Chapter 22
The door swung open at once. Harry was relieved to see Professor McGonagall looking entirely like herself, and no longer disguised as Aunt Petunia. Her face was set in the sternest lines, so he acknowledged her with only a small smile.
It had been decided that his relationship with Minerva McGonagall should not be public knowledge. That is, Professor Dumbledore had decided it. Harry supposed it was for the best, since there could be no secret about his situation with Professor Snape. He really didn't want other students to think he considered himself better or more important than anyone else. There was quite enough rubbish going on already about his scar and Voldemort. Or You-Know-Who.
That silly name was like nails across a blackboard to Harry. He even preferred the loaded title of Dark Lord. Anything but that stupid name that sounded like a guessing game. Surely Voldemort had had some sort of real name once, because "Voldemort" sounded pretty made-up to Harry. Of course, a lot of wizarding names sounded peculiar.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
The entrance hall was every bit as grand as the outside of the castle had promised. Harry followed McGonagall across the stone floor, and looked about to find himself in the lead. Draco and Neville fell into step on either side of him, and Hermione was hurrying along, not wanting to miss anything. Draco gave her an indignant glare as she pushed ahead of them. Harry smiled and shook his head at Draco. There was a drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right. Harry supposed the rest of the school was already gathered.
Instead of going through the huge doors from where the voices came, Professor McGonagall led them into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded together. Hermione was standing just next to the Professor, and Draco caught Harry by the sleeve, determined to stake their own claim to a place near the Deputy Headmistress.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. She told them they would be joining the rest of the school for the start of term banquet shortly, but that when they entered the Great Hall, they would be sorted into their houses first. Harry had already heard much of this information before: he had been told about the points system and House Cup. He listened more carefully as Professor McGonagall named the houses, fancying she favored her own house somewhat by naming "Gryffindor" the first of all. And was there a slight drop of her voice as she put "Slytherin" last?
Harry had sensed that Professor McGonagall really, really did not want Harry to be in Slytherin. He was not sure how Professor Snape felt. While the Professor was very proud of his house, Harry had gathered that having his ward in his own house--and a celebrity like Harry at that--might put the Professor in an awkward position. The wizarding world was small and gossipy. And Voldemort had apparently had some relationship to Slytherin House. Who knew what people would make of Harry Potter in Slytherin?
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." She left the chamber.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione asked him, her breathing quick and ragged. "Do you think we'll have to do a spell to prove ourselves worthy?"
Ron Weasley blurted out, "Some sort of test, I reckon. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking. I can't see that they really make us wrestle a troll."
Neville went white.
"Oh, for--" Draco snorted. "All you do is put on an old hat. My father told me all about it. The hat looks into your mind and sees where you should go. And if you don't like what it says, you tell it where you want to go. Of course," he sneered at Hermione. "That's only for students from wizarding families. Maybe you--muggleborn--really do have to do more. Maybe you have to recite pages and pages from your textbooks out loud by memory--" He smirked. "--But that shouldn't be a problem for you, since you already learned all the course books by heart."
"He's just taking the mickey," Harry assured her hurriedly, wondering how one revived girls if they fainted. "Draco likes to do that. If it's just a hat, it'll be a hat for all of us."
"How do you know?" demanded a tall thin boy. "Who made you Chief Warlock of the first years?" He pushed up to Harry aggressively, looking down his nose.
Harry would have stepped back, but Draco was behind him and hadn't moved. In a reasonable tone, Harry replied, "Because it only makes sense. Who would send eleven-year-olds to fight trolls? And if we're just starting school, why would we be expected to know everything already?"
The tall boy sneered. "You seem to think you know it all. Right. You're Famous Harry Potter. Do you sit in on the Governors' meetings and tell them what to do?"
Harry turned to Draco. "How did he know I was Harry Potter?" Back in the crowd, Harry saw Ron Weasley's ears turn pink. "Oh."
