fair warning, i was a bit drunk when writng some of this and im still drink

the next day: thanks for the message, drunk me. i cant even remember what was written when drunk but it might have been written out, i dont even know.

two days later: yeah no it's still in there, just edited from the drunk version.

Booker's eleventh birthday (or, well, his 49th birthday if you counted his 'past life') was marked as his next attempt to run away. The day held no significance to him, but the Dursleys absolutely avoided him during holidays and birthdays, so he knew he would have a better chance then.

He was tall and lanky at this age. Many assumed him to be a year or two older than he was, which was fine by him. The older he seemed, the more likely they were to leave him alone. Hopefully, he would pass as some kid on the way to the library, and if no one talked to him, even better! He had no idea how to fake a Brit accent and he wasn't about to try.

"Boy! Get the mail!"

Booker grimaced as the shout broke his train of thought, but stood and got the mail, and was surprised to see that, of all things, there was a letter for him.

A letter for him. In the Dursleys' mail.

He quickly shoved it down his pants before bringing the rest of the mail to the table and quickly going to his cupboard.

It was from a place called 'Hogwarts'. Sounded ridiculous, but familiar, oddly enough.

He paused in opening the letter, relishing in something that was his, and his alone, when suddenly the cupboard door was ripped open and Petunia snatched the letter away.

"I knew it! You've been invited to that freak school just like Lily!" She promptly tore the letter into shreds. "I won't allow it!"

Booker glared at her, but said nothing, silently admonishing himself for thinking he could ever have a moment of privacy in this household. Way to make a fool of himself.

He opened a tear to get it back that night in his locked cupboard. It was a disappointment, to be honest. Hogwarts? School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? It was still vaguely familiar, though he just couldn't pinpoint it. Would he even be able to go? The Dursleys sure as hellfire wouldn't pay for an education, and Booker didn't have a penny to his name, what he knew.

Dismayed, he figured he might as well try to reply. They might be able to direct him somewhere else to get his vigors under control, for all he knew. He'd sneak a letter into the mail when he was working on the garden later on.

McGonagall was most certainly expecting replies from various first years, but she was not expecting the strange small handwritten letter from Harry Potter.

To whomever it may concern,

I'm unable to attend your school as I do not have the funds to pay for the supplies, let alone the tuition. If you could direct me to other schooling options, that would be much appreciated.

Regards,

Harry Potter

Minerva put down her quill in an instant. She wouldn't have the time to solve this strange mystery, as much as she wished she could, for she had to take care of the other muggle children. She promptly hurried to her fireplace, threw in some Floo powder, and called another professor.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Aurora? I have a favor to ask of you..."

The next day, Booker was let out to do his chores, but was locked in the cupboard for the whole evening, and he could hear quiet worried murmurs from the kitchen the whole night.

No chance to escape that night. With Petunia and Vernon in the kitchen, they would hear him open the cupboard door, not to mention he would have to pick it open. He was lucky to have picked up some of Elizabeth's lockpicking skills, though he had none of the expertise she did.

He woke up in the morning to the sound of Petunia's angry shouting, and did his best to peer at the front door through the slots in the front.

An angry, old-fashioned looking woman stood in the doorway, a large witch's hat atop her head.

"He will not be attending your freakish school!" His aunt sounded like she was practically frothing at the mouth, and Booker counted himself lucky that Vernon had already left for work or it would be even worse.

"I think, ma'am, that you will find he will be attending," the woman said. "His parents paid for his education in full and his trust fund can easily cover the costs of his supplies. The choice is left to him."

"I'll go!" Booker shouted as loud as he could. "I'll go to the school!"

Petunia whimpered and there was a small gasp from the woman at the door.

"You... you would dare..."

Petunia burst into tears, and the woman's steps were light on the carpet as she made her way over.

"Alohamora."

The door unlocked and Booker was faced with a horrified, pitying expression.

The woman offered her hand, and he took it, appreciating her help as he stepped out of his far too small cupboard, only a little wobbly on his feet.

