Hoggy Warty Hogwarts

They rounded the bend and a hush fell across them like a blanket. The idle chatter was cut short by sharp gasps, and only the sound of water lapping at the boats' hulls was heard thereafter.

Harry wasn't alone as he stared, dumb-struck, at the castle on the hill. It stood starkly lit against the black and starry sky behind it, almost jumping out at them. Warm, yellow light shone welcomingly from all the windows of all the tall, pointed towers, of which there were too many to count at a glance. It was truly massive, stretching from the lake's edge on one side of the hill to the other, where it lay a scant few hundred meters from the edge of a forest.

The castle cast a reflection upon the water that stretched out toward them; not quite reaching, but getting closer with every second. Harry felt something similar to the overwhelming wonder he'd felt in Diagon Alley spark again in his chest. It was manageable this time; instead of feeling like he was about to burst, excitement and anticipation blossomed gently inside him. And its roots were setting deeply. Just looking at Hogwarts, in all its massive, medieval magnificence, had his mind conjuring up fantasies of what he would be learning and experiencing in the years to come.

Images of him commanding fire, and lightning, and drawing glowing runes into ritual circles and studying creatures and plants that even a disturbed mind would have trouble imagining - all the possibilities, all the potential. It all flashed past his mind's eye in a hazy, frantic blur.

A wide grin stretched across his face. He couldn't wait.

"Oh, wow."

To hear his excitement and awe mirrored in Hermione's voice pulled a laugh of unrestrained delight from his chest. She giggled along with him and the two shared a look, eyes sparkling.

Harry would happily admit that his first impression of her had been off. As they had talked and gotten to know each after chasing off Malfoy, her timidness and anxiety had faded. It turned out she was quite chatty and spirited, and just as enthusiastic about magic as he was. Her social awkwardness was obvious, however, showing up whenever someone poked their heads into their compartment, or the first few times she had attempted to make jokes. She had trailed off uncertainly each time, as if expecting to be laughed at rather than with. He had made sure to chuckle and match her for every one, and she had slowly grown more confident.

Most of the train ride had been spent discussing and practicing magic. In between, they got to know each other, played a few rounds of the most intense game of snap Harry had ever encountered, and learnt more about the Wizarding World from the boy Hermione had brought along with her.

Neville sat behind them, in the middle of the boat. The plump, brown-haired boy was more reserved, choosing to sit quietly and stare open-mouthed up at the castle as Trevor tried to wriggle free of his slack grip.

Harry was quite impressed with the toad's sense of opportunity. After helping his two new friends search for it, and finding it swimming happily in a toilet bowl at the back of the Express, the toad had escaped twice more during the course of their journey and made an attempt for a third. It was only after a threatening glare from Harry, along with several violences demonstrated on a chocolate frog, that the amphibian had settled down.

Their little armada, led by an absolute giant of a man named Hagrid, sailed forward at a steady pace. There was a bit of a scare in the middle of the lake, when the water swelled beneath them and they learned that a giant squid had been lurking below all along.

"Ol' Khalamari is just playin'," Hagrid called, wholly unconcerned as tentacles longer and thicker than a ship's mooring rope wrapped around a boat of shrieking girls. "See? He just wants a hug."

The giant chortled as two of the girls began beating at the tentacles with a set of oars.

"Calamari?" Harry whispered to himself. The tall, dark skinned boy they were sharing the boat with snickered softly.

A steep, stone staircase awaited them when they reached the shore, and the group of thirty-odd children and the groundskeeper trooped up the hill until they arrived, sweaty and out of breath, before a set of grand double doors.

Waiting to receive them on the other side was perhaps the sternest person Harry had ever seen. Standing as stiff as a statue, a middle-aged witch frowned at them from behind square classes. Everything about her was smooth and immaculate, from the bun of her black hair to her emerald green robes. Her eyes raked through them, seemingly picking out any and all flaws that existed in the group, and stared at the offenders until they gulped and fixed whatever it was that earned her ire.

Not even Hagrid, with his wild appearance, was safe from her appraising look. "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," he said, looking uncomfortable under her gaze.

"Thank you, Hagrid." The now-named Professor McGonagall had a hint of Scottish brogue to her voice. "I will take them from here."

Hagrid nodded and, with a smile and a wave, ambled into the entrance hall behind her and through a small archway off to the side.

"Eh-hem!" Everyone turned back to Professor McGonagall as she cleared her throat. "Follow me, please."

