Chapter 16: Two Friends and a Bunch of Enemies

September 1, 2011

Damn Brits. Who starts a school year on a Thursday of all days?

Harry didn't tend to be this cranky. Unfortunately, one of his rare required bouts of sleep happened to have fallen during last night. With the time difference, Harry could have stayed in London beforehand to avoid being late.

That wasn't in his nature. Well, technically, it could be at times.

While he did plan to wake up before 5:00 in the morning to have more than enough time to make the 11:00 train in London, he still managed to oversleep.

He arrived at the station King's Cross at half past ten. Harry placed his trunk and cat cage on the cart to wheel it into the station. He noticed instantly that there was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

I am too tired and uncaffeinated to deal with this right now.

Harry took a look around, making sure no one would see him. As he activated his Sight, he instantly noticed that the family that just passed him by were standing in front of the pedestals.

A family of red heads with an owl on their trunk.

Pedestals that happened to be one of the most heavily warded and fueled portals Harry has ever seen. He could see a separate train through the portal – in a forested area of all places.

Seriously, what is it with this culture? It's like they got stuck in the magical equivalent of Steampunk Britain and improved what they had with time. I wouldn't be surprised if they made radios that worked off some magic waves.

Harry turned off his Sight and started to listen to the family talking. The family seemed to consist of a plump woman talking to four boys of various sizes and a small girl at her side.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the mother.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand, "Mom, can't I go…"

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten. Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it — but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so because a second later, he was gone.

Harry couldn't help but smile. My, my… Fellow pranksters or just merry men that I see. Must inquire for assistance in future plans to screw with those who have it coming…

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier he was almost there — and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere. The mother and the youngest daughter followed afterward.

There was nothing else to it.

All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten? Can't be that simple… Unless you need to have magic to actually activate the portal. (1)

Harry had to activate his Sight again to make sure he understood what he saw. He could still see the family of red heads that went through on the other, smiling and talking with each other as the old-style train let out a billow of steam.

Harry noted that there dozens of kids and families on that station, greeting each other and saying their goodbyes.

Harry started weighing his options.

Only got one chance to make an impression on these stuck up Brits. But do I go in calm and collected like a Muggle-born kid who doesn't know what's going on? Or do I go in crazy and excited so that anything I do in the future won't be questioned? Both options will limit my choices of interactions. But the quiet ones are more likely to be ignored but faster to be critiqued if they get involved in anything strange. But a kooky kid isn't going to be given a second look doing something out of the norm. And with my nature, there are bound to be some bad days…

Harry gave himself a judging look. And I am definitely out of the norm by wizard standards. Come on Harry, be honest! You are going to slip up, Dumbledore or one of the staff will notice, there will be inquiries… I can get around it with the fact I don't look like I am supposed to, and Griphook assured me he wouldn't tell them my identity even when pressed…

Harry gave Crookshank's a questioning look, "What do you suggest, Crooks? Go big or go home?"

The cat just tilted his head and meowed. While Harry did get better at reading the cats expressions over the month, he was still confused at times. I should really look up that Human/animal mind meld shaman trick I read about.

Harry gave the portal one last look. Ah, screw it – LET'S GET LOUD! (2)

"Ron, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

" Mom— geroff" He wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the twins.

"Shut up," said Ron.

"Where's Percy?" said their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes with a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves —"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once -"

"Or twice -"

"A minute -"

"All summer -"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy the Prefect.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because he's a prefect," said their mother fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term – send me an owl when you get there."

She kissed Percy on the cheek, and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

"Now Percy, remember to take good care of your younger brothers. Ron, make sure you don't get in trouble like Fred and George do," gently spoke Molly Weasley to her kids.

"Mom, please! Me and Fred…"

"…simply bring fun and merriment…"

"…to the dull proceedings that occur at Hogwarts."

"Now, you two - this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've - you've blown up a toilet or -"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mom."

Ginny came up behind her mother, "But didn't Professor McGonagall send Mom a letter warning you two to be careful this year?"

The twins got on both sides of their sister, smiling and on one knee to be eye-level with her. "Ginny, Ginny…"

"She is only reminding us not to hurt anyone with our pranks."

"We always do things to bring smiles to people's faces…"

"… not to merely injure someone."

Both brothers got up and dusted themselves off, "Besides, what are the odds…"

"…that we will have a new challenger…"

"…who will endanger our reign as the…"

"…Tricksters of Hogwarts?"

At that particular moment, however, the universe answered.

If it weren't for the fact that the Weasley Clan happened to be looking in the direction of the portal, they would have doubted the retelling of the story.

All they saw was a cart wheeling through the portal, with a rainbow dressed kid standing on the front end, screaming 'I AM KING OF THE WORLD' with his arms spread out (3), with some kind of orange monster yowling from the back of the cart.

They started in shock as the cart sped toward a crack and got stuck, tilting forward, flinging the kid, his one trunk, and his caged animal into the air.

They witnessed as this supposed child flipped in the air, landed straight on his feet without any pain, and managed to somehow catch both his trunk and his pet with his hands.

Then, without even checking himself for injuries or looking at the gawking kids and adults around him, he lifted the cage to his face – which Molly now realized contained a cat - and told it, "Now that, Crooks, is how you make an entrance!"

As the kid briskly walked to the train, giving his ticket to the confused guard gawking at him.

The twins turned to each other whispering.

"Fred."

"Yes, George?"

"I think we have competition this year."

"I believe we do indeed, George."

Ginny, on the other hand, looked at her mother for guidance, "Mom, was that new student wearing strange clothing?"

"Yes Ginny, I believe he was. The trends Muggle fashion goes to make…"

Percy and Ron just gave each other a look that said, Hope he isn't in my House.

The first few compartments were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry carried his luggage in pursuit of an empty compartment. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the train.

He let Crookshank out of his cage first before he put down his trunk on the floor. While the cat settled in the sunny section seat for a deserved nap after the fiasco that just occurred, Harry started to think of what to do next.

He began going through his mental checklist. Okay, I messaged Griphook about all the plans Crowley currently has ending in the future for businesses. I inquired about what actually transpired that put my Godfather in this 'Azkaban' place – no word regarding that yet. Have to ask about what actually happened on the day Voldemort died from someone who was actually there – i.e. Dumbledore. Let's leave that on the back-burner for now. Before that, I have to find a way to understand the inner workings and actual power behind the throne. Could always get rid of this Fudge character to cause chaos when the need arises - let's leave that as a possible means of breaking into the Ministry due to the confusion it causes. I guess all that is currently on the agenda is to enjoy my time as a kid – a magical kid, but a kid nonetheless.

Harry started looking around his compartment. He didn't know how long the ride to Hogwarts was going to take, but if he assumed the same logic as stories do, it was going to take a few hours.

As Harry reached into his trunk to get out Crookshank's treats, he also reached for something he got rather acquainted with during his 'incarceration.' "Well, I guess I got to keep my hands busy."

