The Gift of Knowledge

by Sunlight3146

For as long as Harry Potter could remember, he knew. Information would appear in his mind at various prompts, and he would know things he definitely hadn't learned, things he couldn't possibly know. But the information wouldn't appear unless he was prompted, somehow, of it, which was why it came as a surprise to him when his Hogwarts letter arrived.

3. Hints at the Truth

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter series and its universe. No profit is made here and no offense intended.

Chapter 3: Hints at the Truth

What do you mean? Harry asked silently. He knew the Sorting Hat used a type of Legilimency to read the student's thoughts, to sort them. If the Sorting Hat couldn't hear Harry's thoughts, what could that mean? Wait, can you hear me right now?

"Yes, I can," the hat replied, its voice still worried. "But it's so bizarre. Your thoughts disappear, the moment you finish thinking them, and I can't grasp onto any of your memories. It's like there's nothing in your mind! I've only ever seen that-" It abruptly cut off.

You've only ever seen that where? Harry asked, eager. Could the Sorting Hat help him find out why he had his strange ability? He'd never considered it before, but maybe a Legilimens looking into his mind could reveal the source of the information.

"Information?"

Yes. For as long as I can remember, I've always known things I couldn't possibly know. Information would just appear, in my mind. Do you know-

"How that's possible? I've never heard of anything like that."

Oh.

"But I can't access your mind, and I need to, to sort you." The hat paused for a moment, as if waiting. "What, no requests?"

Requests?

"Isn't there some House you really want to be in?"

I don't know.

"Hmm."

I really don't. I don't know what House I'd be in. What are we going to do? Harry felt panic begin to rise in him.

"Calm down, child," the Sorting Hat commanded. "Merlin. Kids these days." Harry tried to refrain from thinking of his retort, but from the responding chuckle, he figured the hat had heard it anyway.

Okay, so what are we going to do, then?

"You have access to your memories, correct?"

Yes, Harry replied. Duh - sorry.

The hat chuckled again. "Don't worry about it. We'll build a connection between your mind and your memories, wherever they're stored."

Do you know where they're stored, if not in my mind?

There was a noncommittal humming noise. "Unimportant, for now. And we don't want to leave everyone hanging for too long, do we?" Harry accepted the answer - grudgingly.

What do I do?

The Sorting Hat's next question threw Harry. "Have you ever meditated?"

…No. Unless you counted that one time… but Harry was determined to ignore that one time. As far as he was concerned, it had never happened. The hat chuckled, and Harry was tempted to … well, he actually wasn't sure. What could one do to a hat?

"You'll want to clear your mind. Focus on your breathing, in and out."

Harry supposed that made sense; the basis of all the Mind Arts was knowing your mind, clearing your mind, most commonly done through meditation. But why-

"Child."

Right. They didn't have much time. So he began: In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out… Harry wondered what House would fit him best. Ravenclaw? He certainly knew a lot, and he did love to read. Hufflepuff? Probably not; he didn't think he was especially kind, loyal, or hardworking. Gryffindor? He-

"Child."

Right. Sorry. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out… He was certain the Sorting Hat knew more than it was telling him. But how was that possible? No, that was a silly question; the hat was thousands of years old, and had been on, probably, millions of heads. It certainly could have picked up the knowledge at some point, even if all of minds it read were those of eleven-year-olds. But what could it mean? Was it possible that the hat had-

This time, Harry caught himself, before the Sorting Hat spoke. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. He found himself counting the number of times he'd thought that, and forced himself to stop. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out… How long had it been, since he'd put the hat on? It didn't feel like a long time, but he wondered what the students-

In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out.

In and out. In and out.

In and out.

…

"Good job, child," he heard a small voice say victoriously. "Now, there should be two places you'll find. One is your conscious mind, where your body is. The other is where your memories are stored, our destination."

It was a strange feeling, almost as if Harry was adrift from his mind, observing from above. And indeed, there were two locations, two paths that seemed to be made of a brilliant golden thread. One led directly below Harry; that must have been his conscious mind. A mere thought had him flying along the other.

Distance and time were strange, in this ethereal landscape. Each second seemed to last for forever, but at the same time, it felt like hardly a moment after he'd entered the state, when he'd arrived. Wherever his destination was.

Harry looked up, at his surroundings. He was surprised to see that it was a library; specifically, the library in Surrey, where he'd escaped to whenever he could get away, whenever he'd finished his impossibly long list of chores.

"Why is there a library?" he asked aloud. "Where is this place?"

