Sitra Ahra

Eight Movement: Condemned to Glory

September 1, 1991

Ministry Militia member Albert Felcher wasn’t exactly proud of his current means of employment, but supposed any job was better than no job. A self-admitted career slacker, he had failed out of the Auror academy his first semester. Luckily for him, however, he had done his fair share of partying with Williamson, who had somehow managed to scrape through the academy.

Williamson had alerted him that the Ministry was putting together a security task force. With a few kind words from the now-Junior Auror, Albert found himself picked for the squad. It hardly put him among elite company, but it was employment. Williamson would someday call in the favor, most likely at an inopportune time, but he would worry about it when the moment arrived, and not a second before. He had far more pressing matters at hand.

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, had been outraged at the announcement that Harry Potter had become a citizen of France. Albert never saw it himself, but whispered retellings of the resulting temper tantrum spread like wildfire throughout the halls of the Ministry. Fudge considered Potter’s defection an embarrassment to the government, and had ordered the DMLE to apprehend the boy upon arrival at King’s Cross, due process be damned. Considering Harry Potter had sent back his Hogwarts letter with an affirmative, it was a certainty that he would arrive at the station.

Beneath the cover of a Notice-Me-Not charm, Albert’s orders were to observe all incoming traffic via the main entrance to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. At three hours before the scheduled Hogwarts Express departure, he had been ordered to set up, should Potter and any accomplices arrive. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be awake so much earlier than usual, but didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

 

Scanning the crowd of muggles closing in on all sides, he felt distinctly unclean. They were all just so…inferior to wizards. And the stupid clothes they wore!

After a half hour of watching the entrance, he noticed two muggle figures moving closer to the barrier, a mother and a son. The son was small, thin, almost too much so for a first-year. He was wearing typically muggle attire, blue pants and a black shirt, with unruly blond hair poking out from under his black Newcastle United hat. He was lugging a large, brown trunk on wheels, with an owl cage perched perilously atop it.

The mother had the exact blond hair of her son, and was dressed in similar blue pants as her son, and a navy blouse. She seemed distinctly uncomfortable and nervous, which was reported to be common among the parents of mudbloods.

The boy approached the barrier slowly, his bright blue eyes wide in anticipation. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his foot, as if testing how cold a lake was. His eyes flew open with surprise upon finding no resistance.

Merlin, mudbloods could be so stupid.

Armed with newfound confidence, the boy marched through the barrier, pulling the trunk behind him. The mother followed shortly thereafter, trepidation written clearly upon her face.

Once they vanished, Albert quickly followed after them. According to the description given out to all militia members patrolling the platform, Harry Potter had black hair, green eyes, glasses and a large lightning-bolt shaped scar upon his forehead. So far, the only thing that matched up was the small, thin build of the boy. However, in the event that the Potter spawn attempted to use any magical glamour or concealment, the platform had been warded against all types of magical disguise.

Readying his wand by his side, he stepped through the barrier. The boy looked exactly as he had before, and was currently staring at the bright red train in wonder. In fact, both the child and mother seemed completely unchanged. From a distance, it appeared that they were just gazing about in wonder at the many perfectly average sights that surrounded them. With a sigh, he turned away from the ignorant mudbloods and moved back to his former post.

After all, the Potter brat could be arriving at any moment.

-

“And please do not forget, your Hogwarts letter clearly told you not to perform magic over the summer. So try not to flaunt your magical skill, it being illegally developed.”

Harry grinned at Perenelle’s reminder.

“I’ll try. Just don’t forget that a simple cleansing spell will get all that off.”

She took a lock of her recently dyed blond hair between her fingers, looking at it with distrust. While cosmetic spells were second nature to her, muggle products were still a mystery.

“I certainly hope so, Harry.”

Propping his trunk up against the door frame, he used his newly unburdened hands to hug Perenelle.

“Thank you for everything.”

Harry saw tears in her eyes before she returned his embrace, squeezing tightly.

“Stay safe, Harry, and good luck with your first year. You are going to do great there, I know it,” she whispered into his ear, her voice heavy with emotion.

He let go first, and began to drag his trunk onto the train. Raising his arm, he gave a final wave to Perenelle, which she returned. Turning back to his trunk, he set it on its wheels, and rolled it to the back to the train. Hedwig screeched in displeasure with being jostled.

“It’s okay, girl,” Harry reassured, “we’re almost in the compartment, where I can let you out.”

She quieted at his words, and he resumed moving toward the back of the train. He settled upon the last door, and entered. Working quickly, he shut the blinds, cutting off the morning rays of sunshine. In the relative darkness, he withdrew his wand from his trunk, and cast cleaning charms on his face and hair. He felt the flesh colored-makeup disappear from this face, but couldn’t really see his reflection well in the window. After placing his glasses back on, the world sharpened, revealing that his hair was back to its natural color. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, as the hardest part was over. The Ministry hadn’t yet secured the right to search compartments on the Hogwarts Express. If they had, Harry may have had to seriously consider attending Beauxbatons.

With the most important part complete, he stowed the hat into his trunk, and raised it onto the racks. Hedwig screeched again, getting impatient with how long it was taking to free her. Harry conceded to his snowy owl’s wishes, and opened the window for her. Hedwig soared out of it, letting out a single hoot of gratitude as she exited the compartment. With all the necessary steps out of the way, Harry opened the blinds again, and just sat, letting the warm rays wash over him.

As the morning advanced, the bustle of the growing crowd grew louder, but no one bothered Harry. Starting to get bored, he pulled the first-year Charms textbook, and started reading. After roughly an hour, the door opened again.

In the doorway was a very short, blond girl in white jeans, and a red top. She sized him up for a moment with her vivid blue eyes, her eyes lingering on his clothes. She nodded once, as if resolving some internal question, and began to drag her stuff in, talking while she did so.

“All of the other compartments were full, so I do hope you don’t mind if I share yours.”

Harry smiled to himself, guessing that he really didn’t have a choice, as she was already stuffing her trunk into the overhead compartment.

“No, it’s alright.”

The girl nodded without turning around, still arranging her trunk. Once done, she wiped her hands on the front of her pants, before sticking a hand out to him.

“I’m Tracey Davis. It’s nice to finally meet another muggleborn,” she stated, her face neutral.

Harry laughed at her statement, prompting a frown from the girl. Before he could explain himself, however, the door opened again, slowly, cautiously. Beyond was an almost-terrified looking chubby boy with brown hair, dressed in black wizarding robes. Oddly, Tracey eyed them with distrust. Harry found himself wondering what kind of chip this girl had on her shoulder.

“Is there any room in here?” the boy asked timidly, staring hopefully at the two other children. Tracey looked at him, and raised a single eyebrow. In wake of no immediate response, the boy put his head down, and began to back away, inciting Harry to speak up. Harry found himself feeling sorry for him, as he bore the countenance of a whipped puppy.

“Hey, don’t go,” Harry implored, before spreading his arms wide. “There’s plenty of room in here.”

The boy looked up at his claim, his face hopeful. Encouraged, he dragged his trunk forward into the compartment. Harry helped him stow his trunk, earning a stuttered thanks in return.

