Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter. Right now I own a headache. Anyone want it?
Chapter Four
Finding Your Feet
"Hi. I'm Hermione Granger. Do you mind if I join you?"
The boys looked at each other; neither seemed to object.
"That would be fine," the dark-haired boy agreed quietly, and the two boys helped the girl bring in her trunk and familiar and settle into the compartment.
They introduced themselves – Hermione's mind quickly reviewing everything she'd read about the Boy-Who-Lived, wondering how much was accurate – and their familiars; and Hermione was about to heft her trunk on top of the boys trunks, when Ron interrupted her.
"We'll get it. Please, sit down," Ron offered their help politely.
"Thanks," she said in relief.
Harry and Ron piled her trunk on top of theirs, and she sat after placing her own owl Isabella with Hedwig, Pasht and Michael Angelo.
The three children sat in a silence that should have been awkward and yet, somehow, wasn't. It was almost as though they'd known each other years instead of a few moments. While waiting for the train to start its journey, they watched all the people on the platform.
Harry watched a round faced boy nervously telling an older lady that he addressed as 'Gran' that he'd lost his toad. The woman seemed to be very strict, and quite exasperated.
"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.
Hermione watched an obviously rich family appear on the platform – probably by port-key, she mused, they seemed wealthy enough – a father, who looked around as though everything around him was dirty and unbecoming; a mother who looked as though she had an unpleasant smell under her nose, except when she looked at the child with them; and a boy who had to be their son, trying to pretend he wasn't excited. They all had blond hair and superior expressions, and Hermione watched the boy wiggle free of his mothers farewell embrace in embarrassment.
"Mother!" she heard him hiss.
Ron was watching a group of obviously older students joking around, greeting each other as they came back from holiday. Most already had their robes on and they seemed to be a mix of mostly Hufflepuff with a few Gryffindoors and Ravenclaws mixed in. Two of the boys seemed to be friendly rivals.
"Not this year, Oliver. Hufflepuff is going all the way!" One boy proclaimed, his friend immediately refuting the statement.
"Not happening, Cedric!"
Over the top of all the chatter came the loud voices of two red-heads talking to their mother.
"Hey, mum!" one of them shouted for her attention.
"Guess what? Lee's got this huge tarantula, it's wicked!" the other gushed. His mother didn't look impressed.
Their attention focused on the red-haired family just outside their window; now missing, of course, one eleven year old boy.
"That's nice dear," although, the way she said it, you could tell she didn't think it was nice at all, "where's Percy?" their mother asked.
"He's coming now," the little girl answered as she pointed out her older brother to her mother.
He came striding pompously up to his mother, already in his Hogwarts robes with a shiny silver badge on his chest that had the letter P on it, his red hair tidy and glasses propped on his nose.
"Can't stay long, Mother," he spoke just as pompously as he walked, "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartment to themselves – " He was interrupted by one of his younger brothers.
"Oh, are you a Prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins with an air of surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea!"
"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin, "once – "
"Or twice – "
"A minute – "
"All summer – "
"Oh shut up," Percy cut off his brothers' sentence that had bounced back and forth between them.
Hermione noticed the similarities between them and the red-haired boy she'd just met. "Is that your family?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," Ron replied, the sorrow in his voice telling them far more than the monosyllable answer.
Ron was watching them in a detached fashion, and it was only Harry's years of interpreting human behaviour that allowed him to see the truth shining from the other boys blue eyes. He desperately wanted to be a part of them; accepted as a member and yet, for some reason, Harry knew that he wasn't.
Hermione saw the sadness in Ron's eyes; knew it was the pain of not being accepted by the family that brought you into this world, the same pain she dealt with everyday. She sighed and turned back to the window. They tuned back into the conversation just as Percy kissed him Mother on the cheek and left. She immediately turned on her twin sons.
"Now, you two – this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've – you've blown up a toilet or – "
"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."
"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."
"It's not funny. And write to Ginny," she ordered.
"'Course we will. Hey mum, you know who'll be in Hogwarts this year?"
"Who?"
"Harry Potter!"
All three watching in the compartment automatically flinched back to hide from the red-haired family.
"Wonder if we can find him?"
"If you do, you be nice to the poor boy. No family – "
"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"
Their mother turned a stern look on them. "I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don't you dare! As though he needs reminding of that on his first day of school!"
The three watched the family until the train sounded its whistle and all the students scrambled into their compartments, saying one last goodbye.
The twins leaned out a window as their little sister began to cry.
"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls," one red-haired boy said.
"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat," the other added, trying to cheer her up.
"George!" the shocked exclamation of their mother made them grin.
"Only joking, mum," he excused himself (1).
The train moved off; the red-haired girl and her mother waving goodbye until they were out of sight, and instead of the train station, houses began flashing past their window.
After the train had left, the three companions had settled into a comfortable silence; each revelling in the unusual sensation of… belonging they felt; minds focused on one aspect or another of their recent introduction.
Harry remembered the odd sensation of touching someone else's magic; the girl, Hermione, had used hers to read his and Ron's auras. It had been instinct to respond the same way, manipulating the energy within to connect with hers and learn from it the same technique. It would take some practice, but with the control he already had over his core, it didn't represent much of a challenge. He was more interested in what he had learned about his two companions from the brief touch. Each had a maturity he rarely encountered in adults, let alone others of his own age; a wearied but strong determination; and a soul-deep pain. Kindred spirits…
Ron had been thinking on his companions, and most specifically, what had happened when Hermione had entered their compartment. He had analyzed the meeting in his mind thoroughly and was now… absolutely flabbergasted. Overwhelmed. Amazed. It had been incredible; and something that was meant to be impossible. Hermione had manipulated her magic without a wand. Granted, it wasn't a spell she had cast, but to send out one's magic without a magical focus, to do a specific job and have the magic respond was… well, everything he'd ever read said one thing: what had just happened, couldn't. But it had. So that meant that the books were wrong… that perhaps, true wandless magic was possible… Ron boggled at the implication. Hermione Granger may not have known it, but she had just opened up a whole new world to Ronald Weasley…
Hermione's mind was similarly occupied. Sending out her magic was an instinct, something that she did because it was her magic's way of keeping her safe. She didn't honestly control it. But she could analyze everything that the scan told her, and learn from it. When she had touched the boy's auras, she had the immediate knowledge that they were like her – which was mind boggling in itself – and now that she could sit down and remember, review and sort through the information her scan downloaded to her mind, she could now find out a lot more about them. Ron had sensed her. No-one else ever had before. His magic was extremely powerful, probably more so than hers, and very sensitive. It had surprised her. What had truly shocked her, though – once she realized what it was she was sensing – was Harry. His magic was extremely powerful, yes; more than Ron, but that was all she could tell about his power level with such a quick scan. It was the sense of control, though, that had amazed her. Harry seemed to have, from that brief contact, learned from her magic in the same way she learned people's personalities. She wondered, then, if it was something she could learn – absolute control of her ability. And if she had control of that, then… what else could she do?
Hermione had pulled out Hogwarts, A History to read more closely about the houses of Hogwarts.
The four founders of Hogwarts each took on the students whose characteristics they admired most. Slytherin, those of great cunning; Gryffindoor taught the brave of heart; Ravenclaw took all those with a sharp mind and desire to learn and Hufflepuff chose children who were patient and hard-working. Today, students are divided into four different houses, each named in honour of a founder, and each the embodiment of the same characteristics the founders favoured…
Hermione thought about what she had just read. I wonder what the houses are really like… well, she could ask a logical source. "Ron?" she quietly got his attention. The boy looked up from the muggle book he was reading. "Do you know anything about the four houses?" she asked. Harry also put his book down – some sort of advanced mathematical textbook she thought – and looked to Ron, interested in his answer. Ron considered.
