The Hogwarts Four

"Blimey, is that the time?" Mr. Hagrid exclaimed as he and Harry walked on a bridge above a train station.

"Sorry, Harry, I'm gonna have to leave you!" Mr. Hagrid suddenly said. "Dumbledore'll be wanting his — well, he'll be wanting to see me. Now, uh, your train leaves in 10 minutes. Here's your ticket. Stick to it, Harry, that's very important. Stick to your ticket!"

The giant spoke so quickly that Harry found himself holding the ticket before he could even react to Mr. Hagrid's disappearance, and by the time he tried to ask Mr. Hagrid how in the heck to get to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, the giant had vanished.

Harry found himself standing alone gripping a trolley of luggage that came up to his shoulders. His snow-white owl, gifted that day by Mr. Hagrid as a month-belated birthday present, hooted from within her cage to provide a small measure of solace.

Harry dejectedly meandered around as he lost hope of finding "Platform 9 ." With Mr. Hagrid vanished into thin air, a creeping worry clawed at the back of Harry's thoughtspace.

Am I homeless?

Unless this all proved to be the most bizarre dream of Harry's life, and Harry truly, truly doubted this would be the case, Harry had nowhere to go.

Well, at least I have gold.

As Harry turned his cart around to go back to his bank vault at—Gringotts?—he bumped into a ginger-haired woman of just below average height.

"Are you looking for Platform 9 , dear?" she asked with warm hazel eyes.

"How did you know?" Harry gasped in surprise at the woman.

"Mother's intuition," she answered with a wink and a slight turn of her head at a nearby throng of five red-haired children, four of whom were pushing trolleys of their own.

The oldest of the children approached the brick archway that had a number 10 sign on its left and a number 9 side on its right — and then pushed his trolley directly at and through it, vanishing along with his luggage into nothingness.

Harry's jaw dropped.

The next oldest boy — or rather the two next oldest, as they seemed to be twins — smirked at each other before racing together at the archway simultaneously! And vanishing inward simultaneously.

"Don't worry, it's Ron's first time to Hogwarts as well," the slightly middle-aged woman said with a reassuring smile as Harry came up beside her youngest son, who he noticed was roughly his age.

"All you've got to do is walk straight at the wall between platforms 9 and 10 — best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous," the woman explained.

Harry still found himself a bit too nervous to try, so he looked at Ron.

Ron smiled back at him and went into a run himself at the archway, through which he too disappeared.

Harry pursed his lips as he steeled himself to either run through the porthole, or spend the next few minutes smarting on the sidewalk.

"Good luck," Ron's little sister told him as she clasped her hand into her mother's.

Harry took in one, two, three deep breaths — then ran to make or break his day.

"You made it!" Ron congratulated as he came up right beside Harry.

"I guess I did," Harry sighed with relief.

"I'm Ron by the way," the turquoise-eyed boy introduced excitedly. "Ron Weasley."

"I'm Harry," Harry responded. "Harry Potter."

"I still can't believe you're Harry Potter!" Ron exclaimed as they sat down across from each other in a train compartment.

"The one and only," Harry sighed as he adjusted his glasses, feeling yet another ping of bitterness regarding the life he'd been forced to live for the past decade.

"Sorry, it's just that—you know…" Ron stammered as he tried to gain control of himself.

"It's alright," Harry said quietly with a smile. To have another boy willing to talk to him, sit down with him and be seen doing so was something Harry hadn't had in a long time. Dudley saw to that.

Harry's smile grew bigger as he replayed the memory of the cake slamming into Dudley's face.

Hopefully he broke his face when he fell. He'd have a snout to go along with his tail.

"I'm sorry, I'm being a fool," Ron apologized. "I mean, you're one of the most powerful wizards in the world, and I'm just a stupid kid."

I found out I was a wizard today, Harry kept to himself.

"I'm a kid too," Harry offered with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "And I don't think you're stupid."

"Thanks," Ron said with a genuine smile and relief.

"So…you have a lot of siblings," Harry tried his hand at conversation.

"Five older brothers, one little sister," Ron confirmed with a bit of a sullen expression.

"I guess it's a lot," Harry attempted to sympathize.

I wish I had brothers. They could have stood up for me against Dursley.

"It's a lot to live up to," Ron said. "My brother Charlie, who just graduated, was a prefect, Quidditch Captain and an award-winning dragon tamer by his sixth year!"

That is a lot to live up too. I can really relate with that, given that vision I had.

