Albus sat at his desk and watched the retreating form of Hagrid after he had given his report about his visit to the Dursley home in an attempt to collect young Potter and acclimate him into the Wizarding World, only to discover that the same boy had left his home on his own in an attempt to find Diagon Alley. To make matters worses that the magical instruments meant to monitor Mr. Potter had long ago gone cold, which could only happen if he no longer considered the Dursley house his home. Thus, the wards, the blood protections, and other magics that were incorporated with the protections that were part of the boy's very being were no longer viable.
He went to the Dursleys' home just to confirm that the wards were completely destroyed under the borrowed cloak of invisibility, of course, but true enough, the magical protections over the Dursley household were gone. The runic stones he had planted in the backyard had also gone cold, something that only happens when the source of magic that empowered them is gone.
Since he was visiting the Dursleys' property, he had already decided to look into the minds of both Petunia and Vernon just to see the reasons why the boy had abandoned the only home he known, only to find years' worth of abuse being delivered onto him until his magic turned the tables. With magical children, there is always the possibility that their powers could turn inwards or outwards when given enough stress. Inwards creates a magical anomaly that can destroy or devour everything it comes across; outwards means that child becomes a living magical bomb, capable of devastating an entire city or town depending on how powerful they are. It seemed that Harry became a third thing—an empowered being—making him much stronger than the average man, so much so that Vernon had to go to the hospital many times, either from various broken bones or bruises. Only his aunt was spared physical harm, but she suffered psychologically. Especially when he probed her mind, he had to quickly withdraw from her mind, and she started screaming at the sudden intrusion into her thoughts. His gentle probe was more akin to a razor blade scraping against glass; yet her mind remained intact despite the internal mental damage from whatever had penetrated her thoughts with such blunt, bumbling force. This made it almost impossible to try to read her mind deeply, but her surface thoughts were relatively easy to see through her eyes.
After his investigation, he was now sitting in his office and sent Hagrid to retrieve the stone since there was no Potter to be found and no means to track him without either a piece of the boy like a drop of blood or something sentimental to him that would make tracking him easy. Until he arrived at Hogwarts and he could get the boy's magical signature through the various ward stones of the castle, he would have to wait until the boy arrived.
His musings about Harry Potter were quickly interrupted as Trelawney stumbled into his office, looking rather confused with her large glasses and an almost glazed look in her eyes. Whether it was from drunkenness or some other unforeseen thing causing her to have the glaze in her eyes, she dropped to her knees, and her mouth was agape.
In the shadows where destinies entwine,
The Bright Lord stirs, and the Dark Lady shines.
Awakened now, their essence ignites,
A union foretold, igniting the nights.
Two forces of fate, drawn ever near,
As echoes of twilight whisper in fear.
For those who believe in false, fleeting might,
The Lord of Light and the Dark Pretender, in blight.
They stand between, with masks of their own,
Yet neither shall claim what the true hearts have sown.
In the hour of reckoning, their facades will break,
As the genuine rulers arise from the wake.
When the stars align and the shadows grow long,
The world shall bear witness to the ancient song.
For their union shall flourish, a bond forged in fire,
To claim the twilight, their hearts' true desire.
The balance restored, the pretenders laid low,
As the Bright Lord and Dark Lady together shall grow.
In their embrace, the realms shall transcend,
A prophecy whispered, where beginnings blend.
So heed this warning, ye who dwell in the fight,
For love shall ignite the true rulers of night.
In the dance of the twilight, their power shall bloom,
As the old makes way for the new from the gloom.
At the end of the prophecy that she had just spoken, she collapsed on the floor and began to convulse, foaming at the mouth, forcing Albus to immediately stun her. As the red bolt impacted her chest, she finally became still from her little fits while still breathing. The aged wizard couldn't help but feel a great deal of pain from that simple use of magic, draw from his own reserves of magic that were greatly reduced without the use of the Elder Wand.
Getting up from his desk, he walked around and looked at the woman who had given him the one true prophecy that meant both great and ill for the Wizarding World. Now this was the second true prophecy he was forced to bear witness to. Whether she knew that she was giving a prophecy of such great magnitude, which would cause her to have such a powerful fit that bordered on threatening her life, was uncertain. As he looked down at the woman, he couldn't help but feel the hundred years of life he had lived. Without the stick of Destiny, those years felt quite unpleasant; at least his mind had not lapsed into senility.
"I need the Philosopher's Stone more than Tom needs it," he muttered to himself as he cast a levitation charm onto the unconscious woman and gently set her into one of the comfier seats so she could rest.
To make the situation worse, his fireplace began to alight with a bright emerald green hue as the Headmaster's Floo Network activated. The old Headmaster was about to answer the call before the flames changed, granting access to whoever was on the other side—something that made him wary about who could be bypassing his authority to grant access. He could remember the last time someone had done that, and that someone had taken his Elder Wand.
Stepping out of the emerald flames, a gray-cloaked individual wearing the badge of the D.O.M. surveyed the room, the hood over their head obscuring their face in shadow. As they turned their head, they looked at the headmaster before glancing toward the chair where the unconscious woman lay. "Albus, it is good to see you again and it seems that you have borne witness to another prophecy." Their voice reverberated in the air, giving no distinction between male or female. The way it sounded was another thing that made the Unspeakables true mysteries of themselves; no one truly knew who the Unspeakables were. Their associates could be widely known, while their true members remained unknown, andthis person here was only partially known.
"Yes, Croaker, it seems that fate likes to put me in the center of witnessing things that are far stranger than the magical world itself could be," he answered sagely as he ignored the pain in his legs, walked over toward his desk, and grabbed one of his lemon drops that were laced with a number of potions to help alleviate the effects of old age.
Seeing the lemon drop being tossed into the old man's mouth, Croaker was well aware that Albus was starting to act like the actual old man he was, which provided no end of amusement to the head of the Unspeakables. "You know we have better potions that can help with that—some that can lengthen your life. All you have to do is give up a number of things, and we're willing to supply you with at least a good decade's worth," the Unspeakable mocked Albus while also eyeing the one creature of their desire: the Phoenix that sat proudly on its perch, giving the Unspeakable a not-so-pleasant glare with its black eyes.
The old Headmaster grimaced. As much as he would long for something that would stop the pain, he wasn't willing to give up his familiar nor the artifacts he had taken from the magical stash Grindelwald had left behind after his imprisonment for those who were still loyal to his cause—until most of them were either destroyed or their contents raided by Albus himself. "I think Fawkes might just end up burning down the Department of Mysteries if you decide to take him. As for the other items, they are too dangerous for anyone to poke at—that's why I keep them safe until I have the opportunity to destroy them," Albus replied, not unkindly. If he still had the Elder Wand, he would be almost halfway completed with his task of getting rid of what was left of the war magic material that his former friend and lover had painstakingly developed over the years before Albus had to step in and take down Grindelwald. That was only after he had managed to break through the Blood Oath that forbade him from truly attacking the one he cherished and still did to this day.