Without waiting, she turned and marched off into the Entrance Hall, hands folded over her waist. Harry and the others hurried after her, murmuring excitedly as they looked around. Flaming torches sat in sconces all around the hall, illuminating everything in the warm light that Harry had seen from the lake. Candles burned from iron chandeliers high above their heads, their light glittering dully off the flagstones beneath their feet. A massive marble staircase stood at the opposite end of the hall, with a stained glass window set into the wall above it.

Halfway across, on the right side, was a smaller, but still big, set of double doors, behind which they could hear the drone of hundreds of voices. It was here that Professor McGonagall led them to a stop.

"Welcome," she said, "to Hogwarts."

Harry grinned. "Very excited to be here."

He must not have muttered that softly enough, because the children around him giggled and Professor McGonagall fixed him with a sharp look. He gave her a sheepish smile, then blinked in surprise when she quickly broke eye contact. He had been half-expecting a scolding; she certainly looked the type.

"The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with your Housemates, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend your free time in your House common room."

"There are four Houses at Hogwarts," she continued. "Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Each has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are here, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose your House points."

Harry silently apologized to whatever House he ended up in.

"At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours."

By the way she fixed him with a narrow-eyed gaze, it seemed she had him pegged as the exact opposite of a 'credit'. He couldn't quite suppress the guilty grin that tugged at his lips.

"The ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you use that time to make yourselves presentable." There was some awkward shuffling as shirts were tucked in and robes were straightened. "I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly."

With that, she walked through the archway and left the chamber. All at once they broke out into excited chatter. Most of it was around the Sorting.

"My brothers told me it was some sort of test," Harry heard a tall, red-haired boy say from behind him. "Said we have to wrestle a troll."

"Troll?"

"Test?"

Harry blinked and turned to see Hermione worrying her lip at his side, looking very concerned. "I haven't studied, you see," she confided when she caught him looking.

He couldn't help but laugh. "You find a test more terrifying than a troll?"

She flushed and looked down at her feet. "I don't think they would make us wrestle a troll," she muttered, sounding defensive.

"They won't," Neville reassured her. Despite his words, he looked quite nervous; he was worriedly clutching Trevor in a vice grip as the toad's legs wriggled wildly in an attempt to be free. Harry was worried Neville would forget he wasn't a stress ball and squeeze. "I was nervous about the sorting as well, since I'm not very good at magic. But my dad said it's easy, and that everyone gets sorted."

Hermione seemed to relax a bit. "Where do you think you will end up?"

Neville shrugged. "Probably Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, like my parents. Don't think I have the brains for Ravenclaw."

"What about Slytherin?"

Hermione hummed in curious agreement as she and Harry waited for his answer. Neville stared at the two as if they were daft.

"No," he said eventually, shaking his head. "No, I'm not going to Slytherin."

He said it with a certainty that bordered on determination. Harry and Hermione shared a glance, then, as one, turned to question the vehemence in that statement. Before they could, however, screams and shrieks arose from the children around them.

Following their gazes and pointing fingers, Harry let out a gasp as he caught sight of what was causing the ruckus. A group of twenty or so ghosts were streaming from the back wall. Pearly white and translucent, they drifted above their heads, talking to one another and seemingly taking no notice of the group of first years. Something about peeves.

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?"

Oh. Peeves must have been a person. Or a ghost. Did ghosts still count as people?"

"Oh, new students!" One of them, wearing a ruff and leggings, suddenly noticed the group of students below.

"About to be sorted, I suppose?" asked another, this one with the appearance of a fat little monk. A few people nodded mutely. "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the friar. "My old House, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned, and was shooing off the ghosts. They grumbled and huffed, but floated off through the wall all the same. Harry watched and wondered if there was a spell that would allow him to do that too. He didn't remember seeing any in the books he had bought, but if someone had thought to create a spell as useless and specific as the charm that made one's farts smell nice, then surely there was one that let people walk through walls.

He would have to take a look through the school's library (England's largest and most complete, if Hogwarts: A History was to be believed) when he got the chance.

Their flying was a different matter. As soon as he had learned that wizards and witches flew around on broomsticks he had started researching other methods of magical flight. There were many, but all required some sort of medium - brooms, carpets, surfboards, etc. True, self-enabled flight, which was what he had actually been hoping to find, was something wizards had been trying and failing to accomplish for centuries.

Harry had every intention of throwing his hat into that particular ring. There was no way in hell he was going to miss out on being Superman.

"Harry?"

