Chapter IV: A New Home, A New House

The past few weeks had been... Different. Upon arriving back home - that is, number four, Privet Drive - his aunt and uncle had spent an hour interrogating him. Despite being dead tired after having spent a long day in an alien world, he had been forced to tell the entire story three times, as detailed as possible, before he was allowed to go to his room.

He had become an expert at predicting his relatives' reactions. For instance, when mentioning Sirius Black, his aunt would widen her eyes and exclaim "What!", while his uncle's eyes would dart across the room, as if Sirius Black would suddenly materialise - no; apparate! The first time, his uncle had also let out a low growl. They weren't at all happy with him having met his godfather, which was sort of understandable, he conceded. In their own special way, they cared for him, and considered him to be part of their family.

He had the foresight to mention nothing about his vast fortune, instead opting to tell that the Blacks had allowed him to use their own funds. This lead to his uncle making a few nasty comments about nepotism and corruption, so he hastened to explain that everything else would be financed by the school itself. He quickly started describing Gringotts' rather nasty policy concerning thieves, to appease to his uncle and put him in a better mood. Indeed, his uncle had grunted in approval upon hearing how thieves could be trapped inside vaults and starve to death.

Sending death glares at his owl and pointedly ignoring everything else, his aunt, at long last, allowed him to go to his room. When Dudley cautiously asked if he could see his 'stuff', his aunt quickly turned around and walked away, but he didn't miss the flicker of surprise and dislike visible on her face. He nodded and went upstairs, Dudley trailing behind him.

Life returned to a semblance of normalcy after that, except for a few things. For one, he discovered Regulus had bought some additional books for him, which he decided to read in full before September the first. Hogwarts: A History was one of them. Another one was A Documentation of Dark Lords and their Downfall, in which he himself was mentioned. Reading up about Riddle - and before him, Grindelwald and Dumbledore - was fascinating. He was unsure how to feel about being mentioned in books; shouldn't that be illegal, given that he had never given his consent? He resolved to look into that at school. Perhaps he could get Regulus to buy him a book on laws.

In A Documentation of Dark Lords and their Downfall, he read about a saint Hedwig, a woman who had ended a decade and a half long civil war in Poland - the Casimiran War - by somehow ending the reign of a dark lord as a mere child. She went on to negotiate a truce with his Hungarian allies, was installed as king - not queen, despite being a woman - of Poland at the age of ten, and made it her life goal to improve the livelihood of everyone. The story struck a chord with him, even though she was aided by her mother, Wladyslaw the White. He may not have a mother anymore, but he, too, had defeated a dark lord while still being a child. A baby, even. He decided to name his owl Hedwig, after this fascinating saint. His owl approved and hooted happily, which instantly lit up his day; he liked making people - humans or animals - happy.

Following Regulus' advice, he had also read Magical Manners & Malicious Mannerisms, a guidebook for proper etiquette and the like. In fact, he spent a lot of time reading his books in his room. As a consequence, he spent less time playing with Dudley or helping his aunt with cooking, cleaning, or gardening. Already, they were growing apart; him being drawn into this wondrous, magical world, them being stuck in their ordinary world. Perhaps his relatives had noticed this as well, because they had given him a mobile phone as a farewell gift. He was sure there were more selfish reasons for this gift, such as being able to contact him without needing to wait for his owl, and not having the neighbours asking questions about an owl frequenting their home. Still, it was a very expensive and useful gift, and he thanked them profoundly, causing his uncle to smile down at him.

At long last, it was September the first, fifty-nine minutes past two PM. For once, Harry wasn't to be found in his room, reading books about witchcraft and wizardry. For once, he had joined his aunt and uncle in the living room, having sat down on the couch after being told to stop pacing. His uncle was ostensibly watching the TV, yet his eyes were unmoving. His aunt had been reading the same page of her magazine for about ten minutes now; she kept sneaking glances through the window and at the clock. He himself fidgeted with the school uniform he was now wearing. They were all waiting for Regulus to arrive.

The exact same moment the clock turned to three PM, the doorbell rang. Both his uncle and his aunt stood up; the former to open the door, the latter to prepare some tea in the kitchen. They both motioned for him to stay seated.

"Mister Potter, how have you been?" Regulus politely inquired as he stepped into the living room, still wearing his stylish black longcoat and boots. His aunt would have glared at this, if she had been presented. He merely grinned.

"I have been well, sir. The books have been very interesting!" He couldn't fully leave the excitement out of his voice. Or his expression. But he really didn't care.

