Enchanting Melodies (HP SI)

[athassprkr]

[An SI Harry Potter Fanfiction]

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Summary:

Harry Potter was an odd boy, everyone knew it. His eyes were too aware, he was too calm, too intelligent for it to be natural. This remained a mystery, even to the boy himself, until one day he remembered the man he used to be. Alas, The magical world is far more treacherous than the one from his past life and he must either succumb or rise above them all. Will he rise to the challenge?

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This is a fanfiction where the MC is reincarnated as Harry Potter. I am prioritizing world building here, and this is my take on a semi-realistic fanfiction of that universe, and the magic system within it.
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I don't own pretty much anything in this Fanfic.

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I will be posting one chapter a day for the foreseeable future. I will update this post if the schedule changes or something. Chapters will be at least 2k words long.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 1: A Disappointing Childhood

13th March 1990, Privet Drive, Surrey

In the smallest bedroom of 4 Privet Drive, a boy with messy black hair, was sleeping peacefully on a rather small bed. The boy opened his eyes, revealing two emerald-green eyes. His name was Harry Potter, and he was without a doubt, the odd one out of this house.

Four people called this house that screamed of mundanity and neat freaks bordering on the psychotic, their home. Yet, any outside visitors would have thought that only three people lived there. The photos were of a thin tall woman, a rather obese man with a comical moustache, and a young boy that seemed to be on his way to matching his father in his weight. No one would have thought that there was another child in this place, no one would have believed that Harry Potter lived in 4 Privet Drive.

And yet, the young boy did. He looked nothing like his relatives. He was thin and rather lithe, as opposed to his cousin's rather large figure. He shared nearly no facial features with his aunt Petunia, which was his only living relative, outside her son, that is, but he didn't really count. As far as the world knew Harry Potter's parents died when he was eighteen months old, which is why he lives with his aunt and uncle.

Inwardly, Harry was glad that he looked nothing like his relatives. Vernon Dursley revelled in his career as a manager in a drill company, and his wife was the typical gossiping housewife with too much time on her hand. As for their son, he was barely more than an underachieving student that barely passed primary school and passed his time bullying his fellow students.

Years ago, Harry remembered craving his relatives' love and approval, hoping to be acknowledged one day as a member of this family, distasteful as it may be. The young boy had grown out of that ridiculous phase. The two elders Dursleys did their best at ignoring him, although for what seemed to be different reasons. Harry didn't understand why his aunt constantly looked at him with a pained expression of distaste and grief, it probably had something to do with his mother. He didn't understand why Vernon Dursley looked at him with fear and rage in his eyes. But one thing was for certain. The Dursleys have done their best to show Harry that he wasn't a part of their family and that he would never be.

It was devastating for a young child to realize that, but Harry was an oddly mature child. He simply accepted the fact and moved on in a way that was simply unnatural for a child his age.

While no one would ever deny that the Dursleys did not shirk their responsibility in providing him with his basic needs. He was always treated with this cold dismissal. As far as they were concerned, Harry did not deserve a single drop of warmth as far they were concerned. The young boy did not have any birthday parties, or expensive toys to play with. He was never hugged, nor congratulated on getting a good grade in school. They simply bought him his clothes and his amenities, paid for his basic needs and left him alone.

Of course, they also did their best in making sure that everything he had would be less than Dudley's. His clothes were always second hands while his cousin got fancy ones that he would grow too fat to wear in a few months. Dudley was allowed to have swimming lessons, expensive toys and trips, while Harry sulked in his room.

Still, things could have been worse. Harry knew for a fact that this was better than being sent to an orphanage. One of his classmates lived in one, and he told horror stories about the understaffed building, with too many hungry orphans running around, desperately hoping to be adopted into a family. Harry had a room for himself, stable food to grow, and all his basic needs catered for. After graduating from school, he would do his best to either go to university or just get a job to move out of Privet Drive forever, leaving behind the hateful beings that he calls his relatives.

As for now, Harry could live with his guardian's dismissal. In fact, after accepting that they don't care about him in any way, he thrived in it. He mowed lawns and did odd jobs in the neighbourhood to earn his pocket money. He got good grades in school and was known as the smartest boy in their grade. Not that the Dursleys cared, only celebrating their son's mediocre marks.

Harry's pondering was broken by the shrilly voice of his aunt Petunia, "BOY! You have two minutes to come down before we leave for school without you, and you'll walk to school."

Startled, the boy in question looked at the alarm clock that seemed to have frozen in the middle of the night. Seeing that he had almost overslept, he stiffened and immediately sat up.

Aunt Petunia wasn't bluffing; he learnt that the hard way. As so, the boy quickly replied, "I'm coming down Aunt Petunia."

He quickly put on whatever was around and ran down the stairs straight to the car. Uncle Vernon had already left, and as usual, there was no breakfast for him. If he wanted something, he had to make it for himself. As far as Harry was concerned, the only meal he was allowed to have, was Dinner. His Breakfast and his school lunch were his own responsibility to prepare.

He quickly ran to the garage and entered his aunt's car. She had bought it for the express reason of driving Dudley and him to school. Before Uncle Vernon's big promotion, things didn't look up financially, but that was years ago, and now the Dursleys had enough to splurge at their leisure. God, they even gave their son an obscene amount of gifts for Christmas and his birthday. Like honestly, Harry could understand spoiling your child by buying five or so gifts, but thirty was just too much.

Harry met his aunt's derisive frown with an impassive gaze, "You were almost late."

The boy shrugged, "The alarm broke. I'll need to replace it."

"I'm not paying for it. Either fix it yourself or buy a new one with your own money."

Harry nodded, not expecting anything else from the woman. Aunt Petunia sniffed and nodded to herself as if she had won something and started driving. He ignored his cousin's childish taunts and looked out the window.

Dudley for some reason absolutely hated Harry. Well, that was what Harry assumes at the very least. He seemed to understand his parents' distaste for his cousin and tried to do the same in the only way anyone his age could do, with violence.

Before he started primary school, the obese child was too young to put things together, but when he tried to do the same in school and Harry complained to the teachers, the Dursleys claimed that he was a compulsive liar or something, and both Dudley and Harry ended up getting a warning without any consequences.

The very next time, Harry made sure that a teacher was nearby whenever Dudley tried anything. After the obese boy was witnessed doing it multiple times, the teacher started to believe Harry almost all the time, and adding in Harry's signs of high intelligence, the teachers tended to back him up.

Speaking of his intelligence, Harry was called a genius by his teachers. And they might be right; Harry had an easier time learning new things than his peers. Some of it was genuine intelligence, but for some reason, almost everything felt familiar to him. It was more like relearning than anything else.

The boy knew that when he learnt French with prodigal speed, but Latin took ten times that time to learn. Even now, he hadn't mastered the language, at least compared to his almost fluent French. Oh, he was still impressively fast in learning the extinct language, but it wasn't on the same ridiculous level as him mastering the entire French language on his own in a few months. Truthfully, Harry kept at it, even if it was mostly useless to him because it was proof that he was still intelligent even with the whole weirdness about his rate of learning in most other subjects.

Harry had known about this for a while and hadn't told anyone. Because who can he trust to confess his fears, dreams, and sorrows? Harry Potter was alone, and that was a sad fact that isn't likely to change anytime soon. Oh, his teachers tried, but in the end, they were primary school teachers that were overworked and had to deal with dozens of brats every day.

Even Harry's classmates didn't like hanging out with him, or rather, he didn't make the effort to hang out with them. He was just too developed, so easily bored by their behaviour, that he would choose to spend his time in his own company, either with a book in hand or by learning a new skill. These brats really had too much energy, and Harry just didn't have it in him to run around playing a nonsensical game that he wouldn't enjoy. Sporting activities just weren't for him, and as far as he was concerned, a balanced diet would stop him from gaining too much weight. He didn't need to play sports to keep his figure. And it's not like the Dursleys would pay for any lessons, and even if he joined a club or another, he would probably end up walking home every day, which is not something he's looking forward to.

And all of this was without mentioning Harry's weirdness, or whatever Aunt Petunia refered to as freakishness. Oh, he had no idea what she was talking about, but considering that he was practically warned every day that he shouldn't do any freakishness or whatever, there had to be some substance to it.

And she was right, odd things tended to happen around Harry, impossible things. Aunt Marge's dog – which he actually forgot its name – somehow ended up completely bald and covered in warts when he tried to chase down Harry in the garden when his owner wanted him to demonstrate the effectiveness of her commands that she taught the damn thing. Harry would never deny the satisfied– and confused – smile at the little beasts sudden whimpering when it chased him down.

Similarly, Harry remembered the ground turning into a sponge when he fell down a tree he was climbing and could have hurt himself. He remembered how the stones that Dudley and his friends once tried to throw at him had somehow been sent back at his aggressors.

Harry theorized that this weirdness was to protect him somehow. But as many times this weirdness happened, there were ten occurrences where he was actually hurt. Harry didn't trust such a wild phenomenon for his protection. And to be honest, he could understand why his aunt was weary of it. It kinda freaked him out as well. Oh, he tried to control it by following a fiction book she read from the library. It's not like there was a manual called 'How to control superpowers' or something. Anyway, he found himself unable to do anything, and he wasn't willing to put himself in danger for the sake of trying to recreate the occurrence which seemed to be very random and chaotic. So, he left it alone. It would be better to learn the truth from Aunt Petunia one day than hurt himself by trying to experiment with something he didn't understand.

Oh, his aunt definitely knew about it, and for some reason, it was the thing that made her dislike him so much. Her constant warnings about his 'freakishness' were evidence of that. If he had to guess, Harry would say that his mother had it too, and his aunt was afraid of it. But that's a wild guess at best.

Harry noticed that they had arrived at their destination, and he left the car with his cousin to get to school. As usual, Harry walked to the building with gusto to get to class. He had math class, and he didn't want to be late for it. After all, this was a typical Tuesday at school. It's not like anything interesting would happen, wouldn't it?

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 2: The Incident

13th March 1990, Privet Drive, Surrey

Harry entered the math classroom with gusto and sat at his usual table. They were doing fractions now, and ten minutes in, he was bored out of his mind. It was so easy, so simple, and so logical. It was something that Harry had been using instinctively in his head. Even now that he was still in class, he didn't even need to think before answering Mrs Robinson's questions. He even found a small mistake, probably a typo, in one of his schoolbooks when he skimmed it.

That should be impossible. There's a difference between being a natural about something and actually knowing the mathematical rules of something he never studied before. It was another sign of his weirdness, and it freaked the young boy out.

The raven-haired boy looked out of the window, contemplating his situation. He didn't need this at all, another sign that Harry Potter wasn't normal. It was starting to happen more often, using words that he had never heard, knowing things that he hadn't learnt. It was like something was coming, and it was closing every second.

Well, Harry had a good lid on his emotions. He looked a calm person on the outside, even if he was inwardly very nervous. It was a skill that Harry developed instinctively. Living in a home that utterly dismissed your existence would do that to a person, but even then, it was too intensive, to normal, for him to be so detached from his emotions like this. His aunt even called him a sociopath behind his back. He read about it in the library, and he felt that it was a wrong diagnosis. Harry felt his emotions, and understood them, he simply didn't know how to express them properly. And it's not like living with loathsome people like the Dursleys would ever make him a mentally healthy person anyway.

It's not like Harry ever pretended to not be messed up. Oh, he was, but compared to the whiny, entitled, arrogant, violent, spoilt boy that Dudley was growing up to be, he was a far more adjusted person. Honestly, it baffled the young man how Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn't notice how much they were mistreating their child by giving him exactly whatever he wanted. Honestly, Harry had never seen them ever refuse him anything, and that was just wrong. It wouldn't be too surprising for the obese boy to end up caught committing a crime if he ever survives to that age considering the probable heart condition he would most likely develop.

It's not like Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were any better. Vernon Dursley was a bootlicker that acts like he was in line for the Throne of England. His wife had her head in the cloud and ignores everything that she doesn't like – which happens to mostly be her nephew – and pretends to be some sort of noble lady from the Middle Ages.

Alright, Harry had his issues with both of them, but he still appreciates what they have done for him. He had no illusions that the Dursleys' financial situation was very fragile before Uncle Vernon's promotion. Harry's unexpected addition to the household, and the expenses that come with him, made Vernon work like a bull to stay afloat. Of course, he ended up being rewarded years later for his dedication with a big promotion, but he could have easily just sent him to the orphanage, no matter what rumours might appear in the neighbourhood, and Harry appreciated this. It was why he tried his best not to make things more difficult for his relatives.

Harry's contemplation was broken by Mrs Robinson asking him a question, "Mr Potter, are you paying attention?"

"Of course, Mrs Robinson," the boy answered back, lying through his teeth.

"Then can you tell me what's the answer to this problem, young man?"

Harry immediately looked at the board and saw the basic problem, "The fraction can be simplified to two sevenths."

It was ridiculously easy, as was the most of mathematics that he had ever seen. It always came to him easier than anything else. It was a shame that the school library didn't have any schoolbooks past his year. It was a primary school, after all. And the public library was too far away to go regularly. So far, Harry spent most of the time bored out of his mind in class. So, it was easier to lose himself in his own thoughts, than pay attention to his painfully slow lessons.

Speaking of the teacher, she pursed her lips in dissatisfaction and continued her lecture, ignoring Harry's answer completely. Mrs Robinson was a friend of Aunt Petunia and thus has learnt to dislike Harry on principle. The young boy didn't know what his aunt told her, but she was always trying to get him in trouble.

Harry returned back to his thoughts, ignoring the rest of the lesson, until the bell ran, signalling that it was lunchtime.

Since the green-eyed boy didn't have time to pack himself any lunch and didn't want to pay from his hard-earned money to eat food as horrible as the one in the cafeteria, he chose not to eat at all. He wasn't hungry anyway, distracted by what could be happening to him.

The so-called 'freakishness' alone was a problem. It was random, it was odd, and Harry could easily hurt anyone with it. Harry didn't really mind the idea of hurting someone who deserved it, but if anyone knew about it, they could end up destroying whatever potential future he might have. It would rob him of his greatest payback on the Dursleys, living well.

For all their dismissal of him, grumbling over his uselessness, Harry knew that he was worth far more than they could imagine. He would make something of himself if only to spite them. He had the potential to build something great, something that would dwarf their meaningless lives, and he would ignore them as they did him. After all, the best revenge for someone who wronged you is to simply live well. The Dursleys wanted to bring him down, but they failed. What better way is it to have revenge than to watch them from afar, having made himself a great life, while they wallow in their petty lives – which will probably be short considering Vernon's health – like the idiotic garden beauty competition the housewives had.

Honestly, out of the loathsome relatives Harry has, he dislikes his aunt the most. Petunia Dursley had never even tried to like him, let alone love him. The worst that ever happened was how useless she truly was to the world. She did absolutely nothing with her time outside cooking, gossiping with the neighbours and taking care of Dudley, who is eleven years old and could learn to have some independence at the very least. Now, considering that Vernon is unlikely to live past fifty, it would be very likely for Petunia to find herself widowed with no career prospects or actual work experience. The Dursleys tended to blow their money on luxurious items they did not need, like the honestly uselessly expensive gifts they give Dudley or the constant renovation of their house. That's not even mentioning buying a new car almost every year.

Yeah, things didn't look good for them if their income dropped suddenly. It was somewhat worrying for Harry to imagine what would happen to him if Vernon got fired or something. He wouldn't dismiss the idea of Dudley just eating him out of hunger.

Instead of staying inside, Harry chose to take a walk outside to clear his head. This was his last year of primary school and Harry will have to go elsewhere to continue his education. He didn't even know where he would be going. Vernon kept bragging about Dudley being accepted in Smeltings, his old private school. It was so pretentious, it stopped being funny. Who the hell gives teenagers walking canes anyway? As for Harry, for some reason, the Dursleys didn't apply him to any school. However, the young boy believes that he would probably end up going to a generic public school, which isn't all that surprising.

Although when Harry asked his aunt about it, she looked oddly stricken and told him that they had already arranged something for him, which didn't really reassure the young boy too much.

Harry's musing was again interrupted by the sickeningly familiar voice of his cousin, "Well, if it isn't the freak?"

The green-eyed boy raised an eyebrow, "What a clever name, Dudley, did you come up with it by yourself?"

As expected, the sarcasm went over the boy's head. Dear lord, Dudley was a different kind of stupid. Honestly, Harry wouldn't be surprised if Vernon and Petunia were somehow related to causing this much stupidity to be contained in a single body.

The boy in question was standing next to his little gang, Malcolm, Piers, Dennis and Gordon. These five menaces barely did anything with their time other than harassing and terrorizing the children they happen to encounter. They usually did their best trying to antagonize Harry, but the young boy was always close to a teacher, who stopped them from doing anything.

Speaking of the teacher, Harry looked towards the school entrance and saw them be suspiciously missing. Dudley followed his gaze and laughed, "There aren't any teachers to bail you out, freak."

Damn, this wouldn't have happened if Harry wasn't distracted by his weirdness. He should have noticed that there were no teachers and gone back to the cafeteria. He looked around and saw that he was surrounded. Damn, give him an intellectual debate and he would win with his eyes closed, but physical activity just wasn't his thing. Against five bigger boys, Harry didn't really have a chance at coming out of it unscathed.

Harry didn't know how to fight with fists, but he did know how to fight with words. He observed his five instigators. He needed to buy some time either for a teacher to find him, or to plan his escape.

He gave his confused attackers a smirk, "I have to say, Malcom, I'm surprised that you're still going to school here. I heard you were moving out because your parents are getting a divorce. Something about your father sleeping with Dennis' mother."

The boy blinked at him, "What are you talking about?"

"Well, it's just a rumour I heard. The word is he disliked you so much that he left his wife because of it. Maybe he just likes Dennis better."

Harry wasn't exactly lying. He had heard his aunt gossip about the scandal. However, they had no idea who the woman in question was. He just wanted to fan the flames for a bit. He definitely never expected that his Aunt Petunia's nonsensical gossip would be useful for anything.

Harry was proven right when Malcom ran at his friend and started hitting him. A fight had started out between the two of them, and Gordon went to stop them. The green-eyed boy tried to run away, only to be restrained by his furious cousin and Piers.

It seems that even with the three of them being distracted, his escape plan wasn't successful. Dudley grinned at his cousin, "I'm not going to let you run, freak."

At least he only needed to deal with two, with the rest being distracted in their little spat. Harry observed his opponents and saw that Piers was slightly limping on his right leg, meaning that his left one was injured somehow. Harry looked around and saw nothing more than sand. Oh, Harry had no idea how to fight, but he had learned the most painful places to hit someone from a book.

Dudley lunged towards Harry who ducked and grabbed a fistful of sad. Harry then threw his sand in his cousin's eyes and had enough to even hurt Piers. Unfortunately, Piers was still holding him tight, even if he had been blinded by the sand. But Harry kicked his injured leg and the boy let him go while screaming. He stepped out into the blind fist of Dudley who hit him in the stomach. Harry retaliated with a much weaker strike of his own which didn't seem to do any damage. After another punch, Harry fell down. He couldn't breathe, everything was going black. Until finally, the familiar feeling of his 'freakishness' came back, and Dudley was propelled away from him. Although the boy still managed to hit Harry in the head before being banished away.

Harry got up after Dudley was away, only to feel like his head was exploding. Had Dudley really hit him that hard? These were the last thoughts he had before he fell unconscious.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 3: Remembrance

13th March 1990, Privet Drive, Surrey

Harry got up after Dudley was away, only to feel like his head was exploding. Had Dudley really hit him that hard? These were the last thoughts he had before he fell unconscious.

As the teachers ran towards the unconscious boy, they thought that he had been knocked unconscious from a hit in the head. They quickly got the boy to the infirmary for the school nurse to take a look at him.

However, while from the outside the boy was completely still, his body unmoving, his mind was whirling in exertion choosing to keep up with his newfound knowledge. Because for the first time, Harry Potter remembered. The thing that was always on the tip of his tongue, in the corner of his eye, revealed itself, and he didn't know how to make heads and tails of it.

His name was Harrold Smith, and he was born in Manchester in a lower middle-class family. His father was an accountant at a small firm, and his mother was a secretary until she quit her job when his younger brother Nathan was born. Nathan was four years younger than him and was quite sickly ever since he was born, both physically and, as they later found out, mentally.

Nathan's birth was the beginning of the misery that befallen the Smith family, and yet Harrold could not hate him for it. He loved his brother and promised to protect him. When his father became distant, taking a second job to be able to provide for the household, Harrold understood the need for it. After all, with Nathan's health complications came medical bills, and then the constant counselling that he would need for the rest of his life.

When Harrold's mother started ignoring him in favour of taking care of his brother, he understood why that happened. He had missed his smiling mother doting on him, but his brother was sick, and that was more important than anything else he could selfishly want.

Because Harrold was an intelligent boy, perhaps not a super genius or something that ridiculous, but enough to see the world around him. He excelled in primary school, being ahead of all his peers. He excelled in secondary school and graduated as the best student in his school.

Even when Harry's father died in a car accident when he was thirteen, Harrold did his best to work his arse off trying to save money for university. His mother, unable to leave her sickly son whom she homeschooled, couldn't get a job and living off their savings. And when she ran out, she took permission from Harrold to use the money his father had set apart for his education to survive, and he accepted without a second's thought. After all, this money was his father's initially, and it was the right thing to do.

But even then, Harry decided that he would make something of himself. He taught himself how to write code online and worked every day to be proficient at it. He worked as an online freelancer from his own computer, and while it was slow at first, over years of work, he was able to save up to go to an average university to get a bachelor's degree. That was the agreement with his mother, he would give her his father's money, but anything he made by himself wouldn't be touched.

Of course, when Harrold graduated school with impressive grades and went to his planned university to study Mathematics, he expected his mother to practically stay out of his life for a while. The woman practically ignored him all his life in favour of his brother, and while he grew used to it, she slowly started to feel like a stranger to him.

The silver lining was the fact that he loved his brother more than life himself. He did his best to tutor him, to take care of him, but the boy would never have a normal life, and he knew it. It was hard to relate to him, but it didn't make Harrold love him any less.

Imagine his surprise to see his mother and sibling for his graduation. He had planned to pursue a master's degree, or even a Doctorate one day, being very passionate about the field of Mathematics. He had kept working odd jobs, including his freelancing programming job, and saved up enough to continue his education. Everything was looking well, even if he had to fight his way to get where he was, it was worth it.

All that hope was dashed immediately when his mother told him of the staggering amount of debt she had to pay for her expenses. He always wondered where she got the money to continue, but the worst part was the fact that she didn't even seem to care about it until it was too late. She bought expensive clothes, and bought a new car a couple of years back, without even thinking about the repercussions of her actions.

