Current mood:	content
Entry tags:	fic, rakina, rating: pg

FIC: Tapestry, by Rakina, PG, chapter 3 of ?
Title: Tapestry, a Journey in Eight Stages
Author: Rakina
Rating: PG for now, possibly rising to R or NC17 later.
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Warnings: AU
Summary: Harry only has one thing from his parents: a blanket. But his mum and dad were magical, and so it turns out to be no ordinary blanket, after all.
Beta: A very big thank you to my regular, wonderful beta, Hel Bee (hel_bee)
Disclaimer: I am not making any money from the characters which belong to JK Rowling. No disrespect intended. I do, however, lay claim to the plot and original characters.
Chapter notes: As before, please remember there will be lots of OCs (original characters). You may recognise canon characters and places, but they will not be precisely canon, as this is an AU. However, I hope their personalities remain recognisable.

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2




STAGE TWO: School

Chapter 3: Hogwarts

As Harry's birthday approached, he knew that Liam would be leaving soon, for his friend's birthday was three days before his own. But he told himself he'd only have to spend three days without him, and then he'd be going to the senior school too, the school Liam was going to. Harry refused to consider that he might not go to the same place; it was too painful to face that. Because in the two years he'd been here he'd become firm friends with his Good Companion, and now he had a real friend, a good friend. He couldn't bear the thought of going back to being alone again, perhaps being shunned as he'd been in Surrey. Three days wasn't so bad... and he still had other friends here too, all younger than him. The recently-promoted Tens were a good bunch, but Harry missed some of his first friends, especially Sidney Padley, whom it was impossible not to like. And so his heart sank on the day Liam Webster was called to the headmaster's office since Harry knew he was leaving. He hugged his friend tightly, not wanting to let him go, and Liam laughed and slapped him on the back, embarrassed by Harry's unexpected outpouring of emotion, and told him he'd see him in three days time, for sure. Harry watched Liam walking off with Miss Sharpe, who'd come to collect him at breakfast time, and although he was surrounded by children, he suddenly felt utterly alone.

And so it was on the night of Harry's eleventh birthday, that his fingers traced over his blanket and he half-expected to be whisked away in the night, perhaps to be woken by landing on his backside in a new place, the place where Liam was, in the same way he'd arrived here at Hedwig's. Harry drifted off to sleep with his fingers tracing the patterns of 'Playland' and the neighbouring classroom picture, but he wasn't woken in the night.

Instead, the sudden wrench happened while he was getting up. He'd gripped his blanket to push it aside and swing his legs out of bed, and the lurch was so sudden, and happened so quickly, that Harry hardly had time to process the flickering of reality, its effect like the time the Dursleys' telly had gone wrong. Hedwig's became blurry... became a snowstorm of white noise... became a stone-built entrance hall... all in the blink of an eye. And suddenly he was standing in the stone hallway, gripping his blanket in his right hand, only too aware he was still in his pyjamas. He closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. This was going to be almost exactly like his arrival at Hedwig's; he was going to walk around in his pyjamas, and no doubt be the butt of jokes for the day, while everyone else fitted in. He felt his cheeks colouring as a man's voice said, "Who's that there? Where did you come from, boy?"

Harry didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to see the smirks as people made fun of him. Nevertheless his eyes flew open when a hand fell on his shoulder. "Come with me, young man," said a very different voice in a Scottish accent.

Harry looked up into a woman's stern face; the woman was wearing a tall black hat, like a witch in a fairy tale. She was wearing tartan robes; Harry was used to old-fashioned robes by now, as Master Donnelly always wore them, and some of the other teachers did too, especially on occasions like Christmas or Easter. "Thank you, Mr Filch," the woman said, addressing the mean-looking man who had first spoken to Harry. The man had straggly, iron-grey hair that hung around his face, and he was scowling at Harry. "I will deal with this. You may begin the clearance, but be careful! I will be back shortly." With that, she gripped Harry firmly by the shoulder, turned him around and led him away.

