Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed, especially to those who answered my question; I've decided to put the date, time, and location, though the time won't appear for longer scenes. Also, Tracey Davis is Muggle-raised, though not Muggle-born, and as for the strange time... maybe she's in another time zone? Or it's just a plot hole...
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or CHERUB. There's a reason why Neville's not blond. (Can anyone even imagine him as blond?)
Chapter 3: The Hogwarts Express
31 August 1991
CHERUB Headquarters
Something was up with Harry, and Suriyawong was determined to find out what.
It had started, he knew, when Jenna McAfferty had called his friend to her office, coming herself, for some reason. The day after, Harry had disappeared, and come back with a trunk - who even used trunks anymore? - full of mysterious objects that, apparently, fell under some secrecy laws' jurisdiction. And then, Harry had disappeared into his room for the next month, only emerging for meals and for class, and not even allowing Suriyawong in to do homework with him.
But several facts just didn't fit; that there was another spy agency that wanted Harry - another child spy agency? -, that Harry would be willing to leave CHERUB to join that agency - he'd already proved himself, through basic training, and his first mission -, and that it had something to do with Harry's family - what were the chances of that? And so, Suriyawong had deemed it necessary to do a little more research, something he rarely did, unless it had to do with his pranks, or his friends. Whatever had happened to, and was happening with, Harry, most definitely fell into the latter category. And, technically, he hadn't explicitly promised Harry that he would stay out of it, and not investigate on his own. Maybe whatever Harry was tangled up in had to do with secrecy laws, but it wasn't as though Suriyawong couldn't keep a secret. And if he could figure out what that secret was, he thought he deserved to know it.
So, he'd convinced Eliza and Reynold, the only two others on campus who could have been counted as Harry's friends, to throw the other boy a surprise birthday party, something that would ensure that Harry would leave his room. Of course, Suriyawong couldn't well sneak into the room, himself, during the party, but he'd learned realized from a young age that, despite the capabilities of every CHERUB agent, no one quite expected the kids from the junior campus, who weren't old enough for basic training, to be involved in elaborate plots. The more complex they were, the more the older, qualified agents were suspected. As he'd grown older, he'd created his own network of sorts - though it was mostly used for pranks.
"Everything set, Dee?" Dee Robins, an eight-year-old who was especially discreet and talented at sneaking around, rolled her eyes.
"Stop being such a mother hen," she grumbled. "I've got this. You know I do."
And she did, he knew she did. And she was right, he was being a mother hen. Still, he couldn't stop worrying. Because he knew that, if Harry found out, his friend would see it as a betrayal. And Suriyawong couldn't lose him, even if Harry was going away. Despite the popularity he'd gained throughout CHERUB, over the years, Harry was his best friend. Harry had saved him after his brother-
Suriyawong cut that thought off, abruptly. It had been something much less traumatic than what Harry had been going through at the time, and yet, Harry had comforted him. Harry had pulled him through it.
Which was why he had to find out what was the matter with Harry. With one last nod to Thea, he exited the hallway, up the stairs to Reynold's room.
"Suriyawong!" Eliza hissed, opening the door and hustling him inside. "Suriyawong, where on Earth have you been? Reynold's already left!"
"Sorry," he apologized quickly. "I got caught up talking to one of the younger kids. Wanted to know more about basic training."
Her glare softened slightly - the kids on junior campus were perpetually asking about basic training, something every qualified agent had had to deal with. Before she could speak, though, someone else hissed, "Down the hall!" and everyone ducked into their hiding spots. 'Everyone' had, in fact, turned out to be quite a lot of people, despite Harry's general isolation on campus. Suriyawong suspected - not to be arrogant - that a good majority were here because of him, because word of Harry's departure had spread, on campus, and many were looking to replace Harry as Suriyawong's best friend.
As though any of them could. Harry had been Suriyawong's friend, however grudgingly, long before Suriyawong had become the king of pranksters and, consequentially, the most popular boy on campus. Outside of Eliza and Reynold and a few of the older kids, they hadn't even been at CHERUB during those ages.