Harry snapped out of his daze and found Hermione tugging at his sleeve, with Neville looking curiously over his shoulder at them a few feet away. The rest of the group had moved on while he was pondering, shuffling through the now open double doors that led to the Great Hall. They quickly caught up and stepped inside, looking around in awe as they did so. It was even bigger than the Entrance Hall, with four long tables running the length of it. Candles floated high above their heads, drifting lazily with the air currents.

Above that was a starry sky, much brighter than what he had seen outside. The Milky Way was clear to see, blazing across the sky in hues of red, purple and the occasional green. Harry felt a newfound anticipation for Astronomy, a part of the curriculum he'd previously dismissed.

"I've read about this," he heard Hermione whisper beside him. "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside."

"Hogwarts: A History?"

Hermione beamed at Neville and nodded her head, bushy hair flying everywhere. She then launched into a frantic review of the book that Neville was too polite to not listen to, though Harry could tell from the way his smile became strained that he realized his mistake.

At the far end of the hall sat another long table, perpendicular to the ones they were now walking past. The oddest arrangement of people sat there. On the far right sat Hagrid, his massive frame taking up more space than three men would. Harry almost thought the chair on his right was empty, but then spied a pointy wizard's hat sitting atop a small, smiling head that barely cleared the table top and realized the seat's occupant was just really small.

A smile grew on his face as he looked at the two extremes of body mass sitting next to each other, convinced their placement was deliberate. Someone was having a laugh.

Spanning right to left was an assortment of witches and wizards, each with their own eccentricities and oddities. A plump, elderly witch whose robes appeared to be caked with mud, a thin man who was staring dreamily off into the distance while twirling a stone dagger between his fingers, and a man in a purple turban with strange markings tattooed around the edges of his face were but the most notable figures. Harry spotted Professor Burbage toward the leftmost end of the table in a three-piece suit that featured a Hawaiian-print button down, and next to him was Bathsheda Babbling, chatting to two other pretty witches that looked a few years older than her.

Harry couldn't help himself.

"Bathsheda!" he yelled.

A ripple of silence passed throughout the hall as everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look first at him, waving madly and grinning like a loon, then at the Muggle Studies Assistant Professor. The young woman was staring open-mouthed at him in some comical trifecta of shock, horror and anger as an intense red filled her cheeks. Whispers and giggles slowly filled the hall as the seconds passed and her blushing intensified. The two witches Babbling had been talking to looked on with amused gazes and glittering eyes. Harry shot them a wink and watched as the dark-skinned one giggled and the other covered her mouth with a hand.

Babbling was glaring furiously at him, fingering her dinner knife in a way that promised violence.

"Mr Potter!" Professor McGonagall's voice could have cut steel. "You will not refer to a professor by anything other than their title and with anything less than respect! And should you wish to speak to someone, I would thank you not to involve the entire school!"

Had the laughter in the hall not been growing louder, Harry might have been cowed. As it was, he looked her in the eye, grin still in place, and gave a small bow. "Understood, Professor McGonagall. I apologize."

The gesture walked a fine line between cheeky and sincere, and McGonagall gave him a hard look for it, but turned and continued to lead the first years toward the front of the hall amidst snickers and snorts. It all quietened quickly, though, when the old, spindly man seated at the center of the teacher's table raised his hand and called for silence.

"Why did you do that?" Hermione hissed while elbowing Harry (who couldn't help but be impressed by the command the man wielded) in the ribs. Neville was also looking at him as if he'd lost his marbles. "Everyone's looking at you!"

"So? They're laughing."

"Exactly! You got in trouble!" Hermione couldn't understand why he seemed so unfazed. All around, people were glancing at him and exchanging covered whispers in a way that made her skin crawl. She could hear them snickering and giggling, and couldn't stop how the sound made her hunch into herself.

Harry flashed a sideways grin at her, completely at ease. "Worth it," he said shortly. "Especially if it pisses off Bathsheda."

Hermione stared at him as if he had grown a second head.

"Do you not like her?" Neville asked, looking to where the young assistant professor was glaring promises of murder at Harry while digging the point of her knife into the table.

"Nah, I think she's pretty cool actually. She's just fun to mess with."

Neville joined Hermione in her staring.

McGonagall led them to the front of the hall, just in front of the staff table, where a crumpled, ratty hat awaited them on a four-legged stool. She motioned for them to stop, then walked to stand beside it. The hall fell silent and an air of anticipation spread throughout as the group of first years looked around and at each other in confusion. Harry was one of the few who were still looking at the hat after a few seconds, and so saw the exact moment that the rumples deepend and smoothed into a face and a tear opened up near the brim and the hat began to sing.

