Author's note: OH MY GOD IT'S FINALLY FINISHED.
I apologize for the fact that it took so long... you try squashing an entire book into ten pages.
God help me on Year 5.
Anyway...
Chapter 2: Year 1
Harry's eyes snapped open; he sat straight up in bed and gasped.
He'd been dreaming….
There had been something… something dark creeping towards him… but he couldn't recall what it was….
He screwed up his eyes, trying to remember, but the night vision was now vanishing from his memory, like cobwebs in the wind. The… the face had been so familiar, but nothing else was….
"Harry?"
The little black-haired boy looked up as the door opened, and his mother's face peered into the room. Her long, dark red hair fell around her face, already done neatly, and her eyes glimmered warmly.
"Is there anything wrong, sweetheart?"
"No… just a dream."
She came into his room and sat down on the end of his bed, smoothing his runaway bangs back from his forehead and kissing it. "What was it about?"
"I… I can't remember."
"Hm." She frowned slightly. "Well, tell me if you do remember."
Harry smiled. "I will."
She smiled back, then rose. "You'd best get up; you don't want to miss the train! I'm getting breakfast, though I'm going to have to go wake your father… again."
"He never does get up, right, Mum?"
"He never does." She laughed gently and exited the room, leaving just the slightest trace of her warm scent behind her.
Harry sighed slightly and gazed out the window opposite his bed. The sun was rising over the roofs of the houses across the street, bathing his room in a golden glow, and illuminating the letter with its purple seal sitting on his bedside table. The dream, which was now no more than a shadow, didn't seem like anything to worry about, not now; later, perhaps. Later.
The eleven-year-old grinned and hopped out of bed, beginning to get dressed for his first train ride to Hogwarts.
At 10:00 exactly, the sound of a train whistle reverberated through the cramped platform; parents crowded in to students hanging out windows, pressing for a bit of last-minute advice or a goodbye kiss. Younger siblings gazed up at the train with round eyes, while older ones looked on coolly and sometimes rather wistfully.
"Now, Harry, remember-"
"I know, Dad-"
"Watch out for the staircases, don't mess with Peeves-"
"You've already-"
"No stealing toilet seats-"
"James!"
"Daaaaaad-"
"And don't duel anyone till you've learned how." James Potter grinned up at his oldest son, who was poking his head out of his compartment window.
"I won't…."
His father grinned. "Have a good term then." He reached up to ruffle Harry's wild black hair, and stood back for Lily, taking the hand of a little red-haired girl standing rather mournfully beside the now-empty luggage cart.
"Oh, sweetie, I can't believe it, you're off to Hogwarts at last…."
"Mum, people will see!"
Lily just smiled at him. "I'm allowed to hug you, aren't I?" She reached up to the window and wrapped her arms around him as best she could. "Love you. See you at Christmas."
"Bye Mum. Love you too."
She stepped back, and the train started moving. Harry waved out the window, and his parents waved back; his sister watched the train go by, looking excited, and his brother alternated glances between him and the scarlet steam engine as it gathered speed, the crowd quickly becoming obscured with steam, before it rounded a bend and vanished completely.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The hat had barely touched his head before it shouted the name for the hall to hear; with a grin on his face and a feeling of tremendous relief, Harry hurried over to the table with red and gold hangings above it and slid in next to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. He'd sat in their compartment on the train, and they'd discussed Quidditch; now, they nodded to him with smiles as big as his own.
"Knew it." Dean muttered to him.
Harry nodded. "My parents were. Runs in families, I guess."
"Usually. Me mam was a Gryffindor, but she told me she almost got put in Ravenclaw-"
"Ssshhh!" one of the prefects hissed. "Dumbledore's speaking!"
The headmaster had indeed risen to his feet. He was tall, with half-moon glasses and long white hair, but still looked positively alive with energy.
"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! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak! Thank you!"
There was an appreciative laugh, then attention turned to the tables, which were now groaning under the weight of hundreds of dishes of food. Harry helped himself to a bit of everything and began to eat.
The puddings, of course, followed; they chatted amongst themselves, excited talk slowly transforming into contented murmuring. The last crumbs of food faded off the golden plates at last, and Dumbledore got to his feet again.
Rather than listen, Harry's eyes roamed; he was comfortably full, and beginning to feel rather sleepy. He scanned the staff table, trying to recognize the teachers his parents had described to him. He thought he knew McGonagall, and Sprout. Hagrid was easily identifiable by the fact that his head was particularly prominent among the others. His eyes fell upon a man with rather greasy black hair and very dark eyes- Snape. But the teacher sitting next to him he did not know- a younger man, rather twitchy, wearing a large purple turban. He gazed curiously at him; his father had mentioned something about the Defense Against the Dark Arts position never being temporarily held. Perhaps he was the new professor.
