Chapter 5: Ravenclaw!
"RAVENCLAW!"
The hall bursts into a light applause as McGonagall lifts the hat from my head. A few shocked faces line the Gryffindor table, apparently they assumed I would join their ranks due to my parents having been there. A very loyal perspective, worthy of Hufflepuff if I do say so myself. I turn to catch a glimpse of Dumbledore, the old man is smiling away merrily, clapping politely. He looks to have expected this, I suppose he's seen hundreds of students sorted in his time here. McGonagall gently pushes me towards the Ravenclaw table. I quickly walk towards them, finding myself eager to be out of the spotlight, or perhaps just not in the centre of it all. I sit beside a blonde girl with a shiny 'P' badge pinned to her blue trimmed robe. The rest of the first years are soon sorted. The ginger boy, Ronald Weasley, is sorted into Gryffindor, alongside his brothers – all three of them.
The bench I sit on was hand crafted by Godric Gryffindor. Odd that he didn't use magic for the task, perhaps the relevant spells hadn't been developed back then, or perhaps he just enjoyed woodworking. Dumbledore stands up as the last student, Blaise Zabini, is sorted.
"Welcome, Welcome, Students new and old, to another year at Hogwarts. However, I shall postpone my announcements for now – Tuck in!" With a flourish of his hands, the silver platters before us.
The excited chatter begins as Dumbledore sits down. Catching up with friends over the summer, Conversations not quite finished on the train and, unfortunately, people staring at me. I was ok with the Dursley's stance of 'Ignore the freak', this isn't going to be fun, maybe they'll get bored of me soon enough. I turn my attention back to the masses of food. If they serve this up every night, I might actually be able to reverse some of the malnourishment.
"So you're Harry, right?" A boy opposite me asks.
"Harry Potter, Humbly yours." I say, picking up my fork. He smiles.
"I'm Michael." I shake his hand. "Third year."
An ethereal version of my fork separates itself from the real thing. A girl, not a real one, grabs the fork and plunges it into a boys leg – Charlie Weasley's leg. The girl, Nymphadora Tonks, walks over to the Hufflepuff table, sitting down inside the real life Nymphadora Tonks. She's still here and very much alive. Maybe-
"Harry?" My eyes snap back to Michael. "You sorta spaced out of us there."
"Sorry, it was the fork's fault." I spear a potato.
"Err, right." He looks at his friend and shrugs. "We asked you where your shoes were."
"They're in the fountain outside the entrance." I say with a non-committal shrug.
"Who threw your shoes in the fountain?" He asks, now frowning.
"I did, of course. Plausible deniability." I tell him. "If anyone asks me to put my shoes on, I can simply tell them that I don't have any shoes." I finished with a smile.
"So you have an aversion to wearing shoes?" He asks slowly. Wizards.
"I had to walk through a solid wall to ride a magical train here. I think not wearing shoes is a much more normal thing to do, or not do."
"Well, when you put it like that it makes much more sense." He returns to his food looking a bit fizzled.
I look up at the staff table again. It's all quite surreal, being in a magical castle. Whatever this new ghosting is looks promising.
I load chicken onto my plate whilst inspecting the cutlery. It seems that Hogwarts' chefs are 'House Elves'; There are at least 100 judging by each of these forks, I would imagine there are more to care for the rest of the castle. Perhaps they also work the kitchens? It's more cost efficient to pay employees, even if they are House Elves, to do more than one job I'd guess. I have vague reflections from the spoons that they have pale skin and large, bat-like ears with eyes to match. Despite their odd appearances, they are excellent at cooking. I thank whatever deity that blocked my ability to trace food back to it's origins; I don't want to know what part of the animal I'm eating.
I casually listen to the conversations as I eat, quite content to not be bothered whilst discovering the secrets that the dining hall holds. The floor beneath the table isn't all that interesting. Lots of shoes and dropped food, my bare feet are glad that the floors are cleaned. I look over at Nymphadora every so often, if only to make sure she isn't about to keel over like the fat ghost.
I make a mental note to read books about 'Harry Potter' as I hear my name being mentioned further down the table. Dumbledore's condensed version of my rise to fame wasn't big on details. The hall suddenly quietens and shuffles as one to face, the now standing, Dumbledore.
"Now that we are all fed and watered, I have a few announcements to make. First off, The Forbidden Forest is out of bounds, a few of our older students would do well to remember that too." He looks around the hall with a smile. Part of me wants to heed the advice, but it sounds awesome. Maybe at a later date. "And please give a warm welcome to Professor Quirrel, who has returned this year to fill our Defence Against the Dark Arts post." I join the others in applause. Professor Quirrel looks to be frightened by the clapping. "Furthermore, the Quidditch trials will take place on the second week of term and the third floor is off limits to those who do not wish to die a most painful death."I add 'Go to the third floor' to my mental list. His eyes meet mine briefly as he sweeps the room before moving on again. "And a few parting words before bed: Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak." I don't even … What? Nobody moves for a second. Ah, to hell with it, I start clapping. It was a good speech. This seems to wake up a few people, they join the applause. It's like a blind man leading a blind man. "First years, please follow the prefects to your common rooms, and I bid you a good night."