Harrold could understand being miserable doing nothing but taking care of her son day in and out, but that was just too much. She needed help to repay her debt and what could he do but help his mother and his brother? The young man abandoned his dreams and moved back home. He practically drained his bank account to pay his mother's debt and settled on taking a job from a friend of his, at a school, as a math teacher.

It was a nice job, cosy, with a few perks. He needed the flexibility to take care of his brother. Their mother had run away barely a month after begging for his help, and honestly, Harrold was just exhausted. Five years later, Nathan died in his sleep. He had too many health complications, and Harrold was alone in the world with practically no purpose.

He could have chosen to come back to university, but he simply didn't have the passion he once did. Oh, he was practically as well-read as your average university Professor, choosing to sharpen his mind during the previous few years. But he was grieving and had chosen to take his time to deal with it. He grew to love his school and love his students.

Outside of his job, Harrold didn't really have anything else to do. He didn't have any friends, and practically never had a girlfriend, since he was always too busy with Nathan to even entertain the thought. The problem with having two parents that practically ignored your existence was the fact that you simply never learn to develop any sort of social skills or emotional intelligence in any way. Oh, Harrold was an awkward child when he was younger, but he simply didn't know how to communicate with people. Even then, he was too busy, either taking care of his brother or working, to notice this glaring issue. It was at university that he noticed how lonely he truly was without being constantly busy. But he had no idea how to even make friends, and so his cycle of loneliness continued until his adulthood.

Harrold's only companions were his books. He felt alive when he was reading. He learnt of joy, loss, sadness, sorrow, anger, and love from his books. It was so easy to lose himself in a book, to give himself to the illusion of life, and yet forget to live. It was easier, and less painful, to lose himself in a fantasy instead of facing the fact that he had lived an empty life. In many ways, just because something was fake, it didn't make it any less true, any less beautiful and powerful.

And so, Harrold spent another few years as a teacher, living more in his tales and stories than outside, choosing not to be hurt like he had been when his brother died. Because to Harrold, Nathan was everything. He was his purpose. He sacrificed his childhood so that his brother would have one, he sacrificed his future just to take care of him. He never experienced his father's pride, nor his mother's life for his sake, and yet Nathan still died with a slight smile on his face, leaving Harrold alone in the world.

It was when Harrold was in his thirties that he was diagnosed with a brain tumour. It was inoperable, and he had months to live. He didn't want to live the rest of his remaining life strapped to a machine and had no one to live with. It was sad; Harrold's brain was his pride, the only thing he had left, and it was killing him. It was irony at its finest.

In another life, Harrold Smith could have changed the world, but it was not this world, and so he went gently into that goodnight. His passing wasn't noticed by a single human being, except his students that are. No one mourned his passing for more than a day. He was forgotten in the annals of history. His song has ended, and yet his melody lingered on.

Harry Potter sat up suddenly when he realized what just happened. He remembered the other man, the other life, the other Harry. Were they the same person at heart? Was he Harry Potter or Harrold Smith? Was there any difference, really? They had practically the same personality accentuated by the same emotional awkwardness. They were both scholars who were ignored by their families, and forced the grow up quickly and in solitude. Even their names were similar.

The only difference now was the fact that Harry now had more knowledge and information about the world. Oh, that and the magic thing that is.

Because Harrold Smith knew about Harry Potter, about the Chosen One, the young wizard that would sacrifice his life for the greater good to fight the man who killed his parents, the Dark Lord Voldemort. It was a children's tale in Smith's world, and yet it did explain all the oddness that surrounded young Harry. It explained the fear in the eyes of his aunt whenever he looked at him, it explained why he was called a freak by the magic hating muggles – and what an odd and slightly insulting word that was – that he called her relatives. But most of all, it could explain how he just banished Dudley away without touching him.

It was too good, it fit too perfectly for it to be anything else. Harry didn't know whether or not to be angry that his life was a children's book, which actually showed how difficult things were about to be for the young man. Possessed teachers, giant snakes that would kill with a gaze, and giant soul sucking demons sent warning bells to him.

And yet, Harry couldn't help but be excited by the prospect of going to Hogwarts and learning magic there. No matter what the dangers were, he was still a scholar at heart, reincarnation or not. As for Voldemort, he would be handled with caution, now that he understood the danger he presented. It would be daunting, playing the game between Dumbledore and Voldemort, where he was barely more than a pawn, but for the chance to learn something as exciting as magic, he would do it without complaining. Well, he might complain slightly. He might even make friends there, with another wizard or witch.

And if he was to be a wizard, Harry will damn well be the wizard the world had ever seen. His life as Harrold Smith was a disappointment, empty, having achieved nothing with his existence. No, Harry Potter will rise from Harrold Smith's ashes to achieve greatness. For he refused to be no one again.

Harry got up from the bed he was sleeping on, thoughts filled with purpose. He looked around and saw that he was in the infirmary. There was a mirror right next to him, and the young boy decided to see the extent of his injuries. There was a slight bruise on his left cheek, but it didn't look serious. It was then that he noticed the distinct lack of a scar on his forehead, and all his plans went to hell in a second.

The young boy couldn't help but mutter, "Oh, fuck."

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 4: Semblance of Magic

13th March 1991, Privet Drive, Surrey

There was a slight bruise in his left cheek, but it didn't look serious. It was then that he noticed the distinct lack of a scar on his forehead, and all his plans went to hell in a second.

The young boy couldn't help but mutter, "Oh, fuck."

Young Harry did not expect the admonishing voice coming from behind him, "Watch your language, Mr Potter."

Instinctively, answered back, "I'm sorry, Nurse Royce."

The school nurse turned up her nose and nodded to herself, satisfied with his apology. Harry didn't even notice the woman enter. He was too distracted by the clusterfuck that he just figured out. He was not marked. Of course, it made sense now he thought of it, but the moment he remembered Harrold Smith's life, he forgot the fact that he lacked a certain lightning bolt shaped scar that marked him as the child of the prophecy, as Voldemort's enemy.

Harry tried to remember and thought back to any noticeable scar he might have had and found nothing. He didn't have a scar, that was a fact, then the question was what happened to his parents.

James and Lily Potter were supposed to be the Gryffindor golden couple. The Head boy and Head girl – which had to be very biased since they're both in the same house – they're supposed to be members of Dumbledore's order of the phoenix and die protecting Harry from Tom Riddle's attack on that fateful night in their cottage in Godric's Hollows.

But how much of what he remembered was true, or what else is false? Perhaps Voldemort had chosen Neville and he was the child of the prophecy, while Harry's parents were tortured to insanity by the Lestranges and Crouch Jr.? Perhaps they even abandoned Harry for some reason – which wasn't likely since Petunia would have done her best to rub that in his face, and she said that her sister was dead.

Perhaps the prophecy was different than the stories and Harry didn't need to be marked to be the Chosen One, or even better, there wasn't any prophecy in the first place.

Or maybe Voldemort never existed in the first place. This little detail, this scar, showed Harry that the books, the stories were fallible. They were just that, stories, but Harry lived in the real world. He would use what he could from the stories, but until he meets the magical world, it would be foolish to even plan.

For the present moment, it would be better to assume that he wasn't the child of the prophecy and move on from there. It's the outcome he was hoping for, at least. Harry was uncomfortable at the idea of being famous in any way, especially for his parents dying for him in the first place. Even now, compared to the books, the Dursleys looked tame. Oh, they hated the young wizard for his magic and were completely fearful of his potential, but they were overly abusive. Sure, they were spiteful, but they never beat him, constantly insult him, or even lock him up in the fucking cupboard under the stairs of all places. They were not insane, just some mistrustful muggles that were fearful of magic.

Honestly, the Dursleys from the stories felt more like a caricature of the evil stepmother from the Cinderella story than real people. He couldn't imagine ever people being so obsessed with being normal that they would treat their nephew as a slave. That was especially stupid when that particular nephew would one day be a wizard that could kill them in seconds with barely more than a few waves of a wand, and even hide any evidence of the encounter.

It would be the height of recklessness to justify the pleasure of being cruel to a defenceless child who would turn into a wizard one day. Oh, they didn't pretend to like him, but ignorance was far better than physical abuse.

The young wizard's thoughts were interrupted by the nurse's voice, "Are you listening to me, young man."

"I'm sorry, Nurse Royce, I'm just a bit distracted. Would you mind repeating what you just said?"

The grumpy nurse huffed, "Fine. As I said, you only have a slight bruise on your cheek. There doesn't seem to be any fractures or serious injuries. Honestly, I wouldn't have expected you to have been in a fight at all, at least compared to the other boys."

Harry shrugged, "I'm not much of a fighter. They just cornered me, called me a freak, and started beating me. I did my best to avoid being hit and run away. I even turned them against each other, but I couldn't run away fast enough."

The boy could swear to see a slight smile on the face of the nurse, who sighed in exasperation, "You could have really hurt them, kiddo."

Outraged, Harry responded, "You do realize that there were five of them. And I barely even hit any of them. They mostly just hit each other. The only one I really hit was Piers and Dudley, and my cousin is too fat to feel anything these puny muscles could hit."

"Well, you better convince the Headmistress. The teachers broke the fight between the three boys and brought you all here. Their parents are all in her office, complaining away."

Harry took a deep breath, "Well, that's not good, is it?"

"Yes, things do not look good for you. Now, let's not keep the Headmistress waiting. She told me to bring you to her as soon as you wake up."

The nurse then turned and left the infirmary, with Harry hastily following after her. The young boy was even gasping exhaustion by the time they arrived in the Headmistress' office. He felt drained and he didn't know if it was because of the fight or because of the magic he used.

Still, he entered the room with all five of his aggressors and their parents staring down at him with furious expressions. The headmistress looked down at him with a severe expression, "Mr Potter, it's good to see you awake again. Well, now that you're here, we can begin. Can you tell us what happened, your side of things, at least?"

Harry shrugged, "Well, I decided to go on a walk for lunch since I forgot to pack myself any and didn't bring any money for the cafeteria. I was walking around when Dudley and his friends called me a freak and bragged that there were no teachers to defend me. They said they wanted me to teach me a lesson. I tried to talk them out of it, but it didn't work."

Petunia scoffed but was silenced by a glare from the headmistress. The woman then nodded to me to continue his story, "Since I'm not much of a physical fighter, I tried to turn them against one another. I said some very hurtful things that I'm not proud of to get them to focus on themselves. Malcom and Denis started fighting, and Gordon was trying to break them up."

All of the three mentioned parents glared at their children who looked down in shame and Harry stifled a smile of satisfaction at what was probably going to await them. "I then tried to run but Piers and Dudley held me up and still wanted to fight. When they hit me, I threw some dust in their eyes, and hit Piers in the leg, but then Dudley punch me in the face and I think I passed out. I don't remember anything else, sorry."

Petunia glared at her nephew, "Headmistress, you can't believe this nonsense, can you?"

The headmistress answered with a sarcastic tone, "As opposed to your son's story that he attacked them all for no reason whatsoever?"

Harry snorted in amusement and all of the adults looked at him with raised eyebrows, telling him to justify himself, "It's just that it's such a stupid story. So, I somehow went on a walk before them, and when they came out for no reason, chose to fight them. And that's your story, that an honour student who didn't go to a single detention in his schooling, decided to attack boys known for harassing their classmates, just for the fun of it. And most of all, you're saying that I, the short thin kid who can barely do a few laps in gym class, would physically fight not one, not two, but five people that are bigger and stronger than me at the same time. Are you seriously believing this?"

The headmistress must have had the same thought, "You have to admit that your son's story is far-fetched, Mrs Dursley. Look, we're all adults here, and we can admit that everyone here had their part to play in this mess. So, I'm giving you all two days of detention, and it will be up to you to add any additional punishment at home. As for now, it's almost the end of the classes, so take your children with you home."

Everyone seemed somewhat satisfied with the decision, even if Petunia was grumbling and the drive home was spent in silence. The punishment from Harry's aunt and uncle was relatively tame. They yelled at him for hurting their darling child and forbade him from leaving his room which wasn't really a big deal.

Dudley's grinning face, as they berated him, was annoying, but it didn't really anger him, not anymore. It's hard to imagine that he envied Dudley once. Now, he only just pitied him. His parents coddled him so much that they raised a dysfunctional boy that will not be able to live by himself when he grows up. He'll probably end up paying a small fortune in therapy to get over how they messed him up. And all because his parents wanted to show their superiority to their nephew.

Although, it really couldn't be out of spite, and they are just this much of horrible parents, as unlikely as that may be.

But Harry stopped caring about it, for now, Dudley wasn't important. Vernon and Petunia weren't important, because he had magic, now. He had real power, and in a few months, he would be invited to Hogwarts. It made sense because that's probably the arrangement Petunia was talking about when Harry mentioned secondary school.

As for now, Harry was confined to his own room until the end of the year, and while he would miss his trips to the library, he had enough time to experiment with magic properly.

The young wizard hadn't been successful in using it because he really didn't know what it was other than it was some kind of 'freakishness'. But now, Harry knew that it was just called accidental magic, a way for magic to express itself during childhood when they express powerful emotions.

It was often known to be chaotic and replicating it would be dangerous. It happened to Harry when he was scared or about to get hurt. It didn't really protect him, as much as it responded to his fear of something hurting him. Plus having control over the magic wasn't an impossible thing. Tom Riddle, as a child, had learnt to weaponize it to frighten his bullies in the orphanage. Hell, he even learnt how to telekinetically move objects by himself. Well, that's according to the stories, that is. If anything, Tom Riddle was an extremely intelligent child to figure this out on his own. He probably weaponized an emotion, most likely hate, and used it to channel his magic through it. It was as disturbing as it was brilliant, not to mention slightly frightening.

As for Harry, now that he understood the principal, he needed to use them slightly. He looked at the small sheet of paper on his bed and stared at it, as he had been for the last few hours.

Harry did his best to put the image in his mind, of Dudley trying to strike him in the face, he looked deep down, trying to channel it as much as possible. He almost felt like he was there, scared of being hurt, and with that emotion, he felt something stir inside him.

A small warmth spread all over his body, and the sheet of paper levitated a few inches in the air. Well, that was easier than he expected.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 5: The Letter

28th July 1991, Privet Drive, Surrey

He almost felt like he was there, scared of being hurt, and with that emotion, he felt something stir inside him.

A small warmth spread all over his body, and the sheet of paper levitated a few inches in the air. Well, that was easier than he expected.

Well, that was a fucking lie.

It didn't take long for Harry to figure out that his preconceptions about magic were completely false. For all his immediate success in moving things with his mind, his efforts stayed imprecise and relatively weak.

Calling it telekinesis would be a bit of a stretch, considering that the heaviest object he could lift with his magic was his English textbook. Anything heavier than this, and the magic would simply not work. As for the activity itself, it wasn't too strenuous. He didn't feel drained when he attempted something that was above his capabilities, but he did feel slightly sore when he was done as if he had somehow been exercising all day. Although Harry chose not to do anything drastic without the proper knowledge first, and so did not make theories about how magic truly worked. Older and more experienced wizards and witches have probably made their own research on how magic truly worked, and it wasn't like an eleven-year-old orphan who barely even knows that magic exists could come up with something they haven't.

As for the magic itself, Harry mostly focused on his telekinesis, deeming any additional magic to be too dangerous to try out without the proper instructions. Even a book on the subject would be better than trying out things blindly.

And the worst thing was how inconsistent accidental magic was. Oh, he could move his magic, mould it to fulfil his intent, but he was rarely able to replicate the same thing again. He tried to recreate the locking and unlocking charms, which are spells that a first year muggleborn should be able to cast a month into the term. Hermione Granger was an intelligent young girl in the books, but she was not a remarkably powerful witch, only a knowledgeable one, at least compared to the average wizard. Harry had no intention of being average at all.

When Harry tried to open or close the lock on his bedroom door, he was met with various results even when he replicates his exact actions, emotions, and intent. The results were just too chaotic every time. Sometimes the door would lock, sometimes it would open only the lock. Sometimes, it would unlock the door and open it. Sometimes, the lock just jammed, and the young wizard would keep sending more unlocking magic at it until would unjam.

The same happened when the young boy tried to replicate the Reparo charm. The spell was supposed to repair objects, and Harry had an abundance of Dudley's broken toys to experiment with. Similarly, to the unlocking charm, sometimes the toys would be fixed, and a few times it would be a partial thing – which tended to happen when the toys were complex. Magic was as wonderful as it was confusing.

Honestly, if Harry could guess about Voldemort's circumstances, he would come to the conclusion that the heir of Slytherin was able to direct his intent – which tended to be malicious – and hoped for the best. He probably came to the same conclusion about the weak telekinesis and chose to channel his anger to cast primitive curses on his bullies.

Tom Riddle was, without a doubt, an exceptional wizard in the books, but unless his portrayal from the books was false, he was a terrible dark lord. Harry didn't know if it was because of the Horcruxes, or if the man was just mad, but he didn't seem to have a goal in the matter. He definitely didn't believe in pureblood supremacy, since he was living proof that it was a lie, and probably thought that it was the best cause to support in order to secure his rise to power.

His actual goals and motivations are a complete mystery because a man hungry for nothing but power without a clear purpose would be a complete fool. Tom Riddle did not strike me as a complete fool. But that's assuming that Lord Voldemort existed in the first place. Even if the dark lord did exist, should Harry be completely out of the chessboard that represented Dumbledore's spat with Voldemort, he would not put himself on it. Harry would learn magic and nothing else, as he had been trying to experiment for the last few months.

Oh, Harry had tried to discover if he had any hidden overpowered gift, or something similar and found absolutely nothing. He wasn't a metamorphmagus; for all his concentration and intent, his eyes remained green, his hair remained messy, and he didn't exhibit any signs of any other bloodline gifts. So, he dismissed the idea entirely, even if he was disappointed that he wasn't some sort of elemental that could shake the earth and create tsunamis without a wand. As far as he could tell, Harry Potter was simply an ordinary young wizard that isn't particularly special in any way.

Not that it would stay for long. Harry had led a life of mediocrity once. He had let the world lead his life instead of fighting for his own sake. Harrold Smith lacked ambition in a very fundamental matter. That was something he would refuse. In this world, where magic makes might, he would rise from the ashes and become someone that history would never forget.

He was a nobody, once. He will not be one again.

It was odd; a small part of him wanted to impress his parents, to preserve his legacy as a Potter and an Evans, not that Petunia made him inclined to use the name Evans. As far as he was concerned, the Evans family was dead to him, and he would do his best to forget about them as soon as he steps foot into Hogwarts.

The moment Harry had access to his vault – should there actually be a vault – he would leave the damn harpy of a woman and never return. It's a shame really, had the Dursleys acted like his family, he would have been more than happy to share whatever he inherited with his parents with them. Lucky for him, they didn't, and Harry didn't feel like he owed them anything.

The last few months were a testament to that, and Harry was starting to see the psychotic version of the Dursleys in them. They really did hate the fact that Harry had defended himself using magic, accidental as it may be. And they were furious that he had hurt Dudley with his 'freakishness'.

They kept following him everywhere. At first, they just forced him to stay in his room – when he wasn't at school that is – and locked him inside whenever he was home. They kept doing this for a month until one of the neighbours asked about him. Harry was known to take as many side jobs as possible to have any pocket money, and some of his usual customers had worried about him.

Harry didn't really mind being locked in his room. It allowed him to simply focus on his magic, and experiment as much as possible. Magic was just something new, something amazing that the young wizard wanted to figure out. It was such a curious feeling, one that reawakened the scholar in him. Harry was always a bit of an introvert, so spending some time alone wasn't really that big of a deal.

Alas, the neighbours were nosy, especially in Little Whinging, and so, Harry had been 'graciously allowed' to leave his home but was constantly watched by his aunt. He didn't know what that was supposed to achieve, really, since she knew that he would leave in a few months, but hey, Petunia Dursley was not known for her intelligence.

Now, with his birthday approaching, the woman seemed to start fidgeting even more. Petunia Dursley was the closest thing to a connection to the magical world he had, and he refused to let his feelings be tainted by the woman's bitterness. He would learn of the magical world as any normal Muggleborn would, and he would thrive in it.

However, before Harry could embark on his journey to greatness, there was one pressing matter he needed to address. All of his dreams of freedom the Dursleys were completely dependent on the idea that he would be getting a letter from Hogwarts. Oh, he knew for a fact that he was a wizard, but Hogwarts might work differently than it did in the books. He could be invited to Hogwarts when he was older, or Hogwarts might not even exist at all, and another school might take its place.

However, on this fateful day, as the month of July died, a letter appeared on the Dursleys' doorstep, signalling the momentous occasion that would change young Harry's life.

Harry had made it his mission to wake up before the Dursleys every day and sneak to the front porch to see if his letter arrived. It was summer vacation, he was still confined to his room when he wasn't working for the neighbours to keep up appearances, that it. The bastards even locked his door every night for some reason. It wasn't like he was a vampire that would drink their blood at night.

Every day since the month of July began, Harry would unlock his door using his magic and peek at the mail to see if his letter had arrived. And finally, the day arrived when a letter addressed to him, that didn't have any stamps, appeared on the Dursleys' doorstep.

Harry didn't know how much time he spent staring at the letter in question. It was proof that he didn't live a lie. That the magical world was true, and even if he knew for a fact there was still some doubt left.

Although the young wizard would admit that the scarily accurate address was unnerving, to say the least. The letter clearly said:

Mr H. Potter

The Smallest Bedroom

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

The envelope itself was thick and heavy and wasn't even made of paper, but some kind of yellowish parchment. Wizards really were old school. The letter was sealed with some red wax that had what Harry assumed to be the Hogwarts coat of arms, each of the animals representing the school houses surrounding the letter 'H'.

Harry sneakily took the letter to his room and locked the door as it should have been during the night. Finally, Harry Potter opened the envelope and started to read.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all the necessary books and equipment.

The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

This was real. This was the final proof he needed that he wasn't insane, that the stories were true, at least partially. Hogwarts was real, Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster, and Minerva McGonagall was the deputy headmistress.

This was good, this was familiar territory. He could work with this. Harry wouldn't be thrust into a completely unknown world. Oh, there was probably a lot more to it than the story portrayed, but his stories were better than nothing after all.

Harry was so preoccupied with his dreams of studying magic that he didn't notice his aunt unlock his door and open it. He heard his aunt's horrified gasp at the sight of his letter and looked up at her pale face. Harry looked up at her, eyes expressionless, and asked her with a dead tone, "Good Morning, Aunt Petunia. I believe we have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 6: Wilted Flower

28th July 1991, Privet Drive, Surrey

Harry was so preoccupied with his dreams of studying magic that he didn't notice his aunt unlock his door and open it. He heard his aunt's horrified gasp at the sight of his letter and looked up at her pale face. Harry looked up at her, eyes expressionless, and asked her with a dead tone, "Good Morning, Aunt Petunia. I believe we have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

It took a long time and a lot of screaming for things to settle down in 4 Privet Drive. Petunia had completely freaked out at the letter in Harry's hand and started yelling at him just for opening it. After the woman finished ranting about freaks ruining her family, Harry stood there, completely immobile with a face that didn't even twitch at his aunt's temper tantrum.