"Well, I'm sure you'll do fine," Harry told Ron. "We can do fine…together…"

Ron's eyes widened.

"I-If…if you want," Harry stammered after seconds of silence.

"I'd love to be friends," Ron burst excitedly while his body leaned into a forward motion.

Before Harry could subtly scoot to the side — stupid small compartment — Ron launched forward and…hugged him?

It was unexpected, but surprisingly not unwelcome. Harry even managed to give a one-armed pat in response.

"Anything off the trolley dears?" a slightly elderly woman suddenly asked from just outside the compartment door.

Ron shuffled down to sit next to his seat as he grabbed something from his coat pocket.

"No thanks, I'm all set," he said with what came out as a grimace.

I wouldn't want to eat that either, Harry thought of the mashed mound that may have once been a poorly made PB & J sandwich.

"We'll take the lot," Harry decided as he fished out the gold galleons in his pocket.

The two spent the next ten minutes excitedly eating the treats, for which Ron explained the various magical elements — such as chocolates that jumped like frogs that came with motion-picture cards of famous wizards (Harry hoped to make the list one day if he hadn't already), as well as every-flavored beans (which unfortunately had some vegetable flavored ones), firecracker popcorn and brownies that literally melted in your mouth.

"This is Scabbers, by the way," Ron introduced his rat as it scrounged for the leftovers within the package. "Pathetic, isn't he."

"A little," Harry agreed.

A lot. There's something particularly ratty about that…rat, Harry thought while hiding his disgust.

"Fred gave me a spell to turn him yellow," Ron said. "Want to see?"

"Yah!" Harry exclaimed.

"Has anyone seen a toad?" a shrill voice called from the door. "A boy named Neville's lost one."

"No," Ron answered.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see then," the bossy girl challenged.

Feeling defensive, Harry was about to tell the girl it was none of her business, but Ron recited the spell before he could do so.

"Sunshine, daises, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow!"

Nothing happened.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" the robed girl asked in a judgmental voice. "Well it's not very good, is it. Of course, I've only tried a few simple ones myself — but they've all worked for me. For example…"

And Harry suddenly found himself staring at the business end of the girl's wand.

"Oculus, reparo!" she commanded.

Immediately, the tape holding the bridge of Harry's glasses flew away as the frame fixed itself. More than fixed itself, it was as good as new!

"That's better, isn't it?" the girl asked with a smile as Harry admired her handiwork.

"You were looking for a toad, right?" Harry asked, wanting to see if he could repay her.

"Neville's toad, but if you haven't seen it…" she started.

"Maybe I can find it," Harry offered determinedly as he lifted his wand and pressed it vertically against his face — slightly to the right of his nose.

I had a vision once today. Maybe I can do it again? I'm supposed to be very powerful.

A faint but refreshing breeze drifted in as Harry began to concentrate on the wand, the phoenix hair tail within it, and the power he knew was within him.

"Holy cricket, you're Harry Potter!" the frizzy-haired girl across from him exclaimed with wide amber eyes. "I'm Hermione Granger."

Harry smiled at her, forgetting his present attempt at magic.

"This is…" he started to introduce Ron.

"Ron Weasley," Ron completed.

"Pleasure," Hermione said, clearly less-than-impressed with Ron. Harry didn't care for that.

"You two better change into your robes," Hermione bossily ordered as she got up and moved toward the door, "I expect we'll be arriving soon."

"And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?" she gestured at Ron's nose as she made her way out.

"She's a piece of work," Ron commented once she had gone.

Harry hummed noncommittally. On the one hand, she was a snobby know-it-all. On the other hand, she actually knew what she was talking about, unlike most know-it-all's. And, she had fixed his glasses the minute she met him. That was more than any of Harry's schoolmates had done for him the whole last year.

Then again, Harry Potter was a celebrity in this world.

"Mr. Hagrid!" Harry exclaimed at the three-meter giant standing on the exit platform of the train.

"Harry!" Mr. Hagrid shouted with just as much enthusiasm as Harry ran over.

"First years, this way please!" Mr. Hagrid called out at the kids Harry's age who were disembarking the train. "Yer luggage will be waiting fer ya at the castle."

Harry felt a pang of disappointment that Mr. Hagrid hadn't come to see him specifically, but at least Harry got to stand next to him.

"Ye enjoy yer ride on the train?" Mr. Hagrid asked in between shouts for the other first years.

"Yah!" Harry answered. "I met Ron, and we got a bunch of magic treats. Did you know they had jumping chocolate frogs?"