"I know what other people have told me," he offered. When their interest did not abate – and wouldn't Ron had to get used to that; magical brethren listening to what he had to say – he continued his explanation. "Most of the people I know are either Gryffindoors or Hufflepuffs; and of course, each thought their house the best. Gryffindoors are chosen for their courage, but on the whole, they're also rather… bull-headed. Have trouble accepting new things and don't like being wrong, you know?" Both his friends nodded their heads. "Also, very curious. People think Gryffindoors are really brave, but I think it's because they do things before they think it through and then have to brazen it out," he finished his own observation with a smile. His new friends smiled back. "Hufflepuffs… very loyal, but that's probably from having to always band together for defense. Always underestimated, but a lot of the time they just seem to meet those expectations, like what's the use of changing everyone's opinion?" Ron tried to find the words to explain. "Ravenclaws have the reputation for being smart, but also everyone I know think them to be somewhat obsessive. Have to be the best or I'm nothing kind of attitude. Slytherins… well, everyone I know have at least one Slytherin they hate with a passion. As far as I can see, they're mostly stirrers – they have a bad reputation; everyone thinks they're automatically going to go dark no matter what they do, so why not do something to deserve it? It's like there's a division in our world caused by something that happened when someone turns eleven," Ron finished his explanations and observations with a thoughtful look.
Harry and Hermione considered everything they'd ever heard and read of the wizarding world.
"It's strange; you hear about famous people and what their old house is and it's almost like everyone expects people in that house to become a carbon-copy of that person the moment they're sorted. Dumbledore was a Gryffindoor, so every Gryffindoor is obviously heroic and trustworthy," Harry observed.
"Rebular Floo (2) was a Ravenclaw, so of course all Ravenclaws should be creative and innovative and have hundreds of ideas for new inventions," Hermione continued with a smile.
"And of course everyone in Hufflepuff should be a politician like Thebulus Gapp, or a world-renowned humanitarian like his sister Tarsha," Ron grinned.
Harry sighed, and became somewhat serious. "Or evil, like Voldemort, if you're Slytherin."
His friends also sobered and looked at his thoughtful expression. "I wonder if it's something we can change?" he pondered aloud.
"Change? A whole society?" Hermione asked, her voice skeptical, but her expression interested.
"Why not?" Ron looked at his two companions as he spoke, "we're going to school with most of the future population, and we have seven years to get through to them. Could be interesting!"
The three smiled. Their journey continued.
It was around half-twelve when a polite knock sounded on the door of their compartment. The three blinked at each other and Hermione got up to answer the door.
"Yes?" she asked as she opened the door to reveal a middle-aged witch pushing a trolley down the train corroder.
She smiled at the three children. "Anything off the trolley, dears?"
Ron and Harry joined Hermione at the door, and they looked over the candy on the top tray. Harry took in all the different names in wonder. "What's all this?"
"Wizarding candy. Some of it can be pretty good. I haven't really had much of it myself; but I love the Chocolate Frogs. They can be fun," Ron answered with a nostalgic smile.
"I'll have one of everything," Harry said, smiling back, "so we can try everything." He dug out his money pouch.
Hermione had been examining the bottom rung of the trolley. "What's all this?" she asked her friend.
"Those are all the different wizarding publications," Ron explained after taking a look. "Witch Weekly is like a gossip magazine for witches and the Daily Prophet is our newspaper… of course it's the only one we have so they can really print anything they want. It isn't always accurate. The Quibbler is… well, you know all those conspiracy rags muggles have?" Harry and Hermione nodded. "It's like our version of that. All these theories but no real proof. Kids Are Krazy is a parenting magazine and Poisoning Parents is for kids."
Hermione nodded her thanks and said to the trolley witch "we'll have one of each of these, too, thanks," pulling out a few gold coins of her own. After they had everything they wanted from the trolley they retreated back inside their compartment to explore everything.
Ron was right. The Chocolate Frogs were a blast. They had fun guessing what each Burty Botts Every Flavoured Bean was, but all agreed it wouldn't become a favourite. They tried the Blood Pops and the Fendous Fungi, and Hermione decided the Cockroach Clusters and Ice Mice were her favourites and Harry found he loved Sugar Quills.
After they had fun with all the candy, and Ron had shared all the packed food he'd brought for lunch, they turned to the magazines.
Hermione took the woman's rag and the newspaper, Harry grabbed the Quibbler and the parenting magazine, and Ron lazily flipped through the kids' magazine. It wasn't long after that Hermione made a comment about the main story on the front page of the newspaper. "Gringotts was broken into!" This caught both boys attention.
"What? What happened to them?" Harry asked.
"Nothing! Listen to this:
GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.
Gringotts' goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.
'But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you,' said a Gringotts' spokesgoblin this afternoon." (3)
"Wow. I didn't think it was possible to get into Gringotts and out again without getting caught… everyone's going to be in a dither over this," Ron mused.
"Why?" Hermione asked curiously. "It's just a bank."
"Because ever since… well, you-know-who, anything like this happening is automatically blamed on dark wizards and everyone gets… antsy. Afraid," Ron explained to his two friends.
"Oh. Do you say his name?" Harry asked hesitantly.
Ron thought for a moment. "Not really. But it's more habit, you know? My parents never say it and my brothers and sister never say it… and they'd get upset if I said it, you know? But I'm not really afraid of saying it like everyone else seems to be. I don't say it to keep everyone else happy."
"Why is the rest of your family afraid of it?" Hermione asked, intrigued by the difference between her new friend and his family.
"I suppose because my mum and dad taught them to be… I didn't ever spend much time at the Burrow, though, so… I guess it didn't really rub off on me. Did you know it took nearly three years for me to find out what his name was, because no-one would ever say it? Stupid really. I suppose I'm not really afraid of it because it annoyed me so much not knowing and having to find out for myself," Ron explained to them as he thought it through for himself.
"I guess that makes sense," Hermione mused.
"Hermione, did they say what the vault number was?" Harry suddenly asked.
"Umm… yes. Vault three hundred and twelve," Hermione answered.
"Strange. That's the vault Hagrid and I went to," Harry mused. At his two friends' curious looks, Harry went on to explain what had happened the day Hagrid had taken him around Diagon Alley and to Gringotts Bank.
"Wow. So… whatever was there is…" Ron said slowly…
"Probably at Hogwarts right now," Harry finished.
"I wonder what it is." Hermione questioned aloud.
The two boys shrugged, wondering the same thing.
"Well, whatever it is, someone is after it. It seems to be strange to have something like that in a school, where the students could get hurt," Hermione said in disapproval.
"Mmmm," Harry agreed absently. "Still, I doubt it has anything to do with us. We'll just be careful," he said, and his two new friends agreed, and put aside the matter, for what they thought would be the last time.
They had been travelling for about another three hours, chatting quietly, when there came a knock on their compartment door. The three shared a quick look; then Hermione called "come in." The door opened to reveal a round-faced boy; he had soft brown hair and soulful brown eyes; and looked like he might burst into tears at a moments notice. Harry recognized the boy from the platform; he'd been with an older lady.
"E-excuse me," he spoke quietly, with a tremor and a bit of a stutter in his voice.
"Yes?" Hermione asked him gently, sensing that he really was about to break apart.
"I-I can't f-find Trevor," the boy said.
"Is that your familiar?" Ron asked, but the boy shook his head (4) and said, "my pet, but I – "
"I understand," Ron smiled.
"What is he?" Harry asked.
The boy blushed. "Um… he's a… well, a toad," he muttered, clearly embarrassed.
Harry smiled. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll find him. What's your name?" he distracted everyone as he reached into his power, telling it to find the animal and draw it here. The shy boy blushed again. "I-I'm sorry. My name's Neville. Neville Longbottom…" he trailed off as a toad hopped happily through the door and into his outstretched hands. "Trevor!" he exclaimed joyously.
