Chapter 1: Departing the Nest

Harry sighed in boredom as he watched the other children of the orphanage play. Observation was much of what he did these days, for he found it fascinating how their cliques would jostle for power and influence, raw and clumsy, undoubtedly, but still fascinating. Perched on the branch of a tree, he sighed contentedly as a breeze blew past. He allowed his mind to drift as he watched Josh and Abram stare each other down by the swing sets as others gathered around to watch, cheering for one boy or the other. Harry watched dispassionately as Josh threw the first punch, leading to a flurry of fists thrown before several of the matrons rushed out, angrily yelling at the crowd and draggin the two boys by the ear inside.

His interest lost, Harry picked up his book, a scrappy and torn one entitled 'The Prince'. While the other children, when forced to read, most often focused on fantasies and fairy tales, Harry couldn't help but gravitate to those on sociology and politics. He had little patience for the lies of morality and virtue espoused by stories; the cold, methodical logic of these non-fiction books proved far more worthy in his eyes.

Hearing the bell signalling lunch, Harry sighed, dropping down gracefully from the tree and walking inside to the orphanage. Around him, the children whispered, pointing at him and muttering obscenities under their breath. Strangely, he could hear voices without words being spoken, from idle musings on what slop would be on today to depraved entertainment on what it would be like to beat him to a pulp. Rubbing his head as he felt a slight headache began to build up, he took several calming breaths, willing his mind to clear itself. It was a difficult process, trying to push away the voices, but he managed to contain them into a dull throb.

Handing his tray to the matron, he received a helping of sickly green looking mashed potatoes and a pittance of gravy dripped on top, along with several fruits. The latter was not out of kindness, but rather because the matrons had long given up on forcing the others to take fruit, and what wasn't given to him would have been thrown away anyways. Nodding in thanks, for there was little reason not to show gratitude when such a gesture cost him little, he took his food to a corner, setting his tray gently on the table. Picking up a banana, he peeled it carefully, taking time to enjoy each bite as he observed the other children, who were chatting amongst their cliques happily, some playing with their foods, others wolving it down in an attempt to finish and leave.

As Harry finished his banana, he set the peel inside his tray and began to scoop a mouthful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. It was lukewarm and bland, the gravy somehow lacking any flavour, though Harry nevertheless took the time to appreciate the food as he turned the page of his book, continuing to read.

"Potter," a voice called out, causing Harry to look up and see one of the matrons walking towards him brusquely.

"Yes, madam Frelia?" he queried politely. The woman simply curled a finger, gesturing for him to follow. With a sigh at the realisation he would not be able to finish his food, he pocketed the two apples on the tray, handing the tray back in and following the matron already walking ahead. Scampering to catch up with his smaller legs, he made it a step behind her just as they reached the door to her office, causing Harry's eyebrows to shoot up.

"Get inside," she instructed curtly, opening the door and pressing a hand to his back. Resisting the urge to react, he heeded the gesture, walking inside and blinking owlishly at the sight of a crooked nose man with sallow skin. The man turned impatiently, penetrating black eyes turning to gaze at him.

Harry frowned as he felt a slight headache, and tried to hide his discomfort as he willed his mind to calm itself. After several moments, the buzzing subsided, causing him to let out a low sigh of relief. He did not miss the slight widening of the stranger's eyes, and resisted the urge to confront the man. Impulsiveness was rarely the optimal choice, and he would observe for now.

"Good afternoon, sir," he dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I'm afraid I don't know you mister…"

"Snape. Severus Snape," the man replied coolly, before turning to the matron. "Leave us."

"I don't th-" the woman's eyes glazed over as she stiffly turned and closed the door. Harry's eyebrow raised, and he turned to the man, far more intrigued than before.

"Tell me, mister Potter, have you noticed…unusual things around you?" Snape drawled as Harry took a seat across. "Things that could not be explained…things that seemed…unnatural?"

"Perhaps," Harry shrugged. "I'm rather persuasive and have gotten myself out of situations that should not be possible. I've survived injuries that I shouldn't have, according to the matrons, I was stabbed with a knife as an infant and tossed behind a dumpster. That I survived…well, it wouldn't be too difficult to think that I'm different from others."

"I see…" Snape pursed his lips, veneer of cool indifference breaking for a second and betraying perturbation. Had the man's demeanour not been so controlled before, he might have believed it a trick of the light. Harry frowned inwardly, wondering if he had spoken too much, but as the saying went, in for a penny, in for a pound. He decided against talking about the voices, a quiet urge within his mind suggesting that wouldn't be welcome. "Tell me, mister Potter, have you heard of the terms occlumency and legilimency?"

Harry blinked owlishly, eyes narrowing as he failed to recall any knowledge of such. Refocusing on the man, he frowned as he realised the man across was studying him intently. Quickly composing himself, he shook his head. "Apologies, my mind seems to have drifted. I can't say I have, sir."

"Hmm," the man frowned, lips pursing. It was Harry's turn to study the man closely, for he was the first individual who did not project voices. The silence was almost eerie compared to the usual chaos Harry had to contend with. While he had scarcely any facial tics, the absence of reactions was itself a tell, a greater truth within a lie. "Most…peculiar, but irrelevant for now. What you have experienced, mister Potter, is magic, a power that binds all of us together. With sufficient training, one can achieve feats that defy imagination."

"And I presume you are here to offer training?"

"How…astute of you," Snape drawled. "Indeed, I am the potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You have been offered acceptance into the school, where you'll be trained in various magical disciplines when you arrive."

"And are there any other options I should be considering?" Harry queried, mentally noting down how Snape's eyebrows raised imperceptibly. "Surely there would be other schools…smaller academies and whatnot?"

"Hogwarts is perhaps the most renowned magical school on the planet," Snape sneered. "It is a privilege and honour to be accepted."

"Is that so…" Harry mused. "Surely if I've met the conditions for Hogwarts, amongst the most prestigious schools, per yourself, then I would be of interest to these other institutions, no? One might think you're trying to hide something, sir."

"I cannot speak for the recruitment practises of lesser schools, mister Potter," the man's nostrils flared slightly. "You can do research on this in your own time."

"As you say, sir" Harry dipped his head, knowing he would not get further with this line of questioning. "And what of tuition? I doubt I have the resources to afford such an education."

"You will find, mister Potter, that your parents were quite well off and have no doubt left you a small inheritance, sufficient for funding your place at Hogwart," Snape assured, pulling out a small key and placing it on the desk. "Now, if you have no more questions, your letter, mister Potter."

The man pulled out an envelope and handed it to him. Glancing down, Harry cracked open the wax seal, quickly skimming through. He saw Snape look at him expectantly. "And where would I acquire the necessary items, sir?"

"Look for the Leaky Cauldron in Charing Cross Road. Tom the barkeep will be able to assist you. Go to Gringotts, the white marble building that serves as a bank. Your key will grant you access to your vault. I trust you will be able to handle yourself," Snape drawled, standing up.

