A/N:
Hi there guys, my name is Antiochus Soter, and I'd like to welcome you warmly to my first fanfiction!
Harry Potter has always stuck with me as a fantastic series with many wonderful and fantastic characters, but it never quite exploited them as much as I thought it would. From Fleur Delacour to Zacharias Smith: the Potter-verse never seemed to quite use its plethora of characters as much as I'd hoped.
But that's where Fanfiction has stepped up and breathed life into a franchise I love in a way which I didn't think possible. Characters often left by the wayside or as throwaway names in the books by Rowling have taken on a life of their own: Daphne Greengrass has become the gorgeous ice-queen of Slytherin with a heart of gold, Tracy Davis her immovable, loud mouthed but loveable side-kick and so many more. And thanks to the malleable nature of characters with little to nothing written about them, they have helped an entire community create interesting and compelling characters who have formed either the main focus or supporting cast of some of the best stories written in the FF community: with many of them being vastly superior to the original story!
And as such, I've decided to throw my hat into the ring and offer up my own take on things. I've decided to follow mature themes throughout this story, as I feel that, whilst they feature in the fandom on occasion, few of these stories are ever finished, which I feel is a rather tragic shame. Many of the people who grew up on Harry Potter often come back to FF in order to see a more mature take on things, and I hope that as this story progresses, that is what you get. And more importantly, that you enjoy it.
This story will be dark, gritty and feature no small amount of violence and character death- though there will always be a purpose behind such deaths (not just 'I dislike X so they're getting the chop').
So, without further ado, I give you chapter one of The Price of Greatness'.
Please remember to follow to keep up to date with the story, and review if you've got something to say be it good, bad or in-between!
Chapter One: What kind of man do you want to be?
"Ooooooh interesting... very interesting indeed. You're a loyal one, but its not freely given to those you know like Helga would want from her students. You reward loyalty with loyalty, but only if you feel that it is genuine and not pushed by an ulterior motive. And then we have your mind. Oh you have a fine mind there, Mr Potter, a fine mind indeed. Rowena would have loved for you to become one of her students, but I feel that your desire for knowledge is born of purpose beyond knowledge for knowledge's sake - whilst you may have the intellectual abilities of an academic, your curiosity about the world is far more practical and clinical in nature.
Then we have your thirst to prove yourself... oh yes, now this is far more interesting. I feel that not since Salazar himself walked these halls have I seen someone with such a desire to prove themselves. Slytherin always preferred the ambitious joining his house. After all, you can teach somebody to manipulate the world around them - you cannot teach them to want for things. And you mister Potter... oh you want so much more out of this world than it has given you thus far, something that Salazar's children could help you realise. You could temper that ambition with tricks and knowledge unavailable to you anywhere else, and make waves in our world that will be felt for generations.
And then we have that bravery... that passion and willingness to jump head first into danger without a second's consideration for your actions. Though many would consider such traits reckless... the truly wise know that the true sons and daughters of the Lion are anything but. Hesitation can cost one greatly, and sometimes one must be willing to jump into the unknown in order to achieve anything in life, or even simply do the right thing. That's something far too many people have forgotten to do in the modern era.
The heart of a lion, the ambition of a conqueror and the brains of a judge. Oh where oh where to sort you...
What do you think, Mr Potter?"
The old, almost croaky voice echoed through the mind of young Harry Potter as he sat on the stool that had been provided for the sorting ceremony at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and wizardry. The raven-haired and emerald eyed young wizard couldn't help but grip tightly to the sides of the stool as he listened to the hat's monologue - never before had he felt as vulnerable as he did sat up on that small stool. That feeling of vulnerability wasn't caused by the hundreds of students and tens of staff that were watching him like hawks with bated breath. Instead, it was caused by the Sorting Hat that was currently laying his soul bear with haunting whispers that tickled the deepest recesses of his mind.
As much as Harry wanted to refute the hat's claims about the viability of Ravenclaw and (particularly) Slytherin as houses for him to be sorted into, deep down he knew that the blasted rag was right - he could fit into any of the houses except Hufflepuff, despite his innate desire to be sorted into Gryffindor in order to have something connecting him to his parents other than his looks and last name.
