Harry spent August – that month between the day when he finally got his letter (and ensuing shopping trip with Professor Loki) and the first of September when he would get on the train to Hogwarts – living out of his trunk just inside a fence than ran beside a road, hidden under a tree so that the farmer who owned the land wouldn't take much (or any) notice of him.

He might possibly notice that there were a few less rabbits and game birds about though, thanks to Sif, but just as possibly he wouldn't.

He could have gone to one of the two 'estates' that were owned by the Potters, but one – in Godric's Hollow – was at least half blown to pieces and had been left that way as a 'national monument' by the Ministry (Harry had ordered it sold), and the other was an absolutely massive mansion that was probably six inches deep in dust and six feet deep in some kind of snobbery that Harry would just feel awkward walking around in.

He figured he'd check it out when he was older. Maybe.

For now though, Harry really thought he was doing quite well living on his own. He'd made some of the potions in his potions books, the ones that were supposed to fix things like malnutrition and various other healing draughts among them, so now he wasn't just skin and bones, but there was muscle too, which he should have had long ago from all his heavy chores, but which poor diet had kept from developing. And he wasn't so short as to be confused with an eight-year-old any more either, which he was even more pleased about than the muscles and not looking like a skeleton in skin any more.

He'd had to go back to Diagon Alley for potions ingredients a couple of times, and he'd had to find a food market as well so that he'd have more than rabbit meat in fennel or pheasant and stewed nettles to eat, but it hadn't been a problem.

And now, Harry packed the few things that he'd kept out of his trunk back into it – which really just consisted of a tarp to keep the rain off the trunk (even if it was weather proof) and Sif's feeding platform – and shifted Sif to sit on his shoulder while he stuffed his trunk into his pocket.

He stepped up to the side of the empty road, held his wand aloft, and hushed Sif when the Knight Bus appeared with a bang. This was how he'd gotten back to Diagon Alley, how he'd gotten to the food markets, and how he'd gotten out to that field in the first place. Professor Loki had told him about the triple-decker purple bus when they'd parted ways at the end of the shopping venture.

"Since travelling through the spinning vortex that is the Floo system isn't something I recommend to anybody unless I don't like them, and it's illegal to apparate without a licence, unless it's accidental magic or you're in the stages of learning how for such a licence," the professor had explained at the time.

The Knight Bus was a bumpy ride, but it existed for people like him – people who, for whatever reason, couldn't apparate, use the Floo, or had a destination that was too far to walk to or too conspicuous to fly to. Still, it encouraged him to practice his sticking spell every time he climbed aboard, with the way it tossed everything around as it hurtled down the streets.

He'd learned and practised other spells as well, as he found uses for them, but he couldn't do any of them without using his dagger-like wand. Well, not yet. He was getting closer though, he was sure – he didn't need to wave his wand around in the careful motions any more, or carefully intonate the incantations. Just point and will it. He was rather pleased with that sort of progress in just a month, even if it was only with certain spells.

He paid the fare to Stan (eleven sickles, so no hot chocolate, water bottle, or tooth brush for him this time), and was off to Kings Cross Station in no time flat.

There, Harry straightened his shirt as he climbed off the bus, thanked Ernie and Stan, and checked that his trunk hadn't fallen out of his pocket before he gave them both a final nod and walked into the station, ignoring the bang of the bus disappearing again. Even if Sif screeched after it unhappily.

He got a few queer looks from the masses of adults in the station for walking around carrying a falcon on his wrist, and a few longing looks from girls who thought he was adorable or boys who thought his bird was cool, but Harry didn't mind them as he headed for the third pillar up the station between platforms nine and ten, and made sure to be stroking Sif's feathers to keep her calm as he casually walked through the magical barrier – just as Professor Loki had told him to.

~oOo~

On the train, Harry chose a compartment and set Sif on the railing of the over-head baggage rack, then took out his trunk and considered his options for books. Finally, he decided on Maybe a Metamorph? A book which was subtitled When Accidental Magic Changes Your Appearance – A Progression. After all, he had made his hair grow back over night after a particularly hideous haircut by his aunt that one time.