The hat began to sing.

Harry couldn't help how he goggled like an idiot. This was the sorting ceremony?

"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!"

The hall burst into applause as the final note rang out, and at a loss for anything else to do, Harry joined in. Certainly not out of sort of appreciation for the performance. The hat had a worse pitch than Uncle Vernon.

Professor McGonagall unfurled a scroll of parchment and addressed them. "When I call your name, you will come forward and put on the hat to be sorted." Then without giving them any time to prepare, she called the first name. "Abbot, Hannah!"

It was a few seconds before a flushed blonde with pigtails stumbled forward uncertainly and sat on the stool, the hat lowering onto her head. It fell over her eyes.

There was a moment's pause, before – "Hufflepuff!" shouted the hat. Hannah leapt off the stool with a bright grin on her face and hurried off to the table decked in yellow and black. The next person to be sorted (Bones, Susan) joined her not thirty seconds later. Boot, Terry, became a Ravenclaw.

"So, last call," Harry whispered. "What House do you guys hope to end up in?"

Hermione bit her lip, eyes jumping from table to table, though between two in particular. "Ra–" She stopped and shook her head. "Gryffindor."

Harry nodded. "Nev?"

"The same, I think," he answered after a moment's hesitation. "I don't know if that's where I'll end up, though. Not feeling very 'brave' or 'daring' at the moment."

He did look rather queasy.

"Don't worry about it," Harry reassured, patting his shoulder. "It's as easy as sitting still for a minute or two. You can do that."

Neville blinked, then slowly nodded. "Yeah, I can." His shoulders relaxed a bit.

Hermione was the first of them to be called up. Bottom lip firmly tucked behind her teeth, she hurried up to the stool and jammed the hat over her head. Harry winced as he saw one of the tears around the brim widen. Her sorting didn't last long; that hat contemplated for some forty-five odd seconds, giving a twitch or a wiggle every now and again. Finally, it straightened up and yelled out, "Gryffindor!"

Harry and Neville clapped just as loudly as the red and gold table that Hermione went to sit at after handing the hat back to McGonagall.

Neville's turn came soon after. The hat sat on his head for a decent amount of time; it might have been Harry's imagination, but he thought it twitched and wiggled more than usual too. Just after a minute and a half had passed, his house was called.

"Hufflepuff!"

Harry thought the boy would be disappointed, but there was a small smile on Neville's face, and no small amount of relief, as he was taken in with warm welcomes at his House's table.

There were a lot of 'M's after that. MacDougal was quickly sorted into Slytherin, and Malfoy was much the same. Moon went to Ravenclaw. Nott's robes ended up trimmed in green and silver, and then they were in the 'P's.

Parkinson.

Patil.

Patil? Oh, twins.

Perks.

Potter.

Harry wiped his clammy hands off on his robes and stepped up to the stool. He turned and sat - facing, for a brief second, a hall that seemed focused solely on him, before the hat was lowered over his head and his vision was blocked by ratty fabric.

'It smells better than it looks, at least.'

He didn't expect a voice to respond.

'Thank you, I suppose.'

Harry sat ramrod straight. 'It can talk?'

'Did you not hear me singing earlier? Or announce the sorting of your year-mates before you?'

Harry sat, sputtering. 'I didn't think you were living!' I thought it was a recording or something!'

The hat paused for a moment. 'Well, you're not far off, but you're not close either. I'm far more than a simple recording – and less than living I'm afraid.'

'What do you mean? What are you?' Harry leant forward on the stool, curiosity piqued.

'That isn't important at the moment,' the hat said with a chuckle. 'What is important is getting you sorted. Quite the curious and inquisitive nature you have just displayed. You are not wanting for intelligence either. Yes, you would fit nicely in Ravenclaw.'

While he grumbled a bit at having his questions brushed aside, Harry kept quiet and waited for the hat to send him to the house of bronze and blue.

It didn't. It kept talking.

'And yet, you have other qualities that run deeper. Dreams and desires that supersede your thirst for knowledge,' the hat mused. 'Not Ravenclaw. Not Gryffindor either.

'Why not?' Harry questioned immediately, a little put out the house of the brave had been dismissed outright.

'It suits you the least.'

He huffed at the simple answer. 'You're saying I'm not brave?'