Harry did however have to acknowledge that the hat was correct because even though the Dursleys (the relatives he stayed with since his parents had been murdered by the Dark Lord Voldemort) refused to acknowledge his intellectual abilities, Harry knew that he generally outpaced his peers intellectually by leaps and bounds. Concepts and ideas that would take others hours or days to understand took Harry a fraction of the same time. Whilst by no means a savant, Harry felt he could probably be safely called a genius on one level or another. Similarly, Harry knew that he had rather grand dreams for an eleven year old boy - visions of changing the world born of an ambitious soul and a bored but hyperactive mind that sought to entertain and keep itself motivated whilst it spent more time locked in a cupboard under the stairs or performing menial tasks than it did sating its curiosity.
However, Harry also knew that Slytherin house in its current form would be a dangerous place indeed for someone of his temperament to be placed into. When he had been introduced to the wizarding world, Harry's guide and first friend, Rubeus Hagrid the gamekeeper, had told Harry that although all of the four houses at Hogwarts were important and valuable, Syltherin may have been a dangerous place for him to be placed into.
"A lot o' you-know-who's followers were Slytherins, they were. Their kids will be at 'Ogwarts this year, and I wouldn' put it pass 'em ter try an' use 'em ter get ter ya ta try n' make yer time at 'Ogwarts as miserable as possible. Dumbledore reckons the kids themselves could be alright in the end, but that don't mean they won't listen 'ter their parents if push comes 'ter shove if yer ask me."
The friendly giant's warning combined with Harry's first few interactions with a first year Slytherin coming in the form of a blonde prick known as Draco Malfoy, who had insulted Harry's mother and newest acquaintance in Ron Weasley, had resulted in the last surviving member of the Potter family resolutely putting the House out of his mind as a possibility... right up until now. Letting out a shaky breath, Harry whispered so quietly that nobody else but the sentient piece of clothing atop his head could hear him.
"Why would I want to go to Slytherin?"
Hearing a chuckle reverberate around his mind, Harry could imagine the creases in the hat that acted like eyes and a mouth were scrunched up in amusement, as if the rag of a hat found his question entertaining more than thought-provoking.
"Mr Potter, whilst your friends assessment of Slytherin is true, the stress it would cause you could end up being worth while in the end. After all, diamonds are forged only under immense pressure... and you would be under immense pressure indeed if you were to join Salazar's viper den. Granted, you may well crack under the pressure, the same as a young man I sorted 60 years ago did... or you could come out of your seven years here as a whole new man, ready and able to take the whole world by storm."
Licking his lips, Harry tentatively asked the hat another question.
"When you talked about the other young man, were you talking abou-"
"Lord Voldemort? Yes, child. Yes I was. Horrific things though he may have done, he was once just like you. A boy left abandoned by the world, bursting at the seams with limitless ambition, intellect and courage. Though it is worth noting he was a tad more arrogant than you are, the two of you are frightfully similar. You both carry the weight of a troubled childhood in secrecy, terrified of what the world would think of you if they knew the truth. Both of you were isolated due to your brilliance, your minds far beyond the understanding of your inferiors... and your ambitions. Both of you want to change the world: fevered dreams born of souls longing the right the injustices wrought on them by a cold and unforgiving world.
Voldemort thought that going to Ravenclaw would drive him down a path he could not recover from, and begged me to sort him into Slytherin in order to protect him from such a fate without considering the consequences of such an action. Instead of protecting him from a horrendous fate, his decision resulted in a brilliant but troubled child turning into the foulest monster since Morgana Le Fay walked this earth.
So think before you decide child... this may seem like an inconsequential decision, but you would be surprised of just how much weight this will hold over you for the rest of your life. You are going to be a very special wizard, Mr Potter - a very special wizard indeed.
But you must consider this. Each of the houses can offer you a different path to the greatness that resides within you: Slytherin would teach you how to change the world through politics and savvy, Ravenclaw through intellectual change and development... and Gryffindor by leading ever from the front, wearing your heart upon your sleeve.
What do you value most, Mr Potter? What kind of man do you want your time at Hogwarts to turn you in to? How do you want history to remember you when your bones are but dust in the dirt and the words upon your tombstone long since faded- your name and glory all that remains upon the echoes of history?"