Harry didn't have time to process much about his new surroundings except to realise how different this place was to Saint Hedwig's, as he was led along a corridor by the stern witch, leaving behind the man whose eyes he felt upon him, watching him intently. Was Liam here in this place, he wondered. He could only hope so.

"We're going to see the headmaster, Professor Dumbledore," said the witch – for Harry assumed that was what she must be. "My name is Professor McGonagall, and I am the deputy head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are some weeks early for the start of term, but I've no doubt Professor Dumbledore will get to the bottom of who you are and why you're here in the summer holidays."

The summer holidays, of course! Harry remembered those from his time before Hedwig's. They didn't have holidays at Hedwig's, for the children there had no other homes and were expected to help out all through the year. There were even duties to be done on Christmas Day. But this was a different kind of place – a school. Well, a special sort of school, Harry considered, as he and the witch came to a halt before a large stone statue of a weird-looking beast. Harry was fairly sure ordinary children didn't go to a school like this.

"This gargoyle guards the entrance to the headmaster's office," McGonagall said, looking down at Harry. Then she turned to the statue and said, "Aniseed ball." As soon as she said those words there was a grinding noise and the stone statue started to move, shocking Harry as it shifted aside to reveal an archway with a staircase behind the place where the statue had stood. "Come along."

Harry was pushed ahead of the witch onto one of the stone spiral steps. McGonagall got on behind and then the whole staircase started to move, spiralling upwards. Harry gasped and watched amazed as they rose higher and higher; he heard the gargoyle moving back into place behind them. It was like being locked in, by magic, and it made him nervous. This was his new place, the place on his blanket that showed the classroom. Harry gripped the blanket close to his chest, determined not to lose it now.

Once the stairs stopped moving, they stepped off onto a small area before a large, wooden door. Harry thought it was like a church door. This whole place was almost like a giant church – made of stone and obviously centuries old; everything looked well worn – the doors looked old, the wood smooth, and even the stone steps looked as if generations of feet had worn them down in the middle. The witch had raised her hand as if to knock, when the door swung inwards. She led Harry into the most amazing place he'd ever seen. 'The headmaster's office' did not describe it at all.

The room was tall, equal in height to two normal rooms, Harry thought, or maybe a church. There were tall, arched windows, some of which contained stained glass which was spilling different coloured light into the room on this bright early morning at the very end of July, adding to the ecclesiastical ambience. The room was lined with bookshelves and glass-fronted cases; the latter contained weird items Harry could not identify - they looked like pieces of machinery made up of spare parts all conjured together into bizarre shapes. More of these fantastic contraptions stood around the room on tables of varying heights. The ones not in cases were all moving; some silently, some ticking like clocks, some whirring like little windmills. Harry didn't know which to look at first, they were all so fascinating. But then something caught his eye that was even more compelling, and the little machines were forgotten; for over to one side of the room was a tall perch, and on the perch sat a fantastic bird. It was as large as a turkey, Harry thought, but a much nicer shape, being longer and slimmer. It was scarlet red with gold feathers on its beautiful crest and in its long, elegant tail. Even its scaly feet were a beautiful shade of scarlet. Harry couldn't help it – he stared at the bird, machines forgotten.

"Ah, there you are," said a new voice, and Harry reluctantly turned away from the bird and looked over to the side where a man had appeared, Harry didn't know where he could have appeared from. He hadn't been there a moment ago, and there were no doors over there or anywhere obvious to hide. He's a wizard, Harry realised. "Come along, young man, and sit down. We'll have some tea and you can tell me all about yourself. Your arrival is unusual, I'm sure Professor McGonagall told you that, and a little precipitous as the school is closed for the summer. However, we shall sort you out, never fear."