Hermione Granger was doing her best to adjust to the new situation presented to her. A few months ago, she was just a simple yet bright girl of eleven years. Now, on this train, going to a school for wizards and witches… She had to check herself every day for the last month to make sure she wasn't dreaming. No - ever since she got her letter and visit from Professor McGonagall.

She couldn't help smiling; she was on her way to the premier magic school of Britain.

Hogwarts – just the name alone spoke volumes.

Her trip to Diagon Alley was enjoyable and illuminating - in more than one regard.

She was doing her best to find a seat on the train, somewhere away from anyone wizard-raised, just so that she wouldn't have to hear the M-word again.

As she was about to give up on her search and go back to the front of the train to see if any spots opened up, she heard a melody at the very end of the train. It sounded like a guitar rift from the records her parents listened to on vinyl. Something American, she believed.

As she started to get closer to the compartment, she finally began to hear a voice singing to the guitar tune. (4)

I was toting my pack along the long dusty Winnemucca road

When along came a semi with a high canvas covered load

If your goin' to Winnemucca, Mack with me you can ride

And so I climbed into the cab and then I settled down inside

He asked me if I'd seen a road with so much dust and sand

And I said, "Listen! I've traveled every road in this here land!"

I've been everywhere, man

I've been everywhere, man

Crossed the deserts bare, man

I've breathed the mountain air, man

Travel, I've had my share, man

I've been everywhere

I've been to:

Reno, Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota,

Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota,

Wichita, Tulsa, Ottawa, Oklahoma,

Tampa, Panama, Mattawa, La Paloma,

Bangor, Baltimore, Salvador, Amarillo,

Tocapillo, Baranquilla, and Perdilla, I'm a killer.

I've been everywhere, man

I've been…

Hermione would have continued listening to the song, but she made the unfortunate choice of finally opening the compartment door to see just how someone managed to make a musical device work on such a magic-rich form of transportation.

She didn't actually expect to see someone playing a real guitar while laying full body on the seat, as a cat watched from the opposite side of the compartment.

The moment she entered, the boy stopped playing, and the cat hissed at her interruption – apparently, he was enjoying his master's playing.

That's when Hermione finally paid attention to the boy holding the guitar.

She wasn't usually flustered by the clothing choices people made, but since the kid still hasn't put on his wizard robe, she noticed his Muggle clothing stood out just too much. She couldn't understand why someone would willingly wear black combat boots, green jeans, a red hoodie, and black gloves all in one ensemble. She noted that he wasn't showing any skin, and she started to look up to his face…

She paused.

She never actually focused on appearances, partially due to her large front teeth and unkempt hair. Maybe it was the constant teasing from her fellow schoolmates about her looks and being called a bookworm. In the end, she ignored everything regarding beauty and aesthetics, no matter how much her mother tried to convince her otherwise.

Well… maybe not everything.

She was versed enough in matters of attractiveness to know that the boy who was smiling at her was… 'rogue-ish' was probably the best word for it. His infectious smile, combed over black hair, ear piercings – of all things – and dark green eyes. Even the scar over his right eye added to the persona.

Only one word came to mind to describe him – 'trickster.'

"Well now," said the boy in a clearly American accent, "what do we have here?"

The only reason Harry picked up the guitar during his 'incarceration' was just to get his fingers working again. Unfortunately, all the crossroad deals Crowley made with famous musicians - like Robert Johnson - must have rubbed off on him during the essence exchange because he was good. He wasn't rockstar or Mozart good, but as Gabriel joked, he made it up with his looks and voice.

Personally, Harry never got the whole thing about people liking someone just because they can play a musical instrument.

He only took it up because he needed something light and complex to train his fingers back to normal.

He only took it up because some magics use musical instruments.

He only took it up because it was a form of stress and emotional relief.

Ah, screw it. Can't lie to myself - I love this little piece of junk! How did I live without this thing?

When Harry asked Gabriel for a guitar, the cheerful angel instantly had one on call. As best he could recall, Gabriel was summoned to Portugal a few decades back by the prayer of a devout parent. The dad was willing to offer anything to save his daughter from her sickness, so he prayed to Gabriel. Ironically, though, since the man worked in communications and was - of all things - a stamp collector, he covered a lot of Gabriel's patronages. Plus, the angel was in the area at the time, so he managed to be close enough to hear him. While the father didn't believe that a white man could be the Angel of the Lord, he changed his tune pretty quickly when he saw his daughter healed. All that Gabriel asked in return for the service was the man's guitar, which he gave willingly. From what he figured, the act of healing the man's daughter and being gifted to Gabriel blessed the damn thing. Harry couldn't understand what exactly the blessing was, but he wasn't going to go and question his uncle's story.

Besides, he never needed to tune the damn thing, wax it, and it played beautifully. He called her Cerridwen, after the Celtic goddess of magic, nature, poetry, music, art, science, and astrology. The fact she was also the keeper of the cauldron was just a coincidence – he named her before he got the letter.

Anyway, while Johnny Cash helped him clear his mind for the short duration of the trip so far, he didn't expect it to bother anyone. So when a girl opened the door to his compartment, he stopped playing in surprise.

When she paused in kind – most likely due to his appearance – so he took his time inspecting her.

She is beautiful.

That sounds creepy coming from an eleven-year-old kid, but that's not why he had that thought.

What he referred as beautiful was her essence.

It was an incredible shade of sapphire, with some hints of pink, yellow, and green appearing on and off. After that, he got a look at her actual appearance.

Not a lot to look at, but she is young – she will probably grow into it.

She had lots of bushy brown hair, brown eyes, and rather large two front teeth. Based on how she put on her wizard robe and how unkept her hair was, she was someone who never gave much attention to her appearance.

If you even out her teeth and straighten out her hair a little, she could look as good as her essence. Oh well, it's up to her – free-will and all. Better not keep her waiting… Wait, is she looking at my face? Better stop that train of thought right now; I didn't come to Hogwarts to have someone get a crush on me on the first day. Have to put out that fire as soon as possible…

"Well now," said Harry to the girl at the door, "what do we have here?"

Harry put down his guitar as he sat up to greet the girl. "Harry MacLeod, pleased to meet you."

"Oh," flustered the girl, "My name is Hermione Granger. Are you an American?"

"Yes, I am. Is that so odd?"

"Well, no. Well, a little I guess. Do I mind if sit next to…"

"His name is Crookshank. Don't worry, he won't bite."

As Hermione petted the cat – who apparently seemed to like her – as she was sitting down opposite of Harry, he started putting his guitar back in the trunk.

"Is that one of those wizard trunks that are bigger on the inside? I wanted to get one but…"

"Yeah, these things aren't cheap but trust me, it's worth it."

"Right. Nobody in my family's magic at all, so it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard. I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough. During my research, it read that the school only accepts people born in Great Britain and some parts of Europe. How did you…"

"Ah, I see your confusion. Well, technically, I was born in Britain, but I was raised in America. Does that answer your question?"

"That makes sense," nodded the girl. Crookshank was basically on her lap at this point, "Did you know about magic before getting the letter?"