The Sorting Hat's answer seemed to come from very far away, along the path Harry had taken to travel to the library. "This is your mind, child. I wouldn't know why it's a library. Perhaps this is somewhere you feel safe, where you feel at home?"

Harry nodded, then paused, wondering if the Sorting Hat could see him. There was no response, so he guessed not. He was somewhere the hat couldn't reach, now. And the library… yes, that made sense. It was the only safe place he'd known, for much of his life. It had been his escape - the library itself, from the Dursleys, and fiction, from the weight of all the strange knowledge he had, and from the sense that he would never be able to learn anything himself.

Spontaneously, he stepped towards a shelf and lifted a book, one in the A's of the classics section. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, given a full library, he'd picked up Pride and Prejudice.

He opened the book, and suddenly, he was drawn in.

"Who's my gorgeous little boy? Who's my handsome little king?" a woman's voice said. Baby Harry cooed, opening his eyes a little. Almond-shaped, emerald green eyes and a heart-shaped face, surrounded by thick, dark red hair greeted him.

His mother. Harry had no idea that he still remembered her. He willed himself to open his eyes more, to absorb every detail of her face, but the image remained blurry, its colors merging together at the edges.

"Come on, Harry," his mother continued. "Daddy's downstairs, with your Uncle Padfoot. They're waiting for us!" Harry perked up. Would he get to see his father, too?

"Child," he heard a voice call, from a distance, not from the memory. Later, he thought. He wanted to see his father, even if it was through blurry, childish eyes. "Child," the voice repeated, more insistent this time. "Child… Harry, you need to construct a passageway so I can come through." He ignored the voice, with great effort. "Harry! Do you want to get Sorted or not?"

Abruptly, he was snapped out of the memory. Right! The Sorting! How could he have forgotten about it? He wondered how long it had been since he'd put on the hat. Minutes? Hours? He tried not to imagine what everyone else might be thinking, how they might be reacting. The entire school was watching him, waiting for the hat to shout its final answer.

"Harry-" the Sorting Hat said again.

"What do I need to do?" Harry asked, interrupting it.

"Finally," the hat grumbled. "You need to create some sort of passageway that will allow me to enter this mindscape."

"How?"

"It's your mind. You can control what happens to it, who can enter it. I'd advise choosing some object to fix the passageway on. For example, a door, that you can turn into some sort of portal. Then, simply focus on connecting it to your conscious mind. You saw golden paths; use those. And remember: magic is all about wanting things to happen."

"Okay." There were no doors, though, in his library, only empty patches of walls where the doors should have been. Harry examined the rest of the library. The bookshelves and the books, which seemed to contain his memories, wouldn't do; books could take you places, but not literally. He didn't like the idea of making it one of the armchairs or beanbag chairs, either - what if he sat on one accidentally? But what else did that leave? The windows? The desks? The fireplace-

The fireplace. It was perfect; after all, wizards used fireplaces to travel all the time, through the Floo Network. And there was no chance of accidentally using it, unless he fell into the fireplace on accident.

Now, how would he create the passageway? Harry closed his eyes, imagining the golden paths in his mind, and their destinations. He imagined drawing a new path, directly from his mind to the library, that anyone could- no, not just anyone. Only those who'd gotten his permission, could travel through, appearing in a burst of green flame, in the fireplace. And then… he willed it to connect.

"Congratulations, child," a dry voice said. Emerald eyes opened… to see a familiar old hat, that now stood in the center of the fireplace.

"I did it," Harry whispered reverently. He'd done it, even without the help of his ability!

"Yes, yes," the Sorting Hat agreed, floating, now, towards the shelves. Automatically, Harry moved towards it, to block it - those were his memories, not for anyone else to watch - but he reminded himself why the hat was there. It needed to sort him, and it needed to know him to do so.

"Hmm…" the hat contemplated, as its brim paged over the covers of the books. "Interesting, very interesting. And difficult." Harry's stomach dropped at that, but he told himself that that made sense; he, himself, had no idea which House he belonged in. "Let's go through the Houses, then, shall we?"

"…Okay."

"Ravenclaw… No, definitely not."

"Not?" Harry asked. He would have thought… "But-"

"Not," the Sorting Hat repeated. "You're very clever, child, there's no doubt about that, but Ravenclaws… You do not seek knowledge. It comes to you, and you use it well, but you've no thirst to learn more. What is saying? You cannot truly appreciate what you take for granted, and you, through no fault of your own, take knowledge for granted."

