CAPUT II: DE AEDES FUTURUMQUE CECINIT
"Line up! Single file—smartly now," came the curt order from the dour-faced woman. Harry side-stepped to the left, elbowing his way between a tiny, mousy-haired boy and a rather large girl whose face was rather unpleasant.
As soon as the woman—witch—turned away, the line erupted in hushed whispers and hisses, equal parts excited and anxious.
"What do you think we're going to have to do?"
"My dad told me we have to pass some sort of test. I read the entire transfiguration text before I came—"
"Don't be ridiculous; they're going to make us cast a spell to prove we're magic."
"Hear that, Longbottom?" came the familiar droll of Harry's favorite person. "Doesn't look like you'll be sorted at all—"
"Stuff it, Malfoy," said Harry. "The only way you'd get in would be if it was a spell to do your hair."
"I heard we have to fight a troll," said Ron Weasley. Harry winced at the comment. First Malfoy, and then Ron... This was a school, after all, not a Colosseum.
A black-haired girl behind them was less diplomatic, and she snickered loudly at the comment. "Honestly, Weasley, even though your family can't be bothered to give you prior warning, there's no need to spout drivel."
Harry thought she had the right of it, mostly; he could believe that they might ask a question to see how they reasoned it out, but even then that didn't seem right to him. He had first-hand exposure to Hufflepuffs, and the way that Malfoy had made them out, he would have predicted they were as dumb as Dudley. It seemed unlikely, then—and ultimately unfair, he admitted—that they would be sorted according to intelligence or skill. That left character, which he could believe, but he didn't understand how they would find out about that in such little time. He was rather averse to being sorted on a moment's judgment—he could recall many moments in his life where he would not have been judged fairly or accurately.
He was forced to smirk, though: Weasley blushed a bright pink at the girl's taunt. Hopefully the boy would take the chastisement to heart and actually think before he opened his mouth. He could think of somebody else who dearly needed the same lesson: Malfoy looked like he was ready to start spewing forth again, but he was silenced by the arrival of Professor McGonagall, who had returned to shoo them forward into the castle proper.
They entered the Great Hall, and all the universe unfolded above them. The ceiling... Harry could hardly say enough about it. It was fantastic; there was no ambient light, so he could see a million stars, more than he'd ever seen in his whole life, along with whole swatches of color in the sky—blues, greens, pinks!—that he'd never imagined possible. It made him feel very small just for a second. Still, he could not help but be enthralled and bedazzled. It was one hell of a way to come into Hogwarts.
The room itself was massive; it was easily large enough to fit three of Number Four inside of it and still have room to spare. The rest of the students sat along long tables. Most were looking at the line of first years in anticipation; Harry was sure to keep his head up and make eye contact with those staring at him. They were older, but he was not about to let himself be bossed around by any second year with delusions of grandeur. For that matter, he was not about to let himself be bossed around by any seventh year, delusions or not.
Once the stares stopped, he looked around the hall. Above each table hung banners in four colors—crests of the Hogwarts houses, he supposed. He spotted Cedric at the table flying the yellow-black badger banner; that was Hufflepuff, obviously. The rest were easy—Slytherin was the green-and-silver snake; Gryffindor, the burgandy-and-gold gryffin; Ravenclaw, the blue-bronze Raven. A fifth table ran perpendicular to the others, and was obviously reserved for the professors, many of whom were sitting there.
"It's enchanted to look like the outside sky. It was the last major addition to the Hogwarts castle itself—not including the grounds—added in 1873..." came a breathless female voice. Granger again, by the sound of it, mistaking his wandering gaze for fascination with the ceiling. Despite this, Harry nodded approvingly—she, if nobody else, had done their research properly. This time, no student snarked back.
Speaking of which... "So, how do we get sorted?" Harry asked the girl that had been mocking Weasley earlier. "I assume you know," he added.
The girl gave a gasp of incredulity. She fixed him with a baleful look. "Of course I know!"
This statement drew the ears and eyes of quite a few students. They all seemed curious to know. "Of course," said Harry, who had a good sense of what was coming. "What is it, then?"
The girl suddenly looked anxious, aware of the sudden thrust of the spotlight. Her fists clenched. "It's a secret," she ground out.