The only response the Unspeakable gave was a light hum before reaching into their sleeve and pulling out a glass orb, tossing it at the old man. Despite the Headmaster being as old as he was, he caught it quickly enough, giving a scowl to the Unspeakable who had tossed the object so abruptly.
Part of him wanted to simply tell the Unspeakable to fuck off, but he knew he couldn't keep the prophecy in his head. There was also the issue that the Unspeakables could force Albus to answer a number of unpleasant questions regarding the happenings at Hogwarts or his current projects concerning the last male Potter and possible reasons why he had lost the last female Potter. Resigning himself to what he had to do, he pulled his wand from his left sleeve and felt the familiar yet muted warmth of his true wand, which almost felt like kisses to his magical core, as if trying to soothe an injured animal whose injuries were those of time. He brought the tip to his temple and withdrew the prophecy he had seen, placing it into the glass orb. The orb began to change into a glowing prophecy that had small whisperings of what had been said, then he tossed it back with a little more force, despite the pain it caused him.
Croaker snatched the prophecy orb from the air and looked at it, intricately witnessing in great detail what the prophecy consisted of, which made him let out a puzzled hum. "A lord of light and a lady of dark. That is fascinating. We have never had a light lord before. Even you do not claim the title of light lord. How fitting that we should be blessed with such a thing in our beloved Britain. But the dark lady? We haven't had those in a thousand years—not since the time of Morgana or Nimueh, two of the greatest dark ladies that have ever existed, who lived almost simultaneously, as if they were one and the same. It was rumored they may have had abilities similar to those of the ancient family of the Blacks: shape-shifting, and just took one name, persona, and another," Croaker said conversationally for that brief instant before turning his back and heading straight toward the fireplace. Without even throwing any powder, the emerald flames that had died since his entry returned, waiting for his re-entry into the Department of Mysteries.
"Do you know what the prophecy means?" Albus shouted before Croaker could leave his office. After all, he needed another opinion on the prophecy and what it could mean, whether or not he needed to alter his plans regarding the one who he could think of that would fit the role of the dark lady.
Pausing for a moment, the shadow-hooded figure looked towards the old man. They contemplated taking a deeper analysis of the prophecy they held in their right hand. For that instant, they had seen prophecies for many years, if not many decades, if not an entire century; and prophecies themselves seldom had any good answers besides conveying even more bad news if misinterpreted. "I could tell you more about what the prophecy means, but you would try to interfere with it. We Unspeakables have long ago learned not to toy with fate, yet an old man would try to fool with things that are beyond his understanding or control. So no, I will not tell you the deeper meaning of this prophecy. That is for you to figure out on your own. Just don't burn yourself on your way toward the sun," they replied, delivering a warning for Albus not to tread too closely to this prophecy, just as the old man had tread too closely to the prophecy of the one who was destined to defeat the current dark lord for the British Isles.
After that, the Unspeakable disappeared through the emerald flames of his fireplace, leaving the Elder Headmaster with more questions than answers. He felt chastised for being denied a greater understanding of what the prophecy could mean. Before he could even contemplate it any further, the aches and pains he had quickly soothed with that potion-laced lemon drop returned. He reached over and grabbed five more lemon drops that had the same potion lacing and popped them into his mouth, savoring the bitter flavor that suppressed the unpleasantness of the potions he had constructed his spy and potion master to make for him—just to make the daily operations he was forced to oversee more bearable. Until he had the Philosopher's Stone, he would have to suffer a little longer.
Walking down the ancient cobblestone roadway, Rose looked around at the town that was populated purely by magical beings, as far as she could tell. After receiving information about the location of this place, she felt compelled to see it herself instead of sending one of her servants to gather all the materials she needed and scout to determine if this settlement was worth sending a pack of orcs to occupy. The only thing she had noticed was the fact that there was a magical barrier preventing anyone who couldn't wield magic from getting past it. She knew this much after examining it for that brief instant when she had walked past it to enter the settlement.
Within the first half hour, she had gathered all her belongings, including a new set of dress robes that was part of the uniform curriculum, and had her hair done—something she never thought she would request the services of another to do, especially when she once had the ability to shapeshift. However, that ability had been limited, and whenever she tried, she felt the urge to return to her original form or the current form she was born with. So, she had her hair pulled back and braided into knots, only because it would be more convenient for her to perform the type of magic she had seen in that human's mind, which required intricate wand movements. This was something she had practiced in her spare time when she wasn't lording over her orcs. Despite the hairstyle being more or less utilitarian, it helped showcase her Elvish appearance, catching the eyes of the humans in this village, who viewed her as some sort of strange oddity for a brief moment before returning to their own business.
"My lady, we have everything that you need for this institute. The only thing that's missing is..."
"A wand. I'm well aware, my loyal servant, and I am quite wary of using the one you obtained." Rose had finished the Witch King's words. When she was old enough to stand on her own, she had tried using that item they had obtained. Despite looking like a mere stick, she knew it was powerful; if she could pour just one-tenth of her potential into it, it would amplify her magic a hundredfold, turning a mountain into a volcano or reducing a forest to ash, or transforming rolling hills into plains. It could truly give her the power she sought. Yet, Rose could sense the malevolence within the wand itself—its yearning to be held only by the strongest, and by opportunists whose loyalty was to themselves and no one else, even to the one who had claimed legions of it; that loyalty was only temporary until another came to try to claim it.
From then on, she would not use it and would only allow her servant to wield it—who was more worthy to wield such a deadly instrument of destruction than the Witch King, a true immortal who only experienced momentary defeat before returning in the form of the one who had defeated him.
She looked around, trying to find the one shop, before running across the only shop she came upon, reading the name: "Gregorovitch's Master-Crafted Wands from 250 BC." She briefly wondered why the date of when the shop had first opened truly mattered; it wasn't as if the older a wand shop was, the more specialized that particular wand would be, if it all followed the same principles of imbuing an object with the potential to wield magic.
The bell to his shop rang as a new customer entered, grabbing the attention of Alexander Gregorovitch VIII. Coming from his little workshop and entering the main part of his store, he saw a girl alone with vibrant red hair that almost looked like flames, pulled back and braided. The next thing he noticed was her pointed ears and her cat-like emerald eyes, which had a sort of allure that sucked a person in if they allowed themselves to stare into those beautiful orbs.
"Well, hello there, little miss! Are you here for a wand?" he asked while also looking for the parents of this young lady.
This was the fourth shopkeeper trying to look for parents that she did not have, and it only bothered her the second time; the third time, she simply ignored. Once he was done looking around and had his attention directed to her, she gave her answer. "Yes, I am here to inquire about one of your wands, if you have any available." She stated neutrally as her sharp gaze looked towards the shelves of boxes containing magical focuses, from which she could hear the whispers of magic.
Clapping his hands together, the wand maker had a warm smile. "Oh yes, that is the only reason such a fine young lady would enter my shop. I assume you do have the coin to pay for the wand; my shop does not give student grants like some of the other wand makers who allow themselves to be subjected to such requests, only because they are lesser compared to my craftsmanship." He stated, watching the girl's reaction. She didn't seem to do much besides eye him curiously.