Harry smiled in satisfaction. "I knew he'd turn up."
"Thank you so much!" Neville said as he hurried back to his own compartment. Ron and Hermione both noticed Harry's smile, and wondered about it, but each pushed it to the back of their minds to be thought about later when their peace was interrupted for a second time in very short order.
The door burst open with a bang, and the three looked up to see, standing in their doorway, the boy Harry had met in Diagon Alley. It was the same one Hermione had seen on the platform with his family, and he was a familiar face to Ron; though he didn't think the boy would recognize him in return. He was backed by two heavyset boys of similar build and with matching oblivious expressions.
The boy who was obviously the leader spoke. "Hello," his gaze swept over them, almost dismissive, but he paused and took a second longer look, his gaze lingering on Harry. He smirked. "I see we meet again," he said and sat himself next to the dark-haired boy, looking at his two companions critically. He didn't linger over them though, and turned back to Harry. He stuck his hand out. "I'm Draco Malfoy. We didn't get to exchange names before," he spoke with a proprietary tone, shooting a look at the other two sitting across from them, to see if they reacted at all. They didn't. Harry shook his hand briefly but firmly, remembering the last time he'd seen the boy. It had been a few weeks after he'd met Hagrid and bought his school supplies, and he'd been with his busking group…
Memory
That night they were playing at a muggle restaurant – Harry knew it to be run by a squib – that also catered to magical people as well. It was quite a favourite spot for the magically gifted to have a "muggle experience" and especially popular among Ministry of Magic workers for political dinners. He'd overheard many a heated conversation that went completely unnoticed by the muggles who dined there; luckily he wasn't affected by the muggle-repelling charms all over the wizarding section put into place, apparently, by the squib's magical family.
It was as he and the rest of "Buskers Anonymous" (this was an in-house joke name for themselves) were playing that Harry's instinct nudged him. He looked up to the wizarding entrance and suddenly realized why that boy in Madam Malkin's shop was familiar – he and what looked like his parents had just made an appearance. They were obviously quite well-known judging by the looks and whispers that followed them to the Minister's private table. None of the family bothered themselves to look into the muggle section of the restaurant; and considering the boy's apparent inherited prejudice against all things muggle-related Harry didn't have to wonder too long on why exactly they'd caused such a stir with their appearance; or their apparent snobbishness.
Harry smiled grimly. So the boy was connected. Harry would have to be careful how he handled him; too much animosity would cause Harry no end of trouble, but there was no way they would be friends, either, unless the boy changed his tune drastically. Harry would use his precious violin for kindling before he became friends with a bigot.
End Memory
Harry shook off the memory and studied the boy's two gorilla-like bodyguards, who were waiting in the doorway. Malfoy noticed his gaze and introduced them.
"This is Crabbe, and Goyle," he indicated the shorter boy first, obviously not interested in his lackeys.
Harry nodded to them politely, and said "I'm pleased to meet you."
They seemed rather shocked to be spoken to, and Malfoy flushed with displeasure. He addressed the three friends loudly, obviously trying to bring the attention back to himself.
"Who are you lot, then?" the pale boy asked, rather rudely.
Harry didn't see any reason to be cordial in return. "Harry," he said, softly and shortly.
"Ron," took his cue from is new friend.
"Hermione," she added in thinly veiled disgust.
It was a testimony, perhaps, to how dense the three boys seemed to be that they didn't notice.
Malfoy started a one-sided conversation that didn't seem to need anyone else's input; and Harry had the idea under all his bluster that Draco had grown up a very lonely child.
The boy finished with a throw-away comment as he got up and left their carriage. "I'm going to see if I can find that Potter kid. He's meant to be here this year. I wanted to get a look at him..."
He didn't look back as he lead his two lackeys away, shutting the door behind him just as loudly as he'd opened it.
The three exchanged amused glances, wondering how the pretentious boy would react when he found out about Harry.
"You've met Malfoy before?" Ron asked, curiously.
"In Diagon Alley the day I picked up my supplies for school," Harry explained with a nod. "But I've also seen him and his family before…" Harry went on to explain to the others what he knew about the family from his observations.
"Do you know anything about them, Ron?" Hermione asked; intrigued at the influence Draco's parents seemed to wield.
"I've heard my dad speak about Lucious Malfoy, Draco's dad. Apparently they were the first to claim they'd only been on the Dark Side because they'd been bewitched; a lot of people got out of Azkaban when they realized Voldemort was gone by doing that. My Father doesn't believe it, but aside from Malfoy senior's actions, I get the feeling there's something else between our family and theirs… I don't know what it is though, or if it's only between just our fathers or our whole families. It's hard to tell. All I know is, my father is a pretty easy-going guy; things that get him riled up are few and far between… and Lucious Malfoy is one of them."
Their quiet conversation was interrupted – again – by the door opening. Two identical red-headed faced peered in at them. Twin mischievous grins spread across their shared countenance as the Weasley twins took in the occupants of the compartment.
"Ronnikens!" their delighted cry caused Ron to narrow his eyes suspiciously; and his two new friends took their cue from him, watching the identical twins carefully.
"So who are your new friends?" George asked.
Most of Ron's attention automatically went to Fred as he answered, well-accustomed to the twins' diversionary tactics. "This is Hermione and Harry – " he was cut off by a blur of movement; Harry's hand had darted forward and plucked from the air the stink-bomb Fred had dropped before it hit the ground and activated. The younger boy stood and looked up at Fred innocently, who was still startled by the move. So was Ron – he'd never seen someone move so fast.
"I think you dropped this," he smiled, guilessly shoving the stink-bomb into Fred's hand in time for it to activate by the fail-safe Ron knew the twins always added to their pranks. Both older boys shouted in disgust, attracting the attention of an older boy walking past. He was a burly teenager wearing Gryffindoor robes, with brown hair and blue eyes, and Ron remembered seeing him on the platform talking to a Hufflepuff boy about the same age.
"What's going on – " he started to ask, but then he caught a whiff. It was like watching a volcano erupt. "Fred! George! How many times have I told you – "
"Oi, Oliver! You're not our mum!"
"Starting to sound like her though!"
"No, I'm not your mum. Unlike her, you can't get away from me. I'm your team captain, and I don't want to lose my beaters to detention before we even arrive at school! Now get out of here and leave the first-years alone or I'll have you doing laps every morning – before breakfast!"
The twins looked at him, stymied, before his threat seemed to penetrate the daze and they bolted. The three first-years looked up at the older boy, bemused. He turned to them.
"Sorry about them. Too hyper for their own good," he quickly swished his wand, cleaning the last of the smell that had left with the two troublemakers. "I'm Oliver Wood, Gryffindoor Quidditch Captain," he introduced himself (5).
"I'm Ron – " Ron started, but the older boy interrupted.
"Weasley, right?" he grinned. "I've met most of your brothers. Good Quidditch players – except Percy – your brothers. Charlie was the best, I reckon. Could have gone professional. How're you with Quidditch?"
The three first years looked at each other amused, noticing a definite theme to the monologue.
"I've not had much chance to play, really. These are my friends, Harry and Hermione," Ron replied.
Oliver's attention shifted to them. "Good to meet you," he said enthusiastically. "Don't suppose either of you play?"
"Well, we were raised by muggles; but it seems to be very… entertaining," Harry answered. "Thanks for your help, by the way, with those boys," he added.
"No problem. I need to go, good luck for your sorting!" and with that Oliver was gone, leaving behind the three first years who stared after him, bemused.
"Interesting…" Hermione murmured.
"Very… interesting," Harry agreed, and Ron made a sound of agreement as they sat down.