"Perhaps a demonstration?" Harry inquired. The man gave a stiff nod, withdrawing a wooden stick and slicing an arc in the air, sending a jet of red towards the chair, cutting off its legs. With another swish of his wand, the chair knit itself back together. Harry's eyes widened at the display, his mind racing. Was this the power he could unlock? "Thank you, sir."

"Until September First, then, mister Potter," the man nodded stiffly, before striding out of the room. As the sound of footsteps retreated, Harry reached out, pocketing the vault key and standing up. He had much to contemplate.

--Break--

Wandering through the streets, Harry gave a faint smile at the sight of a dingy pub with faded golden lettering declaring the existence of 'The Leaky Cauldon'. Entering the establishment, he resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose at the pungent smell of alcohol and sweat. Walking to the bar, he waited patiently for the portly man to turn around.

"Ah k-by Merlin! Harry Potter?" he exclaimed, holding a hand on his chest. Harry blinked, taken aback by the man's reaction. How the hell did he know his name just from a look? Reaching over the counter, the barkeep enthusiastically shook his hand. "A pleasure to meet you at last, sonny! I've been waiting a full decade for this!"

The few patrons in the bar began whispering excitedly, looking and pointing at him. The voices grew louder than before, feelings of excitement and awe at the sight of him. Harry frowned, realising that not all magicals were immune to projecting voices.

"Sir, how do you know my name?"

"W-what do you mean? You're the boy-who-lived, of course every-"

"Sir, please calm down," Harry cut through dryly, disliking being rude but growing increasingly uneasy at the growing crescendo of voices. "As far as I'm concerned, we're all alive and well, no?"

"B-b…do you truly not know?" the man questioned incredulously. Harry gave a light shrug. "You survived you-know-who's killing curse! Your scar…"

"Well it must not have been a very good curse then," Harry frowned, mentally making a note that his scar was somehow connected to this. "And I don't know who."

"I…I shouldn't be the one to explain this to you, sonny. Why don't we get you into the alley before we get more attention?" Harry breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. At last, the man showed an ounce of intelligence. Following the barkeep as he waddled through the backroom, he observed the man pull out his wand and tap several stones in successive order. "Remember, from the rubbish bin, three up and two across."

Harry blinked as the stone bricks parted into two, revealing a large alleyway bustling with activity. Looking around, he saw all manner of shops and stalls set around. "Thank you, you have a good day."

Without waiting for the barkeep's response, he strode forward, spotting the glistening white marble of what was presumably the bank immediately. Two shiny figures, too short to be humans, stood guard outside with long spears, causing him to frown. So magical creatures did exist…he would have to study them. Walking past a stall, he pinched a cap, placing it over his head to cover the lightning bolt scar.

Continuing down the alley, he took in the magic all around, using all of his control to keep himself from bursting with excitement or panic. Despite knowing he was different from regular humans, it was still truly awe inspiring to know there was another world out there. Ascending the marble steps, he paused at the sight of a set of silver doors, upon which read the inscription:

Inside we protect your gems and gold

With honour and strength yet untold

For those who seek that not theirs

The follow a path to despair

For our walls have withstood time's rolling waves

And we'll endure beyond your dying days

Fury of a dragon, heart of a golem

Fides Sursum Totem

Harry resisted the urge to snort. Such a boast, while not likely unsubstantiated, was nevertheless far too blunt and obtuse for his tastes. Nevertheless, he entered the bank proper, having passed the third set of doors to reach the bank's interior. Dozens of teller counters circumferenced the room, short queues in a few of them but others left completely empty. Walking up to a teller, he placed his key on the desk.

The goblin looked up, frowning at him as it picked up the key, inspecting and letting out a low grunt. "Mister Potter?"

"Indeed," Harry nodded. "I wish for statements on my account and to visit my vault."

"As you wish," the goblin nodded stiffly, giving a low bark. Several moments later, another goblin appeared behind the desk. "Would you like to purchase a securitised pouch?"

"What are its benefits?"

"Anti-theft charms, expanded space for more coins, auto-counter," the goblin answered easily. "Five galleons, I can have it deducted from your vaults."

"And how much do I have?"

"More than sufficient amounts, I assure you," the creature answered.

"Are there any ongoing fees, any peculiarities with the pouch?" Harry questioned. The goblin gave an irritable sigh, stowing the blue pouch he had within his hand and retrieving a black one instead.

"No, the amount you put in is the amount that will be stored. Do you want it or not?" Harry gave a stiff nod, drawing a pleased smile as the goblin handed him a pouch. He gasped at the sensation, running a finger over the soft silky material. He could feel the magic interwoven within. Despite knowing he was likely being charged exorbitantly, his ignorance meant such a burden was unavoidable. "Eglot will take you to your vaults. I will have the statements prepared before you depart."

"My gratitude," Harry dipped his head, following the smaller goblin to a minecart. Raising his eyebrow, he gripped the sides as the cart hurried along, seemingly knowing which way to go as it navigated several forks without slowing or any visible input from the goblin in front. After several minutes speeding through, the cart lurched to a stop, and the goblin hopped out impatiently.

"Vault one eleven," the creature grunted. "Place your hand on it."

"What does it do?" Harry queried warily. The creature sighed irritably.

"Blood detection. Now hurry, every second is a sickle." Ignoring the urge to snap at the creature, he placed his hand on the circular disk on the vault. A light prickling sensation travelled through his nerves, before the vault gave a slight lurch, the sound of several clicking mechanisms unlocking. The goblin seemed almost disappointed. "Pull the lever when you're done and a cart will pick you up."

Without another word, it hobbled away, entering the cart and speeding off. Giving a light shake of the head, he stepped through the now open vault door, gasping at the sight of a small mountain of galleons in front of him. With some mental calculations, he deduced he had at least thirty thousand gold coins, and that wasn't even considering the silver and bronze ones.

Scooping up a hundred of the silver and bronze along with five hundred gold coins, hoping that the value scale was equivalent to the muggle valuations. Satisfied, he walked out, sealing the vault behind him and yanking down the lever. Several moments later, an empty minecart showed up, hurtling to a stop in front of him.

The journey up seemed far quicker, and he stepped off, walking back towards the counter where the goblin was waiting expectantly. Handing him a stack of papers, the creature quickly returned to dealing with their client, leaving Harry to quickly inspect his vaults. Walking to the waiting area at the side and taking a seat, he quickly leafed through to find that his estimations were slightly off. The vault had forty thousand galleons. Reading through the expenses, it seemed that large sums had been drawn up to roughly a year after his birth, depleting the once larger sums from the hundreds of thousands into tens of thousands.

Ignoring this for the moment, he headed through the alley, wandering around and familiarising himself with the layout before stopping at a shop that read 'Ollivander's'. Feeling a faint voice calling out for him, he entered the shop curious, frowning as he felt a presence suddenly appear behind him. Turning around, he saw an old man with frizzy white hair look at him in surprise.

"Mister Potter, long have I awaited this day," the man smiled eerily. Harry fingered the pocket knife slipped in his right sleeve, ready to strike. "But where are my manners. Garrick Ollivanders, at your service."