"I have coin—lots of it. Hopefully, you can match me with something of great quality," she replied, taking a few steps closer to the counter and placing both hands behind her back, waiting patiently to be matched. Hopefully, she would get something to counter the influx of power that was coming from her twin.
Nodding his head, the wand crafter immediately pulled out a few boxes he had already crafted and laid down a row of five different wands made of different woods and cores. "Pick up one and give it a wave to see if it responds positively or negatively," he informed her while gesturing with his hand towards the five wands.
Looking between the different forms of sticks that were crafted not so symmetrically, while others looked like works of art, she picked up the more intricate-looking wand made of red oak. Immediately, she could feel the roar of a dragon and sensed its powerful flames—not on the scale of Smaug or his progenitors, but strong enough that she could feel just small whiffs of heat before it went cold. Following the cold sensation she felt in the wand, the wood went limp in her hands, to the astonishment and surprise of the wand crafter, who had just seen the magic in the wand flee from the stick and core of his creation. She tested the other remaining wands, and they had various reactions: one exploded in her hands into splinters, another simply turned to ash, and just like the first wand, the next one she wielded also went limp. The last one, she didn't bother touching, knowing what the end result would be if she so much as brushed it with her pinky.
"Do you have anything that I can actually wield that's not made from this piece of shit material you are peddling?" Rose spoke with a great sense of vulgarity that a young girl of her age shouldn't have. Yet, she felt frustrated. She knew her twin had a wand, and she wanted one for herself—one that was loyal to her and her alone. Yet the idiot she was dealing with couldn't craft one that she could actually use.
Alexander stared at his prized creations that were either destroyed or rendered inert. Only the last of the five he had brought out remained untouched. Whether or not the girl could sense what would happen if she wielded it hardly mattered, as he had never met a customer with such magic that would make these focuses react in that way. But it truly stung his pride to hear the insult given to him by the girl. "Well, I am the only wand crafter in this part of Europe that you will come across, besides a few of my cousins who peddle the same wands I have in my shop. Unless you want to go to France or Britain, there are no other wand craftsmen besides that traveling alchemist, but even he seldom uses wandlore, as far as I have heard," he shot back at the girl, not as irritated as she was but definitely miffed that he couldn't match her expectations. He didn't want to pull out one of his more expensive wands to see whether she could actually wield it—not because of the wood, but mostly due to the cores he had obtained through dubious means.
She had given him a look that showed how vexed she was at the suggestion that she travel somewhere else if she didn't like the quality of wands or the lack of compatibility with these wooden focuses that were poorly made for her. "How about you just show me how you make them, and I'll simply craft one on my own? It will save me the trouble of having to travel to find a more competent wand maker," she spoke in the manner of someone looking at the wandmaker with annoyance.
The craftsman gave her a surprised look at the audacity of someone requesting his foreknowledge in wand lore. "Now that's a bit too far, girly. I will craft wands, but I will not give up the secrets of how to craft them, especially to a girl who has yet to flower. Maybe in ten years, if you look pretty enough, I might consider giving you an apprenticeship." He shot back, glaring at the girl. He was half tempted to simply wave his wand to banish her from his shop; her youth be damned. He would not tolerate anyone insulting him. He was already receiving enough insults about his less than flexible wands from other craftsmen who had commented more than once when examining one of his works from his other patrons that had purchased an additional wand for the dueling circuit.
Without so much as looking or, for that matter, using any of her senses, she could immediately tell that her servant was stepping toward her right side and getting into position to simply grab hold of the wandmaker and bring him to her level so she could extract the knowledge from his head. Perhaps in another life, she would have done that, but that would leave another witness to her power, and she would like to keep it to one human who was aware of her might. "Perhaps there is something I can give you in exchange for your knowledge, even if it is just the basics," she quickly suggested, and it seemed to catch the wandmaker's attention, but only slightly.
"Girl, if you're suggesting that you will give me all your galleons, there is no amount of coin that you could offer me to give up my family knowledge of wand lore. I also doubt that you have anything that would be considered of equal value to said knowledge. Unless you have some family grimoire shoved up your ass, then maybe, just maybe, you'll get the basics." The wandmaker abandoned all polite formalities and spoke the vulgarity that he often used among his companions at the tavern or whenever he was trying to persuade the many barmaids to come home with him for a roll in between the sheets.
She grinned through his rude remarks and simply lifted her right hand, extending her index finger to begin carving into the air a runic scheme formula used to craft the Rings of Power—the same runic scheme that she had given to Celebrimbor. However, she made sure to include a special addition to the schematics that tied into the runic array's function; without it, the whole system would fall apart, making whatever magical ring crumble to dust. This little addition would allow complete control when the Master Ring was constructed.
"I believe this should suffice as adequate payment for just the basics of wand lore, yes?" Her grin widened as her teeth began to warp into slightly sharp draconic fangs, which she had used to intimidate many of the goblin prisoners she had taken into her dungeon.
He would have been slightly intimidated by the girl if it weren't for the fact that the glowing runic carvings were floating in the air like burning flames. He had to blink a few times just to make sure what he was witnessing was real. He wasn't looking at simple childish scribbles of a runic array; this was true art—the type of art that his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had tried to unlock when they had the Death Stick. Yet all of them failed. Even after it had been lost, they still tried to discern its secrets. What they had uncovered within the few generations they had that damn thing didn't compare to this. This was completely different, and he could just imagine what he could construct with this runic array. Yet, it seemed to have the main design for imbuing metal objects—not his forte or his particular style of crafting magical focuses. But he could possibly tweak the formula, at least the parts that wouldn't cause the array to destabilize and destroy whatever he tried to create.
Swallowing a small amount of saliva, he watched as the burning runic array floating in the air vanished before looking at the girl, who still had that sinister sharp-fang smile. He narrowed his eyes at her for a brief moment before giving her a nod. He turned his back and headed into the back room of his shop. About twenty minutes later, he returned holding an old leather journal that was about the size of a fully grown man's head and half a foot thick. He set the book down onto his counter with a thud. "Here are the general basics for wand lore, along with some aspects of advanced work. That's all you're getting from me; the rest of my family secrets stay with me. I take it you won't complain if I make a bit of coin from your little secret," he said rather roughly as he eyed the girl closely.
Her shark-like fangs transformed into a sly smile as she picked up the hefty book, which weighed only a feather to her, before giving the human a raised eyebrow. "You can make as much coin as you wish, though it takes time to craft one item of power. Try to do it too quickly, and it will crumble to pieces. Do it too slowly, and no one will be able to wield or hold it without it sucking the life force out of them. You must keep things balanced," she stated, showing her lack of care for the potential coin lost while also conveying a warning on how to craft whatever he planned on making with synergy, whether it was a ring, a wand, a staff, or any item in particular with that magical blueprint she had provided.
He nodded while Alexander watched the girl turn her back and leave his shop. As soon as she was gone, he rushed into the back of his shop and tried to scribble down that runic array. "With this, Garrett Ollivander will be a thing of the past, along with his so-called fame, and I will no longer need to hear how he and everyone else talk about how rigid my wands are." He could just imagine being showered with praise, gaining the attention he had always wanted and craved, and possibly garnering the notice of the more widely known and famous magical artifact craftsmen, the Flamels.