The wizard was tall and slender, and he was old. Very, very old, Harry thought. He had a long snow-white beard and equally long hair that hung down his back. He was wearing very glittery clothes: wizard's robes in a deep turquoise colour with silver and gold patterns on them that glinted in the sunlight. Harry couldn't help but smile, because the man was kind; he radiated an odd mixture of gentleness and power. Harry could feel the power inside the man, and surrounding him like a halo all around his body; it was the weirdest feeling he'd ever felt to be near him – Professor Dumbledore, the witch had called him. The headmaster of Hogwarts School. The old wizard smiled back at Harry and patted him on the head with a long-fingered, slender hand. And Harry happily followed and sat where the headmaster pointed, in a chair in front of a wide desk. Dumbledore went and sat behind the desk, and a tea service abruptly appeared in front of him, winking into existence from thin air. The headmaster served them both tea. He paused, teapot poised over a third cup, and looked up at the witch. "Will you be staying for tea, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked.

"Och, no, Albus, I have to deal with a doxy infestation with Mr Filch's help. They get in during the summer when the doors and windows are open, the wretched things."

The headmaster nodded, smiling as he handed Harry his cup of tea. Harry heard the witch leaving. He didn't turn and look, because he was too busy looking at the headmaster, who fascinated him far more.

"Well, young man, you had better tell me your name."

"I'm Harry Potter, sir."

The old wizard's smile never faltered, but Harry saw something in the old man's eyes, a flicker of some emotion, but it was so quickly gone he couldn't work out what it might be. "Ah... Harry. I knew your parents; they were wonderful young people"

Harry goggled. This was the first he'd heard of his parents since leaving Privet Drive. No one knew anything at Hedwig's, and the Dursleys had never spoken of them except to taunt Harry with their irresponsibility at leaving him as their burden. Harry didn't know quite how he felt about them, as he had no memory of them and everything he'd heard so far had been bad. "You did?"

"Yes, I did. It was a tragedy when they were taken from us."

Taken from us. That didn't sound like the sort of thing someone would say about a car crash, did it? "Um... how did they die?" Harry dared to ask in a quiet voice.

The headmaster looked intently at him. "You don't know? Ah, I see that you don't. What were you told?"

"That they died in a car crash."

The headmaster shook his head sadly. "No, Harry, they did not. They were murdered."

Harry gasped, and his teacup wobbled on its saucer. Just to be safe he put it back down on the desk. "Wh- who murdered them? Do you know, sir?"

Again the headmaster looked sad. "Yes, Harry, I know." For a while he didn't say more, and Harry wondered if that would be it, if he'd never know what happened, not properly. But Dumbledore did speak again. "Their home was broken into and they were killed by a werewolf. Your parents died protecting you. And you, only a helpless baby, survived the attack. It's uncertain why, but you were found later the next morning, crying in your room, with your mother lying dead beside your cot. Your father's body was on the stairs, where he'd tried to block the way. But werewolves are fearsome creatures, Harry, and strong; no man could withstand one. Even vampires are wary of them."

Harry's face had gone white; he felt sick. His mum and dad were torn apart by a werewolf? He shuddered and put his head in his hands. Dumbledore didn't say anything, just let him get himself under control, and Harry thought that was the most wonderful thing he could have done, because right now he didn't think he could stand it if someone touched him or fussed over him – he'd fall apart. Finally, he managed to look up from his hands.

"Drink some tea, Harry, it will make you feel better," Dumbledore said, and as if under compulsion, Harry fumbled for his cup, lifted it to his lips and took a drink of tea.

The tea tasted good, more than good, and Harry drank it all down, replacing the cup on its saucer on the desk. Dumbledore poured him some more. Harry nodded his thanks and picked up the cup again. "That's good," Dumbledore said. "I find that tea is the best cure for many ills."

Harry nodded and drank again, and Dumbledore then offered him a plate of biscuits. They were beautiful, made of many colours and shapes, looking dainty and sweet. Harry picked up a biscuit shaped like a star; it had something sparkly dusted over it, making it shine like a real star in the night sky, and Harry bit off a piece which almost melted in his mouth. It was so good he couldn't help but smile, despite what he had just learned.