Soon the compartment was again filled with quiet conversation.
The disastrous duo – as Harry and Hermione had promptly dubbed Ron's twin brothers – had not long been chased off by Oliver Wood when their compartment received another visit. Two girls, obviously first years, knocked on their door. Ron got up and opened it. Before he could say anything, one of them spoke up.
"Hi! I'm Susan Bones – this is my best friend, Lisa Turpin. Who are you?" Bones, her black hair secured in a messy pony tail that reached her waist and brown eyes sparkling, spoke very enthusiastically as she pulled the other girl – who was blond haired and blue eyed, and seemed very reluctant – into their compartment behind her.
"Uh… I'm Ron, and this is Harry and Hermione," the red-head spoke, rather bamboozled.
"Great! You're all first years, right? We're trying to meet them all. Are you a Weasley? Only I didn't know they had a kid our age, so maybe you aren't – "
"Susan!" her shy friend overrode the sudden tirade. The outspoken girl blinked, then blushed.
"Sorry. I sometimes get carried away," she apologized. "It's just none of you have ever been to social," she explained, as she plopped down on a seat, dragging her protesting friend with her.
"Social?" Hermione questioned.
"It's something most pureblood families get involved in," Ron explained as he, too, took his seat. "All the communities scattered around have their own. I never really went to the Ottery St. Catchpole group for my age; sometimes – about four times a year – they all have one huge get-together. It's so magical kids can play with each other, and adults have contacts outside of work and parents can have a support network, and the older group run date-nights and things… just so we can be ourselves without hiding anything."
The two visitors nodded their heads in agreement.
"Some families don't attend, of course – mostly the so-called 'dark' families – " she used her fingers to illustrate dark " – but it's great fun! That's how I met Lisa!" Susan smiled again – she did that a lot – and Lisa also gave a shy smile.
"So… you are a Weasley, right?" Susan turned her attention to the tall boy.
He gave a reluctant smile. "Yeah," Ron said quietly.
"Well, we just wanted to invite all the muggleborns – and you, too, Ron – to our social meeting. We decided we wanted to keep it up through the school year. I don't agree with house isolation – " Susan interrupted herself after a look from her friend " – well, we should keep going. We'll let you know about the meeting!" And they were gone just as quickly as they had come.
When the train finally pulled into Hogsmeade station, Harry, Ron and Hermione had settled into a comfortable, companionable, silence. Already in their robes, they exited the train, leaving behind their luggage and familiars, and moved towards a voice that, to Harry at least, was very familiar.
"First years, this way! First years!" Hagrid was standing at one end of the station, lantern in hand, calling for all the new Hogwarts arrivals. When he saw Harry he gave a great big smile and greeted him warmly. "How're you doin' Harry?"
"I'm well, thank you Hagrid," Harry replied, with less emotion showing in this voice than Hagrid but no less sincerely.
When all the first years had been gathered, they all moved off together after Hagrid, along a dark and slippery path, until they came to a harbour. Sitting waiting for them were little boats, and they all clambered into them – four to a boat, though Hagrid had one to himself – the three companions with the nervous Neville boy that had lost his toad.
At the first sight of Hogwarts, Harry lost his breath. It was incredible. He'd never seen anything like it before, and he doubted he would ever again. Always believing he'd never be able to come to a magic school, and having learnt years ago that dreams were foolish for those in his position, any and all imaginings he'd had of Hogwarts had been firmly locked away. He'd mislead himself when he thought they hadn't existed – but they had, and now he was here, and it was wonderful! The castle seemed to reach out to him, in a way he'd only felt a few times in his life-time. Welcoming, warm, ready to take him in and allow him to be at home within her walls, as she had done for countless children before him. Harry smiled. He was home.
Ron had waited for his first look at Hogwarts with trepidation. He'd been looking forward to attending Hogwarts for years – desperate to get away from his loveless family – but Hogwarts was also the place he'd lost his brother Charlie to; the brother that had shown him the only love and acceptance he'd ever known. He was afraid, that while he'd be happy to be there, he'd never feel at home there. But all that was wiped away when he first saw the castle that was to be his new home. It seemed to reach out to him in welcome; and he couldn't hold a grudge for his brother coming here, he just couldn't! Ron was overcome by feelings of welcoming warmth, of acceptance; and he smiled. He was home.
Hermione had always been left out; left behind; been alone. Her parents lived their lives without her, the other students in her classes were all older than her and ignored her; her peers were so far behind her academically they were almost a different sub-species. While she had always hoped she would receive a Hogwarts letter, she also only ever saw it as a stepping stone to where she wanted to go; she hadn't really considered that she would be accepted here. When she first lifted her eyes towards the old school, she felt like she had been punched. The feelings of acceptance, warmth and welcome enveloped her like a living blanket, and she knew she would be happy there. Hermione relaxed and smiled. She was home.
They had left the small boats docked in a small quay in a cave that had its entrance in the side of a cliff face covered in hanging ivy, on the easterly side of the castle and seemed to be almost directly under the school. Once everyone was on dry land again, Hagrid had let them up a twisting, sloping tunnel that emerged in a place hidden by shadows not far from the large, oak doors of Hogwarts; Hagrid quickly checked that everyone was there, pointed out that Trevor had tried to escape again and made sure Neville had him, then knocked, firmly, three times on the oak front doors.
Hermione immediately recognized the stern visage of Professor McGonagall when she answered the summons. The woman led the new first years across an impressive entrance hall and into a small antechamber, where she proceeded to explain the house system and told them the name of the houses themselves; Gryffindoor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. The professor passed a glance over the assembled group – pausing to frown disapprovingly at Neville's rumpled robe, and throwing a quick, relieved look in Harry's direction that only he seemed to notice – then bade them wait quietly while she went to check something – presumably that all the returning students were arrived and seated. As soon as she left, the new first years burst into furious, if quiet, whispers.
Harry, Ron and Hermione stood in the centre, an island of silence listening to the roiling ocean of muttering.
"I'm sure to be in Slytherin," Draco Malfoy boasted as loudly as he dared – everyone around him rolled their eyes, obviously having heard this declaration before.
"I wonder what the sorting is?" another quite, mousy girl spoke.
"My older brother claimed it was really painful," a boy with blond hair spoke in trepidation.
Ron snorted quietly. "That's what Fred and George keep saying, but I think if they can manage it, no-one else could have much of a problem," he said, not loudly, but his voice seemed to carry to all the nervous children surrounding him.
"Anyway, the teachers wouldn't purposefully let anything bad happen to us," Hermione added, her wise words further calming everyone.
"The school wouldn't have such a good reputation if they did," Harry's words finished illustrating the point the three had made; and everyone became relaxed and quiet – even Draco Malfoy.
Into the quite came the sound of a new argument – but it was not the first years. The newest Hogwarts citizens turned as one to observe as – floating nonchalantly through the wall – came what could only be ghosts… arguing about someone called Peeves. The first years watched in fascination as the ghosts continued through the room and out through the wall on the other side, calling out geetings as they passed. It was then that Professor McGonagal re-entered the room, gathered them up, straightened Neville's robe for him and led them across the entrance hall into what had to be the Great Hall.
Being a hat isn't always as boring as some would believe, he considered as he looked out over the gathered students. As usual for before the sorting, they were chatting away with friends and housemates after a two-month vacation where most of them wrote or visited each other. He chuckled dryly to himself; again amazed at the human inclination of creating such strong bonds of love, like – even hate. He saw the same pattern re-created again and again over the last thousand-odd years; dependency on blood family breaking down into co-dependency on other children; each year creating the social structure that they would take with them out into the world.
