Harry Potter and the Lords of Magic

Book I

Chapter 5

Harry looked down at the book once more.

While little more than a clever trick, the above spell is beyond the capabilities of many wizards. It requires a certain instinctual connection to magic that many lack. The wizard must project their will without an incantation to guide them - the only vehicle of thought is that of the breath. Do not be surprised if you cannot achieve it.

Instinctual connection to magic... was that not what Harry had always felt he possessed? Why, then, did the candle refuse to light?

Harry glared at the stubborn candle wick, before angrily blowing on it as hard as he could. He didn't know why he was even trying this. He'd pulled Small Rituals from the library's highest shelf on a whim. A tome of not inconsiderable weight, it declared itself suitable only for those who were intimate with the secrets of Physicks. Harry had opened it to a random page and immediately stumbled upon this small spell: lighting a candle by blowing on it. Even though he had taught himself Bluebell flames last week, this little spell fascinated him. Concentrating, Harry slipped into the now familiar mindset which brought his awareness of magic to the fore. It wasn't quite a physical sensation. He did not feel warmer, or colder. He didn't feel energised or tired. Nor did he see new things, or smell new smells. He simply felt connected to the world, as if he could dictate its contents with a thought.

Of course, at this stage I can't even light a candle, he thought with some irritation. Trying to push that annoyance away, Harry focused on the candle. He blew gently on the wick. He struggled to suppress the idea of the candle burning, keeping it out of his conscious thoughts. Visualisation would hinder the magic - his intent was to be carried by that part of his mind beneath consciousness, capable of filling in detail his waking mind could not. Instead, he focused on his breath, keeping it even and gentle, waiting for the candle to light.

Nothing happened. Harry kept blowing, gasping briefly for more air. He would not give up.

Nothing happened.

"Damn candle!" Harry snapped at the offending object. "It's a useless spell anyway!"

Harry slammed the book shut, creating a small gust of displaced air. As it passed over the candle, the wick flickered to life. A small yet unmistakable flame was lit.

Harry stared at the candle in shock.

How odd, he thought.

Reaching out, Harry snuffed the flame by pinching it between his fingers. Casually, careful not to think too hard about anything in particular, Harry puffed but once at the candle, ignoring all the advice the book had given him. Immediately, a flame sprung up.

Harry grinned. Another spell mastered, he thought with glee. He was glad Thomas had finally given him permission to use magic.

A week after Harry had got his wand, Thomas had surprised Harry by taking him aside to his study.

"Now, Harry," he had said, "there may come a time at Hogwarts where it will be... appropriate for you to use magic to defend yourself." He held up a finger to prevent questions. "Not that Hogwarts is a dangerous place, mind you. But boys have been known to get rough with each other and the reputation of the Potters at Hogwarts rests with you. We Potters have always prided ourselves on our skills with our wands. So I'm going to teach you a spell - yes, just the one - which you can use to defend yourself."

And that was how Harry learnt his first spell: the tickling jinx. Thomas said he still needed to practice, but he could still cast it well enough to make a conjured rabbit run around in confusion. Though Thomas had only taught him that one spell, it had opened the gates to many others. With permission to try all the spells Harry had been reading about, he had spent the last month learning simple - but fun - small bits of magic. He could now make blue, heatless flames that could sit in your hand without consuming your flesh, and the week previous he had mastered a pair of spells to keep you warm in winter or cool in summer. Taking Thomas' words to heart, he had tried to learn how to block spells, but the diagrams in the book were too confusing. He supposed it was the kind of thing you had to be shown.

Of course, his spellwork did not go unnoticed. Marissa noticed him practicing in the garden and decided to teach him a number of domestic spells during their sessions on etiquette. He now made his bed, brushed his teeth and tidied his hair with spells.

Between magic and etiquette - he could now tell you about all the noble titles of Britain and their modes of address - Harry found little time for anything else. And after the incident with the werewolf (which he had kept a secret from the Potters) he had lost his passion for exploring the city. From that day on, he kept to parts of the city he knew. Harry's flight from the werewolf was burnt into his memory. Some nights he dreamt about it - only in his dreams the werewolf caught him. Every time he woke from such a dream, he wondered about the mysterious spell he cast to free himself from his attacker's grasp. He could remember the incantation vividly - "Infrege!" - but he couldn't find it in any book. Nor did his physicks textbook say anything about spontaneous spell casting. He had tried to replicate the scenario, waving his wand and making up spells on the spot, but none of them did anything.