"My adopted family was aware of magic – just not the particular kind used by wizards and the like."

"There are other kinds of magic?" asked Hermione as she put down the cat.

"Certainly. While the magic used by wizards seems to be unique based on what I read so far, every culture has their little brand of magic."

Hermione gave Harry an incredulous look like she heard something that contradicts what she has been taught.

How to explain this properly? Harry noted the guitar at his side. Maybe…

"Magic is the same as music on a very fundamental level."

Hermione gave him the classic head tilt of confusion as she put down Crookshank. "How?"

"Playing music requires three things: the body, the tool, and the knowledge. All three come together to make a song. The body is us, the energy that is the fuel. The tool is a foci; for this example, it's my guitar. Knowledge is exactly just that: the understanding and practice that lets you do what you do. The song produced is the same as the magical end product."

Harry lifted the guitar up to his leg, balancing it out like he was about to play. "You know the guitar notes right? Consider them the building blocks of magic for this example."

Harry started to play a blues riff, with Hermione watching with full focus. "Now, music styles represent the multitudes of cultural out there. Culture affects view said opinions of the person: a person can have a favorite music style, a style they hate, and styles we are nonchalant about. As we age and are exposed to other cultures, our opinions change over time, which is reflected in our preferences."

He changed his riff to a rock tune, "Now, consider music styles the same thing as magic styles and methods: everyone has a magic they are naturally good at, a magic they can't use, and everything in between. The same can be said as we age and experience new things – magic changes as well. Small adjustments and the like."

Harry changed next to a Latin tune, "Now comes the foci. In simple terms, everything is a factor: age, material, type of guitar, type of instruments, etc. Do I need to go further?"

Hermione shook his head.

Harry nodded and continued, "Now knowledge is the tricky part."

"Isn't style part of knowledge?"

"A little – let me finish first. To play an instrument, we need to learn the hand movements, train your fingers to react appropriately, how to adjust pitch, which notes there are, the transitions, etc."

Harry went full stop on the guitar, "And that is when the great irony of mastering magic is revealed."

"Irony? Isn't mastering magic based on learning spells, perfecting hand motions, studying from books and tomes…"

"Never trust everything written in books as gospel."

The look of shock that appeared on Hermione made it seem like Harry crossed some kind of line.

Better back pedal for damage control.

"It's the Technician vs. Performer Trope; little simplistic, but fits the bill."

"What is…"

"Let me explain. It basically boils down to a contrast between a highly-skilled, perfectionist artist and a less-skilled, but more inventive and original virtuoso. For music – or magic, however, you choose to look at it – it's slightly different."

Harry started playing a blues tune again. "What you are describing is the technician form of magic. Memorizing magic, spells, theory and the like is good and all, but unless you look at it the right way, you really don't see the connections. It's the musical equivalent of learning how to play a certain number of songs or how to just play on the guitar. I mean sure, if you master playing the guitar or refine a song to perfection, that's good and all, but is that all you have?"

Hermione's face started to show that she was getting more and more confused.

Reel her back in Harry…

"Now the performer form of magic is the opposite. You learn a little here and there, progress through practice and knowledge organically rather than focusing on one style or form in particular. You learn a song or two here, master an instrument there, mix the techniques of one style into another. There is a comic book character who fits the trope nicely named Constantine: rather than settle down and focus on one aspect of wizardry, he traveled the world and 'pilfered' whatever little tidbits of lore and magic he thought he would need in a bind and worked from there. You get my point?"

"I guess…"

"Okay, if music doesn't help with this metaphor, simplify it as a fight between a man with a rapier and a mix martial arts fighter. The one with the rapier has honed and perfected the technique, but the fighter is using a hotchpotch of techniques and styles to make a greater whole."

Realization finally dawned on Hermione, "Oh! I see what you mean. One is perfect with one form of magic, but another gathers magic's that they find useful or that can be applied to multiple things."

"Exactly. What you want is the middle ground – the music equivalent of playing a song on any instrument in any style."

Hermione started smiling, "Or the magical equivalent of performing a spell with various foci and in various forms."

Wow, she caught on fast.

"Exactly. I can go on to specifics, but I think you understand how this conversation is going to go right?"

"I guess, but what about the body… the energy used?"

"That topic is rather advanced. Since you don't have a magical foundation to work with, how about we leave it for another day?"

Hermione nodded, "You sound rather… well read about the topic."

You have no idea.

"When I came to Diagon Alley first time back in July, I basically brought out most of the bookstores there. I had nothing to do for the month, so I read some of them to understand how wizards use magic. My family had a vast library, so they taught me a few things here and there. Everything else I learned and gathered by myself."

"So it was you!" pointed the girl, "There was chaos in the bookstores when I went there in August. I didn't ask, but they were restocking like crazy."

"I only bought one of each book!"

Both kids started laughing at that.

Hermione started the conversation again. "I am sorry for my earlier reaction."

"How so?"

"I thought… umm… that you looked like Harry Potter."

"Really…'The-Boy-Who-Lived'?"

What the hell did she see to jump to that conclusion? Is she just trying to cover up the fact she liked what she saw?

"You know about him?"

"Not really. You read about him?"

"He was in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and the round-faced boy Harry had passed on earlier came in. He looked worried.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he sighed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Harry.

"Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him…"

He left, but before the door closed, a great clattering outside was heard in the corridor, and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harry, who hadn't had any breakfast, leaped to his feet, but Hermione was repulsed.

Harry went out into the corridor. He brought a little of everything - Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Harry had never seen in his life. Not wanting to miss anything, he took it all and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," said Harry, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty. "That and I inherited a sweet tooth from one of my caretakers. You sure you don't want one?"

"Sorry, I am a daughter of two dentists. I hard wired to avoid sugary snacks with a vengeance."

It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Hermione, who was back to petting Crookshanks, eating his way through all pastries, cakes, and candies. They went on talking about Harry Potter and how he killed Voldemort and mysteriously disappeared a few years back after his cruel Muggle guardians were murdered in a house fire. The books said that he was still alive somewhere in the world, but with his scar, she was surprised no one noticed him yet.

"Hermione, you really shouldn't trust everything written in books."

"But books are researched and written by professionals."

Harry gave Hermione the facial equivalent of 'Are you serious?'

"Alright, let's ignore the petty and bought-out authors out there who I could reference to destroy your argument. Let's instead look at this logically. Consider books the same thing as history – they are written by the victors and each author is biased in some way or another."

Hermione to object but Harry pushed forward, "Consider the story of Harry Potter killing Voldemort: there was no one there when it happened besides him, but he was the baby. So how is there a detailed account of everything that happened that day in that house? I mean, even if we accept that maybe some magic was used to recreate the events that occurred, I seriously doubt that it was a perfect rendition of what actually transpired."

The face that appeared on Hermione's face was perplexing for Harry.

What is with her? It's not like I challenged a world view or something? I mean, granted, I stopped being eleven years old mentally a long time ago, isn't this something children should understand about books?

"What are these?" Harry asked Hermione, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not really frogs, are they?"