"Professor Aurora Sinistra," she introduced herself, her voice slightly shaky. "I teach Astronomy at Hogwarts."

"Harry Potter," Booker replied. The name never felt natural on his tongue, but there was no point in sounding like a fool. "I don't do much of anything, ma'am, but it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Aurora wasn't quite sure what to make of the Potter boy.

He looked nothing like either parent. It had been a strange thing, for all the Potter men to look alike in one way or another; but here he was, a mixture, but definitely not his parents.

He was polite, and had a keen eye, but kept rather quiet.

He was not James, loud and rambunctious, demanding attention with his presence.

He was not Lily either, curious, with eyes full of wonder.

Harry Potter eyed everything with a wary gaze, and Aurora found it such an odd look for a young boy.

She ignored it, though, and led the way to Gringotts.

"Key, please."

"Huh?"

"Your key, Mr. Potter."

The goblin gave Booker and Ms. Sinistra a disdainful gaze, but the man couldn't bring himself to care why.

"I don't have one. Is there a way to get a new one?"

The creature ground its teeth, pulling out a quill and paper. "Sign here."

Booker found it a little funny to still see quills around. The year was... what, 1990? Pens had been around since the 1880s, this was just ridiculous. Still, he signed, feeling a slight sear in the back of his hand as he scribbled his name. The ink was red, it would seem.

No, now that he thought about it... it was blood. His blood, which was soaking and then disappearing into the paper... parchment. It was parchment. Jesus in a handbasket, this was far too old-fashioned.

Magic really is something, he thought to himself, watching a key form from seemingly nowhere. He grabbed it quickly, watching the wound on his hand scab over and then heal in a matter of seconds. Very strange.

He and Sinistra quickly went down to the vault, guided by another goblin.

They loaded into a minecart (of all things) and then they were off, passing a very large man throwing up over the side of his own cart.

"Oh goodness that looked like Hagrid," Sinistra said. "I hope he's alright."

Booker did nothing, not enjoying the feeling of the wind against his hair. It reminded him of the skylines, of Columbia. He didn't want to think about that, and bowed his head to his chest, trying to ignore his discomfort.

"Don't like the ride?" Ms. Sinistra asked, placing her hand on his shoulders in an attempt to soothe.

It put him more on edge as he jerked away from her touch, but she got the memo and kept her hands to herself.

The rest of the trip through Gringotts passed in silence.

Booker soon found himself carrying a large amount of books, a cauldron, and... uh, some other things he didn't care about, all packed in a trunk.

Ms. Sinistra led him to a clothing shop, where he was fitted for a uniform and ignored some snobby looking blond boy.

Then he was being dragged off to what seemed to be a pet shop.

He had no idea what he needed a pet for.

There was a lot of animals, mostly animals you wouldn't expect as a pet. Owls, snakes, amphibians, and reptiles. Modern standards for pets were rather strange.

He wandered down the aisles, barely noting any of the strangely sentient animals, until a black cat meowed at him, with wide blue eyes, its head cocked innocently.

His mind rushed back to Battleship Bay, to Elizabeth asking him to dance with her.

He should have taken her hand.

He should have danced with her.

He should have done so much more for her.

The cat meowed at him again.

He turned away, unable to bear his memories.

As they finished up shopping, Booker purchased his wand.

He did not ask what was curious about the wand. He didn't care and the shopkeeper was creeping him out.

But what he did know was that he didn't like the wand. It felt weird in his hand, like it wanted him but he wanted nothing to do with it.

Perhaps it had to do with how utterly ridiculous he felt holding a wand.

That was probably it.

"Thanks for everything, professor," Harry said, giving her a courteous, yet strained smile.

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Potter," Aurora replied. It was well into the afternoon now, and she was helping the young boy get his trunk into his house.

Then she felt it. A strange magical anomaly somewhere in the house.

"Stay here a moment, Harry, I need to check something."