After the woman was practically gasping in exertion, the young wizard raised an eyebrow, "Are you done?"

"I'm forbidding you from going to the freak school," Petunia screamed.

Her nephew did not scream back at her and instead spoke up with a very calm voice, "I don't really understand you, Aunt Petunia."

"What are you on about, boy?"

"You keep grumbling to yourself that I'm a waste of space, that I'm the reason you don't have a second child because you can't bear the expense, you don't even call me by my name, just 'boy' or 'freak' and yet when you have the opportunity to practically give me away and never see me again, you're forbidding me from leaving."

As Petunia started spluttering but her nephew didn't give her the opportunity to make a coherent sentence, "Because it's not about me, is it? It's about you, it was always about you. It's about how jealous you are that you're not like me, that you're not special. It wasn't enough for you to ignore me as you did, to pretend I don't exist, you hid my family's legacy from me ever since I was a child. I was never angry at you because I saw you as you always were, a jealous woman that would never amount to anything more than being a housewife, while I knew that even without my magic, I would rise far above you."

Petunia couldn't handle it and slapped her nephew in the face. The boy looked at her disbelievingly, "Are you seriously saying that what I said was untrue? Considering the way, you just reacted by hitting a child is proof enough of what your nature truly is. I am going to Hogwarts and that's final."

The elder woman glared at him, "I'm still not getting you to go to that school. Oh, my sister was just like you. She got her letter and disappeared, forgetting about us, about me, in favour of that freak boy. My parents were so proud to have a witch in the family, but I saw what she was, a freak. Then she met the Potter boy, got herself blown up, and we were saddled with you. And you were such a freak, even when you were a boy. Always too knowing, too smart, too freaky. The moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew that you were as much of a freak as your mother."

"So, all of this, was just because you were jealous of your sister? You knew that I was a wizard for so long, and you just thought that it would just disappear in time. You knew that this was coming, that my letter is coming, just like you know that I am leaving."

Petunia actually growled, "Like hell, I'm letting you."

"Well, it's not like I have to do anything. I have an idea that if I don't show up, the school will just send wizards to get me, adult ones that know what they're doing. Are you going to yell at them too?"

The woman paled in fear, realizing that she really wasn't going to get out of this, "But you can tell them that you refuse. You can tell them to go away."

"And why would I do that?"

"I'm your aunt, your guardian…"

Harry glared at her and raised his voice for the first time in this fight, "You are nothing to me, and you know it. Just like I am nothing to you. Oh, I would have taken your input if you so much as pretended to be slightly maternal towards me. But you're not, are you? You treated me like I was barely more than dirt, like an obligation, not a nephew. Is it that surprising that I am washing my hands of you the moment I could."

"I knew it," she bellowed, "I knew that the moment you would get your cursed letter, you would leave us behind as Lily left me behind."

"This has absolutely nothing to do with magic. Trust me, I've been planning on leaving the moment I could. I know when I'm unwanted in this house. This might be your home, but it was never mine. The moment it was legally possible, I would have left this place. This is just a way to leave earlier. Think of it this way, you will barely see me for a couple of months a year, and if I can arrange anything, you will never see me again. Wasn't that your deepest wish, aunt?"

Petunia's eyes were glistening, "You can't. You're Lily's child."

"And I would care if I knew the slightest detail about her. But never spoke a word of her and yelled at me when I asked. You can't hold her over me when you obviously don't care about it. Now, all I need from you are the details on how to enter the magical world, and I'll leave you be."

Yes, Harry needed as much detail about it as possible because the school was obviously under the illusion that he knew about magic, that he was a wizard. Considering how Muggleborns would have disregarded the letter as a prank, it would make sense that a professor would come to explain everything and at least demonstrate some magic to prove that Hogwarts was a real thing.

And yet, no one had come to see Harry. Everyone obviously thought that he didn't need an introduction, which should include a generic explanation as to where to get their shops. It was probably at Diagon Alley, but the boy had promised himself to not consider the stories as absolute facts. The lack of a scar on his forehead was enough proof that it wasn't infallible.

Petunia though didn't seem to be inclined to help him, "No, I'm not."

"Again, you don't do it, the wizards will be coming, and they won't be kind about it."

Harry's aunt glared at him, "You think you're so smart, aren't you?"

"I know I am smart, no matter how much you want to pretend I'm some simpleton like your oaf of a son. But this is the logical outcome, and you obviously know it. So, let's not pretend like it's about me and not about your unresolved feelings towards my dead mother, and get things going so that I leave. Just point me in the right direction and I'll be going in peace."

Petunia still didn't look like she was going to play ball and before Harry could even try to convince her, they both heard Vernon's voice and stiffened, "What's all this ruckus?"

The man entered the room, watched the letter in Harry's hand, and his crying wife and was consumed by a blind rage, "YOU LITTLE FREAK. I WILL NOT LET YOU GO TO THIS SCHOOL. I HAVE TOLERATED YOUR FREAKISHNESS, BUT THIS IS GOING TOO FAR…"

He didn't continue his rant because Harry raised his hand in panic and the obese man was telekinetically thrown at the wall and stayed frozen in the air, eyes filled with rage and fear.

Harry, not wanting to show that his uncle was by far the heaviest thing he ever telekinetically controlled, stared at him impassively, not wanting to show how much this was straining him, "I don't even know why you care about this, or even why Petunia told you if she wasn't going to even tell me about it. You're just going with the flow, accepting your wife's bitterness as a fact, and going with it. I don't care for your ignorance and brutality. Besides, Uncle, I thought you would be happy. After all, if you send me to this school, you will barely see me for more than two months a year. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

Oh, Harry had no intention of returning here, but he had no guarantee on how the wizarding world worked, so he kept it as a backup. With that said, Harry let go of Vernon and the man still glared at him but was far more subdued, "He's got a point, Petunia. We always complained about him. As long as I'm not paying for anything, I don't care what happens to the freak."

Well, that's one of them accepting. And Petunia was a very traditional housewife and would almost always submit to her husband's decision. It was disgusting to see while growing up, seeing her forcing herself to almost obey her husband just to conform to what she thinks is her ideal life of normality.

Harry was proven correct when Petunia sniffed and nodded, "Are you sure about this, Harry?"

The boy nodded, "Yes. It's time we go our separate ways. You all don't like me, and I don't like you. I am going to where I belong since you made it very clear that I didn't belong here."

Oh, Harry had an idea of why she was so conflicted. In her own narrative of her life, she made herself hate the magic that she was denied, but she still loved her sister, even after they lived different lives. Harry was proof of this paradox. She wanted nothing to do with the magic she still longed for, which Harry was born with. And yet she didn't want the only thing she had of her sister to leave her, hence why she didn't want Harry to go away.

That's all speculation, of course, and a mix of Harry's experience with the woman, and what he knows from the stories, but it made sense. Petunia Dursley's motivations were transparent. She hid in her own illusion of being the perfect housewife, in the perfect house, with the perfect neighbours. It was how she dealt with her lack of magic. And Harry was the bug in the system, so to speak.

Resigned, the elder woman nodded, "Fine, we'll both take you there today on the condition that you'll make arrangements for yourself until next summer."

Harry nodded, satisfied by their decision, "Thank you, Aunt Petunia."

The two adults left the room and Harry took a deep breath and relaxed. This came out of nowhere, but he got what he wanted from the Dursleys. It was now the time for his life to truly start, to join his true people, his true society, as a wizard.

This was the beginning of his journey, and he was excited. He was going to learn magic, actual wand waving magic. He was going to discover this world, unearth its secrets and rise to the top. He was going to start by finding out what happened to Voldemort and his parents. He needed to know what was different from the stories and this was a good way to start.

Although from what Petunia told him, his parents seemed to be dead in this life as well. He still didn't know for sure, and he sure as well wasn't going to ask the woman after their fight. Oh, he might have been harsh in their argument, but he wasn't really wrong about it. Petunia and Vernon had done their best to alienate and ignore him. They shouldn't be surprised that he wanted to get out of a house where even Dudley could tell Harry wasn't wanted. No matter what Petunia's relationship was with her sister, the way she treated him was wrong, and she had what she said coming.

It's not like it mattered now. Because this was the start of Harry's magical journey, and he couldn't wait for it to properly begin.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 7: The Alley

28th July 1991, Privet Drive, Surrey

No matter what Petunia's relationship was with her sister, the way she treated him was wrong, and she had what she said coming.

It's not like it mattered now. Because this was the start of Harry's magical journey, and he couldn't wait for it to properly begin.

For the first time in a while, Harry thought that luck seemed to be on his side. Petunia was free to give him a rise to Diagon alley. She revealed the name of the alley after he asked where he was supposed to get his school things. Vernon had to go to work, and luckily Dudley was invited to spend the day with his friend Piers, leaving Petunia able to drive him to London.

It was funny how Petunia still remembered the road to the Alley decades after she had last been there. If that wasn't proof that she was still secretly envious of magic, nothing was. Still, the letter was very vague on how to get there, which means that it was sent either to people who already know, or a professor was supposed to personally come and explain it to Muggleborn. Things didn't look good for him so far, but he would reserve his judgement until later.

For the hundredth time that day, the young wizard took a look at the second piece of parchment that held the required school supplies needed.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Uniform:

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

Set Books:

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other Equipment:

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

Harry hoped with all his heart that his parents left him enough money to buy all these supplies, even then, Hogwarts was supposed to have funds for people that can't afford schools. From the looks of it, he was going to need to go to a bookstore, a clothes store, a wand store, a potions store, and whatever the place was where they could buy a telescope. Maybe he could go to a pet store if he has enough money.

But first, he needed to get to the alley. Time flew on, and before too long, Harry found himself being driven by his aunt in London. They arrived in mid-day in front of some dirty pub which had the name, 'The Leaky Cauldron'. Huh, so that's accurate from the book too?

Before he could leave, he looked up at his aunt and spoke up, "Thank you, Aunt Petunia."

His aunt released a sob, "tell me, Harry. Have I been this horrible to you?"

The young man shook his head, "You could have done worse, been worse, but you never tried. Are you surprised that I'm leaping at a chance in this new world?"

Petunia shook her head, "No, I suppose I'm not. Your mother would have been proud of you Harry."

Harry responded with an awkward, "Thank you." He didn't know what else to say. He knew nothing about Lily Potter. Even in the stories, she was barely mentioned outside of her being a redhead and having green eyes, there's very little known about her at all. Petunia never mentioned her, and Harry had learnt that in this life, he would need to rely only on himself to survive. The Dursleys had taught him that.

Petunia was practically sobbing when she spoke up, "Goodbye, Harry."

"Goodbye," he answered softly.

Harry left the car and entered the pub. It didn't look like much from the outside, and the inside wasn't any better. It wasn't particularly clean or lively. Although, that's probably because it was a pub, and it was noon on a weekday. Honestly, everyone looked shady.

Harry was intimidated, and there was no shame in admitting it. He was lost in a world that was new to him, and so, he chose to do the simple thing and ask a question. In his last life, Harry understood the value of asking the right questions. And so, he walked to the bartender and asked, "Excuse me, Sir?"

Immediately, the man brightened up, "I assume you're here to get your Hogwarts supply?"

Harry nodded, "I'm sorry, but Professor McGonagall told me that this was the entrance to the alley. Can you tell me the way?"

The bartender gave him a warm smile, "Oh, don't worry about it. I get it dozens of times in the summer. It's practically a tradition now. I'm Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry did his best to return the smile and followed the bartender as he motioned the back. With a practised motion, he tapped one of the bricks three times with his wand. Immediately, the wall started to morph into a large archway towards what seemed like a crowded street.

It was the first piece of magic Harry had ever seen that wasn't his own, and it was amazing. It was nice to have visual confirmation that none of this was in his head, that it wasn't some hopeful ideals that he made up in his head.

"Welcome," said Tom, "to Diagon Alley."

The man was visibly smiling at the awed look on his face, and Harry blushed in embarrassment, "Tom, can you tell me where the bank is? The professor told me to meet her there."

"Oh, that's no trouble. Gringotts is at the end of the road. Just keep walking straight and you'll see it. It's a big white building made of marble."

Harry thanked the bartender and started walking around the alley. From the looks of it, the currency was the same as the stories. The big gold coins were Galleons, the silver ones were Sickles, and the small bronze ones were Knuts.

Although he didn't have any money, Harry was still very curious as to what a magical shopping district looked like. It was surprisingly normal. Sure, the buildings just looked structurally wrong and were probably held up by magic, but the shops had windows demonstrating their products. There were salesmen all over the street advertising their shops and offers. There were floating advertisement pieces all over the street for one shop or another.

Harry looked down the street to find the shops that had his required supplies. He already found what was probably the potions store, the sign showed 'Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver, Self-Stirring, and Collapsible', in the store called the 'Brewery'. He also found the pet store called 'Eeylops Owl Emporium'.

He passed by the broom store and so many others. It was fascinating, to find such marvels on display. It must look so common for the people living there.

Harry didn't take long until Harry found himself staring at the giant white building. Where the alley was chaotic and disorganized, the building stood imposing. It was far larger than any shop and Tom hadn't wrong when he said that Harry wouldn't miss it.

The young wizard tried to discreetly observe the Goblin guards as he walked up the stairs to the entrance of the bank. It was his first time seeing a Goblin and Harry had to admit that they were very intimidating. They were shorter than wizards, with pointy ears, even pointier teeth, and long fingers.

Harry did his best not to stare and instead chose to focus on the inscription engraved on the bank door:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

Well, that's ominous. Harry had no plans on breaking into this bank, although it was funny how this was practically a written threat by the Goblins in the middle of a wizarding alley.

Harry did his best to repress a shudder as he entered the large hall. Hundreds of Goblins sat on high stools behind counters, either writing with their quills or examining gems or gold. There were no signs regarding where he should do, and none of the Goblins looked free. There wasn't even a line of wizards anywhere, which was curious. And so, Harry approached the nearest one, who happened to be examining a large ruby.

He stood waiting for a few minutes until the Goblin finished looking at the ruby, scribbled down a few details and looked down at him, "Yes?"

"Hello, I was told that my family had a vault here. They died when I was younger, and I was raised outside the magical world. I don't know what I'm supposed to do to access it."

"Did they leave you a key?" the goblin asked.

Harry shrugged, "Nothing, as far as I know. I was raised in the muggle world and just found out about it. I'm practically a Muggleborn."

"What did your professor tell you?"

"Nothing. No one came to tell me anything. I just got my Hogwarts letter and my aunt drove me to the alley, that's it."

The goblin asked, "And do you have a magical guardian?"

Harry shook his head, "I don't know what that is. I've only ever lived in the muggle world."

"So, you're a ward of the state. This is slightly complicated. Can you tell me your name, child?" The goblin asked.

"Harry Potter."

The goblin nodded and opened a book, "Ah, the Potters. They do have an account here. This is not my department, but I'll send you to the account management offices. They should help you."

The goblin then jumped down and motioned Harry to follow him. Choosing to follow the teller, they walked up to one of the stairs until they reached one of the offices. Harry couldn't read what was written on the plaque on it. And the Goblin teller knocked and walked in towards an older goblin wearing much distinguished clothing. They spoke in some weird language that sounded like a mixture of snorting and spitting than an actual language. But that was their culture and Harry wouldn't condemn it. It was just weird.

The young goblin then exited the room, leaving him with the older Goblin in the office, "Mr Potter, I assume."

Harry nodded, "Yes."

"My name is Bragkor, I am the goblin in charge of frozen accounts. Your case is quite peculiar, Mr Potter."

"How so?"

The Goblin grinned, "Well, even with the rise of orphans in the last decade because of the war with the dark lord, the ministry had done its best to redistribute them around across many families. It was a bid for peace, but you're the only one who had relatives only outside the magical world, while no magical family made a bid for your adoption. Since you were aware of the magical world and thus have no magical guardian, you are technically a ward of the ministry."

"So, I need to go to the ministry just to have access to my gold."

The Goblin's smile widened, "No, it seems that your parents named you their heir in the traditional way. It's a rather old-fashioned way to preserve an inheritance to their line by bringing their heir to Gringotts and naming him the heir by blood."

Bragkor then opened one of the folders and released a piece of parchment that had his name, Harry James Potter, on the top. He grabbed a dagger and pricked Harry's blood with it before he could even react. The moment a drop of blood touched the parchment, the paper glowed gold.

The Goblin gave him a bloodthirsty smile, "It seems like you are in fact, Harry Potter. That's good; now we can proceed."

---

Chapter 8: Shopping

28th July 1991, Diagon Alley

Harry was somewhat surprised when the goblin's somewhat hostile attitude disappeared seconds later. He looked at Bragkor with his eyes wide, "What do I need to do now?"

"You need to sign this," he gave him a stack of parchment, "it states that you have received your key. Your account will be unfrozen, and you will be able to enter your vault. Do not lose your key, its replacement will cost you 50 galleons."

After the young wizard signed the documents, he was then dismissed from the manager's office and given a small gold key. He was then escorted by a Goblin called Griphook to the depth of the Gringotts' tunnels.

The ride was informative. For all the goblin's tone was rude, he still answered Harry's question. It turns out that Gringotts did not involve themselves in wizarding affairs, so that means they don't do inheritance tests, they don't care about the Wizengamot, and they rarely even know what is inside the vaults they guard. They only have logs of the access to the vault, nothing less, nothing more. They didn't care about wizarding properties or dwellings. They only entered a vault and repossessed what's inside if it remained dormant for a century, so yeah, claiming ancient secret vaults filled with mountains of gold isn't really a thing.

As far as they are concerned, there are two types of vaults. Security measures aside, there is a monetary vault, which only contains Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. You couldn't add anything else aside from these coins, and you could even use bank drafts – which worked kinda like checks in the muggle world – to spend money, to avoid having a large amount of gold physically with you. These accounts were monitored by the Goblins in case of inconsistencies. This was the vault Harry had.

However, there was another account, an artefact vault, where the users can put anything inside, be it magical artefacts or just normal gold. They were far more expensive and were usually only used by very old families that hid artefacts down there.

Unfortunately for Harry, the monetary vault was the only thing he inherited. There was no family vault to be unlocked during his majority, there were no secret grimoires, no super artefacts. All he had left from his parents was a small pile of gold, around ten thousand galleons.

It was a rather generous sum, but from the sound of it, it didn't even come close to what some families had. Still, it was good enough for Harry who never had any money of his own to use. Although, when Harry asked Griphook about the conversion to pounds to get an idea of how much he was worth, the Goblin snarled in anger.

Apparently, it was a very sensitive topic for Goblins. The ministry of magic had controlled the price of wizarding currencies to muggle ones. While the average galleon was worth over a hundred pounds, the ministry forced the goblins to sell it for five. It was apparently to allow an easier integration for Muggleborn, who wouldn't be able to afford their school supplies otherwise. Thankfully, this rate was only available to students that are still attending Hogwarts and they were only allowed to exchange a hundred galleons a year, to stop people from abusing the system.

Still, Harry had around a million pounds in the bank, and that was secure enough for him to live on. He could now technically move out of the Dursleys without worrying too much about it.

Alas, all things came to an end, and Harry's journey to the depth of Gringotts was finished. The young wizard just grabbed around fifty galleons and brought them in one of the complementary expanded pouches made by Gringotts and left the bank with a smile on his face.

Now that he had money, it was time to search for his school supplies.

First things first, he needed a school trunk to put all his shopping inside. Harry sure as hell wasn't going to walk around with countless bags around him. He ended up buying a nice trunk that was slightly expanded and had the standard security enchantments, which was the standard for Hogwarts students. It was nice to see that he didn't really need to ask about it much, just buying the normal Hogwarts supplies since he had no idea what he would need.

If he was honest, Harry was tempted to buy a multi compartment trunk, which was worth forty galleons. But it was ludicrously expensive for a first purchase in the magical world.

In the end, Harry simply paid the five galleons for the trunk and left. His next destination was Flourish and Blotts, a bookstore. There were already bundles of books, one for every year at Hogwarts. Harry picked up the first-year bundle and the introduction to the magical world bundle. He ignored the sneering looks he got when he bought the latter. It was a clear sign that he was new to the magical world.

He didn't care for it, Harry was an academic at heart, and he would not be ashamed of what he was and where he came from. Still, he would return to explore the books later.

What did make him pause was the fact that there was an entire section of children's books dedicated to the 'Adventures of Neville Longbottom'.

Browsing the books, Harry could say with absolute certainty that not a single thing could happen. Neville Longbottom was a child, and even Merlin as a child would not have been able to kill a dragon singlehandedly. What was interesting was the fact that Neville Longbottom was the boy who lived. It seems that Voldemort chose to attack Samhain in 1981. He killed Alice and Frank Longbottom and tried to kill young Neville, but to no avail. The boy was raised by his grandmother and was rarely seen in public. There were no mentions of Harry's parents in any of the articles.

Speaking of Voldemort, the stories really understated how close the Dark Lord was to invade magical Britain. The war had caused the death of over ten per cent of the entire wizarding population in Britain, and he was stopped by a magical fluke. If he hadn't attacked the Longbottoms, he would have won in a couple of years.

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. He wasn't the chosen one, the child of the prophecy. He didn't have a dark lord gunning for him, he wouldn't have the life-threatening adventures from the stories. He would just learn magic and live his life without too much trouble.

Things were already starting well. A smiling Harry just put the books in his trunk and left the store. He then followed in by going to the potions shop and bought a cauldron, a set of crystal phials, and a set of brass scales. He wasn't required to buy any ingredients which made sense since he had no idea how to store them, nor how much damage they could cause.

He then managed to buy a telescope from one of the astronomy stores. It looked like an antique, but there were a lot of enchantments layered on top of it, making it superior to any muggle made telescope.

Finally, Harry only had to buy his clothes and his wand. He walked around the alley until he found Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Harry was welcomed by an old witch was smiled at him pleasantly, "Hogwarts, dear?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, Madam."

"Good. I have the basic templates ready. Wait there until I take your measurements. There's another young man being fitted right now."

Harry nodded, showing his understanding, and walked to the back of the shop. In there, a boy with a pale, pointed face, and a ludicrous amount of hair gel, was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes.

If that wasn't Draco Malfoy, Harry would eat his hat. The boy brightened when he saw Harry, "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Well, Maybe-Draco was obviously a spoilt brat that was trying to brag about his parents. Harry could see the seamstress repressing rolling her eyes at his behaviour.