"Right," said Harry. "Bullshit aside, somebody actually know?" Most of the students responded with shrugs or blank looks. "Right then," he muttered under his breath. "Let's get this over with, thanks..."
As if summoned, Professor McGonagall appeared before them on the dais at the front of the hall, just to the side of the professors' table. Beside her sat a wooden stool, upon which a patched, fraying hat sat.
And then the hat sang.
"Bloody hell," Harry whispered. Nobody seemed inclined to disagree.
He didn't pay much attention to the words. It mostly described the houses and the history of the school, and Harry was too busy absorbing and trying to understand that magic was suddenly a reality in his life. Despite his limited focus, he still understood by the time the hat sang its last note: put the hat on; listen to it; go to your new house. Simple enough, though he was still displeased about being randomly tossed into some house based on what a singing hat thought.
"A bloody hat! I'm going to kill Fred and George," Weasley said,, earning him a nervious 'Hush!' from the nervous-looking girl next to him. Ron ignored her. "Oi! Bulstrode!" The girl behind Harry turned around. She looked like she wanted to pummel Ron. "That's your secret?" he asked. "A singing hat?"
Harry looked back over his shoulder. "Quiet!" he snapped. "Professor McGonagall's talking—"
"When I call your name," interrupted Professor McGonagall, as she shot Ron and Harry a warning look, "please walk to the front and place the hat on your head. Abbot, Hannah!"
The entire line fell deathly silent. The sorting had begun.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Harry watched the sorting proceed, and he began to feel a little heavy in the stomach. He didn't know why he was growing nervous, but he was beginning to dread his turn, and they were only on the 'B's...
"SLYTHERIN!" yelled the hat to general applause, and Millicent "Bullshit" Bulstrode waddled off to join the rightmost table.
And so it went. The first real interesting moment came when Granger was called up. Based on the song, Harry figured she was a lock for Ravenclaw—
"GRYFFINDOR!"
—which was exactly the reason why he thought being sorted by a magical hat was inappropriate and perhaps a bit disrespectful of the gravity of the situation.
He lost a bit of time thinking about that, too, until Neville Longbottom became a Gryffindor—he looked like he was going to walk off with the hat, but paused and placed it back on the stool at the last second. A few nervous titters came from the remaining first years.
Malfoy—whose first name was Draco, apparently—was sent packing straight away into Slytherin. He seemed pleased to be there.
After him, the names ran quickly and with a minimum of spectacle. Twin girls were split up—Patil, Padma became a Gryffindor, while Patil, Parvati became a Slytherin.
Weasley gave a little chortle. "No rivalry in that house, I'd bet..."
"Be quiet for once, Weasley," mumbled Harry. "I'm up next—"
"Potter, Harry!"
"Did she say Potter—?"
"The Harry Potter?"
"Strange; you'd think someone would have told me his hair was that long..."
He took a deep breath and started forward. "Please, please," he prayed under his breath, "don't let my hair turn pink right about now." Hands trembling ever so slightly, and legs feeling wobbly like jelly, Harry fell gratefull onto the seat and let out a pent-up breath.
The hat covered his entire head. He could neither see nor hear nothing, until—
*Ah, Harry Potter. I was wondering when I would see you—"
"Well, they've been going alphabetically, so it shouldn't really have come as a surprise."
"Wit!" said the hat. "There's a Ravenclaw in you, boy. It's a pity you'd do terrible there—terrible, terrible. No, no, no, no. Ravenclaw won't do. Well, this is a pleasant occasion, at any rate. I don't often have this much difficulty, you see. You'd fit fairly well anywhere—except Ravenclaw, of course; you'd be bored in a minute—so what to do with you? What to do...? So many ways for you to go...
"I'm not much like the rest of the students," said Harry. "I've noticed this, so far."
"Ah," said the hat, "yes, I can believe that. Curious how our experiences—good and bad—can make us into the people we are. Why, if you'd entered the hall on a different foot, perhaps I'd have put you into Hufflepuff—"
"You can put me there," said Harry, quite happily. "Nice chaps in that house."
"You—wait, you want to go into Hufflepuff?" asked the Hat. "Why, that's preposterious! That just goes to show that it's entirely the wrong house for you! Wrong, wrong, wrong! No, no Hufflepuff for you."
