AN (sigh):

I've been besieged an astonishing amount of times already with questions regarding Harry's background or other things so far not explained in the story. Well – I intend to write this as an authentic novel with people as an audience in mind who know the Harry Potter saga. Therefore, I will intentionally leave information out at times as a way of keeping things interesting. Please don't hate me for this. I have a profound distaste for fictions that try to explain every bit of difference between their plot and the original. Just stick to the story; everything will be unveiled in due time either directly as part of the narration or by you coming to conclusions.

Thanks for all the interest so far!

Of possessions and belonging

The rest of their journey seemed to pass in a blur, as both of them were in a good mood. Well, Hermione was, and she tried her very best to share this happy circumstance with Harry. She was glad that he seemed to be coming around. Harry, on the other hand, had his own reasons to play along. After they had heard the announcement of their imminent arrival, they made a grab for their trunks. Hermione could not entirely keep the smile from her lips when Harry positively bolted out of the room the moment she told him that she would like to change.

Leaving their luggage behind, they made their way off the train. Hermione noticed something strange about Harry's robes, and curiosity got the better of her again. 'Harry, what's that embroidery on the front of your robes?'

A strange look seemed to flit across his face, but only for the most fleeting of moments. 'That would be the crest of House Black, Hermione.'

His tone was still light, but she had taken note of how his eyes projected a strange sense of warning. She had learned firsthand that maybe she should keep quiet about these matters until she had gotten a better understanding of them.

'Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!' A giant of a man with a wild look grabbed their attention, and they followed the other fourteen-year-olds.

'All righ',' the colossus finally proclaimed when the big group of students had gathered and no one else seemed to be exiting the train. 'I'm Rubeus Hagrid, and among other things, I am Keeper of Keys and Grounds. Follow me, yer won't be takin' the carriages this time 'round.'

'Why not, sir?' It was truly impossible for Hermione to refrain from asking.

'Ah–course it's tradition, see? Firs' years always cross the lake. I don' think you'll regret it either.' The giant chuckled kindly as he entered a small boat. With each heave of his enormous chest, the small boat lifted and sank a foot.

'N' more than four to a boat. Hurry up, hurry up, or Professor McGonagall'll have my head again.'

Harry had been staying to the back of the crowd, and when he finally entered a boat, no one except Hermione seemed brave enough to follow suit.

'Honestly, it's like they expect you to do them in at any moment.' Hermione seemed deeply disgruntled that she had been no better and continued to mutter 'ridiculous' or 'completely barmy' under her breath for a while.

Harry let it go and enjoyed the smooth journey across the lake. 'Ooohh!' The delighted squeals of the girls echoed from one of the boats in the front. Soon they had their own first look at the ancient castle. The countless lights reflected in the water made it truly a wonderful sight. It was indeed so enchanting that Harry was willing to overlook the slightly embarrassing sounds from some of the girls.

The boats took them along the cliffs and into some kind of cave that had most definitely not been observable before. After they had landed on a small pier, Hagrid led them along a winding path by the side of the castle wall until they eventually stood before the huge and magnificent portal. The giant lifted his hand and knocked three times. His hammering sounded like cannons to Harry's ears.

The gate swung open, and a formidable looking older witch with a stern face and tight expression stood in the doorway. 'Just barely on time, Professor Hagrid.'

The giant shuffled his feet uncomfortably. 'The firs' years, Professor McGonagall.'

'Obviously. I shall take them from here. Do proceed to the Great Hall.'

The giant seemed eager to leave, and Harry thought that maybe he should play nice with this particular witch. Her expression softened somewhat when her gaze fell upon the first years. 'Welcome to Hogwarts. My name is Professor McGonagall, and you stand on the threshold of the most ancient school of magic that stands till present day in the western world. Follow me, and I shall tell you what is expected of you.'

Most of them seemed eager to follow, but Harry still kept to the back. As he finally set foot over the threshold, however, he was instantly assaulted with a pandemonium of colours, sounds and the all-enveloping presence of magic. It was like hell had broken loose; his head felt like it might explode. He could not even see his own hands in the torrents of swirling magics all around him, and he had to shut his eyes to avoid becoming violently sick. It was too much to bear, and he only just managed to lean against the cold wall of stone in an effort to keep himself standing.

Hermione, who had been standing behind him, let out a loud squeal and rushed to his side. 'Oh my god, Harry, you're bleeding. What happened? Professor! PROFESSOR!'