"Should I enter that shop and kill him later, my mistress?" the Witch King asked her, their one true sovereign, all while in the realm of the wraiths, unseen and unnoticed by all.
Rose thought about it for an instant before making her decision known to her servant. "No, let him craft whatever he wishes. The more he does, the more widespread my power will become among the more powerful. I doubt he will hand any of the items he'll craft to the poorest of the population," she stated. This was the same strategy she had used when she had provided the elves from acquiring the Rings of Power through her proxy elf, who had done more in her service than he could ever imagine by giving those three powerful rings to the most powerful and wisest elves of Middle-earth. There's no telling how far that ambitious human will go to try to give the objects of power to those who crave them.
"Then shall we return to Mordor?" her servant asked as the wraith was almost ready to screech out the winged mount that was just on the outskirts of this town.
Placing a hand under her chin as she walked in the general direction that led outside the town, she considered it. She had everything she needed for this year: potion equipment, robes, and a few other important essentials. Just as she was about to confirm her desire to return home, she looked toward a pet shop and noticed a peculiar creature inside that she could see through the window. She felt drawn to it.
The wraith followed her mistress, but when Rose started to enter the shop, the wraith could not follow; there was a barrier preventing her from entry, strictly designed to block out any dark creatures that would dare enter. She was most definitely a dark creature, which made her concern for her mistress grow.
Unaware that her servant could not enter, Rose looked around the shop for its owner before her eyes returned to the creature that had captured her attention—a black owl with yellow eyes and specks of white in its feathers.
The bird, noticing the girl, felt its own magic become drawn toward her, compelled to be by her side. Yet, it could not move from its perch due to the enchantments keeping it in place, thanks to the proprietor of the shop. When the girl approached, it let out an excited hoot, especially when she reached out to stroke its chest feathers.
"Uh… little lady, I don't think that would be a wise decision if you're thinking about purchasing him," a scrawny, mousy man with poorly stitched-up shirts and pants said as he walked from his hiding place, watching the girl pet the nightmare bird that he had been scammed on and had to deal with since it had entered his shop. The owl's constant attempts to escape had damaged his store and torn up all of his clothes until he managed to enchant the owl's perch to keep the bird in place until he found a buyer willing to pay enough to break even or until he could make owl stew.
Turning her attention away from the predatory bird she was showing affection toward, Rose looked at the mousy man for a brief moment before returning her gaze to the bird she was still stroking. Withdrawing her hand, she heard a disappointed hoot from it. "Name your price, and I will match it along with all the accessories that are required and more," she asked rather firmly, right before tapping her index finger on the enchanted perch and shattering the hold the magic had on the bird, freeing it from its perch.
Stretching out its wings for a brief moment, the owl let out a happy bark, to the shock and horror of the shopkeeper. However, it did not target the shop owner nor anything that appeared to be valuable; rather, it simply circled around a few times before landing on the shoulder of its intended partner and began to playfully nibble at her red locks and pointed ear.
The shop owner was shocked to see the owl didn't cause an unnecessary amount of damage to the various things or terrorize the other animals he had in his shop. All it did was circle around a few times before landing and being affectionate with the girl. Remembering her words, he began calculating what would be a sufficient price for all that he had dealt with and more. "120 galleons, 60 sickles, and 20 knuts." Even he considered that price to be a little too high, though the bird had damaged nearly everything, including his clothes. Fortunately, the bird hadn't damaged his wand, and he would hate to have to go to France or even England just to get a replacement for it, not trusting or liking the quality of wands coming from the local wand maker.
The price for a new companion was quite high, but not impossibly so. After liberating the dwarves, she took her fair share of gold, even if she didn't truly desire it, but it was useful. Plus, she was granted a 20% net gain of all new coins minted from the productivity of the dwarves, which didn't include Dwarven-forged swords and armor for her orcs that were still in production and trying to meet the standard uniform design that she had personally made to be both intimidating and functional. "A high price, but a price I'm willing to pay," she stated as she reached behind her back for her coin purse, only to find no one behind her. She was slightly confused and wondered if her escort had decided to wander off, which should have been impossible since she had yet to dismiss them.
"I apologize; it appears that I have left my coin purse outside the shop. I think my feathered friend will wait while I go and retrieve my coins," Rose said in the most apologetic way she could manage, hiding her annoyance that her servant hadn't followed her into the shop—something she would have to question later.
The bird hopped off her shoulder and landed on something hanging above the main part of the shop, looking down at the shopkeeper with his predatory yellow glare, as if daring the shop owner to cast any more magic upon him to trap him in place—giving the bird an excuse to claw out the man's eyes.
Exiting the shop and fixing her wraith sight and immediately noticed the Witch King standing nervously outside the shop. Before Rose could even begin to lecture them on what it meant to be a shadow or an escort, she watched as her most loyal servant dropped to one knee with his head bent. Already, she could hear apologies being spoken in every tongue of Middle-earth, including the Black Speech.
"It was truly not my wish to disobey your command and not follow you into the shop. There appears to be a barrier preventing me from entry—or a barrier that keeps dark things from exiting. I tried to pierce it, but even the use of my magic can't seem to unveil it." The Witch King again apologized for their inability to follow his mistress.
If Rose were her old self, she would have simply made a mental note and had the Witch King punished, twisting and distorting his body until he discorporated and then slowly reformed in the most painful ways. But she was not Sauron—not completely. She had the ambitions and desires, but she did not have the obsessive-compulsive instinct to try to make everything perfect in her grand scheme. "This is troubling. If there are places that you can not enter, it makes me wonder if you can even enter the Institute. If this is so, then I will have you assigned to somewhere else in my service," she said to herself, considering going through the memories of the Headmaster that she had extracted from his mind to see whether there were magical barriers preventing wraiths from entering certain places. She didn't contemplate these thoughts for too long, as she took her coin purse, then reentered the shop, and paid for everything she needed—and more—that was magically shrunken and placed into a small box she had stored in her pocket. She exited the shop with her new companion sitting proudly on her shoulder.
She continued her trek out of the village until she was at a fair distance, her servant no longer under the veil of the other world and wearing her black rider attire. "I'll be taking flight on my own wings, and my new— I guess I could say familiar—will be joining me on the way home. You know your other duties, so you are now dismissed from my presence," she stated while giving her familiar a few more affectionate scratches on his chest feathers.
The rider in black nodded her head before moving in the direction where her winked mount was hiding off to the side behind some rolling hills. A few moments later, they had taken flight, heading toward the direction of Mordor.
With her little shadow gone, she looked toward her familiar, who was eyeing her curiously with their large, predatory yellow eyes. "You need a name. Let's see." Rose had gone through a long list of possible names, from the tongues of the men of the West to the Eastern coasts to Black Speech, only to settle on one particular name in the Elven language that seemed perfect. "Era'vun, how does that name sound? It means night, darkness, and sleeping sun," she said to her familiar and watched his reaction.