"Don't I get a say in the matter?"
"Don't you get a say in—oh hoh! You are a priceless one. No, you don't get to choose. I might listen to your suggestion, but when it comes down to it, I choose."
"Well, then, I suggest Hufflepuff."
"That's a terrible suggestion. Suggest something different."
"Ravenclaw."
"Are you trying to be obtuse?" asked the hat. "I told you to suggest something, not spew drivel from your mouth. Now, what'll it be?"
"I don't much care," said Harry. "If you're not going to listen to me, anyway—"
"Oh, I listen," said the hat. "I just—"
"Yes, thanks; we've been through this already. Just make your choice."
"Don't hurry me."
"Don't take so long, then. I bet people are staring."
"They can stare more, if you'd like. I can yell out some nasty swear words, too—"
"Fine. Take your time. I'll just sit here quietly."
"You don't care what I think of you?"
Harry shrugged. "You're a hat," he said. "Think what you want to think; put me where you want to put me; I'm not bothered."
"You're not worried about the people in Slytherin? Deep hatred for you seems to fester there..."
"As far as I'm concerned, they can—"
"You're not appropriate for them, anyway," said the hat. "You'd fit there, I suppose, and you'd probably do well—in fact, you might do better there than in Gryffindor. Still, I can't help but think it's for the best of all if you're left unimpeded and unopposed. Your morals seem to be a bit... wishy-washy, if you'll excuse the expression. Not very solid, at any rate."
"I think I'm offended," said Harry. "I do too have morals—"
"I didn't say you didn't," said the hat. "Just that you're quite willing to see 'right' and 'wrong' as whatever's convenient. My mind's made up, though; good luck, Mr. Potter. Try not to kill anyone. GRYFFINDOR!"
Pandemonium reigned supreme. Harry staggered up, and walked toward the gold and burgandy banner that marked his new house. His eyes darted around, taking in the reactions, though he could barely think, the noise was so deafening. Professor McGonagall was restraining a smile, and doing a bad job of it. The two Weasley twins—Fred and... Joe, had Ron said?—were standing on the benches, loudly yelling "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Others along the Gryffindor bench were cheering loudly.
The rest of the school even seemed to be fairly happy at the outcome, bar the Slytherins. They all looked uniformly sour, except for Malfoy, who was smirking at Harry. Harry returned it; he was equally glad not to have to live next to the Poncy Prince. As he approached the leftmost table, he caught the eye of the headmaster (for he recognized Dumbledore from the Chocolate Frog card in his pocket), and he was positive that the man with the massive silver beard approved. The rest of the staff were applauding politely, too; in fact, they all seemed pleased, with the notable exception of a hook-nosed man at the far end of the table.
He sat down at the table after two girls moved to make room for him. Immediately, a voice spoke out from behind him. "Congratulations, Harry!" Cedric had jumped across the aisle to the Ravenclaw table, and was flashing him a thumbs-up. Bashfully, Harry looked back down—it was confusing, even disconcerting, how much positive attention he was getting.
"Welcome Mr. Potter. It's a pleasure to have you with us."
Harry smiled uneasily, looking up at the prefect that he had met on the train. "Thanks, Percy."
"Ahem!" called Professor McGonagall from the dais. "As excited as we may be, there are still students left to sort..."
The hall quieted again. "Very well, then," she said. "Turpin, Lisa!"
A short, freckled girl ambled up to the hat, and then ambled away to the Ravenclaw table. Next, Professor McGonagall called out Weasley's name. The boy looked like he was about to puke. Still, he made his way up to the hat, and sat under the brim.
There was some mumbling after the hat hadn't made its decision in half a minute. There was quite a bit of mumbling after two. Finally, though, the hat opened its mouth and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" and there was a great deal of stamping and whistling from Harry's table. Harry, for his part, clapped politely.
Weasley plunked himself down across from table, right beside Percy. "Welcome, Ron," said Percy. "It's a pleasure to have you with us."
"The hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw," said Ron, whose face was still quite pale. "That was too close."
"Yes, well," said Percy, who seemed slightly taken aback, "Ravenclaw's an excellent house, but I'm sure Mother and Father will be pleased that you've fallen under my watchful eye."