All of it dependant on a decision he made. His amusement vanished like smoke as the worry over this matter returned to haunt him once again. Always fulfilling his function – as he was meant to, created to – but dividing their whole world into four distinct parts was wrong; and he knew it wasn't what the founders, his creators, had meant to happen. Children were supposed to leave school behind, but it wasn't happening – their development so tied up in this place that it couldn't. And look, he thought bitterly, here comes the new first years, and the cycle begins again. As the new children came forward, and the hall quieted in respectful, watchful silence, waiting for his song, he decided that this year would be different. Perhaps he wasn't created to be the voice of the founders, but it was time someone spoke for them. That someone would just have to be him.
As they approached, the sorting hat – known to his fellow Hogwarts denizens as Bartholomule – looked over the newest first years he had to sort. He already knew all their names, as it was his job to run the Letter Room each year. Despite his misgivings over the matter, he admitted to himself that he was quite looking forward to this year's sort, as the castle herself hadn't been this excited in over a hundred and fifty years – the year Albus Dumbledore had been sorted. It was often like that, the castle seemed to be able to sense the potential of those passing through her walls. Not even the headmaster understood the complexity in the relationship between all the permanent magical inhabitants of Hogwarts that had developed over the last one thousand years – Saharal, the giant squid, had reported the auras of the children to Hogwarts who had passed the knowledge to Bartholomule, so he could take it into consideration when he sorted them. It was a delicate process, matching personalities in houses, balancing where and who each child would be most comfortable with against the founders wishes of certain personality requirements as well as where each gift would be best nurtured.
He sang his song as usual (Saharal had been very enthusiastic for Bartholomule to add his own contribution to the rhyme – eat myself, indeed! – and Hogwarts had been and would continue to chuckle randomly for months over the no-hand comment); thanking whatever deity looked over sentient hats (as he did every year) that Helga had been poetic and Rowena an avid reader, allowing those parts of his personality to make up the little ditties with relative ease each year. He was quite proud of the fact that in nearly one thousand years he had yet to repeat himself, despite what Hogwarts thought.
Finally he got them where he wanted them and started rifling through personalities and abilities and comparing their inherent skills according to Saharal's aura observations. This year the aquatic creature had been quite intrigued by three of the auras he'd scanned, and duly reported his observations. He watched closely as the first approached him, a girl-child who seemed quite reserved – and once he was immersed in her personality, measuring her abilities, he realized that she would be exceptional.
She was interesting, too; her mind racing with ideas and a thirst to KNOW and so intelligent she could rival Rowena – he briefly considered Ravenclaw – but it was overshadowed by other traits. She had acquired attachments that were not familial, and was intensely loyal to those that pierced her hearts' walls, just like Helga – but again he knew that Hufflepuff wasn't right. She was extremely brave and curious, the same way Godric had been; he could feel her desire to question him, to find out what he was doing, as well as the restraint that stopped her – and he seriously considered Gryffindoor, for she would do well there, though the self-control she exhibited wasn't typical of the Lions house. Ruling all these traits, however, was a cunning and ruthless ambition. Hermione Granger would do anything to be loved. Bartholomule hesitated; it would be hard for her, where she belonged, being a muggle-born, but… it was where she belonged.
"Slytherin!"
As they had with every new Slytherin, the table clapped for Hermione as she left the hat behind and walked over to her new house, her mind focused on the last thing the hat said to her as she had left the stool.
"…it will be hard for you; as all great destinies are hard, and often cruel. There are those that will aid you to bear this burden… seek them out, though I have a feeling you have already found them…"
Harry and Ron watched as their peers were sorted; Draco Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin just as he wanted, joining Hermione and the others already at the table. Susan Bones had been sorted into Hufflepuff, and Lisa was yet to be sorted. Finally Harry's name was called.
"Harry Potter!"
The kids around them looked around curiously, trying to figure out which one of them was the famous boy-who-lived. Harry calmly moved forward as whispers erupted around the hall. He kept a veneer of serenity on his face, ignoring the piercing glance the headmaster gave him and the curious looks of the older kids and the surprised faces of those he'd met on the train. He approached the stool with the sorting hat and sat down. The last thing he glimpsed as the hat slipped over his eyes were the friendly smiles of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger.
The second child that had interested Saharal approached him with a calm maturity he'd rarely seen in an eleven-year-old; especially considering the sensation that surrounded him. Bartholomule of course knew the story behind Harry Potter, including all the frustration and guilt the headmaster had felt over the last few years in regards to his placing and safety. He'd observed many a conversation between the old headmaster and his predecessors – he hadn't been eavesdropping really; honestly, how was an old hat to sleep with that noise going on anyway? – and wondered, as had everyone, where the child had ended up. Well, if the boy felt like sharing, maybe he would find out.
Then the boy was sitting down and Bartholomule, as usual, was bracing himself for first contact with the chaotic mind of a child and found… order. No chaos. Bartholomule had never encountered such a well-organised mind before; it was unique. He saw magical pathways that were far more mature that any eleven-year-old should have, this was the mind of a magic-user that had been using magic for years.
Bartholomule blinked. Mentally. He tentatively reached out and announced his presence by touching the boy's mind. Usually the children he sorted couldn't distinguish his presence from their own thoughts until he actually spoke to them; their minds still forming and growing and learning and changing; but Bartholomule instinctively knew that this child would sense him. And he did.
Harry felt the foreign presence the moment it reached out to him. When it politely announced itself, Harry reached back and welcomed it.
He knew the other was called Bartholomule.
He knew Bartholomule was searching his personality and abilities for the best house to place him.
He knew Bartholomule had read his aura, and was interested in his and two others that had come to Hogwarts this year; auras he instinctively recognized as his two new friends.
He knew that Bartholomule had decided they should be kept together…
Bartholomule knew that the boy's name was Harry / Quicksilver / Freak / Brat.
He knew that Harry had an enormous amount of magical power, and knew how to wield it.
He knew that Quicksilver, the homeless boy, knew how to take care of himself.
He knew that Freak knew what it was like to be persecuted for being different.
He knew that Brat would fight to be free.
Above all, he knew that Harrison Potter would do anything to be safe.
"Slytherin!"
One final message was sent across. Contact was broken.
The Slytherin table erupted into cheers. The rest of the student population were mixed between disappointment – not having the famous Harry Potter in their house – and surprise – after all, not many Slytherins were trusted or respected.
Harry, for his part, was focused on his very interesting conversation with Bartholomule. He'd been mildly surprised that a hat had a name; but it thought, so why not? Harry had always liked the old saying "I think, therefore I am", and he supposed it applied rather appropriately here.
"...it is time for you to be more than you ever have been before. Win their respect, and you'll do well..."
Ron was almost alone when it came to his turn to be sorted. He was feeling very conflicted about which house he wanted to be in. On the one hand, all his family were Gryffindoors; he shuddered to think about what would happen if he wasn't. On the other, Harry and Hermione were in Slytherin, and he already knew that both could be very important figures in his life.
His name was called.
"Ronald Weasley!"
His thoughts turned over at a furious rate, though you wouldn't know it to look at him. He didn't feel himself suited to Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff; for though he loved reading, it was for the escape it gave him, not for love of learning, and he'd never really had anyone to be loyal to before.
Gryffindoor or Slytherin…
Gryffindoor or Slytherin…
It wasn't like it was up to him, anyway.
Gryffindoor or Slytherin…
Gryffindoor or Slytherin…
But surely a child's comfort was considered when the hat made its decision? Where would he be comfortable?
He approached the stool.
As he sat down, his gaze went from his brothers – the twins' identical smirks and Percy's uncaring face – to his friends – Harry and Hermione paying attention to him, smiling encouragingly at him, their respect shining from their eyes – and his decision was made. Nothing else had allowed him to be accepted by his family, why would where he was sorted make a difference to them?
His internal debate was decided. Now he did have someone to be loyal to.