"A pleasure," Harry dipped his head, refusing to betray just how creepy he found the man. Looking around as the man reached behind the counter, pulling out a box and withdrawing a wand, beckoning him with an encouraging wave. Reaching out, he frowned at the slight hum the wand gave, as though acknowledging but ambivalent to his presence.

"No, no, not this one," Ollivander muttered, stowing it back in the box and shelving it before pulling another. "Try this."

He took hold of the wand, which gave a low, angry hiss, a slight burning sensation on his palm. Ollivander quickly stowed the wand. Before he could reach for another, Harry interjected, "The wand I seek is behind."

"Oh ho," the man's smile widened. "A wand calling for you…marvellous, simply marvellous. I haven't had that happen since…well never you mind. Go, young wizard, reach out and feel for it."

Heeding the wandmaker's advice, Harry closed his eyes in concentration, trying to block out the faint chatter of voices projected all around, taking several deep breaths as they faded into the background, allowing the faint yet strong siren's song to entrance him. Slowly, he walked through the various rows of wand stored, ignoring their faint voices as he honed in on the one he knew belonged to him.

Reaching the penultimate row, he parted the shelves and wandered deep in, reaching past several boxes and retrieving one delicately. Releasing the black clasp and revealing the wand, he touched it, feeling his magic sing out, momentarily silencing all the voices around.

As the euphoria died down, he looked to see Ollivander staring at him in disbelief.

"This is it," Harry smiled. "How much for the wand?"

"Seven galleons," he breathed, muttering lowly to himself. Harry collected seven golden coins from his pouch and handed them to the man.

"Are there any other things I should get with it?"

"A wand maintenance kit is essential. Some are also interested in a holster," Ollivander answered after shaking himself out of his stupor. "Fifteen galleons for both."

"I'll take them," Harry quickly agreed, handing over the amount. "What is my wand made of?"

"Blue walnut and moonbeam. A most odd combination, a tricky wand indeed. I had thought another would be destined for you, but the wand chooses the wizard," the man gave a light shrug. "It has been an honour, mister Potter."

Sensing the dismissal, Harry placed his holster on his wrist and holstered his wand. Placing the wand maintenance kit in his backpack, he continued down the alley. Heading to Flourish and Blotts, he navigated through the various shelves, picking out the books he needed along with those he found interesting. Several books on duelling, on history and others were all placed in the basket, along with a selection from the 'Harry Potter' section, something he certainly never approved of. Leafing through a few, he found fantastical, whimsical stories on his supposed childhood adventures.

Walking to the counter with a stack of roughly thirty books, he placed his basket on the table, drawing the attention of the young witch. With a bubbly smile, she asked, "First Year?"

"That obvious?" Harry queried with a roguish smile. The girl gave a light giggle.

"We've all been there," she assured lightly, ringing up the purchases. "Excited?"

"The disbelief is still setting in. Still hard to believe that…you know, magic is real and all," Harry mused. "So little time and so much to learn."

"You'll be fine," the girl smiled warmly. "It takes some getting used to, I admit, but it's wonderful once you get settled in. And there we go, that'll be thirty seven galleons and six sickles. Do you want a book on jinxes with that? It'll be useful to know a few."

Giving a light wink as she gestured to a lilac coloured book entitled 'Basic Jinxes and Hexes'. Seeing the price was just four sickles, he gave a wry smile. "How could I say no to that smile?"

"My my, such a charmer," the girl giggled, ringing up the purchase. "Hopefully I'll see you in Ravenclaw."

"Ravenclaw?" Harry queried unsurely. She snapped her fingers, swatting herself on the head.

"Right, sorry, I take all this for granted sometimes. Hogwarts students are sorted into four houses, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin. Long things short, nerds, softies, jocks and dicks."

"Leanne! You're head girl, you shouldn't say that!" a voice reprimanded, causing the two to turn, seeing another girl look at them with exasperation. The cashier, presumably Leanne, gave a mischievous smile.

"Come on, Audrey, it's not like I'm wrong." Turning back to Harry, she gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I do need to get back to work. It was nice meeting you!"

"Wait, can you shrink these?" Harry inquired. Leanne tapped the books with her wand, causing them to shrink to the size of buttons. "Thanks."

Walking out to the alley, he explored several other shops, purchasing robes, potion ingredients, a trunk, some trinkets and other miscellaneous items. After having explored Diagon Alley to satisfaction, he headed towards the outskirts, ignoring the increasingly oppressive aura.

Several scrawny hags looked at him hungrily, though his confident stride dissuaded them from approaching. Looking around, he wandered through several stores that contained various artefacts and trinkets, finding little of immediate interest. As he neared the end of the alley, he spotted a bookstore and headed inside. The bell gave a light chime, and he heard the approach of footsteps.

"Ah, a customer, what are you looking for?"

"Books. Occlumency and legilimency," Harry answered. The man's eyes widened, before narrowing in suspicion. Harry felt suspicion radiate from the man's voices as they began to dull.

"That's highly…illegal, young master," the shopkeep frowned.

"I can pay well," Harry responded crisply. "If not, I'm sure I can take my business elsewhere."

"Ha!" the man snorted, "there ain't another shop in this side of Europe like mine. All the old families go through me, that's nothing more than a bluff."

"Then what do you have on offer?"

"Many things…guimores of families long extinct, artefacts whose secrets are yet to be discovered…for the right price, everything can be had," the man grinned toothily. Harry hummed thoughtfully. "Surely you would be interested in duelling, politics, perhaps some first edition tomes? Anything, I assure, can be found."

"Hmm, not everything, seeing you cannot provide me what I seek. Good day," he turned, prepared to leave. He felt the man's voice yell in agitation, before he called out for him to halt. Hiding a triumphant smile, he turned to face the shopkeep. "Yes?"

"Ten thousand galleons," he said simply. Harry narrowed his eyes, listening to the man's voice of inward hopefulness. He sensed anxiety and fear of getting caught with the artefact, and resisted the urge to smile.

"Five thousand," Harry retorted. "Don't take me for a fool, you're a dead man if the aurors catch you with this. No one else would even consider buying this."

"Seven thousand, and only because I like you," the man countered. It was still an exorbitant sum, yet undoubtedly the artefact was going to be useful. Harry considered the offer, trying to get a read on the man. Seeing the seller seemed firm on the price, he reluctantly agreed. With a toothy grin, the man pulled out a teller's cheque, handing it for him to sign.

"And I want an oath for my identity not to be revealed," Harry added. The man scowled, and Harry realised the seller had intended to sell the book then call the aurors and collect a bounty on him. "And for that, six thousand."

"Fine," the man snapped angrily, pulling out a new teller's cheque. "I do solemnly swear on my magic not to reveal the identity of the buyer of 'Notes on the Mind Arts'. So mote it be."

A light aura formed around the man, signalling the oath had been accepted. Harry nodded satisfied, signing the cheque with a blood quill and ignoring the slight stinging sensation on his hand. Shoving the book into Harry's hands, he barked, "Get out!"

