Disclaimer – Everything you recognise belongs to JKR. All the rest is simply me playing in her sandbox.

-oOoOo-

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

Chapter 2

The wonder of magic that dazzled Harry was as plain to read from the smile on his face as the scar upon his forehead.

The little boat rocked along gently under its own power as he, Hermione and Neville floated across the lake towards the grandest castle that he'd ever imagined. Dozens of towers soared into the sky while down lower, lights shone brightly out of hundreds of windows. Across to the right, a flock of small lights twinkled about as the faeries, according to Hermione, played their way from one end of the great lawn to the other.

"Watch yer heads, now," Hagrid's great voice boomed across at the flotilla of boats approached a cave in the rocks below the castle.

Instinctively, Harry ducked, although he didn't need to. The ceiling of the cavern passed by far over his head. In fact, as far as Harry could tell, the only one who did in fact need to duck was Hagrid himself.

Sticking close to his giant friend's tailcoats, Harry, flanked by Hermione and Neville were led up through tunnels of rock and dozens of stairs to suddenly appear in a small room.

"The first years, Professor McGonagall, ma'am," Hagrid boomed.

As Hagrid stepped off towards a door on the far side of the room, Harry found himself facing a slender, black-clad witch. Her steel grey hair was pulled tight into a bun, emphasising a stern visage that screamed that this was someone not to get on the wrong side of. Her sharp blue eyes roamed over the students in front of her and every so often, her lips would narrow in displeasure. Harry gulped as the sight of his unruly hair caused one such reaction.

"As I'm sure you heard Hagrid say, my name is Professor McGonagall. Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Very soon now, you will follow me through that door where you will be sorted into your House. Each House will be like your family while you're here. You'll sleep in your House dormitories, eat at your House table, earn points for your House and any rule-breaking will result in loss of points for your House.

There are four Houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each one has its own noble qualities and I'd encourage you all to strive to be a credit to the House into which you are sorted. I will return in a few minutes, as soon as the rest of the school is seated and lead you in for your sorting."

With one last look and a barely concealed sigh, Professor McGonagall raked her eyes across the few who had caused her mouth to thin earlier before stepping from the room.

"What do you think we're going to have to do in the sorting, Harry?" Hermione asked anxiously the second the door closed.

Before he could even think about forming a reply, a gangly red-headed boy rushed forward, almost knocking Neville over in his haste.

"Harry? Harry Potter? Are you really him?" the boy asked, his eyes fixated on Harry's forehead.

Not quite knowing what to think, Harry glanced quickly at Neville and Hermione before giving a small nod.

"Ron, Ron Weasley," the boy said, thrusting a hand out at him. "Nice to meet you, Harry."

Harry carefully took the proffered hand. "Um, yeah, hi, nice to meet you, too, Ron."

Just as Ron opened him mouth to respond, both he and Neville found themselves knocked to the ground. The slim blonde haired boy the he'd met in Madam Malkin's had appeared in front of Harry. Two large boys that could give Dudley a run for his money in terms of bulk, flanked him.

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. It's a pleasure to meet you, Potter," the boy sneered, hand outstretched.

Harry stared. The curl of the lip, the clear disdain that this boy showed towards both Neville and Ron, not to mention the once over of Hermione that stated that merely being in the company that she was made her so far beneath him, that she wasn't even worth being acknowledged, set Harry's teeth on edge.

"You'll find, Potter, that some families are better than others, here, even at Hogwarts. I can help you with that. I'd be happy to introduce you to all of the right sort of people," Draco Malfoy continued.

"Thanks, but, no thanks," Harry replied, gritting his teeth so tightly that his jaw instantly started to hurt.

The blonde boy's face instantly transformed into a mixture of horror, disbelief and outright anger. He'd clearly never heard the word 'no' before.

Thankfully, the return of Professor McGonagall ended the rest of that conversation.

"The rest of the school is ready for you now, first years," Professor McGonagall stated. "Form a line and follow me, please."

Harry quickly sidestepped into line behind Hermione as both Neville and Ron scrambled to their feet and in line behind him. Warily eying the three boys that had just accosted him, Harry watched them push their way to the head of the line.

"I don't like bullies," Harry muttered.

The look of sympathy and understanding that Hermione shot him let him know that she, at least, had heard him.

-oOoOo-

Hermione's legs felt like jelly as she beheld the sight in front of her.

A hat! All we have to do is put on a hat.

Seconds later, her relief was overcome with thoughts of how a hat could know which House best suited them. Indeed, her thoughts were running so thick and fast that Hannah Abbot being sorted into Hufflepuff or Terry Boot into Ravenclaw barely even registered.

"Hermione Granger!"

With a start at hearing her name, she walked forward with as much confidence as she could portray.

-oOoOo-

Hary watched spellbound as the witches and wizards beside him were called one by one by place the Sorting Hat on their head.