"Oh yeh," Mr. Hagrid said with an excited shake of his head. "Gotta watch out though. They can jump out the window if yer not careful."

That had happened to Harry's first chocolate frog, but he chose not to mention that.

"This way to the boats, come now, follow me," Mr. Hagrid directed the whole first-year class, with Harry leading the pack next to the giant.

"Woah!" Harry and Ron gaped simultaneously at the massive boat awaiting them at the dock.

"It's as big as Noah's ark!" Harry as he took in a sight more impressive as the perfectly-pink evening light.

The mystery and wonder only continued as Harry and Ron got to sit next to Mr. Hagrid in the captain's deck, and thus got the best view of the voyage to a castle larger than any Harry had seen in a book, movie or his wildest dreams.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," a pointy-hated elderly witch with ice blue eyes greeted all new students once Mr. Hagrid led them to the castle's threshold upon disembarking. "But before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Now while you're here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you house points. Any rule breaking, and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup."

"Trevor!" a pudgy brown-haired boy about Harry's height suddenly exclaimed as he ran for a toad leaping and croaking near the stern witch's feet.

"Sorry," the boy — Neville presumably — murmured once he retrieved his toad and slunk back into the mostly laughing crowd. Laughing at least until the witch fixed a glare on them, before she led the now silent group into and through the castle.

"The sorting ceremony will begin momentarily," the witch said at the end of the long, mostly quiet trek as they at long last approached a large set of gold doors, which opened to reveal the greatest dining room Harry had ever seen.

But it was not the first time he had seen it.

"It really was real," Harry said aloud with a smile.

"What was?" Ron asked as they walked down the center aisle between the middle two of four long (house?) tables toward the stage at the other side of the room.

"Oh, nothing," Harry quickly covered.

I don't know how many wizards see into the future, and how many that do talk about it.

The vision also answered the question of Harry's sorting, which made this procession redundant. Watching the hundreds of floating candles and cauldrons lighting the room and seeing a clearer night sky than he ever had was more than worth the literal deja vu though.

"It's not real, the ceiling," Hermione naturally piped up just behind Harry, though she was talking to the girl with short, dark-brown hair to her left. "It's just bewitched to look like the night sky. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."

Harry had to admit that was a good reading recommendation. He couldn't rely on visions for everything.

The elderly witch leading them, who at this point Harry was going to guess was the "Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall" from the Hogwarts acceptance letter, walked up the steps of the wooden stage to a stool on which a pointy-wizard hat longer than her own sat.

"Wait along here please," she ordered as the students got right up to the steps, with Neville and a shorter boy directly in front of Ron and Harry respectively.

Mr. Hagrid — who must have done that teleporty-thing that he used to get Harry away from Sir's island lodge again — gave Harry a wink from the head table. Ron's mom also sat there and gave Ron and Harry a wide smile.

"Before we begin," the Deputy Headmistress said, "Professor Dumbledore would like to say a few words."

A nearly two-meter wizard stood from his golden throne at the center of the head table, revealing a snow-white, cloud-like beard that reached all the way down to his stomach.

"I have a few start of term notices I would like to announce," he began in a calm, regal voice that resounded through the room as if amplified by a great microphone while retaining the tranquility of a sparkling pond. "The first years please note that the dark forest is strictly forbidden to all students. Also, our caretaker Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death."

'Die a most painful death,' Dumbledore said calmly, Harry noted.

"Thank you," the Headmaster finished.

"When I call your name, you shall come forth, I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses," the red-robed Deputy Headmistress said.

"Abbott, Hannah," was the first name, to which a tallish blonde girl responded, walking up the steps and sitting in the stool, at which point the hat was set on her head and began murmuring with a mouth shaped like an upside-down smile.

"Hufflepuff!" the hat declared after twenty or so seconds. The black tie that Hannah was wearing under the matching black school robes instantly transformed into a gold-and-black striped pattern.

"You are Harry Potter, yes?" a posh voice suddenly said to Harry's right.

The throng of first years gasped as Harry came face to face with a boy who was…familiar. Pale blond hair, fair skin, blue eyes with an undertone of metallic gray (though more silver-blue than the steel-blue he initially thought). And an instantly recognizable proud posture.

"You look better with long hair," Harry told the slick-haired boy.

Or at least you will, you may be too short for that now, Harry amended to himself.

The boy raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," the blond introduced himself with an outstretched hand.

"Hmmf," Ron snorted from Harry's left.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" Draco sneered at Ron.

"I think it's funny your parents aren't in prison," Ron retorted.