"No," said Hermione. "But see what the card is. I'm not really into it, but others seem to enjoy it."

"What?"

"Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect famous witches and wizards."

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"So this is Dumbledore!" said Harry. Now I know who to watch out for.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Hermione.

Harry turned over his card and read:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"Where did he go?"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Hermione. "He'll be back. It's not like real world images, but it's neat, isn't it?"

Harry went back to eating the frogs and looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards. Soon he had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. He finally tore his eyes away from the Druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Hermione warned Harry. "When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor — you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe."

Harry offered her one since they didn't look as sweet as other treats, and finally she relented.

Hermione picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner. "Oh - sprouts. Are there any more?"

They had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end of a funny gray one Hermione wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper.

His mistake was a laugh for the Hermione.

"Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet - someone tried to rob a high-security vault."

Harry stared. "Really? What happened to them?"

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. It must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. The wizards always get scared when something like this happens in case Voldemort is behind it."

Harry turned this news over in his mind. How come Griphook never mentioned this? Better remember to look it up later.

Before Harry could inquire further, three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with even less interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

Then the blond targeted Hermione.

"Ah, I thought I smelled a Mudblood on the train. How convenient that you choose to go to the back of the train so that the rest of us wouldn't be bothered by you."

While Hermione flinched at the mention of the M-word, Harry just looked in shock.

Oh no. He did not just call her the Wizarding World equivalent of the n-word.

The boy noted Harry glaring at him, "And with her, we have the most illusive student of the first year batch."

Harry looked confused, "Illusive? What did I do to deserve such an honor?"

The boy – who Harry quickly categorized under 'soon to die under mysterious but plausible circumstances' – gave a look only learned through the experience of being taught they were above others simply for existing.

"My father is Lucius Malfoy, and as the head of the House of Malfoy, he has money and connections. When rumors from Hogwarts got to the Ministry regarding an American being accepted to the school, my father tried to look into it. Do you know how unnerving it was for him to be able to locate nothing about you and yet be in awe of realizing that I stood next to him while being fitted for a robe?"

The boy walked further into the compartment, completely ignoring Hermione while his two goons still stayed outside. "My father has been around long enough to know that the only reason he hasn't found anything about you is either because you don't exist or someone made it so that you don't exist. And the only people who do that are either criminals, people in hiding… or someone from a very powerful family."

Wow. He went in an entirely opposite direction – although technically, I am part of a Noble and Ancient House…

The boy smiled, reaching his hand out for a shake, "My name is Draco Malfoy, and I would be honored to introduce a fellow pure-blood to the Wizarding World of Great Britain."

"I told you already – I don't know if I am pure-blood, half-blood, or a Muggle-born wizard."

Harry noticed he said that a little too loudly. It wasn't intentional, but based on the silence outside their room, Draco's attempt to befriend him must have gotten the other students attention.

Draco chuckled, "You can keep saying that, but it doesn't change the fact that on paper, you don't exist. There is no mention of a 'Harry MacLeod' anywhere in the New World, not is there a bank at Gringotts under the name of 'MacLeod.' And don't tell me your account is in the States – Gringotts is there as well."

Wow, just how inbred and delusional are you? Granted, Griphook must have made the account after Lucius looked into it, but still. You really think that Gringotts is the only bank in the United States? I mean, probably, based on how backward this culture is. But even then, if you work under that assumption, couldn't someone trying to hide just make an account under a different name? If it weren't for the fact that I already had an account under 'Potter,' I would have just done that instead.

Harry realized he was thinking for a little too long at Draco's response, making the boy smile in smugness.

"I thought so. No response from you means that I was right."

Okay, seriously, who has been giving you such dated strategies to read a person? Ever heard of a poker face or a tell?

Harry slowly rose up to a proper sitting position, his voice taking on an edge, "Alright Draco. Let's play along with this grand delusion of yours that makes you think that I am some hidden American pure-blood. Overlooking that fact, what do you want from me? As you can see, I was having a wonderful discussion with my friend Hermione Granger before I was rudely interrupted by you."

Draco gave a quick look to Hermione before poking back to Harry, "You will soon find that some families are better than others, MacLeod. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, MacLeod," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer, your life in Hogwarts will be very difficult. You hang around with riffraff like the Granger and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you. As a fellow pure-blood, their nature will start diluting you and your powers. I don't know what your parents could have possibly taught you to make you so clueless about how the world actually works…"

Draco never finished his sentence.

Hermione was still in shock of being called a Mublood. Ever since her trip to Diagon Alley, all those adults kept giving her such glares of hate.

Now here she was, being told that Harry was one of them.

"I told you already – I don't know if I am pure-blood, half-blood, or a Muggle-born wizard."

Hermione looked in shock. She pondered at this, He did say he was an orphan… But he could have been raised by pure-bloods. No… I've seen only a small sample of them, but I doubt they would take someone else's child and raised them as their own without some sort of plan in mind…

Hermione noticed that people started to look down the corridor at their compartment at all the commotion. She listened as Draco chuckled, "You can keep saying that, but it doesn't change the fact that on paper, you don't exist. There is no mention of a 'Harry MacLeod' anywhere in the New World, not is there a bank at Gringotts under the name of 'MacLeod.' And don't tell me your account is in the States – Gringotts there as well."

Harry's face took on an odd mix of emotions that Hermione recognized from her days at elementary school. It was the looks parents took when they failed to understand the logic used by kids to explain themselves. Not because it was difficult for them, but rather because they couldn't follow the leaps of logic kids made to get to their answer.

"I thought so. No response from you means that I was right."

If Draco were looking at Hermione at the moment, he wouldn't have seen her eyes bulge in shock at that statement.

Well, this just proves it – he has absolutely no understanding of logic. There are a plethora of reasons why he wouldn't exist. The most logical one is that 'Harry MacLeod' isn't even his real name. That, and he is an orphan – just because another family took him in doesn't mean that he still doesn't have access to his parent's accounts. I mean, granted, he said he doesn't know his birth parents but still…

Hermione never finished the thought because she noted Harry's appearance. To Draco and his stooges, what Harry did was just sit up. But Hermione had spent the last few hours talking with Harry, and she already noted that his demeanor was completely off.

From what she gathered, Harry always had a relaxed yet guarded behavior. That was normal since he met her for the first time only a few hours ago.

Now, his posture was predatory.

As a child, Hermione shouldn't really understand such a concept. But when her parents took her to a safari and she saw a cheetah hunt and eat a gazelle… Let's just say the image stays with you. But that was the best way to describe what Harry was doing. Shoulders tensed, feet relaxed and ready to lunge, hands crossed against his chest yet not locked in.

"Alright Draco. Let's play along with this grand delusion of yours that makes you think that I am some hidden American pure-blood. Overlooking that fact, what do you want from me? As you can see, I was having a wonderful discussion with my friend Hermione Granger before I was rudely interrupted by you."

Hermione couldn't help but smile at that, He thinks of me as a friend?

