Chapter Text

James woke up gasping for air. 

His arms were shaking so badly, he barely had the strength to push himself up right. It took a moment, without his glasses, to realize he wasn’t home. From what he could make out through the blurry shapes and dimmed lights, he was in a hospital room. St. Mungo’s.

Desperate, he searched for his glasses. Once his vision cleared, he recognized Sirius’ slumped form sitting at his bedside. His face was gaunt and tear streaked.

James’ heart caught in his throat. 

This couldn’t be happening.

“Lily?” 

Sirius raised his head.

“In the next room,” he rasped.

“The baby?”

“Oh, Prongs…” Sirius looked into his eyes, reaching out to place a hand over his. “I’m so sorry. He was…”

James' body began to shake, as though under the Cruciatus Curse once more. Tears spilled down his cheeks and he choked on a sob.

“We won the war. He saved the world,” Sirius whispered. “His name will go down in history. There won’t be a witch or wizard alive who won’t know the name Henry James Potter.”

James cried harder, holding onto his best friend like a lifeline.

His little boy was gone.

Someone was going to have to tell Lily. 

He could only hope she would hear it from him.

When Harry Dursley turned 11-years-old, his aunt and uncle sat him down at the kitchen table to have a talk about his next year of schooling.

“You’re a wizard,” his Aunt Petunia said, a deep scowl on her face. She spoke as though the words burned her tongue.

His Uncle Vernon reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled letter. He slid it across the table to Harry.

“You’re getting shipped off to magic school, boy,” he ground out, like the idea of sending Harry away didn’t make him want to jump with joy.

“Someone will come to collect you today, to pick up your school supplies.” Petunia’s lips curled in disgust. “Then, on September 1st, we’ll take you to King’s Cross, and you can take the train to school.”

“We expect you to behave,” Vernon added, narrowing his eyes. “It might be a- a freak school, but you’ll be attending under our name. Don’t go causing any trouble, you hear?”

Harry blinked at them.

He knew for a while now that he was being sent to St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. After all, he’d overheard Vernon tell his sister, Aunt Marge, as much just last month. So why his aunt and uncle were calling it ‘magic school’ and him a ‘wizard’, he wasn’t entirely sure.

There was a knock so loud it could have broken the front door, making Harry jump.

“That must be the emissary,” Vernon said, getting up to answer the door.

Petunia tutted, but got up as well, brushing nonexistent crumbs off her apron.

Harry felt himself shrink at the sound of the booming voice speaking with Vernon. He really hoped at least someone at St. Brutus’s would turn out to be nice.

“Boy!” Vernon called. “Come over here, I don't think your guest will fit in our living room.”

Harry swallowed. He looked back at Petunia.

“Go on then, come on,” she said, unsympathetically.

Sighing, Harry picked up his letter, because he’d never been allowed to have one before, and went to the foyer. 

He froze. There was Vernon, standing at the doorway, where the lower half of a giant man, with a huge brown coat and heavy boots, stood. They man bent down slightly, revealing long, shaggy hair and a tangled beard. He smiled, his black beetle-like eyes twinking.

“You mus’ be Harry!” The man exclaimed. “Allow me to introduce meself. I’m Rubeus Hagrid, Care of Magical Creatures Professor an’ Groundskeeper at Hogwarts. You can call me Hagrid, everyone does.”

“Hog- What?” Harry breathed. 

“ Hogwarts ,” Petunia hissed in his ear, coming up behind him. She squeezed his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin. “Off you go then, Harry dear,” she said out loud, in a sickly sweet voice. 

Harry stumbled a little as she pushed him forward. 

“C’mon then, Harry,” Hagrid said. “We got school supplies to buy.”

“Um, but…” Harry glanced back at Petunia, then Vernon, who was now shoving him out the door. “I- I haven’t any money.”

“That’s alright, Harry,” Hagrid gave him a ruff pat on the shoulder, almost making him fall over. “The Ministry provides a stipend for some Muggleborns.”

“Mu-Muggles?” Harry asked.

The front door of Number Four Privet Drive slammed shut behind him, and Harry was left alone with Hagrid.

“Muggles,” Hagrid repeated, starting to walk down the street, his steps so big, Harry had to jog to keep up. “It’s what we call non magical folks, like yer parents back there. You yerself are a Muggleborn, ‘cause yer a wizard who was born in the muggle world.”

Harry looked away. He wasn’t sure if the nausea he was feeling was because of this strange, sick joke everyone seemed to be playing on him, or because Hagrid had referred to the Dursleys as his parents . The most parental thing they’d ever done for him was giving him Vernon’s name, even though he was Petunia’s nephew by blood, and letting him have his own bed in their broom closet.