A girl plucked at the pushy boy's robes. "Zach!" she pleaded. "Stop it!" She said to Harry, rather helplessly, "He gets like this sometimes. I'm Hannah Abbott. This awful git is Zacharias Smith." Conscientiously, she offered Harry a small, soft hand.
"Hannah." He looked at the boy who had unaccountably taken a dislike to him. He had hoped that the days of attracting hostile notice were gone with the Dursleys. Apparently not. "Yes, I am, in fact, Harry Potter, and no, I don't sit in with the Governors. I guess there's an opening. Why don't you put your name in?"
There were snickers, and an appreciative "Good one, Harry!" from Draco. Zacharias clenched his fists and took a step forward. Harry braced himself, but jumped when several people behind him screamed.
He looked around and gasped. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearl-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say. We ought to give him a second chance--"
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name, and you know, he's not really even a ghost--I say, what are you all doing here?"
A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.
Nobody answered.
"New students?" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"
A few people nodded mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."
"Move along now." Harry heard Professor McGonagall's familiar voice. She had returned and was waiting impatiently. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start. Form a line and follow me." The ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.
Harry turned away, but heard Hermione's warning hiss to Zacharias Smith.
"You're going to get in trouble, fighting with Harry like that!"
"Yes," Hannah seconded. "What's the matter with you? What if you're in the same house?"
"No way am I going to be in the same house as that poser!" growled Smith.
He was shushed as they marched through the door behind Professor McGonagall. Harry forgot the silly dispute as the Great Hall was revealed. Everywhere he looked, there were shining candles and the glint of gold. Most remarkable was the ceiling, velvety black and dotted with stars.
Hermione whispered, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."
"So did I," Harry murmured back. "But it's one thing to read about it, and another to see it!"
Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she placed a pointed wizard's hat. A patched, frayed, and dirty hat, which astonishingly began to sing in a human voice through a rip near the brim.
The Hat introduced itself and described the houses--after a fashion. Harry was hardly going to criticize the Hat's song. It was amazing simply to hear it.
"--You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
The students applauded, and the Hat bowed to each table in turn. A hush settled over the Hall.
Professor McGonagall's voice sounded clear in the vast space. "When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Immediately, she called, "Abbot, Hannah!"
Hannah stumbled up to the stool and put on the Hat, which was far too large for her and dropped down over her eyes.
Almost immediately, the Hat shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!" Hannah trotted happily to the Hufflepuff table, her yellow pigtails bobbing.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Brown, Lavender!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The table on the far left exploded with cheers. Harry noticed that it had a number of redheads sitting there.
"Bulstrode, Millicent!"
--became the first Slytherin. Harry shifted restlessly, knowing he would have some time to wait. He wished he had had time to meet more of his new classmates. Crabbe and Goyle were soon sorted into Slytherin--something that puzzled Harry, since he could hardly describe either of them as "cunning," and certainly not as "ambitious." There must be more to the Sorting Hat's criteria.
Sometimes the Hat made up its mind quickly. Sometimes, however, it could take a long time. A sandy-haired boy named Seamus Finnegan sat on the stool for nearly a minute before being sent to Gryffindor.
"Granger, Hermione!"
Hermione ran forward and jammed the Hat on eagerly. There was a brief moment, and the Hat pronounced her a "RAVENCLAW!"
Hermione grimaced oddly, but then gave a brisk nod. Leaving the Hat neatly on the stool, she bustled off to join her house.
"Longbottom, Neville!"
Surprisingly, it didn't take long for the Hat to call, "GRYFFINDOR!" Poor Neville nearly collapsed with relief. He rushed away the Hat still on his head, until Professor McGonagall sent him back, amidst the gales of laughter. He grinned himself.
"Malfoy, Draco!"
No sooner had the Hat touched his head than it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" Draco smirked in Harry's direction. Harry gave him a smile and a thumbs-up. His parents will be so pleased. And it's not like Draco isn't ambitious! He should be all right there. And he'll have Professor Snape to look after him.