Draco gave a quick look to Hermione before looking back to Harry, "You will soon find that some families are better than others, MacLeod. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, MacLeod," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer, your life in Hogwarts will be very difficult. You hang around with riffraff like the Granger and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you. As a fellow pure-blood, their nature will start diluting you and your powers. I don't know what your parents could have possibly taught you to make you so clueless about how the world actually works…"

Hermione didn't see it happen, but she saw the phrase that triggered it – Harry's family being insulted. He didn't bother paying Draco any attention, and she saw his disdain for the M-word, but it was mention of his family that set him off.

All that Hermione saw was the back of Draco's head as he hit the wall behind her while being LIFTED one-handed by Harry. As Draco's goons tried to stop him, Harry raised up his other hand and did… something to them. All that Hermione saw before they disappeared from her sight was them being thrown back by some force at the wall outside the compartment.

Hermione saw the panicked look on Draco's face, the fear of suddenly realizing that he has now become the prey. She turned to look at Harry –she noticed he was much taller than she thought – who had a face of pure controlled rage on him.

She did nothing but listen to Harry shout at Draco.

"What did you say about my family?"

Draco tried to croak out at the answer, but he couldn't.

"I thought so," replied Harry at a lower volume. By this point, a crowd had formed outside the cabinet. To Hermione's realization, somewhere trying to pull the goons off the wall with no success while others looked inside the compartment in shock.

"Now whatever theory or plan you had in that little head regarding me is really none of my concern. No – better yet, it's none of my interest. You are so far beneath my notice that I would have ignored and rejected whatever offer you were going to give me. But you made three mistakes since entering this compartment," Harry started ticking off the fingers on his free hand as he counted, "First, you assumed that just because you belong to a powerful family meant that everyone is beneath you. Little history lesson – most aristocrats died by the hands of the help because they always ignored them. Judge a room better next time before you assume that you are the alpha male. Secondly, you assumed "money & blood" equated to "power & authority." Just because you have a noble lineage, it doesn't mean squat in regards to your wizarding potential or capabilities or even your success in the real world. I mean seriously, I looked up the families trees for the likes of you, Crabbe and Goyle there. You are all so inbred and intertwined that I am surprised that Britain still has a wizarding population. You realize that without a constant influx of Muggle-born wizards, your pure-blood families will die off in about three to four generations? (5) Seriously, with your backward ass polygamy law – yes Hermione, the Ministry allows polygamy in rare cases, look it up – I am shocked you lot aren't mating like jackrabbits to bring your population up to par. I mean, as a wizard equivalent of a prince, your parents would understand the notion of a 'hoe and a spare,' which is having a backup successor to the line if anything happened to you. BUT NO! You and your crazy supremacist's lot only have one kid per couple. What, did you all expect to share wives in the future and have a bunch of half-brothers and half-sisters running around in a generation or two?"

Hermione – and most likely the rest of the student populace listening and watching outside – were all gaping opened mouth. Hermione was already aware of the notion of population diversity and the biology behind inheritance since she was taught in a Muggle school. But for the children raised exclusively in the Wizard World, what Harry was spouting was the equivalent of… of…

There is no equivalent. Harry is basically calling out and challenging the very foundation of Britain's House powers. He is suggesting that they are a dying breed and that Half-bloods and Muggles are the future. I can understand where he is coming from, but does he honestly think that all pure-bloods are like that?

"And third," said Harry as he leaned closer to a shaking Draco, "you made the mistake of insulting my family. I planned to leave you alone once we got to Hogwarts but now… now you made yourself a target."

Harry threw Draco outside the cabinet into his goons and walked out for everyone to see, "Hear my words, Draco Malfoy. You have made an enemy today who you can't possibly comprehend. You made the error of jumping into the deep end of an ocean that we adults call 'the real world.' Take heed and get your affairs in order, because by the time I am done with you, 'Draco Malfoy' will either be dead or in another school. I'll start off nice and slow, to prolong your suffering. The knowledge that an attack can come at any time from anywhere will be just one form of punishment you will undergo. So take woe, Draco, for now, you are at war with a force you know nothing about."

Harry started to walk back into his compartment but turned back for one last thing, "And before you get the idea to run back to daddy and cry, remember this – he couldn't find any evidence of my existence. Just because you tell him that you and others heard me threaten to kill you, doesn't mean that he will have the authority to get rid of me from Hogwarts. Besides, if anything, you – nor your friends," Harry gave a quick glance to the students watching, "will tell anyone about this. Why? Because that will make your father lose 'face.' They are either going to be paid off, Obliviated, or just keep their mouth shut less they want Big Bad Lucius to come to their homes in the middle of the night and make them disappear. You Draco, are fighting a private war that you either win or lose. Remember that when you start making plans to try to ruin or kill me, because guess what? 'Avada Kedavra' isn't the only way to kill someone and leave no evidence behind."

Right as Harry was about to close the door, he smiled at everyone still watching, "I hope that my little talk with the Scion of the House of Malfoy didn't disturb the rest of you – I will be quiet from now on."

As Harry closed the compartment doors, Draco's goons fell off the wall. They quickly got up and carried Draco away to safety.

Fred and George – along with Ron – watched from outside their own compartment how a quivering and shaking Draco was basically scared into running away, having gained nothing from his confrontation with Harry except a bruised neck, a damaged ego, and a newly acquired sense of fear.

As Fred and George went back into their compartment, their brother Percy came down from the Prefect Cabinet, "What happened? We heard a commotion all the way from the front of the train, but it seems to be over. Can someone tell me what just occurred?"

Fred and George were still registering what they saw, but Ron spoke up, "Some pure-blood kid in the back had a spat with Draco, basically calling him stupid and childish. That's just pure-bloods for you, American or British, always trying to prove they are better than the rest of us."

Fred and George just looked in shock at their younger brother's ignorance of what truly transpired as Percy went on to investigate further.

The twins silently performed a spell they found a while back from something that once belonged to the greatest tricksters of Hogwarts – the Marauders. Maybe it's because they were twins and basically the same person, but the spell that allowed mental communication was more effective on them than the description provided. Plus, while they never used it to cheat during exams – seeing as how they weren't sure if it could be registered by anti-cheating spells nor brave enough nor face the wrath of McGonagall – they still used in almost every other situation

"If what he said is true, wouldn't that mean that since Mom and Pop are both pure-bloods, the Weasley's are the largest family out there to choose from, especially since Pop was technically a Black?" (6)

Fred considered it, "Most other families have only a daughter to inherit the House, and two children families are unheard of. Three or more – no one but us. If what that kid said is true, then they will have no choice but to marry us or other half-bloods at the least."

"How have they never considered this?"

"Because they are too stubborn to admit it and we are Weasley's. We are the poorest and weakest pure-bloods out there. It doesn't matter that we work to prove ourselves better than the rest of those bigots and Death Eaters out there. Just look at us: one of us works as a curse breaker in Gringotts, another breeds and rides dragons, another is a genius and a prefect, we are the greatest tricksters to ever live…"

"Too bad they don't see it as genius."