He returned his trunk to his pocket, and got to reading.

He was early to the train station. The Hogwarts Express wasn't due to leave until eleven, but he'd hailed the Knight Bus at eight, reaching Kings Cross by eight-thirty. Harry managed to read his way through the first chapter before other students and their families started arriving at the station around ten. Of course, 'reading' in this instance included 'practising', having a go at the exercises listed throughout the chapters. Little things like making his nails longer, shorter, stronger, smoother... By the end of that little series of exercises, Harry figured that unless he participated in some activity that would completely butcher his nails, he'd never have to worry about them again, which was a bonus in his book.

There were other exercises too, mental disciplines that didn't appear to have anything to do with changing a person's appearance, but which Harry attempted as well. These were much harder, and the reason he'd only gotten to the end of the first chapter in an hour and a half.

With the arrival of other students, however, Harry put the book away. The very first page had stated very clearly that a metamorphmagus was safest if no one knew they possessed such talents. The first of the 'mental disciplines' had been to imagine a minimum of five the ways a bent government and/or underhanded individual might use a metamorphmagus for their own ends. Harry hadn't had to spend long on that one. He'd come up with ten rather quickly.

So, away went that book, and out came Moste Potente Potions instead. One of the two great tomes given to him by the apothecary. The previous month had seen him study the text in a somewhat scattered fashion, so he decided to bypass the contents this time and start reading at the first page, rather than skipping off to a specific potion further in.

Harry set himself to memorising the details he found there, rather than simply reading them, and memorising all the warnings for if he did things wrong as well. So there he was, mumbling a recitation of a potion, his eyes shut and hands gripping the cover of the very large book, when there was a knock on the door of the compartment.

There was a dark-skinned boy of about Harry's age standing there.

"'Ello," he greeted. "Can I sit with you? Don't much like the idea of sitting on me own, ya know? An' others I've asked... well, racist tossers the lot of 'em."

Harry nodded to the other boy. "Help yourself," he offered with a gesture to the opposite seat, then glanced up at his bird. She was wearing her hood, so she couldn't see his new compartment companion, still... "Just don't upset Sif," he advised.

"Right you are," the other boy agreed. "Thomas, by the way," he supplied as he heaved his trunk into the compartment and shut the door behind. "Dean Thomas. Don't much care which you prefer to call me, long as it isn't 'Tommy'."

Harry chuckled. "Potter," he answered with a smile. "Harry. And likewise, but with 'Potty' in place of 'Tommy'."

Dean grinned. "You got a deal," he said. "So, your bird? Letter said owls, cats or toads," he noted.

Harry closed his book with a gentle thump and set it cross-wise on his lap. "Yeah," he agreed, "but I asked the professor who was helping me get my stuff, and it was the 'or' that was important, since at home there can be more than one pet. The point was that students are only allowed to bring one."

Dean nodded in understanding. "Think I probably wouldn't be allowed to bring one of my family's terriers though," he countered. "Could you imagine the terror of a dog in a boarding school that's got lots of cats in it?"

Harry grinned. "Sounds to me like a perfect reason to bring one," he said with barely suppressed laughter.

The two boys chuckled together at the idea for a moment.

"So, what are you reading?" Dean asked, changing the subject. "It's not one that was on the standard book list."

Harry shook his head. "No," he agreed. "It's a big fat potions book. Useful though. I've already made five of the potions from this book."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Two for fixing my bones – one so none of them are crooked from healing wrong after a break, and the other so they aren't weak from malnutrition any more. One was to fix my height, so I'm not as short as an eight-year-old any more. One's a nutrition potion, makes sure I get all my daily vitamins and minerals, and the last one's to boost my immune system, so I don't get as sick as easily."

Dean blinked in surprise, and then frowned.

Harry could tell that the other boy wanted to ask why he'd needed those sorts of potions, but, well, those sorts of potions kind of spoke for themselves as well, and to ask could be considered rude, since they'd only just met.

"Don't worry about it," Harry advised, and took his trunk out of his pocket to put the book away.