Like blocking, it was something that would have to wait for Hogwarts. Fortunately for Harry, his wait was over. Today was the day he would leave for school, catching the Hogwarts' Express at -

"Harry!" Marissa's voice called, "It's time to go!"

- now. Leaving Small Rituals on the table - one of the servants would put it away - Harry rushed out of the library, exiting directly into the entrance hall.

"Ah, good, there you are," Marissa said. She was dressed in a travelling cloak, Harry's large trunk sitting at her feet. "Got everything?"

"Yeah," replied Harry, "how are we getting to the station?"

Marissa scowled.

"It's 'yes', not 'yeah', as I have told you many times. Say it for me."

Annoyed at his slip, Harry repeated himself for Marissa – correctly.

"Excellent. Do try to remember at Hogwarts. Now, we will be apparating. Hold my arm."

Harry did so, making sure his foot was in contact with his trunk. Marissa looked down, then turned on the spot, towards Harry. Just before she would have put her foot into the trunk, the world blurred then righted itself in a now-familiar sensation.

The sounds of a station met them on the other side, and Harry was reminded of his first day in the wizarding world. Unlike Camelot station, however, this one was in the caverns underneath Sanctum. No one had ever bothered to enchant it with daylight, so it was a gloomy place: a large cave lit by huge torches of Gubraithian fire. Shadows flickered on the large rocky pillars holding the roof up, and all around the steady drip-drop of falling water echoed - though where the water was, Harry couldn't tell. Despite the dark surroundings, the station was filled with bustling life. As the rail crossroads of Britain, it never slept.

"This way, Harry," Marissa said, pulling him off towards the wall of the cave, "the Hogwarts' Express always leaves from Platform Nine."

They passed underneath a huge archway carved into the rock and entered Platform Nine. Parents and children were milling everywhere, saying goodbyes before those headed for Hogwarts boarded the bright red steam train.

"Well, Harry, this is it," said Marissa as they approached the train. "Remember to mind your manners. And choose your friends well - you may be stuck with them for a long time."

"I will," Harry replied. Marissa smiled at him.

"And do have fun as well," she said, "Hogwarts really is amazing, and you only go there once."

And then she hugged him. Surprised, Harry returned the hug, feeling suddenly quite sad at leaving the Potters. He had got used to Thomas' formality, and Marissa's company. He even thought that, were Marissa to demand another etiquette lesson there and then, he wouldn't mind that much. A few seconds later she released him.

"Off you go then! And don't forget your trunk. I've made it featherlight so you can lift it."

"All right," Harry said, "See you at Christmas!"

Lifting his huge trunk easily, Harry stepped onto the train. A long corridor met him, with sliding doors along the side, each leading to separate compartments. Harry walked down to the very end of the corridor and picked an empty compartment. He stowed his trunk and looked out of the window. Finding Marissa, he waved to her before sitting down, taking out a small book - Quidditch Through the Ages. Before long, the train started moving. Looking out of the window once more, Harry waved to Marissa as the train crept out of the Platform.

He was on his way.

Half an hour later, Harry put his book down in frustration. Interesting as it was, he just didn't feel in the mood for reading – the point of the Hogwarts' Express was to meet your classmates. Since no one had joined him in his compartment, he would just have to go look for people himself. Exiting his compartment, he was immediately hit with the noise of hundreds of unsupervised children. Apparently, most of the students chose to keep their compartment doors open and socialise in the corridor. Having your door shut probably meant you wanted privacy – no wonder he had been left alone!

Picking a direction at random, Harry started to walk, pushing past a multitude of students much taller than he. None of them spared him a second glance as he made his way down the corridor, glancing in to the compartments, looking for students his own age. The first years were mysteriously absent, but there was plenty to see nonetheless. In one compartment a boy was showing off his pet tarantula to many shrieks of fear; in another two students had got into a fight. One of them looked to be unconscious, the other was sporting a wide selection of pus-oozing boils. It looked like Thomas had known what he was talking about when he taught Harry the tickling jinx.