And then, at last--
"Potter, Harry!"
The whispers spread like flames throughout the hall.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
Hundreds of pairs of eyes were fixed on Harry. He was hardly aware of moving, but there he was suddenly: sitting with the Sorting Hat dropped down over his eyes.
"Hmm. Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes--and a nice thirst to prove yourself. Now that's interesting--So where shall I put you?"
Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought back at the Hat. Put me where I'll have the most friends. And where I can be a good friend, too.
In his head, the Hat made a sound very like a laugh. "You've already made a number of friends, my lad. Each one of them is friends with a different Harry Potter. You have a friend in Slytherin. He was quite insistent that you should join him there. Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that--it's all there in your head. And Gryffindor! You've a good friend there, too. If you want to be a hero, that's the place for a bit of derring-do and reckless adventure! You even have the beginnings of a good friend in Ravenclaw--a very good friend indeed--and it's not too late to make quite the scholar of you. That would score off those who thought you'd never amount to much!"
"I dont care about any of that--much", Harry told the Hat firmly. "I don't care about being powerful, or a hero, or beating people over the head with my cleverness. I'll work hard at school, all right--if only to make Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall proud of me. It might be better if I wasn't in either Gryffindor or Slytherin. I don't want to hurt Professor Snape's feelings or Professor McGonagall's, either. And I don't mind work. What I really want, though, are good friends. I want to belong to a jolly lot of good kids where I can be--Harry--just Harry!"
"Well--if you're sure--better be HUFFLEPUFF!"
A long, breathless pause. A burst of cheers from a table of boys and girls wearing black and yellow ties. Loud chatter and speculation at the other tables. Scowls, smiles, and whispers at the Head Table. Harry glimpsed Draco's annoyed, exasperated look and gave him a cheery wave.
Following the lead of Hannah Abbott, he made his way to the Hufflepuff table.
A handsome, athletic-looking boy cheered, "We got Potter!" The friendly ghost of the friar waved merrily at Harry. Harry grinned at him and at his fellow first years. Hannah patted the seat by her and he took it, feeling very much at home already. Then he looked anxiously up front to see how Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall were taking his Sorting.
Her face seemed pleasant enough. Perhaps the smile was a little forced, but she listened to the dumpy, delighted witch to her left and nodded agreement.
Professor Snape was looking straight at him. Harry shrugged and grinned a little helplessly, and spread his hands in a "What-can-I do?" way. Snape pressed his lips together, but did not seem particularly angry. His neighbor, however, was talking to the Professor. Harry recognized the purple-turbaned wizard as Professor Quirrell, and felt a chill of apprehension. He watched him a moment, and then flinched when the Defense Professor's eyes met his own.
"Ow!"
"What is it, Harry?" asked a little red-haired girl.
"Just a headache, I guess," he managed.
"You'll feel better after you eat," she told him seriously. "That's what my Auntie always says. I'm Susan Bones, by the way."
He gave her a nod, wondering when he would have a chance to talk to Professor Snape. He hoped he wouldn't have this kind of pain during every Defense class this year.
Other names were being called. The unpleasant boy--Zacharias Smith--was called forward, and sat nearly as long as Seamus Finnegan had before the hat called out, "GRYFFINDOR!" in a rather snappish way.
Red-haired Ron Weasley was also a Gryffindor, as he had wanted to be. He was greeted rapturously at his house table by a happy group of fellow redheads. Harry smiled and applauded dutifully. The dark-skinned boy, Blaise Zabini, was sorted into Slytherin, and the Sorting was complete.
Harry looked down at his empty gold plate, realizing that he was hungry again. The feast on the train seemed ages ago.
Albus Dumbledore got to his feet, beaming at the students, his arms opened wide.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
"Thank you!"
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry wondered if he should be laughing or not.
"Is he-- a bit mad?" Harry wondered out loud.
The good-looking older boy Harry had noticed before leaned down the table to answer, "Mad? I daresay he is. Best wizard in the world, but a bit mad, too. I'm Cedric Diggory. Do you play quidditch, Harry?"