Dean stared in amazement as Harry re-shrunk the trunk and stuffed it back into his pocket. "Wow," he breathed. "I didn't know you could get trunks that did that."

"They took the sign down," a voice complained with a sigh from beyond the door before Harry could answer. "They always take the sign down."

And then the door was opened to reveal a slightly older boy who also had dark skin, though not as dark as Dean, and had wild dreadlocks rather than having his hair cut close to his head the way Dean did.

"Firsties," the boy stated when he saw them. "Well, I suppose it can't be helped. Lads, this here is the compartment that me and my mates always use. I'm not gonna kick you out, you were here before I was and I'm not that kind of guy, but I hope you two aren't waiting for anybody else."

Dean shook his head, and Harry shrugged.

"I met a girl when I was doing my shopping that said she'd look for me on the train," he said, "but otherwise," he finished, and shook his head as well.

"Bril," the older boy said. "I'm Lee by the way, Lee Jordan."

"Dean Thomas."

"My bird is Sif," Harry started. "Mind her, the man I bought her from says she's very selective about her company. I'm Harry Potter."

Lee blinked and his jaw fell open as he stared at Harry. "Cor, really?" he asked.

"Not that Harry Potter," he protested with a sensible tone of voice. "I'm a different one."

Lee blinked a couple of times, then smiled, then grinned, then laughed. "Good one," he said. "I got ya though. No prob."

Harry nodded gratefully.

"Er..." Dean said, confusion on his face.

Lee smiled and sat down next to the boy. "Harry Potter is famous for having off'd an evil wanker when he was still in nappies," he explained. "There's story books of his adventures since and all sorts of guff. Our lad here was just informing me very shortly that he isn't the story book Harry Potter."

"The story books have Harry Potter as descended from Merlin, riding wild dragons at five and vanquishing more evil wizards at eight with incredible feats of magic," Harry illuminated. "Safe to say I'm not, I wasn't and if I was then I probably wouldn't need to be here now."

Dean and Lee both laughed in agreement.

~oOo~

Lee's friends showed up just minutes before the train jerked into motion. Time enough for introductions, a warning to not approach Sif if she wasn't hooded or in Harry's company, and for the twin red-heads who'd joined them to get over the celebrity bit.

"Thought you said that your younger brother was coming this year," Lee commented to his friends – Fred and George Weasely, they'd been introduced as.

"Ickle Ronniekins," said one with an unhappy twist to his mouth.

"We told him you got permission to bring your pet tarantula to school," the other said.

"And he bolted," finished the first.

"But I don't have a pet tarantula," Lee pointed out with a slightly confused face.

"Doesn't matter," the twins said at the same time, both shrugging absently.

"It meant we don't have to put up with the twit," explained... Fred. Harry was fairly sure it was the one who'd been introduced as Fred.

"Ron's a brat," George, or, well, the other twin explained to Harry and Dean. "Complains all the time about never getting anything new."

"Like it's important," Fred quipped, disgusted.

"Parvenu," George grumbled.

"And dim to boot," Fred added lamented, but not at all dramatically, so he clearly wasn't joking about this. "Bill's a genius, Charlie's a genius, we're geniuses, even stick-up-his-bum-Percy's got a brain between his ears that he can use to devastating effect when he cares to. But not Ickle Ronniekins."

"Acts like the world owes him a living, rather'n wanting to make the effort to better himself," George agreed glumly.

"Oi!" Lee snapped at his friends. "You two are the pranksters of Hogwarts. What are you doin' sulking?" he demanded.

Fred and George both smiled in answer.

"Can't pick your family," Harry joined in. "Ignore them when they're annoying, correct them if you can, it's their lives to screw up though."

"Well said!" the twins cheered together, and visibly relaxed.

And then Dean changed the subject. "Pranksters?" he asked.

Fred and George both grinned, and Harry couldn't help but think that their grins looked a bit like Professor Loki's grin. He wondered if they were related, briefly, before he realised what it was he was seeing: a smile full of mischief and teeth.

Hermione found the compartment not long after that, and while Dean stared at her in horror as she rattled off questions a mile a minute at the older students, they seemed to love it, even when she left them completely stumped for an answer.

