It's chapter 4 and I still don't own any rights to the HP fandom. Shame.
Chapter 4: To Hogwarts
Harry spent the remaining of his summer reading his textbooks – which would have been seriously boring had the subject not been magic – and even attempted a few potions, since he did not need a wand to brew. None of his first attempts turned out satisfactory but he supposed that was only natural, since he had not even had a class yet.
He found himself very smug to have had the foresight to buy more than the required amount of ingredients and kept experimenting until he thought he had finished around half of his first potion kit. He wanted to have enough to last a bit more than the whole school year.
By this point, his potions were definitely not perfect, but they were still much better than his sorry first tries. At least, their smell roughly fit what they were supposed to be. The colors were not quite there yet.
He also established that his trunk was male and decided to give him a name. Had he been allowed around books more often, Harry might have gone with a famous mythological name, like Fafnir, Brinsop, Medea or Níðhöggr.
As things stood, he settled for Chomp.
When August 31st finally rolled around, Harry was deposited by his grumbling uncle on the road in front of King's Cross Station, Chomp trotting faithfully behind him without anyone batting an eyelid at him.
Professor McGonagall's instructions had been sufficiently clear for him to find his way to platform 9 ¾ and – after a very distressing jump through solid stone – he soon found himself sitting quietly in an empty compartment at the head of the shining red Hogwarts Express.
He spent most of the ride looking at the scenery. His peace was disturbed a few times by random students looking for a place to sit. He would not have minded the company but, as soon as their eyes landed on the luggage carrier, they all politely excused themselves and closed the door.
Weird.
Ω
Severus Snape was adding the last finishing touches to an experimental sun protecting salve – vampires were ready to pay a lot of money to go around during the day – when a small chime went off, informing him that someone was approaching his quarters.
He glanced at the clock – he was not late for the feast – and frowned when the wards around his office door alerted him to the presence of a Hogwarts teacher. He still had a good twenty minutes before the beginning of the feast and he really hoped Albus had not decided to drop by for a chat, as he was prone to do these times of the year. There was only so much eye-twinkling goodwill he could bear.
He placed his delicate potion under a Stasis charm and strode to the door, his scowl firmly in place to greet whoever thought it appropriate to disturb his last minutes of peace before the arrival of the new yearly batch of dunderheads.
"What is it?" he barked while slamming the door open.
The mousy cry and disheveled appearance heralded one Sybil Trelawney, and he raised a curious eyebrow. The crazy witch who had taken the post of Divination teacher never descended to the dungeons – which were 'hindering her Sight', or some other trite excuse to hide the fact that the place scared her – so her presence in front of his quarters was more than a bit odd.
"Ah, Severus," she whispered once she had regained her composure, "I Saw that Albus needed you, thus I came to fetch you before anyone could be delayed…"
Distracted as he was by the high-pitched faraway tone, Severus translated that the headmaster had sent her note to drop by and make sure he would not forget the feast. He scowled. Did Albus really not think he could make it on time? When had he ever been late?
Perhaps the old wizard took joy in forcing Severus to endure Sybil's grating presence. How uncharacteristically sadistic of him.
"Quite… thoughtful of you," he drawled and stepped out of his quarters, a sneer in his voice. "Let us not dither, then. We do not want the vampire bats to attack, now."
"V-vampire bats?" Her chuckle was obviously forced and nervous. "Surely you jest, Severus."
He gave her his best serious look and strode off in a billowing of black robes, feeling somewhat avenged when she hurried to catch up with his quick strides.
"There can't be vampire bats at Hogwarts," she muttered more to herself than him, for which he was grateful. "It's too far north, unless they're enchanted? Charmed against the cold? What about the climate, shouldn't… HE IS NEAR…"
Severus froze mid-step.
He knew that voice; that thrice damned voice of the Seers, just as he knew that, if he turned back to Trelawney, he would find only misty whiteness in her eyes.
"HE IS NEAR," the voices repeated, as they poured out of their conduit, "HE WILL TAME THE BURNING BEAST AND SWAY THE HOLLOW SHADES… HE WILL DECEIVE THE KING OF SNAKES AND SHATTER THE ESSENCE OF LIFE…"
Slowly, he forced his muscles to obey him and turned towards the Seer. It took all of his will to take a single step back at the familiar face that had become suddenly eerily alien.