“Ah, here’s a good spot,” Hagrid suddenly said. He put an arm out in front of Harry. “Stay on the curb now,” he said. 

And out of his coat, the man pulled out a little pink umbrella, and waved it out in front of him.

“Bus should arrive any minute now,” Hagrid told him cheerfully.

He knew it. He knew everyone was pulling his leg today. Of all the awful pranks to pull on his birthday, no less— 

There was a deafening bang.

A triple decker, purple bus appeared out of thin air. In gold letters over the windshield, it read The Knight Bus . A conductor in a purple uniform stepped out, giving what sounded like a scripted speech.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step aboard, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I’ll be your conductor this morning.”

“Alright, Stan?” Hagrid greeted him. 

“Off to the Leaky Caldron, Hagrid?” Stan answered, ushering them aboard.

“Yeah, jus’ takin’ Harry here on his first trip ter Diagon Alley.”

While Hagrid and Stan chatted, Harry looked around the bus. Instead of chairs, there were beds, and he took a seat on one just behind the bus driver, an elderly man sitting in an armchair. There was another bang, and Harry had to hold on tight as the Knight Bus took off at full speed. And while he sat there, hanging on for dear life, a realization dawned on him.

Magic was real.

He really was a wizard.

It explained every ‘freaky’ thing that ever happened to him. Turning his teacher’s wig blue. Inexplicably finding himself on the roof. His hair growing back overnight… It was all becoming clear. He wondered distantly if Petunia and Vernon had known all along. If that was why they always kept him at arm's length, why he was never treated the same as Dudley. Why he lived under the stairs.

—————

Soon, they arrived in London. The Knight Bus made a hard stop in front of a shabby looking pub called The Leaky Cauldron , where Hagrid and Harry got off.

“Thanks again, boys,” Hagrid called out. “We’ll see yeh again later, after our shoppin’s done.”

Stan waved, shutting the door, and the bus was off again, gone as quickly as it had come.

“Here we are,” Hagrid said, winking at Harry and patting his shoulder again. “This place is famous.”

From the outside, it seemed dark and shabby, but when they entered, Harry was surprised with how much it was bustling with life. 

A few people recognized Hagrid when he came in and waved, but a large crowd gathered around a man and woman. For some reason, they were all trying to shake their hands, stumbling over each other to introduce themselves and welcome the couple. From what Harry could make out, the man had messy dark hair and glasses, and the woman had gray-streaked red hair and incredibly bright green eyes. He only had a moment to look at them, before turning away, but he could’ve sworn the woman’s eyes looked just like his.

The bartender looked up as Hagrid approached, and said “The usual Hagrid?”

“I’m on Hogwarts business today, Tom,” Hagrid answered, his chest swelling with pride.

“Are you now?” Tom, the bartender, peered down at Harry, who shuffled his feet.

“Dumbledor himself gave me the assignment an’ everythin’,” Hagrid told him. He glanced over his shoulder. “You think the Potters’ will still be here when I come back? Thought I oughtta say hello, at least.”

“They might,” Tom answered with a shrug, “if not, I’ll tell them.”

“Thanks, Tom, yer a good man.”

As Tom let them in behind the bar, Hagrid nudged Harry, pointing towards the back, where a twitchy man in a turban sat.

“That there’s Professor Quirrell, he teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts. You’ll be seein’ lots o’ him when yeh start school.”

Harry gawked at the man for a moment, a weird sensation washing over him, before he continued following Hagrid. He followed him into a small, walled courtyard, and Hagrid pulled out his umbrella again.

“Pay attention, Harry,” he told him as he tapped out a pattern on the bricks.

The bricks started to wiggle, and then a hole opened, revealing a cobbled street. 

“Welcome to Diagon Alley.”

Harry was so busy looking around at the shops, a cauldron store, an apothecary, an owl emporium , that he almost got separated from his guide. 

“This way, Harry, we’ve gotta go ter Gringotts first.”

“What’s Gringotts?” Harry asked him.

“It’s the bank,” Hagrid explained. “I’ll go in an’ get yer money for yeh this time, since I’ve got ter pick up a, er, sensitive package for the Headmaster as well. You stay out front, alright? Not a very exciting place, Gringotts. I mean, there’s the dragons and whatnot, but yeh don’t really see those much.”

“Did you say dragons?” Harry panted as he tried to keep up. “Why would they keep dragons in a bank, is that safe?”

“Well, Gringotts is the most secure place there is, second only tah Hogwarts. They’ve gotta have somethin’ ter guard all the money.” Hagrid sighed. “Crikey, I’d like a dragon.”

“You’d like one?”

“Wanted one since I was a kid — here we go.”