The twins seemed to like those questions the best, actually.

"Why didn't we ever think of that Gred?"

"I really don't know Forge."

"Well, it's thought of now Gred."

"Indeed it is Forge."

"It needs investigating Gred."

"I couldn't agree more Forge."

And then they would turn to Hermione and both shake her firmly by the hand and thank her for bringing whatever it was to their attention. The same hand. At the same time. It made her bushy hair bounce a bit as she was rocked by the momentum.

Lee, meanwhile, placed a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. "I think it's because they're used to sharing sentences that they aren't intimidated by how fast she talks," he whispered.

Dean nodded weakly.

Harry just quietly chuckled to himself the whole while, though he interjected when he knew something, from his reading, that Hermione hadn't come across in her reading yet – and which the older students were generally able to confirm or deny.

~oOo~

A chocolate frog, a traded sandwich, a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans (shared, with jocular comparisons on what flavours they got as the box was passed around) and a boat ride later, and Harry was waiting to be sorted with the other first years.

Harry had little care for house prejudices, he hadn't been raised with them, but a little research had him noting that the only houses he was likely to be completely safe from people who'd had family who served the evil twit he'd supposedly off'd as an infant would be Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and even those there was still a good chance of them being related to somebody who had a grudge against him for it. Pure-blood inbreeding. However, there was a much lower likelihood of them carrying the grudge as well in those houses than in Ravenclaw or Slytherin, where there seemed to be a bit more elitism bred into them – though for different reasons.

"Well thought out," the Hat congratulated him when it was dropped down over his ears. Adult-sized hat on child-sized head. Just too big and doomed to always sink down. But that was somewhat the point, really. "And of the two remaining choices, I know just where to put you. You'll even have friends there already."

And then Harry was sent off into Gryffindor, where Harry sat down between Hermione and – he was fairly sure – Fred.

There had been rather a lot of ridiculous cheering for him when he'd been sent to Gryffindor, but Lee, Fred, George and Hermione had all just smiled at him and quietly welcomed him when he sat down with them. None of the ridiculous hooting of claiming a celebrity that most of the rest of the students at the long table had performed.

The meal was... heavy. Harry was acutely aware, after his childhood diet of very little (if anything at all) and his more recent forays into mealtimes of lean and healthy foods, that a great deal of what was laid out before him was either fatty, sugary, oily, greasy, or starchy. So, to make the best of it, he took a few slices of roast meat and simply cut off the fatty bits, took a helping of roasted vegetables (they'd been roasted in fat, yes, but they really were the healthiest option that he could see), and drank water rather than the strange, near toxic-orange pumpkin juice.

He was fairly sure that there wasn't anything that was naturallythat colour. At least, that wasn't poisonous.

"I hope all meals aren't like this," he queried in Fred's direction.

"Oh there's almost always roast to be had," Fred answered easily. "Roast beef, roast pork with crackling, roast chicken, roast turkey, fish on Fridays, then roast duck, and a ham on Sundays. It's only ever all on option for feasts though."

Harry blinked. "I was kind of hoping for something... less heavy?" he suggested hopefully.

Fred shrugged easily. "Then your best bet is to go down to the kitchens, let 'em know what your preferences are," he answered.

"We'll give you a grand tour of the secret passages and such next Sunday," George promised, then smirked at Harry. "Think you can stand the 'heavy' fare that long?" he joked.

"I'll have to," Harry answered in as best a humour as he could manage.

After dinner was announcements – forbidden items list on Mr Filch's door, no magic in the halls, avoid some particular corridor on pain of painful death – and then off to bed.

"I wonder what's in the third floor corridor," Hermione said softly to Harry as she walked beside him up the many stairs.

"I don't," Harry answered firmly.

"You aren't curious?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Granger, there are many types of curiosity," Harry said, and proceeded to divulge a small portion of the lessons he had learned from the Dursleys. "What you are proposing, I categorise as unsafe curiosity. The sort of curiosity that killed the cat," he said firmly. "And which no amount of satisfaction could bring back."

Hermione pouted, but recognised that Harry would not be further drawn on the subject.