Many of the first years gasped, forcing the Deputy Headmistress to call out for a "Boot, Terry" again, to which a kid of part-Asian descent responded.

"My father is an upstanding citizen, one of Britain's finest," Draco cut back as he clasped his hands behind his back. "A governor of this school in fact, which you should consider yourself lucky to stand in Weasley."

Clearly, Harry was missing context.

Terry walked off to Ravenclaw with a blue-and-bronze tie, and "Brocklehurst, Amanda" was the next up on the stool.

"I'll have you know my mom's a teacher here," Ron defended his place.

"Muggle studies," Draco scorned. "That such a 'subject' is taught disgraces this school!"

"Hear, hear," agreed a stormy-blue eyed boy with bangs stylishly combed in an arc from the left corner of his hairline to just over his right eyebrow.

On the one hand, Harry's life with muggles was nothing he'd like to speak about — much less relive in a class. On the other hand, this was his friend's mother they were insulting.

"Well…" Harry began as the now blue-and-bronze tied Amanda was replaced by a "Bulstrode, Millicent."

"The fact Slytherin exists disgraces this school!" Ron hurled back at Draco.

"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat called for the tall, thickset girl sitting on the stool.

"Rotten slime, every last one of you!" Ron decried.

"Then how come our great house has won the Cup seven years in a row?" Draco challenged.

"Bought it, probably," a freckled blond boy spoke up.

"As steeped in gold as in corruption, you Slytherins," a golden-blond haired boy with no freckles agreed.

"I am sorry to hear the Goldstein vaults have evaporated," Draco sarcastically drawled at the latter.

"Why're you even here, Malfoy?" a black-haired boy with pale skin challenged. "Last I checked, the dark arts isn't in the curriculum."

That same boy walked away a second later when Ms. McGonagall called "Corner, Michael" for sorting. However, others echoed the newest Ravenclaw's sentiment.

"Me mame didn't tell me dad she was a witch for years because of your group," accused the Irish boy who had walked into the hall in front of Harry.

"Why doesn't your dad make his own school?" a girl of Indian descent huffed in annoyance.

"You could have parties for your failed rebellion every day!" the freckled boy from earlier jumped in.

"M-my gran says Slytherins j-just want to make everyone as un-unhappy as them," Neville stammered, but finished with a defiant glare.

"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat bellowed for a somewhat large boy sitting under it. Like with Bulstrode, the applause from the audience was subdued compared to other house announcements. But this time, open snarls and snorts came from some of the first years. Also, some boos could be heard from the audience.

Draco however looked completely at ease.

"What do you think, Potter?" he asked.

Suddenly, all the first years fell silent.

Uh oh, Harry worried.

It was very clear how unpopular Slytherin was. It probably was what the Americans thought of the Confederates just after their civil war. And Harry had more reason to hate the rebels' sides than most with his parents dead at their hands.

But…he knew the instant the Sorting Hat touched his hair, it would put him into Slytherin before it even rested on his head.

Draco would remember if he dissed their house.

"There were many losses in the unfortunate war," Harry began calmly and carefully, imagining he was talking to Sir. "The best way we can honor the dead is move forward together, and make sure we never fight again."

Some of his yearmates didn't seem to like that, but no one challenged him.

"It would be my sincerest pleasure to move forward together," Draco broke the silence as he offered his hand to Harry again.

This time, before anyone could say anything, Harry took and shook it. Ron turned his face away from Harry at that.

Even with the continued responses of the roll call, the murmurings of the Sorting Hat and the applause that filled each student, Harry felt as if a suffocating fog hung over him and the first years.

"Entwhistle, Kevin." "RAVENCLAW!"

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin." "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Finnigan, Seamus," to which the Irish boy answered. "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Goldstein, Anthony" — the golden-haired boy from earlier. "RAVENCLAW!"

"Goyle, Gregory." "SLYTHERIN!"

"Granger, Hermione."

"Oh no," the girl loudly whispered to herself as she trudged up. "Okay, relax."

"Mental, that one," Ron muttered half to himself, half to Harry.

Harry agreed, glad to have Ron acknowledging him again.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat called.

"Not her," Ron sighed quietly, as Hermione's tie took a red-and-gold striped pattern while its owner skipped to the table just behind and to the right of them.

"Hey, there'll be other people," Harry whispered to him. "And I'd still like to be friends no matter what houses we end up in."

Ron smiled widely at him, seemingly forgetting his previous anger.

"We'll be Gryffindor together," Ron said determinedly. "I'm sure of it."