Draco, then looked at Harry questioningly, "Do you have a broom of your own?"

"No, I don't," Harry replied.

"Do you play Quidditch?" the boy tried to ask again. Harry could see in his eyes that he was trying to make a friend but didn't know how to. Honestly, the boy chose the wrong person to try, since he barely has the social skills of a tin man.

Choosing to humour the boy, "Not really. I don't really like the sport."

The boy gasped in outrage as if Harry had insulted his entire family line, "How can you not like Quidditch? It's the best thing in the whole world!"

Harry shrugged, "Just don't understand the appeal, I suppose. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind flying, but I just don't like the sport."

Still looking outraged by my statement, the boy replied, "You're all mad, that's all I'll say about it. What about houses, where are you hoping to get to, really."

"My parents were both Gryffindors," Harry said, "but I don't really care where I end up, to be honest."

"Really? You don't care which house to go to? You'll spend seven years of your life with your housemates. It's a big commitment. My family was always in Slytherin so that's where I'll be going. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I'd ask my father to transfer me to Durmstrung. He's friends with the headmaster there."

Harry snorted at the boy's attitude, "Hufflepuff is a perfectly good house. Loyalty and hard work are admirable qualities that are valued everywhere."

Before the boy could reply, the seamstress looked at the blonde and asked, "That's you done, my dear."

The boy turned and left the store while telling Harry that he would see him at Hogwarts. Harry sighed in exasperation and murmured to himself, "And I thought Dudley was spoilt."

Madam Malkin must have heard him because she snorted in laughter, "You'll see far more of his kind at Hogwarts."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Harry muttered back.

It didn't take long for the seamstress to take his measures. With a wave of her wand, Harry was accosted by flying tapes and measures, and in a couple of minutes later, the witch returned with his school uniform with her.

Harry was pleasantly surprised by the uniform. He expected it to be a black sheet with sleeves for him to wear. But no, there was a uniform with trousers, a shirt, a vest, and a black cloak that looked kinda cool when he walked while wearing it.

As for the hat, the seamstress had explained to him that it's the most traditional and only ever used during feasts or formal occasions. Even the winter cloak actually looked cool, made of very smooth fur that had warming charms on it.

In the end, Harry left the store happy with his purchase and put the uniforms in his trunk. With that done, he only had to get his wand and maybe even a pet. Magical animals were very smart in the stories, perhaps one of them would be a suitable companion.

But that was for later, Harry decided to first get his wand, which meant that had to go to Ollivanders.

---

AN: I decided to upload two chapters a day instead of just one from now on.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 9: The Wand

28th July 1991, Diagon Alley

In the end, Harry left the store happy with his purchase and put the uniforms in his trunk. With that done, he only had to get his wand and maybe even a pet. Magical animals were very smart in the stories, perhaps one of them would be a suitable companion.

But that was for later, Harry decided to first get his wand, which meant that had to go to Ollivanders.

To be honest, Harry was looking forwards to getting his wand. The promise of casting actual spells, not just the weak wandless magic that he's been using. The moment he gets his wand, his identity as a wizard would be confirmed, for him and for everyone.

Unfortunately, Harry hadn't seen any wand shops walking around the alley so far, so, he asked one of the store clerks, "Hello, I'm looking for the wand shop. Do you know where it is, please?"

Harry had to say that giving them puppy eyes was more than enough to get the woman he asked to soften her eyes and immediately tell him the directions to Ollivanders.

Walking around, the young wizard noticed that there were no wand shops except for Ollivanders. Harry hadn't even mentioned going to Ollivanders, only that he was going to buy a wand, but the woman had immediately assumed that she was going to this store. This meant that either Ollivanders ran them out of business, or the store's quality of wands was so much higher that they never even tried.

Because it didn't make sense in any other case. Wands were everyday objects used by every single wizard or witch in the nation, and yet there wasn't any competition for Ollivanders. The store had a complete monopoly on one of the most vital resources in the country.

The shop itself didn't look particularly luxurious, especially considering its status as the only wand shop in the continent. It was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

Honestly, Harry didn't really care about the state of the shop. It seemed to be something characteristic of the wizarding world. The Leaky Cauldron was the first impression Muggleborns had on the wizarding world, and yet it looked like a dingy dirty pub. This was weird because cleaning enchantments and repairing charms seemed to be taught to all students at Hogwarts.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as he stepped inside. It was a very tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which he certainly didn't want to sit on to wait. Harry had thousands of questions in his head but chose to stare at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling.

It was odd and hard to describe, but Harry was able to feel them. It was like every box – which probably contained a wand – had a heartbeat. And yet each one was slightly different than the other, like having a different melody. There were a few distinct ones, one that was very loud and fast, resembling more like a drum than a heartbeat. Another had a soothing and somewhat whimsical melody that made Harry relax without even noticing.

Harry stood there, staring at the symphony of wands. He always felt a little pull whenever he was close to any magical item. But it was mostly characterized by goosebumps, not whatever this was.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. He had been so lost in what he was feeling to notice the man sneak behind him. He turned reflexively and saw an old man standing before him. His wide, pale eyes shone like silvery moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, and made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry and continued, "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and is excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it, it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Dear God that man was creepy. Harry found it hard to believe that this man interacted with all eleven years old wizards in the country when getting a wand. He should know not to act like a creep.

Still, this man was the only person who recognized Harry and even spoke about his parents, and he was curious as to what happened to them, "Did you know my parents?"

"Briefly. Every single wizard and witch going to Hogwarts comes to this shop eventually. Even those who foolishly use legacy wands eventually learn to come here to get one of their own."

"Do you know what happened to them?" Harry asked.

The wand maker stiffened and answered, "What happened on that fateful day was a mystery for everyone. It was a few days after the defeat of He-who-must-not-be-named, and the entire nation was celebrating his downfall. However, a few of his loyal servants decided to attack Godric's Hollows to find their master. Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Rabastan Lestrange gathered a fighting force of over two hundred dark wizards and creatures and attacked your parents. No one knows what happened afterwards, only that all that remained of Godric's Hollows was a field of flames. There were no traces of James and Lily Potter, no traces of the Lestranges, only a small babe in the middle of a ruined cottage, you. Godric's Hollows is a historically significant place for our civilization. It's the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor, the home of countless magical families over the centuries. On that day, it's not just your parents that perished, but it was the lives of thousands of people, wizards, witches or muggles, that lived in this village. It's one of biggest tragedies in recent times, one that very few wish to remember."

By the end of it, Mr Ollivander was staring far behind Harry, as if he was lost in a distant memory.

Harry, though, was flabbergasted by the story. He expected his parents to be dead, that was a given, but to be the only survivor of an attack that destroyed an entire village was not something that he ever thought about.

It made sense why people chose not to adopt him in the wizarding world, and that the ministry left him at his aunt's doorstep. They thought that he was a dark omen, a sign of future misfortune, and Harry couldn't truly blame them. Perhaps he would have ended up in the hands of someone who would have released their frustration on him, cursing him for the loss they experienced. Harry would need to read more about it later. But Mr Ollivander gave him a place to start from.

Finally, Mr Ollivander shook his head and said, "Let's not speak more of such a painful subject and focus on you. Let's see, which is your wand arm?"

Assuming that the wandmaker was speaking about which hand he write with, Harry raised his right hand. Mr Ollivander just grabbed his arms and started measuring Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. It was so fucking weird.

As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand is primarily made of a wood that has been alchemically altered, and a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We commonly use unicorn hairs, phoenix feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons, since they are usually the elements that are the more suited for wizards to cast wands. However, sometimes, people provide their own cores with which they share an intimate connection. Magic remembers, Mr Potter, make sure you do not forget that. But those cases are usually curse breakers that need new wands and have killed various magical beasts along the way."

"Are certain wands better than others?" Harry asked, curious.

"No. The process is the same. Bonding with a wand means that the two of you are compatible magically. It will never be perfect, but slowly as you start using it, the wand will attune to your magic until it allows you to perfectly control it. If a wizard uses a wand that is unsuited to his magic, his spells will simply be weaker. In the end, a wizard's strength depends entirely on the combination between their magic and their wand, not the wand itself. You could use Merlin's wand, and it would be nothing more than a stick in your hand if it's not compatible with your magic. Although, when a wizard defeats a magical beast, their magic bonds with the body, which makes any wand made with its remains already connected to the wizard, which almost always guarantees that it would be a match and that the acclimation period would be extremely small for the wand and wizard to synchronize. In the end, the magic comes from the wizard, not the wand."

Well, that was proof that Ollivander knew what he was talking about and guaranteed that Harry would not seek out another more 'powerful' wand. After finishing his impromptu lecture, the wandmaker stopped measuring Harry's nostril and went to grab a box, "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Cedar and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."

Harry grabbed the wand and felt its melody. It was loud and somewhat volatile, it seemed upbeat but very consistent, and very loyal. Immediately, Harry knew that it wasn't his wand. He didn't have anyone to be loyal to, no matter how much he wished he had.

As commanded, Harry swished his wand and a glass vase shattered into pieces. The wandmaker snatched the wand from the young wizard and gave him another one, "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try…"

Again, Harry felt its song, and it was too upbeat, too extroverted. It was hard to put it into words and the moment he touched the wand various shelves exploded. Yes, Harry was an introvert, in both of his lives, but this was not his wand.

He tilted his head and looked at the wandmaker, "This wand is too extroverted, do you have something that's a little less so?"

Garrick Ollivander blinked, "How did you know that?"

Harry shrugged, "It's hard to explain. It's like every wand has a song. It's very beautiful."

The young boy wasn't even lying, the melodies were amazing. They were like personalities given form, and when they synergized with other wands, they made some beautiful songs.

"Such sensitivity to magic, at a young age no less," the wandmaker murmured. He then spoke up, "See me after you graduate, my boy, and I will see if you have what it takes to be a wand maker."

The young Potter nodded, "Thank you, Mr Ollivander."

The wandmaker waved him off and kept on giving him wands. A lot of explosions later, Ollivanders gave Harry a beautiful wand with a cloaked handle and spiralled shaft. The wand was light, almost white, and Harry knew that it was special, "Pine and Phoenix feather, a rather unusual combination."

The wand's song was so familiar to Harry. It was a song of loneliness, of creativity, it simply to understand, to know what was underneath the underneath. It was a wand seeking discovery and creation, and Harry was a scholar at heart. Before he could even touch it, Harry knew that it was his. It was just too familiar to his own existence. Harry never thought that there would be a song that could describe his entire personality this perfectly, and yet he was surprised by the accuracy of the song.

When the young wizard touched his wand – because it was his wand - he felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of blue and green sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."

This didn't sound good, "Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. And yet, this is the first time I ever sold a wand I did not make. My grandfather made that wand, centuries ago, and I remember my father saying that he was quite obsessed with finding its wielder. I just find it curious that after so long, after hundreds of thousands of tries, this stubborn wand finally found a companion."

Harry let out a smile and nodded. He paid the seven Galleons for his wand and left pondering. He didn't care too much about it because he had his wand now. He could feel it thrum in his hand and couldn't be happier for it. Because Harry Potter was a wizard, and he was certain that he would surpass all who came before him.

---

Chapter 10: Hogwarts Preparation

1st September 1991, Diagon Alley

Harry woke up in his room in the Leaky cauldron, excited for what would have been his first year at magic school. He simply had to get to the Hogwarts Express in King's Cross in a couple of hours and he would be off to Hogwarts.

After getting his wand, Harry made his way to a potion shop and bought a complete set of ageing potions, and some adult clothes from a secondhand shop – he pretended it was a gift for his elder brother. He took a sip of his ageing potion, reading the label very carefully, and was able to rent a room in the Leaky Cauldron without too many questions, where he left his trunk and all his shopping.

The young wizard had decided to read the introduction manuals for Muggleborns before continuing his shopping and exploration of the alley. He thought it was better to at least know enough about the magical world to pretend like he belonged than be treated like an outsider for asking dumb questions.

He was proven right, of course, when he realized how much things could have gone wrong when he bought his potions. The young Potter was lucky that ageing potions were not that restricted since adolescent wizards tended to use them to sneak into pubs to drink alcohol. Their use was technically restricted, but no one followed them because minors would end up brewing it themselves, which can seriously hurt them.

So, these potions were standardized and were often bought in bulk. They were perfected so there wouldn't be any side effects, but things could have gone wrong. Each potion master almost always has a twist on a potion. Sometimes, they can trade in their efficiency for partial use, sometimes you would need to drink the entire dose for them to work. It was very delicate, and Harry could have hurt himself if he tried to use certain types of potions, thinking them harmless.

As for the government, according to the books, it was surprisingly modern. Apparently, there was no such thing as Lords and Ladies in modern magical Britain, and whoever does that was often mocked. Sure, a few wizards were ennobled after remarkable service and given lands, but that was before the statute of secrecy, where the two worlds were almost entirely separated. The Muggle Kings and Queens have no words for what happens in magical Britain, and the wizarding nobility gave up their lands and titles for the sake of peace. In exchange, every former noble was given a seat in the Wizengamot to their family. However, if after a generation no one claimed a seat, the ministry would take it and a representative would be elected every seven years.

Even now, from the 49 total seats, only 22 were inherited ones. 13 were given to the heads of the most important departments in the ministry, one was given to the minister and his undersecretary, and finally the rest were elected by the population. Harry didn't see any mentions of the Potter family, so he assumed that they were ennobled, to begin with.

However, while there weren't any houses and so on, there was still a certain prestige in being from an old family. These families tend to have rules of their own, many secrets and magic. The books didn't specify how they worked but did mention something about 'Family Magic' which they only asked as a warning not to ask about them, as it can be considered to be very impolite and could easily be considered a slight. Harry would research on the matter in Hogwarts which should have the biggest library in the country.

Speaking of Hogwarts, it had a somewhat ambiguous title. There were no tuition fees to encourage Muggleborns to enter, and so it was paid almost entirely by the ministry, which increased the taxes. Apparently, this was decided after the Statute of secrecy was set up to stop any Muggleborn from accidentally revealing the magical world.

Not that the statute wasn't powerful. Muggles just one day decide that magic wasn't real. There was no explanation on how the statute was created, only that it worked like a notice-me-not charm towards muggles. It wasn't that powerful, but it was very wide and strong enough to stop accidental magic from being noticed. Nevertheless, the strength of the Statute had some downsides, which as the severity of the punishments for breaking it. If a wizard or witch uses magic in front of a muggle and is being noticed they could be arrested and fined heavily, but if their intentions were malicious in nature, and they wanted to purposefully break the statute, then they could even be executed. It was a harsh law, but it was still a reality. Magic was strong, absurdly so, but revealing its existence to muggles will only lead to war and death.

With his reading done and enough understanding of the wizarding world, Harry chose to explore the castle. He had forgotten to buy his writing supplies the last time and so he bought a lot of parchment, and various binders to keep things together. It turns out that wizards like using antiquated things because they weren't as processed, which means that they could be more easily enchanted. Parchment could hold spells, like making writing neat or correcting mistakes, and quills could actually write on their own if they could be enchanted. The less modified an item was, the more layers of spells it could handle, which is why no one ever bothers to enchant transfigured or transmuted elements, because they are very liable to fail. Magic remembers, after all.

Harry simply bought a few self-inking quills, and he was ready for the year. However, he chose to pass by Eeylops Owl Emporium and get himself an owl. To be perfectly honest, Harry was a dog person so he wouldn't get a cat on principle, and he definitely had no interest in buying a toad. An owl was far more practical and useful, which is why he went there.

The store was absurdly dark because owls were nocturnal in nature, but in the end, Harry exited with a nice snowy owl that he named Hedwig. Oh, he tried other names, but she seemed to prefer that one. Perhaps it was fate, but the owl was very intelligent, and Harry often found himself talking to her as if she could understand him. He really needed a friend, didn't he? It's not that he didn't like Hedwig, it just wasn't the same as talking with someone who can, well, talk. Still, Hedwig was beautiful and intelligent, and he quickly grew to love her. He rarely ever put her in the cage, and he even saved her a piece of bacon every day for breakfast.

As for Harry, he chose to spoil himself somewhat. He bought himself an entire wardrobe of clothes, not wanting to wear the secondhand ones that the Dursleys had given him. He didn't buy it all at once, of course, instead, he would visit a clothing store every few days and pick out one or two outfits. He didn't want to make a scene by making an absurdly large purchase for a child. Even then, Harry didn't leave Diagon Alley to buy his clothes, choosing to stick with wizarding fashion to not stand out too much – not that it was too different from the muggle ones.

Harry spent his days exploring the Alley, seeing what the wizarding world had to offer. It was surprising that Fortescue Ice-Cream Parlour ended up being his most fruitful one. Well, the food was delicious, of course, but Florean Fortescue was by far a wealth of information on the current state of magical Britain. He had welcomed the young wizard with open arms, who had confessed to having been raised in the muggle world.

Well, it turned out that the shop owner was actually a history buff and knew quite a bit about magical families. Apparently, the Potter family wasn't all that old, barely eight centuries old, and had started from a famous potions master that had invented many remedies. They mostly took to themselves and didn't involve themselves in politics, choosing to sell their potions. That was, until Charlus Potter, Harry's grandfather, had chosen to join the army to fight against Grindelwald. He was quite the commander until he and his wife died from Dragon Pox a few years before Harry himself was born. Harry's father, James Potter, had been an Auror in the ministry and had made quite the name for himself before his death. Sadly, Florean had no stories about him or his mother, but it was better than nothing.

Outside of this, Harry did spend a lot of time in the library, skimming the books. As expected, there were no books on wizarding traditions. In the same way, there aren't step by step guides to act like an English muggle. Since there weren't any huge red flags in the Muggleborn introduction books, they should not be very difficult to learn.

The past summer was the best Harry had ever had, and the young wizard was looking forward to learning magic. Oh, he had read all of his schoolbooks but chose not to buy any more, as to not waste money considering there's a large library waiting for him at Hogwarts. Although, the young Potter did not attempt to cast any magic, in case of an accident.

Yeah, Harry discovered that the Trace was active the moment a wizard or witch got their wands, but the reason why they are only triggered in the muggle world was that magical parents were expected to take care of their children at home, and so could reverse any magical accident that might occur. Muggleborns did not have such luxury which was why casting magic was prohibited. A magical accident in a muggle neighbourhood could be very serious, after all.

Harry simply chose to not cast any magic because he was a beginner and could seriously cause an accident. Don't get him wrong, the moment he enters Hogwarts, he would cast magic like a loon, but until then, he would stay away from dangerous magic.

Alas, this was not the time to wallow back. Harry had to get to the Hogwarts Express. And so, he walked out of his room after putting Hedwig in her cage, went to the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace, bought a pinch of floo powder for a sickle and bellowed out, "King's Cross Station!" and disappeared in a green flame.

The young wizard appeared in a designated floo station in King's Cross and walked towards platform number nine, and slowly walked through the hidden entrance between it and platform number ten. He was then met with a large red and gold train that had the words 'Hogwarts Express' written on it.

Realizing that he was over an hour early, Harry simply chose to enter the train and wait in a compartment, which he decided to lock with his wandless magic, his introvertive nature winning out slightly. Plus, he didn't really want to make friends with people in different houses than the ones he would end up in, considering the rumoured animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin, it was better to not be invested in a friendship that could turn sour very quickly.

And so, the young wizard released his lovely owl, which stood on the seat next to him, and pulled up a fiction book that he had bought from Flourish and Blotts. He was curious as to how magical literature held up against the classics, and it was funny how a fiction novel ended up teaching him more about the everyday wizarding world than all of the Muggleborn introduction books combined. Still, Harry felt he was ready to officially enter the magical world, and he immersed himself in the book about the adventures of a young curse breaker in an old Egyptian ruin.

 

[Silveraith]

And so, the young wizard released his lovely owl, which stood on the seat next to him, and pulled up a fiction book that he had bought from Flourish and Blotts. He was curious as to how magical literature held up against the classics, and it was funny how a fiction novel ended up teaching him more about the everyday wizarding world than all of the Muggleborn introduction books combined. Still, Harry felt he was ready to officially enter the magical world, and he immersed himself in the book about the adventures of a young curse breaker in an old Egyptian ruin.

Click to shrink...

This last part amused me greatly because it makes a lot of sense. Everyday things we take for granted that contribute so much to modern culture. Things you just can't teach because you never really think about it. Exposure tends to allow people to grasp at it.

Very well done story.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 11: Ride on the Express

1st September 1991, Hogwarts Express

Harry was curious as to how magical literature held up against the classics, and it was funny how a fiction novel ended up teaching him more about the everyday wizarding world than all of the Muggleborn introduction books combined. Still, Harry felt he was ready to officially enter the magical world, and he immersed himself in the book about the adventures of a young curse breaker in an old Egyptian ruin.

Fifteen minutes before the train's supposed departure, the station was almost full of people, mostly parents and siblings saying their goodbyes to students. Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness and envy. The idea that someone would actually miss him while he was away, was one of the few things that he envied about other children. He only hoped that one day he would have someone like that, someone that would love him enough to miss him.

Things had gotten a lot messier when Neville Longbottom had been seen in the station. Dozens of reporters were leaping towards the eleven-year-old boy, and it was only the threatening looks of what he assumed to be the Longbottom matriarch, that they backed off. Harry didn't see the boy who lived but he didn't particularly care about it, even if he was slightly curious as to how the boy would compare to the Neville Longbottom from the stories.

Still, it was only when the train departed that someone knocked on his compartment, trying to get in. Harry looked up and saw a dark-skinned boy his age. Assuming that the boy wanted to get inside, he stood up and discretely unlocked his compartment.

The boy had dismissed him with a glance, "You do know that locking the compartments is against the rules, don't you?"

Harry didn't verbally answer and just shrugged. The boy bristled at his reaction and asked, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"Sure," the young Potter responded.

The boy nodded politely and sat down in the seat next to him with obviously practised grace. Harry rolled his eyes at his pretentious attitude and continued his book. While Harry really wasn't the most social of creatures, he was going to invest time and effort in a friendship when they would end up in a different house, which would make it a lot harder to maintain any friendships.

It's not that it would be impossible, just that from what he had read, the competition between houses is a real one, and things could go very sour, especially considering how childish eleven-year-olds tend to be.

A few minutes in, another boy entered the compartment. Harry recognized him as Draco Malfoy who had actual goons backing him up. The two other kids were standing behind him, trying their best to look intimidating. It was one of the funniest things Harry had ever seen in his life.

They were eleven. Kids that age just weren't intimidating. Seriously, what the hell were these kids taught at home? Honestly, they resembled children trying to pretend to be mafia bosses.