Harry's voice spoke from outside the door, just as a key unlocked it, and the doorknob turned. "Reynold, I-"
"SURPRISE!" Suriyawong shouted, along with the rest of the room, as the lights flickered on, illuminating the decorations. He observed, amusingly, that Harry had automatically taken a defensive stance at the surprise, though he was fairly certain that was what any CHERUB agent worth their salt would have done.
"Happy birthday, Harry, mate!" he told Harry, approaching the other boy, whose posture had relaxed.
"Suriyawong. I should have known. But you didn't have to," Harry added quickly.
Suriyawong only shrugged. "It's your birthday, mate, of course we had to." Harry's gaze told him that he wasn't convinced. "And… I guess, it's also a kind of going-away party. Since you're leaving tomorrow."
"Suriyawong…" Harry said apologetically.
"Nope! We're not going to think about that, not now! This is a party!" Right on cue, one of the surprises he'd left went off, and, as the unfortunate victim was drenched in water, the atmosphere relaxed. Because it was a party, despite Suriyawong's ulterior motives.
But, as Dee sneaked into his room, a digital camera in hand and a wide-eyed expression on her face; as Suriyawong reviewed the images that seemed, somehow, to imply that magic was real, he started wondering if he really should have gotten into this mess in the first place. And one statement of Dee Robins, formerly Demelza Rookwood, would bewilder Suriyawong, all throughout the night, and the rest of the month. For she had told him, "There were two locks on his trunk. One I opened with the lock gun, but that didn't work with the other. And… I think I opened the other with magic."
-oOo-
1 September 1991
King's Cross
0945 Hours
Harry made his way to platform nine-and-three-quarters with little difficulty; outside of McGonagall informing him of how to access the platform, he'd read about the history of the Hogwarts Express, including the platform, in Hogwarts, A History, a fascinating book.
He'd arrived at the platform relatively early, too, with only a few scattered families present, so he found an empty compartment at the end of the train, closed the door, and pulled out one of his books to reread.
At half past ten, the door to his compartment slid open. A girl with bushy brown hair, who was already wearing her Hogwarts robes, stood in the frame, hesitating before straightening her back proudly.
"Hi. Can I join you?"
"But of course," Harry answered politely. "I'm Harry Potter. And you are?"
"Are you really?" she asked, eyes widening. "I know all about you, of course - I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century." If this girl knew about him only through these books, Harry thought, it was likely that she was Muggle-born and, like him, had decided to read to better understand the wizarding world.
A Ravenclaw, most likely.
"I'm also in a number of fiction books, but I wouldn't trust the information in those," Harry commented. She couldn't 'know all about him' just from reading a few books. "But you are?"
"Hermione Granger. What are you reading?"
He showed her the cover: Wizarding Traditions and Culture. It seemed that Draco Malfoy had been right that there was a great difference in culture between wizards and Muggles, but that was to be expected given that the International Statute of Secrecy had been imposed in 1689.
"Oh, I haven't read that one." Hermione sounded disappointed at that fact - definitely a Ravenclaw. "What's it about?"
"Wizarding traditions and culture," Harry told her drily.
"Oh, haha. But really."
Harry shrugged. "An explanation of various traditions of the wizarding world, including the House systems-"
"Hogwarts Houses?"
"No," he replied, slightly annoyed at the interruption, but careful not to show it. "Familial Houses. They're like Muggle Noble Houses."
"Wizards have those?" Harry nodded. "Huh. Can I borrow that book from you sometime?"
"But of course."
Hermione smiled. After a few moments, she, too, pulled out a book - Hogwarts, A History.
Just as Harry reached a section on the Wizengamot of the Ministry of Magic, the quiet croak of a toad drew his attention to the ground. Likely a lost pet, so he quickly scooped it up and placed it in a - porous - compartment of his bag.
Ten minutes later, a whistle sounded, and, a minute later, the train began to move. Harry could see Hermione's grin from over her book, even as she tried to hide it. But he, too, was excited - they were going to Hogwarts, to learn magic.
The compartment door slid open again, and a round-faced boy with brown hair, who looked on the edge of tears stood nervously in the corridor. "Erm, sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?"
"Y-" Harry began.
"Have you lost one?" Hermione interrupted. Harry thought the answer to that was rather obvious.
"Yes, I've lost him! Trevor keeps getting away from me!" the boy wailed.