Harry had just managed to hastily wipe away the trail of blood that gushed down from his nose with his dress handkerchief before the professor approached. It was good luck that he had selected a rather dark one that morning, so it wasn't visible just how much blood the small piece of silk had already absorbed. 'Thank you for your concern, but it is just a headache. I'm alright, Professor.'

The deputy headmistress looked at him incredulously, her lips rather thin. 'You certainly are not! I will escort you to the infirmary, and we shall do our best to restore you before we begin with the Sorting Ceremony, Mr...' She hesitated for a second. 'Mr Black.'

In the meantime, most others had caught on and were shamelessly gaping at Harry, who could hardly remain afoot.

He heard muttering, and someone exclaimed loudly, 'What? That frail-looking spoiled brat with the nosebleed is the feared scion of House Black? Seriously, what a wh...'

Whoever had said this did–oddly enough–not manage to finish his sentence. Harry thought he heard a thud, some rustling of clothes and a few screams of horror and outrage. He did, however, open his eyes just long enough to recognise the long, shiny blond hair and feminine stature of his cousin who, for some reason, was wiping her hand of blood as well.

'I'll escort him to the infirmary, Professor.' After a short pause, she added in a small voice, 'I appear to have injured my hand.'

~BLHD~

'I-I can walk on my own, Daphne, please.'

'Shut up, Harry! You're as white as a blanket, and how can you walk if you keep your eyes shut all the time? Seriously, what happened?'

'Just a bit of pain in the head, no need to make a fuss.'

'Shut your mouth, Black, or I'll write Arcturus about this.'

This did shut him up alright, and Daphne, taking her chance, pulled him even closer to her. He could feel her face right next to his, her arm around his waist supporting him, and could not help but grow increasingly hot and red.

'P-p-please, Daphne!' he pleaded whiningly. 'Don't embarrass me like this.'

He continued to feebly complain, for all the good it did him. Daphne dragged him, not too unkindly, through half the castle. He heard several other pairs of footsteps and assumed them to be faculty of some sort.

The infirmary was a wide and bright open chamber with a good dozen neat and – currently – empty beds. Daphne guided him to a bed at the very back. Only now did it hit him just how difficult it had been to keep standing, and he nearly collapsed before Daphne gently pulled him up and helped him lie down. The effort to stay awake seemed unbearable by this time. Even with his eyes shut, hundreds of streaks of light continued to dance around him, leaving him utterly exhausted and nauseous...

Soon an older-looking lady with prominent blue eyes bent over him and hastily tried to shoo Daphne away. 'Go to hell, lady, I won't leave!' As if to emphasise her intent, she fiercely grabbed Harry's left hand in both of hers.

He heard indignation and shouting but had difficulty concentrating on his surroundings, as he felt himself spinning down a very long slope of encroaching blackness.

~BLHD~

Coming to, there was an older, gentle female voice. 'He is alright. I don't know exactly what happened, but he seems to be getting better. For now, I have given him a Calming Draught, a potion against headache and some other things to stabilise him. He may partake in the Sorting after one last check-up, but I do insist that he spends the night here. I have yet to determine what brought on this fit.'

He heard a small reply that seemed pleased, and the matron continued.

'The other boy, well, I was able to sort him out fast enough. Someone seems to have broken his nose in a rather brutal fashion, but he can leave as well.'

Harry's senses came around, and he slowly opened his eyes. The swirling vortex of impressions was still there, yet it was somehow less overwhelming, hardly more than whispers and shadows in the background. He tried to sit up, and immediately, someone very gently came to his help. He looked around and grinned nervously at Daphne.

'Thanks. Have I missed anything?'

She looked at him, a mix of emotions clearly visible on her face. He thought he discerned worry, annoyance and relief among other things. 'No, Harry, you passed out for five minutes at most. Seriously, what's wrong with you? I know you're not exactly a beater in his prime, but I've never seen you have an attack like this.'

'Later!' he muttered evasively, very aware of how the matron and a professor with a prominent beaker, as well as the deputy headmistress, were watching him most carefully. His cousin seemed somewhat mollified that he did at least intend to fill her in and made no further comment. Harry glanced down and realised that she was still holding his hand, and–in shock–he tried to tear himself away. He was still somewhat weak, to his dismay, and she had no trouble holding on, smirking slightly.

'How are you feeling, Mr Black?' The concerned-looking matron peered into his eyes as if daring him to lie.

Harry decided to go with a bit of honesty. 'Exhausted,' he answered, stealthily continuing his efforts to free himself from Daphne's grasp. 'But better for now. May I please take my leave for the Sorting?'

