2 Chapter 2

There were a lot of stairs at Hogwarts. Climbing them from the bottom of the castle, where the pier was, was no easy task for an eleven year old. I cursed myself. I also cursed the lack of lifts, or automated stairways. Still, headmistress McGonagall made us wait by the stairs, while the whispers on what we'd have to do ran rampant across the many first years.

I knew it was going to be a hat.

It was going to be a talking hat, who'd select the place he believed we'd do best in, but would also comply to what we wished for.

Slytherin was out. Gryffindor too. I could find myself at home both in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, if I said so myself. Hufflepuff would have lots of delicious food, and friendly people, but if I wanted to survive through the battle at Hogwarts, I needed skills. Skills that only secret libraries could give me. Skills that only a Ravenclaw could learn. Skills used not to enter the thick of battle, but stay the hell away from it.

Yes, my plan was to survive. Though it could all become moot the moment I found Albus Dumbledore's office password and spoke to the headmaster about everything I knew. He'd do something about it. It wasn't like this was a world where Evil-Manipulative-Dark-Dumbledore lived. This looked pretty much the canon-world. At least, there was a Harry Potter, a red-haired Ron Weasley, a Neville Longbottom, a Hermione Granger, and many other. They weren't immediately noticeable, because they didn't look like the actors, but like their book-selves.

"They say we have to fight a troll," someone whispered in front of me.

"It's a hat," I snorted back. "A talking hat."

"Yeah," another student muttered by my side. "I hope the troll doesn't stink too much."

I glanced at the student, and then sighed. Here I was, being my shy, meek wallflower-self once more. Still, we didn't have to wait for much longer, as McGonagall called us into the main dining room and made us stand in a line in front of a stool, on which the talking hat rested.

It was the sorting hat, and I had forgotten how it broke out in song. It began in earnest, telling the main points of the houses and how we shouldn't fear. Still, as my surname was apparently Umbrus, I would go after Harry Potter. This meant I wasn't even in the purvey of the book's written pages, since from what I vaguely recalled, after Potter the only other mention was when the last one was called.

So the hall grew all quiet and nervous as Harry Potter in his childish eleven year old form marched and sat on the stool, plopping the sorting hat on its head. The boy whispered something, and the hat took a bit of a time. In the end, Gryffindor was where he ended, and the timeline was secured.

Was I perhaps an agent of the timeline?

Was I a guy sent from the future for the benefit of wizardkind? Secret Agent Shade, saving time and space one mission at a time?

"Umbrus, Shade," as it was my turn, I answered and valiantly walked forward, gingerly grabbing hold of the hat and putting it on.

Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw-Ravenclaw.

You have the potential to become the greatest of Slytherins. You have the ability, the skill, the wisdom of someone that can make great waves in the world. Are you sure you wish to go amidst dusty books?

Those are magic books we're talking of, sir! Is there anything more interesting than those in this world?

In Slytherin, you could acquire the power in order to read even the most secret of tomes.

But if I'm not a Ravenclaw, I wouldn't understand half of what they'd have written in them, sir. Please put me in Ravenclaw? I'll buy you some leather-softener? Or maybe you'd rather want some...

Shush before I change my mind and send you into Slytherin, you sly snake in a raven's nest! Fine! Since you insist so much, and because I fear what you'd do if I left you among those poor little snakes, you're going to have to be...

"RAVENCLAW!"

The hat roared it, and as I removed it and ran towards the table in question, there were good and friendly cheers. I belatedly noticed that my tie and robes had changed their colors to match those of my house. It was a bit of silent magic that someone, perhaps McGonagall, did on the fly as each student was nominated into their houses. Or perhaps it was the house elves. It could be either, but it didn't matter.

I was positively famished, and I hoped that the delicacies shown in the movies would at least be reflected in this reality.

As the last name was called, and Dumbledore said his words, food appeared in front of us all. The rules of engagement were clear on the matter. Every student must eat for themselves; every fork is a weapon, every knife a shield. Kill the enemy that impounds on your food, ravage the plates of your foes if you have none. This is the land of cutthroat food business, where no adult comes by to give you your portion, so you must make your own.

It was a world I knew intrinsically well. The reason I was the fastest eater this side of the continent was because in children, nothing is sacred, not even personal plate-space. If they lack in food, they will take it from your plate. So you can either stab them, or ensure you eat it faster than they can take it away.

After you've eaten your fill, you can engage in pleasant conversations.

Since I had achieved overwhelming victory over my nearby neighbors, I felt happy enough to actually start to listen to what they were saying to one another.

Some of the first years looked traumatized by my innate ability in acquiring and devouring food, but it was not my fault. Also, apparently the plates refilled if empty. This meant I didn't actually need to go gung-ho on getting everything. I could have taken my time. As it was, I reckoned they learned not to bother me while eating.

Tiny flying birds made of paper sailed in the air, landing in front of us first years after a short while. They unfolded like magical origami, and delivered our timetable.

Interestingly enough, we would have a Charms lesson, followed by a Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and a double Potions lesson to end the day with a big bang. Perhaps even literally, depending on circumstances. Since Harry and Draco shared classrooms, it was clear that we'd have the Hufflepuffs.

I couldn't remember half a name from the Hufflepuff class. Maybe a Zacharias, perhaps, or a Susan and a Hannah. An Anthony Goldstein and a Turpin-something in Ravenclaw and...I drew blanks. Well, my lacking knowledge not-withstanding, it was clear that their names would be discovered eventually.

True to form, I shared a room with a certain Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, and Terry Boot.

I grinned at them. "Let's all get along."

They smiled back, and I knew all would be right in the world.

Learning magic the next day though...

...would prove to be anything but an easy walk in the park.