“Thanks for letting me in here,” he said earnestly, “I’m Neville Longbottom. Who are you guys?”

“Tracey Davis,” the girl offered with a slight nod.

Harry, mentally preparing himself, went next.

“My name’s Harry Potter.”

Neville openly gasped, while Tracey’s look of indifference turned to shock. After a few moments of silence, Harry decided it was getting a bit awkward.

“Please, I’m not going to recruit you for my dark crusade. That will be after the Sorting.”

Tracey let out a small laugh, while Neville looked concerned. Harry groaned internally, lamenting having to deal with his unearned reputation so quickly.

“Not everyone believes the Daily Prophet,” Neville reassured earnestly, “my grandmother always said they only said those bad things because you wouldn’t become the Ministry’s mascot.”

It was the last thing he expected the downtrodden-looking boy to say, but he found himself comforted by the words, grateful, even if the insight of Neville’s grandmother probably wasn’t common.

“Thanks,” Harry replied.

The door opened again after his comment, revealing a brunette girl with bushy, slightly frayed hair, in muggle attire.

“I can’t believe how loud and childish the rest of the train is! Running up and down the halls, throwing stuff at each other! This is the only compartment quiet enough for someone to think in,” the girl claimed, slamming her trunk down in the center of the compartment.

Tracey, well aware of the irony of the girl’s statement, sent a death glare at her, which she caught.

“My, I’m the loud one now, aren’t I?” she asked, receiving a slow nod from Tracey. “Sorry for my rude entry. Is it okay if I stay in this compartment?”

Tracey didn’t look exactly thrilled with the prospect, but Harry didn’t really have a problem with it.

“Well, since you asked nicely,” Harry answered, “I think we might have some room for you.”

“Thank you,” she answered, smiling. Harry and Neville helped her hoist up her trunk, before sitting down.

“I’m Hermione Granger,” the girl offered. Neville went next, followed by Harry.

Hermione’s eyes widened with shock at his identity, but she was quickly overcome by excitement.

“I saw your name all the time in the reading I did after finding out I was magical. Every book seemed to have a different opinion on you.”

“Yeah, life hasn’t been much different,” Harry remarked, chuckling slightly. He glanced over to Tracey, who still hadn’t introduced herself. She had stopped sending pointed glances in Hermione’s direction, but still seemed slightly displeased.

“I can’t believe that there was an entire world under our noses the entire time!” Hermione exclaimed. “I never would have believed someone who told me that magic is real, and here I am going to a school of magic!”

At Hermione’s exclamations, a smirk appeared upon Tracey’s face.

“What?” Hermione asked, perplexed by Tracey’s reaction. The girl in question shrugged in response.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just not as excited as you. I mean, it’s really neat to have magic be real, but I feel so behind all the other magical kids, that I don’t know if I’ll ever catch up.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel that Tracey was implying something else, but didn’t know what her point was. He thought it was a good time to speak up.

“My mom was a muggleborn. From what I know, she went on to become Head Girl, the highest honor for a Hogwarts student.”

Tracey didn’t exactly seem swayed by his argument, as her expression didn’t change.

“That must have taken a lot of hard work. It just seems that the wizarding world is very unkind to muggleborns, and doesn’t really want them here.”

Hermione started in with a retort, but Tracey cut her off.

“Were you able to practice magic over the summer, once you found out you were magical?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Of course not; it said in the Hogwarts letter that we couldn’t do magic away from school. Isn’t that for all younger children, though?”

Tracey snorted.

“It should be, but how would the Ministry be able to tell between the magic of adults and children, if its only spells that are tracked?”

Hermione was at a loss, unable to come up with a retort to Tracey’s claim. During the exchange, he noticed that Neville was looking increasingly uncomfortable at Tracey’s words, but hadn’t spoken up. Discreetly, he raised an eyebrow at Neville, who shook his head slightly in response, reluctant to offer a counterpoint.

The large gap between the two worlds was something he had never really considered before. With the speed and skill he displayed at the Flamels, it was almost a certainty that during his missing past, he had been raised in the wizarding world.

“Neville, you’ve been in the wizarding world your entire life, right?”

The boy jumped slightly at being addressed, and looked uneasy with having the attention of three other people upon him. After a moment, he nodded slowly.

“Is what Tracey’s saying true?”

Hurt flashed across Neville’s face at being put on the spot, causing him to close his mouth and begin a staring contest with the floor.

“Neville,” Harry spoke softly, “we’re not here to judge you, we just want someone who’s actually grown up in this strange world to let us know how it really is.”

Encouraged slightly by Harry’s words, he looked up, directly at Tracey.

“In some ways, I guess you’re right, but muggleborns and wizarding children obviously had really different childhoods, so why would they have the same opinion on things?”

“Well, obviously,” Tracey replied, “but it just seems like the wizarding world doesn’t want muggleborns to succeed.”

Neville shook his head.

“Yeah, there are some old families that still don’t like muggleborns, but there’s just as many other families that have no problem with muggleborns.”

Harry, glad to have Neville contributing to the conversation, followed up on his point.

“The Potter family is one of the oldest, most respected in Britian, and they have always stood for equality in the wizarding world.”

Harry noticed that Neville looked distinctly pleased to have his support. Glad that he was making a positive impression upon Neville, he continued on.

“Like I said before, my mother was born in the muggle world. She was the best Potions student in her class, better than any wizard, and was Head Girl. She had to work hard at it, but she beat out all the other girls that were born in the wizarding world. Dumbledore also said that if she lived, she could have made a big difference in the wizarding world.”

His paused for a moment, considering how to frame the important part.

“Voldemort, the most powerful Dark Lord ever, went after my parents himself. He was so scared of a muggleborn witch that he went after her, which is something he almost never did, since he usually just sent his servants after people he wanted dead.”

Complete silence followed his story. It was embellished slightly, but Harry wasn’t above using propaganda to drive his point home. He had an idea why Tracey had gone into Hogwarts with a slight bit of fear and apprehension for the wizarding world, but didn’t want to put her on the spot in front of others.

“Harry, what world did you grow up in?” Hermione asked.

“The muggle world. I don’t know what happened to cause Voldemort’s fall, but my first memories were of the London orphanage I grew up in. Eventually Dumbledore found me there, and introduced me to a wizarding family. For the past year I’ve lived in the magical world.”

“I guess that’s why the Ministry is so mad at Dumbledore,” Neville remarked, “since he refused to give them any information about you.”

Harry nodded in response.

“Your grandmother knows what she’s talking about. The Ministry did want to use me as a mascot, and then probably stick me with the family of some high-ranking official.”

Harry chuckled to himself before continuing.

“One of the few things the Ministry is good at is kicking other people in the shins. They didn’t like me hiding from them, so they had the Daily Prophet start a campaign against me.”

“That’s awful!” Hermione exclaimed, “using a smear campaign against a child. What kind of people run this Ministry?”