She threw him a calculating look. He was sure it had been the right idea to go along with parts of the truth. She seemed reluctant enough to let him go anyway. 'You know, you can do an individual Sorting at any later point in time, young man.'

That was not acceptable for several reasons. He had been embarrassed enough, and there was also that other business. Thinking about his scheme, he could not help but let an honest smile shine through. 'Thank you, ma'am, but I would much rather be sorted with my fellow classmates.'

His smile seemed to go a long way in reassuring her, and she finally permitted him to leave. Daphne helped him stand up, and though he squirmed quite a bit and uttered feeble protests, she held on to his hand and accompanied him out of the infirmary. He was feeling too nervous and uncomfortable to notice the nasty look the other boy with blood all over the front of his robes shot at Daphne, though he did notice her return it with interest. Slightly puzzled, he looked at her. His cousin merely smiled serenely, wordlessly indicating the way to the Entrance Hall...

~BLHD~

As they arrived five minutes later, the whole mob of first years stood before a gigantic oaken door which he assumed led to the Great Hall. The mob was buzzing fiercely. It grew even more excited after a few students spotted Harry and Daphne, who were still hand in hand. Seconds later, Hermione fought her way towards them.

'Oh, Harry! How are you? You don't look so pale anymore. There have been some ridiculous rumours again. You probably don't even want to know... But what really happened?' In her eagerness, she had initially failed to notice Daphne, but soon her eyes travelled over his cousin's striking features and their joined hands. 'And who is this?'

Daphne only raised an eyebrow, but Harry could see the fire in her eyes and tried to avert the looming disaster.

'Daphne, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, Daphne Greengrass.'

Daphne frowned, looking thoughtful, and Harry remembered with a sense of foreboding that this cousin of his could be quite sharp.

'I don't think I know of you or your name. Yet still, you seem oddly familiar with Harry, considering how he reacts to girls in general.'

Her eyebrows raised, Daphne's voice grew irritated and rather loud. 'I don't believe this. You spurn my own presence, but shut yourself in with someone you hardly know? That was you in the last compartment, wasn't it? Harry, give me one good reason...'

He could see they were approaching dangerous territory, and his instinct and experience in past dealings with his cousin told him he should hastily take the earliest possible exit from this conversation if he fancied any chance of heading off a possible tantrum of epic proportions. With a slight appreciation for the irony, he also remembered Arcturus' words about avoiding big dramas.

'Please calm down, Daphne! I-I was initially alone in that compartment. Hermione joined me by chance, and I only shut the door, uh, because Draco brought his cronies. I was not really in the mood for this whole Bringer-of-Evil thing.' He tried to reason with her, though it did, apparently, little good. He also tried to free himself from her grip one more time.

He might as well have tried to wrestle with the castle.

Daphne angrily poked him in the chest and snarled. 'A likely story.' She took a few deep breaths and drew him much, much closer to her. Harry was still feeling rather faint and did not manage to resist the pull. In a state of increasing discomfort, he realised how her face was now mere inches from his. His chest hurt. He was rather afraid he would need a Blood Replenisher when this was over. Daphne's blue eyes shone with equal measures of anger, neediness and amusement.

'Make it up to me, Black! Tomorrow you will sit every single one of your classes with me, and you will not try to flee when I approach you for a long and good talk between us for the sake of catching up. You will also have the privilege of spending your first Hogsmeade weekend with this beautiful young lady. Promise me now! Else, I will be forced to make your Hogwarts debut very embarrassing indeed, Harry.' She breathed these last words softly to him, and he felt a slight sense of anticipation creep down his spine. He looked around for help. She immediately interjected and gently threw one arm over his shoulder, drawing him in. 'No Cranky here this time, Harry dearest...' He gulped; her eyes now definitely also radiated a scarily burning determination.

'I-I-I promise. Please, Daphne. I beg of you, take a step back.'

His cousin smirked triumphantly and drew back. She even let go of his hand. 'Good choice, Harry. I need to find Tracey, so you're off the hook for tonight. Bye bye!'

Not minding half the first years watching her, she twirled around, blew him a kiss in an exaggerated fashion and winked playfully before she vanished into the crowd.

Harry leaned against the wall. It took him several moments to calm down. Trying to ease his breathing, he told himself that it would probably merely look like an outburst from a bystander's perspective, as Daphne had refrained from shouting out the more delicate parts of her threat. But with a new wave of shame, he remembered how Hermione had observed the whole spectacle and even listened in. Slowly, he turned his eyes towards her and felt rather betrayed when she looked at him in obvious amusement.