'People are rarely so neatly categorized as one thing or another, Mr Potter,' the hat stated with a tired sigh, giving the impression it had had this conversation many times before. 'There is neither a complete absence nor overwhelming presence of bravery in you, nor any of the other qualities that Gryffindor would nourish. It suits you the least.'

Harry opened his mouth to argue, then thought about it and closed his mouth with a grumble. 'So Hufflepuff or Slytherin then?'

'I can see it. There is a burning desire in you; for affection, companionship and close bonds. For love. Hufflepuff could provide all of these for you.'

Harry stilled at the hat's words. 'What do you mean?' he asked stiffly. The hat gave a wry chuckle.

'You know what I mean. It's all here, in your head. You cannot hide it, just as you cannot deny it. The love your parents never had a chance to give you. The acceptance you seek from your relatives. These things that you crave - they can be found in Hufflepuff.'

Harry swallowed, feeling uneasy. The Hat was talking about stuff that he hadn't ever put into words; thoughts and desires that he had kept buried, with no plans to excavate. He didn't much like that the Hat had brought them up now.

'So you're sending me to Hufflepuff,' he stated gruffly, not bothering to hide the consternation in his thoughts. The Sorting was no longer exciting; he wanted it over with. His hand raised to pull the Hat off his head, not caring that it hadn't called out his house yet, when the hat spoke again.

'Not if you would rather go to Slytherin.'

Harry froze just as his fingertips brushed the cloth of the Hat's pointed peak.

'I can go there too?'

'Yes. Just as strong as your desire for relationships, I see in you a desire to be strong. To be smart. To be respected and admired. You draw attention to yourself, and show people what you think are your best qualities in the hopes that they will like you. Maybe even look up to you.'

Harry let the words echo around in his head, not liking them. The person that the Hat was describing sounded pretty vain.

'It is not vanity.' Harry jumped, having forgotten that his thoughts were being read. 'These are normal feelings, felt by normal people. They are just felt particularly strongly by those in Slytherin. The ambitious, who covet power. Whether it be social, academic or material.'

The Hat was silent for a moment, then, almost as murmur, said, 'You could be great, you know? Slytherin would make you great.'

Great?

Harry liked the sound of that.

Even so… Hufflepuff didn't sound too bad either. And Neville was there. It would be nice to have a friend in the same house.

'The choice is yours,' the Hat reassured. 'And besides, friends and power are not mutually exclusive. You can become strong in Hufflepuff, and you can make friends in Slytherin.'

Harry slowly nodded, a decision forming in his head. 'But Slytherin will make me great.'

The Hat was silent for a second. 'Yes,' it finally murmured. 'It will.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'Then put me into-'

"Slytherin!"

Harry jumped. The last word had been shouted aloud, reverberating throughout the hall. Thunderous clapping followed, and the hat was lifted off his head. Once again he was looking out at hundreds of faces - some curious, most bored. After a moment's search he found Hermione's at the Gryffindor table, looking a little disappointed even as she clapped vigorously. He gave her a half shrug and small smile, then looked for Neville.

The boy wasn't clapping. He sat amongst the Hufflepuffs with a look on his face like he was seeing Harry for the first time. It was surprised and… angry? Not quite, but similar. Harry sent him a hesitant wave and smile, and Neville jumped like he had been pinched. He added a few soft claps of his own as Harry's applause began to die, then offered him a brief, empty smile before looking down at the table.

Harry frowned, feeling a little snubbed. 'What is that about?'

The end of the Slytherin table closest to the teachers had been deliberately left empty for the first years, and was now sparsely populated by the littlest Slytherins in groups of twos and threes, with sizeable gaps between. Malfoy and his two friends – Harry thought he remembered one of their names being Crabbe – sat closest to the upper years. Harry offered the blonde boy a sneer when they made eye contact and it was returned double. Across from them and to the right were two of the girls who had been accosted by the Giant Squid while crossing the lake. A rather heavy-set girl sat with them, but to the side and left out of whatever whispers the two were exchanging.

Unlike her, the other two first years that sat on that side of the table looked comfortable in their own skin, if not a little bored. Harry remembered their names: Nott and Parkinson. The latter reminded him a bit of his aunt in that her face was a little too squashed and stretched to be considered pretty, but wasn't quite ugly either. A unique appearance, to put it politely. Nott was rather nondescript, with a plain face and short, black hair. His eyes, though, glittered sharply when he caught Harry looking at him.