"HE IS NEAR…"
Part of him was scared at the very idea of making a sound. The weight of the voices was crushing him, and he wanted to run, away, far away, and quiver in a corner, and tear his ears off to repel the words. Had it been that terrifying, when he had overheard the first prophecy, a decade ago?
He could not remember.
"HE WILL UNLOCK THE GATE AND TEAR APART THE VEIL… HE WILL MAKE TRUTH A LIE AND STAKE HIS CROWN FOR A SOUL…"
He could not remember but, perhaps, the weight had been the same, only this time, he was the only one intended to bear the words of the Fates.
"HE IS NEAR, THE BLIGHT, THE TRICKSTER, THE WOUND IN THE WORLD…"
There was no one else to carry the burden. He was alone.
"THE BRINGER OF ASHES IS NEAR…"
Ω
Magic boats were awesome.
Though, and Harry might be biased by his first experience, everything related to magic was awesome.
It seemed he was not the only one to think so, as, of the three other occupants of the boat, only a round faced boy cradling a toad seemed less thrilled than he was. Of the two others, a bushy-haired girl was attempting to look everywhere at once, her brown eyes lit with intense curiosity, and a dark-skinned boy was staring at the dark waters with the brooding look of a tragic hero.
When a gigantic castle came into view, however, all four occupants of the boat had the exact same expression of pure awe at the gothic agglomeration of towers that stood in dark contrast with the moonlit night sky.
"That's Hogwarts!" the girl exclaimed and, after taking a deep breath, she started spouting facts about the castle, its architecture, history and importance, which was both annoying and interesting. The speed of her delivery made it slightly difficult to understand what she was saying, and Harry stopped paying attention after a few minutes to refocus on the contemplation of the slowly approaching castle.
The dark-skinned boy, whose brooding glare had shifted to the still-speaking girl, eventually got annoyed enough to request in scathing yet somehow polite tones that she 'please refrain herself from further disrupting the serenity of the moment'.
That effectively silenced her, and the two of them entered a glaring contest that, if Harry had to guess, was going to be won by the boy.
Before their developing animosity could brew further, the round-faced boy, who had been quietly fumbling with his toad, turned towards him and shyly introduced himself as one Neville Longbottom. This started the presentations and they were soon shaking hands – or attempting to crush each other's fingers in the case of the two still-glaring ones – one Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger. Harry took advantage of their distraction to peer at Neville, who had been quick-witted enough to change the subject of the conversation. Or perhaps he was just curious.
Whichever it was, Harry was glad for the diversion and, after having dealt with the double takes his name caused, he peacefully enjoyed the rest of his ride while Granger and Zabini resumed their glaring contest.
Ω
Their group of first years was left to wait in an antechamber of some sort. Listening to the worried whispers of a red-headed boy near the side of the group, Harry quietly snorted when a troll fight was mentioned. Who would let a bunch of eleven-year-olds fight a troll? It was obviously a prank.
Right?
He turned to Neville – ignoring Zabini and Granger who had entered the third round of their glaring contest – and quietly asked about the Sorting ceremony, to which the round-faced boy replied that he would have to put on a magic talking hat and that should be all.
Comforted by the answer, Harry was about to fall back to his silent musing, when the door opened, and professor McGonagall ushered them in the great hall.
Harry fell into step with Neville, feeling a bit nervous and very excited. From four long tables, almost all of the students had their eyes on them and he could not help feeling a little bit self-conscious.
Professor McGonagall made them stop a dozen feet before a raised platform onto which there was a stool, which itself supported a rather worn looking hat.
Which started to sing.
Harry was barely recovering from the song – and trying to analyze which house he would end up in – when the first name was called, and the sorting began. He clapped politely for a newly-minted Hufflepuff named Hannah Abbot and idly looked over the different tables. Everyone seemed nice enough.
He was surprised when Granger went to Gryffindor. From what he had observed during their short boat ride, she seemed more a bookworm than a brave warrior, but he supposed you could not judge people by their appearance.
Neville went to Hufflepuff, and Harry cheered him as the round-faced boy went to sit at his table, receiving a shy smile in return.
A few more names went on until he was called up, and many people started whispering animatedly. He noticed a few pointing at him and wondered what the hell this was all about. The others' sorting had not garnered such a reaction from the students.
Shrugging it off as another wizard-thing, he walked to the stool and let McGonagall put the huge old hat on his head.
"Oh my, look at that," a voice intoned from inside the hat. "This is going to be quite amusing."