Regulus smiled back. "Very well. Are you ready to depart?" An excited nod, a 'bye' to his aunt and uncle, and a dozen seconds later, the two stood outside.

"I will apparate us to the Hogwarts Clearing, a large, open place on top of a mountain, surrounded by a forest. All students and their families are gathered there. From there, we will all walk a good fifteen minutes, until we arrive at Hogwarts Castle." Regulus continued. Harry nodded hurriedly. Couldn't they just go already?

"Before we go," Continued Regulus. Could Regulus read minds? "You should know that the Gathering, as it is called, is a great opportunity to socialise. That, in fact, is its primary purpose. Students will be brought in with the most extravagant transportation a family can afford, to impress everyone else. There is a lot of politicking and business done while the students wait to leave - and not only by the family of the students." Regulus paused a moment to figure out what he would say.

"I advised you to read up on etiquette for this purpose. You, as the last of House Potter, are important. And when it is revealed who exactly you are - which will happen at the Sorting, as you could have read in Hogwarts: A History - public perception and your image will be all the more important. Important people will fall over themselves to get to know you. Not 'you' the half-blood eleven years old boy, but 'you' the last of a respected house, and 'you' the saviour of the British magical world. You should behave as such, at least in public."

Harry had nodded again - he knew about the Sorting - but then he realised he hadn't been following etiquette at all. Nodding, for example, was either the sign of wanting to be rid of the other, or of recognising one's vastly lower rank compared to the other. He blushed lightly.

"Yes sir." He said curtly, as he began revising everything he had learned from his etiquette book.

"Very well. Grab my arm" Clenching his trunk in one hand, and grabbing Regulus' arm with the other, he cast one last look at the Dursley's residence. He wouldn't be back until Christmas. And then he was gone.

They, indeed, arrived in a gigantic clearing atop of a high mountain, presumably overlooking Hogwarts. Hogwarts itself, however, wasn't visible, hidden behind the forest surrounding the clearing.

"I, as deputy headmaster, will be going to the front, mister Potter. We will depart in about ten minutes, once everyone is here. In the meantime, acquaint yourself with your fellow students." With those words, Regulus strode away, leaving Harry alone.

Above his head, flying carriages, luxurious brooms, and exotic birds - or something resembling birds; he'd swear he saw a flying horse with an eagle's head - transported students and family members to the clearing. Around him, other people appeared out of thin air, having apparated to the clearing. There even was some kind of runic circle with green flames inside, that spit out ash-covered people who landed painfully on the ground. It was quite a sight to behold.

"Pardon me, young lord, I couldn't help but seeing your robes sport the Potter crest. I had presumed the house to have died out...?" A voice came from behind him, perhaps half a minute after having been left alone. Turning around, he saw... Class. A prince, possibly. Or an elf. Tall, muscular, standing firmly upright. His expression and stature practically screamed wealth, power, and importance. His white, shoulder-length hair accented his rich and noble face, while his cold and grey eyes revealed a sharp and ever-calculating mind. His hands rested on the shoulders of two very different looking children; one clearly being his son, but the other sporting red hair and freckles.

"I am the last of my line, sir." He nodded solemnly. Deciding he didn't yet want to deal with the fallout using his own name would create - although it was clear this man suspected something - he opted to use his father's name. "James Potter, pleased to make your acquaintance." He struck out his hand, which the other man promptly shook.

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Head of House Malfoy. The pleasure is mine, believe me." The man retracted his hand and pushed the white-blonde haired child forward. "This is my son, Draco Lucius Malfoy, Heir to House Malfoy. He will begin his Hogwarts education this year." The boy had a smug look on his face, as if being introduced as heir to House Malfoy was the greatest honour conceivable.

"Pleasure to meet you, mister Potter. I presume you will be starting your own Hogwarts education this year?" The boy intoned in a refined manner, as if having practised in front of a mirror. Which he had, actually. Harry nodded, and they shook hands. Nodding - and by extension, staying silent - was for those who knew not to interrupt their betters as they were talking. As such, nodding was for the lower-class, and he, as the last of his house, should always reply verbally. But he remembered too late, and before being able to reply verbally, the man introduced the other child.

"And this is my adopted son, Percival Ignatius Malfoy, third year student at Hogwarts."

"Most pleased at making your acquaintance, mister Potter." The boy spoke humbly - or perhaps slightly grovelled? - as he stepped forward, extending his hand.

