfoy jeered. "Can't eat the pig, Longbottom? Reminds you too much of yourself, does it- been packing on the pounds since last Yule ball I see." Neville sputtered.

"Er," Harry said. "Wow."

"Draco," Blaise hissed under his breath.

"What? You disagree?" He turned on him.

"He's muslim, all the Longbottoms are muslim! His mum converted, it was a big thing- Merlin don't you read any of our society prep material? Or as a Malfoy you think you can make it by the skin of your neck?" Draco Malfoy's cheeks pinked just enough for his embarrassment to be clear.

"My mistake, Longb- Nev," he said carefully. "I'd... forgotten."

"What's that," Ron snorted, suddenly overcome with confidence for the first time since Harry had met him. "You, a Malfoy, owning up to a mistake- can't be. Quick let me jot this down in my diary- Harry grab my trunk will you-"

"Oh shut up," Draco snapped. "Shove some chocolate down your hole and shut it you rat."

"So you're muslim?" Harry asked conversationally. Neville's nervously darting eyes focused in on him.

"Yeah, my whole dad's family." He supplied. "Not really traditional among magic folk, but some families still practice religion. My mum was, um, just magic focused but she took up my dad's religion for them to get married."

"So is it right then, that magic itself is a sort of stand in for religion in the magical world?"

"You could say so," Neville said. "But personally, I find my religion to be a closer connection to higher power. And most magic folk don't really respect it, you know? It's just sort of a joke for a lot of people, that magic's to be worshipped or what. I still do all the rites for magic too- my whole family does- but we are still muslim as we don't hold magic in a higher regard than Allah. There is no deity other than Allah so magic itself can't even be regarded like that." Neville gave Harry a wide-eyed look. "No disrespect if you think different!"

"None taken," Harry said. "I've never actually talked to a muslim before, mostly because people just avoided me at my old school. And I don't really, um, follow a religion. My family's Christian-" he repressed a shudder "-so I'm sure I'm not that."

"Religion has a lot to do with family," Neville said thoughtfully.

Harry was about to agree but didn't get the chance- because right then the door slide open without a knock.

"Is Harry Potter in here?" A tall, older boy with honey coloured hair popped in.

"That's me," Harry raised a small hand.

"You're Harry Potter?"

"I just said that."

The boy paused for a moment before increasing the intensity of his stare. "Can I… see it?"

Harry promptly sat straight up. "Excuse me?"

"Can I see it?" The boy repeated eagerly, seeming to be nearly salivating, shifting weirdly, "Just for a second?"

Suddenly, Harry wasn't feeling very comfortable. At all.

"I…I don't think…"

"Oooh, can I touch it? Let me touch it!"

The boy made a move as if to get closer to Harry, who quickly pressed himself into the corner in an attempt to avoid any bodily contact. Everyone else in the compartment was frozen.

"Get out!" he shrieked, "GET OUT, YOU PERVERT!"

The boy's mouth dropped open. "WHAT?"

"Oh," Harry gasped with dawning horror. "They warned us about you in school! You're- you're one of those dirty perverts!" He slid to the far end of the compartment, near to the window, nearly completely crunched up in disgust. He violently shook his hands at the older boy. "BEGONE PERVERT! We don't want you to touch us!"

Now, Ron and Draco had not gone to muggle primary, and had no idea what Harry was shouting about, but it sounded really bad. Ron stood up jerkily and brandished his wand like a club- clenched in his fist.

"You heard him, get out pervert!"

The boy squawked indignantly but said nothing to defend himself (this would be a fatal mistake) and slammed the sliding door shut behind him.

"What's a pervert?" Draco asked enthusiastically. "Father's never mentioned anything to me about those."

"Well," Harry said seriously. "It's hardly polite conversation. But I guess still he should have warned you." Both Ron and Draco, and even Neville leaned in as Harry's voice dropped. "Perverts— they're predators. The specially sick ones attack children! I really can't be talking about it- surely you know what I mean."

"Predators?"

"Predators, Draco," Harry gave him a look. "You know."

"Cor, Harry," Ron appreciatively mumbled through a chocolate frog leg. "sometimes, Fred and George call Percy a pervert, but mum made'm stop. Reckon they're only joking though. They always are."

"Cannot believe they'd allow that at Hogwarts," Malfoy leaned back into a slouch. He still frankly had no idea what a pervert was, but he was certainly going to pretend he did. "But then again, we're only on the Express. Maybe it doesn't count yet…"

With that solemn thought they fell into uneasy silence, at least until Ron nearly bit off Trevor's leg by mistake ("He's practically brown alright!" "He's a toad not a frog— and not chocolate!").