"Yeah," said Ron, who was ignoring Percy to watch the last sortee. A white-haired girl—Blaise Zabini, apparently—sat underneath the hat.
"RAVENCLAW!"
The girl smiled faintly and wandered over to the table next to the Gryffindor table, and sat down behind Harry.
"Not a bad showing this year," said the dark-skinned girl with tightly braided hair sitting beside him. She offered him a hand. "Angelina Johnson. I'm a third year."
"Harry—"
"Yeah, I know," she said, with a laugh. "I don't think there's anybody who doesn't know. Hold on a sec," she said. "Looks like Dumbledore's going to say something."
And indeed, the venerable headmaster had risen. "My dear students and colleagues," he said, spreading his hands wide, "welcome back to Hogwarts for another year of education, mischief, and excellent company. I had planned to say a few short words and let you get on with the feast—" A groan arose from the students. Harry himself felt his stomach aching for food—he'd only had three Chocolate Frogs since six that morning. "—but I shall have to depart this hall a few minutes early, and so we shall begin with some housekeeping."
"First," he said, "a most fond welcome to our new students. I hope you enjoy your time here and find your classes very well. Second, there have been a few rule changes since last year. As a reminder, no magic is allowed in the hallways between classes, and Mr. Filch has asked me to inform you that he will be very strict in enforcing this.
"I might remind you all that there are to be no trips into the Forbidden Forest without a Professor's accompaniment. That goes for you and your twin, as well, Mr. Weasley.
"Instead of hosting Quidditch try-outs on the second week, this year, I have left it at the discretion of the Quidditch captains as to when they will run their try-outs. Please check in with them if you would like to try out.
"Since Professor Caldwell was burning so badly to leave the school, we once again have a new professor for Defence against the Dark Arts. Many of you have met him before, but please give a warm hand to Professor Quirinius Quirrell."
There was a smattering of applause, and a man with a royal purple turban waved from the staff table.
"One final warning: do not attempt to enter the third floor corridor. I highly doubt any of you will be able to enter in the first place, but do not take this as a challenge. A certain and most painful death awaits any foolhardy enough to take it upon his- or herself.
"That said, dig in!"
He clapped his hands, then, quite literally, piles and piles upon piles of food appeared.
"Amazing! I read about it, but it's one of those things you have to see to believe, wouldn't you say?" Hermione said from across the table.
He barely heard her. Awestruck, he stared greedily at the feast that had suddenly appeared in front of him. It was more than he had ever seen in his life, and every single bite looked delicious. Moving quickly, he speared a piece of beef, hardly resting it on his plate before he bit a chunk out of the meat. He stopped abruptly, though. He knew better manners than to take a bite out of uncut meat, and to stuff food in his face... He took the meat down and cut it up. It was just as good, and he set in ravenously, but he was careful to eat carefully. He had a first impression to make.
That said, there was nothing wrong with eating a lot. He scooped a small mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate, speared some more of the absolutely succulent roast, and took a small bowl's worth of salad. It was all so delicious; he was sure he would put on a hundred pounds eating at Hogwarts. He'd never starved at the Dursleys', but he'd hardly been allowed to eat what he liked and how much he wanted. Yet another reason that the castle was home...
It was a good thing that he'd slowed down. Percy put his fork with a look of disgust plastered on his face. "Ronald, it's a dinner table, not a feeding trough. You too, Finnegan."
Seamus Finnegan, a sandy-haired boy, at least had the sense to look ashamed. Ron just lifted his head from the black pudding he was eating and looked around confusedly. "Honestly," said Percy, "I know you're both firsties, but do the rest of us a favor and at least act like you weren't spawned the day before yesterday. Ronald, I expected better of you."
The rest of the dinner was fairly quiet, beyond some story-telling by the Finnegan boy and by a darker-skinned boy named Dean Thomas. For his part, Harry kept quite silent, though he was engaged in conversation several times by Angelina, who seemed to enjoy talking to him. He didn't dislike her, but he didn't feel any particular bond of friendship between them. She was smart, but she talked irrepressibly of Quidditch, and the more Harry found himself changing the topic, the less he enjoyed talking to her.