"Please. The teachers may try to catch us, but they know the work and effort that goes into developing our stuff. Dumbledore probably already knows that we are holding back in our classes. McGonagall and Flitwick definitely suspect that we know more charms and spells then we let on. Snape is too arrogant to note the difficulty of the potion work required in our efforts."

"What about Ron and Ginny?"

"Ginny is going to be a Quidditch player like no other with all the late night training she has under her belt."

"Yeah. Like she actually thinks we don't notice her sneak off at night to practice in secret."

"But Ron…"

"Give him time Fred. He will find a place for himself in Hogwarts. We may pick at Percy for his decision to one day work in the Ministry, but at least he is honest and hard-working like Dad. They need more people like him there."

Fred nodded. "So, what do we do now?"

"I say we stick to the original plan: perfect and expand our pool of products so that one day we can open up a shop in Diagon Alley. But now… I say we add a few more objectives."

Fred smiled while Ron went back to ignorantly eating his candy in frustration, venting something about 'pure-bloods' and the like. "What do you have in mind?"

"I say we add this Harry kid to our group."

"You want to recreate the Marauders?"

"No. Well, a little. He is a fellow prankster – the thing when he entered must have been a show unless what happened just now was him losing control. And he did just call out all pure-bloods as his personal enemies."

"Not all of them. I think he personally challenged the Malfoy and all his fellow Death Eater supporters. For now, until we are certain, the Weasley's aren't his enemies."

"Agreed."

"If anything, a few people will come out of the woodwork and casually support Harry."

"Like who?"

"Definitely Longbottom. I mean, they only have Neville left, and they thought he was going to be a squib. I heard from Pop that the moment his grandma realized he was a wizard and was accepted to Hogwarts, she started looking into marrying him off… to multiple women."

"Lucky. Wait, isn't he under constant watch?"

"Neville? Only at home – something to do with possible future threats and the like. I heard from others that Dumbledore visited him from time to time over the years to check on him."

"What about the guy who runs the Quibbler? Didn't they write something similar about pure-bloods dying out a while back?"

"Probably something his daughter made up and got her dad to write – a lot of problems that caused. Although, based on what we heard now, we might have to give that article another read. I think Lucius tried to destroy the paper at that point, but he couldn't find a reason to claim that they were liable for slander since he couldn't prove that they were lying."

"Yeah, that got a laugh out of Pop. But still, is that your only reason?"

"No, of course not."

"Then why?"

"Because Draco is only going to be paying attention to Harry from now on. He will never see the two of us coming from the other direction. What better way to torture someone then by jumping along the plans of someone they have their eyes on constantly?"

"Oh, that's is so brilliant I could kiss you."

"I know but let's not. We have to write back to Mom as soon as possible, maybe even to Bill and Charles."

"How come?"

"What Harry said wasn't entirely wrong – some families who bothered keeping track must have noticed by now how stupid the offsprings of certain sibling marriages have become. When word gets back to the likes of Lucius and his friends about this, they are either going to go along with the polygamy law idea, or they are seriously going to consider the Weasley boys as possible marriage material for new blood – literally and figuratively. That or suddenly find a long-lost member of the family they 'removed from the family tree' for one reason or another." (7)

"You can't be serious ?"

"As Harry put it, they are more likely to share wives before stooping to marrying half-bloods or even Muggle-born witches. No, Bill is the oldest and in the best possible position of power compared to Charles with his dragons in Romania. Percy already has that girl from Ravenclaw, what's her name…."

"Penelope Clearwater"

"Yes, her. They will probably try to get someone for Bill unless he isn't in a relationship already… is he in a relationship? Never mind. We don't have anyone – thank God – but we never got such attention from girls before."

"You realize by your argument's reasoning, if some of them start paying attention to us, it means that they are secretly Death Eaters right?"

"Not all them. Ravenclaws are more likely since they are more aligned with Slytherin ideals, but there ARE other pure-blood families of low standing who simply want to keep their houses going. Besides, it's not like we are stupid or weak – even the strictest of parents who hear of our exploits have to acknowledge we have potential."

"Are still working on the theory that we are being spied on by Aurors and Unspeakables?"

"We saw the same guy at the Apothecary AND bookstore at least six different times."

"Coincidence but I see your point. I still doubt they would recruit us so early."

"Doesn't matter. The one we have to watch out for is Ron and Ginny."

"Now I am lost."

"Ginny because she is a girl and most Death Eaters only have sons – a girl with no familial blood connections is the best choice for them to restart mixing their families in the future. Ron…"

"He isn't bigoted Fred, he is just… uninformed."

"He better get informed quickly then. He may enjoy the stories Dad tells him at dinner, but behind his back, he sees them as nothing more than an odd hobby or quirk to indulge in. If Ron is convinced otherwise that Muggles are worse than us…"

"No, we have to make sure that he doesn't get JEALOUS of the Muggles rather than believe he is superior to them."

"Right… with five brothers all better than him and in their own specialized fields, he must be insecure. Crap, when he finds out that Ginny can play Quidditch better than him…"

"Exactly. So, to recap. This year, while still pretending to be our fun goofball selfs, we have to: torture Draco more, convince out brother Ron not to become a Death Eater or a supremacist, make Harry our friend, continue expanding our franchise, AND not get involved in the twisted backroom politics of the Houses."

"Until we are older at least."

"Fine – until we order. Start dating 6th year?"

"Let's leave that one for later. What about introducing Harry to our little group?"

"Let's see where he gets sorted first. If he is in Gryffindor, we befriend him immediately. If he is in anther house, we will figure something out."

"Agreed. Mischief accomplished?"

"Mischief accomplished."

Ron looked up at his brothers, "You realize you guys haven't said anything in the last few minutes, right?"

Hermione watched as Harry sat back down on his side of the compartment. He radiated fury.

Crookshanks carefully approached his master, positioning himself to be petted. Harry noticed his pet and started to distract himself from his anger.

Hermione observed without attempting to make any sudden movements, Harry noted her apprehension as he stroked his cats.

"I am sorry you had to see that. I try to keep my emotions in check, but he is just so…"

"How did you know their names?"

"Excuse me?"

"Crabbe and Goyle – Draco's goons. They never said their names."

Harry looked the girl in surprise, "That's what's bothering you after all w hat happened?"

"Well, no… It's just they never said their names."

Harry sighed, "But everything else I said you agree with?"

"I kind of do," said a voice outside the door.

Before Harry or Hermione could inquire, the boy who looked in earlier slowly opened the door – only this time, he had his toad in his hand.

"Finally found the bugger in a dark and damp place didn't you?"

The boy looked at Harry shock, "How did you know?"

"He is a toad," interjected Hermione. "And you are?"

The boy gave Harry a glance, "Your friend Harry already probably knows."

Hermione looked to Harry for confirmation, "He is Neville Longbottom, Scion and future Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom. The only son of respected Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, members of the Order of Phoenix and opposing force to the notion of pure-blood supremacy."

