Harry decided that whatever method of transportation he just engaged in, he would never do it again. His organs felt like they had been turned inside out and crushed simultaneously. Groaning, he struggled to his feet and found himself standing in front of a cottage in a small mountain village. The cottage was weathered, mossy stone, and looked as if it had not been occupied for a good while, yet it had a homely, welcoming feel. The damp air was cool against Harry's bare arms, and the stars shined brightly overhead. McGonagall stood in front of the dark wood door and tapped her wand against the door knob.

"Unfortunately, side-along Appariation is never comfortable, especially over long distances," she said, smiling apologetically, "But at least it is fast. Welcome to Hogsmeade." Harry checked that he had all his limbs and belongings and followed McGonagall into the house.

"Is this where you live?" he asked, curiosity overcoming politeness.

"Not since my husband died," she said, sadness thick in her voice, "I couldn't bear to live here after he passed, so I packed my bags and left. I now stay at Hogwarts most of the time, but I still own the place and I want you to have the same experience arriving as the rest of the first years."

The sudden light flaring from the end of her wand revealed the room to Harry's eyes. There was a large fireplace against one wall, with bookshelves on either side and a collection of comfy armchairs and a sofa completed the living room. Past a flight of stairs leading to the upper stories, he could see a cozy kitchen. With another flick her wand, all the dust and cobwebs were cleaned away, the gas lamps flared to life, and a fire sprang up in the chimney, illuminating the room in a warm glow.

"How do first years normally get to Hogwarts?" he asked, following McGonagall up the stairs.

"By train," she said, pointing down the hall to the right, "You can stay in that room, tell me if you find anything suspicious, some creatures thrive in abandoned places. I'll go get something to eat, do you prefer butterbeer or tea?"

"I've never had butterbeer, so I guess I'll try that," Harry said, opening his mouth to ask another question but McGonagall stopped him.

"I'll answer your questions over dinner," she said, smiling, "I'm sure you have a lot of them." He grudgingly agreed to hold his questions and proceeded to his room. Remembering McGonagall's warning about creatures, he unsheathed his sword as he opened the door. Thankfully, the room appeared to be unoccupied, by humans or otherwise. There was a window that looked over the back garden, and small, comfortable bed against one wall. There was a stand that looked as if a bird could perch on it, and more shelves brimming with books. He set his backpack down on the nightstand and put his weapons in the trunk at the foot of the bed, and headed downstairs to join McGonagall.

-oO0o0Oo-

McGonagall tried not to think of her past memories of the cottage, knowing it would only bring her pain. She reminded herself that it was only for one night, and that if she could fight in the worst wizarding war yet, she could be strong for just a little longer. She busied herself by cooking a rudimentary stew. She admitted that she wasn't the best of cooks, and she hadn't really had much practice since she became a Hogwarts' professor, as the house elves prepared any meals they required. Besides, one of the fundamental laws of transfiguration was that you couldn't transfigure food, and so had not learned many spells concerning that area of magic. The challenge helped take her mind off how everything in the cottage reminded her of him, and his death. The stew had just finished when Harry came downstairs, and she couldn't help but notice how he was always prepared for a fight. He had left his weapons upstairs, the rooms weren't big enough to swing a sword or fire arrows effectively, but his eyes were always moving, taking in information, and his muscles never completely relaxed. When he sat down, he positioned himself so that he could see all the entrances comfortably, and looked as if he was prepared to fight at any moment.

"Expecting any trouble?" she asked, floating a bowl to him.

"Always," he said, seriously, plucking the bowl out of the air, and taking a sip of butterbeer, "This is wonderful."

"Fills you with warmth, doesn't it?" she agreed, sitting across from him, "Now for your questions, I can tell you've been itching to ask them."

"Where can I get all my school supplies?" he asked immediately, "For that matter, what exactly are some of those items?"

"Well, a wand is what we use to perform magic. Each witch or wizard has a magical energy core, and the wand helps us focus that magic. You can perform wandless magic, but only the most powerful witches and wizards have had any success with it," she said, sipping her tea, "The cauldron is used for making potions, and you can buy all of those supplies and more in Diagon Alley. We'll be going there tomorrow, and you will also meet the person you'll be staying with, Neville Longbottom. He comes from a long line of wizards and I know his grandmother very well."

"Why can't I stay with you?" he asked.

"I have to get everything in order at Hogwarts, and I can't just leave you here alone," she said, nonplussed.

"What do you do, exactly, at Hogwarts?" he wondered, taking a bite of stew.

"I teach Transfiguration, which is basically transforming one object into another," she said, transforming her teacup into a kitten and then back again, "Normally, Transfiguration is performed on things other than yourself, but some witches or wizards who do are called Animagi."

"What is an animagus?" he interrupted. She gave him a stern look and said,

"If you keep interrupting me Mr. Potter, we could be here all night," she said, not unkindly, "But to answer your question, a demonstration might be more appropriate." And with that she reverted into her tabby cat form. Harry's jaw dropped, and she would have laughed at his expression if she was able. She returned to her human form and took a sip of tea as if nothing had happened, but she thought the mirth in her eyes might have given her away.

"Could I be able to do that?" he asked, hopefully.