"Likewise." He responded verbally this time, although he wasn't sure how to address them. Calling them all 'mister Malfoy' seemed a bit weird to him - but then again, so did the whole etiquette nonsense.

"I will be finding the Parkinsons. Why not keep mister Potter here company, boys? Behave yourself in my absence." With those words, the man strode away, the crowd seamlessly opening up in front of him and closing up behind him.

"So, James - I may call you James, right?" The white-blonde asked. Draco. He almost nodded, but managed to stop himself and said 'yes'. "What house will you be sorted in, do you think?"

"I don't rightly know." He started saying, finding it oddly fun to pretend being a stuck-up pureblood. Really, 'rightly know', who'd say that in all seriousity? "I do know the Potters, historically, have been mostly Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, although almost all of the more recent ones have been in Gryffindor."

"Quite. Of course, as a Malfoy, I will end up in Slytherin." The superiority coming from his voice was clearly perceivable. "Although Ravenclaw wouldn't be so bad." He continued congenially. "You will have to watch out for Hufflepuff, James; a house for boring non-achievers and submissive personalities."

"Thank you. I have heard a hat decides our house?" He asked, which scored him points with Draco, who smiled at him in a pleased manner.

"Ah, a well-kept secret, though not for the upper-class of course. You are correct; the Sorting Hat, once put on your head, will read your mind, personality, and characteristics, and determine the house that best suits you. Originally, it was created by Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor , for those incapable of preforming legilimency. It was used at courts, as truth poisons were easily countered and pensieves were non-existent. Of the dozen or so that were made, only the Sorting Hat remains, an interesting relic from ancient times."

Clearly, Draco loved showing off the wealth of knowledge he possessed thanks to his pureblood ancestry and upbringing. He didn't mind though; all those born in the magical world knew so much things that were taken for granted, but he, as someone raised by non-magicals - muggles - didn't know all these things. He liked being immersed in this culture, learning all the things he should have known already. It made him feel more magical.

"Do you play Quidditch?" Draco asked after a moment's pause. He suspected Draco was burning with questions about his life; where had he been, what's the scar on his head, how come there's suddenly a Potter alive? But of course, Draco, with his pureblood upbringing, recognised it'd be rude to ask those questions right away.

"I don't really know what that is, to be honest. I know it's played on brooms...?" He trailed off. His godfather, Sirius, had mentioned it - apparently, his father had been a 'chaser' on the Gryffindor Quidditch team - but he didn't know much about the sport. He didn't even know what a 'chaser' was.

Draco stared in amazement at him. "But... How can you not know?" He blurted out, before composing himself. "My apologies, I mean no offence."

"None taken." He smiled at the blonde. He could respect good manners, even though he disliked the etiquette and elitism. "Well, I was raised by... Muggles." He let the word roll off his tongue, tasting it. It felt a bit rude and offensive, as if he was talking about an inferior life form. But considering everyone used the word, it was probably his imagination. Besides, people could hardly talk about non-magicals in public; what if one of these non-magicals would hear them?

Draco widened his eyes, clearly perplexed. The Potters, having gone extinct in a sacrificial act to stop Riddle's terror, had survived by pretending to be muggles? "Surely your parents were proper people?"

"They were magical, yes." He quickly replied. He really didn't like elitism and bigotry.

"Good." The blonde flashed him a grin. "Well, the Malfoys are one of the most important and well-connected families. We can help you find your way in this world."

"I'd appreciate that." It would be both rude and stupid to decline this offer.

"Very wel- " Before Draco could continue, another voice loudly interrupted him.

"Hey Perce!" Another red-haired boy shouted from a distance, wearing a thick, grey drape suit straight out of the 1930's. Behind him followed a family of three, intentionally distancing themselves from the boy. A man, woman, and child, all wearing black, modern suits, all walking perfectly in step with each other. They looked positively normal, if not way too formal.

The man sneered at the boy. "Behave yourself, Ronald. This is a public gathering, not a lowbrow pub." The boy - Ronald - stamped on though, invoking a look of disgust on the girl's face. Looking around, he saw both Draco and Percival looking disapprovingly at the boy as well.

"Good afternoon Ronald." Percival spoke up. "And good afternoon to you as well, lord Parkinson, lady Parkinson, miss Parkinson. My father, the lord Malfoy, is looking for you."

"See, boy? Take an example from your brother - you will forgive me the offence of comparing him to you."

"Of course, none taken." Replied Percival. So they were brothers, and both adopted, apparently, Harry mused. He introduced himself, following Draco's example, who had introduced himself after Percival's statement.