Era'vun started bobbing his head and letting out happy, owl-like barks before pressing his head against her cheek, pleased with the name and its meaning, causing his bonded to let out a childish giggle.
"I'm glad you appreciate the name. Now let us head home. I hope you don't mind flying," she said playfully. She got a look from her familiar that conveyed his displeasure at the idea that he would not like the thought of flying to wherever it was they would call home.
Stretching his wings, he started to hop off her shoulder and began flying around her, waiting to see whether she would pull out a stick that she could ride on, as he had often seen witches and wizards do in order to simulate flight.
Again, she laughed at the antics of her owl. She had loosened a bit of fabric on her white robes, creating small convenient slits that exposed a portion of her back. With a bit of concentration, flesh and bone began to shift, and out came a pair of draconic wings with white scales. Just like her familiar, she stretched her wings out, and with a single beat, she was off the ground. If she had been paying attention to her familiar's reaction, she might have almost seen his yellow eyes widen to the point that they could honestly pop out. Instead, she focused on the direction where she knew Mordor was and flew in that direction. She occasionally glanced to see where her familiar was in pursuit of her as she led the way to their new home, all while not exerting too much power in the beating of her wings.
Part of her considered taking her full draconic form, but a lot of things she had learned in this world, along with her body shape changing, were a lot different from when she had first turned into a dragon. None of her clothes had changed with her, and when she did change back into her human form, she had to disguise the fact that she was wearing nothing for now Only her wraith knew of this inconvenience for her until she found a way to preserve her modesty after her transformations. She would have to rely on her illusions just to disguise her nudity.
The two continued their flight, only stopping to rest when the owl needed a break after covering a great deal of distance toward where Ukraine was, flying over some forests and straight into the exclusion zone of Chernobyl, and avoiding any onlookers who might see her in flight.
"If you want, you can rest on my back while I fly the rest of the way home," Rose said with a triumphant smirk, seeing how her owl, despite refusing to look as if he was breathing hard, was only giving her a glare.
"Yeah, then I won't hear the end of it if I did that, and it would definitely wound my pride if I could not keep up with my wing human familiar," he barked as he took this moment to rest, catch his breath, and let his stamina refill.
She snorted in amusement as she listened to the language of the birds. Much like Gandalf and many other Maiar, she too knew the language of many beasts that often conveyed messages or acted as spies for her when she used to be the Dark Lord of Middle-earth. "I would hold it over your head for a little while, that is, until you get stronger. Then I would retract any insults, even if they were all but in good humor," she shot back, causing the owl to realize that any more surprises today would lead to him losing those perfectly yellow eyes of his.
"You understand me?" Era'vun let out a soft bark while his yellow eyes scanned up and down the girl standing on a thick branch atop a tree.
She nodded her head, her smirk still plastered across her face. "The language of animals is not a complicated one — just a forgotten one. And I, despite my young appearance, have a long memory. Something I will go into detail about later. But enough idle chatter. You need to keep up with me, or you might not be able to find your way home," she answered, shooting down any possibilities of continued questioning. She spread out her draconic wings and took to the sky again, forcing her familiar to follow behind her lest he be truly left behind.
"Hey, I don't have wings as large as yours! That's the only reason why you're moving faster," he complained, putting a little more power into the beats of his wings and flapping them a little faster just to try to keep up. That small respite he had was quickly drained away, and already he could feel as if the joints connecting to his wings were on fire. Even the cool air provided no relief for the burning ache in his chest as he desperately tried to keep up.
A few more rests later, they arrived at the tower Barad-dûr. Rose landed softly on a large black stone balcony and turned to watch a ragged black owl struggle to keep aloft until he managed to land on her shoulder, letting out a tired hoot. "You need a little more exercise if you want to keep up with me whenever I decide to take flight just to free myself from all the burdens of being on the ground," she laughed at the unamused look she was getting from her familiar. But in the end, he pressed his head against the side of her cheek, and she stroked his black feathers.
Blinking in some confusion, Harry could feel a sense of contentment, joy, and slight amusement coming from what felt like either an external or internal source—possibly from the presence he always felt within him at times. His brows scrunched up in confusion as he sat comfortably in the seat of the train car. After he had gathered everything for his first year at Hogwarts, he rented a room at Tom's Bar and then inquired about how to reach the train. This led to his first experience using the Floo Network, a dizzying disorienting mess of flames interconnected with other flames that led to various places. Despite the regal air he had about himself, he still slid across the ground on his back, covered in ash and soot, which he had to banish with the use of his wand with the few cleaning spells he had learned from the Charms book he had read in advance. He thought those spells were important enough that he might need them. Surprisingly, his enchanted uniform didn't clean off the debris, and he wondered if it had something to do with the special powder used to activate this odd form of teleportation. That was something he needed to research later.
For now, he waited for the train car to start moving so he could watch the countryside roll by. He would be lying if he said he wasn't excited about riding a train; the childish side of him that still lived within his heart and soul was almost bubbling with excitement—especially after watching *Thomas the Tank Engine* when he was able to watch TV before his powers had awakened within him, granting him unlimited access to the television, regardless of whether his cousin was in the middle of watching something.
When he had first arrived at the station, he had to avoid Draco as soon as he spotted him. Fortunately, as the blonde was too busy saying his farewells to his mother and to someone who looked like an older version of Draco. The only difference was that the man looked less aristocratic in comparison to Draco. Harry was quick to assume that this was Draco's father. He managed to get onto the train while remaining unnoticed, picked out a cabin that was far away from most people so he wouldn't be bothered, especially when he had to introduce himself in the peppered conversations that he was unwilling to answer or, for that matter, sign autographs.
His hopes for a silent trip were immediately dashed as the sliding door of his cabin opened and a red-headed boy looked around curiously before his eyes locked onto the only occupant of the cabin.
"Uh, everywhere else is full. Would it be all right if we shared the same cabin?" the red-headed boy asked nervously while also trying to avoid looking at the other boy's pointed ears but ultimately failing as he couldn't help but stare at the pointed appendages.
Pressing his lips into a fine line, Harry extended his senses. With his magic and sharp hearing, he could sense that there was no one in the surrounding cabins next to his, and at the very end of this train car, there were some people. The conversations they were having were too muffled for him to actually hear, and yet he did not have a reason to refuse the request. "You can stay, but I don't like liars. I'm well aware that the other cabins are empty, but I understand not wanting to sit alone. If I were you, I would say much the same." Though he couldn't really say that he was truly alone, not with the presence in the back of his mind who was, at this point, distracted as he had brief images of a black owl appearing in his mind.
His cheeks reddened at his little white lie, yet he happily stepped into the cabin, closed the door behind him, and sat in the opposite seat from the only other occupant. He extended a hand. "Ron Weasley—just call me Ron," he introduced himself and waited for the other occupant of the cabin to do the same.
This would be the second person he would have to introduce himself to as he extended his own hand and clasped the redhead's hand. "I am Harrison Potter, but please call me Harry." In a similar way, Ron's expression mimicked that of Draco's from the other day: wide-eyed, slack-jawed, and keeping his hand hanging in the air even after the hand they were shaking had withdrawn.