Harry smiled back wanly. But a gnawing feeling slowly set over his stomach with each progressive name, and he knew it had nothing to do with the fact he hadn't eaten in a while.

"Greengrass, Daphne." "SLYTHERIN!"

"Jones, Megan." "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Laughland, Leanne." "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Longbottom, Neville." "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Macmillan, Ernest," to which the freckled blond from earlier responded. "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Malfoy, Draco," — the boy in question gave a nod to Harry before regally ascending the platform steps to the stool and sitting upon it as if it were his throne.

"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat shouted a mere second after sitting on the boy's head — by far the fastest sorting Harry had seen.

The Slytherin table roared with applause as the green-and-silver tied students rose to give a standing ovation. Perhaps that made up for the numerous boos heard from the other tables, tables at which few students gave even polite claps.

KRA-BOOM!, cracked a shotgun like noise from the Deputy Headmistress' wand after the din did not quiet after twenty or so seconds. The room fell silent once more.

And Harry's dread grew.

"Malone, Roger," began the roll call again, answered by a freckled, ginger Irish boy.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Nott, Theodore," to which the stormy-eyed boy responded. "SLYTHERIN!"

He got less boos than Draco, but he did not get a unanimous standing ovation from the Slytherin table either.

L, M, N, O, P…, Harry remembered the alphabet.

No one in the thinned crowd had a last name beginning with O.

Chills set over Harry's entire body as the P's started to be called to the stool.

"Parkinson, Pansy," to which the girl Hermione had talked with earlier responded.

Harry's heartbeat quickened enough for him to begin to feel the throbbing of his pulse behind his ears. It certainly did not help to hear genuine applause come from only one table following the Sorting Hat's assignment of Pansy.

At least she got less boos than Draco and Theodore. But she did get more than the Slytherins before Draco, Harry pondered as he prepared for the nosedive his popularity was about to take.

"Patil, Padma," a girl of Indian descent that looked like the twin of the girl who spoke earlier, walked up the stage all too quickly.

Harry's breath began to shorten into a staccato rhythm as a weight pressed against his head from all sides. Icy sensations ran up and down his body and he barely repressed a shiver.

Padma walked off the stage with a red-and-gold tie, after which her twin Parvati took her place on the stool.

Harry's breath quickened with his now palpating heart as he shivered once, twice, thrice.

"You alright?" Ron asked from his left.

He'll hate me less than a minute from now, Harry thought sadly.

So Harry awkwardly looped his arm around Ron's shoulders and did his best attempt at a smile.

"Friends, right?" he asked desperately.

"Of course!" Ron responded with an enthusiastic nod.

"POTTER, HARRY!" the Deputy Headmistress called with a resounding voice.

The hall fell silent.

And now I'll be exposed.

"See you in Gryffindor, mate," Ron whispered with a pat on the back.

Harry tightly pursed his lips as he shuffled his feet toward the steps of the stage. Time seemed to slow, but went by far too quickly all the same as Harry ascended those steps.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Harry now stood just over two meters from the stool, the deputy headmistress and the Sorting Hat in her hands. Harry inched forward, far too slowly for Ms. McGonagall's liking if the faint frown setting on her face was anything to go by.

Yet somehow, the distance evaporated like a droplet of water on a 40 Celsius degree day.

The Sorting Hat, now just an arm's length in front of Harry, straightened itself as it seemed to fully open its socket-like eyes. Harry's feet seized up, his body petrified with the exception of the small, rapid pushes and pulls his stomach made to breath.

"Well, Mr. Potter, would you sit down?" the Deputy Headmistress asked in a somewhat exasperated tone. Harry barely heard her and didn't move a centimeter.

"You'll be great, you know," the Sorting Hat told Harry in what sounded to be an attempt of reassurance. "Well, with your talent, you'd rise to the top of any house. But there's no doubt about what house will most help you on the way to greatness."

With the absolute silence reigning over the hall, Harry was sure every last person heard the hat.

"Mr. Potter, you must sit down to be sorted…" Ms. McGonagall insisted.

I don't want to turn around.

"Just say it," Harry told the hat with all the bravado he could muster — which wasn't much.

Please don't make me face them.

"That is not how this works," Ms. McGonagall rejoined with an annoyed jerk of her head.

"We both know the house," Harry continued, just barely keeping his voice even.

Please don't make me beg.

Please.

Pretty please?

"Mr. Potter…" Ms. McGonagall said with stern warning. But the hat cut her off.

"BETTER BE SLYTHERIN!"