A calculating glint passed the man's face. "You will stay here, Ronald. Perhaps you will learn something from these young lords." Pleased to be rid of his son, he turned around. "Come, Pansy." With a last look at Harry's face, the three set off, in search of mister Malfoy.

"How rude." Commented Draco, after the three Parkinsons had left. Harry sent him a questioning glance. "He didn't even acknowledge our introductions and then dumped his son here with nary a goodbye, if you please."

Harry had to stop himself from laughing at Draco's choice of words, but he didn't miss the way Draco had said 'son'; as if it was a curse. Clearly, there was no love lost between this Ronald and Draco. Or between Ronald and anyone; Percival looked exasperated, no doubt because of Ronald's mannerism, while Ronald looked bored. Still, Harry found Ronald's complete lack of pureblood manners very refreshing, in a good way.

"Oy! What's that X on your face?" At least, until Ronald started speaking to him. "Wait, you're a dark wizard? Is this some kind of blood ritual?" The boy blathered on. A sideways glance revealed that Draco was actually considering the option.

"Ehm, you mean my scar?" Harry asked, unconsciously rubbing his scar.

"Ah. How did you get it then?"

"No idea, I've had it my whole life. My family doesn't want to talk about it." And that was putting it mildly.

"Right. Sure you're not involved in a blood ritual?" This boy was just odd. Weird and blunt, and really, quite rude, but there was something nice about him. Harry liked him, surprisingly enough.

"Oh shut up." Snapped Draco, fed up with the nonsense coming from Ronald's mouth. "See, there are wizards, and then there are wizards. Parkinsons are the second-class petite-bourgeoisie. Enough sense to associate with important people and work themselves up to a comfortable life, but it's the blood that matters. Of course, the Parkinsons aren't so bad - long-time clients of my father - but being brought up in their family can't have done much good for Ronald here, considering his blood. Now, Percival, he's an example of proper pureblood upbringing and a testament to the ways of Malfoy."

Wow. And this was the boy who had just complained about rudeness. Even Percival looked a bit uncomfortable at the mention of 'blood' - but of course, he was Ronald's brother, so anything said against Ronald's blood would apply to him as well. Ronald, however, had turned an interesting shade of red, surpassing his hair.

"Everyone knows the Malfoys are dark wizards; your 'ways' are evil and your 'upbringing' is bigoted! Riddle -" Ronald suddenly found himself unable to continue his screaming, courtesy of Percival's silencing spell. Percival looked furious, turning red like his brother had done before.

"Ronald Billius Parkinson! How dare you utter that foul name among respectable wizards such as the Malfoy scion? If you cannot speak politely, then stay silent!" Percival scolded his brother. Draco looked pleased and opened his mouth to say something, but Ronald threw them all a hateful look and stamped away, enraged and unable to speak.

"Well..." Said Draco, eyes following Ronald, who quickly disappeared into the ever-growing crowd.

"I must apologise on behalf of -" Percival began, but Draco waved his apology away.

"Don't worry, we can't pick our blood, after all." After a moment's pause, he continued. "We can, however, pick our acquaintances - how was your first foray into the magical world, James?"

Still a bit surprised by the outburst, he went along with the sudden change of topic. "It was amazing! All the magic, the stores, there's just... Everything is brilliant!" He couldn't contain his enthusiasm. It was amazing.

"Yes, one wouldn't find that with muggles, I'd imagine." Drawled Draco, but he smiled. "Have you really never known about your heritage?"

"No. There were clues, of course - accidental magic - but I had never suspected this. Not until mister Black introduced me to the magical world." At the mention of 'Black', a pensive look washed over Draco's face.

"Mhm, Regulus Black?" Draco clacked his tongue. "The Blacks and the Malfoys are not exactly on friendly terms. Politics." Draco dismissed the issue with the last word, not wanting to drive off his newfound and very important friend. Privately, Draco thought this was an excellent opportunity, having a friend who's in the Black's good books.

"He was nice enough, and he introduced me to my godfather; Sirius Black. They gave me gifts, too."

"How nice. Family is the most important, my mo- father used to say." The slip up was almost unnoticeable. Almost. But of course, Harry didn't press the issue. "It's good that you have found proper family." That hurt a bit, he had to admit. Because, indeed, he had spent the previous weeks being immersed in magic, all alone in his room, instead of helping out in the house or having fun with his cousin. After the short time he had been exposed to this magical world of miracles, already he wondered, what did the non-magical world have left for him?