There was lots to hear too: as he walked, Harry heard brief snippets of conversations. Anna Beccles, it seemed, was a fifth year universally admired by the male population of Hogwarts, and there was much talk about a boy called Cedric Diggory, who was apparently considered by many to be a developing Lord. There was one piece of gossip, however, that every student seemed interested in.

"Have you heard?" they'd say. "There's a mudblood on the train!"

This year, Hogwarts was to see its first mudblood student. Assuming the Sorting Hat would sort them, that is.

Growing bored of the older students, Harry started skipping compartments, trying to get further down the train. Before long, however, his path was blocked by a large crowd. They were gathered around a door in an oddly respectful silence - especially when compared to the rest of the train.

"Are we agreed, then?" a male voice said from inside, "Flint, you will cede the position of Quidditch Captain to Wood. Wood, as Captain of the school team you must be neutral, so you will leave the Gryffindor team."

"Agreed," chimed in two more voices. The sound of wands tapping made it through the bodies. Some of the crowd clapped politely. Others groaned.

"There's no way we're going to win the cup now!" said one girl wearing the Gryffindor crest. Harry suspected this "Wood" was going to be facing some awkward questions from his housemates that night.

"Great," said the first voice, "Perkins, who's next?"

"Let's see... Stephanie Hodges wanted to speak to you about unwelcome advances from Higgs."

"Really? Fine. Stephanie, step inside for a moment."

The crowd parted to let a tall blonde enter the compartment. As they did, Harry got his first glance inside. A sandy-haired Hufflepuff boy, a few years older than Harry, was sitting on one side of the compartment alone, his wand resting on his lap, looking at the crowd. Opposite him sat a weedy boy clutching a roll of parchment and a quill. Leaving the compartment were two burly boys who were clearly from the upper years - they would be Flint and Wood. Just before the crowd closed up again, the sandy-haired boy met Harry's eyes.

"Wait!" he called, standing up in a hurry. The crowd froze. "It can't be..." he said, studying Harry.

Harry began to feel awkward.

"It is! Come forward, Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived himself!"

The crowd burst into whispers. All heads turned to look at him speculatively. More self-conscious than he had ever been in his life, Harry walked forward, hoping that his face wasn't as red as it felt. The crowd closed up behind him, effectively shutting him in.

The Hufflepuff boy sat back down, his body relaxed but his eyes intent.

"Harry Potter himself! No one told me you were coming to Hogwarts this year! To survive the killing curse... astounding." The boy seemed to pause, thinking. "But at such a cost, of course. Two generations of Potters, gone in one night. You have my condolences."

"Er..." said Harry, entirely unsure of what to say in such a circumstance. Marissa hadn't covered anything like this. Fortunately, the boy didn't seem to mind Harry's lack of verbosity.

"But where are my manners?" He stood up once more, and held out his wand. Harry's own dropped from his sleeve and they tapped. "Well-met, Harry. I am Cedric Diggory."

Harry didn't need to listen to the whispers of the crowd to know what had just happened. By calling Harry by his first name, but supplying his own name in full, Cedric had made a subtle expression of power. Harry also knew that the Potters were far above the Diggorys in social standing. He remembered Thomas' words, all those weeks ago - "the reputation of the Potters at Hogwarts rests with you". It was down to him to play these silly games, on behalf of Thomas and Marissa - and, indeed, Alfred.

"Well-met, Cedric," he said, careful not to place too much stress on the name - he didn't want to be too blunt. Especially as Cedric seemed to occupy a position of some power within Hogwarts. He didn't want to make an enemy of him - he just needed to communicate that he knew what Cedric had done, and did not approve.

It worked. Cedric's eyes briefly narrowed before he laughed cheerfully. Harry couldn't tell if it was real or genuine.

"Come, Harry, sit next to me," he said, indicating the seat next to the window. Not seeing any harm in it, Harry sat down - spawning another burst of muttering. Apparently his seating plans had significance too. "Now, Stephanie..."