"I realise all of this is a shock," the headmaster said, his voice warm and soothing. "But you are in the right place now, if, as I said, a trifle early. Here at Hogwarts you will learn all you need to become a strong wizard. You will become a member of British wizarding society, as you are meant to be. In your early years you were cared for by your Muggle relatives, I believe?"

Harry nodded, then shook his head. When the headmaster looked puzzled, Harry said, "At first my aunt and uncle looked after me. But they never cared for me, sir. They hated me," he said sadly. "But when I was eight I went to St Hedwig's."

The headmaster looked very surprised at this. "You did? Pray, how did you get there? Did your aunt and uncle take you?"

"Oh no, my blanket took me," Harry said, indicating the blanket that was folded and still tucked under his arm.

The headmaster looked at it, his eyes narrowing behind the half-moon glasses that were perched on his long, narrow nose. "I see..." he mused. "And you have had that with you since you were taken to your aunt and uncle's," he added, but it didn't sound like a question to Harry, who nevertheless nodded his agreement. "It must have come from the Potters."

"Not from my mum then? I always thought it was from my mum."

"I don't think so, Harry. You see, your mother's family were Muggles, like your aunt and uncle. She was a witch born into a non-magical family: a Muggle-born. It happens occasionally, and all such children come here to Hogwarts when they are eleven, unless their families refuse to let them. That is rare though, for Muggle families recognise that they are ill-equipped to deal with the needs of a magical child. By the time they are eleven, most children have shown their magic, often quite alarmingly. Have you done so, Harry?"

Harry blushed. Oh yes, he had shown his magic. When that strange boy, Dennis Abrams, had been teasing one of the hens, offering it a piece of bread and then snatching it back repeatedly, Harry had got angry. Instantly, Dennis had found himself locked up in the hen coop, a space which was rather too small for him, and his muffled cries had alerted Mr Francis, who was overseeing the market garden that day. Abrams had been set free, Harry had been calmed down, and nothing more had been said about it. It was rare at Hedwig's for accidental magic to be punished, and in this case no permanent harm was done, though Abrams was jumpy for a while, especially around Harry. Harry hadn't thought that was a bad thing at all. Mr Francis didn't seem too sympathetic to Abrams either; the boy's nature was known to all, children and staff alike. "Yes, Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiled, looking satisfied. "Finish your tea, Harry, and do have another biscuit. I will find a place for you to stay until the start of term."

"I had a Good Companion, Liam Webster," Harry blurted quickly, sensing the headmaster was dismissing him. "He is three days older than me. Can I be with him? Please?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "I will see what can be done, Harry. Now, finish your tea."


Harry did get somewhere to stay, and there, to his great relief, he met up again with his friend. He couldn't have been happier. "Liam! What is this place?" Harry puffed as he was shown into a double room at the top of a flight of crooked stairs. Liam was reading on one of the beds, and looked up in surprise when Harry came in hefting a trunk, which, although it was nearly empty, was heavy enough to drag up the narrow stairs.

"Harry! You arrived too!" Liam cried, rushing over to Harry. "See! I told you we'd be together again. And it was only three days, like I said."

Harry shoved the trunk over by the wall, where he saw there was already another one, marked 'L.W.' He grinned. "You got a trunk too?"

"Yeah, the trunks are for all our school stuff. We have to take clothes, books, and lots of odd things for lessons in there. It'll weigh a ton."

Harry grimaced. "At least we'll be going downstairs." The boys laughed. "So what's in yours?" Harry asked Liam, looking at the other boy's trunk.

"Only my nightclothes, underwear, and my Hedwig's uniforms. I can wear them until school starts, but we have to go shopping for our Hogwarts stuff. You were right, Harry, the school is called Hogwarts and we're going to go there!" Liam was almost bouncing in his excitement.

"Yeah, you were right too," Harry grinned, "I am clever enough to go." Harry was just as excited. "I've been there already, Liam, and it's great! It's a castle, and it's all made of stone and really old wooden doors and weird statues and things in the corridors, and paintings-."

"What?" Liam interrupted Harry's inventory. "You've already been? How? When?" He was bursting with questions now.