"The Harry Potter?!" he slightly babbled out, as Ron's brain was just trying to process his good luck in meeting Harry Potter before anyone else. At least, that was what he thought in his mind—that he was the first—as a million questions were swimming in his head that he wanted to ask the Boy Who Lived. "Do you remember him, you know?" he blurted out, not thinking of the question he had spat out.
Hearing the question, Harry gave the redhead a stern glare as his brows narrowed, and a frown began to form. "Do I remember the one who had slain my mother and caused me to be separated from my sister? Is that your question?" Harry shot back with his own question, causing the redhead to shrink in his seat under the harsh words and glare that the raven-haired boy was giving back. Closing his eyes for a brief moment and taking a breath, he let out a sigh. "Yes, I remember him, though vaguely. I won't be answering any more questions in relation to that night, and no, I am not the same Harry in those adventure books that I feel justified collecting every volume of and setting them on fire." He quickly answered while also addressing a question that had yet to be asked about a little book series that started in his name. He had not received a single coin from Harry Potter novels, which had a crude illustration of himself wearing glasses and having a much more prominent scar on his forehead. He no longer had the scar since the age of three, when it had slowly faded away, leaving only a slightly whitish scar that was barely noticeable in comparison to the illustrations of him.
Ron didn't know how he should feel: mortified that he had asked such an insensitive question, angry at how nasty the other boy had answered him, and afraid of not befriending the most famous boy in Britain. So he had to do what was difficult for him, as a few of his other brothers had done whenever they messed things up. "I'm sorry. I tend to put my foot in my mouth at times or don't think about what I'm about to say or ask," he explained while also apologizing for his slip.
Letting out an understanding hum 'At least he has enough sense to apologize and admit he can be clumsy with his words,' Harry thought to himself for a brief moment—before the train started to jerk as the engine let out a loud whistle and began to move along with all the other cars. "You are forgiven. Now let's talk about something besides me," he said, forgiving Ron and opening the conversation to any topic the redhead might think up. This led to a lengthy discussion about Quidditch teams, only for Harry to question what Quidditch was, much to the surprise and astonishment of Ron, who then launched into a detailed explanation of how the game worked, what was involved, and the dangers that could happen in these high-speed games.
It was an hour filled with a few nitpicky facts as Ron gushed about Quidditch and his own siblings, primarily his older ones such as Charlie and Bill. Each of them had adventurous jobs—one was a curse breaker, the other a dragon handler. When Harry questioned those two different fields, the raven-haired boy couldn't help but place Ron in a different category of person, almost on the same level of importance as Draco, ensuring that he would keep in contact with the redhead. This was mainly because Ron had access to a high-ranking curse breaker who could bypass any dark magic that would impede someone's path forward, while the other had an understanding and mastery over flame-breathing lizards.
After the redhead ran out of steam, the snack trolley came by, and Harry bought several snacks to treat his guest and himself, as he was slightly curious about what Wizarding sweets would taste like and how they compared to non-magical treats. After a few bites of everything, the raven-haired boy found that magical sweets were far better than the processed non-magical ones.
Much later on their journey, Ron was munching on some Taffy while his pet rat was digging through the Every Flavor Beans box. The excited squeak garnered the attention of the redhead, which caused him to have an idea of how to impress Harry. "Hey, do you want to see an interesting spell?" he asked excitedly as he pulled out the ill-fitted wand that he had been given by his father, which once belonged to his grandfather.
He had just bitten off the head of a chocolate Frog, causing the animation spell to cease, when he switched his gaze from the rolling countryside toward the redhead, hearing his question. "Alright, let's see it," Harry replied, waiting with slight excitement to see magic he had yet to witness or do himself.
Dramatically clearing his throat, Ron began to wave his wand and recite the incantation, changing his pet rat into something else, only to be interrupted by a bushy brown-haired girl who had opened the sliding door to the cabin.
"Pardon me, have either of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville lost his," she said. Her eyes glanced over at Ron's wand. "Are you two practicing magic? Let's see then." Before her first inquiry was answered, the bushy-haired girl stepped into the cabin and sat down, waiting in anticipation to see someone perform magic—something she had only seen the witch who informed her parents and herself of her witch status.
Blushing with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and the slight intrusion into Ron's attempts to impress Harry, the redhead started over by dramatically clearing his throat again. He began to tap his wand and recited the not-so-magical incantation before tapping his rat, creating a small light show but nothing more.
"Is that a real spell? It didn't sound like any of the magic I have read about," she stated. Hermione couldn't help but think about what year students could start actively creating new custom spells. She wondered if she could create something truly magnificent and remembered the right courses and classes that required that type of education. When she wasn't thinking about that, she introduced herself by extending her hand to the raven-haired boy. "My name is Hermione Granger. It is a pleasure to meet you," she said warmly, if not slightly excited.
Harry did not need to use his abilities to know that this girl was quite excitable, and despite her sitting calmly, she was a hair's breadth away from either running around like many of the animals he had seen with the zoomies or yelling out her excitement for everyone to hear how thrilled she was to be there. Remembering his manners, he extended his hand and gently held the other girl's hand, giving her a firm shake. "My name is Harrison Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you, Hermione." As soon as he had said his name, he couldn't help but wince at the sight of her excitement starting to bubble over.
"You're the Harry Potter? Impossible! Harry Potter has glasses and doesn't have pointed ears! Are those cat slit eyes?" she spoke really fast as she examined the boy who claimed to be Harry Potter. Yet, as quickly as she had questioned the boy's validity of being Harry Potter, she saw his expression that was amused, which quickly turned into annoyance before settling into a neutral expression.
If this was going to be the reaction he was always going to receive, he hoped to find a means to become invisible so no one would notice him, and he wouldn't have to deal with this type of reaction. "Yes, I am Harry Potter, and no, I have never needed glasses. I have read that drivel that is the Harry adventure books. As for my ears and eyes, that remains unknown to me, though I can't help but enjoy the fact that they make me look more dashing, does it not?" he smoothly replied, twitching his ears just a bit. The mortified expression he saw on her face shifted into slight curiosity, and if she didn't have self-control, she would most likely have reached over to touch his pointed ears or even do a closer examination of his eyes. 'Maybe someone else of importance I should keep track of,' he contemplated to himself. Despite the girl not revealing much besides an excitable amount of energy, he could find some use for her later as he learned more about her.
Her little visit only lasted a few more minutes before she returned to her search for the lost toad, with a small promise that she would like to speak with him more to confirm or acknowledge certain key facts about Harry Potter.
"Merlin, she's mental," Ron commented about the girl who had occupied their little shared space.
Harry only laughed. "She's just excited. I'm excited too. If you were a lot like her, you would most likely act the same," he stated, noticing the small disapproving look at the idea that the redhead would act any differently compared to the girl who had just been in their cabin.