Harry had a strange feeling about that man….
He was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of scraping benches all around him. Hastily, he stood up and followed the other Gryffindors to their common room. He walked up the spiral staircase after Seamus and Dean, to the room with a brass plaque reading "First Years", where his trunk was waiting at the end of his bed, out of the four. No one talked; they were too tired, from the excitement of the day and the effect of the food. The movement in the dormitory slowly ceased, and moonlight gradually lit up the room; though Harry didn't see it, as he was already asleep.
The first few weeks of classes passed in a blur. The common room quickly became familiar to them, as they spent so much time in it, consulting each other on their homework. The first years gradually learned all the secret passageways and trick doors- except for the door to the third-floor corridor, which remained a mystery. Dumbledore had forbidden any students to try it, though several people glanced curiously at it as they rushed past.
Before long, Halloween had arrived. On the morning of October 31st the delicious smell of baking pumpkin filled the hallways; at breakfast, the Great Hall was decorated with the huge jack-o-lanterns, carved with their leering faces, large enough for three men to sit comfortably inside them. Everyone talked excitedly about the feast later that night; it was supposed to be excellent, as good as the welcoming feast.
The decorations were certainly spectacular; when they walked into the Hall that evening flaming streamers were drifting across the enchanted ceiling, which was fiery with the remains of a dramatic sunset. Live bats twittered around the place, and the floating candles were placed in strategic patterns over the tables.
Harry had sat down with Seamus and Dean, and was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came dashing in as fast as his legs would carry him, his violet turban askew. Slumping next to the staff table, he gasped, "Troll… in the dungeons… thought you ought to know."
He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.
Mayhem ensued. Dumbledore set off several firecrackers with the end of his wand, and the combination of the popping, the prefects, and Percy Weasley relatively subdued the crowd.
"Students will finish the feast in their houses… if I could see the Head Boy and Girl and the staff up here, please…."
The students began making their way towards the door; there was a certain amount of pushing and shoving, but eventually they managed to all get out, the Slytherins down their stone passageway, the Hufflepuffs streaming towards the hall next to the kitchens, and the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws up the marble staircase.
Harry, Seamus, and Dean were some of the last out of the hall, and had to run to catch up with the others. As they were rounding a corner, however, Harry heard it- a long, drawn-out scream of terror, faint, followed by a crashing noise. The shriek was cut off abruptly, and there was a nasty, echoing thud.
"What was that?"
"It sounded like a girl…."
The three looked at each other, wide-eyed; then, an unspoken decision was made, and they all took off as fast as they could towards the common room.
The rest of their housemates were absentmindedly nibbling the food that had been sent up; Dean had run off to notify a teacher, and Harry and Seamus had come straight back. Now, they were anxiously waiting for the news of Hermione Granger. Rumors were flying like mad, but a general consensus had been formed: she was injured, and badly, but not dead. Dean had come back to confirm the news half an hour ago- "She's alive, but unconscious, and she's hurt, I only just got a glimpse though-" and now they were sitting around the fire, unusually quiet.
"What d'you think happened?" Seamus murmured.
"I dunno… she'll probably have to spend time in Saint Mungo's, though, if she was attacked by a troll," replied the other boy in their dormitory- the red-haired Ron Weasley. He was rather pale.
"It's that bad?"
Dean nodded, and they fell silent, each turning to his respective thoughts.
There was a creaking noise, and every head turned towards the portrait hole. Professor McGonagall emerged, her hands tightly clasped together. She cleared her throat slightly before speaking, the sound seeming strangely magnified in the sudden, dead silence.
"I know you have all been wondering about Hermione Granger… she was attacked by the troll that had, somehow, gotten into the castle. It has been recaptured and the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is soon sending an agent to remove it. Miss Granger's condition… is… critical." She paused for a moment. "Madame Pomfrey has done all she can; she has just been displaced to Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and injuries. It is likely she will stay there for a while and receive care; it is, at the moment, unknown exactly when she will rejoin us to continue her studies. I pray… it will be soon." She inhaled and blinked rather rapidly; not seeming to be able to find anything else to say, she turned and climbed rather awkwardly out of the portrait hole. A buzz of conversation filled the room in her wake.
Some in the foursome by the window looked relieved; others looked troubled.
"She's going to be alright," Dean said.
"D'you… d'you think we should have gone and helped her?"
"I dunno… what would've happened then, you reckon?"