Hermione stood quickly. "I haven't seen, Trevor, is it? But I can help you look for him!" She hesitated a moment, allowing Harry, finally, to speak. He pulled the toad out of his bag.
"Is this Trevor?"
"Yes!" the boy exclaimed, quickly grabbing the toad. "Thank you! My Gran would kill me if I lost him."
"You just happened to find him, Harry?" Hermione asked skeptically. "How come I didn't notice?"
"Harry?" the boy repeated.
Harry nodded. "Harry Potter, and this is Hermione Granger. And you are?" The boy's eyes widened at his name, and it took him a moment to regain his composure enough to respond.
"Neville. Neville Longbottom." One of the Noble and Most Ancient Houses, as well as part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He could be an important ally to have.
"Would you like to join us?" Harry invited. "If that's fine with you, Hermione, of course."
"Sure - but when did you find Trevor?"
"Twelve minutes ago," Harry replied, glancing at his watch. She looked incredulously at him again, opening her mouth before closing it, after a moment's thought, while Neville awkwardly joined them, sitting besides Harry. The boy glanced around uncomfortably, clutching his toad, as Hermione returned to her book.
Harry really didn't care for conversation at the moment, but… "How long have you had Trevor?"
Neville seemed relieved at his question. "Great Uncle Algie gave him to me, just after I got my Hogwarts letter. They were all worried - they thought I might not be magic enough to come, see."
"What of accidental magic?"
"Oh, I did some of that, but not for ages - not until I was eight. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me. He pushed me off the edge of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned-"
"He did what?" Hermione interrupted. "He nearly killed you?!"
"He-" Neville protested faintly.
"Isn't that child abuse? Did anyone do anything about it?" she demanded. "Doesn't the wizarding world have laws against that?"
"Wizarding laws, in that regard, are very similar to Muggle ones," Harry answered. And there were grey areas to the law - case in point, CHERUB, an organization that skirted at the edges of the law, sometimes even crossing the line, to catch worse transgressors.
"Well, then why didn't he get in trouble?"
"They are very similar to Muggle laws, in that charges are only pressed if the perpetrator is caught."
"So your family didn't-" Hermione began, then cut off with a huff.
"Forgive me," Harry said to Neville, "but you are of a Noble and Most Ancient House, are you not?" Neville nodded. "Then that would have been another part of the issue."
"What do you mean?" Hermione demanded, looking angrily at them both again. "Why would Noble and Most Ancient Houses matter?"
"The Noble and Most Ancient Houses, as well as the Noble Houses, play an important role in the wizarding government-"
"So they can just buy their way out of prison?" Hermione interrupted, indignant. Neville made a small noise, but didn't speak. "Purebloods," she muttered.
"Is the Muggle world much different?" Harry challenged. Not only could wealthy people 'buy' their way out, but a lack of explicit evidence meant that, sometimes, the guilty could go free; CHERUB agents were part of the effort to counter that.
"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed. Harry looked at her, wondering if she really was that naïve, and she flushed. "In theory…"
"There's a forty percent chance, in the Muggle world, that a murderer gets away. Fewer than half of violent crimes, and less than a fifth of property crimes, even reach prosecution, which might not even lead to conviction. Only 9% of crimes, in general, end with suspects charged. Need I go on?"
Hermione frowned at him. "How do you know all those statistics?" she asked suspiciously, and Harry internally cursed. Of course a normal eleven-year-old wouldn't…
"My guardians were involved in Muggle law enforcement," he told her. Technically true… only leaving out that he, too, had been involved in that.
She, and Neville, looked confused at that, for whatever reason, but Hermione's next statement continued her argument. "That doesn't mean we shouldn't work on solving the problem!"
"Of course not," Harry agreed. That was why, after all, he wanted to establish an intelligence system in the wizarding world, at the very least. And Hermione's passion for justice was a good sign for that, not to mention she was fairly intelligent, though not very discreet in her views… perhaps he could begin recruiting, already. Though, he would need to evaluate the current state of the wizarding justice system, which wasn't exactly something he could learn of from books.
"So you think… Great Uncle Algie should have been sent to A-Azkaban?" Neville asked quietly, stuttering at the last word. Hermione frowned at him, confused, but Harry started.