The sun began to set before they arrived, and Ron changed out of his current clothes and into his school uniform. The only one who didn't need to change was Harry since he had chosen to wear his school uniform, much like the other students had done beforehand. Once everyone was ready, they headed out of the train cars, with the older years taking a separate path compared to the first years as a large man began calling out.
"First years over here! First years over here!" boomed the giant man who stood several heads taller than the average person, wielding a large lantern that would not be out of place on top of a street post. The giant man smiled warmly as he guided the first years toward the boats. "Four to a boat! Four to a boat!" he bellowed out for all the children as he climbed into his own boat, which was big enough to accommodate his large size.
Ron, Harry, and another boy who looked slightly pudgy—who the two boys learned was named Neville, the same name they had heard earlier when Hermione was looking for a missing toad—were in the same boat. This was the same boy who had asked if they had seen his missing pet, only for the two boys to honestly admit that they had not.
With all the students sitting in their respective boats, each and every one of them wondered whether they were supposed to row their little boats—a task that would be impossible due to the lack of any oars. Before any of them had the chance to ask the giant, the boats immediately began to be tugged forward and moved slowly across the lake. Many of them began looking into the black waters, trying to see what was causing them to move forward, while the rest were too busy being distracted by the beautiful display of the ancient castle coming into view. All its windows sparkled in contrast to the moonlit sky, making Hogwarts Castle look even more magnificent.
Out of the countless visions he had seen of beautiful structures, valleys, and hidden groves, Harry could honestly say he was impressed. He was mystified; he was in complete awe at the sight of the castle. He couldn't help but wonder how big it was, what hidden places lay within its depths, whether there were hidden treasures, and if there were creatures that had long been forgotten but still wandered through hidden passageways. All these questions circled in his mind, and the excitement that he felt earlier when he was riding the train for the first time doubled, if not tripled, at the thought of having the opportunity to explore this castle. He was not the only one having such notions; many of the Muggle-born students and even a few half-bloods were making their own plans. Some whispered among those they were friendly with about drawing out a map to see whether or not they could find all the hidden passageways that a castle like this would have.
Once the boats were docked in the hidden cove underneath the castle, the giant got out of his boat and went over to a large door. He began to gently knock on the door—or at least as gently as the giant could manage—thumping once, twice, thrice, and then waited.
The large doors opened by unseen hands, revealing a staircase. An old, stern-looking woman looked at the students with a spark of amused warmth in her eyes that betrayed the stoic look she was trying to maintain.
"Good evening, Professor. I have the first years for you," the giant announced, waving his hands to the large gaggle of children who were slowly walking past the doors, looking up at the various carvings in the stonework of this section of the castle.
"Thank you, Hagrid. You are dismissed," she said kindly to the half-giant, watching him go through a side passage that would lead him straight to the dining hall. Then she redirected her attention to the children she was in charge of. "Good evening, fellow witches and wizards. I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and Head of Gryffindor House. I shall lead you to the antechamber where all of you will wait until the final preparations for your sorting into your respective houses…" Before she could announce what the houses were, one of the children broke rank and charged toward a toad that had appeared on the lower steps of the staircase.
"Trevor?!" Neville cried out as he picked up his croaking toad that was sitting on the step. The boy then looked up at the stern-looking professor, who appeared a little agitated at being interrupted. He muttered an apology and slowly returned to the group, all while gently putting his toad into his pocket.
"Can you put me into something else other than this lint-filled pocket of yours?" croaked the protest of the toad, unheard by those who did not understand its speech—except for one, whose pointed ears twitched at the complaint coming from the toad.
With no more interruptions, McGonagall continued, "As I was saying, there are four houses at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Your house will be your family. Your triumphs will earn you points, while rule-breaking will lose them. At the end of the year, the house that has the most points wins the House Cup, a great honor." She explained how the houses worked; the system itself was interesting enough for a few children who were mildly curious and wanting to know more. As for the rest, they were eager to get sorted into the houses they were hoping for, while others were nervous.
The group of first years was led up the steps past the portraits that greeted the new students, and eventually, they reached the antechamber where the children were left to mingle amongst themselves while the final preparations in the Great Hall were being set up. A few ghosts decided to pop in and greet the new students while also complaining about a poltergeist, which startled the unprepared students and caused them to let out squeals of surprise at seeing ghosts. Those who were already accustomed to the magical world simply eyed the ghosts curiously. After that, people began forming their own little cliques with those they were familiar with, while others were testing the waters with students they had yet to speak to or meet.
"I told you Harrison Potter is here!" a familiar voice rang out, belonging to a single blonde who had used either hair gel or some potion to slick it back as tightly as he could manage.
His ears twitching, Harry looked at Draco with a raised eyebrow. "Salutations, Draco. I apologize for ending our encounter so abruptly, but there were things I had to do that day, and I don't think it would be wise for the heir of the magical House of Malfoy to interact with the Potter heir—not until we enter Hogwarts proper." Harry somewhat apologized for vanishing like he had.
He wasn't expecting to receive an apology for Harry's immediate departure from the robe shop in the manner that the Potter heir had, but it was appreciated, even though there was no need for it. "Nonsense! I fully understand. I don't want undue attention on me in case I suddenly make a slip and have the general public spreading all sorts of rumors about me," Draco said, dismissing the apology while also appearing friendly, as if they had known each other since early childhood. He slowly approached Harry, only to be stopped by a red-headed boy who stood between him and Harry.
"You won't come any further, Malfoy," Ron warned, directing his words toward Draco to prevent him from stepping closer to Harry.
The blonde felt insulted that this nobody had just stepped in front of Harry, as if the redhead with the freckled face was some sort of bodyguard. As he began to make out the features of the boy, he knew exactly which family this person belonged to. "No reason for me to ask who you are, red hair, freckled face, hand-me-down robes—you're a Weasley," Draco said, narrating the common traits of a Weasley to the hatred and annoyance of the redhead before him.
"Yeah, I'm a Weasley, and I know you are a pretentious prick with your fancy robes and slicked-back hair, thinking that you're better than everyone else," Ron shot back venomously. The two began staring each other down, and if it were possible, lightning would have started sparking in the open air between their eyes.
While the two boys were locked in a standoff, another blonde-haired student—a girl—walked past them and extended her hand, introducing herself. "Greetings! I am Daphne Greengrass, heiress of the House of Greengrass. It is a pleasure to meet you, Heir Potter," the strawberry-blonde girl said while slightly bowing her head.
Smirking a bit, Harry took her hand and brought his lips to her knuckles, recalling the various images of courtly etiquette that had appeared in his mind about the appropriate response. "The pleasure is mine. At least there are some here who can maintain proper decorum instead of getting into a pissing contest," he stated, all while the two boys fighting over him remained unaware of his comment.
"I would have to agree. Misbehavior like this is usually the blame of the head of house for a lack of proper handling—or for overhandling the representatives of their own house," Daphne added with as much haughtiness as she could muster, glancing at the still ignorant boys who ignored everything except for their little glaring contest, until a fake cough from the raven-haired boy broke them out of their deadlock.