“I don’t blame you for becoming a French citizen,” Neville offered, shaking his head. “My entire family is not happy with the Ministry, they say they’re a disgrace and embarrassment to England. I’m the only child in the family, so I hear a lot of political talk at family gatherings.”

Considering that Neville had never mentioned his parents, Harry hypothesized that he must have been raised by his grandparents. He didn’t claim to know the circumstances, but whatever happened to him, it seemed to kill his self-confidence. Whatever the case was, Harry took an immediate interest in Neville, and planned to help him whenever possible. With all the rumors surrounding him, true friends would probably be in short supply, and it seemed a few acts of kindness would go a long way.

Also, it probably wouldn’t hurt to have a contact in Hufflepuff.

Hermione and Tracey shared similar stories, each leading relatively normal lives until their Hogwarts letters arrived. While Tracey hadn’t exactly become talkative, she seemed to relax slightly the longer she was among the other three children.

Not longer after, a woman pushing a cart full of sweets came by. Before anyone else spoke up, Neville promptly pulled a large quantity of coins from his pockets, and purchased enough food from the cart to stage a feast.

“I don’t think I can eat all this,” Neville said with a smile, “anyone want to help me?”

This inspired laughter in the compartment, as they all tore into the assorted sweets, thanking Neville as they did. He was slightly embarrassed by the thanks, evidenced by the rising color in his cheeks, but seemed pleased nonetheless. With a hint of sadness, Harry wondered if Neville had any friends growing up.

Ten minutes after eating, feeling slightly sluggish from the abundance of sweets, the assembled group heard footsteps outside the compartment. Without a single knock, the door swung open. Beyond was a pale blond boy, flanked by two huge, hulking bodyguards the size of boulders. The one in front, the apparent leader, wore an expression equal parts apprehension and anger.

Harry sighed, wondering if today would be his first example of the wizarding bias against him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the traitor to England,” the blond boy sneered, his nose upturned.

“Um, do I know you?” Harry asked, making an effort to be somewhat civil.

“If you knew anything about our world, you would,” the unwanted visitor replied with a smirk.

“Well, since I don’t, why don’t you just leave?” Harry suggested, already sick of the annoying ponce.

“Why should I?” the boy challenged.

“Because no one invited you, or really wants you here,” Harry answered, rapidly tiring of the posturing.  

The two goons had no visible reaction, but the blond looked slightly flummoxed. Neville laughed at the tables being turned so effortlessly, causing the blond forget about Harry for a moment.

“It’s very sad that some families have no pride,” the boy noted, examining his fingernails, as if Neville was unworthy of his attention. “They’ll associate with anyone, even Mudbloods and traitors.”

The comment angered Neville, who began to turn red.

“You know,” Harry began, “I’d much rather be part of Neville’s family, instead of whatever poof family you’re part of.”

“You better remember, it’s the Malfoys that run this world,” the boy spat, livid.

At the mention of the name, Harry went still. The annoying, prancing idiot was a member of the family that tried to kill him, probably Lucius’ son. His first instinct was to curse the boy, but he quickly discarded the idea. If he attacked the fool, Harry would have little chance of discovering what the Malfoy child knew of the indiscretions of the elder Malfoys.

“You know, I can’t tell, are you a boy or a girl? You just look so much like your mother that I’m not sure anymore.”

“I do not!” Draco exclaimed, “and how would you know? You don’t know my mother!”

The boy was completely right about Harry not knowing his mother, but he didn’t have to know that. He calmed slightly at the answer. If Narcissa had ever mentioned anything about Harry to her son, he wouldn’t be surprised that Harry knew something about his mother.

“Did I strike a nerve?” Harry asked, drawing laughs from the rest of the compartment. Yet again, the two goons behind the blond only had looks of confusion upon their faces.

“You better watch yourself, Potter,” the boy threatened, pointing at Harry. “Hogwarts has a way of weeding out those of poor breeding.”

Harry laughed at the pale threat.

“Is this coming from the guy who’s parents are cousins?”

“Shut up, Potter!” Draco yelled, before storming off. His two goons looked befuddled for another moment, before slowly walking off.

There was silence in the compartment, before Hermione spoke up.

“Harry, I saw your face when that boy said his name. Why did the name ‘Malfoy’ make you so angry?”

Harry wasn’t quite prepared to answer that one truthfully, so he turned to his side.

“Neville, what do you know about the Malfoy family?”

“Well, the Malfoys are traditionally a Dark family, and sided with You-Know-Who during his rise to power. After You-Know-Who disappeared, the head of the family, Lucius, Draco’s father, said he was under the Imperius Curse. All of the Light families, like mine, said he was guilty and lying, but he used his money and influence to stay out of Azkaban.”

Harry thanked Neville for his explanation, before turning to Hermione.

“Is there a single reason why I should like a Malfoy?”

His question caused the rest of the compartment to laugh. Harry took an exaggerated bow in response to the laughter.

“I rest my case.”

-

Upon exiting the train, Harry found himself the clear center of attention. Countless pairs of eyes tracked his progress, the majority tinged with the specter of fear. He sighed inwardly, but was well-aware of how quickly information traveled amongst kids, and knew being discovered was inevitable. At least it hadn’t been the Ministry that had discovered him.

In the chill of the night, each breath Harry exhaled was clearly visible. Looking around, he noticed many of the other kids rubbing their hands together in an effort to generate some warmth.

“Perfect night for the year’s first cold night, eh?” Harry sarcastically remarked.

“Really, t-thanks, H-Harry,” Tracey answered, her teeth chattering slightly. “I wasn’t trying to keep my m-mind off the c-c-cold or anything.”

Hermione shivered visibly.

“This is not well thought-out. I read in ‘Hogwarts, A History’, that there’s supposed to carriages to take us to the castle, but I don’t see anything,” she remarked.

“I don’t know,” Neville said, “it’s so dark out here. Maybe there are carriages, we just can’t see them.”

Harry turned to reply, but a point of light over Neville’s shoulder caught his attention. Materializing out of the darkness was a bobbing lamp, far above the heads of the students.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!”

Like moths towards a candle, the first year contingent cautiously approached the source of the booming voice. As they drew closer, the owner of the voice came into focus. It was an extraordinarily large man, easily three times taller than any of the children. Above the wild tangle that was his beard, he was beaming.  

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

The giant man continued to call out for more first years as they began to follow him down a steep, narrow path. With the slippery walkway, and the murky abyss spreading out from both sides of the path, there were not many words exchanged. Harry thought that concentrating on not falling into the bottomless pits on either side of him was worthy of his full attention.

“Where are the carriages?” Hermione moaned, not exactly thrilled with the combination of cold weather and a trek through the darkness.

As the ground had started to level out, Harry risked a reply.

“It’s probably a tradition for first-years to enter the school a different way.”

“Righ’ ye are!” the giant called over his shoulder. “Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec, jus’ round this bend here.”

As Harry rounded said bend, he began to understand why first year students went this way.

Calling the sight majestic would be an understatement of criminal magnitude. The path opened out onto a large vista which contained a sizeable lake, the starlight throwing the churning, heaving body into clear view. Overlooking the large lake, like a vigilant sentry, was Hogwarts.