"Is that the only magical prison in Britain?"
"What's Azkaban?" Hermione questioned, looking annoyed to be out of the loop.
"The wizarding prison," answered Neville.
"It's guarded by dementors," Harry added. He'd done some special research, into the place… "Dark creatures that feed on souls and drain peace, hope, and happiness from their surroundings."
"What?" Hermione looked horrified at his description. "And they guard a prison? What about human rights?"
Harry shrugged. Personally, having read of some of the crimes of some criminals, he thought they deserved it - evil needed to be punished. Though, for minor offenses… And for justifiable crimes… "Are there no other magical prisons in Britain?" he repeated, looking to Neville.
"Er, I don't think so?" the other boy said. "I mean, there's Ministry holding cells, I think, but otherwise…"
Improvements to law enforcement would, obviously, hold priority over prison reform, and it had never been Harry's job to care what happened to criminals after he, and other CHERUB agents, caught them, so he set aside the issue. "Enough about that. What House do you think you'll be in?" It was an obvious topic change, but that was, hopefully, understandable, given what they'd been talking about.
Neville, who looked relieved at the change in topic, answered. "My mum and dad were in Gryffindor… but I'll probably be a Hufflepuff." He said the last part glumly.
"There's nothing wrong with Hufflepuff," Harry noted. The House was generally looked down upon, and he didn't think he had the necessary Hufflepuff traits, but he also was unlike Draco Malfoy, who'd sneered at even the thought of a Hufflepuff sorting. Like he'd said at Madam Malkin's, all the Houses had their strengths.
"Of course not," Neville agreed quickly. "But Gran's always going on about me not living up to my parents' legacy, and…" He trailed off.
"You should be in whatever House they decide you're most suited for," Hermione told him gently. Harry stayed quiet - he'd never been good at being sincere while comforting others, even if he felt sincere. His experiences with Suriyawong had taught him that much. "I hope I'm in Gryffindor," Hermione added, "it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it. I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, either… What about you, Harry?"
He heard the door slide quietly open behind them, and caught sight of Draco Malfoy and two presumably first-year boys who looked like bodyguards, in the reflection of the window, and answered for them all.
"I'd say that Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin are all possibilities." He had a thirst for knowledge, was ambitious, and it could be said, based on his CHERUB experience, that he was brave.
"Slytherin is obviously the best," Draco drawled, startling both Hermione and Neville, "but I suppose Ravenclaw would also be acceptable." It sounded like a great concession, coming from him.
"Who are you?" Hermione asked, looking annoyed that she hadn't noticed him.
"Draco Malfoy," he answered, "and these are Crabbe and Goyle."
"Do you have first names?" Harry commented mildly, to the two boys, who stared at him blankly, then looked to Draco. The smaller of the two, Crabbe, answered first.
"Vincent."
"Gregory," the taller said, after another moment's pause.
"Pleasure to meet you," Harry told them both. "I'm Harry Potter, but you likely already knew that; this is Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom."
"Granger," Draco repeated, then sneered. "That's not a wizarding name."
"I'm Muggle-born," Hermione said sharply. "That's not a problem, is it?"
He looked disdainfully at her again, then turned to Harry. "Careful now, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort."
"Why you-!" Hermione began, though there was a slight tremble in her voice. Neville, too, was glaring at Draco, his expression darting between righteous anger and fear.
"I won't alienate three-quarters of the population without further consideration," Harry told Draco, his voice deliberately light. "And I haven't formed all my opinions on the wizarding world." That would imply that his views could still be shaped by outside influences such as Draco himself, though Harry doubted he'd be easily manipulated by anyone. "However, I would hate to lose a chance at alliance with anyone this early on. After all, we all have our strengths," he added, echoing his earlier statement. That applied both to Hermione and Neville, and Draco and his friends. "I would caution you against the same."
The pale boy opened his mouth to retort angrily, then closed it, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. There was a long silence. Hermione glared distrustfully at Draco, Vincent, and Gregory, while Neville looked at Harry as though seeing him under a new light, and Vincent and Gregory looked, confused, at their leader. Finally, Draco spoke.
"So long as you associate with Muggle-borns and near blood traitors, Potter, I cannot be seen as your friend."