"I haven't played much," Harry confessed. "I've only just flown for the first time this summer, but I love it. Do you play?"
Cedric nodded eagerly, "Reserve Seeker last year. Perhaps I'll start this term. We've a pretty good lot of fliers in the House, but we take our turns, here in Hufflepuff."
Food appeared on the golden plates. Harry was accustomed by now to the wonders of elf cookery, but was still astonished at the variety here: bacon and steak, sausages, pork chops and lamb chops, boiled potatoes and roast potatoes, and for some strange reason, bowls of peppermint humbugs. Harry ignored the humbugs and loaded his plate with a little bit of everything. Alternating bites of juicy steak with everything else in reach, he listened to the conversation around him, trying to get to know these people with whom he would spend the next few years of his life.
A very nice-looking first year boy put out his hand to Harry. "Justin Finch-Fletchley. I was down for Eton, but magic, you know--"
"I do know!" Harry laughed, shaking his hand heartily.
"Ernest MacMillan, Ernie, really," was a serious-looking but friendly boy, with an oddly formal manner.
The last of the Hufflepuff first years was half-hidden on the other side of Susan. Sally-Anne Perks was a very pretty little girl, shorter even than Harry. Her dark hair was smoothed back in a neat bun on the nape of her neck.
"I haven't seen you about," Hannah was saying. "I haven't heard of any family named Perks. Are you muggleborn?"
"I'm not sure what you mean," answered the girl in a little silvery voice. "It was always me and Mum, and then when I got my letter, this bloke pops in. My Dad, Mum says. Hasn't seen him since before I was born, but it seems he's a wizard, and when he found out I was a witch, he got all interested in me." She made a face. "I was hoping for the Royal Ballet School, but there wasn't a place open, and my Dad insisted I come here and learn to be a proper witch. At least he's paying for it!"
"Your parents aren't married?" Hannah asked, wide-eyed and quietly shocked.
"You'd rather be a ballerina than a witch?" Justin asked, equally shocked.
"Well," Sally told them, bright and brittle. "I am a witch, whether I go to school for it or not, but you have to learn to be a ballerina." She added, "And you have to learn it while youre young, too." She looked briefly sad. "This isn't such a bad Plan B, though. This castle is amazing."
"That it is!" Harry agreed. He bit happily into his favorite, treacle tart.
When they were fairly gorged (all but Sally, who ate sparingly and sensibly), Dumbledore rose again, eyes twinkling. The hall fell silent.
"Ahem--just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.
"First years should note the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.
"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Harry nearly laughed, and then saw that hardly anyone was taking the Headmaster's words as a joke. Harry stared, wondering what kind of school this was, and decided he would ask Professor Snape about the third-floor corridor as soon as possible.
"He's not serious?" Sally asked Susan in wonder. Susan shook her head and shrugged, her wide grey eyes on Dumbledore.
"He must be," Cedric told them softly. "But usually he gives a reason why we're not to go somewhere."
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables, and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.
"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore," and off we go!"
Harry didn't actually have a favorite tune, and he mumbled the strange, whimsical words in a monotone. Sally-Anne Perks, he noticed, was scowling and covering her ears.
"Don't you like music?" shouted Hannah, over the din.
"I love music!" Sally-Anne screeched back, shaking her head.
At last it was over, except for two Gryffindors who had chosen a funeral march. When they were done, the Headmaster wiped his eyes, and said, "Ah, music! A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"
Two older students--prefects--led them away. Harry's legs were like lead, he was so tired and full of food. They seem to wander forever, up and down staircases, through echoing corridors, accompanied by the friendly ghost of the Friar. Finally they reached a large painting of two beautiful blonde women in ancient costume. Harry wondered if they were witches or goddesses--or witches who were worshipped as goddesses. One held a sheaf of wheat, and the other, rather younger one held a basket of flowers. She smiled as the children approached.