Perched atop the side of a mountain at the other end of the lake, the majestic castle seemed to be endless. Countless towers and spires reached up to the heavens, while even more windows glowed with candlelight.

So enraptured was he with the sight that he barely perceived getting into a boat with his three cohorts, and traveling across the lake.

When Hogwarts was spoken of, Harry had always thought of it as a school, maybe someplace where he could re-connect with his parents, through the path they took to adulthood. Upon seeing its majesty, however, he realized there was far more to it. This was more than a mere castle. This was thousands of years of magical learning, each generation leaving their mark upon the school, the nexus of the world’s magical knowledge.

Lost in thought, he jumped when the boat bumped softly against a solid surface. Looking up, he saw they were in some type of underground harbor, probably beneath the school. He jumped over the side, landing softly on the rocky ground.

“I’m finally here,” Harry said softly to himself, in awe that a year ago he had been upon death’s doorstop.

“Ar yeh’re,” the giant said to him, chuckling slightly.  “Yeh were righ’ ‘bout the firs’ years. What’s yer name, lad? Yeh look familiar, but I can’ ‘member how. I’ll ‘ave the professors give yeh a few points to whatever house you end up in.”

Noticing most of the other first years had already begun to ascend the stone stairs, Harry answered, preparing himself for any result.

“Harry Potter, sir.”

“Blimey!” the giant exclaimed, slapping his forehead. “Tha’s who it was! Yeh do look jus’ like yer father, don’t yeh?” The giant immediately stuck out his hand, which looked like it could crush his head with minimal effort. Gingerly, he tried to pump the hand.

“I’m Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts groundskeeper. Yeh parents were fine, fine people, Harry. I don’ listen to that rubbish in the papers, if Dumbledore says yer good, then that’s good enough for me.”

With a clap on his back almost hard enough to knock him to the ground, Hagrid smiled fondly at him, before climbing the stairs himself.

Harry was quite relieved that at least two of the staff didn’t have any grudges against him, but felt even more comforted by the kind words spoken about his parents by Hagrid.

He ascended the stairs, where the assembled children waited, with Hagrid standing in front of a large, oak door. Turning, he looked back down the stairs.

“Everyone here?”

Receiving no comment, Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times upon the castle door, which opened before the echo of the final strike faded away. In the doorway was a tall, dark-haired witch with square glasses, and a face so rigid it could have been carved from stone.

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

Beyond the witch was an entryway that was even larger than the one at the Flamel home. The firelight from the countless torches set into the stone walls didn’t even reach the ceiling, leaving it in murky darkness. A marble staircase directly in front of them stretched upwards, with countless other paths branching off of it.

The stern professor led them forward, past a large doorway on the right, from which emanated hundreds of voices. Wordlessly, she led them into a small chamber off the entryway, where they crowded in. Harry didn’t think it was that grand of an introduction, considering the nervous looks surrounding him. He couldn’t help but notice other kids shying away from him, as if he was infectious.  

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall began. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.”

Paying careful attention to the woman, he noticed her expression darken slightly, as if she had swallowed something distasteful.

“The Ministry of Magic wishes all of you the best, as you will be the future leaders of tomorrow. They ask that you help usher in a new age of peace and prosperity for the wizarding world.”

The last words seemed to be forced out. Turning his head, Harry saw that Hermione and Tracey had picked up on the professor’s obvious distaste for the final words, which seemed like they were forced upon her. With a small smile, he realized that Dumbledore and Hagrid weren’t the only members of the Hogwarts staff not pleased with the Ministry.

McGonagall’s expression cleared as she began to explain about the separate houses, and how Hogwarts worked. She implored the children to smarten themselves and to stay quiet until she returned, before leaving the chamber.

Despite the professor’s request, voices immediately rang out, asking questions aloud about the nature of the Sorting.

“How do you think they sort the houses?” Tracey wondered aloud. Harry had no answer, nor did anyone else. After the initial inquiries went unanswered, they all quieted down, save for Hermione.

“I’ve read about all the spells, but do they want us to do any, or will it be all theory, but they have to fair, because I haven’t done any spell and how can they expect us to do something that we’ve nev-“

Harry placed his hand upon the babbling girl’s shoulder, quieting her.

“Don’t stress out, Hermione. Most of us haven’t done magic before, so it can’t be too complex.”

She gave him a grateful smile as he removed his hand, just in time to catch a score of white, translucent figures stream through the wall, in deep conversation.

“You know, we really should give Peeves a second chance,” a fat little monk was saying.

“While normally I would consider the thought mad, my dear Friar, you may be right. If we afford him certain privileges, then perhaps he may con – I say, what are you all doing here?”

The ghost stopped mid-sentence, noticing the first years.

“Summer vacation was starting to get boring,” Harry quipped, before he could stop himself. He groaned internally, temporarily forgetting Nicolas wasn’t around any more to banter with. To his surprise, the ghost, adorned in a ruff and tights, threw back his head and laughed, causing it to fall backwards over his back, exposing a neck that had been roughly hewn through, leaving only a narrow strip of flesh connecting it to the head.

Did I just kill a ghost with laughter?

“Bollocks!” the ghost exclaimed, reaching back and attempting to set his head straight. The monk began to point at him, openly laughing.

“Well done, Sir Nicolas! Another year, another generation of students you’ve managed to embarrass yourself in front of. Better luck next year, chap!” Turning to the students, the ghost waved to them jovially. “Hope to see you in Hufflepuff,” the Friar said enthusiastically, “my old house, you know.”

The apparently headless ghost, righting itself, glanced at Harry.

“You cheeky scallywag! I certainly expect to see you in Gryffindor.”

“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony’s about to start.”

McGonagall wasted no time upon returning, immediately forming them into a line, and marching them into the Great Hall.

To Harry’s delight, Hogwarts hadn’t run out of ways to amaze him. The Great Hall was just as splendid as the other sights he’d seen so far. It was lit by thousands of candles, all floating in midair over four long tables, at which the rest of the students were placed. At the top of the hall was a slightly elevated table, perpendicular to the rest, where the staff was seated. Upon all the tables were gleaming plates, goblets and dinnerware, all forged from a golden-colored ore. Looking up, Harry saw that the hall opened up directly into the night sky, the stars shining brightly above.

Before he could inspect further, McGonagall led them forward, lining them up in front of the staff table, placing them in front of the sea of adolescent faces. In front of them, McGonagall dragged a wooden stool, and placed upon it a pointed wizard’s hat, which was patched, frayed and extremely dirty.

“Magic tricks, anyone?” Harry muttered under his breath, earning a nervous giggle from Tracey and a slight glare from Hermione. Neville, in apparent terror, was oblivious. Without warning, the hat’s brim opened wide and began to sing, speaking of itself and the various houses.

The applause following the song was deafening. Harry only heard a male voice instruct that all they had to do was try on the hat. It wasn’t quite ideal, as he would have preferred some sort of magical demonstration, but admitted to himself that wasn’t too fair of a test at this point in time.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a roll of parchment in her hands.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

A terrified girl with blond pigtails stumbled forward to the stool, and sat upon it, placing the hat upon her head. It fell down over her eyes, but before she could adjust it, the hat made its decision.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah ran over, the Friar waving jovially at her.