Malfoy, though, didn't seem to notice the ridiculousness of the situation, "Hey, Zabini. I'm looking for Longbottom, did you see him anywhere?"

The boy shook his head, "I'm afraid not."

The blonde then looked at the Potter scion, "What about you?"

Harry just shook his head and went back to reading. The boy though wasn't satisfied, "Are you a mute or something?"

Again, Harry turned to the blonde and raised an eyebrow, "I can talk just fine."

"Then why didn't you answer me properly?"

The green-eyed boy looked at him in the eyes, "Did you understand my denial?"

"Yes, but…"

"Then, what is the problem?" Harry questioned.

The boy huffed in frustration, "It's rude…"

"Did shaking my head offend you? Do I need to worry about you being near every time I move my head?"

"No, it's not that?"

The young Potter stifled a smile, "Then, how were you offended?"

The blonde blushed in embarrassment, "I have better things to do than to bicker with an uncultured swine."

He then turned and left, taking his bodyguards with him. When he left, Harry couldn't help but snort in amusement. Annoying spoilt kids was always fun.

The Zabini boy just looked at him, flabbergasted, "How did you do that?"

"Do what exactly?"

"He never goes away, and he likes to throw his father's name around. I thought he would have told Crabbe and Goyle to beat you up or something."

Harry simply shrugged, "He does it to get a reaction, when he realized that I wasn't going to provide him one, he left. I just annoyed him into not wanting to stay there."

"Well, whatever this was, it was brilliant. I'm Zabini, by the way. Blaise Zabini of the Italian Zabinis."

Harry nodded, "Harry Potter."

He then chose to return to his book. It was far better than continuing whatever conversation the boy was trying to start. Blaise seemed to have understood that he didn't want to talk and left his devices.

Everything seemed to go quietly until a smiling, portly, woman opened the compartment, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Realizing that he was quite hungry, Harry bought a couple of sandwiches and a chocolate frog for dessert. The Potter scion had tried out a few of the sweets the wizarding world had to offer. He had quite the sweet tooth and he was always down to try out new desserts. Only that wizards seemed to interpret the idea of sweets differently. Whoever came up with Bernie Botts's Every-Flavor Beans was insane, and so were the people who actually bought it. Why would anyone make a spoilt milk-flavoured jellybean baffled Harry to the extreme. Even chocolate frogs weirded him, but their chocolate was too good for it to be an issue.

Harry slowly ate his sandwiches while still reading his book. He didn't really care about staining it, since it was just a fiction book that he probably wouldn't read again.

Again, someone chose to enter their compartment. It was a bushy haired girl with large front teeth. She practically barged into the compartment and asked, "Have any of you seen a toad? A girl called Sally Anne lost hers."

Zabini just snorted and refused to answer her. It was very rude, and the girl looked like she was about to rant at the boy, and so, Harry answered her, "I haven't. You know, you could just ask the prefects to help you instead of going through every compartment. I think they have a special room at the front of the train. They should help your friend."

The girl nodded, "I hadn't thought of that, thank you."

The witch then left as abruptly as she entered. Zabini though spoke up, "I hope I'm not in the same house as her."

Harry shrugged, "that's not for you to decide."

"Who still has frogs as pets?"

"It's probably for the frog choir," Harry explained, "I don't see any other reason to have one if this Sally-Anne wasn't planning on joining. I hear it's headed by the charms professor, who was a duelling champion when he was younger."

Harry was very surprised when he found out that toads actually had a purpose in the magical world. It wasn't a glamorous one, but the amphibians can be trained like sentient instruments to produce beautiful music there. The Hogwarts frog choir is centuries old, and seventh year student members of that club were often offered positions in the music industry.

Blaise didn't seem satisfied with my refusal to mock the girl – she must have enough self-esteem issues and Harry didn't want to pile onto them – and decided to change the subjects entirely, "So, which house are you aiming for? I'm guessing Ravenclaw."

"I don't really have a preference. What about you?"

"Slytherin. It should help me make connections when I'm older."

Harry couldn't help but snort in amusement, but Blaise seemed to take offence to that, "What's so funny?"

"It's just that you're eleven. You're not going to make political connections, and no one is going to take you seriously if you say something like that. You'll only start to benefit from it when you're older when schoolhouses won't be that much of a deal then."

The Zabini boy seemed unconcerned, "But all of the Pureblood families end up in Slytherin…"

"Then it's a tradition you're following. You're not doing it to make connections, you're doing it to fit it. Do you think that when you're older, you will just ignore three fourth of the population just because they were in different houses?"

The boy looked down and mumbled, "No."

"Then in the long term, your house really doesn't make a difference. If you want to fit in, just admit it to yourself and do it. There's nothing embarrassing about it, but don't lie to yourself by using words and terms that you won't appreciate. You're too young to 'make connections' and you know it. You're better off enjoying your youth instead of wasting it on long term plans that will never work."

"You're as old as me," Zabini protested.

"I am, but that doesn't mean that I'm wrong. I am not talking to you out of some weird political and financial interest. You're eleven and so am I. We'll have to worry about homework and exams, not political moves."

Before he could say anything, a loud voice echoed through the train, "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

The voice had woken up the sleeping Hedwig who was napping on the ceiling. The white owl squawked and screeched in indignation. Blaise had jumped at the sound, "What in Merlin's name was that?"

"This is Hedwig, and she wants you to apologize." Harry drawled back.

He was right, of course, the owl was very much glaring at the dark-skinned young man. "I am not apologizing to a bloody owl!" the boy exclaimed.

Hedwig's glare just seemed to get even more intense until the boy relented, "Fine, I'm sorry, alright?"

The owl's glare lessened and Hedwig just released a threatening bark and looked away ignoring Harry's companion.

"That's some intense owl," Blaise muttered.

Harry smirked, "She's a special one, my Hedwig. We need to change before we get to the station."

Blaise nodded and the both of them started to change into their uniforms. Harry opened his trunk and put his book inside, as well as the chocolate frog that he had forgotten to eat. After he was done changing, he even put on the ridiculous pointy hat he was forced to buy and waited for the train to stop moving.

As the train stopped, Harry noticed that Blaise was somewhat pale, and he felt guilty enough to comfort the boy, "What's wrong?"

"I'm just worried about the sorting?"

"Why would you be worried?" Harry questioned, confused.

"How can you not be? My mother didn't tell me how we're sorted, only that it's some kind of test."

Harry snorted, "Don't worry about it. You'll be fine…"

The young Potter had forgotten that other people didn't know about the sorting hat. Curiously, the hat was mentioned in most books regarding the school, but young students were very unlikely to read them. From the likes of it, parents choose not to inform their children as some sort of tradition, and Harry wasn't about to ruin it.

"You know what it is, don't you?" Blaise asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about, mate," Harry responded.

Harry didn't wait for the boy to answer and exited the compartment with Hedwig standing proudly on his shoulder. He ignored his companion yelling out, "Potter! Come back here!" and left the train.

As soon as they left, he caressed his faithful owl, "I think it's better for you to go ahead. I'll need to do this alone."

Hedwig gently nipped his earlobe and flew away. Before Harry could even ask himself where he was supposed to go, he heard a loud voice, "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!"

He turned and saw a giant man holding a lantern, and Harry smiled to himself. It was time for his magical adventure to truly begin.

---

Chapter 12: Magical Welcome

1st September 1991, Hogwarts

The man had a large beard and was far larger than it should be possible, meaning that he probably had some kind of magical ancestry. Harry simply assumed that this was the infamous Hagrid. The stories underestimated how large the man really was. He was at least twice as tall as the average adult man, and the young Potter had to admit that he was slightly intimidated.

He kept calling out for the first years to join him, "C'mon, follow me – any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, the first years followed the giant man down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much, although everyone looked slightly apprehensive as to what going to happen to them.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," called the maybe-Hagrid over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

Harry heard other first years gasping and exclaiming in wonder as they took their first look of Hogwarts. It was breathtaking. By the end of the path stood a large lake that was reflecting the moonlight and the stars. On the other side of the lake stood a beautiful castle with many turrets and towers.

But what was the most breathtaking was the sounds that came into the back of his mind. It was just like the wand shop only thousands of times more intense. There seemed to be infinite heartbeats with different tempos. Some were intense and loud, others seemed kind and smooth, a few seemed strict and calculated, and finally, there were the hidden ones that were only noticeable when you actively look for them. Together, they made a complex yet beautiful symphony, like warmth in musical form, and yet Harry knew that there was no sound. He didn't use his ears to hear, but he also knew that the songs were real.

He didn't know how long he just stood there, revelling in the warmth the music gave him until he stiffened when someone tapped his shoulder. It was Blaise and he looked concerned, "Are you alright?"

He shrugged, "Yes. I was just distracted by the castle."

"Well, we're the last ones without a boat. I guess it'll just be the two of us," Blaise remarked.

Harry nodded and tried to put the symphony to the back of his head. It was still there, in the background, but he wasn't distracted by it anymore. For the first time, Harry noticed the small boats and sat on the last one with Blaise.

"Everyone in?" shouted maybe-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 great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" Yelled their guide as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which revealed 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 harbour, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

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

"Everyone here?" the giant asked loudly.

Seeing that no one said anything, he raised his gigantic fists 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 woman was a professional. Harry remembered his memories as a teacher and understood the reason for the woman's rigidity. First impressions are very important, especially for young students. Trying to look friendly will mean that you will not be respected, and you won't be able to manage them at all. When students are older, it's alright to be friendly with them, since they understand the dynamic properly. The woman in front of him was without a doubt been a teacher for a long time.

Immediately, Harry assumed that this was Professor McGonagall, and he was proven correct when their guide spoke up, "The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall."

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

Harry was happy that he had guessed the identity of the giant man correctly.

The woman pulled the door, revealing the enormous entrance hall. It really was unreasonable bog considering that it's only the entrance to the castle. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was way too high to figure out its height, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

The students followed the stern woman until they arrived in an empty chamber, and they looked around nervously trying to reassure themselves.

"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 rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. 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."

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

Well, the whole honour thing was not really the reason the house cup was a big deal. No, the big deal was the fact that the winning house tend to enjoy special privileges the following year. Things like extra time in the library, easy access to the Quidditch pitch, private lessons in certain subjects, and even extra Hogsmeade visits. The fifth and seventh years also end up with access to the restricted section of the library.

It was a big deal for those affected, and while the seventh years didn't care about the point system, the fourth and sixth years would benefit greatly from these perks, which is why they tend to pressure the younger ones to not lose too many points. It was technically peer pressure but for good behaviour, enforced by the older students. Harry had to admit that the system was very effective considering the small staff to student ratio.

The moment the transfiguration professor left the room the young students started to murmur nervously while looking around. Blaise gave him a nervous look and said, "Please tell me how we're getting sorted. The Weasley boy said his brothers told him something about fighting a troll."

Harry snorted in amusement, "You're worrying about nothing, really. I'm not going to spoil it out of respect for the school, but it's not a test of knowledge and they certainly wouldn't make you fight anything in front of anyone."

"As if you know anything!" a redhead boy spoke up.

Blaise seemed to rise to his defence, "Shove off Weasley!"

Assuming that this guy really was Ron Weasley, Harry chose not to escalate the situation, "I don't need to prove anything to you. Whether I am right or simply lying about knowing, you will still go through the sorting ceremony. If you don't believe me, then don't. It changes nothing for me, nor should it matter to you."

The boy just looked confused. Harry forgot that most eleven-year-old children don't really speak as he does. The Malfoy boy ended up answering for him with a condescending tone, "You're an idiot, Weasley."

The boy blushed and turned red. He looked like he wanted to fight Malfoy but was held back by another boy, "Don't let him get a rise out of you, Ron."

Draco sniffed angrily, "Still, hanging out with scum, Longbottom?"

"He's a better friend than a hundred of you!" the boy exclaimed.

Finally, Harry could see the boy who lived for the first time, and he definitely looked different than he thought he would. Oh, he was round and had an arrogant smile on his face, but what was surprising was the scar on his face. It wasn't just some random zig-zag shaped scar, not it only looked up from the root. However, the end of the scar continued down his face in a more random pattern than the straight line that made up the top.

While the highest part of the scar looked red and raw, the lower part seemed slightly healed. Honestly, anyone that looked at him would recognize who he was. The rest of the students murmured in admiration as they noticed the presence of the national icon among them.

Before Malfoy could reply, floating white beings just streamed through the wall. They were slightly transparent and glided across the room, not even noticing their presence. It was only when the fat monk noticed their presence that the other ghosts looked up to see them, "Oh, you must be the new students. Hope to see you in Hufflepuff, it was my old house, you know."

The first years stood frozen with pale faces. Harry, though, wasn't really scared as much as he was slightly fascinated. He had forgotten about the existence of ghosts in Hogwarts, and they fascinated him. They weren't really memories given form, considering the fact that they were able to make new ones, and yet, they couldn't be alive.

Were they souls, or more like magical paintings? He'll need to look it up later.

Harry noticed that the professor had returned and spoke up, "Move along now; the sorting ceremony is about the begin. Now, form a line a follow me."

Harry just stood in line and walked out of the chamber with the rest of the students. He did his best not to gape like his future classmates. The great hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air above four long tables that made up almost the entire length of the hall. On the other side of the hall, the professors sat at a table of their own. Even the ghosts were floating high above looking at them.

The ceiling itself was almost transparent offering him a view of the cloudy sky. Harry ignored the bushy haired girl that kept muttering to herself about Hogwarts, a history, and just admired the view. He ignored the change in the melody in his head. It was still very similar, only had a few extra layers on top. It was very hard to describe, but it was not the time for him to get lost in songs.

When they arrived on the other side of the hall, they stopped in front of a stool. On top was a traditional hat, although it looked far older than his own and somewhat rackety. All new students looked at the hat in confusion, that is until it moved and started to sing.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 13: Better Be…

1st September 1991, Hogwarts

When they arrived on the other side of the hall, they stopped in front of a stool. On top was a traditional hat, although it looked far older than his own and somewhat rackety. All new students looked at the hat in confusion, that is until it moved and started to sing.

Harry didn't think the song wasn't that bad. It felt more like a poem than anything that could be danced to. The lyrics just explained the characteristics of every house, and that you only had to put him on to be sorted. The boy saw his future classmates physically sigh in relief and Blaise gave him a glare for not telling him about how they were sorted before.

However, Harry didn't care, he was too preoccupied with staring at the sorting hat. It definitely didn't deserve the deafening round of applause. For the first time, Harry wondered when the Hat started to sing before every sorting. It was enchanted to sort the students, it definitely wasn't designed to sing, or its voice would have been far better. So, that means that one day, they decided to sing before sorting the students and it became a tradition.

The main question would be if the hat is sentient or not. Magic seemed to bridge the gap between objects and life. The moving paintings surrounding Hogwarts were proof of that. However, where was the line? Can the sorting hat be labelled as a living being or is it simply an enchantment that is mimicking a living being?

Perhaps this question was the core of why wizards disregarded magical species so readily. They were creatures born of magic, and so, they treated them like they would a very heavily enchanted object. It was just a theory, but it would explain why wizards look down on magical creatures no matter how powerful they may be.

Still, Harry had no idea if his idea had any merit. It was just based on observation, nothing concrete. He'll need to look it up in the library later on. Oh, he was going to be busy for a while.

He was so long in thought that he hadn't even noticed that a girl had been called to sit on the hat, which suddenly bellowed out, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Realizing that the sorting had started, Harry wondered how the hat even worked. It didn't read minds, that's for sure. At least, it didn't look at memories. Old families are very protective of their secrets and having them stored in a single artefact that every wizard in Britain put on their head when they were eleven, was a huge privacy breach.

People far more knowledgeable than him probably theorized about how the hat worked, and if it came out that it could ferret out secrets, the public outrage would be gigantic, and the hat would find itself burnt or destroyed in a tragic 'accident'.

It had to be a test of character, like a personality test with automatic answers that tells the hat in which house students would fit the most. But the hat could also take into consideration the choice of the students, whether they preferred one house over another, that's not mentioning hat stalls – when the hat stays on top of someone's head for over a minute.

Perhaps the hat could read surface thoughts, or at least projected thoughts, which students with a particular preference would be yelling in their minds. Maybe hat stalls are just what happens when someone is compatible with two or more houses, and the hat needs to probe further by physically asking questions, to see their preference.

But the main question was how the hat could differentiate between the values of each house when they are so connected. Ambition is useless without the courage to pursue it, the wits to know how to realize it, and the hard work to make it a reality. The core values of each house were deeply connected, too much of one or another, and could easily ruin a life. A coward with ambition will not amount to much.

While the young Potter was pondering about the workings of the sorting hat, many students were starting to get sorted. He didn't even notice their names; he would have plenty of time to remember them, but it was almost impossible to regain a proper train of thought.

However, even Harry paid attention when Neville Longbottom's name was called up. The entire hall started murmuring but shut up when the boy who lived walked up. As for the boy himself, he walked towards the hat with swagger in his step, which was very misplaced for a child his age. Well, the boy acted superior to anyone else because of that scar, and well, it made sense. Oh, he was a very foolish notion to entertain, but Harry knew that any kid that was raised as a national hero for something he didn't even remember would develop a large ego.

You tended to see it in spoilt rich kids in muggle schools. Longbottom will need to learn to curb it as he grows up. The world can be very unforgiving for people that think they are owed something. That's not even mentioning the Voldemort bullet that he'll need to dodge. Not for the first time, Harry thanked the gods that the Dark Lord hadn't marked him as his enemy.

Oh, the war was coming, and Harry will need to deal with it, but it wasn't happening for a few years, and it was more than enough to have a solid plan and enough preparation to execute it.

Back to Longbottom, the moment the hat even glanced at the boy's head, it yelled out, "GRYFFINDOR!!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheer, it was by far the loudest one yet, and the house of lions started celebrating getting the boy who lived in their house as he arrogantly walked to the table. Harry wished the boy the best of luck dealing with the crap that comes with being the Chosen One; he will need it.

After a few more students were sorted, it was finally Harry's turn, "Potter, Harry!"

Harry walked up to the stool while making theories as to how the hat sorted students. When Professor McGonagall put the hat on his head, he heard a quiet yet rich voice, "interesting, very interesting. Definitely, a difficult sorting that one, no preferences too, but with that mind, that talent, that thirst to understand how everything works, Rowena would have loved to have you as a student. You already figured out that I wasn't reading minds, and your theories are possible enchantments I could have had, but you're mistaken. You'll figure it out one day, of that, I am quite certain."

Harry didn't respond but was quite miffed that his theory was wrong. He'll just have to think on it further. The hat though, wasn't perturbed, "But is knowledge what you truly treasure, what is inside your core? Oh, you love it, the thrill of discovering something new, of understanding. But are you suitable for Rowena's house? Or do you treasure something even more?"

The last Potter remembered a promise he made to himself, 'I will not be nothing again. I will put my mark on the world, forge a legacy of my own, and be remembered in the annals of history.'

The hat released a deep chuckle, "Yes, for all your love of knowledge, this is your core. Your ambition burns brighter than the sun itself. Yes, better be, SLYTHERIN!!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked towards the Slytherin table. When he sat at the table near the other first years, he took a look at the Professor's table.

Professor McGonagall had wide eyes and a small, disappointed frown. She probably expected him to join his parents' house or something. Albus Dumbledore didn't even clap, and Hagrid – who had sat on the far right – was grimacing slightly while clapping. What was the most interesting was the greasy haired man who looked like he swallowed a lemon. Guessing that it was Severus Snape, Harry assumed that whatever relationship there was between him, and Harry's parents wasn't an amicable one.

Harry didn't even notice his tie and vest turn green, as well as the hood of his cloak, which had a Slytherin badge on the left side of his chest. Harry just stayed silent, contemplating the ramifications of his new house.

Slytherin was known as the house of Death Eaters because Tom Riddle was reputed to be the heir of Slytherin. That meant that Harry was practically secluded from the rest of the houses. Honestly, he wasn't really bothered. He knew that he wasn't a bigot, and he rarely ever cared about the words of people who didn't know him. Although as the house which had won the house cup the last year, Slytherin students were allowed special privileges, which included special spell practice rooms and a later curfew, which was a plus.

The elephant in the room would be his new housemates. With blood status being a big deal in this house, it would make things difficult for him since he was a half-blood and his parents fought Voldemort, although, he didn't know if that was common knowledge or not.

There were rumours of house politics in Slytherin and Harry wasn't especially concerned with children and teenagers playing at being politicians. It would barely compare to the academic politics that he had to deal with at university in his previous life.

The sorting ended when Blaise Zabini was sorted in Slytherin and sat next to him. The headmaster got to his feet, silence fell upon the Great Hall. He beamed at the students, his arms opened wide and he spoke.

"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!"

Ignoring the nonsense, the man was spewing, Harry chose to focus on the headmaster. He was an obviously old man, with a long white beard, and half moon glasses. And yet, he didn't really look like a frail old man. He looked like a muggle on the verge of retirement, just with a large beard, old looking glasses, and ghastly coloured robes. These things were an eyesore.

And yet, considering that the enhanced lifespan of the average wizard was around a hundred and fifty years, Albus Dumbledore was probably around a hundred years old. Not that he knew it for a fact, it was guesswork.

Anyway, the elderly man sat down, and people clapped and cheered. A few first years smiled mockingly at the headmaster, but Harry knew better. No one had that many political positions and was senile. Whatever the headmaster had said wasn't just random world. They had meaning, if only for the man himself.

Still, when the food appeared on the table, he realized how hungry he was and started eating. Harry was never really starved at the Dursleys, but he rarely ate to his full, since he normally ate after Dudley who commonly asked for third servings.

Harry didn't speak to anyone while eating, too lost in his own head to care about the idle small talk the other students were spewing. At least Blaise ended up in the same house at him, so that was a familiar face, somewhat.

After everyone had eaten and the food was gone, Dumbledore stood up again and started what seemed like a regular speech, "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. 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."

Everything seemed to go smoothly until the man uttered that last sentence, "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."

Well, that was the stupidest thing Harry had ever heard. He should have simply warded the corridor and made it inaccessible. Curious students who would find the wards and be rejected would be the only ones to know that it was forbidden. But telling it in front of children, especially impressionable ones with no experience with magic would be like challenging them to come there, which could be very dangerous.

Well, that was a good start for Harry's magical education.

---

Chapter 14: House Tour

1st September 1991, Hogwarts

Dumbledore asked people to sing the school song without a particular tune, the abomination that followed was one that Harry will do his best to scrub out of his mind. He's definitely wearing earmuffs next year to avoid whatever that was.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore wiped his eyes while remarking, "Ah, music, a magic beyond all that we do here! And now bedtime. Off you trot!"