They reached a white building that towered over all the other little shops. 

“Stay here,” Hagrid instructed, “read over yer supply list, in yer letter. I’ll be back before yeh know it.”

Harry nodded as he bid him goodbye, sitting down in the middle of the front steps. Finally, after the strangest, longest morning of his life, he pulled out his letter.

Mr. H. Dursley

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whining

Surrey

The envelope was made of yellowish parchment, the address written in emerald green. Turning it over, the letter was sealed with purple wax. It bore a coat of arms; a lion, a badger, an eagle and a snake surrounding a large letter H .

He opened it with trembling fingers. He pulled out the letter, reading it over a couple times, just to be sure, and looked at his supply list. It was long, and he really hoped he’d be able to afford it all. And just when Harry was wondering what he could possibly need a broomstick for, someone trodded on his foot.

“Ouch!” He yelped, dropping his envelope.

He looked up, scowling, only to blink when he recognized the man from the pub. His wife was a couple steps up, making her way towards the bank doors.

“Sorry about that, didn’t see you there,” the man said, reaching over to pick up Harry’s letter.

His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back up, pausing to stare at the letter thoughtfully.

Harry felt himself flush in horror.

“Give it back,” he whispered. 

“First year, are you, Mr. H. Dursley?” The man looked down at him, an eyebrow quirked.

“Give it back.”

“I ought to ask my wife, but do most muggles live in cupboards?”

“ Give it back! ”

“James!” His wife called him from the top of the stairs.

He tossed the letter back into Harry’s lap, rolling his eyes.

“Coming dear! Goodbye then, Dursley.”

Harry glared at his back as he left, clutching his letter to his chest. The couple disappeared, and a few minutes later, Hagrid reappeared. Harry saw him tuck a small parcel into a pocket of his large jacket.

“Here yeh are, Harry,” Hagrid smiled at him, handing him a heavy bag.

Harry peered into it, and Hagrid began explaining to him the basic ins and outs of wizarding money. They made a shopping plan, as Hagrid looked over his list too, telling him the best places to go. 

“Listen, Harry,” he said, “why don’t yeh go to Madam Malkin’s ta get yer robe fitted, since that’ll take up some time, and I’ll pick up a couple o’ other things. Make sure ta meet me at the apothecary.”

Harry agreed, even though he was feeling a little nervous about entering the robes’ shop by himself.  But he felt a little better when Madam Malkin smiled kindly at him.

“Hogwarts, dear?” she said, when Harry started to speak. “Got a lot here — another young man is being fitted up just now, in fact.”

She took him to the back of the store, standing him on a stool next to another boy who was getting his long black robe pinned. He looked up at Harry with a bored expression on his face, and his blond hair neatly brushed back.

Harry, who’d never been particularly good at talking to other people his age, barely managed to squeak out a “Hi.”

“Hello, Hogwarts too?” the boy asked. 

“Yeah, just found out this morning,” Harry found himself confessing.

“Really?” The boy raised an eyebrow. “Were your parents planning to send you to Durmstrag?”

“Er. Not that I know of.”

“Hm. Well, my father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands. What about yours?”

“I came with someone from Hogwarts,” Harry said, deciding not to touch the subject. 

“Oh.” The boy looked him over. “Well. I’m Draco Malfoy. My father works for the Ministry.”

“I’m Harry Dursley.”

“Do you know anything about Quidditch?”

“No.”

Draco proceeded to tell Harry in detail everything he could fit in about Quidditch, from the brooms, to the different teams, and his own disappointment in first years not being allowed to play at school. Harry had never been so fascinated.

“So, do you plan to play when you’re a second year?” he asked him.

“Of course,” Draco drawled, “I’ll be playing for Slytherin.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, of course you wouldn’t know. It’s one of the four Houses of Hogwarts. The best one, really. There’s also Ravenclaw, they’re smart, always studying; then Hufflepuff, which isn’t all that bad; but then there’s Gryffindor, and they’re the worst.”

“You're both done, my dears,” Madam Malkin interrupted. “And I think that's your mum outside,” she added to Draco.

Harry looked over to see a blond woman stand outside the window, starting at Draco, silently urging him to hurry along.

“I must be going then,” Draco said. “Goodbye, I suppose I’ll be seeing you around, Dursley.”

Harry fought the urge to frown, disappointed at how impersonal he was being.

“Er, yeah, maybe we’ll be friends.”

Draco Malfoy paused on his way out to stare at him incredulously, before bursting out laughing. 

“Unless you’re the first muggleborn in history to be placed in Slytherin, I highly doubt that.”

Harry could feel his face going red. He hated the way Malfoy said the word muggleborn , it felt so demeaning. Glowring after him, Harry waited a moment before leaving too. He found Hagrid at the apothecary, and even though the man gave him a few questioning looks, he decided not to mention the incident. 