Finally, the dinners disappeared, and the students began to leave. Harry stood and stretch his legs, but was unsure of where to go. Fortunately, Percy looked right at him and gave him a small nod, before the older boy stood, as well. "Right then, first years—here we go. Follow me!" he commanded.
They hadn't got far, though. Standing at the doors leading out of the hall was the hook-nosed man. His hair was slicked down and back, and his black eyes stared beadily out at each student as they passed, as if searching them for some hidden secret that their eyes alone would reveal. When Harry made to pass through the door behind Percy, the man grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him off to the side.
"Can I help you, Professor Snape?" asked Percy.
"This miscreant is to be taken to the headmaster's office," said Snape, in a slow, crisp voice. "You may proceed with your charges, Weasley. I will ensure that he will find his way back to Gryffindor tower—if, that is, he is to return at all."
"Very well," said Percy, who raised an eyebrow at the Professor. "Onward, then."
The train of first years walked off with Percy. Neville and Hermione each gave him a questioning glance as they walked by, but all Harry could do was shrug. He had no idea what he had done, either.
When everyone had left, the professor turned and marched off toward a huge room that had staircases climbing to an incredible height. Not only that, but the stairs were moving—in fact, some weren't even anchored to the floors. He could see a set that was floating between the third and fifth every half-minute or so; another set reversed itself, going from upward to downward.
That was not the most fascinating thing, though. The portraits hanging on the walls moved, like the cards, but the cards had not talked. The first portrait that he saw merely smiled at him, but the second—a picture of an Irish man smoking a pipe—merely took his pipe out of his mouth and told Harry to mind his own business.
So Harry did, despite his temptation to breathe in the magic around him. "Sir," he said to Professor Snape, who hadn't looked back at him at all, "Can you tell me why the headmaster needs to see me?"
Professor Snape did not make any indication that he'd heard the boy at all.
"Sir?" he asked, just to make sure the man had heard him.
"Undoubtedly, Potter, because you have already embarked upon a campaign of mischief and rudeness," snapped the man, as he kept climbing the stairs. Up and up they went—it looked like they were headed for the top.
Harry was no slouch fit-wise, after years of consistently outrunning his cousin before, during, and after school (which, admittedly, had gotten easier as Dudley got fatter), but the endless stairs seemed to be getting the better of him. He was having a hard time catching his breath in the slight pause as they transversed the landings between the staircases. Professor Snape, for his part, seemed to be having no trouble, despite his general appearance of ill-health, and had silenced any objections Harry may have had at the grueling pace he set with a well-crafted sneer.
"Don't be expecting to get any special treatment from me, Mr. Potter," he snapped from the top of the last staircase, as he tapped his foot impatiently. "Everybody else may be impressed with you before you've even learned to hold your wand correctly, but I see through the veneer."
Harry's eyes narrowed but he held his tongue. Professor Snape turned his back, clearly expecting Harry to follow. He fell into step, still panting slightly, as they turned a corner and stopped before a statue—no, a rather ugly, grotesque gargoyle, Harry corrected himself.
"Fizzing Whizbees," whispered Snape with utmost vehemence; he had a look plastered on his face that could curdle milk. The gargoyle lept aside. Harry couldn't help but stumble back a half-step, which Snape, to his chagrin, didn't fail to notice.
They entered the small chamber and found a spiral staircase. Harry held back a groan and bemoaned his fate to nobody in particular, until he saw Professor Snape take a step and the stairs promptly took him up like an escalator. "I really should stop being so surprised, I suppose," he said to himself, and joined the Professor on the staircase.
He found himself in a small anteroom with a few wooden chairs and a bowl of candy. Professor Snape had approached the tall oak door with the lion's-head knocker on it and gave three sharp knocks.
"Yes, Professor Snape, do come in!" came a voice from the other side of the door. Professor Dumbledore's voice.
Snape opened the door and stalked through, and Harry followed into what had to be the most magical room he had seen yet. The walls were covered from the floor up with bookshelves, leaving just enough room for portraits to be placed between the topmost shelves and the ceiling. They were all alive, and all peering down intently at Harry. He felt an itch between his shoulder blades and knew that the portraits surrounded the office. How could someone work here with so many people staring at him?