"Perhaps, if you are a hard worker and competent with transfiguration," she said, truthfully, "But before you go off trying anything on your own, know it takes years to master, and you only have one form, which you can not pick. There are certain spells which can help give an idea of what your form might be, such as a patronus, but those are difficult and highly advanced. In adition, being an unregistered animagus is punishable by law." Far from dissuading him, she could see that he was even more determined to become an animagus. She admitted, "Your father was particularly gifted with transfiguration, he certainly had the skills to be an animagus. If you inherit any of his skills, I would say you would have a good chance to be an animagus." Seeing he was satisfied for the moment, she continued. "I am also Deputy Headmistress, and Head of Gryffindor House."

"Gryffindor House?" he asked, perplexed.

"Yes, during your stay at Hogwarts, you will be sorted into a house, Gryffindor, the house of the brave, Ravenclaw, the house of the intelligent, Hufflepuff, the house of the loyal, and Slytherin, the house of the cunning," she could not keep the distaste out of her voice at that name, "There you will sleep, study, and eat together, any positive acts will earn the house points, any transgressions will lose house points. If you win a quidditch match," she noticed his unspoken question and elaborated, "Wizarding sport played on broomsticks, also add to your house's points."

"You don't seem to like Slytherin," he said, picking up on her disfavor.

"Slytherins and Gryffindors are natural rivals," she said, reminding herself to keep her personal opinions more hidden in the future, "Besides, You-Know-Who came from Slytherin, in fact, they say that there hasn't been a witch or wizard that went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. Whether or not that is true, I couldn't tell you." He sat quietly for a moment, finishing his drink and then asked a question. This, she could tell, was the one he had been truly waiting to ask, the one that had been bothering him the most.

"Why did Voldemort's curse not kill me, if it was able to kill my parents?" he asked, staring into his cup. She paused for a moment, unsure of how to answer.

"I'm no expert Harry, Dumbledore is a much better judge of these things than I," she answered, equal parts kindness and sadness present in her voice, "He thinks that your mother, in her final moments, begged for the Dark Lord to kill her instead of you, and her sacrifice, her love for you, rebounded the curse upon it's caster, and so the Dark Lord is no more."

"Is Voldemort dead?" he asked, quietly.

"I doubt it, unfortunately," she said, waving her wand at their dishes, "He was, among many other, darker things, a great wizard, and if anyone could have found a way to cheat death, it was him."

They sat silently for a moment, watching the dishes clean and put themselves away.

"Now, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Chiron earlier," she said, in an attempt to lighten the mood, "You wanted to tell me something?"

"Just so you know, it isn't really my secret to give away," he said, lingering sadness still evident in his voice, "But Chiron trusts you, and if he believes that I can tell you, then I do too."

She could tell that Harry's mind was swimming with all the information that she had told him, but he managed to tell her about Camp Half-Blood and who they truly took care of. Although she was surprised, it actually made sense. Stories often spoke the truth more often than people realized.

"Well, the magical world has been keeping secrets for hundreds of years, it hardly surprises me that at least a portion of the muggles managed to keep one from us," she said, peering over her spectacles at Harry, "Although that one is more significant than I would have thought."

"You seem to be taking this rather well," he noted.

"I've been in charge of the Weasley twins for two years now, I've learned not to be surprised about things that are seemingly impossible," she said, mirth concealed in her voice, "But unfortunately others are not so accepting. The less information you give away, the safer you and your camp will be. Are you in any way related with those gods?"

"Well," he said, looking down at the table, "I don't have a godly parent, but I did ingest nectar at a very young age, which caused me to be taller, stronger, faster, and more agile than other kids my age. I can also heal very quickly, and I can see other people's godly auraus, which is why I wear these glasses. This has never happened before, so there might be other side effects we aren't aware of yet."

"I suppose that could be the reason your accidental magic was so powerful," she mused, "Before wizards come of age, they can have accidental bursts of magic when they are scared or angry, but I haven't heard of any of that magnitude, or so directed. Did you know what you were doing at the time?"

"No, but that wasn't the first time it had happened," he admitted, "The last time a hellhound made it in to camp, it tried to attack me and ended up being thrown back and impaling itself on a tree branch."

"Well, suffice it to say that you should have a promising future at Hogwarts," she said, thinking aloud, "If you can summon lightning accidentally, I'd like to see what you can do with a wand deliberately."

"Will you tell anyone?" he asked, eyes locked on her. McGonagall was reminded that this boy had been training as a warrior for his entire life. A terrible enemy to have, to be sure.

"It is not my secret to share," she said, truthfully, "Only you should be allowed to choose who knows of this." The boy nodded, satisfied, and she knew that if she broke her word, Harry Potter would come after her seeking justice. But now, it was time for the boy to seek his bed, and she said as much. As he climbed the stairs, she reverted to her cat form, settled down in front of the fire in her favorite armchair, and fell asleep. She couldn't bear to spend the night in the same bed where he had died.

-oO0o0Oo-

AN:

All rights belong to the wonderful J. K. Rowling and Rick Riordan for the original stories.

The adventure begins next! Another filler chapter, I know, but the next one should be fun.

To clarify: Harry will not be revealing Camp Half-Blood's secrets to the entire wizarding world, just to people he trusts.

Thanks for reading!