Harry sat there for several minutes, his mind reeling from the hats speech. As much as he wanted to deny that Slytherin could offer him anything, the young Potter had to concede that even though he feared what the house would turn him in to... there was merit to joining the Viper's den. Harry knew that as he got older, if he wanted to accomplish change in this world, he'd need know-how that he currently did not have. Know-how that Slytherin house could teach him, providing that he was willing to take the risk of being surrounded by the children of people who supported the monster that had killed his parents. To many, this wouldn't even be a consideration: they wouldn't even be willing to entertain the notion of joining Slytherin were they in Harry's position. However, revenge was a dish best served cold, and there was a certain sense of irony in Harry's eyes if he were to join a house that would largely despise him and using their own teachings to take them down.
But, as tempting at the prospect was, enough of Harry's being was repulsed at the thought of following in his footsteps to sway his mind away from Slytherin's house as his home for the next seven years whilst at Hogwarts. No matter the information and abilities that they could offer him... Harry felt deep in his heart that the price that would eventually be extracted would be one that the last surviving Potter would be unwilling to pay. Even though his time with the Dursleys had made Harry jaded towards the world, it had also ignited a desire within the young Potter... a desire to prevent others from suffering the same fate as he had.
A goal he felt that Slytherin would not be able to help him meet.
As he began to weigh up the merits and detriments of joining Gryffindor, the scratchy voice of the hat interrupted his thoughts.
"Ahhhhh, it would seem perhaps that there is hope for you Mr Potter. Slytherin would indeed offer you a place to nurture your abilities, but I am glad to see that you acknowledge there may be a cost to such nurturing. Even thought you know what Slytherin may be able to offer you, you're willing to walk away from it all still... perhaps you and Voldemort are more different than I first thought. He didn't have the strength or wherewithal to acknowledge the risks of joining Salazar's house. It takes a smart and wise young man to recognise the dangers that joining a certain house may represent, as well as all the positives that can come with it.
However, it takes a truly brave soul to step away from such potential power... a bravery that would only fit in the house of Godric GRYFFINDOR!" The final word of the Hat's monologue was spoken out loud, causing Harry to give a slight jolt of surprise as the hat was pulled from atop his head. The moment the ratty material of the Sorting Hat cleared his vision, Harry was greeted by the sight of the Gryffindor students on their feet clapping and cheering like they had just won the Football world cup, with large portions of the red and gold house joyously chanting 'WE'VE GOT POTTER, WE'VE GOT POTTER' at the top of their lungs. The golden-trimmed Hufflepuffs and blue-trimmed Ravenclaws offered their own applause and cheers, though they were far more muted than their Gryffindor peers exuberant celebrations. Slytherin meanwhile offered very tame but none-the-less polite applause of their own, with the exception of a certain platinum-blonde Malfoy who seemed more content with petulantly glaring at Harry. Deciding to put the platinum prick from his mind, Harry allowed a small smile to grace his features at the exuberance of his peers in Gryffindor. Even though most of them were probably only happy to have him in their house because of his fame, it was a far cry from the hateful disdain that the Dursley's held for his existence.
So as far as Harry was concerned, things could be far worse.
If only he knew what the next few years were to bring...
On his approach to the table, Harry noticed his ginger acquaintance waving to him from amongst the rest of the Gryffindor first-years. Quickly sliding into the offered seat, Harry offered Ron a small smile, which the lanky young boy met with one of his own.
"I told you Potters and Weasleys always wound up in Gryffindor, mate!" The exubarant red-head proclaimed loudly, drawing several cheers from their year-mates. Smiling a little more broadly, Harry tuned out of the rest of the sorting for the most part, pausing his houses' mini meet-and-greet only to clap as the remaining few students were sorted into their houses. The final boy was a dark skinned young man by the name of Blaise Zabini, who was sorted into Slytherin. A general buzz of conversation permeated the hall for about a minute after the final sorting until the loud and distinctive sound of cutlery being gently tapped against a well-made glass drew the attention of the student body to the dark-wooden table at the head of the hall where the staff were sat. The source of the noise emanated from the glass in the hand of a tall, older wizard dressed in perhaps the most ridiculous looking clothing Harry had ever seen. He wore a set of gaudy blue and purple robes that almost seemed to shimmer and dance under the candle-light of the Great-Hall, which contrasted somewhat horrifically with his long white-beard. Bright blue eyes which were slightly hidden behind a pair of half-moon glasses that sat upon a crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken at least three or four times in his life and never set properly by a doctor. Even if he hadn't had seen the man's picture in the chocolate frog card he got on the train, Harry would have felt very comfortable as identifying the old man as Professor Albus Dumbledore - the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Warlock of the Wizamgot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.