Choosing the ignore the undeniable fact that the man was tone-deaf, Harry followed the prefects with the rest of the first years. The girl seemed to take the lead. She had a relatively forgettable face, even if that was unkind, but it was nonetheless true. She was of average height, and had brown eyes and black hair that wasn't particularly long or short.

Her companion was blond with blue eyes, and he looked like he wanted to be showing the first years around. Still, Harry was curious as to how the teenagers would handle a dozen children under their supervision.

Surprisingly, his classmates were very well behaved, at least for children. They followed the prefects while just looking around. Harry marvelled at the moving portraits, trying to figure out how they would behave without anyone seeing them.

They walked down to the dungeons and Harry did his best to memorize the path from the Great Hall. Still, they arrived at their destination after a few minutes, well they arrived in front of the wall.

The prefect girl gave them a serious look, "Like all the House common rooms in Hogwarts, the Slytherin common room is hidden, and you cannot enter it without a specific password. You are not allowed to bring visitors from other houses. While it is inevitable that its location is compromised, there are additional security measures stopping members of other houses from entering without being invited in by a member of the house. This rule is not an official one, but it is one of the unspoken ones in Slytherin and you will be severely punished if you're caught breaking it. We'll speak of this further when we get in."

The prefect boy rolled his eyes, "Stop scaring them, Gemma. Look, kids, just try not to break the rules, there aren't many and they're reasonable. Now, back to the entrance. The password for this week is 'viper'. "

The moment he said the world, the wall shifted away, revealing a large door, surrounded by the body of a gigantic snake. The boy walked in and continued to explain, "The passwords will be displayed in the middle of the common room and will glow when it has been changed."

The rest of the first year followed him into the common room and they gasped in awe. Harry felt the music in his head shift. It went from being a complex symphony into a slow but smooth one. It matched the ambience of the room, to be honest. The Slytherin common room was grand in appearance and yet the atmosphere was without a doubt cold. Best of all, it was quiet, and Harry loved quiet. It was why he dreaded the possibility of being a Gryffindor. The rumours of wild parties and events just didn't appeal to him.

As for the room, its walls were adorned with green and silver banners, and it was furnished with plush leather chairs and wooden tables. But what was most stunning was the view that came from the window. It wasn't really the night sky, but the black lake. Harry could see fish swimming around and what seemed like a giant tentacle for a moment – it was probably the infamous giant squid.

All things considered, Harry liked it.

The prefect girl led them to a large couch and started speaking, "Welcome to Slytherin. My name is Gemma Farley, and this is Rowan Padgett. We are the fifth year Slytherin prefects, which means that until your third year, we will be responsible for you, after which we would have graduated. Should you need any help, you are free to come to us with any problems, academic or otherwise. If we're unable to help you, you are free to ask Professor Snape – our head of house – directly. Beware, if he deems that the issue is mundane and finds out that you haven't asked us first, he will not be happy with you for wasting your time. With that said, let's talk about what it means to be a Slytherin student."

Rowan continued on her behalf, "Let's be absolutely clear, we are the most distrusted and dislike house in the school, and that is a fact. You are perfectly free to pursue friendships with students from other houses, but it will not easy. We have suffered greatly because of the last war, which means that speaking publicly about discrimination will not be tolerated. I don't care what you personally believe, but if someone is caught spewing around about Mudbloods and Blood traitors, they will be reprimanded by Professor Snape."

Harry caught the outraged look on Malfoy's face but just shrugged; he didn't care about any of that. As long as no one involved him, he would not enter a political debate with children.

Gemma though continued their little speech, "Slytherin stands united because if it wasn't for the threat of retaliation from the entire house, we would be constantly hexed and cursed whenever we leave the common room. That means no fighting outside the common room. I'm not saying to argue, but try not to cause large scale fights, which means no cursing each other outside of the duelling pits."

"Now, onto a brighter topic, you are allowed to join a club starting the second semester to give you time to settle in. There are dozens of clubs in Hogwarts, each with an age restriction. An entire list will be provided to you next week, but as a rule, you are not allowed to join more than two clubs, so as to not affect the quality of your schoolwork. The two of us will also accompany you for two tours of Hogsmeade village, one every semester, as an extra perk for Slytherin winning the house cup last year. It will be a guided tour, not a normal trip, and you will be required to be under our supervision."

Gemma then cleared her throat, "Finally, Slytherin is the house of the ambitious and thus it rewards ambition. There is a hierarchy involved, but you won't have to deal with it until your fourth year, or third if you're very ambitious. That doesn't mean that you can slack off right now, the more impressive your achievements are, the higher the echelon you will rise, you could even be granted a higher position when you start playing with the big leagues. Don't worry though, you have a few years to learn the ropes before things get serious."

Well, that took a sombre tone. Harry thought that the speech was entirely reasonable up until this nonsense about politics. At least he won't have to deal with it for a while. However, at the mention of a higher position, Malfoy preened, and more people stiffened and were interested. They might as well have had stars in their eyes. Seriously, what was wrong with these kids? They shouldn't be worried about crap like mini school politics. Harry knew how to handle them but really hated to do it.

Finally, Rowan concluded their little speech, "Now, you will be staying in dormitories separated by your gender. Boys, you are not allowed to get to the girl's dormitory, you'll get a nasty surprise if you do. Your trunks have already been brought next to your assigned bed. I suggest that you get used to them, you will be staying here for a few days. Gemma and I will leave you to get to know each other. We will wait for you at seven in the common room tomorrow to help you get to breakfast. Also, don't be afraid of exploring but try to not do it alone. Hogwarts is full of mysteries, but you tend to get lost a lot until your third year. I believe it's time for us to leave. Goodnight. Don't forget, tomorrow, at seven. If you're late, we'll leave without you."

The two prefects exited the common room for their dormitories and left the first years just awkwardly looking at each other. Harry ignored their pointless conversation and chose to finally listen to the melody of the common room. It was so odd. Harry knew that it was a magical talent of some sort, but he didn't understand what it was. Because it wasn't really a song, it was mostly a mixture of heartbeats with different frequencies, amplitudes, and for the lack of a better term, flavours, that mixed together into an amazing harmony.

It was strangely beautiful and yet Harry couldn't hope to replicate it with any instrument. He understood music theory, having learnt the piano in his youth, but there would be something critically missing if he tried to interpret it using sound. It was like there would be like trying to play an emotion or a memory.

For example, the common room was slow and deep and yet caring. It was protective but also mischievous. It was like the soothing cold on hot summer days, a nice shower after a run. It was hard to put it into words, and yet everything seemed so much plainer without it.

"…and I have a Crup called Rupert, but I couldn't bring him with me because of the school rules. What about you?"

A girl was talking and looking at him expectantly. He assumed that they were introducing themselves and he tried to do the same, "My name is Harry Potter. I like books and quietness. It's nice to meet you."

Everyone looked at him awkwardly and Blaise hit him in the side and murmured, "Seriously, you have nothing else to share?"

"I wasn't even paying attention," Harry replied.

"You're supposed to say a few things about yourself."

"Isn't that what I just did?"

Blaise looked like he wanted to punch him, "But you had nothing to say other than you like books and quiet?"

Harry shrugged and spoke up, "I also play the piano, know how to speak five languages, have an owl called Hedwig, and I have never lost a chess game yet."

Well, Harry was slightly lying about the chess thing. Oh, in this life, Harry hadn't lost a game, but he had lost many in his previous one. Oh, he wasn't some kind of master or anything, but it had become a hobby of his to play online after his brother died. It was a good way to pass the time, and he did crack a few theory books to entertain his curiosity.

When he was younger, when he hadn't gained his memories yet, Harry played a few games against the teachers, and well, since complex chess engines hadn't been invented yet, the theory wasn't as developed as it was in his old life. He played mostly by instinct, and he never lost a game so far. He was kind of proud of that achievement, to be honest.

As for the rest of the kids, they gave him approving looks, as if they were impressed by his achievements and the others continued boasting about their families and whatnot. It got boring very quickly but by the end, he had gotten most of his housemates' names and a hint of their characters. A few minutes later, he excused himself for being too tired and decided to go to sleep.

He found his trunk next to a bed that he assumed was his, and Hedwig was waiting for him on top of it. He opened his trunk to grab a change of clothes and went to bed.

"Goodnight, Hedwig," Harry said to his faithful owl, who hooted back at him. In the end, Harry grabbed his book and kept reading until he fell asleep, excited for his magical education to truly begin.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 15: First Days

2 September 1991, Hogwarts

He found his trunk next to a bed that he assumed was his, and Hedwig was waiting for him on top of it. He opened his trunk to grab a change of clothes and went to bed.

"Goodnight, Hedwig," Harry said to his faithful owl, who hooted back at him. In the end, Harry grabbed his book and kept reading until he fell asleep, excited for his magical education to truly begin.

Harry woke up, after what felt like the best night's sleep he ever had in his life. The bed was very comfortable. Well, anything would be more comfortable than the cheap thin mattress the Dursleys had given him, but this bed was even better than the one he had in the Leaky Cauldron.

He looked at the clock and it was half past six, meaning that he had half an hour to ready himself before the prefects came to get them and lead them to the great hall to eat their breakfast, and get their schedule.

The young wizard was always an early riser. He had to be. Petunia had the tendency to leave without him to school and force him to walk to school. Needless to say, his body was practically conditioned to wake up early.

Harry chose to use this extra time to clean himself, put his clothes in the small closet awarded to him, and take a small shower. As he readied himself, he thought back to what happened the previous day. He was now officially a Hogwarts student; he will start his classes later in the day. He was also sorted in Slytherin, to the obvious shock and disappointment of McGonagall, Snape, and Dumbledore.

Considering that he was technically a candidate for the prophecy – according to the stories, at least. Neville Longbottom, the only other candidate was attacked by Voldemort, and the Potters were attacked by the Lestranges later. That meant that it was very likely that Harry could be the second candidate for the Prophecy, Dumbledore's backup plan if Longbottom fails, and wasn't that a disturbing notion?

In a way, Harry's sorting in Slytherin was a boon. Because like it or not, it was very unlikely that he would develop with Longbottom since Harry was in the house of Death Eater. In a way, he should be far away from Dumbledore's and Voldemort's machinations, at least he shouldn't be more than an afterthought, a lost opportunity, for the headmaster.

With his preparations done, Harry grabbed the expanded backpacks he bought in Diagon Alley, put enough parchment for a day, a few self-inking quills, and his schoolbooks. He didn't know what classes he had that day, and it didn't hurt to be prepared.

Still, he had enough time and chose to simply get down to the common room, sit on one of the absurdly comfortable chairs and continue reading his book.

He was so lost in his reading that he sprang up when the familiar voice of Gemma Farley spoke up, "You're up early!"

"It's a habit," he simply replied.

The older girl looked at the book in his hands and smirked, "Devouring your schoolbooks already?"

Harry simply shrugged, "It's a fiction book, about the adventures of a curse breaker, not a schoolbook. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't read it just for the fun of it. I'll wait until I know the basics before reading ahead at my leisure."

Harry must have surprised the girl because she froze for a few seconds or so before taking a closer look at the cover of the book Harry was holding, "I think one of my friends told me about it. Is it an interesting read?"

Harry simply shrugged, "It depends. The plot is average, to be honest, the love interest is obviously forced, but I guess it can be called interesting. I would have stopped reading it if it was horrible."

Their conversation was interrupted by the rest of the first years going down the stairs. Blaise walked towards him with a small frown on his face.

"Where were you?" the dark-skinned boy demanded.

"Here, I woke up early," Harry said while shrugging.

Gemma then clapped her hand and started speaking, "Well, welcome to your first day as Hogwarts students, and your main challenge in the first few weeks will be to navigate the castle. Now, actually mapping down the castle is impossible. There are too many spacial manipulating charms, secret rooms, and random changes at any time. By the time you map down the castle, it would end up being different.

"What can be done, however, is to map down certain locations in Hogwarts that are known for not changing. Professor Snape has graciously given you the start of a map that only includes the location of your common room, the great hall, the hospital wing, and the location of each of your classes. The roads outlined between these locations are also unchangeable, but they are not the faster routes to your destination. You will need to discover these on your own. Hogwarts is full of secret passages, hidden rooms, and trick staircases. Remember, if you ever get lost, asking for portrait should be your first reflex. You are expected to get lost, so, take that into account to not be late for any of your classes. Is anyone confused with what I just said?"

The first years shook their heads and the older witch nodded to them, "Alright, everyone, take a map and we'll start navigating the castle towards the great hall. Remember, do not lose the maps; there will not be any replacements. If you destroy someone else's map, I will be severely displeased."

Each of Harry's new classmates walked towards the pile of parchment, and Harry took one of his own. It was a map of the castle, that was divided into each of the seven floors and the dungeons. It was mostly just the staircases and corridors, except for the few rooms that were coloured. There was nothing magical about the piece of parchment. It was just a simple map. Even the Library wasn't on the damn map.

After scrambling about, the Slytherin first years followed Gemma, with their maps in their hands, and walked towards the Great Hall.

Meanwhile, Gemma started telling them about the basics of Hogwarts, common mistakes, and interesting locations. Apparently, Peeves, the poltergeist, tended to avoid messing with Slytherin students because of the Bloody Baron. Although, the house ghost himself rarely ever spoke to living students. She also warned them from entering the Forbidden Forest, saying that it was full of dangerous creatures, and many older students were permanently injured because of it.

Another thing she warned them about was Argus Filch, the caretaker. Apparently, he was a loathsome sadistic squib that hated children and can be very unreasonable if a school rule was broken. His familiar, a cat called Mrs Norris, tended to patrol the castle as well and was smart enough to bring any rule breaking to her master's attention if she saw them.

By the end of what seemed like a small lecture about the general workings of Hogwarts, they arrived in the Great Hall and walked to the Slytherin table. The breakfast wasn't as extravagant as the feast, but it held everything a growing boy needed in the morning.

Harry sat down next to Blaise and started eating some eggs and bacon, before complaining slightly, "Oh, what I would do for a cup of coffee."

As soon as he finished speaking, a cup of glorious coffee appeared next to him. Harry blinked in amazement, took a small sip and sighed, "Oh, this is delightful. Thank you."

Blaise gave him a weird look, "The house elves. Food can't be conjured, it's one of the fundamental laws of transfiguration. House elves just make things down in the kitchen and move them to the hall, not the other way around."

"How do you know that?" Malfoy asked.

"It's not a secret that Hogwarts has the largest concentration of house elves in Britain," Harry drawled back.

The boy flushed slightly before looking away. Harry didn't care if the blonde boy was accidentally offended; he was perfectly happy just sipping his morning coffee. Although he wondered if it was possible for him to ask an elf to constantly give him cups of coffee over the course of the day.

When Gemma finally gave them their schedules, they realized that they had Transfiguration as their first lesson. Honestly, Harry was eager to learn it. The theory was fascinating if a little simplistic.

Well, it was natural; they were written for the average eleven-year-old child to understand. Harry was many things, but a normal child, he is not. It was easy to get bored with the instructions when in a past life, he had learnt to understand published academic papers. Still, it was where the basics of the theory were explained, and while slightly tedious in their repetition, the recommended books were informative.

Harry followed his classmates to the transfiguration classroom and stifled a smirk when he saw a tabby cat on the Professor's desk. The cat was too aware for it to be a normal animal and was observing them too carefully. When the cat met Harry's eyes, its stare felt piercing and just too human. He knew without a doubt that this cat was an Animagus, that it was Professor McGonagall.

Harry stifled a groan when he realized that the rest of the class was filled with Gryffindor, meaning that they will share the class with the house of the lions for the rest of the year.

When the bell rang, there were still a few missing students, but the Professors didn't seem to care and just turned back into her human form. The class gasped; even Harry did when he actually knew that the cat was their professor in disguise. The magic was that impressive.

The transfiguration seemed nonsensical. The brain of a cat was less complex than that of a human. So, how was McGonagall able to think normally while in her animal form? Well, that was probably an extra trip to the library. He seemed to need the library even more.

Still, the severe looking woman started her lesson with a severe warning, "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

She then changed her desk into a pig and back, and everyone was suitably interested in the field. That was until she continued explaining, "You will not start by doing something this complex in your first year, let alone your first day of attending Hogwarts. Instead, you will focus on the basics. Transfiguration is a school of magical change. In this first year, we will focus on inanimate-to-inanimate transfiguration. This type of transfiguration has countless applications and methods, where a physically inert object is turned into another. This field of magic is mostly based on two spells that you will need to master possible before you can even cast a single spell. The alteration spell, and the material transformation spell. It's this combination of those two spells that every single transfiguration spell is crafted."

"You will learn to master the two spells during this simple assignment. The alteration spell has the incantation Verto and a triangle as wand movement. Start from the top and do it clockwise. This allows you to transform the shape of an object. The spell is anchored to your intent and imagination, you will need to picture the result of the spell before casting it."

Professor McGonagall then waved her arms and the name of the spell, and its incantation was written on the board. Even the wand movements were drawn.

The deputy headmistress then continued, "The mutation spell has the incantation Muto which transforms the physical matter into another. Like turning wood into metal without changing its shape. The wand movement is a counterclockwise circle with a swish to the right."

She swished her wand and the information on the mutation spell was displayed.

The witch then gave them a severe frown, "I will provide each of you with a match. Using the information, I just gave you, you have until the rest of the class to transform them into needles. The first to accomplish such a task will gain a personal lesson from me, on any transfiguration topic you want, that is valid until the end of your schooling. If you don't realize it, it is not an opportunity I grant easily. Now, get on with it. Let's see what you can do."

---

Chapter 16: Order and Chaos

2 September 1991, Hogwarts

With a wave of her wand, dozens of matchsticks levitated from her desk and were divided between the students, each with a small pile to use.

The entire class stared at the matchsticks in front of them waiting for more instruction, but the professor gave them a glare, "Are you waiting for the matchsticks to turn by themselves?"

Hurriedly, everyone started to try casting the two spells, while Harry was simply flabbergasted by the fact that no instruction beyond the name of the spells and the wand movements. He had read a few magical theory books during the previous month, and there hadn't been a single explanation why waving your wand in a certain pattern and muttering a few words in Latin could result in a spell. The only guide was a reference to arithmancy, which he still hadn't started studying.

Curious about the effects, he picked up his wand, waved it at one of the matchsticks with the correct wand movement and muttered the spell, "Verto".

Suddenly, he could feel the magic travel throughout his body to the wand, then be expelled by its tip. The magic was different than any of his bastardized wandless spells. Its melody was a paradox of order and chaos that seemed to work, and yet the match stayed unchanged.

Seeing that something was different, he retraced the steps to casting the spell while making sure to picture the change of the matchstick to become pointier. The melody changed again with the same frequency and organized chaos, and the magic travelled through his body to his wand and the matchstick slowly became pointier.

He redid this process until it looked more like a wooden needle than a matchstick. It was baffling. There was no reason why the magic worked. When he tried using his wandless spells, he needed to convince his magic towards his arms and shape it, imbue it with intent, to get the result he wished for, and even then, it was chaotic. And yet with a few movements of his wand, everything was so automatic. The magic was absorbed by his wand, the movements did the control for him, and the intent was put in the incantation. It was just wrong that weeks of effort could be completed with a wand in seconds.

No wonder wands were so commonly used in the magical world.

Well, back to the assignment at hand, Harry decided to try his hand at changing the material of the spell, "Muto."

As expected, the spell worked immediately, and the matchstick started to turn silver. Harry, though, listened to the spell's melody. It was very similar to the alteration spell, but it was more robust, more fundamental, in a way. For lack of a better explanation, the chaos was more influential than the order. It was very hard to put into words, but McGonagall wasn't lying when she said that Transfiguration was the magic of change. In a way, its melodies felt more like transitions between order, chaos, and then order, battling each other yet fitting perfectly.

It didn't take Harry long to master the two spells. He could turn the matchstick pointy with a single spell, and then change its constitution with another. He even decided to add decorations a few times to make things more challenging. Although Harry couldn't make it so the needle could have multiple materials.

Harry looked around to see how his classmates were doing, and they seemed to be absolutely stuck. No one was able to do anything, except for Seamus Finnigan that exploded one of his matchsticks. Even Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom were looking at their matchsticks with frustration on their faces.

Seeing that he didn't have any competition, Harry chose to make it interesting. He was going to try to turn the matchstick into a needle in one go. At first, he started to use the two spells in successions, with both the wand movements and the incantation, "Verto Muto."

It worked. The matchstick had turned into a needle, but the spells weren't really in succession. There were two distinct spells, but they sort of merged into each other. He could feel it in the song. The final order stage of the first spell had slightly merged into the second one, and in a way, the final melody became longer.

This was new. He had never known that spells could merge like this before. Frowning, he remembered that the magic he had listened to all over the castle was not sequential. It was not a single melody, but a veritable symphony where every stage was working together.

And so, he tried to find a way to combine the two spells. After all, wouldn't it be better to use one spell instead of two?

He closed his eyes to feel the two melodies of the spell. Their structure was very similar; order, chaos, and finally order once more. He tried to combine the two melodies of order, the preparation phase into a single one. The two spells combined seamlessly.

However, it was in the chaos phase when something was wrong. The chaos was simply hard to combine with a similar element. After a few tries, Harry decided to simply follow the rest of the magic in the castle and simply turn the chaotic aspect into two melodies instead of a combined one. He compressed and stretched the tempo slightly until it just seemed to click. The final order phase was easily done.

With that done, Harry grabbed his wand and waved it with the same tempo as the symphony in his mind, and spoke the words, "Muto Verto."

The matchstick then turned into a needle with a simple spell. The wood became pointier while turning into metal at the same time. Harry grinned at his accomplishment before stiffening when he noticed the Professor standing in front of him and the look of awe Blaise was giving him.

He looked up to see the deputy headmistress with a small smile on her face, "Well done, Mr Potter. It seems like you have a gift for Transfiguration. Very impressive indeed. Twenty points to Slytherin!"

The entire classroom had stopped talking or trying to cast and was just looking at him with looks of awe and envy on their faces. Hermione Granger seemed to try to disintegrate him with her glare and Neville Longbottom was glaring hatefully at him for some reason.

Harry simply shrugged. He didn't care what they thought of him. As the professor walked back to her desk, Blaise gave him a curious look, "How did you do that?"

Shrugging, Harry answered, "I just followed the instructions. Incantations and wand movements, until I got used to it."

Ignoring his grumbling roommate, Harry looked at McGonagall who was telling him to come to see her at her desk. When he arrived there, she waved her wand, and the entire class became silent.

He looked around in confusion before the professor answered his unspoken question, "A simply privacy charm, Mr Potter. They cannot hear us, and we cannot hear them."

"You asked to see me, Professor?"

"Yes, I did. Do you realize what you were doing in the end?" said Professor McGonagall.