Ron was the only one that remained silent.
The next few months passed fairly uneventfully. The Gryffindors were anxiously looking out for a sign of Hermione wherever they went; however, November quickly faded into December. Cold winds and snow battered the windows of the castle relentlessly, and she still hadn't come back.
Almost everyone was going home for Christmas. Harry, however, was staying; his parents had recommended he stay, as Hogwarts Christmases were, truly, brilliant.
Decorations had gone up: strings of tinsel on the banisters, fake snow in the corners and glittering icicles on the door frames, evergreens as tall as houses in the Great Hall. Real snow appeared blanketing the grounds one Saturday, and most of Gryffindor house spent the weekend outside throwing snowballs by the dozen and returning afterwards, pink-faced from the cold, to crowd around the fireplace and sip hot chocolate.
Christmas morning, Harry woke to find a heap of presents at the foot of his bed- Appleby Arrows merchandise from his father, a hand-knitted Gryffindor scarf from his mother, and various sweets and joke items from his friends. Seamus and Dean had both gone home, and had sent their presents by owl. Ron stayed, but he was still snoring in his four-poster and Harry thought it best to leave him.
The Christmas feast, at noon that day, was excellent as promised- a hundred fat, roast turkeys and mounds of wizarding crackers. Harry enjoyed himself, though his friends were not there and he was all but alone at the table (Ron sat with his brothers.)
It was a bit of a relief to have the rest of the house back for the holidays, and to have the common room crowded and noisy again. Seamus and Dean arrived the Saturday before term started; the three of them were just comparing stories of their vacations in their usual corner that night, snow flurrying down outside, when the portrait hole opened and Percy Weasley appeared.
"Make way, make way," he declared importantly. "Here, do you need help?"
Everyone turned to see who it was; then, there was a hush as Hermione Granger climbed in, helped by the redheaded fourth year. She was rather pale, and moved stiffly, like she had wounds that were still troubling her; but otherwise she looked fine. The Gryffindors crowded around her as she came in; some were expressing their relief at having her back, others were asking concernedly if she was all right, and there was the occasional student who just wanted to know what the troll had looked like.
Seamus, Dean, and Ron dashed up to hover at the edges of the crowd; Harry was about to rise when, for a split second, the world tipped over.
There was something in his head, a small, insistent ache, and in that second it became enormous. He saw something in his head; a girl and a boy, sitting across a table. The boy was grinning, and the girl was laughing at something, tucking her brown hair behind her ear. And something told Harry: this is what was meant to be.
Then it was gone.
He sat back for a moment in the chair, puzzled, and a bit frightened. He couldn't remember… he wasn't sure if it was a memory, or a vision, or….
"Never mind," he muttered audibly to himself. "It's nothing. It's been a long day, that's all."
He stood, and went to go join the others, clustered around Hermione.
…
January slid by, changing to February in blasts of freezing winds and pounding rain. The snow on the grounds was replaced by mud, and the trip to Herbology became a long, hard slog, drawing much muttering among the students.
Quidditch games went on as usual; the Gryffindor team hadn't been able to find a decent Seeker since Charlie Weasley had left, and their playing was dismal at best. Game after game ended with either jeers or looks of (only slight) sympathy, depending on the house they were playing that particular game.
Classes went on as they normally would; however, Harry couldn't help noticing that Quirrell seemed to be getting paler and thinner, his stutter progressively growing worse. One day, he was hurrying down a corridor alone (Dean and Seamus having doubled back for Dean's bag, forgotten in Charms) when Quirrell's voice sounded from inside a seemingly empty classroom.
"No…" he was whimpering. "No, please…."
Harry froze, unsure of whether he should go in and help… if the professor was in real trouble, if someone was threatening him… but-
"All right, all right- yes-"
He didn't have time to move out of the way before Quirrell came rushing out of the classroom, adjusting his turban. Thankfully he remained unspotted, but wondering… brow furrowed, he looked at the end of the corridor where the teacher had disappeared, until his friends reappeared and herded him down the staircase to dinner.
…
However, he had other things to worry about besides Quirrell. The weeks were passing, fast, and the teachers had already started preparing them for exams. Class after class was spent vigorously reviewing the contents of the year, and their amounts of homework were steadily growing bigger.
Hermione Granger was the only one who wasn't complaining; on the contrary, she was the one to tell people off in the common room for playing Exploding Snap when they should've been studying (earning her much muttering on her part from everyone but Percy Weasley).
"Oh, come on, the exams are ages away!" Seamus burst out in frustration one night, throwing his quill down on top of an essay for Transfiguration.