And although Harry wanted very much to crack open Important Modern Magical Discoveries for the rest of the ride, he decided to get to know his future classmates more.


The train slowed down shortly after Neville had fallen asleep (he snored) and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me - any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville was still embarrassed because he'd been caught out snoring.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Blaise. Draco made off with two big, burly boys and a very small girl. "Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then - FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Harry hadn't even realised the toad had escaped again. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oakwood front door. It was at least twice as high as Hagrid and three times as wide.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?" Neville turned an unflatteringly red.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall and gaping that Harry felt as if he were still outdoors. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches that burned yellow and red and blue and green intermittently, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of thousands of voices from a doorway to the right -the rest of the school must already be here- but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off to the side. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking." Seamus popped up behind them.

"Better not be, I haven't studied one bit. Only read the Defence book 'cos me mam thinks that's important. The Prophet's been talking about uprisings."

Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any magic yet - what on earth would he have to do? He hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air- several people behind him screamed. But more people laughed.

"What the- ?"

He nearly gasped, eyes wide. There were about twenty ghosts high in the air, they must've come through the wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance -"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost- I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered, but more snickers followed. Apparently some people thought that was a stupid question.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting.

Professor McGonagall led the first years up the middle of the hall, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing quite like a human being would:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffis are true And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

True friends didn't sound awful, but Harry didn't feel particularly clever. He was very nervous as to where the Hat would put him- and that struck out Gryffindor as well. He hadn't been studious since Vernon beat him black in primary, so no Ravenclaw for Harry. Hufflepuff?! Harry didn't like hard work, in fact he was far too used to it. He'd like the opposite of that- please.

What if... what if the Hat sorted him home? What if he didn't fit in anywhere and they sent him back to the Dursley's because he wasn't magic enough? Was THAT an option?

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Seamus whispered to Ron who's ears were burning. "What crap was your brothers on about then? Oh no- what if I set the hat on fire!"

Harry smiled weakly.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause -

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling. He was still feeling conflicted over the beans they'd give him.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the fire-prone Irish boy, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

It was the girl from the train station- and she almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Harry remembered her although she'd looked a lot more cross when talking to him.

When Neville was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a really long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted,

"GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called. The hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join the burly boys from the boats, looking pleased with himself.

It was after "Perks, Sally-Anne" that at last he heard-

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing vipers all over the hall.

"Potter, Harry Potter?"

"The Potter family?"

"Oh ho, I'm quaking!"

"He's so short, isn't he?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat.

He waited.

"Mister Potter." Harry swallowed hard as a deep timbre voice echoed between his ears.

"Slytherin, could help you on your way to greatness..."

Greatness. Think I've heard that somewhere before. Harry thought drily. His wand felt heavy and comforting in his pocket. I'm starting to think that there's another Harry Potter out there they keep mixing me up for.

"Oh ho! I know my heads Mr. Potter, and this is certainly yours. Ah you could... yes, yes. I see your ambition, you have the potential for... greatness."

A lot of hesitation for someone meant for greatness. Sure there isn't some big mistake? He couldn't help that lingering fear. What if this all was a dream? What if he'd wake up in his cupboard, Petunia banging at the door?

"I assure you Mr. Potter, I do not make mistakes. And it would be a mistake not to place you in...

"SLYTHERIN!"

The last word didn't bounce around Harry's head but instead exploded inside the Great Hall like so many before him. The wide brim of the Hat was pulled back from his eyes and he looked to the far left, the table with the green banners.

He shot a look at the red banners table, and saw those twins from earlier dramatically sobbing onto each other. He may have even caught a loud "oh woe is me!" from over the light din of the hall. Ron- he was smallest redhead of the lot but not by much- was looking down into his empty plate, rather morosely. Harry wondered if he would dislike the Hogwarts food as much as his mum's sandwiches. Harry thought they were rather good.

He was treated to a smattering of applause like everyone else, but of course mostly from the table he was headed to. Luckily he was staring straight at Draco Malfoy, who gestured with such passion it was almost aggressive for Harry to sit down next to him near the end of the bench, closest to the teacher's table.

A couple paces away and Draco finally stopped slapping the table violently, and squirmed instead with childish glee when Harry plopped next to him. Harry made sure to sit nice and proper, with a straight back, in case any of the teachers looked his way. He wanted to start Hogwarts with good impressions only. There was no Dudley here, and better yet no Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia.

