The feast was delicious.
Harry ate very, very little - everything had salt, and his fae powers had been called up rather recently. He needed to give them - it? - time to settle before he was all right with eating salt and going near iron.
Ingress' hair had faded into a minty green that clashed terrifically with her bright yellow and black tie. She was laughing at something, gesturing wildly to the tables. They had only forced the 'friendship' contract on the bullies, so it was interesting to see those who normally weren't bullies explaining to the first years that "House before family and friends and blood" even as the firsties argued back that they had made friends on the train.
It was even more funny to see the usual bullies trying to stay out of it. After all, all the new rooms helped foster inter-house friendships, but those were weak, and the quidditch and house-cup competitions often made inter-house friendships fade quite quickly.
According to Ingress, who heard it from the previous Head Girl, those rooms lowered the bullying-and-fighting levels remarkably, but friendships existed only in those rooms.
For example, a Claw and a Gryff were friends only in the pool-room, and ignored each other everywhere else, as they were both on separate quidditch teams.
But it was the entering Feast; he could worry about changing everything even more than his parents and friends did later. As of now, he just wanted to sleep. It took a lot of power to make a contract, and he had made far too many.
Tomorrow was going to be hell.
Professor Quirinus Quirrel looked over at the Great Hall at his new students. He had taught Muggle Studies before, but to be honest, the Wizengamot had not approved of his telling students that both Muggles and Magic-users were human beings, both Homo Sapiens, and the DNA difference between the two was almost invisible.
He had said that, sure, the wizards had magic.
Well, in 1945, Muggles had destroyed two cities in an instant, and people were still feeling the Radioactive residue. It takes a while to say Avada Kedavra, he said, but muggle guns can kill dozens and dozens of wizards in an instant. Machine guns, that is.
But still. And then he had explained that Muggles had a lot more common sense - that in their world, every single person had a trial, and at the trial, everyone had to swear that they would answer each question with the Truth, the full Truth, and nothing but the Truth.
After several years of teaching this, the Board of Governors kicked him out.
So he traveled a bit. He had gone to Albania, seen a dark forest.
Seen Lord Voldemort.
It was Voldemort that enlightened him to the truth. That sure, muggles could destroy a city. But it took several muggles to do so, and a lot of fancy equipment. But wizards... they could do anything from age eleven. With a wand, any wizard could go to any muggle city and set it on fire.
Wizards had innate power that muggles didn't.
Muggleborns, or those with muggle roots, could eventually rid themselves of the filth in their blood by only marrying wizards... for centuries. Wizards as pure as possible. Then, after they had left their muggle roots completely behind, then they could be accepted. But not yet. First, they had to be taught that they were better, taught to see the truth... taught to aim to be as pure as possible.
Or be killed. It was very simple.
And then, his Lord had given him a mission - steal the Philosopher's Stone. So, he Imperioed some muggle, and sent them into Gringotts. Oh, the goblins caught them, but the security breach was enough to move the Stone to Hogwarts.
How... charming. He would get the stone, posing as a teacher. After all, he quiet liked teaching. The DADA position was open. He could do that. All he had to do now was get to the third floor and beyond.
Though his Lord wished to accompany him, he couldn't. His Lord had other business, so he trusted Quirrell - trusted him! - to get the Stone.
And he would not fail his Master, no matter who stood in his way.
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"Alright, mudblood. What are you doing in the Purest House of Hogwarts?" The question was directed at Hermione, who bared her teeth in response.
She had spent the entire summer reading textbooks and other books about the world she had entered, and she had a fairly good idea about prejudice. And she had also read some basic defense books. But right now, everything fell away, except her anger, her right to be here, and the three spells the hat whispered in her ear. She had read about them before, about the wand movement, and now she knew how the pronounce the spells.
She also loved Shakespeare, especially his insults.
"The Hat was enchanted by all Four Founders. All Four put their opinions and judgments into the Hat. Are you denying that your own Founder didn't want me here, you lily-liver'd, in-gracious, inbred cad?"
The tall fourth year, budding leader, was smart. He only insulted Mudbloods inside his own house, and was polite to everyone else - his excuse? "It gets them to do my homework, and I'll have favors to call in later in life."
It also made Tonks and Harry miss him when forcing people into contracts.
The man-ling stood up slowly, languidly, twirling his wand between his fingers as he looked Hermione up and down. She was small. She was probably about average power, but she was angry - and, because his house would never accept her, it was better to break her now before she grew up into a threat and was capable of acting on her anger.
He had to punish her, anyway, had to take charge in order to seem pro-active and a good, capable leader to the other Slytherins. But he would not bow to anger.
"Now, little firstie, little muggle girl, what did you call me?" His voice was soft. Better give her a chance to give in before striking; he needed to seen merciful and approachable to the others.
