Chapter 2: First Contact

There was a knock at the door. It sounds such an innocent phrase, doesn't it? Not terrifying in the slightest. But look at it from my point of view; we were on a rock, out at sea, in the middle of the worst storm I'd ever experienced, and I couldn't quite fathom how we'd been followed. You sit through that and come out cheerful. I dare you. Give me some credit, I didn't scream. True, that was because the Dursleys did, and I was damned if I was going to sink to their level, but the point still stands.

And then the knock sounded again. At this point, I decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and I slunk behind my uncle. The fat bastard wouldn't be much use in a fight, but he was an excellent shield. And if the worst happened, I could probably crush any wizards underneath his bulk as I ran for it.

The wizard outside was clearly getting impatient, as the third knock was delivered with gusto. Specifically, the door was quite literally knocked off its hinges, crashing to the floor and letting in what felt like half the water in the world. As lightning flashed once more, our unwanted guest was lit up. Although I didn't scream, I'm not ashamed to admit that I whimpered, just a little. And I immediately gave up on my plan to crush him underneath Vernon. The wizard filled the doorway, and he was crouching down. It was horrible. For the first time since I was seven years old, I felt defenceless. My rudimentary magic skills would be useless against this monstrosity, and there was absolutely nowhere to run or hide. Even if I did lay down the Dursleys' lives as I made my getaway – and make no mistake, I considered it fleetingly – the giant would surely catch up with me. Besides, if the Dursleys died I was going to be short on cash: and wine, women and song didn't come cheap to a sixteen year old.

So I put a brave face on it, by which I mean I didn't gibber out loud or burst into tears, and stepped out from behind my uncle's bulk. As I did so, the wizard smiled widely, and stepped inside, looming over us like a Titan. He boomed something unintelligible and I nearly fainted, thinking he had cursed me. Nothing happened though, except his smile disappearing. He repeated himself, and I realised that the mangled syllables were, in fact, attempts at intelligent speech:

"'Arry Potter! It's bin too long since I saw yeh lad, too long! Jes' a baby y'were, I could fit yeh in me 'and, safe as 'ouses. 'Ow've yeh bin?"

I paused for a moment, mentally translating the speech, and once I'd inserted all the useful aitches, and filled in the gaps, I responded as best I could:

"Who the bloody hell are you? And why won't you leave me alone! I don't want to go to this bloody college, understand? Piss off!"

The beady eyes narrowed in confusion, and I realised that it was entirely possible that Dudley was no longer the dumbest person in the room: a truly terrifying prospect.

"Yeh don't recognise me? Well, s'pose you were only a baby…thought yer family might'a mentioned me though." He drew himself up proudly, which would have been impressive if he hadn't banged his head on the ceiling. "Well, I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts College of Witchcraft and Wizardry. An' I'm here to get yeh ready for the start of term."

If you've been paying attention by now, you've probably guessed that I wasn't particularly impressed with the fact that I'd been met by the bloody groundskeeper, but I said nothing. I didn't need to; my uncle was saying it for me. I won't bore you with the details; it was covered fairly accurately in the fairytale I concocted (albeit with a small increase in bad language and crude assertions about Hagrid's anatomy), and as you probably know, it concluded with Dudley almost being turned into a pig. Let me tell you, when I finally got hold of my own Pensieve, that memory went on repeat for a while! It was a popular choice at the club, as well – but more of that later. I'm getting ahead of myself.

Yes, Dudley. Pig man. Amusing – well, alright, hysterically funny – as this was, it didn't do much to calm my nerves. Soon enough however, I was being dragged off the island to go clothes shopping, completely against my will and better judgement.

I didn't say anything though. Hagrid may have been a bastard, but he was an eight foot tall bastard who could crush me like an egg, even if he didn't attempt some frighteningly half baked magic. When he asked me to come with him, it seemed… rude to say no, shall we say?

We shall gloss over the trip to Diagon Alley; nothing much happened that you don't already know about. Potion ingredients; spell books; wand - "Terrible but great" – stupid old git; I'm convinced he was stoned half the time. Not that I'd judge a chap for indulging, of course. In fact, there are only three things worth revisiting from Diagon Alley:

First of all, I was now independently wealthy. I'd checked at the desk, and the vault did not include the sixteen years worth of interest. It wasn't enough money, of course – there's no such thing – but I could live like a king, even before you factored in the blissful Galleon/Pound exchange rate.