"Oh, look, Mamma! New students! We hope you'll be very happy here, little badgers."
The other witch--who certainly did not look old enough to be a mother--smiled herself, and asked, "Password?"
"Floribunda."
The picture swung away from the wall, revealing a round hole in the wall. Harry grinned at a baffled Justin, and clambered through after the prefect.
He found himself in a room at once commodious and cozy. Wall hangings of Hufflepuff yellow and black softened the high stone walls, and comfortable seating was grouped together--some around the huge stone hearth, where a noble fire blazed warmingly--some near a bank of tall, brilliantly-colored windows. Harry suspected the windows would be magnificent in daylight. There were study tables and bookshelves and a little raised platform, mysteriously draped with a velvet curtain the color of ripe wheat. He longed to look and touch, but the prefects were hurrying them on, urging them to come by the great fireplace.
"You lot can sit on the floor here," the tall girl told them. "We're having a Council of the Sett. Firsties and second years sit there so they can see."
The older students were crowding behind them. Some of the girls took seats on the squashy sofas and chairs and ottomans. The tallest boys stood behind, lounging casually. The crowd parted, as the dumpy witch Harry had noticed at the Head Table came bustling in.
"Gather 'round! Gather 'round!" she called, waving at them as if she wanted to hug them all. She came to a halt on the big flagged hearthstones and stood surveying the students of Hufflepuff House, beaming with affection.
"Well!" she exclaimed. "Here we are, primed for another splendid year! A new lot of badger cubs, and a likely lot they are!"
Harry felt himself flushing under her proud gaze, and glancing about, saw that he was not the only one. It was very nice to feel so welcome.
"I'm your Head of House, Professor Sprout. I teach Herbology at this fine old place, and I hope that every one of you will give your all this year. Each of you is special and gifted in different ways. I don't expect all of you to be brilliant at everything--"
"Some of us are!" called out an older boy with a grin, pointing at the good-looking boy who had spoken with Harry at dinner. Cedric--Cedric Diggory, Harry remembered the name. He seems nice.
Singled out, Cedric blushed rosily, and shook his head.
Professor Sprout was having none of that. "No false modesty, Cedric! Now you lot listen to me, " she said more seriously, "especially you little cubs there, rolling about on the floor in front of the fire." Hannah and Susan giggled.
"Do you know what a Badger's lair is called? No? It's called a sett. That's the secret name for our digs here at Hogwarts---Common Room and dormitories and all. A badger's sett is his home and his fortress and his comfort. This is your safe place, and I won't have any strutting or bullying or making fellow badgers miserable. It's one for all and all for one here in Hufflepuff House, as that muggle fellow wrote. Not a bad motto for us. Hogwarts Badgers stick together, because when we do, there's nothing we can't achieve!
"No doubt Professor McGonagall's given you a bit of a talk about House points and House Cups and all that. Cups are all very well, but they're not the most important part of your years at Hogwarts. You're here to become the finest witches and wizards you can be, each of you in your own way. You're here to become part of the community of witches and wizards, and to learn to live and work with all sorts of people. You're here to make friendships that will last the whole of your lives, and possibly even to meet the witch or wizard of your dreams!"
Laughter, and some preening and jostling among the older students.
Professor Sprout waved her hands for silence, and went on. "So while I wouldn't complain if a cup or two came our way, I won't be put out with you if they don't--as long as you've all done your best. If ever any of you need to talk to me, you come on in to my office and have a sit-down with me! We've got some fine prefects in this House, but I'm not one to slough it all on them and sit about taking tea and eating bonbons! You come see me if you've a mind to!
"You've a lot to take in, so I won't heap more on. You'll hear soon enough about our study groups and our talent nights. We badgers take care of our own. Now then, head on down to your rooms and sleep yourselves out! You'll find your luggage waiting. You'll get your class schedules at breakfast tomorrow. Boys left, girls right. Quick now!"