The walk from the clearing to the castle took about fifteen minutes, probably helped along by magic; it felt as if walking cost no energy at all. The descent from the mountaintop took them through an obviously magical forest, with an uncountable number of greens, huge plants with petals the size of an adult, bright red mushrooms serving as a tunnel through a particularly thick patch of vegetation, and many more such fantastical sights. An offshoot of the Magic Forest, Regulus had said; while leading the students towards Hogwarts, he imparted tidbits of knowledge to their minds.

Not only the plant life was unusual though; a herd of literal horsemen - Centaurs, Regulus said - passed by, showing off their awesome but slightly scary archery skills. Draco wasn't impressed, as he had once seen a herd of Centaurs performing a magical arrow show, which sounded a lot like a more spectacular variant of fireworks.

Harry spent the walk in Draco's company, joined by Pansy, Percival, Theodore, Blaise, and Daphne - all of whom were Draco's friends. Of course, Draco had more friends - connections, acquaintances - as he learned by listening to the aimless chatter between Draco and his friends. In fact, if Draco could be believed, he had a huge network of extremely useful acquaintances to call upon if needed, stylising himself as some kind of overlord or strategist. Harry inwardly laughed.

Hogwarts Castle was an incredible sight, easily classifying as a world wonder, or so Harry thought. Of course, most people without a magical upbringing would think so. All of sudden, in mere seconds, the castle arose out of a mist with a very slight golden hue, making the castle seem all the larger still, as it suddenly appeared on the horizon. The castle was located on a cliff overlooking a lake, which both looked normal enough, although Regulus informed them of a giant squid and various other magical species living underwater.

To the right was a forest, similar to the one they had walked through. The Magical Forest, Harry suspected. At least, the faraway, northern part of the forest; the farther south one looked, the darker and more deformed the forest became. A cursed, twisted landscape, where greens turned into browns and greys, where magical plants withered and deformed, and where a forest full of life turned into a wasteland. From a lush and vibrant, green forest, to a brown, dying forest, as if a cold winter had swept through it. And from there, to a greyish plain sparsely populated with dark roots, trunks, and bushes, as if colour had been sucked out of this 'forest'. The nearer the forest was, the more ruined the landscape, eventually ending up in some kind of black-purple swirly void, with bright white pinpricks resembling stars in the night. As if the very foundation of reality had been forcibly ripped apart here.

"In front of you, to your right, you see the main part of the Magical Forest - as well as a prime example of the awesome power of magic you can command. Decades ago, students would travel to Hogwarts by an old steam train, presumably to make muggleborns feel more at home. This train would arrive in Hogsmeade Station, which used to be located at the spot where you now see a black void. Grindelwald's and Dumbledore's duel caused this damage. We will further descend and arrive on the road connecting Hogwarts with Hogsmeade. We will follow this road, until we're at the border of the containment zone, where we will travel to Hogwarts Castle by boat."

Regulus paused, his face having a serious expression.

"This containment zone is manned by a variety of warders, curse breakers, and other professional, extremely capable wizards and witches. Each year, they manage to push back ever so slightly the 'chaos of unreality', as they call it. You are not to breach the containment zone and you are not to bother yourself with these wizards and witches. Them failing at their work could - no, will - have disastrous consequences, possibly removing all of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade from the Earth. In fact, should you not wish to suffer horrible mutations or lose your mind, you are not to travel into the Magical Forest at all."

While Regulus was busy making sure everyone sufficiently realised the danger by attempting to look each and every student into his or her eyes, Theodore whispered something in Draco's ears.

"My father says the green parts are perfectly safe, except for some creatures perhaps. The grey part is where... Adverse effects start to materialise." The last five words probably being a direct quote from his father. As Harry had learned during the walk towards Hogwarts, Theodore's father worked at the Department of Mysteries and was an avid collector of books and other sources of knowledge.

"What about the brown part?" Draco asked curiously. Theodore shrugged.

They moved onwards, steeply descending into the forest again at a rapid pace - one of the students tripped and rolled a few metres downwards, but was otherwise fine - until the forest gave way to a cobblestone road. After following this road for a short while, they arrived at the containment zone, which looked blurry and distorted, except for a small arc, the size of a door. A blurry shape approached from behind this arc, but was revealed to be a witch upon stepping through the arc. She greeted Regulus before addressing the students.

"Welcome, students. As most of you will know, this, the Arc, is the only entrance to the containment zone. The whole zone has been excessively warded for your own safety - hence the blurriness - especially after a rogue broom crashed itself right into the middle of the void. You are, of course, not to enter this zone, and it's permanently guarded by wizards and witches such as I. However, higher years will visit this zone as part of certain classes, such as Geology & Zoology or the Dark Arts." She gave a small smile. "Any questions?"