The rest of the day went well, fortunately. Harry ended up loving the apothecary, despite its horrible smell, discovering jars of herbs, barrels of slime and even the horn of a unicorn (not that he could afford much that wasn’t on his list). The bookstore was also quite exciting, as well as the cauldron shop. Then, finally, the last thing left on the list was his wand.

“Go in ter Ollivanders on yer own, Harry,” Hagrid said. “There’s one las’ thing that needs takin’ care of.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here when yer done.”

And so Harry was left alone again, as he entered the narrow and shabby wand shop. A tinkling bell rang from somewhere in the depths of the shop. The place was mostly empty except for a chair, and thousands of narrow boxes stacked up to the ceiling.

“Hello?” He called out, voice echoing a little.

“Good afternoon,” a soft voice said.

Harry tried not to jump out of his skin, as a elderly man appeared out of the shadows. The man gave him a very curious look, staring deep into his eyes. Harry did his best not to blink.

“Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for cham work,” he whispered, as though in some sort of trance. “Eleven inches, pliable, mahogany. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration.”

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose, to the point where he could see himself reflected in the man’s misty eyes.

“Hmmm.”

Harry swallowed.

“Let me see.” Mr Ollivander finally took a step back, pulling out a long measure out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”

“Er— well, I’m right-handed.”

“Hold your arm, that’s it.”

Mr. Ollivander prattled on about different wand cores as he measured him. When he was done, he started handing Harry different wands to try out: beechwood and dragon heartstring, maple and phoenix feather, ebony and unicorn hair… On and on it went, until Mr. Ollivander started muttering to himself again.

“I wonder,” and “unusual combination,” were a few things Harry heard before the man disappeared for a moment in the back of the store, reappearing with a new wand.

“Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

A sudden warmth hit his finger when Harry took the wand. He swished it, and red and gold sparks shot out, like fireworks.

“Well, well, well… How curious… How very curious…” Mr. Ollivander said to himself, as Harry handed the wand back and he started wrapping it.

Harry supposed that meant it was a success, considering the others hadn’t done much. Still, all the muttering was starting to grate on his nerves.

“Sorry, but what’s curious?” He finally asked, as he paid the man seven gold Galleons.

Mr. Ollivander stared into his eyes again as he handed him the box. 

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, my boy. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It’s very curious that you should be destined for this wand, when the other belonged to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named… Hmm, yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew… Remember this, my boy. The wand always chooses the wizard.”

When Harry came out of the wand shop, more than a little spooked and confused, he was surprised to find Hagrid holding a golden bird cage. Inside, dark amber watched him, and a snowy owl fluffed out her feathers.

His questions and wand troubles forgotten, he stared up at Hagrid, who beamed at him.

“Hagrid, is that…”

“I heard today’s yer birthday. All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, they carry the mail an’ everythin’.”

Harry couldn’t stop thanking him until they reached the Leaky Cauldron again, and Hagrid patted his shoulder.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “I know yeh probably didn’t have time to celebrate with yer folks, since we were out most o’ the day.”

Harry decided against telling him this was his first pet, never mind the first birthday gift he’d ever had. Instead, he promised to take good care of it. 

As they sat in the Knight Bus once more, on their way back, Harry dared to ask: “What if I’m not good at magic, because I’m a- a Muggleborn?”

“Don’t worry Harry. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone learns at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard, but you’ll have a great time at Hogwart – I did – still do.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel comforted by the giant man’s words.

Hagrid dropped Harry off at the Dursley’s front step, handing him an envelope. 

“Yer ticket fer Hogwarts,” he said. “First o’ September – King’s Cross – it’s all on yer ticket. I’ll see yeh soon, Harry.”

Harry watched him walk away before ringing the doorbell.

—————

Platform nine. Platform ten. Nothing in between. 

As a sinking feeling washed over him, Harry was nine and three-quarters sure his family had been right to be laughing at him. Everyone was staring, probably because of Hedwig, as he’d decided to call his owl, but he could still feel their eyes on him.

He looked again. A big plastic number nine over one platform, and a big plastic number ten over the other. Looking at the arrival board, we could clearly see there weren't any trains leaving at eleven. According to the clock over the board, he only had ten minutes to board the Hogwarts train.

Maybe if he ran fast enough, he could catch the Dursley's car.

He took a step back, bumping into someone. He swung around.

“Sorry!” 

His apology went unheard, as a family of red-heads bustled across the station.

“—packed with Muggles, of course—” The mother complained in a low voice to the oldest-looking of her five children.