Prefects led the younger students away. Harry looked behind to see Professor Sprout chatting energetically with a cluster of older students. Hannah, Susan, and Sally disappeared around a corner, with waves and cries of "See you tomorrow!"
The boys followed the prefect down a long hall until they came to a series of round yellow doors. The prefect opened one, and motioned the boys in.
"This is for you firsties." He smiled slightly, and wished them goodnight.
Harry peered in, smiling himself at the cozy room. Their trunks and other gear were piled by the door. Three single tester beds, all draped about with dark yellow bed curtains, filled half of the room. There was a wide window seat, and a reading table with sturdy chairs. By the window was a perch where Hedwig came fluttering, just the boys took possession of the room.
"Hedwig!"
Harry rushed to greet her, hands running lovingly over the sleek white feathers. Justin and Ernie were admiring.
"She's a beauty," Ernie told Harry earnestly. "Snowy owls are particularly intelligent."
"Might I touch her?" Justin asked. "I haven't quite taken in the whole owl thing."
"Go ahead. And yes, Ernie, she's smart, all right."
The boys exclaimed over Hedwig for some time. Ernie had brought his pet kneazle, Widdershins, and that clever creature elicited more exclamations and introductions.
Harry was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open, but even his trunk was an object of interest to his roommates.
"Look here, Harry," Ernie remarked. "Is that dragonhide?"
"As in actual dragons?" Justin asked.
"Yes," Harry yawned, swaying on his feet. "My dad's old school trunk. Hungarian Horntail. I'm going to bed before I fall over. Do you mind if I take the one nearest the window?"
He tumbled gratefully into the comfortable bed, wriggling down under the covers. Full of rich food and over-excited by events, he slept restlessly, plagued by anxious dreams. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's purple turban, which was telling him he had to be in Slytherin, because it was his destiny. Draco was laughing, telling him, "Come on, Harry! You'll like it! It's all in your head!" Professor Snape loomed over him, tugging angrily at the turban. Harry moaned, nearly waking, and rubbed absently at his scar. Then he rolled over and slept until morning.
N.A. Yes, I know this sorting will elicit comment and disagreement. I felt that Harry is too new to having people care about him not to worry about hurting feelings if he seemed to choose McGonagall's house over Snape's, or vice versa. Snape's encouragement of him to be true to himself would seem a subtle discouragement to insist on his parents' house. Harry knows enough about Slytherin to understand why it might cause unpleasant comment if he were in it. Furthermore, while Harry has some Slytherin traits, a lot of them might be tied to the horcrux and so are not part of Harry per se. As to Ravenclaw--I just don't see Harry there. Not that he isn't intelligent. As we know from canon, very brilliant people are sometimes in houses other than Ravenclaw. Harry is not a scholar by nature, or if he was, his years with the Dursleys have quashed it. He will make better grades in this story than in canon, because he now has individuals who will be monitoring his progress, and who have given him the tools he needs to succeed at Hogwarts.
In the end, though, I chose Hufflepuff because I believe Harry will be very happy there. What a concept! Happy!Harry. I also think that sometimes people go into houses not because they already have the hallmark traits of the house, but because they desire them (Peter Pettigrew in Gryffindor) or because they need them. I think a healthy respect for hard work and loyalty would be extremely good for Harry. Hard work has been tainted in the past by the Dursleys' demands, and Harry hasn't had much experience of people being loyal to him, but all that is about to change.
And as to Ron--no, this is not an evil!Ron story. If I cavil at calling eleven-year-old Tom Riddle evil, you should guess I certainly wouldn't create an evil Ron. However, he and Harry did not meet well, and Harry has already made those crucial other first friends. Ron and Harry may be friends eventually, but that will take time, and there will be many bumps along the way.
I enjoyed some of the comments about Wind in the Willows. All right, I agree: Neville is Mole, Harry is the Water Rat (dear old Ratty is my favourite, anyway), and Draco is Toad. Hmmm. I may do something with this later. Snape is certainly Mr Badger. And let's not forget Hermione's patronus!