A few questions were asked, mostly about how the landscape looked - generally, there was none; those working inside the containment zone had to create floating platforms or somesuch, which is an incredible drain upon one's magic - and about the duel between Grindelwald and Dumbledore. After a minute or two, Regulus urged them onwards, over a short, shady path to a rather large fleet of small boats

Harry found himself in a boat with Daphne, whom he knew already, as well as a boy and a girl he didn't yet know. Draco was in another boat with Theodore, Pansy, and Blaise. The boy was round-faced and a bit on the chubby side, with dark brown hair. The girl had bushy, light brown hair, as well as brown eyes and buck-teeth. They introduced themselves as respectively Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger, but didn't otherwise engage in any conversation with Harry or Daphne. The boy - Neville - got a curious gleam in his eyes upon hearing the name 'Potter', Harry noted, but he promptly forgot about it as Daphne said something to him.

Eventually, much like what happened during their walk, the mist gave way to reveal Hogwarts, only this time, it looked more medieval than magical. There was no golden hue, but flickering candle- or torchlight, which looked oddly orange compared to the yellow-white electrical lights he was familiar with. There were no fancy carvings or arcane symbols - in fact, there was nothing at all that would suggest this was a magical castle, on first glance. It looked great, imposing, and quite awesome, to be sure, but he was also slightly disappointed by the rather ordinary appearance. As far as castles can be ordinary, of course.

After a minute or five of pleasant chitchatting and enjoying the sights from their boats, magically gliding over the water at the command of Regulus who lead the fleet, the students arrived at a small landing stage near the base of Hogwarts. They climbed out of their boats, and made way to the castle's entrance. Here, the older students proceeded into the Great Hall, along with Regulus, while the first years were told to wait in an antechamber until Regulus returned.

This antechamber, the girl from the boat - Hermione - informed the others around her, was called the Chamber of Reception, and was used to store the students' belongings during the Welcoming Feast. Draco snorted at her voice, as if she was imparting secret knowledge only she possessed. Others attempted to smarten themselves up, fidgeting with their clothes or hair. The more inquisitive people wondered where exactly the students' belongings were, as the antechamber was rather small, with no obvious storage space in sight. Most, however, looked around awkwardly and worried about what would happen next.

While Draco looked bored and made fun of the nervous mass with Theodore and Daphne, Harry wondered in which house he'd end up, and how this would affect his 'friendship' with Draco. He didn't have long to ponder this, however, as four ghosts flew right through the door to the Great Hall, into the midst of the nervous first years. Pandemonium ensued, predictably, but the ghosts formed a line and merely watched with varying emotions, from friendly to disdainful. A moment later, Regulus entered the room.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." Most of the children fell quiet as Regulus spoke. "In a moment, you will enter the Great Hall, where the rest of the student populace as well as most of the staff is seated. There, you will partake in the Sorting Ceremony; the Sorting Hat will judge your character, and decide of which of the four houses you will become part. Your house will determine your timetable, living arrangements, and often, your friends. Considering your house has such an enormous impact on your future, it would be wise to heed the Sorting Hat's advice." Regulus paused for a moment, before continuing.

"There are four houses, represented by one of the four ghosts here. There is Slytherin, green and silver, for the ambitious and cunning, represented by the Bloody Baron." Regulus pointed at a solemn and quite terrifying ghost, who gave a small nod and continued staring at each and every first year, as if measuring their worth - and probably finding them all lacking, going by his expression. He looked like a noble from a millennia ago, sporting a wig and a sword - but also, chains, and robes covered in blood. Terrifying indeed.

"Gryffindor, red and gold, for the brave and courageous, represented by Sir Nicholas." This ghost bowed in a knightly manner, upon which his rather extravagant looking plumed hat fell off. Worse; his head almost fell off, somehow. He grinned, perhaps a bit embarrassed, and nodded with a small smile, but it was clear that most of the first years were as terrified of him now as they were of the Bloody Baron.

"Ravenclaw, blue and bronze, for the intelligent and inventive, represented by the Grey Lady." Regulus went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The Grey Lady gave the tiniest of nods and continued focusing on an undetermined spot somewhere behind the students. While she was quite beautiful, having apparently spent much effort on her face and dress, she also seemed arrogant or haughty, as if she knew everything there was to know.