"I called you a lily-liver'd, in-gracious, inbred cad! Didn't you hear? Or did you not understand? I could explain it to you, if you want me to!" Hermione knew how this worked. She was the bushy-haired, buck-toothed little girl, and she was small and ugly and an easy target. After all, she had been bullied before. But this was Hogwarts, where she had to spend seven years, and she would not be bullied here.
"Go ahead, little firstie, tell everyone around you what you called me and why. I want everyone to understand that such words are not to be used when speaking to me, so go ahead, tell them what you said, explain why I will break you." He was more in a dueling position now, gently pointing the wand at the girl's torso, and she carefully copied his position. Not well, not as firmly, as a matter of fact, her position was downright stupid. But she tried, she saw it and she copied it. Yes, she was a fast learner.
Fast learners were two things: loyal minions or potential dangerous threats. She was dirty. She would never be a minion. So, eliminate the threat.
"Lily-liver'd because you are a coward, to attack me when you are in the Common Room, surrounded by allies and friends, instead of out in the open on equal ground, in-gracious because that was rude, uncalled for, and your insults have no class, inbred because surely no one sane would want to marry your ancestors so their had to be some inbreeding just to stay "pure", and a cad, because you are nothing but a gutted fish."
At this point, all the Slytherins were pressed against the walls, not wanting to get in the way. Some had dropped onto couches and armchairs, and everyone who knew how was casting a protego so that the flying spells wouldn't hit them.
"Do you know how to duel, little dirty-blooded animal? You bow first... here, someone referee. No one interfere." The girl shifted in her shoes, making them less tight and easy to kick off.
A seventh year stood up.
"Bow! Straighten! Three...! Two...! One!"
He shot of a spell, but she stepped aside, and in one fluid motion, kicked into the air. As her right shoe flew up and at him, his eyes automatically raised to follow the motion, his wand lifting to blast it out of the air.
There was a click.
Everybody looked at the door leading out of the common room. It was half open, and they could hear her running.
Then someone spoke.
"It's was a good plan. Had she known a few spells, you would have lost then, Terrance Higgs. Instead of running, the little muddy girl would have nailed you with a spell. And now, she's running and we're not chasing after her. It's a stalemate, Mr. Higgs. You had a stalemate with a firsty. You, a pure-blood, had a draw with a half-pint girl with muddy veins and dirty blood, and we're supposed to follow you? The girl had more potential."
Higgs opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn't see who spoke - someone far behind the crowd of people. A female voice - it could be anyone from third to seventh year. And it was too late. People were wandering away, going up into the dorms.
Higgs growled. He would skewer that little girl who called him a cad. And then skewer whoever had said that. He hadn't spent four years trying to rule Slytherin for the power he gained to be lost so easily.
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Hermione ran.
That boy had almost taken her apart - thank god that her shoes had untied themselves at the feast. But that was too close. She needed to get better, she needed to get better yesterday.
Hermione was the best at schoolwork - it was how she proved to everyone that she was better; that they could knock her down but she was the best at working and where it mattered. The dedication meant that she stayed up two nights every week, Tuesday and Saturday nights, studying. Just in case. She knew she could handle the lack of sleep - she'd been handling it since she was six.
Hermione glanced at a nearby map and turned to walk to the Training Rooms.
She would show them, the girl vowed to herself.
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Blaise Zabini shivered in bed, gripping his knife under his pillow, reviewing the Family Rules.
To be Family, you must kill before turning seventeen, when childhood ends.
You are not Family until you kill.
If you do are not Family, you are a Threat to the Family. Threats are eliminated.
Your only loyalty is to Family - you are Neutral in all other situations.
The young boy closed his eyes, remembering his Nonna's gifts to him-
Seven knives.
Three vials of poison.
Two wands - on of his own, one Family wand that had agreed to also work for him.
His body - after all, she had given birth to him.
"Make them all count, Little Boy," She had whispered (She'd call him Son when he killed another), "And remember: Everyone is a target, an ally and an enemy."
His mother was the Black Widow, and Blaise Zabini wondered whose blood he would be forced to spill, and then whose blood his mother had spilled.
He hated the Mafia, the Family Business, and wanted nothing more than to be part of it.
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Angelina Johnson looked sadly at the youngest Weasely boy in front of her. She liked Fred and George, and had gotten along well with Charlie. Usually, the twins and Oliver Wood would explain to the First Years what it meant to be Gryffindor.
Now she had to do it - her Captain and the Beaters were hissing in the corner of the room, something about "Fouls", "Brooms", "Killing is illegal, Oliver!", and "We need another Seeker!"
She had seen the youngest nod at a Raven boy and a Slytherin girl.
"You don't get it," she said again. "The Claws all turn out to be nerds, and sure, you can be friends, but it's hard when all they do is study. Puffs are... well... puffs. They just are. But Slytherins; you can't trust them. They steal your secrets and it's impossible to be friends with them!"