Harry’s eyes widened as he noticed all the boys (four brothers, with one girl holding on to her mother’s hand) had trunks just like his. And one of them had an owl!

Cautiously trailing behind as they chattered, he followed them to the divide between the two stations.

“All right Percy, you first,” the mother instructed.

Harry watched on as one by one, the red-head boys went through the wall, followed by their mother and sister. Basic instinct was telling him he would crash, but Harry was too scared to be left behind. So, taking a deep breath, and gathering all his courage, he crossed.

For a moment he waited for the crash that never came.

When he opened his eyes, he was on a platform packed with people. Wizarding people. He looked back to where he’d been, seeing an iron archway with the words ‘Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.’ A relieved smile crossed his face. 

The first few carriages were packed, and as Harry walked down the platform to find an empty seat, he took it all in. The scrapping of trunks, owls annoyed gazes, children’s laughter, parents and guardians’ dramatic sobs. There was a boy telling his grandmother he’d lost his toad, and another showing off his tarantula. 

Finally, near the end of the train, he found an empty compartment. After taking Hedwig in, he came back for his trunk and began struggling to pull it up the steps. Just as he’d dropped it on his foot a second time, and he started to believe only his owl would make it to school, his trunk lifted.

Two identical red-heads grinned mischievously at him.

“All right there?” One of them said.

“We’ll give you a hand,” said the other.

Too shocked by their kind act, Harry barely had time to whisper a ‘thanks’ by the time they’d gotten his trunk settled in the corner of the compartment.

“Fred! George!” Their mother called from the train door.

And then the twins were off again. 

Harry sat down in the chair by the window, sliding down a little so the family couldn’t see him watching them. He peered over as the mother rubbed a bit of dirt off the end of her youngest son’s nose, while he struggled to get a way. The twins laughed, teasing their brother, and Harry wondered what it would have been like if he and Duddly had grown up liking each other.

He tuned back into their conversation as the oldest son, Percy, headed back to the front compartments to be with the other Prefects.

“Now you two,” the mother was saying, turning on the twins. “This year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you’ve blown up a toilet…”

“Blown up a toilet? We’ve never blown up a toilet.”

“Great idea though, thanks, Mom.”

“It’s not funny!”

The whistle blew and the three brothers got on, ushered in by their mother. Harry could just see them leaning out the window for her to kiss their cheeks goodbye. Their little sister sniffled, clearly fighting back tears.

“Don’t worry Ginny, we’ll send you loads of owls!” One of the twins called out as the train began to move.

“We’ll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat!” The other yelled, the train picking up speed.

“ George! ” Harry heard their mother scream from across the platform.

He watched them wave until the train rounded the corner, imagining they were waving at him too.

The compartment door opened. A girl with bushy brown hair came in.

“Is it alright if I join you?” She asked, pointing to the empty seat across from Harry.

“Er, yeah, go ahead,” he said, excited at the prospect of making his first friend.

“I’m Hermione Granger,” she told him. “I grew up in the muggle world, how about you?”

“Harry Dursley,” he introduced himself. “I’m a Muggleborn. I’m- I’m actually really glad to hear that you are too, most people I’ve met seem to be proper wizards, you know.”

“I think we’re proper wizards too,” Hermione said. “We’re just as much of a witch or wizard as anyone else. At least that’s what the books I’ve been reading say. Have you read any of your books yet?”

“I have!” Harry smiled. “It’s all really cool isn’t it? I’ve been trying to catch up with a couple of history books, as well as my potions ones, just for fun.”

“Potions? I’ve been more into Transfiguration, but I have been enjoying the histories too. Have you read about the last Wizarding War?”

“The one with Voldemort?”

Hermione gasped. “You’re not supposed to say his name, Harry! I’ve heard it’s taboo!”

“Oops, sorry.”

Harry had been very interested in the last war. Especially after reading about the Potters, he remembered them from the Leaky Cauldron and Gringotts. Even if Mr. Potter had been a bit of a prick, he couldn’t help feeling bad for him. He couldn’t imagine what it was like, being famous for a dead son, a baby, who saved the world. He thought it was bad enough that the people in Little Whining gossipped about his parents, he could only guess how bad it must have felt for the Potters when it was a whole world. 

It was funny, he’d thought as he read. Little Henry Potter would have started at Hogwart this year too. Harry knew, because his birthday happened to be exactly the day before his own.

Absent-mindedly, he pushed his hair away from his forehead, and Hermione stared.

“Where’d you get that from?”

Harry traced his fingers over the lightning shaped scar on his forehead.

“I got it as a baby, my parents were in a car crash. My dad was… he was drunk.” 

He looked up at her, but her eyes weren’t judgemental.