"I understand, Malfoy," Harry replied, careful to use the boy's surname like he had for Harry. Perfect. He smiled slightly as the blond boy and his two bodyguards left the compartment.
"What a horrible little bigot," Hermione sniffed angrily once the door had slammed shut. "I don't get why you're smiling, Harry," she added, looking to Harry.
Neville nodded, looking worriedly out the window. "The Malfoys are blood supremacists, but they're also powerful, and Malfoy just dismissed your friendship offer. That's not something to be happy about."
"I'm looking forward to our future interactions," Harry told her and Neville cryptically, the smile still present. Because that hadn't been an outright refusal, which proved that Draco was willing to be friends, or at least allies. And that was perfect.
Besides, he'd read that Lucius Malfoy, presumably Draco's father, was a follower of Voldemort who'd escaped Azkaban through bribes and connections. If his CHERUB training had taught him anything, it was that a friendship with Draco would be perfect for taking down this criminal.
-oOo-
1 September 1991
Hogsmeade Station/Hogwarts
2035 Hours
"Hey! Are you Harry Potter?" a voice whispered to him, as the first years followed Hagrid through the dark path that had Harry fingering his concealed gun, instincts on edge. He'd been separated from Neville and Hermione in the crowd, and had stationed himself at the fringes of the group.
"Yes," Harry told the boy politely. He could tell, by the dim light, that the boy had red hair and freckles, and seemed to be holding some sort of rodent in his hands. Harry didn't recognize him. "And you are?"
"Ron. Ron Weasley. Have you really got- you know…" Ron gestured vaguely towards Harry, who assumed he meant the famous lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"Yes," Harry said again, brushing his bangs aside in what was becoming an incredibly - and slightly annoyingly - familiar movement. Ron gaped, though Harry was fairly certain the scar was less than visible in the darkness.
"So that's where You-Know-Who-?"
"Presumably," Harry answered. "I don't remember it, though."
"Nothing?"
He shook his head, even as a flash of green light filled his mind. But those could have been dreams.
"Wow," Ron said, still staring at the scar. Harry estimated that he would trip for not paying attention to his surroundings, right about… now…
"Ah!" Ron exclaimed, as he tripped over a branch along the path, his arms flailing outwards - and latching onto Harry, who'd stretched his arms out to steady the boy. "Thanks, Harry," Ron said, a hint of wonder in his tone.
"Excuse me, but are you Harry Potter?" another voice interjected, and Harry sighed internally, even as he turned to face the speaker, a stout blond boy whose eyes shone excitedly. Besides him, a tall, skinny blond with an upturned nose looked peeved that his conversation had been interrupted by his friend's interest in Harry.
"Yes, and you are?" Harry greeted politely.
"Ernest Macmillan, but you can call me Ernie," the boy said quickly. "I can't- The Boy Who Lived- And you're in our year! I could hardly believe it myself, when I did the math, years ago." Harry nodded politely along. Years ago - a month ago, even - he hadn't known that magic existed, much less anything about his future classmates.
"And you are?" Harry asked the boy Ernie had been talking to.
"Zacharias Smith," the boy said proudly. "Descendent of Helga Hufflepuff." Interesting. None of the books had mentioned anything of the descendants of the four Hogwarts founders, and Harry wondered if Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw descendants, too, existed. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted.
"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called to the group, "jus' round this bend here."
They rounded the bend, and saw the castle, perched atop a high mountain across a great black lake, its windows sparkling brightly and its towers seeming to reach into the starry sky. Harry heard many appreciative sounds around, and he, too, was rather impressed. Hogwarts was, in a word, beautiful.
"No more'n four to a boat!" called Hagrid, as they approached the small boats that sat in the water by their side of the shore. Harry found a boat, and was quickly joined by Ron, then Hermione and Neville, though Ernie looked disappointed that there was no space remaining with their boat.
"Everyone in?" Hagrid shouted, from his own boat. "Right then - FORWARD!"