Harry tuned out the rest of the conversation - some story about inappropriate arse-grabbing by a boy called Higgs - choosing instead to look out the window. The train's altitude was dropping. Looking into the distance, Harry could see where the ethereal track hit the ground and gained substance. Harry didn't know how long he zoned out for, just watching the scenery go by. He was pulled from his reverie when, finally, it looked like something interesting was happening.

"You there!" said Cedric, "Yes, girl, you! Come through, I want to see you."

Harry turned to see a girl around his age come through the crowd. She had bushy brown hair and her robes were all wrong. She was wearing a boy's cloak (you could tell by the slits for arms to fit through) and instead of the single, light robe girls wore in summer she was wearing an inner and outer robe, like the boys. Women only wore those in the winter. They were badly matched robes, at that - the inner robe was too short; the outer robe too long. You could see her shins - fine if she was wearing a summer robe, but she was dressed for winter! The collection of mistakes could only mean one thing: this was the -

"Mudblood," said Cedric. "That is who you are, isn't it? The mudblood everyone's talking about."

The girl squeaked, apparently unable to speak.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Hermione, Hermione Granger," she said shakily, holding out her hand. Harry winced, remembering his own faux pas with Madam Malkin. To try to shake hands was horribly rude - it implied you thought the person was as good as a Muggle. "And I prefer 'First Generation Witch'."

Cedric's lip curled.

"Do you know why wizards tap wands when they meet, Mudblood Granger?"

"N-no," she replied, dropping her hand. She seemed to have realised she had made a mistake. Other than her birth, that was.

"The Warlocks of old would tap wands before an honour duel. It was a sign of trust, you see? To get that close to your enemy, so close that you could touch wands, and yet not curse the other. To tap wands was to show that you would obey the rules of combat. To go into a duel without a wand, with just your bare hands - that is the ultimate insult. You are saying that your opponent is so beneath you that you can defeat them by duelling like a Muggle. Do you understand now?"

"Yes," said Hermione, looking down. Her face was red. Cedric sighed.

"All of that you would know if you truly belonged at Hogwarts. Honestly, I don't know what Lord Dumbledore was thinking. I know he's the champion of mudbloods, but this is too far. By Jupiter, how did you get in, girl?"

"I have as much right to be here as anyone else!" she snapped, "I passed the exam - I can do loads of spells!"

An exam?

That was the first Harry had heard of any exam. It must be just for mudbloods, he thought.

"I don't doubt that you're a witch," Cedric replied, "the first mudblood to pass the entrance exam must be talented indeed. But it takes more than magic to belong at Hogwarts, girl. Every person you see around you can tell you of their line, their family's achievements, status, allies and even enemies. Every person around you has a history intertwined with Hogwarts for centuries. You, girl? You don't even know how to get dressed in the morning."

If it were at all possible, it looked like Hermione blushed even more. Cedric was completely humiliating her, in front of at least twenty students - and more were crowding in every moment. Before the day was out, Harry knew that every student would have heard of how Cedric Diggory dressed down the mudblood.

"You amuse me, mudblood. Sit on the floor. I want to see what mistake you'll make next."

"I'm not your pet!" Hermione shouted, tearful, and she made to run from the compartment. The crowd, however, wouldn't let her pass. Three times she tried to push past them; three times she was knocked back by the jeering mob. "Fine!" she said, more angry than embarrassed now. She sat down on the floor near the window, right by Harry's legs. Cedric watched her for a moment, then turned to Perkins.

"We done yet?"

"One more, Cedric," the boy with the parchment replied, "the Malfoy heir starts this year, and wants to -"

"Hold on," said Cedric, interrupting. Harry instantly saw why. Hermione had pulled a small Muggle notebook from her cloak, and a disposable ballpoint pen. "What're these?"

Hermione frowned.

"A pen and paper," she replied. "You know, the Muggle world has lots of things to show wizards. Honestly, I can't believe wizards still use quills and parchment!"

"Is that so?" said Cedric, a dangerous edge to his voice. He nodded to Perkins. The weedy boy quickly snatched the pen and paper out of Hermione's hands.