“That’s awful, Harry, I’m sorry,” she said. “Can I ask who you live with now?”

“Yeah, I live with my aunt, my uncle and my cousin. My uncle works as the director of a drill firm.”

“That’s good. My parents are both dentists.”

“Wow, really?”

For a while they entertained themselves, talking about their trips to Diagon Alley, and how their families reacted to them being magical.

“It’s true,” Harry told her laughing, when Hermione giggled at his story. “They just handed me my letter and told me I was a wizard, like it was the most normal thing for them.”

When he told her about Draco, Hermione pursed her lips.

“Don’t listen to that prat,” she said. “I read that Slytherin is awful and unwelcoming, unlike Gryffindor. Gryffindor is for the brave — Did you know the Potters both came from Gryffindor? And Lily Potter is a Muggleborn too!”

By the time the witch with the snack cart arrived, the two had become fast friends.

“Anything from the cart, dears?” She asked with a smile.

“Er…” Harry looked uncertain, he really didn’t want to waste the wizarding money he had left on sweets.

“Tell me what you want, I’ll get it for you,” Hermione said, noticing his hesitance. “It’s alright, mom and dad gave me a bit extra in case, well, in case I made a friend.”

Harry couldn’t say no to her then, so together they agreed on a few select snacks (Pumpkin pasties, Chocolate Frogs and Burttie Botts’s Every Flavor Beans, just for a bit of adventure — “They can’t really be every flavor, can they?” said Hermione, only to be proved wrong when she got a sardine flavored one.)

After eating his Chocolate Frog, Harry looked down at the collectable card inside the package and gasped. A man with half-moon glasses and a long silver beard stared back at him. He showed it to Hermione.

“Hermione, the picture just winked at me!”

Hermione squinted, then went pale.

“Harry, he just left!” She whisper-screamed.

Harry looked at it again. “Weird.”

“Let me see that.” Harry handed her the card and she read the back. “So this is Dumbledore, then. The Headmaster at Hogwarts. It just says he’s the greatest wizard of modern times, but that’s really just an understatement. Have you seen all the titles he has?”

“Does it say anything new about him?” Harry asked, having read about some of his exploits already.

“Not really,” Hermione shrugged, handing the card back to him. “Grindelwald, Nicholas Flammel, nothing much. Maybe you should start a collection.”

“No thanks,” Harry decided, tucking the card away.

Someone knocked on the door of their compartment, and a boy Harry recognized from the platform came in, now dressed in his school robes. His eyes were wide and teary.

“Have you seen a toad at all?” He asked.

They shook their heads and he burst into tears.

“Oh, Trevor! I’ve really lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“It’s alright,” Hermione said, getting up to pat his shoulder awkwardly. “I’m sure he’ll turn up. What’s your name? I’m Hermione and that’s Harry.”

“I’m Neville.”

“Don’t worry Neville, why don’t we help you look? We might have better luck with three people looking.”

Harry wasn’t sure why he said it. Perhaps it was because he was still riding the wave of having made his first friend, or even because he’d never been really good with tears. Maybe in that sense he was a little like his Aunt Petunia. A single sniff from Duddley, and she was moved to do anything.

“Yeah, we’ll help you, Neville,” Hermione thankfully agreed. “Let's go.”

Neville wiped the last few tears from his eyes. “Thank you. You should change into your robes first though, we’ll be arriving soon, I think.”

After changing, Harry and Hermione joined Neville in his search for the missing toad. They went from compartment to compartment, but nobody had seen Trevor.

“Let’s just try a few more cars,” Hermione would say patiently, whenever Neville would start to despair.

At one point, Harry opened a compartment door and recognized the youngest of the red-head brothers. He was sitting alone in his compartment, with what looked like a chess board set up on the floor. 

“Ron, right?”

“Yeah. What do you want?” Ron looked up, face turning pink under all his freckles.

“Oh, Neville’s lost a toad. Have you seen it?”

Harry tried not to look surprised when a pawn shook its fist at him.

“No, I haven’t,” Ron snapped. “ And if I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quickly as I could.”

“Neville likes his toad,” Harry told him quietly. 

“Well, good for him. Now get out.”

Harry sighed, closing the door to Ron’s compartment. A little annoyed, he opened the following door without knocking and balked. 

There was Draco Malfoy, with two scary looking friends, glaring up at him.

Immediately, Harry slammed the door shut.

Neville and Hermione, who had finished looking in the compartment behind him, looked at him quizzically. 

“No toads in there,” he said quickly.

“We’ll be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time,” a voice echoed. “Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

“Maybe someone will find Trevor then,” Hermione suggested, and Neville sighed.