Without a word, Harry left the store, content with everything.

--Break--

The mind arts are perhaps one of the most dangerous branches of magic. The art is poorly understood, for those who possess some of its secrets guard them jealously. While some perceive there to be a binary of occlumency and legilimency, in reality, it is more akin to a spectrum. There are aspects focused on self-modification, external observation and finally control.

First, it is worth breaking down into categories:

Imperacy, to take control of another. Legilimency, to access another's thoughts. Occlumency, to shield one's mind from intrusions. Augmency, to enhance one's mind. Mutarecy, to change one's mind.

Note that these are only my personal interpretations, and there is, to my knowledge, no convention on how to make these distinctions. Some would generalise it as either occlumency or legilimency, some would create even more divisions.

Most individuals would be hard pressed to master any branch, let alone multiple. Some of the most feared individuals in history are renowned for their prowess in the mind arts. Merlin was a renowned Occlumens, while Morgana was infamous for her imperacy. Many Dark Lords and Ladies have demonstrated aptitude in these fields, achieving renown for becoming beyond-human. In recent memory, the Dark Lady Cosmyre was infamous for her ability to take over the minds of hundreds at a time, turning entire armies against each other and sowing chaos. Had her ambition not pushed her beyond the breaking point, causing a chasm and obliterating her, Cosmyre may well have taken over the continent. Warlock Georg Remeball was famous for his ability to empower those around him to fight beyond their normal capabilities, according to one muggle "as though touched by the hand of god."

Should you have unlocked the true contents of this book, then you must possess at least some talent or skill in the mental arts. Those unworthy will find nothing more than nonsense meant to satiate the ego instead. Within, you will find the beginnings, however limited, into pursuing the mind arts.

I myself am a master of none, having devoted my time to the techniques of each in hopes of creating a repository that may guide future generations. For three centuries I have lived, studying under the masters of the time. I am Lord Anguis, and this is my legacy.

--Break--

Sitting in the room he had rented in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry idly flicked his wand, feeling it thrum with happiness as he cast a lumos charm. The spell itself was not difficult, and the simple nature of casting was not his intention. Rather, it was control, as he modulated his magic, dimming and brightening the glow with significant difficulty.

Reading through his textbooks had proved enlightening, highlighting how he had very little knowledge on the affairs of this world. Charms, potions, transfiguration…all had somehow jumped out the pages of fantasy and into his reality.

What had caught his attention most, however, had been the Harry Potter books, selling for almost extortionate prices, of which he was certain he hadn't seen a single knut from. Looking at the time, he slipped off the bed, quickly changing into a set of robes and applying some makeup on his scar before heading into the alley, down into Starstride alley and into a modest building entitled 'Tonks and Co.'

Walking in, the secretary looked up boredly, a fake smile plastered on his face. "Are you lost, son?"

"I'm here for an appointment with Mr.Tonks," Harry answered dryly. The man's eyes narrowed annoyedly.

"Surely you-"

"Just do your job," Harry barked, causing the man to reel. With a scowl, he wrote a note, tapping it with his wand and sending it flying like a paper aeroplane down the corridor. Several moments later, another paper aeroplane returned. Reading it, the man quickly paled.

"Mister Tonks will-" ignoring the man, he strode down the corridor, entering the room. The man stood up, a warm smile on his face.

"Mister Potter, a pleasure to meet you at last. Your letter was most intriguing. I've rarely had clients ask to sign a non-disclosure agreement before even meeting."

"Mister Tonks, likewise. With my presence, you can never be too careful," Harry smiled apologetically, false it may have been. The other man chuckled lightly.

"Call me Ted."

"Then it's Harry."

"I must admit, Harry, I am curious why you would choose me. With resources and fame as yours, I'm sure many more prestigious firms would be willing to take your case," the man pondered. Harry was inwardly impressed at the man's daring. Most would have kept their mouth shut and accepted this; it only proved his choice more than before.

"I like my people hungry," Harry answered simply. At the man's pensive look, he chuckled. "I don't think you're naive enough to believe this a bolt of luck, and you're far too pragmatic to believe this a random act of altruism. "As your most high profile client, all eyes will be on how you perform. Whereas a pureblood firm with connections and legacy may survive a scandal, you will not survive a mistake. Given you've survived this long in our prejudiced world, you must have some degree of competency, and I'm confident you'll be giving it your all every time, because in a way, it really is life or death for you."

"That's…a rather unexpected answer," Tonks mused, a wry smile on his lips. "Very few eleven year olds would…think in such a manner, no offence."

"There are three people you do not lie to: your accountant, your doctor and your lawyer."

"Very true," Tonks laughed, his posture relaxing slightly. Harry could feel the nervousness begin to fade away from the voice in Ted's head. "I've read over the details, and you have quite a solid case. There's two ways you can go about this: misappropriation of the right of publicity or libel. The former would be easier to prove, but the latter would be more rewarding."

"What are the odds of succeeding?"

"With the former, nearly guaranteed. With the latter…it's going to be difficult, but I'd say sixty-forty in our favour. If you win though, you could have them naked on the streets. Even with the former, considering the scale of Harry Potter merchandise and whatnot out there…you'd still cripple them."

"Hmm," Harry pursed his lips. "You're thinking like a lawyer, not a businessman. I don't want to ruin them, I want to take back the profit rightfully mine, and secure a future stream of income."

"What do you want to do then?" Tonks frowned. Harry smiled faintly.

"Take down one of the smaller firms for libel. They will not have the resources, connections or expertise to resist. Take absolutely as much as you can. Then approach the others and demand profits lest they face similar wrath. Most will fall in line. Destroy those who do not," Harry answered simply.

"How much do you want?"

"Twenty percent on revenue and fifty percent on profit. Everything else you can squeeze out, we split between us seventy-thirty." The man blinked, no doubt surprised by the demand. Reading into the man's thoughts, he seemed eager for the opportunity, which pleased Harry greatly.

"That will be difficult…but not undoable, I suppose," Tonks mused, unable to hide his excitement at the prospect. He quickly scribbled down several notes on a document before handing it to Harry. "Have a read over, hopefully everything should be agreeable?"

Looking down at the document, he spent several minutes reading through the clauses. A retainer fee of roughly a hundred galleons, not unreasonable, and a year of charges in advance of a thousand galleons. With the fiduciary clause and several other protections for both sides, he was confident the deal would be solid. There were also clauses explicitly stating the benefits of being the firm's premier client. Signing, he felt the slight prick of blood on his hand and the contract's magic taking binding effect on him.

Handing over a cheque for the required amount, he shook the man's hand before leaving the building. The Potter finances would be recovering soon, if the amount of merchandise sold was any indication.

--Break--

Wandering the alley as a reward for finishing his day's worth of reading early, he entered a pet shop, idly browsing the various pets. A variety of owls perched above the store in cages, while below, large selections of toads, snakes, rats and other creatures were available. Several children were admiring the baby crups, who barked happily at the attention.