Harry frowned, but it made sense… Sort of.

"Hufflepuff, mm… No. You're kind, but you dislike people, in general, and place no value in hard work. If there's a shortcut to be found, you'll take it." Harry nodded.

"Which leaves Gryffindor, and Slytherin. You've got plenty of courage, yes, and a nice thirst to prove yourself… to prove that you're worth more than your ability… Now, where to put you?"

Harry waited a moment, before realizing the hat had, in fact, been asking him. "I don't know," he reiterated. "I really don't."

"Yes," the Sorting Hat said again. "Mmm… You stay true to your beliefs, and you confront your fears, but you also naturally build connections, naturally climb, even without knowing what your final goal is. I'd say, child, that you would fit in both Houses equally well."

Equally well? Harry's eyes widened. "But then… what House will I be in?"

"… It really is up to you," the hat said, looking at him kindly. "Gryffindor or Slytherin, you'd thrive in either. The only question is which."

"It's up to me," Harry repeated slowly. He gave a long sigh. "But I really don't know which one fits me better-"

"And that's not what I'm asking," the Sorting Hat interrupted. "Either would fit you. But which would you rather be in? That will tell us what you truly value, because belonging in a House is not only about what traits you have, but also what matters to you."

"I..."

"Think. About the people, about the reputation, about what you'll gain, in each House. They're different Houses, they have differences. Which one would you rather be in?"

Harry thought. He thought about what he knew of Gryffindor and Slytherin. About, like the Sorting Hat had said, the people, the reputation, the characteristics of each house. Draco and Ron, were really perfect personifications of the stereotypical Slytherin and Gryffindor. He didn't really fit either, but what kind of people would he rather surround himself with?

Though, who said he could only surround himself with people of his own House? He'd hoped that, even after the Sorting, he, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Draco could remain acquaintances. He didn't want their alliance to end, so soon. But that didn't matter, at the moment. He had to choose.

Slytherins valued ambition, while Gryffindors valued courage. Which did he value more? But both were important traits to have. Without ambition, you wouldn't go anywhere. Without courage, you wouldn't have the nerve to do anything. Both were necessary to succeed. But he couldn't choose both.

Or could he?

Wouldn't it be most Slytherin, most cunning, to choose Gryffindor? No one would expect a snake in the lions' den. And he could choose bravery.

But still, Harry hesitated.

He knew which House he was supposed to be in. He was the Boy-Who-Lived. He was supposed to be a golden Gryffindor, who hated all things Slytherin and dark. Part of him wanted to choose Slytherin just to spite that. But what everyone else say? People like Dumbledore, or the Minister of Magic? People who knew his parents?

His parents.

If they were still alive, what would they think? No, he wanted to believe that they'd love him, no matter what. They'd both been Gryffindors, he knew.

And suddenly, Harry knew which House to choose. He gave his answer.

"If you say so. GRYFFINDOR!"

Emerald eyes blinked furiously beneath the brim of the hat, as Harry was abruptly thrust from the library and back into reality. Loud, enthusiastic sounds greeted him, and it took Harry a moment to realize everyone was clapping.

"Child, your Sorting's done," the hat reminded Harry.

Right. He took the Sorting Hat off and walked, somewhat shakily, to the red-and-gold table of the lions, where a redhead who must have been Ron's brother Percy shook Harry's hand vigorously, and the Weasley twins shouted, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Neville smiled, somewhat nervously, at Harry, who quickly sat besides him.

"What took so long?" the boy asked in a quiet voice, after a moment.

"How long was I?"

"About… seven minutes, I think."

Harry let out a sigh of relief. "It felt like much longer."

Neville's eyes widened at the thought. "How long did you think it took?"

"I had no idea," Harry admitted. "And my Sorting was … odd."

Neville accepted the answer, much to Harry's relief. He knew that, had it been Ron or Hermione or Draco delivering the interrogation, there would have been many more questions.

Of course, now that he thought about it, he knew there would be many more questions. Seven minutes wasn't a record - that dubious honor was held by Corbin Akkeyla, at sixteen minutes - but it was two minutes longer than the threshold for a Hatstall, which was already quite unusual.