Harry got up, pulled Neville inside and closed the compartment door. As Neville panicked at the size of Harry, he only shook his hand. " I am truly sorry for what Voldemort did your family. You are a brave man for visiting them as often as you do, regardless of what those bastards tell you. You and folks like you are always a welcome addition to the world."

While Hermione tried to understand everything that Harry just said, Neville tried his best not to stutter, "Than…Thank you for that. But how did you know?"

As Harry sat Neville down next to Hermione – and after giving him a chocolate frog – he continued. "Your parents were very famous before you were born and what happened to them isn't for me to tell to others," Harry gave Hermione an understanding glance, "But everything else regarding them – including your visits to them in 's – is public record. You just have to have the patience and understanding to know where to look and inquire."

Neville nodded in acceptance as he stroked his toad, "You weren't acting… You really do hate those supremacist and their kin."

"Can you blame me? I am from America, the land of opportunity, equality, and improvement – at least on paper. We tend to look down on those who abuse their status and authority to improve their standings without the necessary effort. They may be able to abuse the system, but as my family likes to put it, 'payback is a bitch.'"

Neville and Hermione nodded in understanding.

"It may not come soon, but karma always manages to find a way to screw over people like Draco in the end."

Hermione turned around to introduce herself to Neville, "Hi, I am Hermione Granger, Muggle-born."

"Neville Longbottom, pure blood and proud of it, regardless of what you may believe."

Hermione nodded, "Anyone who seems me as a witch and despises the M-word is a friend in my book."

Harry smiled, "This seems like the start of a beautiful friendship."

Hermione smiled, "Would be even funnier if you were half-blood so that we three could cover the spectrum."

Harry laughed at that. If only she knew.

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there."

Harry and Hermione had spent the last few hours getting to know Neville better as the train traversed the British landscape to reach Hogwarts. While Neville was a little on the pudgy side and a bit more than frightened of the whole endeavor of going to Hogwarts then someone should be, it didn't actually mean he didn't have a backbone.

Then again, living under a roof with someone like Augusta Longbottom and finding your powers by being dropped from a window ledge is bound to do some psychological damage. Harry and Hermione did their best to alleviate Neville's doubts regarding his heritage – by primarily pointing out that he should really get his own wand rather than use the one he got from his father – but there is only so much you can do in a short session.

Hermione and Neville were already robed, so while they went to get their things in order, Harry spend his time locking up Crookshanks for pick-up and getting his robe out from the trunk.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out onto a tiny, dark platform. Harry sighed in joy for the cold night air – living in Massachusetts will do that to an impressionable kid. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: "First years! First years over here! All right there, Harry?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me — any more first years? Mind your step, now! First years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on all sides but with Harry's night vision, he and the gang traversed without much trouble. Nobody spoke much. Neville sniffed once or twice before putting on a scarf.

"You'll get your first sight of Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "just round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

NOW THAT is a castle. Never understood why they fell out of fashion. Must have been something to do with the decline of the aristocracy.

"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry was followed into his boat by Neville and Hermione and a red haired kid they didn't know.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then — FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the magnificent castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads, and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got your toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face, and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

Must be the great Minerva McGonagall. Better stay on her good side.

"The first years, Professor McGonagall."

And there is my confirmation.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Crowley's study in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right — the rest of the school must already be here — but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

Harry noted all the ambient energies of the castle, intertwined together like some sort of living being.

Automatic defense system? The castle is definitely alive on some low level, sort of like an ambient protection grid. Makes things easier for me after I plot out the energy lines and circuits for this place. Probably going to need a little restructure but I doubt the owner will complain when his system improves…

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "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. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Nothing that Neville hasn't already informed us and Hermione hasn't backed up with her readings.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry turned to Neville. "How exactly do they sort us into houses?"

"Some kind of test, I think. I was told that it isn't anything dangerous but who knows for sure."

Harry looked around and saw that everyone else looked terrified, except for a few who looked on confidently.

Must be the wizard-born kids who asked their parents about this 'test.'

No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Harry tried hard not to listen to her. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to this so called 'test.'

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air — several people behind him screamed.

"What the…?"

He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

Seriously? Ghosts? Like I didn't have enough to be concerned about. If they are anything like the once I encountered, they can probably sniff out my heritage. Thank god I wore my earrings. Have to check a book later to make sure wizard ghosts are different from human ghosts. (8)

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely. Harry was not one of them – he was trying his best to understand what the ghost was with what limited information his eyes allowed him.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind Neville and Hermione, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History ."

Don't need to tell me – I can see all the magic that makes this place work. Have to admit, for spellwork that's probably a few centuries old, it held up nicely to deterioration.

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in

front of the first years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty.

My god!

Harry did his best not react in wonder at what he was looking at. He knew right off the bat that the hat was enchanted on such a degree that it was actually sentient. It was tied directly to the school as well, probably because it was made to work in tandem with it. Some of the connections have frayed, but everything else…

Do they know just what they have here? I mean the effort alone to make the thing is incredible! Even if I had all the time in the world, it would take me YEARS to give life to an inanimate object. Just what the hell have these wizards stumbled on? Do they not realize the potential such spells have?

Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing — noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" said a redhead out loud. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on a hat was a lot better than having to do some sort of spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking for a lot of personal information.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

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

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause —

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see a pair of red headed twin catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Harry snarled at that house: didn't need to have magical sight to know that most of the people there were pure-blood supremacists. He noted a few that didn't have such taint in their essence – they probably represented the true ideals of the house. Unfortunately, they were a minority, a voice in a crowd that didn't have the volume to be heard.

"Cullen, Alice"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Dewdrop, Scarlet"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Francis, Lisa"

"SLYTHERIN!"

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others, it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," a sandy-haired boy, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat. (9)

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

"Lawyer, Joe"

"RAVENCLAW!"

When Neville Longbottom was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "Malfoy, Draco."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once. The hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

"MacLeod, Harry"

Harry stepped up to the podium to sit in the chair. The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"My, my, aren't you full of secrets, Mr. Potter?" said a small voice in his ear.

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"No need to panic and set me on fire. And yes, I know about your nature – I know everything the person I am worn on knows."

Harry panicked. "But my earrings …"

"Are very well constructed if I may be so bold. But unfortunately, you put me on willingly which means I can bypass their protection quite easily – doesn't really mean I have access to everything in your mind. However… this place is too complicated for me to figure out at first glance. Out of curiosity, did you make this mental palace to deal with Occlumency?"

"With what?"

"Wizard equivalent of mind reading. Seriously, you made these just as a precaution?"

"Strange how paranoia can link up with reality now and then."

"Don't quote Philip K. Dick on me now. What, did you expect to run into someone who has Legilimency?"

"If that is the Wizarding World equivalent of mind reading, then yes, apparently I did. To be fair, it's not often you do run into someone with that particular talent, but hey, I am not going to question it."

The hat sighed, "Well, you are clearly more informed than most people here. Your magic is a bit peculiar, but that won't be an issue…"

"Okay, are you seriously jumping over the fact I am a part-demon, part-angel, all wizard supernatural being who happened to make enchanted earrings against prying minds and who is currently more weaponized than most special force agents?"