'Would she really have snogged you just to embarrass you in front of the whole school?'

Harry suppressed a shudder and closed his eyes. He was fighting with all his might against the rising embarrassment, which is why he did not answer. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall rescued him; demonstrating perfect timing, she reappeared down the corridor with the other boy, whose robes were now free of blood – mostly.

She stalked towards the door. 'We shall keep this short, as there have been enough delays for one evening. You will proceed along the aisle in a single line. I will call your name, and you will sit down on the stool right in front of me before I lower the Sorting Hat upon you. Follow me, and try to not shame us any more than necessary.' She shot a meaningful look towards the direction Harry presumed Daphne must be before she opened the big door and briskly began walking.

There were four long tables packed with students of varying age. For the houses, Harry guessed. At the back of the hall stood one slightly embellished table, and at its centre, surrounded by his teachers, sat the lone man responsible for the Dark Lord's downfall.

As soon as he entered, he felt a small tickling sensation in his head and immediately looked up. As all the teachers and students were looking their way, it was hard to make out who was looking directly at him. He forced himself to relax and immediately concentrated as hard as he could on the serenity of his mind. The attempt had been rather careful and even his passive efforts would have been good enough, but he did not wish to take any chances. The presence retreated immediately, yet the perpetrator remained elusive.

Professor McGonagall, meanwhile, lay the ancient looking Sorting Hat on the chair, and after a brief silence, the hat began to sing:

Of Hogwarts I shall tell you

– oh young and eager mind –

so listen well, and I will tell

what lodgings you may find.

...

At this point, Harry felt his attention waver already. As excited as he had been this morning, now he could not wait to finally be done with this. It only now dawned on him that he had never been this exposed to others in all his life. His upbringing had indeed been rather sheltered, and (except for some very rare excursions into Diagon Alley with his grandfather) he had only ever been with his family, on private property, that is. He had known the hostility would be bad, but it still was something else completely to bear the angry muttering and pointed looks all day long with no possibility of retreat. He was slightly ashamed that his first instinct was to turn tail and run. But that was still the preferable option, wasn't it? Going completely ballistic and cursing the lot of them would do him no good; such actions would only lead to further trouble down the road. He must not forget that his behaviour reflected on House Black as well, so there was truly only one option: to hold it in. If things really escalated, he would have to do something about specific individuals, but he would prefer it to never come to that.

He suddenly noticed that this was indeed the first time he had ever left the Black estates completely on his own. His grandfather had always insisted on tagging along. And who could fault him after that business with Regulus…

Thinking about this, Harry was suddenly kind of glad that at least Daphne would be at Hogwarts with him. She really knew how to rile him, and he felt completely helpless when faced with her usual methods, but there was at least no doubt that she meant well for him. Draco was alright, but due to his father, Harry could not entirely let his guard down around him. He wondered if anybody else would really consider befriending him in the coming years. Sure, Astoria would come to Hogwarts in two years, and the twins next year, but he was not entirely sure if the Lestranges would make things better. If they thought him bullied and wrote to Bella about it, she would probably come to school in the dead of night and kill the little shits who were accused. Yeah, that wouldn't reflect well on him. He felt he should really try to keep the rest of his family out of Azkaban, if at all possible. He would have to tough it out and play cool, and–if really necessary–possibly intimidate the annoying ones a bit. As long as they were boys, it should be no trouble. Merlin, this headache is getting worse again.

All of a sudden, someone nudged him in the ribs. In bewilderment, he turned around; Draco was sniggering, pointing towards the empty chair and an irritated-looking deputy headmistress. He spun around again and saw the entire hall looking at him. Oh damn!

He walked casually towards the chair and tried his best to act even-tempered, ignoring the hostile muttering his family name must have provoked. He folded himself onto the chair and felt the filthy run-down hat being set on his pate, tuning out the few words he could make out under the low hum that had engulfed the hall. Traitor seemed to be particularly popular. Evil and lunatic were close runners-up.

'Filthy and run-down, ey?' He heard a small chuckle in his head. 'I do agree, I have seen better days, but we shall wait and see how you compare once you've passed your first millennium, Black. But we have the Sorting at hand, so let's get to it.'

The voice paused for some time, to Harry's annoyance. He really wanted to sleep. 'Well, get on with it, will you.'