Harry took a seat on the far side of the table, to the left of MacDougal. The boy was rather handsome, with wavy brown hair and a type of smile that Harry had seen the older girls in his previous school blush at. Harry could already see the two girls who had fought the squid making repeated glances down the table, their whispers seeming to have picked up fervency. They weren't the only ones either; Harry could see some of the upper-year girls beyond them shooting looks at the boy. A few of the older boys – probably their boyfriends – were frowning, too. Harry chuckled at the thought that they were feeling threatened by a single eleven year old. They must have thought it was embarrassing too, because they startled and looked away hurriedly when they saw Harry had caught them staring.

"Harry," he introduced himself, leaning over slightly to offer his hand. MacDougal shook it with that charming smile Harry had noted before.

"Moran," he returned. The two exchanged acknowledging nods before turning their attention to the rest of the Sorting. It wasn't as exciting when you weren't waiting for your turn, especially when no one else was sorted into Slytherin until the very end. Blaise Zabini, the olive-skinned boy who had shared their boat, sat down on the other side of the table from Harry, giving him and MacDougal the briefest of looks before dismissing them and starting a conversation with Nott.

They only managed to exchange a few words, however, before a hush fell over the hall and Harry turned to see the old man, presumably the headmaster, standing and holding up a hand for silence. He wore paisley robes and a pointed green hat that should have looked ridiculous on him, but somehow didn't.

"Welcome!" he announced in a surprisingly deep voice. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! There are a few announcements to be made, but as I am sure you are all hungry and thirsty, they can wait until after the Welcoming Feast! Please, tuck in!"

He waved his hands and suddenly the tables were laden with food and pitchers. Harry began salivating as an explosion of aromas assaulted his nose, all of them delicious. He absently passed a plate to Moran, who looked just as ravenous, before loading his plate with roast beef, yorkshire puddings, crispy potatoes and smothering the lot in gravy. He took his first bite and moaned in a way that was probably indecent, hearing its echo from next to him. He and Moran exchanged looks, before swallowing their food and grinning at each other.

The two talked idly while they ate, exchanging the basic information about themselves: where they were from, what they thought of the castle, their favorite colors, their families.

"My mom was in Slytherin too," Moran said after taking a bite of some chicken. "Dad was a Gryffindor. A bit of a forbidden love story, theirs. They said it caused something of a scandal at the time."

"It did?" Harry paused in cutting up a yorkshire pudding. "Why?"

Moran looked at him as if the answer should be obvious. "Gryffindor and Slytherin," he said slowly, searching for some kind of realization in Harry as he did so. "We don't get along," he explained when he didn't find it. "Haven't for a long time."

"Huh," Harry mused, raising one of the pudding pieces to his mouth. "How come?"

Moran shook his head and shrugged, and a beat of silence passed.

"What about you? Were your parents wizards too?"

Harry heard it immediately – there was a different question being asked than the one spoken aloud. The question. First Stan Shunpike, then Malfoy, and now the person Harry thought was shaping up to be his first friend in Slytherin. He turned a sharp look on Moran and searched his eyes, then frowned. He didn't sense the subtle malice that had been there with Stan and Malfoy; a little caution maybe, but nothing like the hostility the other two had tried to keep hidden.

"They were," he answered after a bit. "They died when I was a baby, though. I was raised by muggles."

"Ah. Sorry mate. The war?"

"It's fine. And… yeah, the war."

The two ate in silence after that. Harry finished first and, feeling quite thirsty, filled a goblet with some of the orange liquid from one of the pitchers. Raising it to his lips, he was just about to take a sip when he caught a whiff of the smell it was giving off and recoiled.

Moran chuckled quietly at him. "It's pumpkin juice. Takes a bit of getting used to, but you'll grow to like it quickly."

Harry gave him a doubtful look, considered the goblet for a few seconds and then decided to take a cautious sip. It wasn't bad, but left a distinct aftertaste of pumpkin that had Harry scraping his tongue with his teeth. Moran laughed again, earning himself a rueful look as Harry took another sip.

"Why is it important to have wizarding parents?" Harry asked when he had finished the drink. The tension had abated to the point where he felt comfortable asking outright. "Other people asked me too, and they weren't exactly nice about it."

The easy smile on Moran's face lessened a bit, but didn't disappear. "Most wizards don't really like muggles," he said after a bit, casually glancing at the people around them. "Some outright hate them; think they're beneath us. 'Course, it doesn't really affect the muggles because they don't know we exist." He shrugged. "That leaves the muggleborns with the short end of the stick. The people that care about that sort of thing don't treat them right."

Harry stared at him. "Aren't there laws against that?"