It could be different. He was free.

"So you're in Slytherin," Draco Malfoy said.

"Green's nice," Harry said as way of not repeating obvious facts. Somebody snorted nearby, and Harry felt like it was absolutely about him. He burned indignantly but tried to look as unaffected as ever. Still he couldn't tolerate bullies here, too.

But maybe he was just overreacting.

"Hi, I'm Pansy," a girl with an upturned nose said from across the bench.

"Hi, I'm Harry."

"Draco Malfoy." And there he goes again with the full name. It was very odd indeed, because it looked like other wizard and witch kids didn't do that.

"Parkinson," the girl said. Harry had no idea what that meant but Draco made to shake her hand over the table. Harry, terribly afraid he'd unknowningly made some sort of faux pas, afterwards stuck out his hand too. She looked a bit surprised but took it.

"I was muggle raised," he confessed. "And raised is, um, a loose term. I didn't think we must shake hands."

"Oh that's alright!" She said once pulling her hand back. "Muggles? How does that work, they don't know anything about anything."

"It, doesn't work well?" Harry tried.

"You'd know best, honestly, I've no clue."

"McGonagall's right scary," a girl said down the bench. "Glad I'm not in Gryffindor."

"Why's that?"

"She's their Head of House," the girl gave Harry a look.

He resisted the urge to sneer.

"Who's Slytherin's Head of House?" He asked Draco Malfoy.

"Actually, our Head of House is right now staring at you," Draco said. "No no, don't look! In a little while. It's the pale man with black hair. His name is Severus Snape. He's really young, too, and famously strict."

"Lovely," Harry grimaced. "How do you guys know all this about the teachers?"

"We weren't raised by muggles, Harry." Blaise reminded him. Blaise had been the last to be sorted, and he was in Slytherin too. "Our families tell us these sorts of things, that they just don't have in books."

Harry digested that.

But all thoughts of the future classes and teachers vanished as the food appeared, so much more plentiful than Harry had ever been able to partake in, in his entire life. He would just focus on doing his best not to eat himself sick.


"Alright, first years follow me," the commanding voice of a Prefect guided them down after all the other Slytherin students, everyone comfortable full as the Headmaster dismissed them.

The girl Prefect lead them down a dizzying number of stairs and corridors and narrow passageways and large, dark dungeons to crowd around a blank expanse of wall.

"Profunde ad cor arce," she enunciated carefully. Harry mouthed that under his breath as the blank wall shifted into a large door, inlaid with cast iron.

The Slytherin common room was something else. It seemed almost unreal, everything was cast with a faint green-orange glow. One wall was simply moving water, dark and frothy from floor to ceiling with impenetrable depths. It had a high, vaulted ceiling that had supported adorned with large serpents on all sides. At the forefront was a large fireplace and many cushions, armchairs, and one extremely luscious looking couch. All were a deep black or green, set over a green rug that was, once again, decorated with snakes.

Even over the fireplace was a detailed serpent, tongue extended.

Harry liked snakes, quite a lot, so this was very fine.

He saw, on the wall opposite the churning watery depths, was some array of desks and school chairs. Some older students were already seated there, scratching at parchment with their quills on last minute summer work, perhaps.

His happy cataloging of his new House was cut short by the other first years, who didn't all find it as wonderfully magical as he did

"Someone turn the light on," said a loud voice.

"Oy, I cannae see ma own two feet."

"Fair point," muttered the boy Prefect. But Harry was very close to the Prefect, and he didn't think anyone was meant to hear that, because he turned around to say-

"Welcome to the Slytherin Common Room! We're situated near the Lake's more... underground despots. We get plenty of natural light-" Some dissent broke out over this. "-and we also have a large array of lanterns and lamps!" Pucey's voice rose again over the muttering. "This is not a debating table. Silence from you lot. Right. Professor Snape is our Head of House, but you come to the Prefects first."

"First year Slytherin students, I am Adrian Pucey as we have earlier covered." Harry had actually forgotten his name. Regardless, now Adrian Pucey was gesturing to a newly revealed doorway on the far wall. "Before we let you to your dormitories we have the ground rules to cover," Harry felt the the boy's eyes almost pause on him, "and then some. Hogwarts is not like any sort of home you're used to. Your dormitories preside over the lake, meaning..."

God I hope it's nothing like the home I'm used to, Harry thought with his heart soaring.