"Finally, there is Hufflepuff, yellow and black, for the loyal and hard working, represented by the Fat Friar." A cheerful laugh resounded through the anteroom, as the Friar - chubby, if not simply fat, dressed as a monk with short, brown hair - made his presence known.

"Ah, new students, how wonderful! Don't be afraid of my scary colleagues; we ghosts have a reputation to maintain, don't we?" The Friar winked, clasping Sir Nicholas on his shoulder before diving back into the Great Hall, straight through the wall. The other three ghosts departed as well, following the Friar.

Harry found himself thinking that Hufflepuff definitely seemed to be the preferable option, based on the ghosts, but also based on his own personality. Regulus continued, however.

"As part of a house, you will be responsible for your house's points. The house with the most points wins the House Cup at the end of the year, a great honour. Points are earned by excelling, but lost by rule-breaking. Perhaps you have seen the hourglasses on the wall of the Entrance Hall, which track the amount of points a house has accumulated over the year. Now then, the time has come for you to enter the Great Hall - form a line, and follow me."

The Great Hall was... Great. In more than one sense of the word. For one, it was absolutely huge, both in length and in height. The ceiling was an accurate representation of the sky - or so Hogwarts: A History had claimed, but he had never seen a sky as clear and beautiful as this one. Of course, he had never been to the empty highlands of Scotland, free of smog and pollution.

If the ceiling was enough to capture his gaze for a dozen seconds, the Great Hall itself was enough to capture his gaze for a dozen minutes - or more. Torches and candles floated around, creating a cheery light show that reminded him of a medieval disco. Gargoyles holding burning cauldrons were the only constant light source. Besides the gargoyles, the walls were decorated by majestic banners, some telling stories about heroic deeds, others showing family crests or coat of arms. Suits of armour of all kinds were lined up along the walls; some clad in bronze, grimly clutching their maces, while others were clad in iron, calmly watching the goings-on with longbows in their hand.

The hall itself was occupied by five tables. Four simplistic looking, dark wooden tables, were used by the students. Above each of these hung the banner of the House seated there. Ghosts flew around too, some quite scary, and others quite magnificent - such as the golden lion parading over the Gryffindor table, leaving a trail of presumably pleasant fire behind; he saw students warming their hands with it.

The fifth table was more luxurious, as it was used by the staff. In the middle sat the headmaster, on a throne with gems in the colour of the four houses. It was strange, though, that despite the huge size of the Great Hall and the four tables, there were only relatively few students. Perhaps a thousand, he very roughly guessed.

In front of them, a simple stool was positioned, with what he presumed to be the Sorting Hat on top of it.

"Welcome, first years!" A voice boomed through the Great Hall. "I am the headmaster of Hogwarts; Horace Slughorn. And I say, it is time to face the music!" At these words, the Sorting Hat promptly came to life and started singing, of all things. Understandably, quite a few first years jumped out of fright, to the amusement of others; the students' laughs and the headmaster's jovial chuckle was heard through the beginning of the song:

Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find,
A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,
And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head,
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you,
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry,
Set Gryffindors apart.

You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,
And unafraid of toil.

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind.

Or perhaps in Slytherin,
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means,
To achieve their ends.

So put me on; don't be afraid,
And don't get in a flap,
You're in safe hands - though I have none,
For I'm a thinking cap!

"Excellent!" Cried the voice of the headmaster through the applause. "Now then, Regulus, the Sorting Ceremony!" The headmaster rubbed his hands together in an excited manner. Regulus, meanwhile, had picked up a long piece of parchment from somewhere, and started calling out names.

"Abbot, Hannah - come over here, sit down, and put the Sorting Hat on top of your head." Nervously, a blonde girl half-ran towards the stool, blushing furiously. The Sorting Hat encompassed her whole head, instead of resting on top of it, but after a few moments, the Sorting Hat shouted 'HUFFLEPUFF' in a loud and clear voice. The girl handed the hat back to Regulus, and made her way to the table of cheering students, decorated with yellow and black.

That was basically all there was to it, giving Harry time to further observe his surroundings and fruitlessly try to calm down his nerves. He noticed that practically all of the people he recognised went to Slytherin, except for the girl and the boy from the boat - Hermione and Neville, if he remembered correctly - who both went to Gryffindor.