"I combined the two spells together. I wanted to change the shape and the material of the matchstick at the same time."

The professor raised an eyebrow, "Yes, and in the meantime, you created a spell. You made up the wand movements and changed the incantation. Sure, it was a simple combination of effects, it is impressive, and also dangerous."

"I don't understand, it worked as it should have." Harry protested.

"Accidents during spell creation are very common, and they can be fatal. There's a reason it's a NEWT elective, after all. Many brilliant wizards and witches have lost their lives trying out spells that rebounded and killed them. In trying out what you did today, you could have accidentally not only injured yourself but your classmates as well," she explained with a severe tone.

Harry looked down, embarrassed, "I didn't know that. I'm sorry."

The woman huffed in amusement, "I'm not admonishing you, Mr Potter, but try to be more careful next time. Speaking of this, how did you even do it without using any arithmancy?"

"I guess it just came to me naturally, professor," Harry replied.

The professor grumbled something about prodigies and released a chuckle, "Well, I know that you will try to do that again. Although, I insist that you do it in the company of a professor or at the very least a prefect, in case you hurt yourself. Do not be afraid to experiment Mr Potter but remember that your safety is more important than whatever spell you're trying to create."

The young Potter gave her a bright smile but then asked, "Professor, I had a question."

"What is it?"

"I read our textbooks and I never saw any of the spells we did today…"

The Professor gave him a slight smile, "You probably won't find them in any recent textbook. They were standard when I was a student, but the ministry tends to regulate which books are allowed to be on the recommended reading list. Not one of them had the appropriate spells inside, choosing to rely mostly on the theory, with the spells that are necessary for students to complete their OWLS. I always give my first years this challenge to teach them the foundations of transfiguration books."

Harry decided to ask her another question, "I have to ask, are there any limitations to these two spells? Because I don't think I mastered transfiguration in a single spell."

The Professor had mirth in her eyes, "I would be out of a job if you did, Mr Potter. Yes, there are many limitations to these two spells. The alteration spell can only change solid structures with similar mass, and the mutation spell can only alter solid materials, and even then, a lot of materials cannot be turned into, like gold, silver, and copper, although there are certain transfiguration laws involved. Your achievement may be notable, but there are many similar spells, that are more efficient, that have been created. You're not a transfiguration master yet, Mr Potter, although, I can certainly see the potential for you to do so. Now, get back to your desk and help your classmates."

Harry gave the professor a smile and walked back to his desk. Blaise gave him a curious look, "What did she want?"

"She just congratulated me and answered a few questions I had regarding the spells she gave us."

"Like what?" Malfoy asked with a sneer on his face.

Harry shrugged, "Like why they were not in the required books for the class. Apparently, she can only recommend certain books because of the ministry, and none of them had these spells in there."

Finding no interesting gossip, they all returned to their assignments, while far more subdued since the prize was already taken by Harry. As for the young Potter, he simply practised his new spell trying to make the change occur faster and more efficiently magically. He was quite proud of the results.

He also tried to help Blaise, but it didn't seem to work. By the end of the class, the only other person who had any results was Hermione Granger, whose match was slightly pointy with a silver tinge. It wasn't anything close to even Harry's first attempt, but McGonagall seemed to think it was impressive, considering the small smile on her face when she awarded the young Gryffindor five points. The girl had given him smug looks after that, for some reason. Even in this life, he couldn't understand girls.

Afterwards, Harry and the rest of the Slytherins made their way to the charms classroom for their first lesson. Considering Professor Flitwick's reputation as a charms master and a former duelling champion, Harry was especially excited about this lesson.

 

[ptbptb]

Dudley lunged towards Harry who ducked and grabbed a fistful of sad.

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Luckily, Harry had plenty of sad left over from his childhood.

Oh, they hated the young wizard for his magic and were completely fearful of his potential, but they were overly abusive

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Should be weren't not were.

As for Harry, now that he understood the principal, he needed to use them slightly.

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This is England. He knows the Headmistress, not the Principal. Although you meant principle here.

Remember, the Principal is your pal.

The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

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For all the AU aspects that may be coming up, this one bit of weirdness remains. Minerva still doesn't consider that an orphan raised by muggles won't have an owl.

The man was visibly smiling at the awed look on his face, and Harry blushed in embarrassment, "Tom, can you tell me where the bank is? The professor told me to meet her there."

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That was a risky lie. He is relying on the vault his parents may have left him existing, and that he will be able to access it without an adult guardian or authority figure. I suppose he has remembered to bring some Muggle money with him? Although, again, that relies on the book being correct about exchange to wizard money being possible and that he can use the bank as a child.

It would have been more logical to talk to Tom about his communication problems and borrow use of some flue powder or some small change for an owl post.

while no magical family made a bid for your adoption

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Really? Not even the Weasleys?

While the average galleon was worth over a hundred pounds, the ministry forced the goblins to sell it for five. It was apparently to allow an easier integration for Muggleborn, who wouldn't be able to afford their school supplies otherwise.

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This is super open to abuse. There must be some sort of safeguards or within a month some wizard would steal a bank blind then attempt to bankrupt Gringotts by exchanging it all for galleons - promptly triggering the next goblin revolution.

Because it didn't make sense in any other case. Wands were everyday objects used by every single wizard or witch in the nation, and yet there wasn't any competition for Ollivanders. The store had a complete monopoly on one of the most vital resources in the country.

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The Wizarding world is pretty darn small, though. It depends on the assumptions you make, but I always estimated between 30 and 60 thousand wizards in the UK. Less than 1/1000 of the muggle population. I guess Ollivander makes between 300 to 600 wands each year - that might not even be enough to support more than one wand shop.

Harry stood there, staring at the symphony of wands. He always felt a little pull whenever he was close to any magical item. But it was mostly characterized by goosebumps, not whatever this was.

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This is odd because today is literally the first time he was around magical items to notice this, but you only mention it now when it's different.

The boy had dismissed him with a glance, "You do know that locking the compartments is against the rules, don't you?

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Considering he's a first year who has yet to go to Hogwarts, why would he know?

While Harry really wasn't the most social of creatures, he was going to invest time and effort in a friendship when they would end up in a different house, which would make it a lot harder to maintain any friendships.

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That sentence is a bit messed up. I would suggest instead something like:
Harry really wasn't the most social of creatures and he wasn't going to invest time and effort in a friendship when they would likely end up in a different house.

We'll have to worry about homework and exams, not political moves."

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Considering he's read the Harry Potter books that is a very ironic statement.

The fifth and seventh years also end up with access to the restricted section of the library.

It was a big deal for those affected, and while the seventh years didn't care about the point system, the fourth and sixth years would benefit greatly from these perks

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That seems odd. Access to the restricted section is either a big deal (in which case giving it to everyone in a house in two years is reckless) or it is not that big a deal (in which case NOT giving it to everyone doing their OWLs or NEWTs is a jerk move). Also, why pick out the 5th and 7th years in the first bit but the 4th and 6th in the second?

 

[Zentoraus]

This is gold. His magical synaesthesia reminds me of Warhammer Witchsight, wherein different people perceive magic differently or are able to perceive magic at all.

 

[Vrenze]

Petunia had the tendency to leave without him to school and force him to walk to school.

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Unnecessary repetition of "to school" here, you could remove either one entirely.

Harry chose to use this extra time to clean himself, put his clothes in the small closet awarded to him, and take a small shower.

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Maybe its becuase it was so close to the other but the repetition of "small" here stands out as well. Maybe a change of the second one to "quick" would flow better.

He was now officially a Hogwarts student; he will start his classes later in the day. He was also sorted in Slytherin, to the obvious shock and disappointment of McGonagall, Snape, and Dumbledore.

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The whole second sentence seems a little unnecessary since that was a, if not the, significant aspect of the previous chapter. The first sentence could be rewritten without the semi-colon as "and he would be starting..." though it also doesn't really tell us anything about how he feels about it, rather it simply states a fact that I believe was mentioned in the previous chapter AND the beginning of this one.

Harry grabbed the expanded backpacks he bought in Diagon Alley,

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Not to nitpick continuity but this stands out a bit because, IIRC, he explicitly didn't buy an expanded trunk for price reasons, and with all the other detail of what he did and didn't do in Diagon Alley, the addition here of the backpacks seems a little odd. Also why does he have multiple expanded backpacks?

Nice chapter otherwise, thanks for writing

 

[ptbptb]

Expanded backpacks somehow seem far too practical and sensible for Harry Potter's wizarding world.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 17: Charming Housemates

2 September 1991, Hogwarts

Afterwards, Harry and the rest of the Slytherins made their way to the charms classroom for their first lesson. Considering Professor Flitwick's reputation as a charms master and a former duelling champion, Harry was especially excited about this lesson.

Finding the Charms classroom was a lot more difficult than the Transfiguration one. Harry encountered his very first moving staircase on the way and ended up getting on the wrong one. Well, it wasn't the wrong one, it was the right staircase, but the wrong exit, somehow. Harry was still very confused about it. Whoever designed this castle had to be high, or something. Because no sane mind would think that this mess was a good way for children to move around. He had almost gotten lost – despite the map – but simply asked one of the portraits for directions, and they were happy to help.

By the end, Harry was able to get to class a couple of minutes early and sat down at the front of his class. He was later joined by Blaise who seemed oddly attached to him for some reason.

Oddly enough, Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley arrived far later than even the other Gryffindor. Still, Professor Flitwick simply gave them a verbal warning and didn't really chastise them. Well, it was the first day of school, accidents are expected, really.

With everyone having calmed down, the professor jumped on a stack of books with a very impressive sense of balance and introduced himself, "Welcome to your first year of Charms. My name is Filius Flitwick, and I will be your Senior Charms professor for the next few years, which means that we will see each other for quite some time. As you well know, Charms is a core subject that is mandatory for you to have for the next five years. Everyone here will hopefully sit his OWLs in five years, after which you will decide if you wish to continue studying the subject further or not."

Professor Flitwick was short, about as tall as the average first year, which was probably because of his ancestry as a half-goblin. Hybrids of that nature were quite rare, especially because of the Goblin wars that ended barely a century ago. Even then, offspring of mixed races were rare, and Harry didn't want to think about the possible complications that might have happened.

The man looked jovial, and his smile lit the room. Immediately, the entire class was far more comfortable with the half-goblin than they were with Professor McGonagall. Flitwick looked more approachable by the rest of the children, at least compared to McGonagall, whose severe, no-nonsense attitude endeared her to Harry.

The class even burst into laughter when he almost fell down the stack of books he was standing on when he called Longbottom's name. Harry sighed in exasperation as the boy was preening when that happened. People really needed to stop enabling the boy, or he wouldn't amount to anything.

Although, the professor had given Harry an odd fond look when he said his name. Not that it would change anything, really.

After the roll call, Flitwick started lecturing, "The magical field of Charms, by definition, is imbuing a property to an object or a person. As you can imagine, it's a very large field that dabbles with duelling, enchantment, ward building and breaking, and so much more. You can see charms everywhere, and it is without a doubt the most currently used field of magic in the world. We will start today with the simplest charm that every single wizard and witch needs to learn, the wand lighting charm."

With a wave of his wand, the name of the spell appeared on the board, "The wand lighting spell, commonly known as Lumos because of its incantation, is a spell with no wand movement, that charms the end of your wand to light up. Usually, charming a wand in any way is very dangerous, but this charm was perfected in a way that doesn't truly interact with the magic of the wand after being cast. You will study the theory in more depth should you take arithmancy in your third year, but the spell is remarkably easy to cast, yet its theory is remarkably complicated as well."

Flitwick then flicked his wand while saying 'Lumos' and the tip of his wand illuminated itself.

The small professor then continued, "Another characteristic of the spell is the fact that its power output cannot change. You cannot blind someone by overpowering a Lumos charm, but variations of the charm where this restriction is removed can do some serious damage. Now, everyone, take out your wands and flick them while saying the incantation clearly, 'Lumos'."

In a single breath, the entirety of the class spoke the word Lumos loudly. Unexpectedly, a third of the class, including Harry, had the end of their wands light up with white light. Well, that was easier than Transfiguration, that's for sure. Harry's classmates were looking around with wonder, having cast a spell successfully, probably for the first time in their lives.

Although Harry didn't pay attention to their looks, and simply decided to listen for the spell's melody. It was surprisingly beautiful for such a simple spell. It felt more like classical music, in its restriction. But what was more remarkable was the fact that it didn't behave at all like transfiguration. There wasn't any of the chaos and order, just a melody but it wasn't the wand that played it. It sent a command with the energy and the object that played it. In a way, it was a fundamental difference between it and transfiguration. It was like the wand sent the energy and sheet music, but it was the charmed object itself that played the music. The main question was how charms react if the object itself was playing another melody – if it was already charmed.

Harry absentmindedly muttered, 'Nox!' to dispel the light and raised his hand. The Professor immediately called on him, "Professor, how does a charmed object behave if someone adds an additional charm to it?"

The half-goblin let out a proud grin at the question, "What a wonderful question, Mr Potter. It depends on the charm, really. Sometimes the strongest charm wins out, sometimes both chams cancel each other out, and sometimes they can even damage the object. However, there are techniques that can combine charms into layers, which is aptly named, Charm Layering. Alas, this is a far more advanced subject than this year. Take ten points to Slytherin for a very good question."

Harry nodded, satisfied with the Professor's answer. It must depend on the song, really. If the songs harmonize, it would be theoretically possible for the two melodies to be played at once as a single symphony. However, if they don't synchronize, they can either cancel each other out, or just the one with the stronger power source take over.

The Professor then continued to explain the properties of the extinguishing charm, Nox, which can actually cancel out most sources of light, at least if they have been charmed to glow. It doesn't really work on enchanted objects, since they usually have an independent power source powering the enchantment, nor would it work on something like sunlight since it's reapplied. But it is technically possible to extinguish the candle using the charm.

When the Professor started teaching variations of the charms to make the light have different colours, Harry started to hear the difference in each spell and slowly understand it.

Discreetly, by the end of the lesson, Harry had started to slowly modify the Lumos charm to have its colours change on a cycle and was prodding to see which part of its melody handled the power limiter, although to no avail. Spells just felt unstable whenever he changed things willy-nilly, and he chose not to cast any of them, remembering McGonagall's warnings.

Still, it was a fun class that ended too quickly in Harry's opinion, but they were finally done with the classes. It was looking like Monday was going to be Harry's favourite class. Charms and Transfiguration were fascinating. Harry looked down at his schedule and groaned in exasperation. He had most of the classes with the Gryffindors. Why the school tried to encourage this needless rivalry, Harry didn't know.

It was like whoever made that schedule wanted to make the Professors life miserable. Harry didn't miss the obvious glares Longbottom and Malfoy were sending at each other, that's not mentioning Ron Weasley even calling Harry a slimy snake when they hadn't even talked to each other yet.

Still, the Weasley had latched onto Longbottom like some kind of lackey, which wasn't really uncommon, since Malfoy had two of his own. Harry was oddly reminded of stories of gang wars, not schoolyard fights. The sight was so ridiculous it was almost funny.

Also, for some reason, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom wouldn't stop glaring at him. He never even talked to them ever before. Well, he did talk to Granger on the plane, but he was perfectly polite and helpful. Sure, the girl might be slightly jealous of Harry's skill with his magic, but the way she looked at him made him really uncomfortable.

Longbottom, on the other hand, was a mystery. They never interacted with one another, not that Harry particularly cared about a spoilt boy that was probably going to be hunted down by the not so dead Dark Lord that killed his parents.

Harry really wished that he won't be constantly glared at for most of his lessons. At least the theoretical lessons were with the Junior professors. It turned out that it was impractical to have a single professor be responsible for the classes of every single student in every single house. There are over two hundred pre-OWL students in the castle, which means that each teacher will have to give out and correct assignments for every single one of them. That's not mentioning the NEWT students and practical classes. So, each core class Professor can have up to three Junior professors that help them mark grades and give out non-critical lessons. Although OWL and NEWT students were handled entirely by the Senior professors to prepare for their exams. That meant that half of Harry's classes were taught by these Junior Professors, not that Harry have ever met them.

Curiously enough, the defence against the dark arts teachers was not given to junior professors. Harry heard a rumour from Blaise that the curse actually impacted the junior professors as well, which ended up with two dead teachers and a severely injured one. So, Dumbledore elected to only have a single Defense professor, 'because it was traditional'. It's not like Dumbledore could publicly say that he was worried that each year would end with a small massacre of defence professors.

Still, Harry removed all thoughts of defence curses. He had a date with the most wonderful place in Hogwarts. The most beautiful, that's for sure. He wanted to find the infamous Hogwarts Library. Harry went to the Great Hall to get some lunch and asked one of the seniors where the library was. After memorizing its supposed location on the first floor, Harry walked around asking paintings for directions until he found its doors. Harry drew the entrance on his map and with a deep breath, stepped through the open door.

The room was vast, with towering bookshelves stretching up to the ceiling and winding staircases leading to upper levels. The shelves were filled with books of all shapes and sizes, some old and tattered, others new and gleaming.

The room was dimly lit, with the only source of light coming from the flickering candles on the desks and the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

As Harry wandered through the shelves, he was amazed by the sheer volume of books that surrounded him. The covers of the books were diverse, some leather-bound with gold lettering, while others had brightly coloured covers with intricate designs.

Harry took a deep breath. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and leather-bound books. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

---

Chapter 18: Silence in the Library

2 September 1991, Hogwarts

As Harry wandered through the shelves, he was amazed by the sheer volume of books that surrounded him. The covers of the books were diverse, some leather-bound with gold lettering, while others had brightly coloured covers with intricate designs.

Harry took a deep breath. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and leather-bound books. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

It was without a doubt, the worst thing he had ever experienced. Oh, it looked beautiful from the outside, an endless sea of books and knowledge, and Harry was an academic at heart. But damn, the experience to find a book and read it in the library was so tedious it wasn't even funny.

Well, first things first, there is no real organization system for the library. Outside of having sections for schoolbooks so that students could find them easily, there were no dedicated sections for general magic. Well, the books were roughly sorted into the general magical field, but nothing more. For example, there is an entire wall dedicated to transfiguration, but it included everything from conjuration to human transfiguration, and there was no order to differentiate any sections in the field.

There aren't even any labels on the intended audience of each book, be it for pre-OWL students, NEWT students, or even Mastery holders and above. It was just so incompetent; it wasn't even funny.

At least, the books were more informative in terms of content and language. The schoolbooks were really written for children, not for adults. Although Harry wouldn't imagine a first or second year student understanding what appears to be a mastery thesis just for the fun of it. Unless they're walking around with a dictionary, that is.

It was in times like these that Harry missed the internet. He had really taken it for granted when it came to academic matters. Theories were reviewed, tested, disproved, and the findings were published and accessible with a few pushes of buttons.

The worst thing was that each section library was actually divided into two main categories. The part that Harry aptly called Spellbooks, which is geared towards students and simply gives step-by-step instructions on how to cast spells, but practically no theory behind it, nor how it was created. It was just recipes, and for all how these were useful, Harry wanted to explore magic, not spells. He wanted to see what made it tick and understand how the symphony in his head worked. That was the beauty of it.

The other books were mostly theory books, with more theory than spells. A book can contain less than a dozen spells and be over a thousand pages thick. But these spells were explained on a very fundamental level, which drastically eclipsed his knowledge of theory.

Funnily enough, he discovered that while skimming the Charms section of the library. He saw a book titled, 'Light Charms, an exploration of the fundamentals and well, there were so many theories and formulas referenced that he was lost a couple of pages in. And the damn thing was about the variations of the Lumos charm. So, yeah, he's going to get started on arithmancy on his own because if he doesn't, most of the library would be useless for him.

Well, that settled on which electives he was taking in his third year. Still, with how many theories were being referenced, Harry chose to pick up one of the theoretical OWL recaps for every theory visited until their OWL years. Oh, Harry had no inclination to cast any of the spells, but it would provide a better understanding of the fundamentals of magic, as well as an understanding of some of the more complicated tomes in the library. He did that for the tomes in Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy, and Potions, as well as an interesting book that should explain wand magic. This should keep him busy for a few weeks to digest everything.

Harry decided to return to the common room and read these books at his leisure. To do so, he walked towards the librarian, Madam Irma Pince. The young Slytherin put the five books on her desk, "I'd like to check these out please."

The woman looked at him blankly, "You're checking out four OWL books and a magical theory one?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, we are allowed to take away up to five books, right?"

The librarian glared at him, "If these books are so much as damaged if there is a slight rip in any of the pages, you will pay for the damages and will be banned from the library. Trust me, I know. These books have been enchanted to resist magic, so no repairing charm will help you."

Yeah, these books weren't exactly rare, to be honest, and thus easily replaceable. They were your average OWL revision books, or more accurately, written for students taking their OWLs that have been homeschooled.

As for the enchantment bit, Harry could feel the books' melodies somewhat. They felt protective, for the lack of better terms. There were probably just the usual copyright charms to make sure the books are not mass copied, with a few extra wards for being a part of the library. The books on the back, the handwritten ones that go deep into the theory were far more violent than them, so they must depend on the book.

Still, Harry simply nodded and accepted her condition. He then signed the paper the librarian gave him and waited for him to be given the books, "You have two weeks to return the books, any tardiness will result in a fine and a ban from the library until you return the books. You will not be able to take out any other books until you pay the fine. Now go away."

Harry thought hummed, "I'm sorry, but I had a few questions about the organization of the library please."

"What is it?" the witch responded with obvious irritation in her voice.

"Well, I don't really understand how it's structured on the way back. I can see in the front where the spellbooks are sorted by years of study and their reference books, but after the NEWT books, it feels very chaotic."

"That's because it is chaotic," the librarian drawled back, "there are hundreds of thousands of books in this room. I cannot keep track of them all. The further back you go, the less used the books are. They tend to only be checked out by old students checking a mastery in one subject or another, not a student of Hogwarts. They already know the exact books they need and so they look for them. I haven't had a single complaint so far in my organization, so do not look so outraged. Now, go away. I have better things to do than to pander to a first year student that still hasn't finished his first week of magical education."

Well, that woman was rather unpleasant, that's for sure. All he asked was for her to explain how she organized the books, nothing more. Is she really trying to demean an eleven-year-old boy for her own gratification?

It didn't matter; Harry didn't care about the prickly woman. He had gotten his books and so he turned, put the books in his bag and left the room, seeing the library rules printed on the golden plaque.

The library rules were reasonable. You are not allowed to eat or drink in the library. You are not allowed to cast any magic inside the library. You are not allowed to take out a book without checking it first – there are alarm charms to enforce that – and you are not allowed to damage any of the books in any way. Of course, there is the whole late fee and paying for damages thing, but overall, they were very understandable. A miscast spell could burn down the library, and the library housed a lot of rare books that were worth thousands of Galleons.