Giving his students a beaming smile that was still identifiable despite his rather grandiose facial hair, the headmaster swept his gaze across the hall once to make sure that he had the full attention of his students. The moment Dumbledore was satisfied that all eyes and ears were focused on him, he began to speak.
"Thank you. Before we tuck in to our delightful feast, I would like to say a few quick words." Here the Headmaster paused, watching as the majority of the students amongst the younger years let out soft but long suffering sighs, no doubt eager to leave any speeches for after their food. However, little did they realise that the old headmaster had little intention of keeping them all waiting. With a broad smile, he loudly proclaimed.
"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
Large amounts of the student body let out small laughs and offered the headmaster wide smiles and rounds of applause, Harry amongst them. After several seconds of clapping, Harry realised that, with the exception of a bushy haired girl several seats down, very few of his peers seemed to be sure of what to make of the Headmaster's comments. Deciding to explain the joke to them he spoke out loud enough to be heard but quiet enough as to not disturb other people at the table.
"He was making a joke about how people who go on long winded speeches tend to start off by saying they only have a 'few quick words' to say: he took the micky out of it by actually just saying a few quick words, all whilst pulling a prank on us by making us think he was going to speak for ages." Here, Harry paused as several of the older students that were sat near by offered appreciative smiles to the sole-surviving Potter, clearly impressed that an eleven year old had caught onto the headmaster's small joke so quickly. Harry's year-mates all seemed to light up at the revelation, smiles and chuckles breaking out across the group as they realised they had been caught out by their own headmaster in a small prank.
Seeing that at least some of the younger students had caught on like their older peers, the headmaster let out a short laugh of his own, his smile growing ever so slightly wider whilst his blue eyes seemed to twinkle with mirth. Raising his hands, the headmaster clapped his hands before flamboyantly spreading his arms out whilst loudly saying...
"Let the feast, begin!"
One hour later, the Great Hall.
Harry let out a small sigh of contentment as he finished off the last spoonful of Apple crumble that he had chosen to have for pudding following a rather lavish selection of several different dishes that he had assembled from the hundreds of options before him. He had overheard from some of the older students on the train that the Welcoming, Halloween and Leaving feasts were all unbelievably lavish affairs - and Harry had to admit that they were most certainly correct. Just as the sole surviving Potter was about to allow his mind to drift off and focus on the wonderful meal he had just enjoyed, the loud, commanding yet kind voice of his new Headmaster cut through the chatter that had filled the hall for the past hour or so.
"Now that we have all been watered and fed, I would like to make a few announcements to you all before we all head off to bed." Here Dumbledore paused briefly as his eyes seemed to meet several individuals at each table, a grandfatherly smile on his lips as those who he looked at specifically let out nervous chuckles, failing to keep the aged wizards gaze for longer than a few moments as their faces often turned red with rather healthy blushes.
'Must be the trouble-makers.' Harry thought to himself, rather innocently failing to notice the glances shared between many boys and girls - hinting at slightly more adult sources of curfew-breaking than the young male Potter had concluded on.
Once the headmaster seemed satisfied that he had made his point clear, he continued with his speech.
"First of all, I would like to announce a change in our staff. Following severe lung damage from Mer-flu, Professor Anderson has decided that he is no-longer healthy enough to continue acting as your teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and has thus sadly decided to take a well-earned early retirement." Here a small amount of disappointed muttering filled the hall Harry idly noted: clearly he had been a fairly popular teacher amongst the student body if the news of his enforced retirement was eliciting such a reaction. Allowing the brief commotion to die down naturally, Dumbledore offered his students a sad but sympathetic smile at their reaction to the news.