Harry payed vague attention to the Sorting as it continued; he noted that the blond who'd been on a boat with Hermione, Ron, and Neville, and who'd somehow upset all three, Zacharias Smith, was sorted into Hufflepuff, while a 'Thomas, Dean' joined Harry, Neville, and boy with sandy-colored hair. Another girl in Ravenclaw followed, and then, it was Ron's turn. He looked, quite comically, pale green, now, in his nervousness. The hat went on his head, and, less than a second later, it had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry and Neville burst into applause with the rest of the hall, and Ron collapsed into a chair across from the two. A 'Zabini, Blaise' joined Draco with the Slytherins, and then, the Sorting was over.

"So Harry, mate," Ron said, eyeing the empty golden plates longingly. "What took you so long?"

Luckily for Harry, Dumbledore had stood, and Percy Weasley shushed Ron, rather loudly, as the headmaster opened his mouth to give his speech.

"Welcome!" Dumbledore said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

An… interesting first impression. The wizard sat back down, and the hall exploded into claps and cheers once again, though Harry saw several students look knowingly at each other. Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak. It certainly sounded like nonsense, but Harry wondered if there was more to it. There had to be, didn't there? Even if Dumbledore was a bit mad, as he heard Dean Thomas ask a nearby upper-year, he had to have had a reason to say those words, didn't he?

Nitwit. That was another word for 'stupid', and immediately, Harry's mind jumped to Ravenclaw. Could the words all have something to do with the Houses? Or, rather, could they be referring to the opposites of what each House stood for? Or, how students of that House might see other Houses, in the worst light?

Blubber. Another word for 'fat', though the last person to call Dudley 'blubber' had ended up in the hospital. The only upside of that incident had been that Harry-hunting had been delayed for two days, as Dudley's gang pursued that boy instead… The boy, who'd been new to St. Grogory's Primary School, had certainly been brave. In some ways, he was the epitome of the worst sort of Gryffindor: the jock who refused to change his beliefs, who was genius at sports, and who was arrogant and pushy and downright rude. If Gryffindors were the jocks of the wizarding world, then a 'blubber' would be their opposite.

Oddment. That referred to a remainder from a bolt of cloth, that wasn't large enough to be significant. In some ways, Slytherin was the pureblood house, the house of wholeness and pureness. Perhaps they would see other Houses as oddments, ones of insufficient quality.

And tweak. Tweak; to adjust something minutely. Perhaps that was how Hufflepuffs saw the other Houses, as those needing to be tweaked, having excess of some traits and an imbalance in others.

Could that be what Dumbledore had really meant, or had Harry read too much into the minute welcoming speech? No, he thought, as he gazed at the headmaster's twinkling blue eyes. No, Dumbledore had meant that, or at least something similar. He was known as a brilliant wizard for good reason.

Which left one question: why had he said that? Perhaps it was a reminder, a farewell to the undivided group the first-years had been before the Sorting, a prediction of how they would come to see the other Houses. But the words were about each House in the worst possible light, the most negative stereotypes. So perhaps Dumbledore had meant to caution the students from becoming the worst of their House's traits.

He would have to think more about it later. The food had appeared, and the feast smelled too good for Harry to focus on an eccentric wizard's words. He watched on, amused, as the Gryffindor House ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, demonstrated his nearly-headless-ness, and as the other Gryffindor boys introduced themselves, as Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. None of the cooked food interested Pallas, and Harry let her slip off, unseen, to hunt her own dinner, provided she didn't go far and returned before the end of the feast.

Soon, even the deserts were gone, and Dumbledore had stood once more. The hall fell silent. "Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Harry thought that the twinkling blue eyes focused on the Gryffindor table; specifically, on Ron's twin brothers.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors." Harry wondered if Dumbledore knew how that sounded, like he, as headmaster, didn't care about the no-magic rule, and had to be reminded, by the caretaker, against usage. Moreover, if you didn't get caught, could the rule even be enforced? Prior Incantatum could be cast on wands, of course, but the teachers would have to have a reason to check, and that wasn't including wandless magic at all.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch." Not the Quidditch team captains? After all, they were the ones who scheduled try-outs, weren't they? Why would the flying professor and referee care about House teams? Harry supposed that she might, to ensure fairness and all.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." A few people laughed, but Harry only stared incredulously at the headmaster. Had the man never heard of reverse psychology? All it would take would be a few foolhardy Gryffindors, and he'd told them exactly where to go.

No. Dumbledore was brilliant. He'd told them that, for a very specific reason. It almost felt like he was daring them, at least, the bravest - stupidest? - of them, to find what was on the third floor. As if it was some challenge, some quest, they needed to pass.

Except this was a school, Harry reminded himself, and not a story. The teachers wouldn't risk their students' lives in some sort of dangerous quest… right?