"Hey!" Hermione shouted, but no one paid her any attention. Perkins opened the window and threw the notebook out into the wind. Then he dropped the pen onto the floor and stamped on the flimsy plastic, smashing it underneath a finely crafted leather boot.

"You're a witch now," Cedric said, "act like it."

Hermione started to cry again. Feeling a pang of pity - even if she did need to be taught, it didn't have to be so harsh - Harry rummaged around in his robe, before finding what he was looking for.

"Here," he said, passing a quill down to the crying Hermione. "It's self-inking, and charmed not to blott. It checks your spelling too."

Taking the quill, Hermione looked up at him, a small smile on her face. "Thank you," she mumbled.

"What's the matter, Potter, feeling sorry for the mudblood?"

It was a new voice. A boy's, but it hadn't broken yet. It came from a boy who had shoved his way to the doorway. He had a haughty look about him, and slicked back sliver-blond hair.

"Oh, that's right, I forgot!" he continued, his tone sarcastic "Your father married a mudblood. You don't belong here either, half-blood."

A few in the crowd made "ooh" sounds, clearly anticipating a fight. Fortunately for Harry, Cedric intervened.

"That's enough. He's a Potter - he has as much right as any Malfoy. How was it that the Malfoys made their money, again? Theft and treason, wasn't it?"

The blond boy - evidently of the Malfoy family – scowled.

"When my father hears -"

"What's going on here?"

A tall boy came through the crowd, which parted for him without question. Unlike the other students, he had the look of physical perfection usually possessed only by adults. He had clear, pale skin and neat brown hair, and a badge on his robes carried the letters "HB". He was the Head Boy.

"Greengrass," said Cedric, "we were just discussing the best solution for the mudblood problem."

"They broke my pen!" exclaimed Hermione, standing up and brandishing a handful of broken plastic. "And were - well, they were very mean!"

Greengrass looked at the crushed pen, then glanced at Cedric. He raised an eyebrow. Cedric, looking slightly nervous, shrugged.

"I see no problem here," Greengrass said. The crowd laughed.

It seemed this was too much for Hermione. Tears streaming from her face, she fled the compartment, having to push her way through uncooperative students.

A brief silence reigned, before Greengrass spoke again.

"All right, today's entertainment is over. Back to your compartments - you're blocking the corridor."

Many groaned with disappointment, but all obeyed. Harry got up to leave too, wanting to leave the unpleasantness behind, but Cedric stopped him.

"Stay with us for a bit, Harry. I have to persuade you of the merits of Hufflepuff house!"

"You can try," Harry said, smiling, "but Potters are always in Gryffindor."

"True! But Potters are also known for breaking with tradition - maybe this year we'll see our first Hufflepuff Potter."

"Don't listen to a word he says, Potter," Greengrass said, "Slytherin is the place for you. Potters may have been Gryffindors for a long time, but before that they were Slytherins. It's time for the Potters to come home!"

"And live in a dungeon?" Harry replied. Thomas had told him all about Hogwarts, and the Potters' history there. "No thanks. I'd prefer a nice, tall tower."

Greengrass shook his head.

"We'll see what the hat thinks of you. In the meantime, have this."

He passed Harry a single sheet of parchment.

"It's your provisional timetable. Take a look at it sometime before we reach Hogwarts - you need to pick between French and German. Just poke the class you want with your wand."

"I already know I'll be picking French, but thanks," Harry said, folding up the parchment and placing it in his robes. "I'll look at it later."

"Very well. Now, I must leave you gentlemen - I have about fifty more of these still to deliver!"

The Head Boy departed for the now-clear corridor. Harry and Cedric sat in silence for a brief while, before Perkins started talking.

"So, Cedric, think you'll invent another spell this year?" he asked.

"Oh, sure, I have loads of ideas..."

Harry turned back to the window, half-listening to Cedric talk about spell-creation, but mostly thinking about Hermione and how mean everyone was to her. He was once again acutely aware that his own mother was a mudblood. Would she have been treated the same way? Harry was certain of it. That his father had married her seemed even more astounding. Harry was also very aware that he had been raised like a mudblood. Only his name and a month of intensive training stood between him and the kind of treatment Hermione received. Knowing that they were not so different, Harry resolved to try to be nice to Hermione.