At the sound of wind rushing, Harry turned, eyes widening when a snowy white owl perched on his shoulder, nipping his ear gently. Cracking a smile, he reached out, stroking its features and causing it to lean into his touch, giving a happy hoot.

"Why hello there," he cooed. "How did you get here?"

'Hoot!' the owl responded, almost sounding mischievous. Its head cocked to the roof and Harry followed its gaze, seeing a cage with its door unlocked.

"My, my, such an intelligent owl. Do you want to come with me?"

'Hoot!' she responded enthusiastically, gently butting her head against his side and causing him to chuckle, rubbing her feathers affectionately.

"Alright, with me you go, then." Oddly, he felt little strangeness in talking with the owl. He could hear faint voices from its mind, and it seemed to understand him well enough. Walking to the cashier, he pressed the bell, waiting patiently.

"Ah, young lad! Looking for-by merlin! Stay still, sonny! That owl's a right nasty one," the man warned cautiously, whipping his wand out. The owl on his shoulder let out an angry squawk.

"I like her, she's a fighter," Harry defended slightly. "How much for her?"

Blinking incredulously, the man shook his head, muttering on the silliness of youth these days.

"Ten galleons, celestial owls would normally be more, but ain't nobody's gotten close to her without losing blood. Don't bring her back, I ain't taking her," the man grumbled.

"What about food?"

"We have owl treats," the man offered, holding out a small packet of brown crackers. Harry snorted derisively at that.

"I will absolutely not be feeding my owl this trash. Give me some rabbits," he ordered, looking to his owl to see if she approved. Sensing the question, she bobbed her head up and down. Several moments later, the man returned with a cage with six petrified rabbits. Paying the three galleons, he quickly left the store, not desiring to spend any more time there.

As they walked out, he turned to her. "You need a name, any ideas?"

'Hoot!'

"Calista? You are a beautiful owl, after all." She considered for several moments before shaking her head.

"Hmm, how about Gillian?" A shake of the head.

"Leyla?" A contemplative hoot before another shake of the head.

"Thalia?" A shake of the head.

"Athena?" she nipped him on the ear, as though reprimanding him for such a proposition. Harry chuckled amusedly, ruffling her feathers. "You're a picky one, aren't you?"

He considered several moments, before offering, "Hedwig?"

The owl, newly christened Hedwig, gave an excited hoot, bobbing her head up and down.

"Hedwig it is then," Harry smiled. "Such an intelligent owl, you and I are going to get along just fine."

--Break--

Despite the many doctrines around how to study the mind arts, there seems to be two consistent prerequisites for any progress: the first, for some degree of natural aptitude; the second for significant amounts of time on self-centering.

Briefly on the former point, while it is not theoretically impossible for one completely lacking the aptitude to learn the mind arts, anecdotally, I have never seen a single case. The abstractness means that it is hard to conceptualise with any meaningful clarity. In fact, most practitioners of the mind arts will remain novice, unconsciously exhibiting the traits but not consciously aware. This could be in the form of better awareness of the emotions of others, or an unusually capable mind. For those who progress, the foundation of their natural insight into the field often proves vital.

On the latter point, a commonality in all training regimes is the need for self-centering. While some practitioners endorse martial routines and others meditation, the goal remains to achieve greater self-awareness and control. I have found that, anecdotally, meditation seems to be the most effective means, being the favoured tool of the greatest practitioners currently alive.

However, it is also the most risky. While other practises can guarantee some level of result, meditation is completely dependent on the practitioner's will and discipline. One can meditate for a lifetime and achieve nothing should they fail to reconcile themselves and achieve harmony and control. One must find a way to understand and embrace the unique gift they have received; only then can genuine progress on the arts be made.

--Break--

Wandering through King's Cross, he winced at the sheer amount of voices swirling around him. Thousands of muggles were all projecting their thoughts at once, flooding his mind with overload. Grimacing, he tried to dull the sensations, enjoying some success as he could think once again.

'Hoot!' Hedwig gave him a concerned look, causing him to smile at the owl affectionately.

"I'm fine, Hedwig, just not used to large crowds," he reassured, rubbing the owl's feathers. Seeing the poorly disguised ministry official looking far too stiff as they stood vigil next to a concrete barrier, Harry wandered over with his trunk, handing over the ticket and proceeding to walk through.

Looking around, he frowned at the sight of the Hogwarts Express, a scarlet covered locomotive huffing steam. Harry found himself distinctly unimpressed, wondering why the school would spend so much time and resources constructing such a thing when more efficient methods such as portkeys and floo travel were available. Looking around, there were a few families conversing with their children, bidding tearful farewells. He steeled the pang in his heart, boarding the train and finding an empty compartment.

Tapping the trunk and levitating it onto the racks, he took a seat, a book on duelling in his hands and began to read as Hedwig perched on his shoulder, beginning to doze off, snoring lightly. The sound of other children boarding the train and playing the games was annoying, yet he had grown used to ignoring such disturbances, submersing himself within the book.

He frowned as the train gavea a slow lurch, looking out the window to realise that the locomotive had begun moving. "Seems like we're moving. Do you want to fly?"

'Hoot.'

"I'll be fine, it's only a few hours. I've spent longer alone."

'Hoot!' Hedwig barked reproachfully. Harry gave a light chuckle.

"Don't worry about me, you need to spread out your wings. You've gotten fat," he teased, sliding out of the way as she attempted to nip his ear. "So defensive."

'Hoot!' she snapped, turning her back to him. Harry's snickers probably didn't help the owl's mood.

"I'm sorry, you're beautiful as always, Hedwig," he assuaged, rubbing her feathers soothingly. After several moments, she leaned into his touch. "But I know you've been missing flying, confined indoors for so long. Have some fun, I'll see you at Hogwarts."

'Hoot,' Hedwig conceded, hopping onto his shoulder and butting her head gently against his side before flying off. He couldn't help but smile, watching her slowly disappear over the horizon before returning to his book.

He managed several pages, just flipping a page when two boys barged into the compartment, laughing loudly to each other.

"Oh, it's occupied, Fred. Do you mind?" Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and the two ginger head boys squirmed at the silence. "Well, nevermind, we'll just find another…yeah."

Harry snorted lightly as the two hastily exfiltrated from the compartment, the door swinging shut behind them. Harry flicked his wand, casting a sticking charm on the edge. All the locking spells he knew were far too basic, and he had little desire to deal with more annoyances. Several moments later, he felt a tug on the door, but didn't bother to look up. Several more tugs and angry shouts later, he heard retreating footsteps, and breathed out lightly.

Several minutes passed before there was a light knock on the door. Looking up, he raised an eyebrow at the sight of a young girl with black hair tied in a bun and amethyst eyes. Blinking, he reluctantly dispelled the sticky charm on the door, deciding to be polite given the girl had offered the courtesy of knocking.

"Can I help you?"

"May I sit in this compartment? The others are filled with rowdy students, and I would like to maintain some of my sanity," she sighed tiredly. Feeling some kinship already, he moved aside, allowing her in. She shot him a grateful smile, dragging her trunk inside. Before he could offer to help, she tapped her wand on the trunk, levitating it with practised ease.