“Bones, Susan!”

Harry could have sworn Nicolas had mentioned the name Bones before, as an English ally. An old Light family, perhaps?

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, prompting the auburn-haired girl to run off to the table, placing herself next to Hannah. Harry only hoped that Neville got an equally warm reception upon being Sorted there.

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

The applause came from the table second from the left this time, Terry’s new housemates standing to shake hands with him.

“Brocklehurst, Mandy” also went to Ravenclaw, but “Brown, Lavender” became the first new Gryffindor, prompting an explosion of cheers from the far left of the hall.

“Bulstrode, Millicent”, a tall, thick girl with lank, black hair and a sour expression became a Slytherin. While certainly jaded by Voldemort’s placement into Slytherin, even Harry had to admit they looked like a bunch of mean motherfuckers. He imagined he’d never shed his Dark Lord reputation if he were sorted there.

“Crabbe, Vincent” was also sorted into Slytherin after a short deliberation, without a visible change in expression from the hulking boy. Harry began to suspect that the blank look on Crabbe’s face mirrored the contents of his skull.

“Davis, Tracey!”

The blond girl moved away from Harry, nervously chewing upon her bottom lip. She gingerly placed the hat upon her head. Mere moments after placing it upon her head, it came to a decision.

“SLYTHERIN!”

A crestfallen Tracey listlessly placed the hat back upon the stool, before moving to the nearly silent table. She picked as far away from the other students as she could manage, a look of pure misery upon her face. Harry sent her an encouraging smile, as his heart went out to her. Slytherin was the only house that almost openly discriminated against muggleborns. Tracey tried to return his smile, but it ended up looking more like a grimace.

Goyle, Malfoy’s other bodyguard, was also placed into Slytherin, looking slightly annoyed. The reception from the Slytherin table was warm, so perhaps the hat said something to Goyle. Laughing to himself, Harry imagined how difficult it must have been for the hat to discern between Crabbe and Goyle.

Goyle leered once at Tracey before sitting down. Harry wasn’t surprised she was sorted there, with her strong sense of suspicion and self-preservation, but still found it unfortunate.

“Granger, Hermione!”

With a determined glance, Hermione ran to the stool, jamming the hat onto her head.

“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat.

Harry found himself surprised. With her professed affinity for books and learning, he figured she’d be a lock for Ravenclaw. He was glad to note she was welcomed warmly by her new housemates. He wondered if he too would be sorted into Gryffindor, as his parents were before him.

As unrealistic as it was, he had harbored hope that all of the people in his compartment would share the same house. Oh well.

“Longbottom, Neville!”

With increasing interest, Harry noted that Neville’s decision was by far the longest, taking at least a minute.

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted eventually, eliciting a gasp of shock from Neville.

Harry shook his head, grinning. So much for having that contact in Hufflepuff. His predictions weren’t doing so hot today.

“Malfoy, Draco!”

With a snort, Harry wondered why they’d even bother. His viewpoint was vindicated when the ponce was sorted into Slytherin as soon as the hat touched his blond head. Newly sorted, Draco strutted over to the table to a warm reception, seating himself between Crabbe and Goyle with a smug expression upon his face.

“Potter, Harry!”

A pin drop could have made an echo as Harry made his way to the hat, the transition to total silence so sudden it disconcerted him. The different stares, of fear, anger, curiosity were almost physical in their intensity. With a deep breath, he placed the ratty hat upon his head.

“Harry Potter, eh?” a jovial voice inside his head noted. “It’s good to finally meet the person who got rid of that pesky hypocrite, Voldemort.”

“I don’t remember any of that,” Harry said aloud.

“Harry, we can speak inside your head,” the voice pointed out exasperatingly. “No one would remember anything at that age, but I can see your entire life. Where do you truly think you belong, Harry?”

Nicolas had mentioned Harry would probably make a fine Ravenclaw, while Perenelle said he had the heart of a Gryffindor. Harry didn’t really have a preference.

The hat chuckled.

“I’ll see for myself.”

After a few moments of silence, the hat spoke again, all traces of good humor gone, its voice barely above a whisper.

“You poor, poor child. No one should ever have to go through what you have.”

Harry’s thoughts began to race. This thing could see through the locked vault! Before he could ask anything, the hat continued on, the pitch of its voice rising.

“Why did they take you?” it asked, more to itself than Harry. “Why did they choose you? Are you truly one of the Fireborn?”

Fear clenched Harry’s heart with a vise-like grip.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Harry insisted in his head.

“Do you even know what you are?”

At yet another question, Harry lost his patience.

“I don’t know ANYTHING about myself!” Harry yelled aloud, silencing the mounting whispers in the Great Hall. The hat was silent at his outburst, before continuing in a low, sorrowful voice.

“The magic binding me won’t allow me to convey specific information to students during the Sorting. Despite all that has happened to you, you have still managed to stay a good person, but people aren’t always going to see that. They’ll see the phantom that the media has conjured, and Harry, you’re going to need to be tougher than imaginable to triumph over your undeserved reputation. Godric forgive me for placing a fierce, true heart such as yours in SLYTHERIN!”

Harry jumped up at the hat’s decision, livid. How the fuck was he ever supposed to convince people he wasn’t a Dark Lord from Slytherin!?

Get a fucking grip, Harry! It’s done with, deal with it. You have no other options, so stop your fucking whining and get yourself under control.

Harry took a deep breath, which calmed him slightly. Feeling better, he went to remove the hat, but it had one final warning.

“Never, ever open the vault,” it whispered.

He started to put the hat back on, but McGonagall was rapidly approaching, worry etched upon her previously stern face. At her obvious concern, he got himself under control. He may be a Slytherin, but the staff was still going to give him a fair shake.

Besides, the hat must be hidden somewhere around Hogwarts during the year. He’ll just find it again, and get the answers he couldn’t today.

Looking around, he noticed that the Great Hall was still mostly silent, fear and uneasiness equally distributed among the faces of his schoolmates. Apparently, sorting freakouts weren’t all that common.

It began slowly, but as he walked toward the Slytherin table, head down, he heard a solitary pair of hands clapping for him. Raising his gaze, he was humbled by the sight of a nervous looking Tracey standing and clapping for him. He sent her a wide smile, pouring all the gratitude he could into it. About half of the table followed Tracey’s example, and Harry was pleased to note that fear isn’t nearly as prevalent here as in the other houses. He saw curiosity and wonder upon the faces of the younger students, with guarded, indecipherable expressions upon the older ones. Draco, unsurprisingly, didn’t exactly seem thrilled with the hat’s choice of house for Harry, if his scowl was any indication.

Before sitting next to Tracey, he took a final glance toward the Gryffindor table, where two of his friends from the train were sent, as were his parents upon their arrival.

Gryffindor. Of all the tables, Gryffindor clearly radiated the most resentment and malice from its students, with perhaps half of its students scowling at him. Hermione and Neville both looked concerned at the amount of pestilence some of their housemates were displaying.