Some more sniggering told him the hat was quite amused. 'Alright. Well, you are no Gryffindor. But the rest seem to fit, don't they? A most extraordinary mind you have and fierce loyalty to boot, at least to some carefully selected people. But fair play is not really your thing, is it? So maybe we should rule out Hufflepuff for you. Ravenclaw or Slytherin…Hmmm. I feel like Rowena and Salazar would both tear me apart if I did not place you in their respective house...Dear me, this is difficult.'

Harry could not keep a rising sense of irritation out of his mind. So he did as he always did when he was annoyed. The strange colours and feelings that swept across his consciousness really did not help his temper. 'You do realise that I intend to trick a Muggle-born witch into Slytherin later, right? So how about you put me there, and be done with it! I do not wish to sound vain, but I can do better than sitting here for hours with a mouldy rug on my head.'

The hat gave another chuckle. 'Are you sure? By my fabric, you could do well in Ravenclaw! And in any case, I will only sort her where she belongs; I'll be sure to take a good, long look.'

This time, Harry returned a superior grin. 'Oh, you do that. In fact, I'm counting on you. Now get me into Slytherin, or I'll hex you yellow.'

'As you wish!' the hat replied amiably. 'This has been most droll. I do wish there were more people with your practical approach to sorting. But anyway, it shall be SLYTHERIN!'

To Harry's relief, the last words were shouted to the hall, and immediately the angry buzzing seemed to intensify. Supremely unconcerned, at least that was what he hoped he looked like, he put down the hat and strode towards the left side of the hall, sitting down at an empty place with his back to the wall. Several older students were looking at him curiously while the Sorting went on. To his astonishment, he realised that there were markedly less Slytherins than those of other houses. He had initially assumed that the hat might try to balance things out, but now that he thought about it, that was obviously impossible. Since your own will evidently played a big part in the process, the dominant power of opinion seemed to win out over implicit disposition and nature.

Without great interest, he watched Crabbe being sorted into Hufflepuff before he allowed his mind to wander again. He would have to do something about Slytherin. Normally, he really tried to be as open-minded as possible, but the current state of affairs was truly depressing. Most people nowadays did not even remember that Slytherin did have valid reasons to not allow Muggle-borns into Hogwarts in ages past. Kind of. Now things were different of course, but ironically, the only families who did know about these things were those proud to be sorted into Slytherin anyway. How had it come to this?

True, the old families had been shockingly short-sighted in some of their past dealings, but things were not much better on the other side either. He somehow got the distinct impression that some people thought being sorted into Gryffindor automatically meant you were the next hero in line, just waiting to shower the world in the goodness of your golden heart; whereas only psychotic nutters would voluntarily be sorted into the House of Snakes. How was he supposed to keep his temper with those idiots? If there was one thing that agitated him to no end (apart from his wilful cousin, maybe), then it was the foolishness and simplicity with which the public regarded matters of morality. Always, at any point in time, there only seemed to be heavenly good and dastardly evil. If you had some truly thoughtful specimen before you, he would maybe admit that there were also cowards who were too afraid to choose sides.

He needed to calm himself. He couldn't change these simpletons in one fell swoop nor was he entirely convinced that it was even possible, to begin with. It would have been so much easier to simply raze the whole thing to the ground and start anew. No wonder there was always some kind of Dark Lord every century or so. He truly wished muggle philosophy would be taught at Hogwarts; true, those non-magicals had some very strange things going on, but he rather admired how they had tried to decipher a world that was completely beyond them for thousands of years and did not seem ready to give up at any point in time.

Supremely annoyed, he supported his head with his left hand in an effort to ignore the swirling magenta that seemed to be poking at him, assaulting his sanity. In an effort to calm down, he began to play with his wand again.

He would have to do something about Slytherin first. Both about the idiots inside and those even bigger idiots in all the other houses. One step at a time. But how to best get started? He somehow felt like he had forgotten something, as he was sure he had thought about this before. He needed some kind of argument or instrument to truly shock the school and make them waver in their conviction. A grand showing, something better not directly connected to him, as he would always be looked upon with suspicion. He needed a catalyst to initialise change: a weapon.

Suddenly, he became aware that someone was glaring daggers at him. Mildly interested, he raised his head...only to find a certain Hermione Granger sitting opposite him, clearly fuming.

Harry grinned jovially, privately extremely glad that there was a table between them, as she seemed eager to bite his head off. This also had the benefit of enabling him to somewhat keep his cool. So he lifted his hand in a grand greeting and tried to give her a winning smile.

'Oh, hey, Hermione! Fancy meeting you here!'

The whole school was deadly silent. Everyone was still staring at Hermione and now him. Even the other Slytherins seemed much too surprised to even muster a look of disapproval.