Hopefully the hat agreed.
The last aura child –as Bartholomule had come to think of the three – approached him, and the hat could sense a conflict taking place within the young one as he walked towards him; right until he sat down. As the magical item was placed on the boy's red head and Bartholomule approached his mind, he was for the third time that day, surprised and impressed by the mind of a child.
Ronald Weasley was smart, yes; and he knew how to utilize this mental prowess. Unlike any other pure-blooded child, however, he could think – what was the muggle phrase? Oh, yes – "outside the box". His mind saw possibilities where others would see only dead ends; challenges where others would be stumped by problems. It was the mind of a strategist, and was already well-developed. The Raven house a brief thought, but the hat knew this wasn't the mind of a Ravenclaw.
No other child of two Gryffindoors would rather be placed in another house because his friends were there. While this ability to be loyal recommended him for Hufflepuff, Bartholomule knew it wasn't where the child belonged.
The courage it had taken the boy to live outside of the world of his parent and family, alone, was incredible. He had seen the muggle world as an opportunity, and embraced it. Still, Bartholomule knew the reckless house was not for this boy – his bravery tempered by consideration.
Ronald showed more than smarts, and loyalty, and courage – he was, above all, cunning and thoughtful in his decisions; and had an ambition rivalled only by his two new friends. Ronald Weasley would do anything to be accepted.
There was, truly, only once place for him. Bartholomule was glad, because having seen the similarities between his aura children, he knew it would be best for them to be together; and though he was sure being in different houses wouldn't stop the friendship from developing, he knew it would be easier for all three to be house-mates.
Decision made.
"Slytherin!"
He whispered to the boy's mind before leaving.
Ron was relieved when the hat called out his house name, and moved confidently to sit with his new housemates. The cheer for him joining them wasn't as exuberant as the one for Harry, and there had been a stunned you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me moment before it began, but it was clear that he was accepted like everyone else had been.
As he sat down, his thoughts were only half on what was happening around him; he was considering the last thing the hat had whispered to him before he'd left the stool.
"...you have a place and a destiny here. Forge bonds that are stronger than family; and they will last through eternity..."
The sorting was done. Over for another year; and for the first time in a long time, Bartholomule was comfortable about the decisions he'd made. He knew this batch of first-years would be different, more like when the founders first created the houses, and hoped it would set a new trend for the future of their world. He next turned his attention to another of his duties: sending on his observations to Hogwarts on the students to help her decide where to room everyone. Though most would believe that the teachers decided where their students lived for the seven years of their schooling, it was in fact the job of Hogwarts herself to assign rooms.
Hufflepuffs lived spread out on the same floor with many nooks and crannies for studying and small groups of friends to meet in private; and small den-like rooms. Though loyal and hardworking, like their badger mascot they also enjoyed their solitude.
Gryffindoors lived – literally – on top of each other, as their dormitories were crammed together in one of the towers. They roomed together by year and sex, and had a large communal study/social area; and had no problem piling together just like a pride of lions. It was possible that Godric also believed his students mated in the same way, as there was a very effective spell to stop boys going into girls rooms, but no limitation on girls visiting the boys dorms.
The house of Ravenclaw was located next to and above the Library, with a private entrance to and from the study area of their common room – one that every Ravenclaw made sure was kept secret from Madam Pince. One side of the common room was set aside for studying, with private study desks as well as group study tables. The entire house's population could fit in this area. The other half had easy chairs for curling up in to read a good book or have a friendly conversation. The sleeping rooms were located on the next floor up, and each room was shared between seven people – one student from every year, where possible.
Slytherin was spread out on several different levels of the dungeons, with large, luxurious bedrooms and several common rooms hidden throughout the labyrinth. It was a little known fact that Salazar wasn't as caring about propriety as the other founders; he believed in teaching his snakes discretion, instead of abstinence, and so both male and female rooms by year were in the same corridor. Of course, there were security measures – one couldn't enter another's room without the expressed, un-forced invitation of one of the residents – that made the silly little stair charm Godric had cooked up look like a fun ride… although, Godric did always enjoy the humiliation of his students as punishments, rather than the more serious consequences Slytherin's apprentices would incur – should they be caught. The snake children usually shared two to a room, each year having their own corridor and a small social room to themselves. The larger common room was usually used for when you wanted to be seen.
Bartholomule kept his most unusual idea for last, feeling Hogwarts' amusement at his reluctance and then feeling surprised when she agreed immediately. He settled into himself with satisfaction. Another year done. Time for a sleep.
Harry observed the hall from his new place at the Slytherin table. He first observed the other students in the room. The Longbottom boy had been sorted into Gryffindoor, and he also spotted Ron's three brothers among the Lions, along with the older boy – Oliver Wood – that had sent Ron's twin brothers on their way on the train. After that he noticed again that the rather precocious girl, Susan Bones, had been sorted into Hufflepuff – which she seemed very happy about – and saw that the quiet girl, Lisa Turpin, was now a Ravenclaw.
Harry turned his attention to the students of his own new house; they were largely ignoring Ron, Hermione and himself, with the few exceptions that were throwing them looks every now and then, the younger students with frank curiosity and in some cases animosity; the older ones peering at them subtly from behind inscrutable masks. Draco Malfoy was the most often offender; shooting him looks of betrayal and wounded pride. Harry wasn't sure what that was about. The boy was sitting next to the Slytherin house ghost, The Bloody Baron, and was also looking very displeased about it and somewhat green about the gills at times.
The ghost was watching the newest Slytherins, and in his eyes behind his mask of indifference danced with a very well concealed sense of mischief. When the ghost looked at him, Harry met his gaze head on. The Baron seemed to be impressed and Harry quirked a very small smile.
He then looked up at the teachers table. He recognized Hagrid, of course; and Professor McGonagall, as well as Professor Quirrel from his day school shopping in Diagon Alley and Professor Dumbledore from his chocolate frog card Ron had unwrapped on the train. The old headmaster looked just as fantastic in life as he did in his picture. Also sitting at the head table were all the other professors of Hogwarts. As Harry studied each face, he met the eyes of a pale, dark-haired man with obsidian eyes. A sharp pain flared through his forehead and Harry instinctually flinched and broke contact. As he was doing so, he overheard another first year's conversation.
"Who's that beside Professor Snape? The one with the turban? He doesn't look like much," the pale, dark-haired boy with ice-blue eyes asked one of the prefects. The older student went on to explain that it was probably the newest Defence teacher, who would be introduced later; and told the fascinated first years all about the curse on the position.
"Snape wants the Defense position of course, but he's a brilliant Potions Master, Slytherin's head of house, too; anyone who studies NEWT's under him gets the highest scores in all of Europe. Of course that's probably because there's a rumour that if they don't, Snape will use them as ingredients in illegal dark potions…"
Harry turned out of the conversation after that, reasonable sure of his deduction that the dark professor was Potions Master Snape, as the teacher on the other side of Quirrel was a spacy-looking woman who kept glancing at the stars on the enchanted ceiling and muttering to herself. Harry found out later that she was Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher.
Very soon the rich food disappeared – Harry hadn't been able to stomach a lot of it, and hoped there would be simpler foods at regular meals – and Headmaster Dumbledore rose to make a speech which had Harry's eyebrows creeping higher and higher as the man spoke, and relaxing down into a frown and his brain racing when they received the deadly warning about the third-floor corridor. Once the old man dismissed them – after the most ridiculous and painful musical experience Harry had ever had – Harry got up and, along with all the other newly sorted first year Slytherins, followed along behind a prefect to find his home for the best part of the next seven years…
The newly sorted Slytherin first years followed after the fifth year prefects deep into the bowels of the castle. The further down they got, the darker and, perversely, the safer they felt. Hogwarts was very strong here, her magic grounded by and bonded with the very earth itself. Should the rest of Hogwarts fall, it was likely that the foundations – and dungeons – would remain undamaged; and the children could sense it. They reached a section of the wall that didn't really stand out at all, save for the faint etching of a snake that was pointed out to them where the wall met the roof and was barely noticeable. The prefect spoke the password "fastosus progenies" (6) and they stepped into a room that would become a central part o their lives through their Hogwarts career.