"Impressive," Harry mused as the two sat down. Strangely, there was nearly no voice from the girl, a far cry from the loud projections of the other students. He made a mental note to investigate, for it seemed she was at least a novice occlumens.

"Thanks," she smiled faintly. "What locking charm did you use? I couldn't detect it."

"A sticking charm on the door," Harry chuckled, causing her eyes to widen. "I reckoned most wouldn't think of that."

"Impressive," she echoed. "But where are my manners, Amelie Rosier."

"Harry Potter, a pleasure," he returned, taking her hand and placing a light kiss on it. Despite her face's impassiveness, the voices in her head stirred, and he knew the motion had an effect on the girl. She stared at him for several moments hesitantly, and lapsed into silence until he raised an eyebrow.

"You don't…do you not know?"

"Of your family's legacy?" Harry bluffed, having genuinely little idea. The girl nodded stiffly. "And why should I care?"

Rosier blinked owlishly, as though in disbelief. Harry merely cocked his head, fighting down the amused smirk. The girl's occlumency crumpled slightly, allowing some of her hesitation and doubts to leak out. Oddly amongst that was a pang of hopefulness, something that Harry instinctively knew pointed to an opportunity.

"We don't choose our family," Harry shrugged. "I'm not going to judge you for the actions of those you had no control over."

"I'm…thankful," she finally managed. "I must admit my surprise…I expected…"

"I suppose with the stupidity and bigotry of those around, it can be hard to believe there are still those with some level of sanity," Harry mused dryly, drawing a laugh from Rosier. Her eyes widened, and he sensed her occlumency clamp down, the voices snapping into silence as she tried to regain her composure. He decided not to call her out on it, since she hadn't once attempted to look at his scar. "You alright?"

"Golden," she smiled weakly, though Harry knew it to be genuine. Looking at his book, she sat up. "Oh, you're interested in duelling?"

"Not so much duelling as fighting, I suppose," Harry shrugged, smirking as he sensed her excitement grow at the statement. "That we all wield wands, tools of incalculable destructive potential…well, it'd be good to know how to defend oneself."

"Too true," she agreed. "I'm sure you must know a trick or two."

"And how do you figure that?" Harry queried. Rosier's eyes widened, her mind reeling, though Harry could not make out any specific thought, only splashes of surprise and disbelief.

"Did you not get…you know, training?"

"Ah, the books," Harry chuckled dryly. "Nothing but fanciful lies, I'm afraid. I didn't even know about magic until I received my letter, it was rather shocking, though admittedly not surprising."

"I see," she mused, before smiling hesitantly. "It seems I've assumed once again, my apologies."

"It is only natural, I suppose," Harry chuckled, attempting to assuage her worries.

"Perhaps, but it's not fair on you," she shrugged. "You have my apologies."

"You could make it up to me by telling more about yourself," Harry mused cheekily. She rolled her eyes, huffing, though her eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Where to start…my grand aunt was the favoured lieutenant of the Dark Lord Grindelwald. Several uncles served the Dark Lord, some willingly, others allegedly less so," she mused. "My family name is in the tatters, what branches remain are trying to lay low and recoup, but it's not easy. Not even healing the schism between the French and domestic branches have helped."

"I asked about you, not your family," Harry interjected softly. Amelie blinked, taking several moments to process that.

"Well…what do you want to know?" she flustered.

"What do you do for fun?"

"I suppose…I've never really had much time for that," she shrugged. At his confused look, Amelie explained, "As the heiress of my sub-branch of the family, I'm expected to excel in every respect. Between being tutored in various subjects and attending networking events, there isn't much time to rest, let alone 'have fun'. If I had to choose…I suppose I do enjoy duelling quite a lot. It's a…breath of fresh air; there's something genuine about pitting ability against ability, skill against skill, strength against strength."

"Perhaps you can teach me," Harry mused. To his surprise, she seemed contemplative, not dismissing the idea outright.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. For all we know, we might not even be in the same house."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You…well, it's not really common for people to interact outside their house," she shrugged. "Besides, with the scheduling, it's not like you have much opportunity to interact."

"I see," Harry hummed, deep in thought. "So how do the heirs and heiresses network?"

"Usually in festive events. Yuletide and Midsummer, mainly. Samhain and Beltane are reserved for more intimate family gatherings, which is convenient given school is in session then. Besides, most in their faction usually end up in the same houses, making it easier to interact."

"What a waste," Harry shook his head, drawing a surprised look. "Only a fool would try and limit those they know. If the houses are grouped by personality, then it's even worse. Everything is about harmony and balance; you cannot achieve that with just a skewed selection."

"It's…tradition, I suppose," Amelie shrugged. "What house do you think you're going to be in?"

"I really don't care. There are opportunities and challenges in each. I'm inclined to say Ravenclaw, but Hufflepuff wouldn't be so bad. Gryffindor and Slytherin, I'd rather avoid, if nothing else for the sake of avoiding scrutiny."

"That's fair," she sighed wistfully. "My family's always been in Slytherin, I suppose I have to end up there."

"Do you always just do what your family wants?" Harry challenged. Amelie's eyes widened before narrowing, causing him to smirk inwardly. The spark he had seen was now ignited, something he could nurture into his own.

"They're my family. Family is all I have."

"You didn't choose your family. Would you live a slave to them? What better are you than a house elf then?"

"How would you understand?" she snapped before recoiling as she realised what she had said. "Harry I'm so-"

"You're right of course," Harry shrugged uncaringly. "I never got to understand parental love. People always recall James and Lily Potter as heroes, but were they? They could not defend themselves, could not protect their own child…in the end, perhaps it is better that I don't know them. Saves me from the disappointment."

"You…resent them?" she asked disbelievingly. Harry shrugged.

"They chose to bring me into this world despite their dangerous and reckless lifestyle. I wonder, did they ever think of the consequences of dying? Or were they too busy with their inflated egos and chasing the thrills of battle to care? Regardless, they were weak enough to be killed."

"That's…" Amelie flinched, stuttering hesitantly, "I…they're family?"

"And so what? Does sharing blood physically limit betrayal? Does it inhibit competition? A parent protects their child not out of love, but a biological imperative to preserve their legacy. So why should a child have any obligation towards the parent?"

"Blood is thicker than water," she proffered unsurely. Harry rolled his eyes.

"The tragic thing about betrayal is that it can only be committed by those you trust."

The two lulled into a silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. He could sense her mind thrumming with activities, thoughts racing at incredible speeds. Hesitation warred with daring, and he knew she was trying to muster up the courage.

"I won't bite, not unless you ask really nicely," he teased, drawing a faint blush from her.

"What about you?" she queried. He gestured encouragingly for her to elaborate. "What do you do for fun?"

"I read. Magic just fascinates me…so much raw potential yet untapped. It's almost unthinkable that most wizards and witches are content knowing the bare minimum, if that, when we live in a world of titans like Voldemort, Grindelwald and Dumbledore," Harry sighed wistfully. As he regained coignance, he noticed her staring at him entranced, causing him to blink. "You…okay?"