The little fleet of boats moved all at once, gliding smoothly across the lake - part of the enchantment that was nearly as old as the Hogwarts Express system, or so Harry had read. Everyone was silent, some in awe, some in nervousness, as they approached the school, and Harry took the moment to examine the other first years; outside of those he'd met already, it was a pair of Indian-looking twins - because twins were incredibly useful in missions -, a honey-blonde who was also examining the occupants of the boats, a trio of intelligent-looking boys who examined their surroundings with an analytical air, and a weedy-looking brown-haired boy who was fiddling with something between his hands, who stood out. Harry would have to look more into them, as potential recruits and allies.
"Heads down!" Hagrid yelled, as they approached the cliff face, and they traveled through a curtain of ivy through a passageway in the stone, finally reaching an underground harbor, that they all clambered out onto. They then followed Hagrid's lamp to a set of huge oak doors.
Harry wondered absentmindedly if maps of Hogwarts would be passed around, or even if such maps existed - Hogwarts, A History hadn't mentioned or included any, though it had talked about Ravenclaw's moving staircases. Surely, though, magic could monitor the current state of the castle, and parchment could be enchanted to show the layout? Perhaps even to show the locations of all of Hogwarts's inhabitants? That could be incredibly useful… though also potentially a privacy concern. Wizarding laws didn't have much in terms of privacy legislation, either - a law enforcement agent's dream.
"Everyone here?" Hagrid confirmed, then raised his fist and knocked thrice on the doors. They swung open at once, revealing Minerva McGonagall, who peered at them all, a stern expression on her face. "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here," McGonagall returned, her voice still slightly frosty towards the man who Harry was fairly certain was a half-giant - somehow, giants were even larger than Hagrid's approximately three-meter stature.
They followed her into the castle, into the enormous entry hall whose ceiling was so tall it could have fit a true giant and whose stone walls were lit by flaming torches - and against which students would be very visible. The ability to perform the Disillusionment Charm, Harry decided, would be incredibly useful for sneaking around the school, because among the grey stone walls and the marble staircase, a black-robed student would be seen from across the hallway, but that was fairly advanced magic. Or an invisibility cloak, but those were rare.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," McGonagall began, as they reached a small chamber off the hall where Harry could hear the rest of the student body was. "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." She went on, explaining what Harry had already read in Hogwarts, A History, and so instead, Harry mentally categorized the students, between the wide-eyed Muggle-raised and the haughty purebloods; the studious Ravenclaws-likes and the brash to-be-Gryffindors. Plus some other students, who weren't so easily characterized.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," McGonagall finished. "Please wait quietly." She left the chamber and disappeared behind the door to the Great Hall. The first years subsided into whispered, anxious conversation once again; Harry heard Hermione rapidly reviewing all the spells she'd learned and wondering which ones they'd need, for the Sorting Ceremony, presumably. Though Harry doubted they'd have to perform magic to be sorted - how could that possibly determine the character traits of each House? Perhaps it could separate the Ravenclaws, as all the students who'd studied the spell beforehand, but what about the others? And what about the advantage the wizard-raised students might have-
What was that? Quiet screams echoed throughout the hall, and Harry watched with wide eyes as a group of pearly-white and slightly transparent figures seemed to emerge from the back wall of the chamber. They must have been the Hogwarts ghosts. The group seemed not to notice the first years as they conversed, seeming to be carrying on an argument, though Harry got the feeling that part was for show - how could they have not noticed the group of small, frightened first years? Most likely, they were on their way to the Great Hall for the feast, though they were slightly late, in comparison to the rest of the school. He supposed the true 'entertainment' of the banquet wouldn't begin until the first years entered the hall, to be sorted, so it was fine for the ghosts to emerge through the walls after the others.
Though, that ability, to walk through solid objects, could be useful for intelligence, and Harry made a note to see if he could recruit a Hogwarts ghost as one of his agents. Could ghosts become invisible, too? What were the rules on ghost-hood - could ghosts, for instance, go places they hadn't gone before, in life?
"Forgive and forget, I say," one of the ghosts, a fat little monk, was saying. "We ought to give him a second chance-"
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?" Ah, so they were speaking of the resident poltergeist, a spirit his books had mentioned - and warned against. Though, the books had also said that there was no known way of removing the poltergeist from the castle, so what could the ghosts have been speaking of, there? "He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not even really a ghost - I say, what are you all doing here?" The ghosts had finally seemed to notice the first years, and Harry found that 'realization' unlikely.