"I just arrived there, like when I arrived at Hedwig's," Harry told him. He didn't mention his blanket, which was folded up safely inside his trunk. He'd never told Liam the secret; for some reason he knew he mustn't mention it to his friends. He also knew, instinctively, that it had been okay to mention it to Professor Dumbledore. It was all very odd, but Harry was getting quite used to 'odd' by now.

"Wow! I wish I'd gone there first too. Miss Sharpe just sent me off with some chap who brought me here. This place is called the Leaky Cauldron; it's in Charing Cross Road, so it wasn't much of a journey really. I didn't get to do anything exciting. In fact, it's been boring just hanging about in this room; I wasn't allowed out on my own. Perhaps we can go out together now you're here!"

Harry shrugged. He'd just got here and his first need was for something to eat. "I'm starved, Liam. Do they feed us here?"

Liam laughed. "Yeah. Except for breakfast it's mostly been soup and stew. Pea soup every day so far." He frowned. "I'm fed up with it already, but the bread's okay. We can go down for lunch if you want to; we just have to sit down and wait and they come and serve us, just like it's a hotel or something. It's great; we don't even have to wash up!"

Harry thought he'd done pretty well this time. Hedwig's was better than the Dursleys', but maybe Hogwarts would be better still. After all, so far there was no washing up.


The two boys were allowed out into Diagon Alley together, and it was the start of the best days of Harry's life. He didn't have any money, but he loved walking along the street with all the magical shops. They went into the bookshop and were amazed by the sheer number of books on sale, about all kinds of magic most of which Harry had never even heard of. Liam really liked the books about magical creatures, and Harry would lose him along the shelves where those books were kept for what seemed like hours. While Harry looked around several other areas Liam wouldn't move from there. The people who worked in the shop kept an eye on them, but seemed indulgent about the boys' fascination. Mr Flourish, who owned the shop, told the boys they weren't allowed to bring any food in for fear of damaging the books; Harry and Liam both promised him that they wouldn't mark the books, they just loved looking at them. Mr Flourish had smiled and nodded, then patted the boys on the head, which reminded Harry of Dumbledore.

In contrast, Harry didn't spend much time in the apothecary's shop. It was a fascinating shop right enough, full of weird-shaped bits and pieces: dried leaves, powders and all sorts of other strange stuff in jars and bottles, but it was just so smelly! He wrinkled up his nose whenever they walked past it, and Liam laughed.

"It's not that bad! Honestly, Harry, you're fussy."

"I'm not! It smells disgusting. I don't like that smell at all. Let's not go in there today." And Liam had given in, with the result that when it was time to buy their school supplies, they'd only been in once before. It didn't take long though, as the shop had the potions supplies bagged up according to year. Harry and Liam bought a 'First-year Potions Kit' for six Sickles, and Harry wished he had a plastic bag to put it in to stop it smelling his trunk out, but wizards didn't seem to use plastic; Harry hadn't seen any since his Privet Drive days.

Harry had some money on this shopping trip, because only the day before, a letter had arrived for each of them at the Leaky Cauldron. It included a catalogue of supplies they would need for the coming school year, as well as a uniform list. Harry was glad to receive it; it meant he wouldn't be the odd one out this time; he wouldn't be walking around in pyjamas while other kids pointed and laughed. The letter instructed the boys to call in at Gringotts, the wizards' bank which dominated the alley. Once they did so, trembling in fear from the sight of the fearsome goblins that ran the place, and walking nervously up to a counter, they had been given an allowance for the year in a drawstring purse. "Do not lose it, there will be no more until next summer," the goblin told them, glaring down at them before smiling and showing his sharp, pointed teeth. "There is an extra allowance this year to cover the cost of a standard wand."

Harry nodded. "Y-yes, sir. I-I'll take good care of it."

He and Liam had high-tailed it out of there as quickly as they could without running, for neither wanted to be chided by the goblins, and they were fairly sure running wasn't allowed in here anymore than it had been at Hedwig's. Who knew what such creatures would do if you upset them!