"There are," Morran muttered. "A lot, actually. I think people in the Ministry are fighting about it, from what I've heard my parents saying." He then shrugged. "Laws or not, it happens."

Harry looked to where Malfoy sat further up the table. The blond boy had moved from his original seat and was now speaking to a group of upper years. He noted with some amusement that many of them had been among those scowling at Moran earlier. All of them looked quite interested in what Malfoy had to say. A hand came up to wave in Harry's direction.

Moran followed his gaze and hummed deep in his throat. "Some big names, those. Nobles, all of them. Well, not all, but most."

Harry blinked. "Nobles?"

"Yeah. What, muggles don't have them? I thought they had a queen?"

"We… they do, but she doesn't do much. The prime minister runs the country." Harry looked up to the starry ceiling. "As for nobles…" He shrugged. "Can't think of any. I'm not even sure whether we have them or not."

This was clearly a strange thing for Moran to hear, given his expression. "Well," he started, clearing his throat, "almost every wizard and witch in Britain knows who the nobles are. Or have at least heard of them." He flicked a wrist at the group. "There's a lot of old money and history there. Between you and me, it all goes straight to their heads. Most of them are right tossers."

Harry hummed in distracted acknowledgement. "So it's probably a bad thing that they're glaring at me then."

Moran's face went slack and his head jerked around to follow Harry's gaze. The group Malfoy sat with were indeed sending rather intense looks down the table at the bespectacled boy. A few turned away when they realized they had been spotted, but two held steady. One was a tall, skinny teenager with dark hair that seemed to be trying to curl into the nape of his neck. His nose was too big for his face, and the fact could be seen from a distance. The other was a year or two younger, with far fairer features that were twisted into a sour expression.

"No," Moran muttered. "I can't imagine that is a good thing."

"They were staring at you too, earlier."

"What?" he asked sharply. "Why on earth would they be looking at me? When was this?"

Harry shrugged. "I saw them when I sat down." He donned a mischievous grin. "I think their girlfriends were making googly-eyes at you and they didn't like it."

He thought Moran would smile, or look proud at least, but instead the boy frowned and slowly shook his head in disagreement. "Trust me mate, that isn't it." His head swiveled a few times between Harry and the two older boys that had yet to turn their eyes away from him.

"Are you sure it was me they were looking at?" he muttered under his breath. "If they are staring at you now, they could have been staring at youthen."

"Uh…." Harry drummed his fingers on the table top. He was sitting close enough to Moran that he could have been mistaken, but didn't think they had been staring at him; what reason would they have had? Their staring now could be explained by Malfoy having told them about the incident on the train, however thin that string of logic may be, but he had only sidled up to those older years after and it didn't explain why they had been staring at him before.

If they had been staring at him. He still thought Moran's smooth features had just pissed them off. Eventually he just shrugged, unsure. Moran grimaced.

"Do you really need to be so worried?" Harry asked. He gestured lazily in the direction of Malfoy and the upper years. "So they're glaring a bit. Not even that anymore – look, they've stopped." They had indeed gone back to their meals and private conversations. "We haven't done anything to them; honestly, I think they're just trying to intimidate us. Make sure the new bloods know our place in the pecking order and all that." It was an attitude that was rife in any school, including Harry's old secondary school. He was guilty of it himself. They wouldn't take things beyond posturing; some minor hazing at the absolute worst, and he could handle himself if it came to that.

Moran seemed to be considering his words, and slowly nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think you're right." His shoulders relaxed some, and he chuckled. "I think it's just my imagination running wild. Growing up a wizard, you hear some horror stories about messing with nobles, you know? Not sure how many are true, mind you. Blimey, they probably started half of those themselves to spook us common folk!" He laughed again, more genuinely.

Harry grinned as the dirty plates and leftover food disappeared in favor of dishes filled with dessert. He eagerly reached for the treacle tart as his new friend did the same for the apple crumble.

His first night at Hogwarts was off to a great start.

"Are you sure that's the Potter your father mentioned?"

The question would have been lost amongst the din of the passageway, had you not stood with your ear a hand's length from the mouth that was speaking it.

Adrian shrugged. "Only Potter I've ever heard of," he grunted. "And the timing is a bit too much of a coincidence, don't you think?"

Cassius Warrington hummed in the affirmative, lips twisted in consternation. Potter. Before a month ago it was a name he hadn't even known existed among Wizarding Britain's population, much less its nobility. Noble Houses tended to be well-known names, and yet the Potters had somehow managed to fade into near-obscurity, with the only proof of their heritage surviving in history books and genealogies. That in itself was odd, and in the context of why he had gone searching for information on them, it was even stranger.