Cedric was right - Potters did have a tendency to break with tradition.

Two long hours later, the train finally pulled in to Hogsmeade station. The sun had set, and the platform was dark, lit only by a few lanterns. Harry disembarked with Cedric, hoping to find Hermione, but Cedric was having none of it.

"Come on, Harry, you can get a carriage with us," he said.

Harry looked around the platform, trying to pick out a familiar face in the throng. No Hermione was to be found, nor could he see Titus.

"Sure," said Harry, seeing no better option. They exited the station though a narrow flight of steps, leading onto a winding cobbled road. Mismatched houses lined the streets: there were old Tudor timberframes, wonky with overhanging floors; squashed between them were tall Victorian terraces made of harsh grey stone. A multitude of horseless carriages sat along the curb, awaiting their cargo.

"This one will do," said Cedric, pulling open a door. It was bigger on the inside than outside, and the wooden benches had cushioning charms on them. As soon as they were seated, the carriage set off, trundling through the town at a lazy pace. Despite the cobbled street, the ride was smooth.

"So, Harry, looking forward to any classes in particular?" asked Cedric, finally tiring of Perkins' sycophancy.

Harry thought. He'd had a good look through his timetable, and didn't think there was a single class he didn't like the look of. Though the Muggle ones were definitely less exciting.

"I suppose geography is the most boring," he replied, thinking out loud, "I've always liked maths, but I can't wait for charms. Or anything you get to use a wand for, really. And physicks looks interesting - Ollivander talked a bit about it and I looked through the textbook and there's stuff that I'd like to ask the teacher - oh, and alchemy too, Titus says you get to do all sorts of cool experiments -"

"Hold on," said Cedric, smiling at Harry's enthusiasm, "Titus? Titus Black? You know each other?"

"Oh, yeah - uh, I mean, yes," Harry replied, glad Marissa wasn't there to catch him, "we met over the summer."

"Indeed? Surprising that the Potters chose to introduce you to a Black, of all people," Cedric drawled. Harry frowned. What was odd about that? Before he could ask, Cedric was already talking.

"And yes, physicks is good. It's my best subject, I'd say. If you ever have trouble with it, I'd be happy to help you out."

"Thanks," said Harry, "I was able to understand the stuff in the textbook pretty well, but..."

He trailed off as the carriage passed over the lip of a tall hill. Hogsmeade laid spread out before him, lit up by the moon and the twinkling of thousands of lights. A town of moderate size, it sat in the valley between two mountains. The far side of the town was squashed up against a tall, thick wall of stone.

It was what lay beyond the wall that took his breath away. The gentle slope of a grassy hill gave way to a mighty castle in pristine condition. It was not a single keep, but rather a mess of towers and walls and halls, all lit up with an unearthly glow by the moon. The castle sat on the edge of a tall cliff, at the bottom of which there sat a huge, dark, lake that stretched off into the distance.

It was an impressive sight, but it only lasted a moment. The hill was steep on the other side. With little warning, the carriage began hurtling down, the buildings around them turning into a blur. Even when they reached the bottom of the hill they did not slow. Though Harry guessed it was a couple of miles from the hill to Hogwarts' wall, the trip passed quickly. Before long they were approaching the gatehouse, a small keep in itself. The strong doors of oak were already open. As they passed through the entrance, Harry could feel a tingling feeling, like a million tiny brushes had scrubbed skin.

He must have jumped, because Cedric's gaze snapped to him, his eyes narrowing. Perkins was oblivious.

"You feel it too, do you?" Cedric muttered, "keep this to yourself, Harry. People might jump to conclusions."

"Why? What conclusions?" Harry asked as they came out the other side of the gatehouse.

"There's a book, written by Marcus D'Urban – he's a historian. It's all about the Lords and Ladies, and at the end there's a list. Supposedly, the items on the list predict a person's likelihood of becoming a Lord. Feeling Hogwarts' wards? That's number four on the list."

"So people would think I was a Lord?" Harry asked. He didn't see why that was so bad – wasn't that exactly what Cedric had?