He quirked an eyebrow at her, but let her step into the house with her wand at the ready.

She walked into the sitting room, and saw in the corner a strange... something. She didn't quite know what to make of it.

"Oh that? That's nothing."

She jumped at the young boy's voice, but glanced back at Harry with a curious look. "You know what it is?"

"Not really. They just pop up wherever I go. Never hurt nobody, and you're the first person to see them too."

"Huh..."

She grafted the image of this strange thing into her memory before handing the boy his train ticket and explaining how to get on the train.

Then she quickly left, intent on asking her senior professors for their opinion.

A train station only accessible through running straight into a brick pillar in a train station.

How the hell was Booker supposed to pull that off without being noticed by other people?

He shook his head, dragging his trunk up the stairs to his new 'room'.

The Dursleys did not even bother to look at him that night, something he was grateful for. He wasn't sure he could put up with them. He slept fitfully, dreaming of Elizabeth; the two of them dancing on the Bay, a collection of father-daughter songs playing the background, and the waves crashing gently onto the shore.

"This is most strange, Sinistra," Flitwick said, an oddly grave look on his face. "I've never seen anything like this. And he said they just 'pop up' wherever he goes?"

"Yes, Professor Flitwick," Aurora said.

"Interesting..."

She had provided her memory to McGonagall and Flitwick, who she felt were the best for the job. She would have asked Dumbledore to join as well, but he had taken ill lately, it would seem.

"I suppose we will get more of an opportunity to observe these anomalies when young Mr. Potter arrives."

"I should hope so. It is rather strange, though."

"What is, my dear?"

"I felt as though I was near a fireplace when I stood near it."

"It was warm?"

"No. It felt like there was someone, or something, on the other side."

The remaining days before Booker was set to go to this magical boarding school were just as lonely as they normally would be, though this time he had some reading material. Petunia, in an effort to squeeze some use out of him before he left, upped his chores and spent a lot more time in the master bedroom, alone. Dudley was taking remedial classes and was often not home until evening, out 'playing' with his friends.

It had taken a few minutes, but Vernon had agreed - with some persuasion involving an amount of fire - to drive him to the station and pick him up at the end of the year, as long as Booker did not return during winter break, something they both knew would only happen if the sky fell.

This was it. The moment of truth.

Booker stood on the train platform, staring at the pillar with a dubious look.

Life was certainly all about risks, and he hardly had anything to lose for running into a brick pillar beyond breaking his nose and making a damn fool of himself.

Fuck it.

He ran straight for it, and came out onto another platform with a blindingly red train awaiting him and numerous other students.

The sounds of children and owls and parents waving goodbye were more than a bit nauseating; Booker wasn't one for crowds, so he quickly shoved through the crowd to get to a compartment, and settled down for the ride.

When Booker awoke from an unexpected nap on the train, his new compartment companion jumped.

"Uh, hello. Th-there was nowhere else to sit, so I-"

With a yawn, he waved the red-haired boy away. "I don't care. Are we there yet?"

"I have no idea, I'm a first year, you see, the name is-"

"That's great. Wake me when we get there."

He rolled over and fell asleep again, too tired to worry about a thing.

Ron bit his lip in disappointment. He was really hoping to make friends with this weird guy. He looked, well, absolutely wicked. Something about the way he held himself, not to mention that weird scar on his face...

He didn't get the American accent though. That was rather strange.

His stomach growled as Scabbers chewed through the bread of his sandwich. Merlin's beard, he hoped they would get there soon. He was looking forward to the famed welcome feast.

Booker woke up an hour later.

The sun had set, and the boy across from him had changed into the school uniform, reminding him to do the same, which he quickly did, not caring for privacy.

He hadn't had a sense of modesty for many a year.

The compartment was quiet as the rest of the train ride rocked its way along the tracks. A castle slowly crept into view, illuminating the night with a warm glow. A small village was set before it, and a large forest off to the side. A large lake completed the fairytale look, and Booker sighed.