"New students!" said the ghost who'd been called 'Friar'. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"
No one answered again, though a few students nodded slowly, and Harry sighed internally, deciding that they needed a spokesperson. Well, it would be useful to begin building his reputation already.
"Yes," he answered, drawing all the attention towards himself. "And it's a pleasure to meet you all, the famous ghosts of Hogwarts." Many of the ghosts smiled at his compliment.
"Why, thank you!" the Friar ghost exclaimed merrily. "Who might you be, young man?" he asked, curiously.
"Harry Potter," Harry replied. The first years around him, who hadn't already known his identity, gasped and began murmuring excitedly. Some of the ghosts, for that matter, did the same.
"Well… I wish you good luck, Mr. Potter," the Friar, who seemed to have been appointed the spokesperson of the ghosts, said. "I wish you all good luck," he added, speaking to all the first years, before shaking his head slightly, as though to clear his thoughts. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old House, you know." His last statement seemed rushed; and indeed, McGonagall had emerged again from the double doors of the Great Hall.
"Move along now," she said sharply, startling some of the first years. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." One by one, the ghosts disappeared again past the front wall.
"Now, form a line," McGonagall instructed, "and follow me."
Harry moved to the back of the line out of habit, and followed a nervous girl with blonde pigtails and her redhaired friend, both of whom kept glancing back at him, then whispering to themselves. He heard the phrases 'Boy Who Lived' and 'You-Know-Who' mentioned.
He began to smile as they passed through the grand doors and into the giant hall, a room lit by thousands of floating candles, and dominated by four long tables that ran across, as well as a table at the end of the hall where the teachers sat. The ceiling of the hall, bewitched to look like the sky outside, was mesmerizing, and Harry recognized many constellations from his CHERUB survival training. Astronomy was a Hogwarts class - could that be taught by observing the Great Hall's ceiling? Somehow, that seemed unlikely. Harry smiled again, overhearing Hermione, too, mention the ceiling's enchantment.
Feeling slightly uncomfortable at all the attention - all the possible threats, all of whom knew more magic than Harry himself - he watched as McGonagall silently placed a stool before the first years, atop which sat a patched, dirty, wizard's hat. Harry watched it bemusedly, noting the rest of the hall's gaze upon the hat, as well. For a few seconds, there was silence; then, the hat twitched, seemed to rip, and began to sing:
"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 Hufflepuffs 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!"
The hall burst into applause upon the hat's conclusion, and, with a barely noticeable pause, Harry joined in, his mind analyzing every word the hat had sung. The hat could see inside their minds? As in, it could read minds? That made sense, in a twisted way - how else could they be sorted based on personality traits? - but another part of him was concerned. Deeply concerned. Because he had secrets, ones that were slightly more significant than the average eleven-year-old's. And there were things he'd been through that he didn't want anyone to know about. That he couldn't have anyone knowing about.
The wizarding punishment for murder, even for minors, even in self-defense, was ten years, and Neville had confirmed that those would be in Azkaban. His CHERUB placement had exempted him from Muggle punishment, especially since it was CHERUB itself that had put him in that position, but…
He couldn't go to prison. He wouldn't.
Even as Harry stood amongst the first years, truly afraid for the first time since he'd boarded the Hogwarts Express, the Sorting Ceremony was beginning. McGonagall was explaining the process, then calling the first student - Hannah Abbott, the blonde pigtailed girl in front of him - to the stool.
He couldn't let the Sorting Hat know… but he couldn't very well refuse to try on the hat! He began brainstorming contingency plans, if - when - the hat learned his secret. He would have to escape... no one knew of the gun, still concealed in his robes... he'd have to take a hostage, someone from a powerful family - Draco, Ron, Neville? - who wouldn't struggle... Neville, it had to be Neville... and then, and then...
Somehow, in what seemed like seconds, McGonagall was calling, "Potter, Harry!" and the hall was bursting into excited whispers. Harry felt as though he was walking to his doom, as he moved through the crowd of first years that parted for him, and sat on the stool. The hat dropped onto his head, obscuring his vision, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care.
He waited for the ax to fall.
"Well, well. What have we here?" a small voice said in his ear - or in his mind, he wasn't sure which. "You've had quite an interesting life, haven't you, Mr. Potter?"