"I am glad to see that Professor Anderson shall be equally as much by staff and students alike - and I shall pass on your sympathies for this unfortunate end to his career." Pausing momentarily, the Headmaster's face quickly changed from sombre to somewhat more cheerful as he gestured to a member of staff on his left who had stood up. The man in question was pale of skin and almost as tall as Dumbledore, standing at around 6'3. He wore black and purple robes that seemed far less ostentatious than those of his fellow teachers as they hugged closely to his slim but obviously powerful frame with minimal excess material. His presumably bald head was hidden beneath a well-worn purple turban. And although the man may have been smiling in an easy-going manner at the students, his sharp brown eyes told of a man who would expect nothing but the best from his students lest they incurred his wrath.
A man that Harry had met before.
"However, life must go on, and whilst Professor Anderson's departure from our school is most tragic, we are fortunate to welcome back one of our own! Please join me in offering our newest staff member a warm greeting, after a fruitful year on sabbatical to study monsters in the forests of continental Europe - Professor Quirinus Quirrell."
(Flashback, two days prior, The Leaky Cauldron)
Harry let out a deep sigh of relief as Hagrid fended off the last of the wizarding-worlds well-wishers that had swarmed upon the pair when they entered the Leaky Cauldron. Harry didn't think that his supposed miraculous survival on the 31st of October ten years ago was anything to venerate him specifically for - he had just been a baby! The attention and adulation made Harry uneasy.
'Let me at least earn your praise by doing something myself, for god's sake.' Harry thought to himself darkly. Having never been praised once by the Dursley's during his time living with them (nor anybody else save for Miss Figg for that matter), not only did Harry find himself somewhat uncomfortable with the spotlight that the Magical world seemed keen on throwing on him, he felt it rather odd that he received the praise for that dark day's outcome. After all, Harry was already convinced of the fact that his parents had been the ones to somehow stop the Dark Lord that Hagrid referenced: he was probably just insanely lucky to have survived whatever it was they had done in order to stop the madman. Shaking his head slightly, Harry turned his thoughts away from his ruminations and instead decided to devote his attention back to his guide and psuedo-guard: Hagrid.
Though Harry was immensely grateful to the bear of a man for his tenacity in keeping him safe, he did wish that he could be a little bit quieter and more subtle with his speech and movements - though that, Harry supposed, would likely be a very difficult task for the Keeper of Keys given his ridiculously abnormal size. Shooting the giant of a man a look of thanks for chasing off the last of the well-wishers who had kept them from moving through the dingy interior of the Leaky Cauldron for the past fifteen minutes, Harry had to brace himself slightly as a meaty paw slapped him on the back, almost knocking the last Potter off of his feet due to the power of the gesture. With a smile that was all but hidden by his mighty black beard and long, wild hair, the beady-eyed Hagrid took the opportunity to explain the pub's reaction.
"Don' cher worry 'bout 'em Harry. Most 'ter the folk 'ere are just 'appy 'ter see ya finally. Yer the symbol of the end of a dark period of Wizarding Britain's history - they don't mean no harm." The giant cheerfully explained to Harry, earning a small nod from the young man in question. Hagrid had explained briefly that, as a child, he had performed a miracle by surviving an un-survivable spell and Dark Wizard, but had not elaborated on it any further, saying he would explain it later when things had settled down a little bit - but that didn't mean that Harry wasn't curious as to exactly why he was so famous. Nodding at the giant man's explanation, Harry was about to ask where they were to go from here to this so-called 'Diagon Alley' when a voice called out to Hagrid.
"Be that as it may, Hagrid, perhaps it would be wise to keep young Mister Potter a little more... hidden during the rest of your venture. Whilst he may be an idol to most in our society, there are those who may give you a little bit more hassle over the course of your trip." Said voice belonged to a tall man who stood roughly 6'3 , wearing tight-fitting robes and a dark purple turban. His grey eyes were bright and sharp, causing Harry no small amount of discomfort - it was as if the man could see right through the last surviving Potter. Turning to fully face the newcomer, Harry took a calming breath before speaking to the imposing individual.