With the two boys no longer focused on each other, Draco immediately caught sight of Daphne standing next to Harry, who seemed to be engaged in cordial interaction—something that wasn't truly good for him, at least from a political standpoint, given that the Greengrass family was neutral and part of the gray coalition of magicals. "I apologize, Harrison, but there are some houses that you shouldn't associate with, and I can help you avoid making unnecessary mistakes by associating with those who are traitors to their own culture," Draco tried to sound civil, though his venomous words were directed at a slowly reddening Ron, whose fists were starting to clench to the point that he might start throwing punches.
Daphne snorted at that statement, as if the Malfoys knew anything about proper houses one should associate with. The House of Malfoy was only 200 years old compared to her own, which made the noble House of Malfoy look like a newborn. Her house—the Houses of Potter, Bones, Black, Weasley, and several others—were among the oldest existing houses. Even if a few of those houses had fallen on hard times due to a lack of heirs, coin, or other factors that would lead to the decline of such noble lineages, they still held a place of honor. "I do not believe a Malfoy should speak in such a manner, especially for a house that is merely magical and not truly noble. Mine is ancient and Noble, and I have a complete knowledge of the various houses one should always be wary of, as well as those few houses that always honor their deals, even if they try to go about it in a roundabout way." Despite her speaking in a way that seemed directed at Draco's comment, it was mostly aimed at the boy she was standing next to, who captivated her with his pointed ears and cat-like eyes that shone like emerald gems in the torchlight of the antechamber. It almost made her want to fall into their emerald depths.
This time it was Draco's turn to blush with anger at being talked down to. He knew that the Greengrasses were considered higher on the social circles and political ladder. It was fortunate that the House of Malfoy had obtained more influence after the war, which made it easier for him to express his displeasure in the words he was about to send back. "The House of Malfoy will soon rise and become equal to the Greengrasses and the other great houses! We will not be a simple magical house; we will become a great house like all the others, for our line is pure and will soon be noble!" he shot back. Before any words could be said, Harry stepped in between the three of them.
"That's quite enough. I am no prize to be fought over—whether it is from someone who genuinely wants to know me as a person, another who wishes to elevate themselves in the political arena, or those who just want to be close to the spotlight that I have hanging over my head," Harry said to all three individuals who were vying for his attention. He made sure to look into their eyes as he spoke. Only Ron looked away in shame, while Draco wore an irritated expression directed not at Harry but mostly toward the floor. Daphne, on the other hand, wore a smirk on her face, seemingly unbothered by his words. "Draco, you say that I shouldn't associate with houses that may not be in my best interest. I thank you for the caution, and I will take it under advisement. However, I will do so under my own power. I will come to you for advice when needed, but I am not beholden to anyone who may steer me in a direction I do not wish to tread. I would hate for our acquaintance to turn hostile." Harry spoke sternly yet gently, before redirecting his attention toward the redhead. "I know of your desire for friendship; I too desire companionship. Yet, I will not be placed in the middle between individuals you may disagree with. If it comes down to my own search for companionship, I will leave. I will not regret leaving those who force me to choose between friends." Again, he used that stern yet gentle tone of speaking, and he saw Ron look even more ashamed than he had been at Harry's words. Lastly, he looked at the strawberry blonde girl, whose expression had not changed from a smirk; it only showed how amused she was by how everything was turning out. "As for you, try not to stir up too much chaos for me or anyone else. That is all I ask." He requested this of her, as he did not know her nor her motives. The only thing he knew was that she was someone at the very top of the social, financial, and political ladder, able to talk down to those who believed themselves to be high enough to be considered equals, yet she approached him in manner reserved for equals.
Daphne wasn't too affected by his words, except that the smile plastered across her face turned into a vicious grin, and a small spark in her eye began to glow mischievously. "Don't worry; I won't stir up too much chaos—just enough to reveal the natures of others. You will be a difficult one to shake up," she said mischievously.
McGonagall stepped into the antechamber and noticed the students milling around, discussing things, and even a small contingent of students staring at what looked like a play between others. She made sure that no conflicts were occurring, which would force her to send out detentions all before the students had a chance to be sorted. Fortunately, there were no signs of actual physical altercations or magical confrontations—just conversational disputes, which was the only thing she could pick up on.
She announced that all the students would be called up by their last names to be sorted into their respective houses as she led them into the Great Hall. Everyone stared up at the ceiling, including Harry, who saw the magic displaying the night sky and the stars. as he concentrated a little, he could see the runic arrays, enchantments, and other works that had gone into making the ceiling appear transparent. He vaguely heard Hermione comment that one of the founders had enchanted the ceiling to reveal the night sky, and that information came from *Hogwarts: A History, something that Harry would most definitely be looking through with greater scrutiny, just to make sure there were no hidden details he might be unaware of.
Students were called one by one, and each and every one of them was sorted into their respective houses: Draco into Slytherin, Hermione into Gryffindor, Ron into Gryffindor, Daphne into Slytherin, Susan into Hufflepuff, Neville into Gryffindor, and so forth. When it came to Harry's turn, he walked up and sat down on the stool where the enchanted magical hat had sung from, and now it hovered above his head while the deputy headmistress held it before gently setting it on his head.
"My my, what an interesting mind you have, Harrison Potter! Or should I refer to you by your other names, such as the one that your wand has named you, or perhaps names that are yet to be known to you?" the magical instrument on his head said jokingly, probing deeply into Harry's mind.
He pursed his lips together; he was well aware of the name that his magical focus had given him, yet he would not share that with just anyone. As for the other names, he did not know what they were. "Harrison" was still new to his mind, and most likely, he would still answer to "Harry," even if it wasn't truly his true name. "I would like to be known as Harry for now in non-formal settings, Mr. Hat," he replied to the hat's queries.
"Such a polite young man and a very inquisitive one at that! Lady Ravenclaw would delight in some of the knowledge you have in your head. Along with those scattered memories, Helga would also appreciate your hard work. Yet, I sense you have a loyalty only to yourself and to those whom you slowly work into your confidence. You possess plenty of bravery and nobility, yet I sense a deep yearning, a deep hunger that has only become emboldened since you put your uncle in his place," the hat continued to speak to Harry while also observing the various memories in his mind.
For a brief moment, he felt nervous that the hat was reading into his memories. He could feel the subtle probes poking around in his head, but he didn't know it could go that far. Would it see what he had done to his uncle during those times when Harry felt mad and wanted him to hurt? Would it judge him for smashing many of his cousin's precious electronic devices out of childish revenge? Would it deem him unworthy of being a student?
Sensing Harry's fear, trepidation, and worry, the hat began to speak softly. "Do not worry; I will not judge you by what you have done to those who have wronged you. Salazar was much the same; he did not allow slights to go unchallenged or unquestioned. Neither did he shy away from the less subtle ways of dealing with annoyances, and his hunger and desires are similar to your own." The hat softly soothed the boy before coming to its own decision regarding where he should be.
"Thank you," Harry whispered to the hat.
"You're welcome, Mr. Potter," the hat replied, giving Harry one last final scan through his mind, though it did not try to penetrate that small opening within the boy's mind that was connected to another, right before it made its announcement to all.
"Slytherin!"
BTC