At last, Regulus called out 'Potter, Harry', and the reaction was instant; looking at the table of Slytherin, he saw Draco turn his head towards him with inhuman speed. Various teachers audibly gasped, and loud cries of shock were heard throughout the whole Great Hall. Somehow, perhaps aided by magic, Harry managed to ignore this and confidently walk towards the Sorting Hat. Just before it fully covered his head, he thought he heard someone call for silence. Then, true silence - the kind of silence that just doesn't exist anymore in most of the world - enveloped him, and his vision turned black.

"Mhm... You are a difficult one, mister Potter..." A deep and hoarse voice resounded in his head. He felt the voice, actually, like a breath of fresh air, but then inside his head. Come to think of it, the insides of his head tingled, sort of, but perhaps he was imagining it.

"Hello, ehm, mister Sorting Hat?" He awkwardly thought. He felt a vague sense of amusement, probably coming from the Sorting Hat.

"Greetings. Your personality is... Interesting. Loyalty, and the determination - the courage - to do what is right. Principled. Faithful. Headstrong. Stubborn. Hufflepuff or Gryffindor." The voice paused, as if taking a breath.

"As a principled person, you dislike manipulations, trickery, and deceit. You value honesty. You are about the very opposite of a self-serving and selfish person. You do not swear by cold logic or rationality, you are too emotional for that. However, you do like learning and knowing things for the sake of knowledge - Ravenclaw - and you do have a desire to prove yourself; on your own merit, not on that of your name or your fame - Slytherin. None the less, you won't do well in Ravenclaw nor Slytherin."

The hat paused again. Harry felt that this was the opportunity to argue or to make his own preference known. To his limited knowledge, Hufflepuff was the most ridiculed house, seen as weak and inferior. Bigotry. For one fleeting moment, that made him want to choose Hufflepuff. He also felt Hufflepuff was more in line with his own character. But he didn't want to lose the 'friendship' of Draco or some of the Blacks, and his parents and godfather had been in Gryffindor.

"I'd prefer Gryffindor, sir." He thought hesitantly.

"Yes, that would be best." The hat agreed contently. "You are understanding and empathising. Caring. Willing to do what is right. Those are good qualities. But be careful, do not become too selfless nor too self-sacrificing. And do not trust blindly, either. Those are your potential pitfalls. Some people will try to use you. Be yourself, watch out for your own interests, and live a happy life. In GRYFFINDOR."

The last word was shouted out loud, and the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers louder than any he had heard before. He even heard chants such as 'we've got Potter!' resounding throughout the Great Hall. It felt very surreal really, but this childish excitement of having a celebrity presumed to be dead amongst their midst was infectious. He was too happy to care about the effects of his fame or of his name. He was just happy. A feeling that enveloped his whole mind, as he felt the Sorting Hat leaving it. He gave the hat to Regulus, who gave him a small smile, and he happily moved towards the table full of red and golden decorations. Gryffindor. A majestic, golden lion paraded up and down the table, roaring mightily, as if it was welcoming him.

He had been fully accepted into the magical world now. He had been sorted. Into Gryffindor. His new home. His new family. He shook hands with the people around him, laughed at their enthusiasm, and positively beamed as he sat down to watch the rest of the sorting. He couldn't wait for this new chapter of his life to start.

Author's note:

So... Did I mention I write at a glacial pace? Well, add working 9.5 hours per week to that, as well as a study, and I guess we've arrived at a pace where even atoms would freeze. None the less, I've had 75% (roughly speaking) of this chapter ready for about a third of the year. I wanted to include more - the feast, something about the teachers, how people react to finding out Harry Potter is alive - but this feels like a good enough end for now, and I should go to bed anyway.

Also, I've discovered the magical ability to reply to reviews, so I'll try to respond to all of you. I'm unsure if that is a customary thing to do or not, but to me, it seems like the nice thing to do.

For reference, here is a map of the terrain around Hogwarts and the route the students (and Regulus) took to reach the castle:

imgur dot com slash plkgyBx

The station and the area around it is some kind of endless void (well, nobody knows if it's actually endless, as only three people have fallen into it and nobody has ever come back from it) - blue on the map - which gradually turns into blocky pieces of greyscale matter - dark grey on the map - which turns into a desolate wasteland (something like Fallout but worse, I suppose) with colour sucked out of it - light grey on the map - which gradually becomes more colourful as one looks farther to the north (greys and browns, mostly) - brown on the map - which eventually turns into a green field - light green on the map. A true forest only grows in the dark green part of the map, but the light green part contains normal, nice vegetation, and the northern half of the brown part contains a few trees and such as well - enough to not resemble a dead, unnatural, twisted landscape. The containment zone spans the blue and dark grey parts.