"Four weeks," Hermione muttered from the next table. "Scarcely a month, it'll be gone before you know it and if you aren't prepared-"
"Well, you'd care, of course," Seamus sniffed back at her. "A nightmare, really, they are…."
"So is she," Dean whispered, causing his friend to start sniggering almost uncontrollably.
Harry couldn't laugh- Hermione had inhaled sharply, then turned to her own homework again. He knew what had driven her into the bathroom on Halloween, everyone did- and everyone was repeating it, though not to her face.
But as she'd said, the four weeks passed in a blink of an eye, and soon Harry was sitting in his first practical exam- Charms- struggling to remember the exact wand movement for a Temporary Blinding Curse.
Transfiguration was that same day. He and the other Gryffindors ate their dinner hurriedly, poring over notes with their plates shoved to the side, reviewing for their Astronomy exam, which took place the next night at midnight. Potions was torturous as usual, Herbology was… Herbology.
The final was History of Magic. Two hours of sitting in a hot, cramped classroom, scribbling about goblin rebellions and the International Confederation of Warlocks, before- at last- the wheezy voice of Professor Binns calling for them to put their quills down, and the rest of the first years erupting in cheers.
The rest of the day was spent by Harry under a tree on the grounds, relaxing in the shade with Seamus and Dean, laughing and talking and watching some fifth years tickling the tentacles of the giant squid in the shallows of the lake. Dinner was an uproarious affair, the entire school having finished their exams, and the students being livelier for it; the teachers eventually gave up trying to quell the mayhem and resigned themselves to just watch. Harry enjoyed himself so much, he almost didn't notice the absence of Quirrell.
Almost.
…
"Harry."
He was flying….
"Harry, wake up."
He mustn't stop, he had to keep going, there was something he had to do, he had to save… something….
"Harry!"
He was given a particularly hard shove; his glasses were pushed into his hand, and he opened his eyes. The anxious faces of Dean and Ron peered down at him (Seamus was still snoring in his bunk.)
"What is it?"
"Meeting. Great Hall. Now."
He yawned hugely and pushed his glasses on, glancing over at the clock on the bedside table and groaning. "It's six in the morning."
"So it is, mate, and McGonagall looked pretty serious when she told us to hurry up."
Dean crossed the room to shove Seamus a few times and repeat the ritual; Ron moved aside, and Harry pulled on his dressing gown and shoes.
The Great Hall was full of people, all crammed in at their respective tables. A dull murmuring filled the room, still toned down from fatigue. A few third years nearby were grumbling about how they could be in bed; other students were asleep, heads down right on the tables, but only a handful looked truly worried.
The teachers' table was a different story. The professors were conversing in low voices, anxious; everyone but McGonagall, Snape, Quirrell, and Dumbledore were there. As Harry watched, the former two came in through a side chamber, but no one followed…. McGonagall ascended to the raised platform, and silence fell. She took a deep breath before speaking.
"I am sorry that Professor Dumbledore is not here to give you this message… but you shall find out why in a moment. You see, a tragic accident occurred in the early hours of this morning, in the bowels of the school. Full details cannot be given… all I may say is that Dumbledore was injured, and… and Professor Quirrell… is dead."
Complete silence filled the hall.
And again, there was a fleeting second of blindness in Harry's mind, a nagging little whisper that this wasn't supposed to happen- he had a vision, flashing before his eyes, of color, red and gold, candlelight, smiling, laughing faces of his friends in front of him….
But then it was gone.
McGonagall was still talking.
"I am not at liberty to freely give any more details; however, I can say that Quirrell was using a form of Dark Magic- a most rare and dangerous form- and paid the price for it. Professor Dumbledore shall recover and will return to school at the start of next year." She straightened, clasping her hands. "I cannot stress on you enough that it is essential to remain calm during this time. The danger has passed… for now. However… we cannot be sure if it is only at bay, or will strike again.
"We must be prepared."
…
His mother's embrace at Platform Nine and Three Quarters was a bit tighter, a bit longer than usual; there were new worry lines around his father's eyes. Nevertheless, they smiled brightly at him.
"Welcome home, sweetheart."
Harry grinned, accepting another hug from Mum; just for now, he didn't mind.
His siblings seemed blissfully unaware of the danger- Violet was standing on a luggage cart, chattering excitedly to Theodore about what she was going to do when it was her turn to get on the train, and both were staring curiously at the older students….
He glanced back at the bright scarlet steam engine, now whistling and blowing steam over the platform.
"I'll be back next year."
With his parents' hands on his shoulders, he turned, pushing his luggage ahead of him, back into the world again.