Harry Potter : Chapter 3: A Giant First Step II
My eyes fell on the bustling man that returned to washing the bowls before tiredly walking towards the fireplace, where he lit a pipe and started smoking, his cheerful mood turning thoughtful as he kept reminiscing about his youth. At least he used magic in order to set the kitchen.
...
After a somewhat awkward (at least on my part) month, it finally came the time to go to Hogwarts.
I reached the platform 9 and 3/4 without issues and with time to spare. Apparently, the entirety of Magical Britain was bustling around, and the clothes were just one of the numerous reminders that I was in 1940.
At my distracted eye, it looked like the numbers of muggle-raised and wizard-raised wizards and witches kind of matched, but that could simply be a wrong impression.
What hit me the hardest was the normal slang that kept leaving me grasping for straws. Sure, maybe it was because I was kind of eavesdropping only on pieces of conversation, but when a couple of muggles started to define a well-distinguished man as a 'cake eater', I was left fumbling for meaning.
I had insisted to arrive early, partly to avoid any unnecessary interaction with my 'father', who still had no idea I clearly wasn't the real Hagrid.
I don't know what that says about his parental skills. Maybe Hagrid inherited his brains both from his father and his giant mother? My thoughts stopped immediately once I started wandering in dangerous territory: how the hell did a wizard get a giant pregnant?
Without thinking bout the practical aspect: why would someone want to have sex with a dumb as a brick 8 meters tall woman?
Once I settled down in an empty compartment, I unsheathed my wand, still enraptured by the feeling of being complete that it gave me. My palm caressed with wonder the handle that my father had added to the wand in 'order to have it fit me no matter how big I became'.
Not gonna lie, that particular piece of magic, beyond making me feel somewhat guilty because I had taken the place of Rubeus Hagrid, did somewhat warm my cold Hagrid-impersonating heart and impress me at the same time.
I had never thought about a wand-handle that would grow to adapt to my size, and the simple gift from the only wizard that I had properly interacted with so far had sharply reminded me that I had absolutely no idea about what magic was actually capable of doing.
Sure, I could figure out snippets and make up my theories from my metaknowledge and the books I had already read, but I suspected that hands-on practice was the only thing that was going to actually give me an idea of what was possible and what I had to figure out my own branch of magic in order to realize.
Because like hell I'm going to let anybody tell me what magic is possible or not. I thought with a corresponding burst of warmth running through my arm and into my wand, where it turned into the small golden flame that I had grown accustomed to.
It had happened occasionally in my home during the month that I spent experimenting (immensely glad as I was that for some reason, the Ministry didn't seem to pick up on magic use where I lived, giving credence to the theory that the Ministry could only pick up magic in areas around underaged wizards, having no idea of who actually performed the spell).
I exchanged polite nods with the nondescript students that trickled in, while I was secretly amused by their furrowed expressions at my size, that clearly didn't match one of a first year.
"A potion accident when I was a child." I lied with a polite smile when someone questioned me on my height. I remembered Ron thinking that much when Hagrid's secret came out in The Goblet of Fire.
But my mind was focused on my next steps: was I going to be able to swindle the cap? would it keep my secret? would it be better for me to end in a particular house? All were questions that I had fruitlessly attempted to answer for the previous month (only after my excitement for magic had somewhat died down).
Now recapping the steps and rules for the Great Plan to Live Long and Happy:
1) Find a way to quietly kill Tom Riddle: maybe it would be best done in the muggle world
2) Study magic
3) Make my own magnificent magic, which may or may not include something randomly impossible like colonizing Venus.
This translated in the short term with something like absolutely abusing the Room of Requirement, both to learn Occlumency and figure out a way to duplicate the Marauders' Map, which sounded terribly important, as well as to research what kind of dangers lurked where the ordinary wizard dared not thread.
Was the Fae real? The train was running towards the Scottish Highlands, so perhaps there was something interesting to find out? After all, House Helves had turned out to be a cheat code around most wizard-made magic, being stopped only by dementors, as stated by Kreacher in the Deathly Hallows. Did it mean that there was a relationship between those?
The train finally arrived at the Hogsmeade Station, where, towering among a gaggle of admittedly diminiìutive (at least to my eyes) first years, I followed a gnarly man that declared himself the Groundskeeper and finally claimed a boat for myself, given my outrageous size.
The evening was quiet and without wind upsetting the water, which looked like an endless table of polished ebony, gleaming under the starlit sky. The boats moved silently while the eleven years old around me endlessly chattered in careful whispers, everyone aware of the importance of the moment.
Once we surpassed a low stone bridge, I won't deny that my eyes turned wide like everybody else's, admiring with quiet marvel the imposing castle, lit by countless torches that shone through the windows.
From the sharp lines of the towers' tops to the smooth presence of the stone walls, Hogwarts seemed to stretch itself towards the unreachable moon, as if it was a rampant horse showing off its strength.