He wasn't sure he would look forward to schooling, but he did want to get his 'magic' under control, and maybe figure out why he couldn't go through his tears.

The train slowed to a crawl, then halted completely at a station.

The students disembarked in a disorderly fashion, students old and new alike all crowding on the station.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" a slightly familiar large man was yelling over the chatter, and Booker headed that way, not even trying to deal with the crowd of children who rushed forward. He simply stepped to the side, letting them pass them, and settled for being a straggler.

The children rushed onto rickety little boats, four per boat, but he managed to get a boat alone. Maybe the boats knew he wanted to be alone, maybe it was a stroke of luck. He climbed in regardless, feeling uneasy on the water.

There was a great many 'ooh's and 'ahh's from the batch of boats as the castle came into view. Boats rocked gently as the young ones strained their necks to get a better view; Booker had to admit it was quite the view, having never seen a castle, and up close even more so.

Well, at least it didn't have the faces of past American Presidents on it. That had been more than a bit creepy.

When the boats finally docked at the foot of the castle, Booker was starting to feel queasy. He wasn't sure what it was. Something in his gut was twisting, and his heart was beating at a million miles an hour.

Stepping off the boat helped, and when they were finally far enough from the shore to hear the waves, he felt himself ease up. He still felt exhausted, though, almost dead on his feet as he followed the crowd into the castle. A tall lady gave a speech, but he didn't bother to listen. There was also a small commotion involving a frog, er, no a toad, but he wasn't exactly a part of it and stood off to the side, quiet.

Finally, they entered a large hall, lined with four tables, even more students seated at them, all wearing black robes and what seemed to be dunce caps.

What the fuck.

He and the other young children were ushered towards the end of the room where a large, severely worn hat was placed on top of a stool. Then a tear near the brim of the hat opened and it began to sing.

Oh you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!

There was a large round of applause from around the whole room at that, and Booker grimaced. He was in far over his head. Dunce caps, singing hats, what was next, an animated lion's head?

He hoped not, but felt like he may have jinxed himself.

The lady who had brought them into the hall then pulled out of a list of names. "When I call your name, you will come forward and I will place the Sorting Hat on your head so you may be placed in your house." She paused, taking a look at the list and shouted, "Abbot, Hannah!"

A girl with blonde hair shyly stepped up and was sorted into Hufflepuff.

Booker tuned out the rest of the sortings until he heard, "Potter, Harry!"

That was him. He ignored the sudden whispers that overtook the hall and made his way through the crowd of children to sit on the stool under the sentient hat.

"Most interesting... Why, Mr. Potter, or rather, Mr. DeWitt. It has been a great many year since I met a full aware reincarnation."

A what.

"A reincarnation, Mr. DeWitt... I see you're not very interested. Very well! Let us sort you."

Did Booker get a choice?

"Depends on whether or not you fit into more than one house! Let's see... plenty of courage, yes... ambition is a bit lacking, definitely not that... no thirst for knowledge, just enough to control your powers... and a fierce loyalty to those that earn it. Yes. I do believe you would do well in Gryffindor, though Hufflepuff is also a viable choice."

Booker just wanted to be left alone.

"Well, you won't be getting that at all, my boy, I'm afraid to say. But your wish for privacy will be most respected in..."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

There was silence, and then tentative clapping as Booker made his way over to the yellow-themed table, watching as his robes changed color to match his house. He took a seat and waited for the rest of the sorting to end.

Albus stroked his beard in an effort to calm himself.

This was not something he had calculated. The boy was in Hufflepuff, of all the houses! He had been worrying about him going to Slytherin, or maybe even Ravenclaw, but not Hufflepuff! He could only hope this didn't change too many plans.

Down the table, Severus Snape smirked on the inside.

Oh, what he would give to see Potter's face when his son was placed in Hufflepuff. Truly priceless.

On the other side of the table, Pomona Sprout felt a strange welling of pride in her soul.