"When you have been around as long as I have, you stop being surprised. Besides, while you have done some dark things in your short but eventful life, they were all for validly good reasons. That, and based on what I can gather, your current plans in progress aren't exactly detrimental to the well being of the Wizarding World or Hogwarts. Well… maybe one or two, but they are back in your subconscious, so we don't have to worry about them for a good… two or three years."

"Really? Any of them good?"

"One does involve Minister Fudge, but it's mostly a weird chain of events kind of scenario. You don't have a lot to work with…"

"Look, I know you're enjoying your conversation and all, but we have been having this little talk for a while now. You don't think the others are getting worried?"

The hat looked around the room. Their conversation has been mental, so to others, it seemed liked the hat and boy were just waiting for something to happen.

"Alright, let's take a look. You aren't a Hufflepuff, that's for sure. You are smart and witty, but that's more due to your modified mind rather than nature, so you're not actually Ravenclaw material."

"HEY! I am making my own grimoire!"

"It's more like a personal reference guide and encyclopedia than an actual grimoire. Give yourself a few more years and create your own spells THEN you can call it a grimoire."

"Fair enough."

"Now usually, with everything you had to go through, you would fit with Gryffindor, but you only have bravery to face adversity, which isn't enough. You don't have enough daring, chivalry, or even nerve."

"Seriously? I was tortured by Satan and lived – how is that not nerve?"

"That's more like extreme willpower and resistance to pain. So, unfortunately…"

"No, no. You are not putting with those inbred supremacists."

"The original traits that were sought out for Slytherin were resourcefulness, cunning, ambition, determination, self-preservation, and cleverness. Your gonna look me in the face and tell me that they don't describe you?"

"Damn it… Fine, I'll work with what I get."

"SLYTHERIN!"

Ironically, most people belonging to that house didn't cheer for Harry. Which made sense for the ones that didn't hear what happened on the train ride. Draco and his goons were downright furious at this. In any case, only Neville and Hermione gave Harry worrying glances, like they saw something that was unexpected.

Strangely enough, the scene even caught one or two teachers off guard, primarily Hagrid.

As McGonagall was about to call the next person, the hat made itself heard. "MACLEOD!"

Everyone watched in shock as Harry turned around as he was about to join his new classmates. Apparently, the hat speaking its mind was unheard of.

"You may be trying to distance yourself from your past, but I couldn't place you in any other House – not with what you had gone through."

Harry shrugged, milking the moment for all its benefit. "I don't hold you responsible. Are we still going to meet and talk in the future?"

"I'll have to work it out with the Headmaster, but how about October if nothing comes up?"

"Good enough for me."

As Harry finally sat down, he noted that almost every student were staring at him opened mouthed. Looks like I did the impossible – I became friends with a talking hat.

This strangely didn't bother Professor McGonagall at all, as she quickly went back to her list.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon"…, "Nott"…, "Parkinson"…, then a pair of twin girls," Patil" and "Patil," then "Perks, Sally-Anne"…,

Harry took a moment to check the front of the room. He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky

Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Thomas, Dean."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Turpin, Lisa."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Venator, Umbra."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Weasley, Ron."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Yonder, Thea."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

And finally, a Blaise Zabani was sorted into Slytherin – except he received significantly more cheering than Harry did it.

As Harry looked down at his empty golden and wondered when they would eat, the Headmaster got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

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

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

As Harry went on to eat like nothing bothered him, he started to observe and memorize everyone reaction toward him. Most Slytherin downright gave him the look of hate, but that was expected – he already noted those who clapped and applauded for him. The other houses were giving him some thought as well. Most probably were aware of what happened on the train, so he had some points there. The hats revelation that he was sorted not out of personality but rather due to no other choice also seemed to have tainted their opinions.

Harry did his best not to stare at the teacher table since there was a good chance that looking at Dumbledore could blind him. The amount of magic connecting him to the school as a whole was staggering and Harry hoped that it wasn't a constant thing because he didn't want to wear his glasses everytime he spoke with the man – no matter how unlikely that was to be.

He did note everyone else, though. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes. Nothing happened after that, but the teacher did give him an odd look.

Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him again.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the red-headed twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed."

Well, this is going to suck.

It did suck.

The song was still stuck in his head as he and rest of the Slytherin House traversed the castle dungeons to their dorms.

They finally approached a stone wall deep in the dungeon, to which one prefect loudly spoke the phrase 'Pure-blood.'

Slowly, a passage revealed itself, which led them to a large common room. It was very dungeonesque look to it, with greenish lamps and chairs. This dungeon was probably located under the lake at this point which explained the light in the room having a green tinge. There were lots of low backed black and dark green button-tufted, leather sofas, skulls, and dark wood cupboards. It was decorated with tapestries featuring the adventures of famous Medieval Slytherins. It had quite a grand atmosphere, but as Harry noted, quite a cold one as well.

"Alright, everyone. Boys Dorms are on the right, and Girl Dorms are on the left. Get some sleep in, classes start tomorrow. Your belongings are going to be on your beds. Good night."

Not a very social bunch, are they?

AS Harry entered the dorms, he noted that it too had the same ambiance as the common room. The walls were decorated with Slytherin crests, there were ancient four-posters with green silk hangings, and silver lanterns hang from the ceilings.

Harry quickly noted Crookshanks waiting for him on his bed, his magical trunk on the side.

He took a quick glance around the room and noted that Malfoy was sleeping right next to him, with Crabbe and Goyle nearby. Didn't need to turn around to notice that there were a lot of people giving him the glare of hate.

Better be safe than sorry.

Harry kneeled down to his trunk and activated a function on it to seal it to the floor.

"What do you think you are doing, MacLeod?"

Harry looked and noted a sneering Draco staring at him.

"Nothing – just getting ready for bed."

"What, do you plan to sleep in your robes like some sort of Mudblood?"

Okay, you are seriously stupid, aren't you?

"First of all, you do recall what I told you on the train right? What, did you dismiss it as a figment of your imagination?"

Harry spotted the hesitation in the kid's movement, as well as the spastic movement of anger in some other students. Must be Draco's friends or friends of the family. Nice to know.

"Secondly, why would I sleep in such a small bed?"

That caught Draco off guard, "Excuse me?"

Harry unlocked the spell on his trunk, opening it and unlatching the staircase to go into it, "Come on Crookshanks, there more space in here. Plus, I got to feed you."

The cat quickly jumped into the trunk, and Harry followed suit. Right before he closed the lid, he looked back at Draco, "In case you're wondering, yes, this is a magical trunk. Yes, I have a nicer and bigger bed inside. Yes, it is magically linked to the floor and the castle as a whole which means it can't be moved. And yes, it has magical protections on it to prevent the likes of YOU from fiddling with it. Good night."

Right as the lid was about to close, Harry whispered something that terrified Malfoy to his core: "Better learn to sleep with one eye open Draco – I am coming for you."