"Who may those individuals be, Mr ..." Harry left his sentence hanging, waiting for the man to introduce himself. The man allowed himself a brief smile, his lips beginning to part in order to answer Harry's question, but before he could manage to do so, Hagrid's booming voice cut him off.
"Oh I'm sorry, Professor Quirrell, I didn't realise yer were 'ere, otherwise I'd have bought youn' Harry over 'ter introduce the pair of yer." When Hagrid was done speaking, the now identified Professor Quirrell closed his eyes and seemed to let out a long suffering but seemingly amused sigh at the gamekeeper's interruption: clearly the man was used to Hagrid's slightly tactless nature.
"Yes, as Hagrid said, my name is Quirrell. Professor Quirinus Quirrell - your new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher," here the man briefly paused as he met Harry's blazing emerald orbs with his own cool grey eyes before continuing, "Though I'm sure that you'll probably be a natural at it if your moniker holds true." The professor commented with an almost mocking smirk on his lips, as if expecting Harry to proclaim he would have a natural affinity for his subject. Naturally, Harry was momentarily taken aback by the man's comment. Unlike the other witches and wizards that the last surviving Potter had thus far encountered, Quirrell didn't seem to regard Harry like some sort of saviour - he simply seemed to think of him as a young boy who had something miraculous and unfortunate happen to him.
Harry could already tell that he would quite like the man if he wasn't going to laud him for an act he probably wasn't even responsible for. Smiling brightly, Harry offered the Professor his hand to shake. The professor glanced at it briefly before meeting Harry's hand with his own gloved appendage, griping it firmly before shaking it several times.
"It's a pleasure to meet you Professor. I won't pretend to know the first thing about magic, but I hope that I improve enough by the end of the year that you won't want to turn me into a newt and I can keep on learning." Quirrell kept his gaze fixed on Harry for several seconds, his eyes boring into Harry's own as if he was attempting to read his mind. However, the man's smile soon returned in full force as he let out a hearty chuckle.
"You would be surprised at how many people would expect you to proclaim yourself the second coming of Merlin, Mr Potter. It's good to see you seem to understand the first rule any great witch or wizard adheres to when they first begin to study Magic..." Here he paused momentarily in order to take a sip from the drink he held in his left hand, savouring the taste of whatever beverage the tankard held before continuing.
"Improvement should always be your goal, and you should never be satisfied with where you are."
"I want to be the best I can, sir." Harry responded resolutely, a determined look on his face and his eyes hard with resolve. Harry had promised himself the moment that he had found out he was to train as a Wizard that he would strive to be the best he could possibly be: to attempt for anything less would be an insult to the memory of his parents. And he would not disgrace them or their sacrifice.
So long as he drew breath, their memory would stay honoured.
Quirrell's smile broadened at the display before he quickly finished the remainder of his drink. Rolling his neck from side to side to work out several kinks, the professor offered Harry and Hagrid a small smile.
"I'm glad to hear that Mr Potter, the Magical world needs people like you to drive it ever forward. I must admit, I am eager to see your performance in my class.." Here the professor paused, an apologetic look appearing in place of his smile before he continued, "..However, as much as I wish I could stand here and talk, I must be on my way gentlemen. I have a staff meeting to attend to, and it would be rather unbecoming of me as a returning member to be late." Both Harry and Hagrid nodded politely and wished the professor a safe journey back to Hogwarts. Accepting their parting comments with a nod and a smile, the Defence against the Dark Arts professor strode past the intrepid pair with powerful and confident strides, but not before offering one last comment.
"You have the potential to be great Mr Potter..."
"I look forward to seeing how far that potential can carry you."
Harry shook his head lightly as he was dragged out of his memory by a sharp, stinging pain erupting from the lighting-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. Clenching his teeth and briefly scrunching his eyes closed, Harry was able to prevent himself from slapping a hand to his head in a reflexive action to the pain, though he let out a near-inaudible hiss as the pain increased as his eyes shifted from looking at the now-sitting Quirrell to the man sat next to him. Aforementioned man was a rather ugly looking fellow with greasy black hair, pale skin and dark beady eyes that gave him a dark and somewhat foreboding aura. Taking a few quick, calming breaths, Harry's tried to distract himself from the pain lancing through his skull - though unfortunately the controlled breathing did little to nothing to abate the actual pain itself, it did somewhat enable Harry to focus on something other than resisting the urge to yell out in pain.