"Sorry," she shook herself out of her stupor, blush returning in full force as she avoided his gaze. "It's just the way you speak…it's so captivating!"

"I'm glad," he smiled, standing up and moving to her side. Despite his ambivalence to physical contact, tactile sensations were some of the most powerful imprinting tools. Gently placing a finger under her chin, he lifted her head until their eyes met, emerald on amethyst. He tried to project out warmth, acceptance and reassurance, which must have worked as he felt some of the tension leave her body. "Never be embarrassed, not between friends."

"Right, friends," she agreed quickly, unable to keep giddiness from colouring her tone. Saving her from embarrassment, he wrapped his hands around her, gently pulling her into a hug. For a moment, she stiffened, and he worried if he had overstepped, yet her content mewl, along with the way she relaxed into his embrace allayed such fears.

A knock on the door caused them to spring apart in shock, matching shy smiles on their faces until there was a more insistent knock, causing both to scowl as they turned to the door. A bushy haired girl stood outside, tapping her foot impatiently.

Removing the sticky charm, he opened the door. "Ye-"

"Have you seen a toad? Neville has lost his," she questioned.

"No, perhaps you should go find a prefect," Harry returned coldly. "Is there anything else?"

"You don't have to be so rude, you know," the girl snapped. Harry barely suppressed an angry retort. "Oh, your compartment is empty, I'll join y-"

"Goodbye," Amelie sniffed derisively, flicking her wand out and casting a charm that sent the intruder flying outwards and slamming against the wall. Harry quickly shut the door, casting the sticky charm again.

"Nicely done," he praised, turning around to see Amelie had stowed her wand. She blushed, ducking her head.

"I shouldn't have done that," she shook her head. "Ugh, only a day in and already losing control. Father would be displeased."

"Then he is a fool," Harry shrugged, ignoring her gaping. "Power is the freedom to choose one's actions, knowing they are able to bear whatever consequences. It matters not if you are the most magically gifted individual on the planet if you are a slave to someone else, be it morality, family or obligation."

He could feel her contemplating his words, and allowed their compartment to once again lull into silence. That was what he appreciated thus far about her: she was willing to consider his point rather than irrationally dismiss it outright.

"Then what does one do when they have all the power?"

"When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain he wept," Harry answered sagely. "Forging one's own path, creating one's own meaning…build your own beliefs and values, rather than relying on others. In that, you create a true legacy, something that can outlive you. Creoyl, Sasarix, Hurwitz, Koller…they never died, they simply became art."

"That's a surprisingly…romantic view from one as cynical as you," she mused. Harry hummed thoughtfully, shrugging. The statement was rather fair. Before she could answer, there was a knock on the door again, causing him to sigh annoyedly. She gave him a commiserating smile.

Unlocking the door, he frowned at the sight of a blonde haired boy flanked by two burly students. Before he could open his mouth, the blonde began speaking, "Have you seen Harry Potter? I'm looking for him."

"I haven't seen him, try looking for a compartment filled with more fans, perhaps?" Harry shrugged. The blonde walked off without another word, followed by his two guards. With an amused snort, Harry returned inside the carriage, sealing the door once again.

"An interesting choice of words," she smirked conspiratorially. Harry gave a disarming shrug, lop-sided grin on his face.

"I haven't looked in a mirror recently," Harry mused. "A part of me wonders if all other children are this stupid."

"Not all, I suppose. That was Draco Malfoy, a prick if you've ever met one, all he ever does is talk about his family and his father," Amelie scowled. "I don't think he likes me very much, not after I banished him in one of the family galas. Father threw a fit, but boy was it worth it."

"Why does he have two meatloafs next to him?"

"Oh those? Crabbe and Goyle, the product of inbreeding. Their parents are renown for being able to take multiple spells without going down, though their actual casting abilities leave much to be desired," Amelie snorted derisively. "But enough about them, why don't we talk about you?"

"Me?" His lips curled up. "What's so interesting about me?"

"So much. You survived the killing curse, after all," she mused. "For a decade, no one has the faintest clue where you are, while the mythos around you grows. People expect you to be the quintessential Gryffindors like your parents, and yet here you are…far more reserved and calculating. Some dark families allege that you've delved into the darkest of arts to survive Voldemort…and yet I cannot feel the slightest bit of taint."

"Very astute," Harry smiled genially. "As I said, I only learnt about magic recently, I'm hardly different from a muggleborn right now."

"I-by merlin are the stars conspiring against us," she sighed exasperatedly as there was another knock on the compartment door. His lips twitched in amusement as he stood up to unlock the compartment, seeing a tall girl with a head girl pin on her chest.

"Leanne, good to see you again!" he greeted cheerfully, causing the girl to blink before cracking a grin.

"Hello again! So you made it, how are you finding it so far?"

"Decently well. I find riding a train for hours rather pointless, but I can't complain about the company," he shrugged, inclining his head towards Amelie. Leanne's smile visibly dimmed as she gave the other girl a curt nod.

"Can I borrow you for a second?"

"Of course," Harry nodded, turning to Amelie. "I'll be back in a bit, perhaps get changed into your robes."

"Good idea," she nodded, smiling weakly. Walking out with the head girl, he raised an eyebrow.

"Look…actually, I never did get your name."

"Harry," he supplied.

"Harry," she nodded. "Look, I won't tell you who to make friends with, but she's a Rosier, and they're feared for good reason. Even most dark families keep their distance, members of their family have served as lieutenants for both dark lords in recent memory. Her cousin Gershwin Rosier was perhaps one of the most vile students to go through Hogwarts. Just…be careful, alright."

"I appreciate it," Harry smiled, pulling the older girl into a hug. She froze in surprise, but quickly returned the embrace, ruffling his hair.

"Well, I won't keep you any longer, but if you have any problems, just let me know, okay?"

"Thanks," Harry smiled, waving her farewell before re-entering the compartment. Amelie gave him a wary glance.

"What did she want?"

"Just warning me about your family," Harry answered bluntly, drawing a scowl from the girl. "She means well, and you have little to fear. I stand by what I say."

The two made idle chatter for the rest of the journey, Amelie briefly leaving to allow him to change into his robes. Side by side, the two walked down the path, following the other first years as a large man in a dark brown robe beckoned them.

"First years! Over here! Don't be shy!" his booming voice called out. "No more than four to a boat!"

Raising an unimpressed eyebrow, Harry offered his hand to Amelie, helping her on before boarding himself. Several moments later, the rude brown haired girl stepped onto the boat, followed by a pudgy boy.

"Longbottom," Amelie greeted stiffly.

"Oh…Rosier," the boy returned nervously. The girl scowled at them.

"It's you rude people again," she sniffed. Harry and Amelie shared a bemused glance, deciding to ignore the girl. Suddenly, the boat lurched forward, slowly drifting across the lake. Above in the skies, floating carriages carried the older year students to the castle. Sitting in comfortable silence, the chilly night breeze blew past.