"THEY'RE MY FRIENDS! Hermione's cool, and so's Draco, yeah, his parents are gits, but so WHAT! My mum's mental, too! And Hermione says Merlin was a Slytherin, and, and, you can't tell me not to be friends! I like them!"
Angelina swallowed, looking at the tears brimming in the boy's eyes.
"They'll disappoint you and you'll all grow apart. Just... trust me."
"NO! You're a meanie and you're trying to take away my friends! I HATE YOU!"
Ronald Weasely ran to his dormitory.
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Neville decided that Hogwarts was the best thing that ever happened. Hufflepuff house was great! The older years were really nice, ruffling everyone's hair and smiling.
"Alright! Wotcher, y'all. Now: Puffs stick together; so go to houses in li'l groups. Also, Puffs tend to be bullied, so you might want to memorize some pretty cool insults. Just in case. Lastly: Y'all, who can do Progeto, raise your hands... lets' see."
"Wotcher, Susan Bones! Good for you! Harry, yeah yeah, put down your hand. You can do everything. Hhm. Only Susan? Right. Once you can do Protego, you can go to bed."
And the older years descended on the younger years, treating them like new younger siblings while the second years went to bed. Harry Potter (!) and Susan Bones demonstrated their Protegos and went to sleep within the first minute.
Slowly, the students learned and went to bed. And Neville couldn't do it.
"Like this..."
"Hold your wand tighter - no, looser."
"Less of a swish..."
"Try again!"
Suggestions swirled around his years, and Neville could have cried. Then -
"Hold it. Are you sure that's your wand?"
"What? It's my dad's!"
There was a long moment of silence, and then the Seventh-Year Auror-in-Training who taught them Protego smiled and stepped forward. The students parted for her like the Red Sea.
"Neville Longbottom. I'm Tonks, and I'll write to your Grandmother, Dowager Longbottom, about your situation. You'll get your own wand within the week, don't worry. You'll floo to Diagon Alley and get your wand, and if your Granny doesn't take you, then I will. Now... Bed!"
Neville went up to bed, deciding that wand-problems or not, Hufflepuff was the best. Ever.
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The teachers gathered in a classroom to discuss the new students.
"Of course the Weasely boy went to Gryffindor! What did everyone expect?" Asked Minerva McGonagall with a raised eyebrow. Of course Minerva was talking about her student.
"Well, the Granger-girl in Slytherin -a muggleborn no less - why, she looked like a bookworm; quoting Hogwarts: A History like that. I had her pegged for Ravenclaw!" Yes, Professor Sprout's comments were so illuminating.
Severus Snape was in a foul mood.
He had expected Malfoy in Slytherin; that way he had an easily-controlled way into the house. Instead, he had to keep some muggle-born girl safe! And Terrence Higgs was gathering control far quicker than he expected, and they couldn't half that - they needed a leader strong enough to stand against the Dark Lord for when he came again.
Terrence Higgs was NOT that person.
Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"Well, what did you all think of young Harry?"
"We've only seen him at the feast!" Yes, thought Severus, Sprout's contribution was ever so helpful.
"Well, Slytherin and Hufflepuff? He's cunning and ambitious and Hardworking and deeply loyal... but not brave? It's strange, it's as if he grew up in a place where bravery just doesn't matter." And Minerva, thought Severus, thought only of her house.
"He seems sharp and focused." Of course he does, Severus thought at Quirrell acidly. Everyone with a bit of sense looks focused.
"Yes, thank you... you may all go." Dumbledore's eyes still twinkled, and when everyone left, they focused on Severus, asking him to speak.
"He walks like he's a war veteran. He's aware of the whole room. When the Hat was on his head, he magic spread out just a bit, tasting the room. Checking it. Just a bit, though. He's aware and alert and a planner. He judged people quickly, but instead of sweeping his eyes over the room, he focused on certain people and then on others. He's thinking of something that needs a lot of outside help, and those things are usually long-term. He'll defeat the Dark Lord not because the Lord's a threat, but because the Lord is an obstacle in Potter's plans. But he can do it. He's powerful, and his magic is more wild than anything I've ever seen."
"Thank you for your contribution, dear boy."
Severus sneered at the endearment, and swept away. Potter excluded power so casually. It was terrifying.
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Melinda Bredniv and Draco Malfoy stared at each other.
New Ravenclaws.
Chesnut pixie cut and green eyes; slicked blonde hair and grey eyes.
Werewolf and little education. Pureblood and aristocrat.
Both taught to hate each other.
Only Draco Malfoy was under contract. Only he was forced to give her a chance.
"My name is Draco Malfoy. What's your name?" His voice was cold, but not sneering, and he offered her his hand.
She spat at his shoes, knocked his hand away, and snapped.
"None of you business! I know all about you, my mother told me, you racist pigs! Leave me alone!" And Melinda Bredniv ran to her bed, crying.