"Why would your dad be so…"

Adrian shot him a frown that told him to choose his words carefully.

"…worried?"

He received a longer frown that said he had not chosen very well. Cassius threw up his hands.

"Hysterical then," he said dryly. "What about that little kid had your father so hysterical?"

A staring match followed in which Adrian glared at his younger friend and Cassius stared back placidly, a raised eyebrow daring him to disagree.

"I don't know," Adrian eventually relented. Cassius' eyes narrowed; there was a hesitation there. "Like I said, he was really drunk and wasn't making much sense. He just kept muttering those things over and over again."

"'Mind the Shadows'," Cassius half-mocked, hands waving and voice wavering in an imitation of a ghoul's echo he had once heard. It was one of the phrases his friend had told him Lyle Pucey had been muttering in a drunken stupor one night about a month ago. "'Death's fingers'." That had been another one.

Adrian nodded, ignoring the disrespect towards his father this time. "Give or take a bit of cussing. He said 'monsters' a lot too. 'Must be the Potters. Must be.'"

A direct quote of a phrase Adrian said his father had repeated more than any other, and the reason they'd been so interested to find a Harry Potter amongst the first years being sorted.

"'Envy.'"

Cassius blinked. That wasn't one Adrian had mentioned before. "Envy?"

"Yes." They had fallen to the back of the group of Slytherins that were making their way toward the spiral staircase leading to the dungeons, but Adrian still kept his voice low. "I actually asked him about that one. He grinned like it was the funniest thing in the world and said, 'What else do you call a green-eyed monster?' Mother just about bit his head off."

Cassius shook his head. "So Envy is a name? The name of what? Who?"

Adrian was silent.

"Adrian?" There was that same hesitation as before, as well as a nervous tic Cassius didn't see often. His eyes narrowed as he watched Adrian play with the curl his hair made at the nape of his neck. "Oi, what is it?"

Stiff-faced, the taller boy glanced around, then pulled out his wand and waved it in a circle above their heads, muttering the incantation for a privacy ward as he did so. Cassius's eyebrows shot up. Adrian often treated himself and the things he said with more seriousness than they were due; it was an annoying trend he had noticed among the Nobleborn. Cassius took great delight in bringing him back down to earth whenever he could.

But he hadn't ever before deployed a ward; maybe this time the seriousness was warranted.

"There is one other thing father said," Adrian admitted. "I heard him mutter it as I helped mother take him to their room."

Cassius frowned. They made a point to keep as few secrets as possible between them. "What was it? And why didn't you tell me?"

Adrian gave him a long look. "I was unsure if it connected to everything else he said. I'm still not. But if it does… I knew what your reaction would be – is going to be – so I held off."

The fairer boy's mind raced. "What do you mean 'my reaction'? What did he say?"

Adrian Pucey grimaced.

"Adrian. Tell me what he said. It can't be that bad."

"... Shadeface. That's the last thing I heard him say. Shadeface."

Cassius went cold. An icy-hot feeling – rage – clawed its way up from his belly and gripped his throat tightly. All that managed to escape was a single, strangled word:

"Oh."

AN: For those who have been anxiously (or with nothing more than a vague interest) waiting for my return: I have come!

Sorry for my long absence. COVID and other factors lead to complications arising in my studies, which has resulted in me having to spend this past year working as an unpaid engineering intern to build up credit. While it's been an invaluable experience and helped build my character, it's left me with costs and no income. So I have had to work part time and keep up with responsibilities to my friends and families. It has left me with little time to write, but I have managed to write a chapter for Dark Visage, a chapter for Wraith and the first chapter for a brand new PJO story: A Thread Uncolored.

I want to become more consistent and dedicated to my writing. I plan to release one chapter a month, rotating between these three stories. I may increase the frequency to every three weeks if I find it sustainable, but for now, it will be once per month.

Also, I now have a page for Patrons! Don't forget the "e"!. (Patron-dot-com[forwardslash]Outliner_Archive)! It's in its infancy at the moment, but I am posting there all chapters I write at least one week before I post them anywhere else. If early access, shoutouts, and the benefits to come appeal to you at all, please consider donating a small amount per month. As little as 1$ helps, especially when converted into the currency used in my little slice of the third world. I am a young adult trying to find independence and build a life for himself. If I can start building capital through this passion of mine, it would really help.

Thank you for your support and patience everyone.