The boats smoothly pulled over the water and onto the gravelly beach that led towards a ramp of stairs, which stopped in front of a ridiculously tall double door made in what I thought was oak. Without further issue, the Groundskeeper lifted a circular, iron knocker, letting it fall three times before taking a small step back.
With a heavy shudder, accompanied by an important groan of the ancient wood, the doors opened inwards, as to invite us in.
Given my height, I was free to see the wizard ready to welcome us: he was tall, wearing a conservative robe that matched the traditional wizard's hat resting over his greying hair, while his sharp blue eyes roamed over the crowd, stopping for an instant over my oversized form before he flashed everybody a warm smile.
"Welcome!" spoke Dumbledore, "Welcome to Hogwarts! I am Professor Dumbledore, Deputy Headmaster of this fine institution. Soon, I'll walk you through those doors," he tilted his head towards another set of double doors that rested inconspicuously on one side of the circular room, "and I'll be calling your names in order to have you sorted."
My eyes droned over the young-looking Richard Harris while I ignored his brief description of the Houses and the House Point System, which even a child could easily divine. Admittedly, at 11 years of age, I am a child. I reproached myself quietly as a single man we finally followed Dumbledore.
Why did I remember him to be always dressed like a punch in the eye? I frowned as I stared at the back of the powerful wizard, my annoyingly cynical mind providing answers that depicted the man as a war relic that sought comfort in bright colours from the knowledge that he had been the one to defeat his own lover.
I immediately banished the thoughts about the future appearance of Dumbledore from my mind as soon as I realized what I was thinking. Until I learned Occlumency, it wouldn't do to let my mind wander.
I stiffened minutely when we entered the Great Hall: four long tables littered by students wearing matching ties led to a larger one where several adults sat, looking over me and my peers.
I immediately heard the baffling comments about my size, but quite frankly, I was busy staring upwards like any other child that had never witnessed a nightly sky shining just above a sea of floating candles.
Dumbledore walked towards the end of the Hall, where he climbed a few steps, eyeing meaningfully the infamous battered hat that rested over a wooden stool.
A patch on the front of the hat opened like a mouth, powering up the illusion that the thing had an actual face, and he started to sing.
He sang of a castle raised from the ground, of peace offerings brought to the Deep Forest, of a Wild Lake calmed down, and of people coming together with a single, noble purpose.
To create something revolutionary that would last across the ages: a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the Founders then choose their apprentices on the basis of what they valued most. Of Noble Gryffindor and Unrelenting Hufflepuff, of Inquisitive Ravenclaw and Ambitious Slytherin.
Soon enough, Dumbledore started calling forth students, and my eyes returned to the rest of the Hall, where the students eagerly awaited either the sorting of someone they knew, or the actual end of the sorting, that would announce the beginning of the Welcoming Feast.
I spotted a promisingly beautiful Maggie Smith seated at the Gryffindor table, and obviously, my eyes eventually found one Tom Riddle, who was seating with a polite expression on his face, looking at the Sorting, like everybody else.
My fingers found my wand as I considered my position. Dumbledore would take care of Grindelwald, but Tom was going to become a big ass problem eventually.
It was lucky indeed that he had been topped before the year2000, otherwise someone was bound to mess up and break the Statute of Secrecy, given the neverending push of technology.
Would it be more useful to be sorted randomly? Or to be sorted in Slytherin, where I could keep an eye on Tom, or at least from where I could gain his 'trust', enough to invite him over, where I could kill him quietly?
I grimaced as the answerless questions once more flooded my mind, and too soon, my name left Dumbledore' lips.
With a shallow sigh that nevertheless managed to ruffle the hair of the children closest to me, I lumbered forward, walking the steps and eyeing with mistrust the frail-looking stool that was supposed to support me.
I eyed Dumbledore, who was looking at me with a shrewd glint in his eye. When he nodded indicating the stool, I decided to trust that he wouldn't wish to humiliate a child on his first night away from home, and I awkwardly sat.
The Hat was placed over my head, and I kept looking at the Hall since I had an adult size and the brim wasn't going to cover my eyes. Only then I thought that if I wanted to keep my secrets, a mind-reading Hat wasn't likely to be my best option.
Talent, and wish to test yourself! The Hat's voice sounded heavy in my head, making me startle momentarily.
Then I wondered if it was going to answer my unanswered questions. But if the Hat was capable of reading actual thoughts and relating them, which Pureblood would have sent their child to Hogwarts? Or wouldn't the Hat at least warn the Headmaster of the psychos in Slytherin?
Not only that, but to change the whole world! To create your own magic! To be ruthless in the pursuit of your dream!
Too late I realized that the decision about my House was already taken away from my hands.
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted for all to hear, leaving me with a single thought in mind while my eyes briefly crossed a couple of dark ones from my House.
I fucked up.
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