Secondly, I was a legend. A bloody legend. Once I'd winkled the story out of the oaf I could understand it, even if I didn't know what I'd done. I'd saved the Wizarding World, and hadn't had to lift a finger to do it – the best kind of victory, believe me, and I've spent a long, long time taking advantage of it.

Finally, Draco fucking Malfoy. Remember him? My school nemesis, the bane of my existence – the bastard's bastard, if you will. It's ironic really. We could have been marvellous friends, had things been just slightly different. He certainly appeared to be the right sort; clearly not short of a Galleon or two, and he had that indefinable air of influence about him. In short, from a family who didn't get things done, because they had people to do things for them. And he didn't like Hagrid, so we immediately had some common ground.

But of course, you know what happened, or at least a version of it. We ended up on very different sides of the battle, even though we'd both rather have liked to have sit the entire shambles out with a bottle of firewhiskey and a willing witch. As I said, we could have been friends, but for one difference: I had standards. He didn't. I said earlier that I've never been a Dark wizard, and I mean it. Some call it cowardice, some call it a single shred of human decency (thank you oh so very much Longbottom, you sanctimonious tosser), and others – well, others have just called it laziness. Malfoy on the other hand… well, it's not quite fair to say he never had a problem with torturing or killing people, or doing unsightly and highly improbable things with their bodily fluids, but it's definitely fair to say he didn't have the spine to do it himself. Didn't have the courage of his convictions.

What he did have, that first day, was a set of devilishly nice robes. I'm still not convinced they weren't ermine, even today. Not that he seemed interested; no, he was paying far too much attention to the woman kneeling in front of him to take measurements. There was a slightly sinister leer on his face. He looked up as I walked in, and nodded at me briefly. I stood there patiently as Madame Malkin fussed over me, and then she brought out the Hogwarts robes.

They were awful. No shape to them whatsoever, and a very mediocre material. I looked at the woman scornfully. "I'm sorry, do you seriously expect me to wear this rubbish?"

"But sir, these are the traditional – "

"I don't care. I'll be damned if I'm not going to look my best. What else have you got?"

The woman rolled her eyes with a mutter, and stalked off to find some more samples. Malfoy nodded at me approvingly. "That's right, you've got to let them know where they stand. Keep them in the place."

"I couldn't agree more," I told him.

"Glad to hear it. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, but you'll know who I am of course," he remarked offhandedly. He didn't ask me my name. "God, I can't wait to get to Hogwarts. You'll have heard the stories?"

"Yes, I've heard it's rather prestigious." I'd be lying if I said that I sounded effusive, but Malfoy didn't notice.

"Seven years of endless parties – they mean it when they say they're the best years of your life, don't they!"

"What? Oh, parties. I thought you meant the education…"

Malfoy scoffed. "Who cares about learning? It's not like they teach us anything we don't already know, is it?"

I rather got the sense that disagreeing with him might not be prudent, just at the moment.

"Hmm. Know which house you'll be in yet? I'm Slytherin, of course."

"How do you know?" It was a bad question.

"How do I know? It's a Malfoy family tradition! Ten generations of my family in Slytherin, rather a record actually." He actually puffed up like a peacock as he said it – no, really. "You'll probably be there too, easy to see you've got the right…qualities."

"What qualities?"

Malfoy simply rubbed his fingers together meaningfully, and I nodded in understanding. I grinned at him, confirming his statement.

"Thought you would be. Slytherin for the class, Gryffindor for the thugs, Ravenclaw for the secretaries, and Hufflepuff for the menial drones. I bet you a galleon this one was in Hufflepuff," he said to me, looking down at the assistant in front of him. She flushed angrily, but once again, said nothing. Malfoy nodded to himself in satisfaction. "So, where are yours?"

"Mine?" I was getting increasingly lost in this conversation. Somewhere along the line, I'd obviously given the impression that I was in possession of the cipher book, and Malfoy seemed to assume I could translate.

"Your parents, obviously! Must be around somewhere; getting you a decent trunk are they? Best to take advantage now, while they're building up to miss you, take it from me. They'll spend thousands on you if you play your cards right."

"They're dead. The money's all mine, actually." I still get a little twinge of satisfaction from that memory, the first time I put Malfoy down. Admittedly, not a major statement, but the idea that I had money of my own obviously pissed him off. He recovered well though, merely shrugging and then affecting boredom.

The fitting carried on in silence, Madame Malkin returning with some better robes for me. I didn't get anything too ostentatious, just cashmere with a velvet trim and a silk lining. I cut quite a dash with my wand in my hand and my cloak swept back, though I say it myself. My moment was ruined – as I should have expected – by Hagrid.