Now seated, Harry began to shake the hands of those willing to do so, which included Millicent Bulstrode, and a tall, thin boy that shook his hand without comment, oddly enough. He couldn’t help but feel a perverse pleasure at Draco’s continued fuming.

“I’m so glad someone I know is with me,” Tracy confided to him in whisper form. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a first-year girl staring at Tracey with unbridled dislike.

“Hey, mudblood!” the blond, pug-faced girl yelled. “Find another table, no mudbloods allowed!”

The newly sorted first-year Slytherins broke into hearty guffaws at girl’s comments. Tracey withstood the barb stoically, her mouth thinned to a line. Glancing down, he saw her hand around a fork, gripping it so tight her fingers were chalk-white.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

At the hat’s latest declaration, a tall, red-haired boy walked over to the corresponding table. Before sitting, he threw a look of deep loathing at Harry. Indeed, it seemed Gryffindor could be a problem, and Harry hoped that the impression he left upon Hermione and Neville was great enough to overcome the bias of their house.

The Sorting ended with “Zabini, Blaise” being sorted into Slytherin, where he sat with Malfoy and his cohorts. Harry heard random grumblings around the hall about Slytherin getting more students than anyone, which seemed absurd. Should they go against the hat’s decision in the name of meaningless equality?  

With the conclusion of the Sorting, Dumbledore rose to his feet, arms spread wide, beaming. While the Headmaster was clearly smiling, Harry couldn’t help but notice the dark circles around the Dumbledore’s eyes, and the aura of exhaustion surrounding him.

“Welcome to Hogwarts!” Dumbledore greeted. “There will be a time for words, but that time is not at hand!”

To loud applause and cheers, the tables in front of them filled with almost literal mountains of food, more than Harry had ever seen in his life. Suddenly aware of his growling stomach, he began to dig in, with great delight. Turning to the side, he couldn’t help but notice Tracey was less than enthused with the thought of eating.

“Tracey, don’t let those jerks keep you from eating. Do you really want to go sleep hungry tonight?”

Tracey nodded humorlessly at his comment.

“I guess it’d be better to just be pissed off, instead of pissed off and hungry.”

“Exactly.”

-

Throughout the feast, Harry and Tracey were mostly left alone, aside from the occasionally verbal jab, which they ignored. Becoming bored, Harry began to scan the staff table.

Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet, while Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore were deep in conversation. At the far right was a man with short-cropped brown hair, in midnight blue robes. He nodded to Harry slightly, taking him by surprise.

Had this man been watching him the entire time?

Harry supposed the idea wasn’t completely insane, considering how notorious a figure the Prophet had made him. As Harry locked eyes with the professor, a huge pain lanced through his scar. He gasped at the sudden torment, but as quickly it had come, the agony departed.

“Are you okay?” Tracey asked at his odd outburst.

“I’m fine,” Harry replied, “just a sudden pain in my head. It’s gone now.”

The professor had stopped looking at him, but another staff member had picked up the slack. He had sallow skin, a hooked nose and long black hair that didn’t look particularly well-washed. The stare he leveled at Harry was one of deep loathing. Sadly, it seemed that at least one of the staff members believed the Ministry’s swill.

Before them, the desserts they had been relishing disappeared. Dumbledore rose to his feet, stilling all conversation in the room.

“The time for words has come, now that we are all properly watered and fed.”

The Headmaster warned that the Forbidden Forest was off limits, and that Filch, the school caretaker, wished to reiterate that use of magic in the halls between classes was forbidden.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. All students are welcome to try out, and any parties interested in playing for their house team should contact Madam Hooch.”

“Also, the third-floor corridor on the right side is under repair, and thus closed. Anyone not wishing to fall hundreds of feet to their death through the broken flooring would be advised to avoid it.”

Harry made a mental note to not make a side trip down that corridor.

“As most of you are well aware, Professor Thistlewood will not be rejoining our staff. Our former Muggle Studies instructor, Professor Quirrell, has generously decided to take his place. Please help me to welcome our new Defense Against the Arts instructor.”

Polite applause rippled through the crowd as the man at the far right of the staff table stood up, and gave a single wave, a slight smile upon his face. There didn’t seem to be anything outwardly suspicious about the normal-looking professor, but why had his scar hurt when locking eyes with the new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor? Quirrell certainly looked the part of a professional, with his neatly trimmed hair, and crisp, spotless robes.

Dumbledore smiled wide at the assembled students.

“Thank you all for the generous welcome for our new instructor. First years, please follow your house prefects to your respective dormitories. And now, bedtime. Off you go!”

With a great rustle of clothing, all the students rose, Harry and Tracey included.

“Harry, where are we supposed to go?” Tracey asked, looking around.

Harry hadn’t the faintest clue, but noticed that Malfoy and his cronies were suspiciously absent. With barely a thought, he climbed onto the bench, and surveyed the area. After a moment, he noticed Malfoy and his cohorts following a much taller boy, probably showing them to the dormitory.

With a slight scowl, he jumped down and grasped Tracey’s hand, pulling her behind him as he deftly wove through the crowd. He reached the Great Hall entrance, just as the other Slytherins passed through it. He caught Malfoy’s eye as they reached the threshold. With a wicked grin, the blond boy caught the apparent Prefect’s attention, and said something into his ear. Laughing, the male Prefect turned around.

“First years, this way!” he declared, cruel laughter in his voice.

“Can you wait up!” Harry yelled, trying to ignore the snickering students ahead of him.

Without turning around, the prefect sped up.

“Fucking twits!” Tracey snarled under her breath.

Harry completely agreed with her, becoming agitated himself. What the fuck was wrong with this prick? Perhaps the Slytherin stereotype was well-earned. The duo broke into a run, trying to keep up. They shadowed the group, following them down a steep stone staircase, taking the steps two at a time.  

Slightly out of breath, they caught up to the main group at the bottom of the stairs.

“How were we supposed to find the Common Room if you left us behind?” Harry asked, incredulous at their treatment.

“That’s not my problem,” the Prefect replied without turning around, prompting mocking laughter from the rest of the students.

Venturing further into the gloom, they made their way through the labyrinth below the school, ignoring the taunts from the other Slytherins in Malfoy’s posse. He noticed that Millicent and the silent boy seemed to be slightly separate from the group, as they hadn’t said much. Judging by the damp quality to the air, and the constant dripping sounds, he assumed they were beneath the lake.

Without warning, the prefect stopped in front a seemingly innocuous section of smooth stone, causing Harry to break from his stride.

Breath burning in his lungs, Harry put his hands on his knees, slowly regaining his wind. After a moment, he looked up and addressed the prefect.

“Thanks for slowing down for us.”

Harry received an icy glare from the older student.

“You may be a fucking celebrity outside Hogwarts, Potter, but here, deep beneath the lake, you’re just another big-mouthed snot-nosed brat.”

Harry laughed derisively at the statement, causing a malicious smile to break out upon prefect’s face.

“Soon enough, I’m going to put you in your proper place in Slytherin, Potter. Hereditary.”