"Between that and surviving the Killing Curse – which isn't on the list, by the way – some would begin thinking it. I mean, no one knows how you survived that curse... I don't suppose you know? How you survived?"

"No," said Harry. He had no recollection of that day. He didn't even know what the Killing Curse was. Other than that it was a curse that killed, obviously

"Hmm."

Something about Cedric's reply made Harry think that he wasn't quite believed. He didn't push the issue, however, as they had arrived at Hogwarts. They had stopped at a side entrance to the castle.

"This is you," said Cedric, opening the door. "First years get sorted before the feast."

"Thanks," said Harry, climbing out of the carriage, "I'll see you around."

The carriage started moving again. Cedric just had time to shout "Don't forget, Potter – Hufflepuff!" before the door closed on him automatically. Smiling, Harry went to the large oak door and pushed.

It gave way easily, revealing a small foyer, plainly decorated. Some of the first years were there already – including, Harry noticed, the unpleasant Malfoy – but most were yet to arrive. He wondered if he should introduce himself to some of them – a rather nerve racking prospect – before the opening of the door saved him the bother. Hermione stepped through, alone. She saw him and stopped.

"Oh," she said. "Hello."

"Hi," replied Harry, dropping his wand into his hand. "I'm Harry Potter."

"Hermione Granger," she replied, clumsily tapping her wand against his.

"Nice to meet you, Hermione,"

She smiled. More people started coming through the door, so they moved aside.

"Thanks again for the quill," she said shyly.

"No problem," Harry replied, frantically trying to think of something to say. He didn't want to rub in the fact that she was a mudblood, so that meant he couldn't bring up her family. Nor could he talk about his own unless she asked – which she was unlikely to do. There was a brief and awkward silence, before Harry remembered something she said on the train.

"So you know some spells?" he asked.

"Yes!" said Hermione, a bit too enthusiastically, clearly glad that the awkward silence was over. "I mean, yes. I had to learn some, for the exam, you know."

"Yeah, the exam..." Harry wasn't sure if she knew that no one else had to take it. "So what spells do you know?"

"Well, let's see... there's the levitation charm, of course, and a colour changing charm, and a spell to make a match turn into a needle. And I had to know a potion to cure boils too."

Harry didn't know any of those spells. He didn't think they sounded very practical. But then, he thought, neither was the ability to light a candle by blowing on it.

"I suppose you know all sorts of spells," she said. It was clearly meant as a question.

"Well, a few. Just useful stuff, you know? Making the bed, opening and closing curtains, that sort of stuff."

"I still find it odd to think people use magic for such everyday things!" exclaimed Hermione. "Magic is such a gift! It really shouldn't be wasted on silly stuff like that..."

Harry thought that a funny idea indeed. Why wouldn't you use magic for everyday tasks?

"I don't think magic really works that way," he said, not sure how to voice his feelings on the matter – he didn't want to make Hermione think he was mocking her, like Cedric.

"Ahem," said an unnaturally loud voice. All eyes – and there were a lot of them, by now – turned to face the voice. It belonged to a woman, standing on the stairs leading out of the room. The woman had a very severe look about her, silky silver hair notwithstanding. There was something about her expression – her lip, slightly too curled; her chin, raised too high – that made Harry instantly dislike her.

"I am Professor Bagshot, Deputy Headmistress," she said once there was silence. "In a moment, you shall file into Godric's Hall, where you will be sorted before the banquet. When you enter the hall, you will exit onto a raised dais. Turn left, and sit on the benches arranged there. You will do so in silence. Lord Dumbledore will address the students before the sorting. Are there any questions?"

One boy raised his hand. He had ginger hair and dirt on his nose.

"Yes?"

"Do we have to fight a troll?" the boy asked.

Harry laughed with everyone else. Bagshot's lips thinned.

"Don't be absurd," she said. "Very well. If there are no questions, then follow me."

She walked up the stairs. The first years followed her in a disorderly fashion, sticking to the cliques that had already developed, no one wanting to get too close to the teacher.