"Merlin's blue balls, who the bloody hell is that?" Clearly, Draco had never seen the ragtag giant I'd been paired with, and I explained. Malfoy shot me an incredulous look. "You…you're being escorted by the groundskeeper? Hah! Maybe you're a 'puff after all…"

Me, a 'puff? From that moment on, he was dead to me.

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So. There I was, Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. To be honest, I never really got used to the title; I didn't like thinking of myself as a boy anymore, but I could tell that it wouldn't change until the day I died. The last few weeks at Privet Drive passed without real incident – my 'family' had been terrified of me even before I acquired a wand, and knowing that I could curse them even more effectively with the stick than I had done cowed them even further.

I didn't sleep much the night before term started. Finding out I was a wealthy hero had softened the blow of being taken away from my kingdom at Smeltings somewhat, but I knew I'd still have ground to make up once I actually got to Hogwarts. I'd flicked through a few textbooks, but hadn't really bothered myself too much. Really, I planned to just rely on charisma and my reputation to set myself up at the college. Given the reaction I had received in Diagon Alley, I was fairly confident that I would have people practically begging to wait on me hand and foot, but that didn't stop me feeling a slight flicker of nervousness that kept me awake until the early hours.

After getting me to the station, the Dursleys vanished so fast that, looking back, I'd be convinced they Disapparated. I allowed a small smile to flash across my lips for a moment, then pushed my luggage into the station. A glance at the ticket Hagrid had given me left me spluttering with rage. Platform 9 and ¾'s? If I found out that Neanderthal was playing a prank on me… However, all was not lost. Glaring around the station, my eye was caught by a red haired girl, slouching along the platform behind some equally ginger boys, and a woman I assumed was her mother. While she was sadly lacking as far as her chest went, her arse was definitely worth a second look. In the absence of anything better to do – and figuring that asking a porter where Platform 9 and ¾'s was would be futile – I wandered after her, pushing my trolley in front of me.

As it happened, she looked back over her shoulder as I fell in behind them, and I saw her face for the first time. Nothing special – too freckly for my tastes. Of course, you're probably reading this and feeling rather confused. You've undoubtedly deduced that this was Ginny Weasley, and know I ended up marrying her, after all; "It wasn't love at first sight?" you ask. Well, no, to be perfectly frank. Ginny Weasley was and always will be…open for business, perhaps – but I'm getting ahead of myself. Suffice it to say, my initial interest consisted of little more than deciding that I wouldn't kick her out of bed.

It was about then that I heard the mother muttering something about Muggles. They were wizards; I was in! Running a hand through my hair, and putting on my most charming smile, I made my way over to them.

"Excuse me? I couldn't help but hear you mention Muggles, and I'm afraid I'm a little lost – looking for platform 9 and ¾'s…"

"Oh! Of course dear, of course, just follow us. It's Ron's first time at Hogwarts as well. I'm Molly Weasley, these are my children…."

I nodded pleasantly at them as she introduced them all, widening my smile just a touch for Ginny, who gave me an appraising look. Time to whip out the big guns, as the warlock said to the witch: "Charmed. I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

I won't deny, the looks on their faces sent a magnificent shiver of pleasure down my spine. Ron in particular looked like he'd just witnessed the second coming of Merlin, and his jaw nearly hit the floor.

"Harry Potter?" Molly whispered, in awed tones. "Good Lord…may I say that it is an honour to meet you, an absolute honour!"

"Yes, I expect it is isn't it?" I commented.

With their guidance, I was able to get onto the platform, where the old steam train that awaited me wasn't quite what I was expecting. Still, the carriages looked luxurious enough, and I wandered off to load my bags on board.

"Do…do you want a hand with that?"

I turned round to find Ron standing there, looking like a puppy who'd just learnt a new trick.

"A hand with what?"

"Getting your bags on."

"Oh, right. Well, thanks awfully!" I stood back, interested to see what he would do. He looked confused for a moment, but seemed to get the idea pretty quickly. He dragged my trunk from the trolley, and hefted it up onto the carriage with a grunt. Hedwig's cage followed. He looked over at me and I smiled broadly at him: "Ron, I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship…"

My arse it was. Well, that's not entirely true – Ron's been one of my closest companions ever since, but I wouldn't call him a friend. Dogsbody, perhaps but that's all I've needed, really – what more company do you need than someone to have a drink and a smoke with, other than someone to warm your bed at night? And he's more or less responsible for one of the worst things to ever happen to me… but again, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Once Ron had established his place in the partnership, I led him down the train to find some seats. While he wasn't exactly a sparkling conversationalist, Ron did manage to fill me in rather nicely on some of the more social aspects of the Wizarding world; Quidditch sounded like rather a lark, and I was intrigued by the mention of Firewhiskey. It quickly became apparent that he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box though – and he certainly lacked ready cash, judging by his astonished (not to mention envious) expression when I bought half the food trolley. I felt I had the measure of him though; allowing him to share the food brought a smile back to his face. Keep him sweet with a bit of generosity every now and again, and let him hang out with the Boy-Who-Lived, and he'd die for me. I'd seen his type at Smeltings, and I knew how to handle him.