At the final word, a large section of the wall lifted up, revealing a passage. Without a look backward, the prefect entered. Malfoy sent a victorious smirk in Harry’s direction before following the prefect’s lead.

“I hate these guys already,” Tracey lamented.

“Me too, but at least we’re not alone here,” Harry replied, following the group through the lowered section of wall.  

The Slytherin common room was very long, the walls and ceiling comprised entirely of a dark, rough stone. Suspended from the low ceiling by chains were green lanterns, giving a slightly arboreal look to the room. A roaring fire blazed in a large, elaborate fireplace at the front of the room, around which several older Slytherins sat in high-backed chairs.

Once Harry entered the room, the stone section of wall slid shut. Upon the Common Room being sealed off, the prefect rounded upon the first-year Slytherins, his expression aggravated.

“Listen up, ‘cause I’m only going to tell you little shits how it works here in Slytherin once.”

Harry, not at all impressed, adopted his most bored expression.

“Everything here is based upon seniority. I, Adrian Pucey, am the Slytherin fifth-year prefect, which gives me power over everyone younger than me. You’ll do everything an older student asks you, or they’ll be problems.”

Harry didn’t think this pompous asshole could be any more transparent, exaggerating the importance of his position, and wielding his illusionary power as a weapon. Simply, it was bullying, only on a slightly official level, and there was nothing a bully hated more than being marginalized, made impotent.

Bullies were a plague upon the world, feeding on the weak to justify their own supposed superiority. Anything that could be done to topple him from his little pedestal, Harry had ever intention of carrying out.

The prefect glared at Harry specifically, prompting him to stage an exaggerated yawn. Scowling, the prefect resumed his spiel.

“If you’re not as empty-headed as you all look, you might stumble into next year, and perhaps earn some respect here. I, Adrien Pucey, am a prefect, putting me one step below a king here. In Slytherin, Professor Snape is our Head of House, and will be your king, and as with all kings, his word is law. Whatever else you were before arrving here, you’re now a Slytherin before anything else. Everyone hates us, envies us, so we watch each other’s backs outside this room. Only being first years, no one’s going to stick their neck out for you, so don’t fuck up, or at least not in front of any of the professors. Follow these simple rules, gain Slytherin some prestige, and you might be fine.”

Pucey paused long enough to send Harry another glare. Apparently, he hadn’t yet figured out Harry wasn’t intimidated by him, nor was he smart enough to realize that Harry just wished to undermine his authority at every opportunity.

“Violate them, and you’ll find out just how harshly we deal with problems.”

His speech done, he carelessly pointed out the boys and girls dormitories, each on opposite sides of the room, with the first years being placed at the rear of the room. Abruptly, he left them behind and went to sit with his classmates near the fire.

“What a great ambassador to new Hogwarts students,” Harry remarked dryly.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Tracy added. “Imagine how bad the other ones were if Adrian was made prefect.”

Harry laughed slightly at her point.

“That’s going to keep me up tonight, so thanks for the chilling thought.”

“You’re welcome,” Tracey remarked. “I’m going to try to go to sleep. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Harry replied, giving her a single wave. Their goodnights exchanged, Harry began walking toward the rear of the room, where the male first-year dormitories were located. There was a small archway, with a green number “one” etched into the top of it. Beyond was a stone hallway, which opened up at the end into a large circular room. Six four-poster beds, adorned with bright green hangings, were equally spaced around the room’s circumference. He moved toward the bed with his trunk in front of it, and sat upon it, marveling at its comfort.

“A lot nicer than the box you slept in at the orphanage, eh Potter?” Zabini mocked from his bed across the room, eliciting laughter from all of his other housemates, save one. The boy who had shaken his hand wordlessly after his sorting, Theodore Nott, was engrossed in a book, not paying any attention to the proceedings.

Harry ignored the bait, opting to stay silent. Even if the company sucked, at least the beds were nice. Not quite as good as the one at the Flamels, but indeed far better than the one at the orphanage. Not nearly as cramped there, either.

“What the hell are you doing?!” screamed a female voice, that sounded like an angry version of Tracey. Harry jumped up, and ran out into the common room.

Directly between the two first-year dormitories were two girls, face-to-face. Tracey appeared to be arguing with the unpleasant pug-faced girl from the feast, Pansy. Tracey’s trunk was between the two of them, with scuff marks on the floor leading to its current position. Harry couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that Pansy had dragged the trunk out of the dormitory.

“There is no way I’m sharing a room with a filthy mudblood,” Pansy claimed, staring down at Tracey, who was almost a full head shorter. From behind Harry, he heard the rest of his roommates file out to catch the spectacle.

“Sharing the same air with you makes me sick too, but the Sorting Hat didn’t really give me much of a choice,” Tracey replied icily.  

A growing, albeit silent crowd began to gather around the two girls. Their eyes were calculating, watchful, like an inquisition. Harry didn’t know if either of the girls realized it, but the groundwork for their entire respective futures in Slytherin was being laid, before a jury of their peers.

Pansy laughed derisively.

“The stupid hat made a mistake, since there’s no way a no-talent mudblood could have ever made it into the most noble of Hogwarts’ houses.”

Tracey’s face tightened at the statement, slowly turning red. Harry noticed her hands were balled into fists, clenched so tightly they were white. It looked as if Tracey was trying to keep her temper, but Harry didn’t know how much longer it was going to hold if Pansy continued to taunt her.

“You know, I’m not exactly wowed by your talent. I mean, you did drag my trunk out here instead of levitating it out.”

Pansy sneered at Tracey’s words.

“Yeah, like you know any magic. You don’t even belong in this world!”

Completely oblivious to the growing coldness in Tracey’s eyes, Pansy reached into her robes and pulled out a gold locket.

“This locket has been in my family for hundreds of years. It’s a symbol of our family’s place in this world. You, you’re an imposter, a thief, in a world you have no place in.”

Pansy opened her mouth to continue, but Tracey darted forward, and grabbed the locket with her left hand, pulling it toward her. Before shock could even register on Pansy’s face, Tracey’s right fist smashed into it, dropping her like a stone.

As Pansy lay on the ground whimpering and snuffling through her freely bleeding nose, As Tracey leaned down, the fallen girl’s eyes grew wide with fear.

“Why didn’t you use your wonderful magic to save yourself?” Tracey asked calmly, as if discussing the week’s lunch schedule.

Pansy stared up at her with red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes, but said nothing as rivulets of blood dripped from her chin. Spurned by the lack of answer, Tracy dove on top of her, and began to violently shake Pansy by her robes.

“I asked you a fucking question!” Tracey snarled as Pansy’s head snapped back and forth.

Harry, noticing an approaching upper-classman, intervened, pulling Tracey off the openly wailing Pansy. While Harry thought that Pansy certainly pushed Tracey to the ledge, she didn’t deserve to be beaten within an inch of her life.

She struggled against Harry for a second, before giving up, conceding defeat. From the corner of his eye, he saw Draco step from the crowd.

“Who do you think you are?” Draco asked. “My father will have you expelled!”