So the boys spent a large part of their allowance kitting themselves out for school. As they were staying at the old inn that straddled the entrance to the alley, they could take their time and go out and buy a bit each day. In between they'd wander around some of the smaller shops, or buy an ice-cream at Fortescue's parlour. The sun beat down and it was a hot, perfect August. Harry couldn't believe that his life could be so wonderful: he had some money, he had an exciting school to look forward to, and best of all he had Liam with him. As they walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry suddenly jumped up, punched the air and cried, "Woo-hoo!"

Liam grinned. "What's got you all excited? Got bitten by a flea?"

Harry mock-punched him. "I'm just happy. Isn't this great?"

Liam grinned back. "You're right; it's perfect. How did we get so lucky?"

The boys devoted a whole day to acquiring their wands. Not that it took that long inside the shop, judging by other customers' timing, but they spent ages psyching themselves up to go inside. All the other kids they'd seen were accompanied by one or both proud parents, and it was obvious that getting your first wand was a very serious thing to do: a milestone. Many of the kids looked pampered, and one or two were downright rich judging by their parents' robes and posh accents. It made Harry feel very small.

Of course, Liam and Harry didn't have anyone to go into the wand shop, called Ollivanders, with them except each other, and the longer they stood and thought about it the more they were making each other nervous.

"What d'you think they do to find out what kind of wand you need?" Liam asked, pale-faced.

"I dunno. Reckon they do some sort of tests."

"That shop's so dark and the old bloke in there looks scary," Liam added, almost trembling.

Harry just nodded. Suddenly he reached out and put a hand on the door handle, opened it and went inside. Liam had no choice but to follow.

"Well, well, who have we here?" Harry thought the odd shopkeeper's voice was just as odd as his appearance, the words almost sliding into his ears as if they were made of something solid. He looked up into the man's strange, pale eyes. "My name is Harry Potter, and my friend is Liam Webster."

Mr Ollivander – for it must be he as there was no one else in the shop – smiled, revealing some alarming teeth – surely he had more than the standard number? Harry tried not to goggle and forced himself to look away from the rather too obvious smile. "You are, are you? Well, yes, Mr Potter, I remember your parents coming into my shop for their first wands."

"You do?" Harry momentarily forgot Ollivander's creepiness in the excitement of hearing about his parents.

"Yes, indeed. I fitted them out with good wands, quite powerful wands, though sadly it availed them nothing in the end." Ollivander did indeed sound sad, and Harry warmed to him then. "It will be interesting to see what wand suits you, Mr Potter, for your fate was quite different from theirs."

Liam was happy to stand back and let Harry go first, and he watched as Harry tried out several wands, all of which did not suit him, either not responding to his magic, or responding erratically. Ollivander hummed to himself as he walked along his shelves which were piled with wand boxes sorted in some abstruse manner the boys couldn't understand. Finally, he reached out a trembling hand and touched a dust-laden box at the end of the row. "I wonder..."

Harry took the wand and immediately felt different. His hand warmed to the wood and he felt tingles running up his arm. When he waved the wand a jet of silver and gold sparks emerged, lighting up the gloomy shop. Liam gasped and Ollivander clapped his hands together.

"Yes! The very one. How curious."

"Wh-what do you mean, sir?" Harry asked, enjoying the feel of this wand in his hand.

"This wand is made of the finest elder, with a core of thestral hair. The thestral is a strange beast that might be invisible to you, at least for a while, but one day you will be able to see them. Meanwhile, one of their hairs lies in your wand. Thestrals have very little hair, you see, which makes their appearance strange, of course," Ollivander muttered, "but it is quite magical, quite magical indeed."

Harry really had no idea what all this talk about thestrals meant. He just stood there, holding the wand and not wanting to lose it. He hoped with all his heart that this would be his, not one of the awkward ones he had tried out before.