Well. That explained why most children had flinched when they had put the thing on their head.
"Um, hello?" he whispered. "I'm sorry, but what is going to be amusing?"
"Hello, child," the Hat replied. "I was referring to your Sorting."
Guessing that everything was perfectly normal, Harry decided to respond with his new foolproof reaction to weird things: rolling with it.
"And why is my Sorting amusing, if I may ask?"
"You certainly may."
There was a definitive chuckle coming from somewhere near the crown of his hair and Harry decided to avoid thinking about the peculiarities of headwear anatomy.
"Without even knowing you yet," the Hat eventually elaborated, "most assume you already belong to the Lion's den."
"Really?" he asked, skeptically. "Who's 'most'? And why would they make assumptions like that?"
"Gryffindor is the house your parents called their own. Many think you will, or should, follow in their footsteps."
From the bits he had read and what Professor McGonagall had told him, Harry did not think it a really wise choice to follow in the footsteps of people who had died in their twenties by actively fighting against a wizard much more powerful than them.
"Aren't houses supposed to be about personality?" he asked instead of voicing this thought. "I don't see how my parents being Gryffindors means I'll be one too. Especially since I don't even know them."
"You are correct," the hat replied, "and yet, you will find that some families are often tied to certain Houses. And some would see it as a tragedy, even a disgrace, to be sorted elsewhere."
Harry shrugged. Maybe it was a wizard thing. He peered at the Gryffindor table. They seemed nice enough and the color scheme was not that bad. It reminded him of fire and that was always a good thing. Besides, professor McGonagall was familiar, and she had told him she would be very happy and proud to be his Head of House…
"I don't want to disappoint anyone," he started slowly, "maybe I should-…"
"I will not Sort you to the wrong House," the Hat interrupted him, "not even to please an old grouse."
Harry briefly wondered at the sudden rhyming, but it probably did not matter much in the grand scheme of things.
"So," he asked instead, "I can't go to Gryffindor?"
"You have courage, maybe enough," the Hat replied with a tone that certainly tried to sound very grand, "but you possess too much finesse to fit in the House of Bluntness. Many secrets, maybe too much, to call it home and feel as such. Your shadows bared in Gryffindor, would mark you as an outsider. You need a house without bias for what is seen a dark stigma."
Harry cocked his head to the side in confusion, precariously tilting the Hat in the process. He took a few seconds to translate the abrupt rhyming, before asking:
"Shadows? Dark stigma? What do you mean?"
"Magic can be Dark, Grey or Light. And your kinship lies with the night."
Thinking on how he could use the shadows to feel his way around in the dark, Harry admitted that the Hat had a point.
"Now let me see… the Eagle's nest seeks truth and fact. They would not judge one of their own, but would you fit? It is less sure. You do not thirst much for knowledge beside what you can gain from it. Again, that would make you an outcast in your own House."
"Okay," Harry grumbled, with the feeling this sorting-thing was going to take some time. "What's next?"
"In the Snake's pit, dwell the cunning, the ambitious who seek power. Secrets are kept by Slytherin. You would thrive there, among your peers."
"Well that seems like a good place."
"Yes. If not for your name, you would fit."
"What's wrong with my name?"
"Many Slytherins will see you as the Light Savior, an enemy of the House that has embraced the Darkness of magic. Proving them wrong would not be easy and you would walk a very thin line between your House and your school."
"Alright… so, the last one is Hufflepuff, right? Can I go there?"
"Loyal and hard-working, you certainly are. But the Badger's sett would look at you with fear."
"Okay," he grumbled, rolling his eyes, "so, there's nowhere I can go?"
"Quite the contrary, three Houses are open to you. In Gryffindor, you would be prized, but a misstep would outcast you. In Slytherin you would find kin but have to win their high esteem. In Hufflepuff, you would be safe, but lonely amongst scared strangers."
"And I'm not enough of a bookworm for Ravenclaw."
"You lack the thirst that unite them."
"So, where will you put me?"
"Students fit for more than one House are by custom allowed to choose."
"Oh. Nice. Well, it seems that, apart from Hufflepuff, I'll have to prove myself and be careful no matter where I go, so, if I take your warnings into account, it's really a no-brainer."
"Are you sure?"
He nodded firmly.
"Yes, as long as you did not lie about me thriving there."
"I never lie. And I suppose you had better be SLYTHERIN!"
Ω
And this is where the already written chapters stop. We're entering unknown territory, lads !