The hall begins to move at the dismissal; the higher years stroll out of the door. I turn to the girl beside me, the Prefect badge pinned to her chest. "Over here, first years." She says loudly. A couple of relieved faces push towards us through the crowd. I snatch up a couple of rolls from a nearby platter for the road. Years under the Dursley's roof has taught me to eat when I can because I don't know when I'll be eating again. "Everyone here?" I turn to out little group. Nine of us including myself. Three other guys, five girls. One of the girls, Padma Patil, has a twin sorted into Gryffindor. Odd in my mind. "Ok, Let's go." She leads us towards the door, the other prefect walks beside us. "My name is Penelope Clearwater. I am in my fifth year and I will be guiding you through your first year, and subsequent years if need be." We abruptly stop in the middle of a staircase. The moving portraits watch on, apparently intrigued by us. This is going to take some getting used to. The staircase suddenly lurches sideways and for a brief moment I think we are about to plunge to our deaths. "Mind the stairs, they like to move." I exchange a look with the blonde boy beside me, he seems to be thinking the same thing; It would have been nice to have been warned beforehand. "Quickly, before they move." We begin to move again, Penelope only a couple of steps ahead of us. I wouldn't personally wear a skirt in a school full of stairs, but to each their own. It's only a short walk to a large painting of a raven.
"Our tower is guarded by this painting." The male prefect explains. "It asks a simple riddle which must be answered to gain entrance to the common room." That's … wow. "Our main security is secrecy, so don't tell anybody where this is." He turns to the painting.
"A new bunch." The raven looks at us. "Let's see if they're up to snuff!" It caws. "You use a knife to slice my head and weep beside me when I'm dead, what am I?" I can only hope that the other houses are more secure.
"An onion." I say. "But if I were a remorseful man, What would you be?" I ask the painting.
"A dead man." It chirps. "Very good, you may enter." The painting swings forward, revealing a passageway. I run my fingertips across the back of the portrait as we pass through. Painted by a Malcolm Andres 703 years ago, there was a statue here before then. Thousands of of footsteps have steps upon these stone this year alone.
"And here we are." The prefect says.
A large but cosy room. Plush sofas and armchairs fill the room, blue and bronze colours and trimmings. The carpet is warm and the fireplace draws the whole room together. The walls are covered in bookshelves. I'm definitely in the right house.
The thing is with books is that at some point in their history, they had to have been written or printed. Every penstroke, every dot used to build each printed letter, imprinted onto the book for one such as me to lay a hand upon and learn it's secrets. This is, by far, my favourite application of my power.
"The boys dorms are down the stairs and the girls up the stairs." Penelope tells us, pointing to the spiral staircase across the room. "Curfew begins at 9pm, You must be back here before then or face severe punishment. Breakfast starts at 7am sharp, Keith and I will be here in the common room at half past seven to escort you downstairs as well as to and from your lessons for a while. All of the times will be on your timetables; Professor Flitwick will distribute them tomorrow at breakfast."
I run my fingers over the nearest sofa and immediately draw them back. This isn't even a private place to be intimate, the only slight consolation is that they wait until after hours. I think I'll stick to the armchairs thanks.
"We'll show you to your rooms now." We split into two groups. Penelope leads the girls up the stairs. I'm sure I'll change my opinion of skirts and stairs in due time. We follow Keith down the stairs, stopping at the first door we come across. "The first floor is for you guys, second for second years and so on. I'm on the fifth floor if you need me, first door on the left." He pushes the door open, a short hallways sporting 4 doors. "Your names are above the doors. They'll be pretty empty right now, you can decorate them or whatever. So, Corner on the right here; Boot of the left." He points to the doors. "Goldstein and Potter back there." Sure enough, a bronze plaque engraved with 'H. Potter' sits above the door. "I'll swing by at seven to get you up if you're not already awake." He waves and heads back out of the door and down the stairs.
I lock my door behind me and the room lights up with small candles. A big four poster bed, a large desk and a bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. Another door sits adjacent to my bed. It's easily the side of the living room of Privet Drive. I chuck my robe on my bed and cross over to my desk. My desk. I smile at the thought. A single book wrapped in brown paper sits atop the desk with a small note tucked into the string binding.
"Harry Potter: A history." I read. I unfold the note, dropping the book back onto the table.
'A slightly less bias telling of your story.
I hope you read it with a pinch of salt.
A.P.W.B.D'
Dumbledore bought me a book. Hedwig and a book. More presents in the past few days than I've received in my entire life. He even bought the brown parcel paper specifically for this purpose from Diagon Alley. I've heard that it's the thought that counts when buying a gift, this is definitely the case when I can see an objects history with a single touch.
I hear tapping on the window and turn to see Hedwig perched outside the single panel of glass. I lift the latch, locking it again once she is inside. I scratch her head as she waits on my bedpost.
AN: Sorry for the delay, I've been a bit busy.
I've got a lot of great ideas for this story, i hope i can do them justice. Enjoy!