Still, the way to the common room was a lot quicker. He might start to get used to the chaotic ways of Hogwarts any day now. Harry passed by the hall for a quick snack for dinner and went to the common room, starting to read his magical theory book.

It was very informative. It turned out that magical cores weren't really a thing. A wizard's body acted more like a buffer to magic, where it would absorb magic from the environment and channel it through the body to be unleashed as spells. The magic was absorbed by the heart, or at least near the heart on a metaphysical plane, and spread out through the body using metaphysical channels for each spell. The better the channels, the more powerful the wizard. The channels start to stabilize around a child's eleventh birthday, which is why students are invited to Hogwarts at that stage.

The thing is that a wizard never runs out of magic as long as there is magic around them, instead, their bodies are taxed with every spell, which is why spells are designed to be fired at once in bursts, and not in a continuous way, which would quickly tire the castor. It was also the reason why Azkaban was a prison, since the island was almost devoid of magic, meaning that wizards can't cast anything.

In a way, magic was like a muscle. You could train your channels to grow as you grow up. Before the eleventh birthday, it could be dangerous and accidents were prone to happen to overzealous wizards that have tried to train their heirs before Hogwarts, the results were not good ones.

Still, a student can slowly use these channels to widen them, allowing them to hold and pass through more magic, making them more powerful. However, on the seventeenth birthday, the magic stabilizes, and the channels stop growing or shrinking.

Of course, there are probably a lot of dark rituals to circumvent these limitations, which is what Harry imagined Voldemort had done, considering how inhumane he was rumoured to look.

Harry was distracted from the book by Blaise who was looking down on him with a frown on his face, "Where were you?"

"I just went to the library," Harry replied.

Malfoy, who was standing behind Blaise, snickered, "You should have been a Ravenclaw if you like reading so much."

Harry shrugged, "There's nothing wrong with reading a book."

"Well, you have to make up for your Mudblood mother somehow…" the blonde boy replied with a smug grin on his face.

This last sentence had gotten Harry's attention and the common room seemed to quiet suddenly. He slowly put a placeholder in the book, put it in his bag, and then turned to face Malfoy, "What did you just say?"

His voice was barely above a whisper, but the blond boy shivered slightly, "I said…"

Harry interrupted the boy, "I didn't think you were stupid enough to repeat it. Now, let's get something straight, Draco dear. I don't give a damn about you; I don't care if you're a bigot or secretly a troll. You can go around terrorizing Hufflepuffs with threats of your father all you want, but you will not insult my parents. Are we clear?"

Draco stiffened, "How dare you…"

The boy tried to raise his wand at Harry, probably to cast some kind of spell, until the green-eyed boy simply grabbed the wand out of his hands. The baffled look on the boy's face was priceless. Harry though didn't even look at the wand and instead was staring Draco straight in the eyes. "I said, are we clear?"

With each syllable, Harry was projecting his anger at the boy with his magic. It wasn't even a spell. It was barely more than a party trick, where Harry just changed the symphony, he was releasing to be a violent and angry one but without any intent, but the Malfoy scion seemed to be close to pissing himself. His nod was shaky, and Harry stopped releasing the magic, while suddenly smiling gently, "Well, that's very good, Draco dear. It's good that we have an understanding, right."

Harry handed him his wand and patted him on the shoulders, "Try not to hurt yourself, dear."

Draco had stopped trembling and started to glare once more, "My father will hear about this…"

"And you'll tell him what? That you called someone's mother a Mudblood in the middle of the common room and that he asked you not to do it again after taking your wand from you and giving it back without using any magic. Good luck with that."

Harry didn't even wait for an answer and just grabbed a bag and went to the bedroom. After all, that book wasn't going to read itself.

 

[ptbptb]

Well, he did talk to Granger on the plane, but he was perfectly polite and helpful.

Click to shrink...

When were they on a plane?

 

[Zentoraus]

Get fucking owned Malfoy.

 

[Silveraith]

I really hope Harry sees that Blaise is trying to be his friend and opens up to the kid. It's sad really to see he's trying and that Harry is oblivious to it.

 

[athassprkr]

Chapter 19: Trouble Brewing

3 September 1991, Hogwarts

Draco had stopped trembling and started to glare once more, "My father will hear about this…"

"And you'll tell him what? That you called someone's mother a Mudblood in the middle of the common room and that he asked you not to do it again after taking your wand from you and giving it back without using any magic. Good luck with that."

Harry didn't even wait for an answer and just grabbed a bag and went to the bedroom. After all, that book wasn't going to read itself.

When Harry woke up, having recollected what happened the day before. He really shouldn't have terrified the Malfoy boy this much. The blonde was nothing more than a spoilt brat, that had never been denied or reprimanded in his life. For some reason, the boy just didn't understand that insulting people in public was just a bad idea. Although, the boy did reveal his status as a Half-Blood, not that it mattered, really; most of Slytherin was made up of half-bloods.

Purebloods really were a dying breed, if they ever were a breed in the first place. The ministry's definition of a Pureblood was also very weird. While normally, a pureblood is a wizard or witch whose great-great-grandparents are all wizards and witches.

And yet, for some reason, old families like the Malfoys seemed insistent on not introducing a drop of Muggle blood in their families and only considered a wizard or witch as a pureblood if there they didn't have a drop of muggle blood in at least ten generations, which was frankly absurd.

With that in mind, marriage to half-bloods and the odd muggleborn are somewhat common. Honestly, normal people do not care about that, since the number of Purebloods was so slim. Less than a tenth of the population could be considered to be Purebloods.

Similarly, muggleborns were also quite rare. No one knew where they came from, or why they develop their magic, but barely three or four students are Muggleborn every year. Everything in between was considered a half-blood which was a very large pool of the population.

While Slytherin boasted that it didn't have any Muggleborn students, half-bloods were so common that they couldn't be discriminated against, and the fact that they are raised in the magical world seemed to calm them. Even the child of a muggleborn and a muggle was technically a half-blood and was considered part of the magical world from birth.

Now, if Malfoy knew that Harry grew up in the muggle world, things could have ended differently. But all the boy did was loudly insult his mother in the middle of the common room. Oh, Harry was angry, that's for sure and wanted to punch the boy in the face. Even if he wasn't enraged by the boy insulting his mother, he would have done something similar because it was a bad idea to roll over and let Malfoy walk over him. The boy would have tried to stretch the line – as all spoilt children did – slowly getting more daring each time. And Harry needed to nip that in the bud to have a peaceful year, even if he had gained the blonde's enmity for it.

Which really didn't matter to him. Harry had no intention of befriending the boy, and Malfoy probably had no intention of being civil to him.

Still, when Harry went to the common room and started reading one of his OWL books. OWLs included all of the critical elements in all the previous years of magical education, which practically made the books into some kind of student notes for every magical discipline. And they weren't even written with children in mind, which was Harry's biggest issue with his schoolbooks.

Considering that he had potions and herbology as his classes for the day, Harry chose to read the potions book. The first-year schoolbook was nothing more than recipes of potions, which wasn't what he was looking for. Luckily, summaries of the common ingredients in potions and interactions between them were in the OWL book.

Harry was so absorbed in his book that he didn't notice Blaise sitting next to him, "We're going to get our breakfast, do you want to join us?"

Harry looked up and saw him standing next to two girls, a blond girl with blue eyes that he recognized as Daphne Greengrass and a black-haired girl with round glasses and hazel eyes that he recognized as. Tracy Davis. The two girls were looking slightly nervous. Harry nodded, "Sure, let me just pack up my stuff."

Harry put a bookmark in his book and put it in his bag. He then grabbed it and joined the other Slytherins to make their way to the Great Hall. While they were walking, Greengrass asked, "Say, Harry, where did you get your school bag?"

"Just a small shop in Diagon Alley. It was recommended to me by the Trunk shop when I asked if they had any expanded school bags with featherweight enchantments. They just pointed me to a store that sold them. They're very practical and I leave all my books inside if I need them."

Davis glared at him, "Lucky you. I think I'll ask my mum to get me one. Walking up and down so many steps with heavy bags is so tedious."

Blaise chuckled, "I told you before, Tracy, that you don't need to bring every book with you to class."

"Hey, I don't bring every book with me!"

Daphne chuckled, "You do because you're scared of losing them like you did all your old toys."

The three of them continued to bicker while Harry just stayed silent and listened to them. He forgot what it was like to just be around people. Harry was alone for so long, with no one to keep him company but himself, that he didn't realize that the simple presence of other people his age could change things. Blaise, Daphne, and Tracy were just joking around like all kids their age did, and Harry was completely lost on what he should do.

Finally, Tracy chose to include him in their conversation during breakfast, "So, Harry, I heard you made Malfoy piss his pants."

Daphne just hit her friend's shoulder and glared at her, "Tracy! That's such an inappropriate thing to say," she then looked at him, "I'm sorry for her. She wasn't taught any manners."

"Hey, I was taught manners. I just choose not to use them," Tracy replied.

Harry snorted, "It's alright. And I didn't really hurt Malfoy, he just insulted my deceased mother, and I kindly asked him to not do it again."

Blaise snorted, "He was shaking at the end of it…"

"Well, I not so kindly asked him to not do it again," Harry drawled back.

The three Slytherins grinned before Daphne explained, "I'm glad someone finally put Draco in his place. He was such a prat growing up, constantly bragging about his mother and father."

"You're all familiar with one another," Harry remarked.

It wasn't exactly a hard deduction to make. The first year Slytherins had already been divided into groups the moment they were sorted. They definitely knew each other before attending Hogwarts.

"Yeah, we were all introduced to all of the other Slytherins in our year," Blaise answered, "for parties and stuff like that. Although our parents are all friends and are partners in a few businesses, so we saw each other a lot and became friends. As for Malfoy, we only met him during the ministry balls, during Daphne's birthday parties since his father had to invite him because they're both in the Wizengamot. But from what I heard from Daphne, I didn't want to be friends with him."

Well, that was pretty much elitism at its best. The parents only wanted their children to meet other children with similar stations, be it politically or financially. Magical Britain was also a somewhat close-knit society. There were barely more than a hundred thousand wizards in the British Isles, and so everyone knew the others, or at least, the ones similar to their station.

Although Harry stifled a snort when he heard Daphne mutter, "I wish I hadn't known him."

Their conversations continued, on the way to the Herbology greenhouse, for their lesson, which they had with the Ravenclaws. Professor Sprout seemed to prefer practical applications over just reading books and so taught them the basics of growing plants. They were barely more than basic gardening techniques like replanting, watering, and cleaning a few plants. Harry had never taken care of a plant in both of his lifetimes and yet didn't have any difficulty following the professor's instructions.

Although, some of the other Slytherins were very disgusted with the idea of playing with dirt. Pansy was practically in tears when her nails were ruined, and Draco was threatening everyone, even the plants, of telling his father about what he was forced to do. Tracy and Blaise didn't look particularly happy doing it either, but Daphne seemed a natural at it, and finished her task before anyone else, without a single stain on her robes. She must have some experience taking care of plants.

Thinking back on it, the lesson was probably meant for kids to get used to the idea of getting dirty during Herbology lessons. Everyone ended up sprinting to the bathrooms to clean their hands after the lesson. And they all made their way to the History classroom for their other lesson, this time with the Hufflepuffs.

Well, they weren't kidding when they said that it was taught by a ghost. The man was just slowly droning what seemed like the exact word for word from the book he recommended, and he didn't even try to change his tone at all. The sad thing was the History of magic could be a very fascinating subject, especially when it came to large scale magical battles and disasters. It was fascinating, and yet the man was boring.

Having read the book, Harry simply swiped back to his potions book and chose to continue reading it until the next lesson. Everyone was asleep minutes later. Adults would have a hard time paying attention to the lessons the ghost was lecturing on. Harry wondered if the man was as boring before his death. The worst thing was that Professor Binns didn't have any Junior Professors, since he didn't have one when he was alive, and he always taught in his routine schedule. Hell, the schedules were often very similar every year to match the ghost's own schedule for teaching that he refuses to alter even after his death. As for assignments, he never asked for any homework, and he corrects only the finals thanks to the school house elves. According to Gemma Farley, he doesn't even change the exams every year and copies could easily be bought from older students.

Now, the only thing Harry could see going on would be if he stopped using the book for some reason. And so, he endeavoured to owl order a dictation quill to take notes for him when he does something better during the lesson.

By the time the bell rang, the entire classroom, Slytherins and Hufflepuffs alike, were asleep, and Harry was halfway through his potions book. This lesson was two hours long, but they thankfully only had one of them a week.

In the end, it was time for the lesson he dreaded the most. Potions. He had no idea if Professor Snape held any animosity towards him. Did James Potter bully this Severus Snape as well, or did they not even know each other? Or perhaps, maybe Snape was never friends with Lily Evans at all.

From the looks of it, potions looked like a very interesting field of study, and Harry was interested in the specifics.

As he made his way to the dungeons, Harry hoped that the professor didn't dislike him on principle, since he was one of his Slytherin. Harry took a look at his schedule and realized that the class was also with Gryffindors. Well, that was a recipe for disaster.

---

Chapter 20: Fame and Glory

3 September 1991, Hogwarts

Well, by the end of the potions lesson, Harry was pretty sure that Snape hated him. What the hell had James Potter done to him that he would be this petty to students? That man was without a doubt a menace that shouldn't be around children.

Harry had always thought that the stories were romanticized from the point of view of a child. He wasn't abused like the Harry from the stories, he wasn't starved, nor was he bullied by his cousin. As such, Harry somewhat expected Snape to be frosty, not some unhinged man picking on children.

Well, first of all, when Harry entered the classroom, he made sure to sit in the back, to avoid being called on by Snape. Blaise followed after him and they sat together, waiting for the professor to show up.

Everyone had shown up before the Professor; he had a fearsome reputation especially when it came to reprimanding Gryffindors. Even Weasley arrived early and sat down obediently waiting for the professor to arrive.

The door opened suddenly, and the professor entered the classroom dressed in black with his cape billowing behind him. It was cool, but it was also the highlight of the lesson. The man instinctively seemed to search for Harry and glared at him.

After a few seconds, he started his speech, "For those of you who do not know, I am Severus Snape, the current Senior potions professor in this school. I will have the misfortune to teach you the subtle arts of potions that most of you will fail to truly grasp. Potion brewing is without a doubt one of the most dangerous fields of magic you will learn in this school. A single mistake could cause an explosion that would not only endanger you but also the others around you. Most of the accidental deaths that occur in magical Britain have been attributed to potions, be it an accident by a sub-par brewer, or getting poisoned drinking a faulty potion. This is your first and final warning, if you do not take this field of magic seriously, you will answer to me. And believe me, you will wish that you would be dead."

The professor looked around the classroom making sure that he had the students' attention before continuing, "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.

"Like most of your wanded subjects, this class will be divided into theory and practice. I will be responsible for the practical aspects of your lesson, while you will have your theoretical ones with a junior professor. In this room, there are ground rules that you will follow. First of all, you are not allowed to brew any potion outside this room, since you will only risk killing yourselves. Secondly, you will follow my instructions to the letter. If you purposely choose to mess around with potions, you will answer to me. Finally, you will not be allowed to take any of the ingredients and potions outside this room. Am I making myself clear?"

The entire classroom nodded at once, "Now, let's begin our lesson, what are potions? Some of you might foolishly believe that it's simply a combination of magical ingredients, but they would be wrong. A potion necessitates magic to be brewed. A squib or muggle cannot brew a potion, although, I will leave the intricacies for your theory lessons."

"Longbottom!" said Snape suddenly, "Since you like not paying attention, why don't you explain to me what you would get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of woodworm?"

The scarred boy, who was snickering with Weasley, stiffened and blushed in embarrassment, "I don't know sir."

The question wasn't really that hard, but it was mentioned in the potion book in the description of both ingredients. The draught of living death was a very well-known potion that were used on unconscious prisoners after large battles. Prisons tended to be full in times of war, and so, wizards used this potion to make sure they wouldn't escape or cause mayhem. The potion was so popular in the past that there are many muggle fairy tales inspired by this potion.

"Perhaps this question was just too complicated for you," Snape drawled, "Maybe this one would be more your speed. What exactly is a bezoar?"

The boy was clenching his fist, "I don't know, sir."

The rest of the Slytherins were snickering and Harry could understand why, even if he didn't like it. Bezoars are relatively common ingredients that every child knows about because they can neutralize most poisons. It was also on the first page of the potions book Snape recommended. The fact that Longbottom didn't know that was honestly disturbing. But still, this had gone past a simple punishment, Snape was actively embarrassing Longbottom in front of their peers.

The Professor was smirking now, "One last time, tell me three ingredients used in the cure for boils."

This was a point-blank question about the first potions they were going to brew. Anyone who had even looked at the book would have known that. Unfortunately, it seemed like Longbottom didn't.

The scarred boy glared at the professor, "I don't know, sir. But why don't you ask Hermione? She seems to know the answer. I have better things to do with my time than to play with potions."

True enough, the young muggleborn was shaking her hand in the air and had actually stood up for the last question. But the way Longbottom was talking back to the professor was beyond insolent, but it was the typical response from a spoilt child that liked flashy magic.

"That will be ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence, Longbottom. And drop your hand girl, you're embarrassing yourself."

The bushy haired girl had dropped her hand down. Harry noticed that she had watery eyes. Now, that was a very rude thing to say to a young girl that seemed to want to fit in. Oh, she was a know-it-all, that's for sure, and she wanted to show the world how smart she was. But she was a girl that wasn't even in her teens yet. The potion master was being purposefully cruel to her.

The man then kept asking questions to the Gryffindor students. He tended to give out ones just hard enough that they wouldn't be able to answer them. He didn't ask a question to any of the Slytherin, something that was entirely unfair. He even asked Granger what Harry realized were third-year potions. He was doing his best to beat everyone down as much as possible.

Harry stopped paying attention when the man was humiliating Seamus Finnigan and was brought back to reality with the professor's loud voice, "Potter!"

The entire classroom looked back at Harry at once, with disbelief clear on their faces. After all, he was the first Slytherin the professor was going to humiliate.

The man's glare was far more intense than it was with even Longbottom, "You think you're too good to pay attention, don't you? Well, answer me this, what are three ingredients used to make a draught of peace?"

Harry tried to remember if he had ever read about a draught of peace, and he did. It wasn't in the first-year textbook, it was in the OWL book he was reading. The man was asking him questions about an OWL level potion. "Powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore, and stewed mandrake," said Harry with a dry tone.

The man actually reeled back when Harry answered his question correctly. Actually, the entire class was gaping at him, especially Hermione Granger who probably didn't even know the answers.

"What does the Wiggenweld potion do?"

Harry simply shrugged, "It is a healing potion that is known to cure minor injuries, although it is infamous for being an antidote to the Draught of Living Death, awakening victims of this potion from their endless slumber."

The professor didn't seem satisfied, "What is the Felix Felicis potion?"

"Felix Felicis, commonly known as liquid luck, is a magical potion that makes the drinker extremely lucky for a period of time, during which everything they attempt would be successful. It is known to be toxic in large quantities, and is very extremely to brew, which takes six months to complete."

The professor looked flabbergasted at the answered question, then asked, "what is Golpalott's third law?"

Harry simply shrugged, "I know that it is referenced as a law for making antidotes, but I am unsure of its content."

This question was a theoretical one that is explained to NEWT students, not first years, and the man seemed to see how caught up he had gotten with his questions. There's a difference between embarrassing unprepared students and asking them post-OWL potions questions.

The man just sniffed and started speaking to the rest of the class, "Now, this is not a rule, but I will heavily recommend you read the instructions carefully before you even attend your practical potion lessons with me, including researching the ingredients used to brew a simple Cure for Boils. Now, clear your desks and start brewing. The instructions are on the board. The ingredients necessary are in your desks' drawers. You will brew this potion individually. You have 90 minutes."

Harry took a piece of parchment and started writing the instruction on the board. They were somewhat different to that of the books, but Harry chose not to question them, and listen to the professor.

It was honestly, a rather riveting experience. Harry stopped caring about what the professor was doing and just started brewing. What he heard while brewing a potion was amazing. The idea was to combine the abstract properties of certain elements and other ingredients to enhance, reverse, or even just stabilize the concoction. Harry saw how the powdered snake fangs acted as stabilizers to the potion, the protection provided by the Porcupine quills, that enhanced the small anti-boil properties of the horned slugs. The symphony kept changing, and the magic channelled by the rod while stirring was like someone slowly changing the key to the potion's melody.

The rods seemed designed to help accelerate certain reactions and encourage certain results from particular combinations. These were standard ones that automatically used the user's magic in a certain quantity, hence the standardized number of stirs for potions. After OWL, specialized stirring rods are required where the magic channelled is actively controlled by the brewer, which is necessary for delicate potions.

By the end, Harry's potion was the exact red from the instructions, and he bottled it and put it on his desk. While the Professor was busy with Seamus whose potion had blown up and caused him and Weasley to grow giant painful boils on his face. The man was berating them instead of telling them to get to the infirmary. Still, by the end of it, Snape's reaction to his potion was him muttering, "Passable." In a disappointing tone and go back to praising Malfoy for his potion which was more orange than red. At least it was better than whatever abomination Longbottom had brewed, which the professor mocked loudly for everyone to hear.

By the end of the lesson, Harry just grabbed his bag and started to leave, ready to leave, only to see Longbottom waiting for him by the door, "I bet you liked that, huh, traitor?"

Harry was confused by what the boy was talking about, "Do you mind clarifying?"

"Just go away with your Slytherin friends," the scarred boy responded.

Harry just rolled his eyes, muttered "I'm too tired for this," and turned to leave for his common room. He had his fill of childish petty professors and weird scarred boys that glared at him for no reason.

 

[Vrenze]

By the end of the lesson, Harry just grabbed his bag and started to leave, ready to leave, only to see Longbottom waiting for him by the door, "I bet you liked that, huh, traitor?"

Click to shrink...

Oh, is this even more of an AU where James Potter is the Pettigrew/Sirius of the tale?

 

[B0601]

Oh, is this even more of an AU where James Potter is the Pettigrew/Sirius of the tale?

Click to shrink...

I think it refers to Harry being sorted to Slytherin

 

[Vrenze]

I think it refers to Harry being sorted to Slytherin

Click to shrink...

I'm not too sure. Maybe if, for some crazy reason, it was one of the adults noted to react to it but for the kids the idea of it being a betrayal just for House reasons, the Potters would have had to have been known anti-Voldemort people. Or their parents would have told the kids about the Order of the Phoenix and its members, which didn't happen in canon. Not to say that this should stick to canon but that until it comes up in story that's all we have to go on regarding this particular corner of worldbuilding.