Tracey started to move toward the blonde boy, but Harry tightened his grip on her. She gave up immediately, seemingly spent. Harry assumed that she had released all the venom within that had been building up since the Sorting, and now wanted nothing more than sleep.

“This is between the girls,” Harry stated. “Let them handle it.”

Draco sneered.

“If you like your mudblood so much, you should get her on a leash, before she hurts someone else.”

“Draco, why don’t you-“

Harry was cut off by Tracey.

“By someone else, you mean you, right? You pathetic sissy, Pansy probably would have put up more of a fight than you, since mummy won’t be around to save you.”

“I told you, don’t talk about by mother!”

Tracey laughed mockingly at Draco’s order.

“Did mummy really fight all your battles before she hired Crabbe and Goyle to protect you?”

“I warned you!” Draco spat, withdrawing his wand. Harry darted forward and clamped his hands down on Draco’s arm.

“Once again, it’s between them, let them handle this.”

“Go fuck yourself, Potter!” Draco snarled, tearing his arm away.

Suddenly, Harry felt a large hand tighten upon his shoulder. Moving quickly, he squirmed out of the grasp, clasped the offending wrist and spun around. His movement placed himself behind Pucey, the prefect who tried grab him. Harry twisted the wrist harshly, sending the prefect to his knees with a hiss of plain. The older boy struggled for a few moments, but was unable to extract himself, giving as Harry began to exert more pressure. Angry, but unsure of how to escape, Pucey resorted to threats.

“I’m going to have Flint kill you, you little fucking shit!”

“What’s a matter, an icky first year too much for you to handle?” Harry asked mockingly, before his mind caught up to his actions. What the fuck had he just done? Was he insane, attacking a prefect? Also, how the fuck had he so easily incapacitated the older, bigger student? He certainly never remembered taking self-defense lessons.

As if it were on fire, Harry let go of Pucey’s wrist, pushing it away from him. The movement sent the prefect to the ground, face-first. As Pucey jumped up in a whirlwind of robes, the onlookers began to openly laugh and point at him.

The humiliated, beet-red prefect started to say something to Harry, but instead chose to storm off towards his dormitory. The crowd quickly dispersed after Pucey left, chuckling as they walked away. Draco sent a final scathing look before retreating.

What had he done? How the hell was he going to make it in Slytherin by kicking around the older students? Regardless of whether they deserved it or not. Momentary shaking the thoughts from his head, he turned his attention to Tracey.

Harry pulled out his wand, and cast a featherweight charm upon Tracey’s trunk. She grabbed one of the handles, and looked up at him. Her eyes were tired, all the rage gone from here.

“Thank you, Harry,” Tracy remarked in a soft voice, “it’s nice to have a friend here.”

“It wasn’t a problem, Tracey,” he replied. She smiled at him a single time, before pulling her trunk back to her dorm. Harry, following suit, did the same. He changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth quickly, before collapsing into bed, drifting quickly into sleep.  

-

Where was he?

Harry knew only that he was seated. A thick, sturdy looking black door was in front of him. He tried to get up, but found himself unable to, apparently tied down. Looking down, however he saw that nothing bound him to the wooden chair.

“No Harry, it’s all your fault. You tied yourself to the chair, so that you wouldn’t have to see,” a voice unseen mocked.

“Who are you?!” Harry yelled, his voice echoing throughout the room.

“Me? I’m not important. What’s important is that once again, like a child hiding under his bed, you run from the answers that could set you free.”

With a grunt, Harry fought against the invisible bonds, snapping them. Free, he jumped up and spun around, to confront his captor – only to be greeted by a blank white wall.

He turned his body in a full revolution, searching for any signs of life, but it really did seem like he was the only one in the room. If that was the case, who had been talking?

“Who indeed?” the voice asked, coming from directly behind him.

Harry spun around, to discover that the voice was coming from the other side of the door.

“You’re half correct, Harry. While I am physically a part of you, in a very real sense, I am behind this door. Oh, the things I could show you if given the opportunity. Would you like to see, Harry?”

The voice began to change towards the end, becoming less human, decipherable. Harry slowly began to back away from the door, until his back collided with the opposite wall.

“Come now, Harry,” the inhuman voice implored, “don’t you want to see?”

“N-no.”

The voice laughed at this stutter.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Once, the secrets of the universe were exposed to you, but now you shrink away from them. Such a tragedy, Harry.”

Harry searched the room frantically, but there was no other means of escape, and he certainly wasn’t considering the door with the inhuman voice behind it. Why wouldn’t the voice leave him alone?

“We were ancient long before the universe began its expansion from an immeasurably small pocket of plasma, Harry. Why would we listen to the pleadings of a scared little boy? There’s only one way out of here, Harry, and it’s through us.”

Harry moaned slightly, knowing the voice was right. However, whatever this thing was, it had been driven insane by whatever lay on the other side of the door. Harry was suddenly very sure that, should he pass through it, he would be lost as well.

“Yet sometimes, choice is nothing but an illusion. Open the door, Harry, and set yourself free.”

To his horror, his feet began to move, bringing him to the door. As his arm began to rise, Harry started to fight back. He grabbed his arm with his other hand, forcing it down. While it felt like holding back an avalanche, little by little, sweat pouring down his face, he triumphed. Letting out a shaky breath, he once again stepped backwards.

“We will not be ignored, Harry. If you won’t free us, we’ll free ourselves.”

Heat began to assail Harry’s senses as flames began to lick from under the door. However, the fire was pure ebony, the complete absence of light. The smoke given off by the black flames was even more discerning. Horrible phantom shapes danced in the smoke, shapes so unnatural Harry’s mind couldn’t interpret them.

The fire spread along the walls quickly, consuming all in its path, yet he refused to go to the door. Geysers of fire surrounding him, he began to cough violently, his vision growing dim. As he sank to the floor, the door opened on its own accord, revealing…

-

Harry had no recollection of his dreams the next morning but figured it hadn’t been pleasant, if the tear tracks on his pillow were any indication. Oh well, he didn’t remember any of it, so it couldn’t have been anything that bad.

-

Author Notes:

Again, posting ahead of schedule. I was surprised by how quickly this chapter formed. Next one might be a while though, probably mid-December. As always, though, I’m susceptible to the vagaries of real life.  

First chapter in the third arc, Harry’s first year at Hogwarts. I’ve got a solid plan for the year, so hopefully the chapters will flow well. What did you think of Harry being sorted into Slytherin? My vision of both Quirrell and Tracey was inspired by BigDonaDiet, so he gets thanks here.

Any comments, suggestions, or criticisms would be deeply appreciated, and inspire me to write as opposed to playing video games. I’ll make an effort to answer every review I get.

Thanks to my co-conspirators, darklordmike and Mira Mirth, for their valuable assistance with plotting, characterization, continuity and grammar. Their combined efforts probably save me at least a week of editing every chapter, and are deeply appreciated.

DLP Thanks:

Psihary, Ceebee, The Lord of Chaos, Nunuh, Akakstn, Demons in the Night, Catman, Blazzano, Ellisande, Silens Cursor