There didn't seem to be any common timeframe that it took the hat to decide either. Some, like Draco Malfoy, had the hat deciding almost before it'd even touched his head where he belonged (Slytherin). Others, like Justin Finch-Fletchly or Seamus Finnegan (Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, respectively), took a little longer.

And then there was Neville and Hermione. Both of them wore the hat for a couple of minutes each before the brim split and called out in its loud voice "Gryffindor!"

But there was one definite advantage to Professor McGonagall calling them forward in alphabetical order: for once he wasn't going to be left until last to be picked. That was one experience that he was hoping wouldn't repeat itself here at Hogwarts. And with no Dudley around, he had high hopes of leaving the life of the bullied far behind him.

"Harry Potter!"

On unsteady legs, Harry slowly walked forward.

At the sound of his name, all four House tables erupted in whispered conversations. Dozens and dozens of voices echoed his name back at him. Glancing quickly at the four tables, Harry could see every head craned in his direction. The smaller students weren't the only ones standing up to get a better look at him.

As the brim of the hat settled down past his eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hmm, interesting, interesting," a voice spoke just inside his ear. "A quick mind with a thirst to prove himself. Yes, yes, you could be great, you know. It's all here inside your head. There's courage and more than a little recklessness. Now, where to put you? Slytherin perhaps would help you on your way."

"No, please, not Slytherin," Harry thought desperately, repulsed at the idea of being in the same House as someone like Malfoy who he suspected could be a worse bully than his cousin. "Please, I'd like to be with Hermione and Neville."

"Are you sure?" the had asked.

"Yes, please," Harry begged.

"In that case, better be GRYFFINDOR!" this last was shouted for all the hall to hear.

With a smile that he felt was about to split his face, Harry pulled off the hat and jumped off the stool.

The explosion of sound that erupted from Gryffindor table staggered him back a step, but he resolutely pushed forward to join his new Housemates. Cheers and applause followed him all the way across the hall, even as jeers could be heard directed at the 'losing' tables.

"We got Potter! We got Potter!" was sung continuously by two red-heads who could only be twins as they danced between the tables.

As quickly as he could, Harry made his way half-way along the table to squash in between Hermione and Neville.

A single stern look from Professor McGonagall was all that it took to settle the table down again so that the sorting could continue.

Soon, Ron, the red-headed boy that they'd met just before they'd entered the Great Hall joined the other Gryffindor first years.

Before long, the sorting had concluded and the hat and stool were whisked away, only to be replaced by the oldest and strangest man that Harry had ever seen. This man had the longest hair and beard that Harry'd ever seen. The long silver locks dropped down past the man's belted waist.

"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts," the Headmaster called happily. "Before we begin the feast, I'd like to say a few words. And they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

With that, he spun around to return to his seat. Harry carefully closed his mouth as he stared and stared.

The old man's mad! Absolutely barmy, he thought. Then, what have I gotten myself into?

But those thoughts were driven out of his mind the instant that the Headmaster was seated. Platters piled high with food had appeared all along the table. Harry stared. He'd never seen that much food before in his entire life. Whole roast chickens, potatoes (roasted, mashed and chips), beef, ham, vegetables of all colours and varieties and gravy boats filled the table in front of him.

With a shaking hand, he slowly reached out and began to fill his plate. To be allowed to eat as much as he wanted and whatever he wanted was too much to comprehend. There was one thing that Harry knew for sure: if the Dursleys ever found out that he was getting this much food while he was at school, then they'd make doubly sure to feed him even less once he returned to Privet Drive.

Conversations bounded about around him and Harry was content to just listen. There was laughter and smiles, jokes and japes aplenty everywhere he looked up and down the table. It was almost overwhelming.

Within five minutes, he was sure that he'd met and shaken the hand of nearly everyone at Gryffindor table. Some had been so keen to meet him (and to stare at his forehead) that they'd literally been falling over everyone else at the table just to get close to him.

During one of the few lulls in people wanting his attention, Harry surveyed the head table. There the professors were arrayed for all to see. And once he'd looked them all over, Harry realised that the elderly Headmaster wasn't the only bizarre one there. One man was so tiny he was sure that if the professor stood up that he wouldn't be able to see over the tabletop. Another, this one a woman, looked as though Harry's Aunt Petunia's doily cupboard had thrown up all over her.

And then he saw him. Sitting beside the professor that Hagrid had introduced him to in the Leaky Cauldron, was a man with long, oily looking hair and skin so white that Harry wondered if he was a vampire. But what made this particular professor stand out was the look on his face as he stared at Harry.

Every day of his life, as far back as he could remember, Harry had been stared at with as much hatred as his uncle could muster. But this man, this teacher, had nothing on the looks that Uncle Vernon so often gave him. No, the look that the black haired professor was directing towards Harry was pure, unadulterated hate with a side order of loathing and revulsion. If looks could kill, then he knew that he should have keeled over at first glance.

With a shiver of dread, Harry tore his gaze away and back along the head table, only to have his head burst into pain, centred right where his scar was.