In the center was a desk, upon which were placed a number of devices whose purpose Harry couldn't even guess at. The were made of silver and gold, platinum, copper, and stone. Some twirled and pinged, some glittered, and one obnoxious one even belched smoke that turned into various shapes in a pattern Harry couldn't discern. One seemed to cast a silver sheen over its close neighbors, but Harry had barely glanced at it before his attention was drawn away to the man sitting behind the desk.
Even sitting as he was, his eyes radiated a sort of benevolent charm, yet there was an unspoken, unseen thread of power coursing through the room. If Harry hadn't known the man was Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in Britain, he would have been scared out of his wits. Professor Dumbledore didn't scare him, or, even for that matter, intimidate him (which, truth be told, surprised Harry); instead, the unmistakable presence of the man's magic was nothing short of humbling.
Professor Snape—whom Harry had forgotten all about—cleared his throat, and Professor Dumbledore's eyes turned upward from Harry to the cheerless man. Snape who rolled his eyes at the friendly look upon the Headmaster's face.
"Ah, Severus. Here early, are we? And I see you've brought young Harry Potter with you—how marvelous." He shot an kindly-yet-amused look at Harry before returning his gaze to Professor Snape, who was openly scowling. "What can I do for you? Would either of you care for a Lemon Drop?" A wrinkled yet strong hand grasped a box at his side and opened it, displaying small yellow candies. Harry took one appreciatively and thanked the headmaster, though his attention was focused on the headmaster's hand, which shook slightly while he held the box out to Professor Snape.
Professor Snape ignored the offered candy and cut right to the point. "Headmaster, I regret to inform you that young Mr. Potter—" Harry scowled at the way the man spat his name with thinly-disguised contempt, "—was seen bullying other students on the train. I have heard accounts from no fewer than three students, who claimed to be victims of Mr. Potter's ill-manner." He matched glares with Harry, who suddenly wanted something very bad to happen to the pale, greasy-haired man.
Professor Dumbledore didn't bat an eye, but very solemnly nodded. "That sounds serious, Severus. We can't have bullies in Hogwarts."
Professor Snape nodded. "If it were up to me, Headmaster, I'd just have him expelled now, to save us the trouble of inevitably having to do it later."
Harry's face was burning in rage and embarrassment. Surely they wouldn't expel him over Malfoy? He was about to open his mouth in his defense when the Headmaster beat him to it.
"Now, Severus, my dear friend... I hardly think it would be appropriate to simply give up on such a promising student. You know how I feel about that, don't you?" Harry wasn't sure, but there seemed to be an undertone to his voice, and Professor Snape seemed to grow slightly paler, if that was possible. His lips were thin as he gave a sharp nod. "Good. I will, of course, have a few words with Harry. I doubt he meant any harm, Severus, but thank you for bringing this promptly to my attention."
It was clearly a dismissal, and Snape's eyes smoldered as he turned to leave. The door shut behind the dour man, and it was clearly only the mark of respect that prevented the departing Professor from loudly closing it.
Harry was left standing before the Headmaster's desk. "Now, Mr. Potter, whatever shall we do with you?"
"Only that which befits my actions, sir."
"Ah," said Professor Dumbledore, who shook with repressed mirth. "I think it is a wonder, Mr. Potter—Harry, if I might—that the Sorting Hat did not place you in Ravenclaw. I am to assume, then, that you believe Professor Snape's accusations are baseless?"
"Yes, sir." The Headmaster's eyes were staring into his own, and he suddenly felt quite compelled to clarify. "Well, that is to say, Draco Malfoy bowled me over and I might have responded a bit rudely. But he was the one who tried to beat me up—"
"And this is how you became friends with Mister Diggory, I assume?"
Harry goggled at the Headmaster. "How did you know—sir?"
Professor Dumbledore chuckled again. "These old eyes don't miss a trick, Harry. Please, go on."
"Yeah, well, as you said, Cedric and his friends took me in and told Malfoy to leave. He tried to threaten them, but they didn't respond."
Dumbledore sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "It pleases me to be reminded that people in this school will extend hands to those who need it." He gave another one of those benevolent smiles, but his eyes were far away. "Perhaps Mister Diggory would be a close one to watch," he said, mostly to himself, but turned down to look at Harry. "Would you say he was friendly and a good leader?" he asked Harry, who was taken aback by the sudden question.