Harry Potter! In her house! This was most unforeseen, what with Trelawney going on and on about Potter supposedly going to Slytherin - something Dumbledore found very alarming, oddly enough - but there he was, sitting at her table, looking a smidge bored, but absolutely darling.

Minerva, who was still sorting, hid her reaction as best as she could, but couldn't help the feeling of jealousy. Potter had been meant for her house. His parents were both Gryffindors, after all. But she knew the sorting hat never made mistakes, and went down the list of names once more.

When food finally appeared, Booker held back no bars. He'd always had a big appetite, and he grabbed at least three of everything, piled it on his plate, and dug in. This felt so much better than eating food from tears.

"So... are you really Harry Potter?" someone asked across from him.

He looked up from where he was, tearing into a chicken leg, and gave them a blank stare before swallowing. "Yes. I think it was kind of obvious that I am."

The student who had asked him looked particularly put off by his accent, but he didn't care, and ate a spoonful of peas.

After the feast, there was an announcement about several things, but Booker was too exhausted to continue listening to the old man blabber on and on.

Then he did a double take.

It was the old man who had been preventing him from running from the Dursleys.

... shit.

Booker felt his fight or flight instincts go off inside of him and he fought to keep a straight face - or in his case, a permanent scowl - and not run back down to those boats and row away.

The thought of the boats set his nerves on edge. Good god, what was his problem with the boats? No, no, it was... it was the water.

He felt a pair of hands clam around his neck at the thought of the waves.

"First years, please follow me!"

He was shaken out of his horror by the sound of a tall young girl calling out to his end of the table, and stood with shaky legs to follow the rest of the first years to the dorm.

The castle's design was overcomplicated and had Booker actually been eleven years old, he was sure he would get lost. No, scratch that. He was definitely going to get lost. The stairways were moving, the paintings were alive, there were ghosts, and at least seven floors, each with several corridors. That had been all he could tell from a quick glance as the older student led the group downwards to the castle's basement.

"You see this stack of barrels?" the student said, coming to a stop at said stack of barrels. "In order to access the Hufflepuff basement, you must tap the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff' onto the lid of the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the row. Got it?"

There was a mess of noises as the first years all confirmed and chattered amongst themselves about the strange way to enter the common room.

The older student then provided an example, and led the way into the common room, which was homey and earthy. Had it been day, Booker was sure the lights coming through the windows would be magnificent.

"Boys dorms are to the left, girls to the right. Your trunks have already been delivered up to your dorms. Make sure you get a good night's rest, alright? You have a big day ahead of you. If you ever have an questions, don't be afraid to ask an elder student, and if you want my help specifically, ask for Penelope Clearwater."

With that, the students clambered up to bed.

Booker quickly found his bed and immediately began to change. He compared himself to the other students - slightly taller and a bit stocky.

"So you're really Harry Potter?" one of the other kids asked.

He sighed. "No of course not, I'm the queen of England and part owl."

"You're part owl?!"

He glared at the kid, who gave him a cheeky grin in return.

Booker told himself to calm down. This was a kid, after all.

He hooted jokingly, and the kid laughed.

He went to sleep with not much other incident, but his dreams were filled with the sounds of waves and wide blue eyes.

AN: hey there, its pastry again (i mean, who else would it be)

thank you all for 400+ views on this fic. doesnt mean much in the long run, but its a lot of views in a short time and i'm glad to see that people are giving my fic a chance, even if it only fits a rather niche audience (my friend's words, not mine. thanks, jarod)

anyways. third chapter. much longer, because i didnt want to have all these damn chapters with boring fluff about the train ride and sorting hat and all that. cut it all together, make it work. boom.

i have a lot of the story set already, its a matter of writing it. i will update at least weekly, but i can make no promises that updates will be quick. i hope you understand.

feel free to leave a review on your way out (if you want to, of course, you are by no means obligated to and i will continue to publish whether or not you do)!

have a nice day!