Harry stuck close to Hermione and Neville as more kids began flooding the corridors. The train finally stopped, and the crowd pushed its way out of the train doors, and out onto a dark platform. Harry looked around, feeling lost, until he spotted a lamp bobbing over people’s heads. Hagrid came into view and Harry grinned.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!”

Hagrid looked down at Harry, beaming.

“Good ta see ya, Harry. Alright there?”

“Hi, Hagrid,” he answered, smiling back. 

He was so glad to see him again, he’d almost forgotten how tall Hagrid might seem to others, as Neville looked up at him.

“C’mon, follow me — any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!”

They followed Hagrid quietly down a dark path, the silence as only broken by Neville’s occasional sniffles, as he mourned the loss of his toad.

There was a loud “Ooooooh!” as they went around the bend. The path had opened up to the edge of a lake, and on the other side, on top of a mountain, was a castle.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to the little boats on the shore.

Harry got in with Hermione and Neville — as well as Ron, who begrudgingly ended up on their boat because everywhere else was full. Everyone was silent once more as they moved towards the castle, in too much awe to say anything. They bent their heads as they reached an ivy curtain, and drifted through a dark tunnel under the castle. Eventually they reached an underground harbor and climbed out.

“Oy, you there!” Hagrid called out, as he finished inspecting the boats for stranglers. “Is this your toad?”

“Trevor!”

Neville perked up at once, holding out his hands to catch his beloved toad.

They followed Hagrid’s lamp until they reached a huge oak door.

“Everyone here?”

Checking them over one more time, Hagrid raised a fist and knocked three times.

—————

Professor McGonagall led them across a flagged stone floor, and into an empty chamber off the Great Hall.

She was a stern looking woman, but Harry could feel nothing but respect for her. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she said. “The Sorting Ceremony will take place in front of the rest of the school. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly .”

She left the chamber. Everyone began to whisper.

“How do you think they sort us?” Harry asked Hermione. But she only shrugged.

“My Great-Uncle Algie said it’s painful,” Neville whispered, looking nauseous. “I just hope we don’t die trying to get sorted.”

Harry swallowed, exchanging a look of horror with Hermione. 

A familiar laugh interrupted them.

“Don’t be stupid, Longbottom, it doesn’t hurt at all,” Malfoy drawled, appearing behind them. “Unless thinking is too painful for you.”

His goons, one on either side of him, laughed. Even though Harry got the sense the statement rang true for them.

“Go away, Malfoy,” he said.

“Or what, Dursley?” Malfoy sneered at him. “Found yourself some friends?” 

His eyes went from Neville, to Hermione, and stopped on Ron, who happened to be next to them.

“Red hair and hand-me-down robes… you must be a Weasley! All twelve of your brothers still studying here?”

Ron’s face turned beet red. “Lay off, Malfoy!”

Malfoy opened his mouth to keep going, but was interrupted when several people behind them screamed.

“What the—”

They all turned around, gasping. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, about twenty ghosts streamed through the back wall. They talked to one another, barely giving the first years a glance, as they were deep in an argument.

“Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—”

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?  He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not even really a ghost…”

Everyone stared as they disappeared through the next wall, headed for the Great Hall.

“Move along, the Sorting Ceneremony’s about to start.”

Professor McGonagall came back, organizing them into a line, and beginning the short journey into the Great Hall. It was even better than how Hogwarts, A History described it, Harry realized as he looked up at the ceiling, bewitched to look like the sky outside. The Hall itself was lit by floating candles, and there were four tables laid out with gold plates and silver goblets.

At the top there was one last table, where all the professors were seated. Professor McGonagall led them up there, and Harry felt nervous as all the older students looked upon them. Then he watched in fascination as the Professor set a stool down in front of them, and set a dirty, pointed hat on top.

A hat which opened its mouth and began to sing.

The whole hall applauded when it was done, and the hat gave a bow to each of the four houses.

“So we’re just trying on a hat?” Herminoe whispered to Harry, sounding disappointed.

Harry on the other hand was relieved, he didn’t want to have to pull a rabbit out or something. Besides history, the only books he’d really been pouring over were potions, and he doubted it would help much.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a long roll of parchment. “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.”

She started calling names. Abbot, Hannah, a Hufflepuff; Bones, Susan, another Hufflepuff; Boot, Terry, a Ravenclaw; Brocklehurst, Mandy, another Ravenclaw; Brown, Lavender, the first Gryffindor; Bulstrode, Millacent, the first Slytherin and Malfoy’s goon, Crabbe, Vincent, was the second… On and on it went.

Harry dreaded that he was so close to the top of the list. 

“Dursley, Harry!”