But enough of Ron. Time to move onto some of the other players in this sordid little tale. You will of course be familiar with Neville Longbottom? Spineless, brainless, fat, borderline Squib Neville Longbottom? For most of his time at Hogwarts, anyway. Well, I lied. Yes, I admit it – the Neville Longbottom you're all familiar with is a complete fabrication. Never existed – come on, you didn't seriously think someone could be so thoroughly useless did you? Even Ron had his uses on occasion, and we've already established that he was never much more than a minion. However, that is not to say that Neville didn't exist. He did – and I hated his guts. Believe me, you would have hated him too, if you'd ever met him.

Longbottom. Neville Martin Stuart Longbottom, named for his grandparents on his father's side, I believe. Even at sixteen, he was tall, athletic, infuriatingly good looking, and noble to the core. Would you believe, just the other year he had a fucking half-Veela after him, while he was on holiday, and he didn't do anything? Seriously! A half-Veela, the single most attractive piece of skirt I have ever seen in my life (no relation to the Delacoeurs, as it happens, but a similar effect), and he wouldn't touch her! Said that "It wouldn't be right", and that "it would be a betrayal of Hannah." Well, yes, I suppose it would be, but Hannah Abbott was something of a Plain Jane, let me tell you, and… well, did I mention that she was half-Veela? I couldn't believe it, I really couldn't. I'd have killed for a roll in the hay with her… Anyway. Yes, Neville Longbottom. Obviously, I wasn't going to put him in my books like that – I was the hero for God's sake, not him. And frankly, he was such a pompous bore that an accurate portrayal would have bored the pants off the readers.

We first met when he ambled into the carriage I was sharing with Ron, teeth flashing obnoxiously, and another boy standing behind him, looking rather sheepish.

"Afternoon chaps! Sorry to disturb you, just wondering if you've seen a toad? Justin here's misplaced his pet, you see, just giving him a hand looking for it!"

Well of course Perfect Neville Bloody Longbottom didn't have a toad. Weren't you paying attention when I said that that Neville didn't really exist? No, Neville had an owl, just like the rest of us. Well, the rest of us worth mentioning, anyway.

We both shrugged at him, and he sighed. "Ah well, never mind eh, Justin? Plenty more carriages to search yet! By the way, Neville Longbottom, pleasure to meet you both."

Ron shook his hand cheerfully, while I limited myself to a forced smile. He didn't take the hint, waiting for an introduction. "Harry Potter," I told him, admittedly a little curious as to his reaction. It wasn't quite what I'd hoped.

"Potter eh? Well, glad to meet you! I expect we'll be seeing great things from you in class – bet you can't wait to show us what you can do?"

"I – well, you know, one doesn't like to blow one's own trumpet…" I blustered. I hadn't expected to be put on the spot like that!

"Nonsense, you'll be excellent! Head Boy in waiting, I'll be bound. Anyway, best be off, this toad isn't going to find itself is it Justin?"

The other boy shook his head meekly, and Neville slapped him on the back in a hearty fashion. "Chin up! Don't be so shy, we're all friends here, aren't we?"

No we bloody well aren't, I said to myself. Ron, blast him, smiled at the snivelling halfwit.

"See? Told you so Justin. Don't suppose you chaps want to lend a hand do you? Four heads are better than two, you know."

"Love to Neville, but I was just giving Ron a few tips on Quidditch you see – don't want to lose my train of thought." I've always been proud of my poker-face. It's served me well in numerous different circumstances, and this was no exception. Obviously, Ron was well aware that this was, you might say, a bare faced lie, but he wasn't going to contradict me.

"Ah, of course. Understand completely Harry, completely. Well, see you at the Sorting!"

And with that, they left. I closed the door after them with a bang, and sat back down in a huff. "Git."

"I thought he seemed all right, myself," Ron commented. I looked at him, eyebrow raised questioningly, and he ducked his head. "I'm probably wrong, of course."

"Course you are, Ron. Good job you've got me to look out for you!"

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