Harry entered Godric's Hall in front of Hermione. He found himself standing at the front of the hall, on a tiered stage. He was at the bottom, just a foot or so above the level of the hall. On each of the other levels there was a long table for the teachers. Sitting at the centre of the table on the third level was Dumbledore. He sat on a simple wooden throne, looking every bit a storybook wizard. An old storybook wizard. His white hair and wrinkles were a stark contrast to the staff members seated around him.

Remembering the instructions, Harry turned to take a seat on the benches to his left. The rest of the hall was long, and filled with chattering students sitting at four long tables – one for each House. Hermione sat next to him. Soon enough, all the first years were seated.

Dumbledore stood. Without asking for it, without even raising a hand, all talking stopped.

"To all of our first years: welcome to Hogwarts. To our returning students: welcome back. I hope you will forgive an old man a few announcements before the sorting begins."

Despite his evident age, Dumbledore's voice was clear and strong. Harry was surprised at his words: he did not seem like a Lord at all.

"This year's Head Boy is Arcturus Greengrass. Our Head Girl is Jessica Hale. The Restricted Section in the library is restricted and the Forbidden forest is forbidden. Do try to remember. Madam Pomfrey had to regrow more limbs last year than I can count. Hogsmeade is off limits except at weekends. The East Wing is restricted at all times, as is the Great Hall. Finally, I remind you that Hogwarts plays host to many visiting scholars and nobles throughout the year. Many have travelled far to be here. Try to stay out of their way, and, if you cannot, be courteous at all times. Now, Professor Bagshot, it is time for us to sort our first years."

He sat down, and Bagshot walked to the edge of the stage. She waved her wand and a stool appeared there, in view of all the students. She waved her wand again and a witch's hat appeared on the stool.

All eyes turned to the hat. It ruffled a few times, before it began to sing.

Come, children, sit and hear,

for I tell a tale a millennium old.

The story of Hogwarts, let me be clear,

cannot be left untold.

Four Founders shared a dream,

Lords and Ladies from far and wide.

With mighty Merlin, ruler supreme,

did their loyalties reside.

The vision was this:

A magical school!

For something was amiss

in a nation of fools.

For years did they toil.

A great castle rose up

from naught but the soil,

The first in all Europe.

Between the Founders, students were divided,

apprenticed to one of the four,

according to the talents each provided.

Thus it was in days of yore:

To Ravenclaw, those most keen of mind,

To Gryffindor, those for whom honour meant all,

To Hufflepuff, those who never whined,

To Slytherin, those determined to never fall.

Long has it been since

the Four sat within this hall.

Slytherin: of treason he was the prince,

Merlin was his nightfall.

Gryffindor and Hufflepuff:

now there is a tale of woe,

Of sterner stuff

was Grindelwald, their evil foe.

Lady Ravenclaw, filled with grief,

Returns no more.

Though it remains my true belief

She will stand once more within Hogwarts' door.

And so it is I rest before you

A hat, where once mighty wizards sat.

To sort you without further ado,

No time for any more chat.

So what will it be?

Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin?

Let the sorting begin!

The hall burst into applause, and the hat folded itself into several mock bows. Bagshot stepped forward with a roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, step forward and be sorted. Hannah, Abbot!"

A girl with blonde pig-tails walked over and put on the hat. Harry didn't like pigtails. After a moment, the hat shouted "Hufflepuff!" and Hannah took off the hat to the applause of the table on the far right. Returning it to the seat, she walked to her new Housemates and sat at the empty end of the table.

Bagshot called more names – many of which Harry recognised from his conversations with Marissa – before she reached the Gs.

"Granger, Hermione!"

That was a name that no one would recognise. The hall erupted into mutters. For her part, Hermione walked to be sorted with her head held high.

Before long -

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted. Hermione joined her new house to only light applause.

It took quite a few names before the Ps came. Harry noticed that the sorting was quite uneven: many more students were going to Slytherin and Gryffindor than the other two houses. Eventually, it was his turn.

"Potter, Harry!"

He walked over and put the hat on. It fell over his eyes, blocking out his view of the hall.

"Hmm," a voice said. Harry could only assume it was normal. "Lot's of talent. Curious, too. Willing to work. It's clear to me that you're a RAVENCLAW!"