Walking slowly over to the stool, Harry couldn’t help but think of what Malfoy told him at Madam Malkin’s. He knew Hermione said otherwise, but he was still nervous. He didn’t want to be in Gryffindor, but he also didn’t want to be a Slytherin. Maybe a Hufflepuff would be ok, the hat did say they were just.

But as soon as the hat touched his head, it screamed out: “GRYFFINDOR!”

It didn’t even think twice about the decision. Didn’t even let Harry give a fighting argument.

So he was left to sulkingly make his way to the Gryffindor table, where everyone was cheering, including Ron’s twin brothers, Fred and George. Fortunately he only had to wait a few moments before Hermione was sorted there too. He clapped for her and she smiled, sitting beside him.

The sorting continued, Goyle, Gregory, the other Malfoy goon, joining his friend. The hat stayed a long time on Neville’s head before choosing Gryffindor, but barely touched Malfoy before declaring him a Slytherin. Ron Weasley was one of the last to be sorted, the hat sat on his head for a bit, then yelled: “GRYFFINDOR!” And Ron took a seat near his brothers.

“Well done, Ron, excellent,” Percy the prefect, congratulated his brother, while the last person was sorted into Slytherin.

Professor McGonagall rolled up the scroll at long last and took away the Sorting Hat.

The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledor, in the flesh, stood up. Spreading his arms, he beamed at the students before him.

“Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

He sat back down and the hall burst into cheers.

“He’s mad,” Harry overheard Ron grumble.

“Mad? Percy repeated, giving him a stern look. “He’s a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes,” he conceded with a shrug.

Ron rolled his eyes at his brother, and Harry resisted the urge to laugh. Then he looked back at the table and his mouth fell open. The previously empty dishes were now brimming with food. Harry hadn’t seen so many different kinds of food in front of him before, he was almost tearing up.

At home he was never allowed to eat as much as Dudley, and always had to guard his food in case his cousin tried to take it. Now he added a bit of everything to his plate, knowing there was enough for everyone to even have seconds! The first bite was so delicious, he closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

“That does look good,” said a ghost with a ruff, “I haven’t eaten in nearly four hundred years,” he lamented. “Have I introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. I am the resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

“That’s Nearly Headless Nick!” One of the Weasley twins called out. 

Nearly Headless Nick frowned at the offending twin. “I do prefer being called—”

“How can you be nearly headless?” One boy, Seamus Finnegan, asked.

The ghost gave an irritated sigh and proceeded to lift his head off his shoulders. It only stuck on by the smallest scrap of skin. He put his head back and moved on down the table.

Dinner was replaced with dessert, and as Harry ate, some of the first years began talking about their families. Along with Hermione and Harry, a boy called Dean Thomas also identified himself as a muggleborn; while Seamus Finnegan explained that he was a half-blood. Then Neville told everyone how his family, from an old wizarding bloodline, had thought he wasn’t magic and dropped him out a window, only for him to bounce. Harry had never been more glad to grow up with the Dursleys after hearing that, if that was what all purebloods were like.

While Hermione started asking Percy about lessons, Harry looked over at the High Table, where the professors sat. He smiled as he saw Hagrid on one end drinking deeply from his goblet. In the middle of the table, Professor McGonagall was deep in conversation with Professor Dumbledor. And, near the end, he recognized Professor Quirrell, who was talking to another professor with the general complexion of a vampire.

And then the strange professor just happened to look over Quirrell’s turban, and his eyes found Harry’s. 

His dark gaze scrutinized him.

He must have seen something, because an almost haunted look crossed his already pallid face. But Harry didn’t have time to dwell on it, because a sudden sharp pain shot across his scar.

Harry broke contact first, as he flinched away, reaching up to rub his forehead. And then the pain was gone as quickly as it came.

He looked up at the High Table again, but the professor had already turned back to his conversation.

Once dessert was over, Dumbledor was back on his feet with more announcements: the Forbidden Forest was off limits to all students; Mr. Filch, the caretaker, wanted everyone to remember that magic was not to be used in the hallways between classes; Quidditch trials would be held in two weeks; and the third floor corridor on the right hand side was off limits this year – for anyone who didn’t want to die a painful death.

Harry might have found this to be a little funny, if he wasn't so focused on the man next to Quirrell. He was trying to catch his eye again, but it was to no avail.

“He’s not serious?” He heard Ron whisper.

“Must be,” Percy whispered back.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” Dumbledor called. “Everyone pick a favorite tune, and off we go!”

Once everyone managed to finish singing, Dumbledor wiped his eyes.

“Ah, music, a magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

As the first years started to follow Percy and the other prefects to Gryffindor Tower, Harry sent one last fleeting look towards the High Table. The strange professor caught his eye at long last.

He frowned at Harry, for but a second, before decisively turning away.