However, as soon as it began, the pain stopped, the white-hot pain quickly replaced with a dull throbbing before simply dying out completely. Shaking his head lightly, Harry narrowed his eyes at the greasy-haired professor in confusion, though he quickly averted his gaze when he noticed the man's eyes looking over at the Gryffindor table. As much as Harry would like to have glared at the hooked-nosed teacher, he decided rather quickly that perhaps picking a staring contest with one of the more intimidating members of staff would be a rather foolish endeavour - though that did not stop his mind from wildly attempting to hypothesis what the hell had just happened.
'What the hell was that about? Did he cast a spell or something at me? Why the hell did the pain only come from my scar? WHO is that guy?'
Deciding to get an answer to at least one of his questions, Harry asked the older-student sat to his left (who he vaguely recalled as being Ron's older brother Percy) who the professor sat to Quirrell's left was. The freckled boy's face darkened slightly at the question, though his obvious displeasure at discussing the topic didn't stop him from answering Harry's question.
"That's Professor Snape, potions' master and head of Slytherin house. Man's an absolute genius at his craft, being the youngest potions master in European history, but he's really not well liked by most of the student body. At best he's apathetic to anyone outside of Slytherin, at worst he's pretty vindictive - especially against us in Gryffindor. I'd advise you do your best to avoid his ire, Harry: I'm sure he'll have it out for you especially due to your fame." As Percy finished his explanation, Harry couldn't help but feel his eyes narrow in suspicion of the Potions Master: perhaps he had cast a spell at Harry in order to try and get him to lash out, or let him know he wouldn't play favourites with the 'famous'. It could have simply been a coincidence, but Harry was not one to believe in coincidences - very little in the world was left to chance.
Either way, Harry could already tell that he would not personally like the man - bias and favouritism were two things that Harry couldn't really stand in life, as he had often been a victim of both, and if Percy's succinct summary of the resident potion master was anything to go off of, then it was likely to be a rather stressful few years putting up with the man.
'Eh no use worrying about it now. If he's an ass, he's an ass - but I'll cross that bridge when it comes to it.'
Harry largely tuned out for the rest of the Headmaster's speech, idly making a note of the warning to stay out of the 'Forbidden forest', to not use magic in the hallways unless to help with a specific task (like retrieving items in hard to reach places) and also of the fact that the school's caretaker was apparently an absolute killjoy, having banned close to seven hundred different items from the school grounds. However, Harry soon found his attention fully snapped back to the headmaster's voice when Dumbledore finished his speech with a most ominous warning.
"Finally, I must warn all of you that the third floor corridor on the right hand side is strictly out of bounds for anybody who does not wish to die a most painful death."
'Wait what?' Harry thought to himself incredulously. Looking around, Harry could see several students smirking or tentatively smiling at their Headmaster's proclamation, whilst several nervously laughed at the Headmaster, obviously expecting him to be joking. However, Harry could tell just by looking at the man that this was no joke - the third floor corridor would result in death if one stepped where they were not supposed to be.
'Why the hell is something so dangerous in a school, though?' Harry thought to himself, his mind abuzz with outlandish theories and ideas drawn from his own hyperactive immagination and what he had managed to learn about the magical world from the text-books Hagrid had helped him buy during their shopping trip to Diagon Alley. Eventually Harry gave up on his speculation though - whatever was in that corridor would still be there come the morning, and he could speculate further when he felt slightly less exhausted from the days events. Slumping slightly in his seat, Harry began to tune out Professor Dumbledore, convinced that the evening couldn't get any stranger than it had with the warning that one of the school's hallways could result in a premature death.
But as the last surviving member of the illustrious Potter family was soon to find out...
"And now, I believe that is time we sung the school song. Everybody pick your favourite tune and sing along!"
Nothing about his life in the Wizarding world would ever be anything less than odd.
But that was the price one paid on the road to greatness.
A/N:
Chapter 2 should be up in the next few days. In future all A/N shall be kept to the start of a chapter and as brief as possible. Edits shall be logged at the end of the chapter should any major ones occur once a chapter has gone live.