Harry, Ron and Hermione looked around with well-disguised interest. It was a long room, clearly underground, likely dug out with magic and shored up with rough stone that comprised the walls and ceiling; the latter of which was quite low. The darkness was kept at bay with green-tinged lamps hanging from the stone ceiling, attached by chains. Directly ahead of them was an elaborately carved mantelpiece, decorated subtly with snakes; that had a cheery fire crackling in the grate. It was surrounded by comfortable, ornately carved chairs. Although the atmosphere spoke of kept secrets, it was at the same time, peaceful and welcoming. To the left of the fire at the end of the room were groups of tables obviously set up for studying; while the right end of the room was dominated by seven doors; it was here they were led. Each door was marked by a year title, and a name. The third door on the left was labeled "First Years: Wadjits" (7). The door on the left of theirs was labeled seventh years (Ashwinders) and the door on the right read second years (Runespoors). Each class was named after a breed of snake, just like them.
Once they opened the door, the hallway inside twisted to the left in a u-turn and sloped dramatically downwards. It opened into a smaller, cosier version of the main common room, obviously a place for the first years to socialize, and then opened into another corridor. It became a narrow, barely lit hallway that stretched into darkness. The first years walked down the passageway, until they reached a door. It was on their left and read Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. The boys opened their door and disappeared into their room. The next door was on the right and read Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass. The two girls went inside, and the rest of the first years continued down the hallway. The next door was again on the left; and read Theodore Nott and Blaise Zambini. The two boys also entered their room. Moving further down the corroder, the next door they found was again on the right, and had Pansy Parkinson and Tracey Davies signed on it. The girls looked at each other and vanished into their room. There were now only four first years left. They kept going down the hall. Again a door appeared on the left, and had only one name written on it. Draco Malfoy; the boy looked very pleased and went into his single room.
The trio looked at each other and continued down the corridor. They walked a fair way until they came to a door in the end of the hallway. It read Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harrison Potter. The three looked at each other, rather surprised, but entered non-the-less.
When the trio entered the room, they were pleasantly surprised. It was a large room with a very open floor plan; directly to their left was a huge study table with a bookcase built into the wall next to the door. It surrounded a small kettle fireplace that was radiating warmth. To their right was another kettle fire about the same size, with the same shelves built into the wall surrounding it; in front of this fire were three comfortable, green squishy armchairs with side tables in between each. This was all on the same level as the door, in an arch-shape with a polished wooden floor.
Surrounding this area was a raised floor of the rest of the room. Spaced along the back wall were three large four-poster beds. Their curtains were all cream, with green bed-spreads and cream sheets and green and cream pillows. Each bed cover had a rather nice design on it, too. The left-hand bed had a fierce dragon embroided in silver; the middle bed had a fiery Phoenix, also in silver; the right-hand bed had a wood nymph again in silver thread. The carpet in the raised area was the same green as their beds and when they stepped onto it, their feet sank into it. Each bed had a bedside table on either side and was separated from its neighbour by lattice work to give each area privacy. When they turned to face the entrance, they noticed two more doors on either side of each fireplace, on the raised section of floor. Investigating these, they found one wardrobe/bathroom predominately decorated in cream with green highlights, and the other exactly the same decorated in an opposite manner. Their luggage was in the room and unpacked, their trunks stored at the end of a bed.
They each slipped into their pyjamas after a quick shower, the atmosphere already comfortable, almost as though they had known each other and lived together for years. Each snuggled down into their comfortable bed in satisfaction – Ron guarded by the fierce dragon, Harry protected by the eternal phoenix, and Hermione cosseted under the gentle wood nymph. Classes would start tomorrow, and all three fell asleep wondering what they would be like…
The Hogwarts staff room was usually filled with chatter as the teachers used the time away from their students each day after dinner as a way to de-stress as much as possible. Of course, each had their own specific habits they were partial too, as well. Sybil Trelawny, the Divination teacher, enjoyed the more than odd glass of sherry; Severus Snape, potions master, swept up and down the corroders at night, attempting to give the students a complex; and Minerva McGonagal, the transfiguration professor and deputy head, would slip into her feline form – her animagus form was a tabby cat – and prowl around the classrooms, chasing mice and, on occasion, stalking her colleague the potions professor. He deserved it, really!
Tonight though, the usually busy room seemed to be rather still. The magical professors were all looking at each other, in what appeared to be shock. After all – a muggle-born Slytherin, bad enough; a muggle-raised Potter – unlikely but still plausible... but Ronald Weasley a Slytherin?
Minerva mused on the likely hood of all three going into Slytherin in the same year, and had to conclude, it was incredibly… unlikely. Not to mention shocking. No wonder they were all sitting around in a stupor. Suddenly she snorted, it was shockingly loud in the almost silent room, and said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice, "look at us! Sitting around as though the world had stopped turning, simply because something unexpected happened. Honestly!"
And the tension was broken. Filius Flickwick the charms master and Pomona Sprout the herbology professor broke into exited conversation about the Potter and Weasley parents, and Minerva remembered the very put-together and mature Hermione she had escorted – without parents – around Diagon Alley. Severus beat a hasty retreat, no doubt heading to his quarters for a good stiff drink after suffering such 'stress' and 'shock', she thought with disapproval and disdain, and she decided to join her colleagues in their conversation.
Harry tossed and turned. He was dreaming… about Professor Quirrel. Well, his turban actually. It was trying to get inside his mind, but Harry kept forcing it out. It was an evil thing, that turban, and it kept whispering to him… let me in. You know you want too… we'll be great together, you and I… but Harry resisted. He knew it was important – even in his dream – that he not let it in. When it couldn't win, instead it started to unravel, reaching out to choke him –
– and Harry woke up, gasping for breath, scrabbling at his throat in an attempt to make it let him go… and realized it was a dream. Harry felt relief surge through him; and he lay back down and fell back to sleep without even realizing it, sleeping the night through and mostly forgetting about the troublesome dream…
The man was old, extremely so, though it would be hard to guess at his exact age. His white hair was rather unkempt, the skin of his face was almost albino white and marked with age, and his strange, silvery eyes remained unblinking for long periods of time. He walked with a stoop, his shoulders rounded from hunching them so often as he worked his trade, and his messy clothes had seen better days and needed desperately the work of an experienced needle.
His odd eyes seemed to focus to laser beam intensity as he reviewed three separate events in his pensieve. Once he'd reviewed every detail, Ollivander produced a vial from his pocket. It was obviously old, and seemed to have been handled again and again over countless years. Carefully tipping the enclosed memory into the pensieve with the other three, Ollivander once again viewed the remarkable events that had occurred nearly – he frowned, and calculated – no, exactly one hundred years ago…
…Memory…
He'd been young when he arrived in this place… far younger than most other members of his dying race were when they left their homes to explore their multi-verse. He'd found he had a talent for wand construction, and when his home and people had descended into war, he'd decided to stay. He'd taken the name Ollivander, and had kept it so long that he'd forgotten what he used to be called. Over the years, the duty of crafting of magical foci had set heavily on his shoulders, and he was almost single-handedly responsible for the evolution of the standards set by wand makers all over the magical world. He was jarred from his thoughts by the ominous sound of glass breaking from his storeroom. He sighed in frustration; in all his years pretending to be human, he had yet to meet a more annoying sample of the primitive species. The boy had to be the most clumsy, bumbling incompetent he'd ever met, let alone taken as an apprentice.