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore cried cheerfully. Amusingly, Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a long golden ribbon, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words. All non-verbally, Harry noticed, though that wasn't too impressive, considering that conjuring ropes was barely NEWT-level, and basic motion spells were about second-year.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!"

Harry winced as the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

Everybody finished the song at different times, and Harry noted that most of the school did not hold any talent in singing, especially not in tune. The few times they'd sung 'Happy Birthday' at St. Grogory's Primary School, at least, they'd had vaguely the same tune, tempo, and duration. The Hogwarts school song was a musician's nightmare. Good thing Harry didn't have absolute pitch. At last, only the Weasley twins - of course it was them - were left, singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!" Harry was left, again, wondering if the headmaster was slightly mad, because the experience had certainly not been magical.

Pallas returned and hid under Harry's sleeve again, as they stood from the tables. Quickly, he stood, hurrying towards the Slytherin table. He caught Draco just as the blond was leaving his table.

"Draco."

"Potter." Harry noted, disappointed, that the boy had reverted to his surname. Draco hesitated, though, before speaking. "Does... does this change anything?"

"No," Harry replied quickly. "Not unless you want it to.

"Then it won't," the new Slytherin answered. He, too, now wore a relieved smile. "After all," Draco added with a smirk, "it's not every day you see a Gryffindor with a pet snake."

"Sorry?" a girl with golden-blonde hair and cerulean-blue eyes asked. Harry didn't hear Draco's response; he'd stepped away to speak to Hermione.

"Harry. I-" Hermione said, with a worried expression.

"This doesn't change anything," Harry interrupted quickly. "Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, it doesn't matter to me."

"Good," Hermione replied. "I mean, I thought most likely ... but I couldn't help but wonder... Good."

He smiled, before stepping back with the Gryffindors.

The Gryffindor first years - Harry, Ron, Neville, Seamus, Dean, and four girls Harry vaguely remembered being sorted - followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. He noted the path Percy pointed out to them with interest, slightly annoyed that his ability hadn't even the decency to include a map of Hogwarts in the information.

It took Harry a moment to realize that they'd stopped, and another to understand why: a bunch of walking sticks had been floating in midair ahead of them, and now, they were throwing themselves at Percy.

"Peeves," the prefect whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." One who'd been around as long as the school had existed and, interestingly enough, was the physical manifestation of the mischief of the Hogwarts students who'd passed through. "Peeves - show yourself," Percy commanded, raising his voice.

A loud, rude sound, what Harry thought was called 'blowing a raspberry', answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?" The Slytherin ghost was the only one the poltergeist feared, apparently, but, disappointingly, Harry's ability didn't tell him why. It would have been useful information.

Peeves, a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth, appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks. "Ooooooh!" he said with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at them, and they all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy. Harry couldn't help but wonder how effective that threat could possibly be. Surely, the Bloody Baron couldn't go around stopping Peeves, every hour of every day. Not to mention, the rivalry between Gryffindors and Slytherins was legendary.

Still, Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

Harry listened absentmindedly as Percy proceeded to warn them about Peeves. A few moments later, though, they'd arrived; at the far end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress. The Fat Lady, the portrait of Gryffindor Tower.

"Password?" she asked.

"Caput Draconis," Percy replied. Harry noted the password, and the portrait swung out to reveal a round hole in the wall. They scrambled through - Harry helped Neville, who needed a leg up - and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

They hurried up to their dormitories, the girls up one set of stairs and the boys up another, and were greeted with five four-poster beds hung with deep red, velvet curtains. The other boys' trunks sat by four of the beds, so Harry took the last one, on the far left of the room, besides Neville. Thankfully, the other boys were too tired to talk much. They merely pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.

Harry let the hangings fall around his bed, then took out his wand to cast a Silencing Charm around them. He wasn't sure how effective it was, since it was technically a fifth-year spell, but it would at least muffle the sound from his bed, he knew. He was too tired to whisper in Parseltongue to Pallas effectively.

§My classes begin tomorrow, Pallas,§ Harry said. §If you'd like, you can come with me. Or, you can explore the castle.§

§Mmm,§ the snake answered. §I'll come with you. Unless it gets too boring. You can't expect me to stay, then.§

§I can't say it would be very interesting to you,§ Harry replied. §There'll be a lot of repetition, at least.§

§We'll see.§ She might have said more, but by then, Harry was fast asleep.

And Harry might have dreamed something that night, but by morning, he'd forgotten it.