"Er—yeah, I guess... sir," replied Harry.
"I am pleased to hear it," said Dumbledore. "This may have solved a problem of mine. Tell me, Harry: what have you learned?"
"Not to make Professor Snape angry?"
"A wise lesson, yes, but more about getting along—"
"—With all due respect, sir, I don't think there's going to be any getting along with Malfoy. He was downright disrespectful to Muggle-borns when I first met him, and I don't much like him."
"I can believe that, Harry. However, what do you know of Mr. Malfoy's upbringing?"
"Er... nothing, sir? Just that his father is close to some Minister."
"The Minister for Magic, Harry, and yes—you are correct. However, I think you can discern more than that."
"He's well-off," said Harry, who wasn't sure what Dumbledore was looking for. "Used to getting his way."
"Right," said Dumbledore. "Do you think it would be wise to get in conflict with him again, Harry?"
"Well, no," said Harry. "I mean, I don't ever try to get in fights, sir, it's just that he was so rude—"
"Well, we must make some allowances for how Mr. Malfoy was brought up," said Professor Dumbledore. "Perhaps being around his peers more will shape him into someone slightly more agreeable."
"Pardon me, sir," said Harry, "but are you suggesting that Malfoy can get away with being a jerk because he was brought up poorly? Because—"
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"—because that's preposterous, sir. I was brought up by some of the worst people on the planet, and even I know that you don't just ignore a kid who's doing bad things—you have to tell him to stop, and punish him if he doesn't!"
"Ah," said Dumbledore. "I see what argument you are making, Harry. However, it is not my role to interfere in the development of such children. They must make their own choices, Harry, not have me make the choices for them."
Harry was not rude enough to retort, though he had to bite his tongue to stop himself. He attempted to cover it up by asking, "Sir, do you mind if I ask a question?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled madly as he answered, "You already have, Harry. However, far be it from me to attempt to limit your inquisitiveness! What sort of place of learning would I be running here if I didn't allow you to ask questions?"
Harry scowled at the memory of what had happened on the train, and how Professor Snape had tried to pin it on him. "Professor Snape, sir, he seems to..." Harry searched for a way to say it. "—dislike me, sir."
The Headmaster's gaze never wavered from Harry's eyes, even as his eyes seemed to dull ever so slightly. "Professor Snape's life has not been easy, Harry. I've tried time and again to improve his outlook on life, but he has yet to ever accept a lemon drop! Quite sad, indeed, I find them to be just the most delicious candy. Would you care for one?"
"You already offered me one, sir."
"Ah. Sometimes I forget things—that happens, you know, when you get to be my age. Still, have another one."
Harry took another one.
The wizened old man continued. "Despite his somewhat sour attitude—" He winked at Harry. "—Professor Snape is one of the best potions masters in Great Britain. I tell you, the man is a living repository of all sorts of knowledge pertaining to the delicate art of potions brewing—and I should know! I'm no slouch myself, but Professor Snape has me beat by far!"
"That doesn't really answer my question, sir—"
"There's no getting anything past you, Harry, I see. Professor Snape, I think, sometimes resents the role which he has been forced into. It causes him, I believe, to take a more bitter view of human nature. I'm sure it's not personal." He paused for a second, and then cocked his head. "Now, Harry—if I may ask you a question? How are you finding Hogwarts thus far?"
Harry blinked at the swift change of topic. "Er—yes, it's very nice, sir. I particularly enjoyed the sorting. It seemed odd that the Sorting Hat could tell right away with some students where they belonged, and for some others, it took ages."
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Yes, I've often wondered at its ability, even after all these years, to simply know these things. Why, I myself took not three seconds on that very stool before it decided! My brother, on the other hand, was waiting for over twenty minutes. Your friend, Ronald Weasley—"
Harry frowned at that. Ronald Weasley was not his friend. Acquaintance, maybe.
"—seemed to take far longer than any of his brothers before him. You might think that suggests that he may not strictly adhere to Godric's preferences as the rest, but I have every confidence that the Hat put him right where he belongs. I can only think of three students the hat has ever mis-sorted, but those students were extraordinary—simply extraordinary.