"What was I thinking? That brat will never amount to anything…" he mumbled to himself as he went to inspect the damage wrought by the red-haired hellion in his shop. He quickly took stock of the room, spying the damage immediately, and inspected the guilty party as he shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Albus Dumbledore! Those were my collection of highly expensive focusing crystals! What do you have to say for yourself?" he finally demanded (8).
"Ah… well. It's a funny story, Mr. Ollivander…" the brat started to explain, but Ollivander had heard enough tales for the day – week – year.
"Never mind," he interrupted with a sigh. Just get through this year, then you can foist him off onto someone else, he cheered himself on. He willingly ignored that it was only March, and he had quite a while to go until November, when by law he could hand the first-year apprentice on to someone else. Damn me for writing that into the code, he chided himself. I knew it would come back to me one day and bite me in the –
His thoughts were interrupted – probably a good thing, considering where they were going – by his contrite apprentice. "I'll clean it up, Mr. Ollivander. I'm sure some are salvageable," the eager words were accompanied by an earnest expression; and Ollivander softened.
How does he do that? He wondered, but sighed and answered, "very well, Albus. Be more careful in future, or I'll start docking your pay for the damages you're causing me, are we clear?" The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Good. Once you're done, leave for the day. I'm in the middle of a delicate process right now and I don't want to be disturbed."
"Yes sir. Sir?"
Ollivander sighed again. "Yes?" I'm going to regret asking…
"I really am sorry, sir. Here, I brought you these. Perhaps they'll make up for the crystals?"
Ollivander doubted it, but looked at the offering in any case. And promptly did a double-take. "Where did you get these?" he breathed, taking from his apprentice two very fine specimens.
"I… bonded with a phoenix. He's my familiar. He allowed me two of his tail-feathers. I wanted to do something for you. I know I'm a lot of trouble, and I wanted to thank you," Albus, for such a strong-willed, popular boy, could be quite shy at times.
"Thank you, Albus. I shall indeed take very good care of these… in fact, yes, I'll use one tonight. Come, you may observe if you are very careful," Ollivander offered.
Albus brightened. He quickly nodded, followed his master into the work-room and vowed to sit quietly in a corner and not move, lest he be expelled from the room.
Ollivander went over to his work-bench. Sitting there were three wands, in various different states of construction. He'd been inspired to create something special a few months ago, and had been working on these in his spare time, to get them absolutely right. He'd been dithering over the core of the last wand, but now he would use one of the phoenix feathers his apprentice had procured him. The wands were at a delicate stage in production, and would require one hundred percent concentration to finish the way he wanted them to…
After three hours of intense concentration, and nary a peep out of his apprentice (something he was afraid might be signifying the end of the multi-verse), he'd finally finished his three master-pieces. He'd watch carefully who would be destined for these wands.
The first was crafted from ash wood with a hair from a rare golden-maned unicorn for a core, beautifully designed with various carvings – the best he'd ever done – on the handle of strong magical creatures – dragons and unicorns and such – though it remained quite masculine.
The second was crafted from vine wood, with a Dragon Heartstring core, from a dragon the likes of which Ollivander had never seen before and, though he didn't know it, wouldn't see again – it had been dying when he'd come across it and had actually spoken to him; giving him permission to harvest from its remains and when he had, he'd found it had had only half a heart – and the final product had turned out to be rather delicate-looking with its carvings of a nymph surrounded by plants and flowers and a slim-line handle – deceptively so. This was a very strong wand, and would need someone with strength of will to wield it.
The third and last had, of course, a phoenix feather core, and was crafted from holly. Again, the carvings of beautiful flying magical beasts on the handle – phoenix and Pegasus and other ancient things of legend – was extremely good; though like the first it remained masculine and like the second seemed almost delicate, but it was the most powerful wand he'd ever created.
The second feather he put aside, absently deciding it would be a good core for that yew wand he had started yesterday. He sighed in satisfaction – and then he felt it. The wands were… activating. That's impossible, he thought in surprise. They can only do this when a wizard channels their magic through it… what is going on?
Both master and apprentice watched in wonder as the three wands glowed with power, the tendrils of it seeming to weave together; and as they watched, ancient symbols were emblazed in a line up the side of each wand from handle to tip. The power blazed once more before dimming, leaving the three wands lying innocently still, as though they hadn't just defied every magical theory known to wizard-kind.
"Master, what… have you ever seen anything like that before?" Albus asked quietly, showing surprising insight into in his question, Ollivander thought absently, maybe there was hope for him yet, as he studied the foci lying on his work-table with his cyte. His natural ability to see the way the different parts of the wands flowed together into harmony was a most valuable asset to his craft; and right now it was showing him something he'd never seen before…
"They've bonded…" he whispered in awe.
Yes, indeed, he would have to watch where these particular wands ended up most carefully…
…End Memory…
Ollivander pondered. Should he tell anyone about this? In particular, should he inform Albus Dumbledore? No, he decided, he'd already given Dumbledore one favour this year; he still wasn't sure he should have told the old headmaster about the brother wand being sold to young Harry Potter. Perhaps, in a few years, he would tell the children themselves? Yes. He would see how events played out. After all, it was the sworn duty of a wand crafter to send wands out into the world – not to interfere in how they were used.
A/N: From internet troubles, to writer's block; hospital visits and sheer laziness to the occasional burst of dedication and brilliance: I give you the fourth chapter of Tarnished!
1) Weasley conversation from pages 72 and 73 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone; (altered to fix the facts of the story, of course) absolutely inspired – especially the toilet seat!
2) Fictional characters made up by me – I have no idea who "invented" floo powder or though up the floo system according to JKR, but figured it would be funny if it had been named after someone called "Floo".
3) Gringotts Newsclipping from page 105 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (actually they're already at Hogwarts and into the school year when this article is printed in cannon).
(4) I have decided in my version of Harry Potter's Universe, pets and familiars are very different. Pets of course are kept by people as companions; familiars are bonded to a wizard's magical core and aid in certain magical practices. Depending on a wizards (or witch's) power one can be bonded to highly magical creatures (such as Dumbledore and Fawkes) or more than one creature (such as Harry with his owl and cat).
(5) Obviously I don't know how old Oliver Wood was when he became Quidditch captain, but in this universe it was fourth or fifth year. Although he and Cedric are a couple of years apart, and in different houses, I figure all the really nutty Quidditch people would know each other.
(6) Pride/proud lineage
(7) Wadjit (spelled other ways as well) was an Ancient Egyptian goddess in the form of a winged snake. Though I couldn't find any species in the Harry Potter universe based on this legend, I decided to put it in. So a Wadjit is a magical species of snake with wings that was worshiped in Ancient Egypt.
(8) According to HP Lexicon, Albus Dumbledore is in fact only 99/100 years old when Harry is born, making him about 110 when the trio attend Hogwarts. In this universe he's a little bit older. At this point in time, Albus is about 19 to 20 years old. He's done a few things after graduating from Hogwarts, bonded with Fawkes for one, and is now trying his hand at wand making. I figured that even Albus Dumbledore had to be young and awkward at some point in his life! Ollivander calls him boy because even though 17 is the legal age in the wizarding world, older people (and in this Ollivander is already centuries old, if not millennium) often call young people this until they're about 25. Also it conveys the sense I wanted that Albus is young at this point in his life, not really experienced or matured at all yet. Oh, all this makes him approx. 10 years older than cannon.
A/N: I sincerely apologise for the sheer amount of time this chapter has taken. I truly hope it is up to everyone's expectations! There are some things in this chapter that I wasn't happy with, and still aren't, but I couldn't keep it hanging around on my computer (which isn't dead! Hooray!) any longer. Hope you enjoy!