"Everybody duck down, nice and low!" All around, the students bent down, hunching over, save for Harry, who rolled his eyes. They passed over a tall overhang from one of the bridges, one they couldn't have hoped to touch even if standing on their tip toes.

"If that man can fit through, you realise that we probably all can, right?" Harry chuckled. Amelie gave a light sigh, while Longbottom shifted uncomfortably. The girl huffed, as though angered she hadn't thought of such herself. Suddenly, Longbottom gasped, causing Harry to turn and look forward, catching his first glimpse of Hogwarts castle.

He couldn't help but feel disappointed at the sight. There was little that could be said for the castle's gothic appearance that took from the Dark Ages. Unlike those fortresses, which at least had some beauty in symmetry, the castle's design was boggling, a mish-mash of towers and battlements winding around each other like overgrown vines. Possessing neither the grandeur of palaces or the homeliness of smaller structures, he could only describe it as bland, cold and drab.

The other children, however, didn't share his distaste, staring with wide eyed awe at the sight. Amelie shot him a curious look at his reaction, but he shrugged, mouthing 'later'. As they docked at the boathouse, he disembarked, offering his hand to Amelie. She accepted it gracefully, a smile playing on her lips as neither felt the need to let their hands apart, walking through to the large wooden doors. Knocking with his large fist, a severe looking woman with a pointed witch's hat opened it several moments later.

"The first years, professor."

"Thank you Hagrid," she nodded curtly, frowning at the sight of a ginger head, whose robes were rather crumpled. "We'll be ready for you in a few moments. I suggest you straighten up your robes and freshen yourselves."

"I hear we have to fight a troll!" the boy proclaimed. Worried whispers spread quickly, though Harry and Amelie eyed each other with thinly contained amusement.

"A real Ravenclaw right there, no?" she chuckled. Harry shrugged.

"The idea has merit," he mused seriously, causing her eyes to widen at him. "The Gryffindors charge in, the Hufflepuffs befriend it, the Ravenclaws run away and the Slytherins get someone else to fight it."

"You…" she laughed, "you…"

"Yes?" he smirked challengingly, drawing a faint blush as she looked away.

"Never you mind, prat."

"Says the dolt," he retorted, nudging her on the ribs. Before she could retaliate, the door once again opened and the witch strode towards them. "Welcome to Hogwarts. I'm your deputy headmistress and transfiguration professor Minevra McGonagall. In a few moments, you will be sorted into your houses, either Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Slytherin. Here at Hogwarts, your house will be your family. Your triumphs and misdeeds will gain or lose house points. No matter where you end up, I hope that you will be a credit to this hallowed institution. Now follow me, we're ready for you."

Striding forward confidently, she re-entered the Great Hall, followed by the more hesitant first years. Sat at four long tables, the older students watched their entry closely as they whispered amongst themselves. Above, thousands of wax candles illuminated the entire hall with their bright flames, though Harry was far more impressed with the ceiling, showing a visualisation of the night sky, stars and all.

"The ceiling's not real, just charmswork. Honestly, have you read Hogwarts: A History?" he heard the bushy haired girl say. She received several nasty glares, and Harry couldn't help but think the girl's time at Hogwarts would not be an enjoyable one.

"Oh I may seem plain and old,

But not all that glitters is gold,

You'll find not hat better than me,

For there's nothing in your mind I can't see."

Turning in surprise, Harry stared at the hat at the front of the hall, perched atop a stool.

"For ten hundred years I've sorted,

And not once has by judgement been thwarted,

Noble heirs, common folk and all,

Equals under the sorting hat.

Perhaps Gryffindor is the place for you?

Where courage and chivalry strike true,

And fear is but another to be conquered

Godric's bravery honoured.

Or is Ravenclaw where you belong?

A nest of wisdom, wit and ideas to be born,

And questions are never considered wrong,

Rowena's knowledge grown.

Better yet may be Hufflepuff's den,

Where loyalty and love last till the end

And bonds stronger than steel are forged,

Helga's compassion spread.

Perhaps it's in Slytherin where you will thrive

A den where cunning will help you survive,

A forge from which one becomes truly alive,

Salazar's will reborn.

Whichever house to which you may go

Honour your magic and hone your gift,

Become the person you can truly be

And your legend will a thousand years be told."

Harry applauded warmly, impressed by the song of the hat. From the reactions of the older students and the staff, he deduced this was rather unusual. It took a moment for McGonagall to recover, calling up the first student.

"Abbott, Hannah!" A pink faced girl with blonde ponytails nervously moved to the stool, sitting down as the deputy headmistress placed the hat on her head. Harry quickly lost interest, turning to observe the staff.

On the leftmost section, was Hagrid, the large gameskeeper, facing the Gryffindor table. Next to him was a witch with olive robes and a pointed hat with various astrological signs, leading Harry to conclude she was the astronomy teacher.

He could not deduce the role of the blonde haired witch the next seat across, or the brunette woman next, though the next individual was a short individual perched atop a stool, whom Harry knew as professor Flitwick, legendary duellist and charms master. Beside him, there was an empty seat, presumably for McGonagall.

From the other side, there was a sallow skinned man wearing a purple turban. As their eyes met, Harry felt a slight buzz in his mind, and quickly averted his gaze. Next to him was a frazzled haired woman wearing a shawl and possessing large glasses that caused her eyes to look comically wide. Next was a wizard who seemed to be missing more body parts than remaining, no doubt the Care for Magical Creatures professor. Next to him was a rather young witch with a stern expression. Beside her, sat a man with greasy hair and a crooked nose, a scowl on his face. Beside him, a squat little witch with flyaway hair, a smile on her face. Sat at the centre of it all was the headmaster Albus Dumbledore, a benevolent smile on his face as his blue eyes twinkled merrily.

"Potter, Harry," McGonagall called out. Whispers quickly spread, and Harry took a breath, walking forward with confident gait as he sait on the chair, feeling the soft cloth of the hat levelled on top of him.

'Hello hat,' he greeted awkwardly. For several moments, there was no response, and he wondered if this was perhaps some sort of elaborate prank.

'No prank, I assure you, mister Potter,' a voice called out, amusement colouring its tone. 'You've a rather interesting mind, if I do say so myself. Such a cynical outlook on life…and yet still so full of love and hope.'

'Really?' Harry snorted. 'You can't be serious.'

'Despite your beliefs, you crave to find an equal, someone who truly understands and accepts you. It's an odd double-think…but I suppose humans are nothing but contradictions.'

'And how would you know that?'

'I know in the same way I know you desire to reshape the world, the same way I know of your resentment for your parents' weakness, your curiosity towards the dark lord,' the hat responded, causing Harry to blink. 'Gryffindor is out, while you have the requisite courage, you lack the boldness that defines the house. Do you have a preference from the remaining three?'

'Hufflepuff would be nice,' Harry mused. The hat gave a chortle.

'You don't trust easily and you're hardly forgiving. Try again.'

'Ravenclaw?'

'Must you make this difficult, Harry?' the hat questioned amusedly. 'No, you know where your destiny lies, in the house of Salazar SLYTHERIN!"