"Anyway, I should like to think that Ronald is precisely where he should be. Don't you agree, Harry?" His eyes twinkled—a phenomenon which Harry was mystefied to explain.
"Another question, sir," said Harry. He considered his carefully. "I really do love what I've seen of magic. I was wondering, though. Do you think there's somewhere I could stay...over the summer? I don't want to leave all this—" Harry waved at the artifacts and gadgets, one of which began whistling at a very high pitch, until Dumbledore silenced it with a wave of his wand. "—and I really don't want to have to go back to Number Four—away from all this magic, I mean," he hastily added.
"Now, Harry..." The Headmaster's gaze seemed both understanding and stern at the same time. "I know that your introduction to the magical world has been, well, rapid, but I'm certain that, come the end of the year, you'll be happily awaiting seeing your family again." He missed Harry's poorly hidden scowl. "Your family, Harry, may seem to be somewhat trying at times, but I hope that you'll never forget that they are your family. Your blood, and that of your mother's, resides within your aunt's own veins, and even though they may have had their disagreements at times, I know that your aunt regrets wholeheartedly leaving things unfinished between the two of them. For your mother's sake, Harry, please don't turn away from them."
"I don't get along with them very well," said Harry, "and moreover, they don't like me. I—" Harry struggled to actually mean the words he said. "—don't want to be a hardship on them."
"I'm sure they're more than willing to look after their kin, Harry. It's important, too—while you are there, you are protected by blood-based enchantments that I placed when you were delivered there as a young child. There you are safe from any harm brought by the man who gave you this scar, or, indeed, any of his followers."
Now that was a thread that needed to be followed up on. "Professor, why did You-Know-Who—"
"Voldemort, Harry. Call him Voldemort. I always say, fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself." His eyes were twinkling again. "As for the reason he came after you, Harry, I fear that that is a story for another day. Come now."
He stood up from his desk, and motioned for Harry to follow him to the door. "I have no doubt that you're exhausted, both from the ride, and from the delectable feast we enjoyed tonight," he said. "Classes begin early tomorrow, my dear boy, and it wouldn't do to have you oversleeping on the first day, would it?"
"No, sir. It was good to meet you, sir, and finally understand the man behind the name."
"And you, Harry, though I daresay I was surprised by how long your hair was. You would think that Hagrid would have mentioned it to me... Good evening, at any rate, and sleep well."
He allowed the man to push him gently through the ornate door to the magical escalator, and before he knew it, the gargoyle was leaping back into its place. Only once Harry had begun descending the first set of stairs did he let his scowl out. For such a long conversation, there were so few real answers. Not only that, but he had no idea where Gryffindor house was.
After the third set of staircases, Harry found himself on a landing with no stairs leading to it. "Well, obviously, it's just doing that to inconvenience me," he joked, then frowned. "Actually, that seems entirely possible. Damn ornery castle," he cursed.
After waiting a few minutes and getting nothing, Harry decided to find another way. He went through the door to the fourth floor corridor, turning left, then right, before realizing that he had no idea where he was. "Great," he groaned. He turned again, and came face to face with a pair of double doors, one of which was ajar by a few inches. He pulled on it, and the door opened with a loud creak. Harry walked through to find one of the greatest sights he had ever seen. He closed the door behind him, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Just in time apparently, for he heard a voice coming from outside the doors. "Come, Mrs. Norris! I know I heard something! I'll be damned if Peeves is going to cover a classroom in chewing gum like he did last year!"
Inside, Harry stared at aisles filled from floor to ceiling with more books than he ever knew existed. "This must be the library," he muttered reverently. So much magic! If he didn't know any better, Harry would have sworn that every spell ever cast, every brew ever made, every charm and creature ever to grace the Earth could be found within the seemingly endless stacks. He nearly drooled in anticipation—if he couldn't live with magic year-round, he'd cram in as much of it as he could while he was at Hogwarts. And maybe, just maybe, he'd figure out how to lift that damn tracer, and then his relatives had better watch out—blood or no blood, he wouldn't be putting up with their crap anymore, not if he could help it.
He grabbed two books off the shelf, checked to see that there was nobody coming, and found his way back to the staircase. Gryffindor house couldn't be that hard to find...