Ollivander spoke again. "Elder is a strange wood for a wizard, boys; the tree has been used by Muggles as protection against magical folk for centuries. It does not work, of course, but that never stops Muggle superstitions. All the green parts of the tree are poisonous, only the flowers and berries are fine, making excellent fruit wine and potions ingredients too. The wood can be quirky, sometimes unpredictable, and so it is rarely used in wand-making. This, however, aligned perfectly with the hair donated by one of the thestrals from the Forbidden Forest."

Harry listened, wide-eyed, wondering where that forest might be, and why it was forbidden.

"Yes, it is interesting that your wand does not contain a core from a less predictable, if not downright dangerous beast, like a dragon, a phoenix, or perhaps even a Veela. The thestral is no danger to humans, either Muggle or wizard, and some would believe it a weak core. Hmm..."

"Does it mean my wand's not powerful then?" Harry asked worriedly.

Ollivander smiled. "Oh no, Mr Potter, your wand is as powerful as you need it to be. It utilises your magic well, channelling it perfectly. Don't you feel it?"

Harry nodded. Of course he did. He gripped his wand tighter.

"This wand has found you; now it is up to you what you do with it. But I will be most interested to see what you might use it for in future. Most interested indeed."

With that Harry paid over the thirty Galleons fee for a standard wand, even though Mr Ollivander told him his wand was not exactly standard and would usually sell for more than that. "Your parents lost their lives too soon; you were left alone too soon. Therefore I will sell you this wand for the standard fee, Mr Potter, as it is in your best interest, and the wand's, that I do so."

Mr Ollivander seemed to regard his wands as some people regarded their pets, and although Harry was mightily pleased to have got the wand he wanted, he was also discomfited by the wizard's mannerisms, and hoped he wouldn't have to buy another wand in a hurry.

Liam was easier to suit, and his wand – beech with a dragon heartstring core – was quickly found. Liam hurriedly paid and they left Ollivanders, excitedly clutching their new wand-boxes. "I'm glad to be out of there," Liam said.

Harry just nodded; he was still feeling odd – jittery and jumpy as if Ollivander was following him. He glanced back, and sure enough the man was standing in his shop window, watching them walk down Diagon Alley. Harry thought he saw a glimmer from the odd, pale eyes that were fixed on him. He shivered and picked up his pace, almost breaking into a run. The crowds of shoppers in the alley foiled him however, and he had no recourse but to walk along, feeling that penetrating gaze following him as he went.




Their perfect summer ended with a perfect train ride. Harry had never been on a train, and the one that awaited them was a bright red steam engine standing alongside a magical platform that Muggles couldn't get onto. Harry and Liam had been shown how to get through the magical barrier by another kid's mum. They'd said 'thank you' and hurried along to the train, hearts hammering with excitement. Soon they'd be on their way to Hogwarts! Harry and Liam handed their trunks onto the train where a guard was collecting them and packing them into a wagon at the back. They then jogged along the side of the train, looking into the carriages until they found an empty one. They climbed on at the next open door and sat down in the upholstered seats, huffing and puffing like the steam engine itself. The two boys couldn't seem to say anything, so they just sat together in companionable, overwhelmed silence.

The door to the carriage slid open and Sidney Padley stood there, smiling shyly. "Can I come in?"

"Hi, Sid, course you can," Liam said, pointing to the three empty seats opposite.

"Hi, Sid," Harry added, grinning. "Glad you're coming to Hogwarts too. Have you been before?" Sid's birthday was in February, and Harry wondered if he had gone to Hogwarts then.

"Oh, no. After I left Hedwig's I got taken to a place where I stayed awhile; I was doing work for this wizard who's a greengrocer in Cheadle. He took in kids between Hedwig's and Hogwarts quite often. I got a place to stay, and it was okay and the work wasn't very hard. The wizard told me all sorts of stuff about the school and his time there. It sounds a bit scary, but wonderful too. I can't wait to see it!"

"Harry's already seen it."

"What? You have?" He turned to look at Harry.

"Yeah. Somehow I got taken there... er... arrived too early. So the headmaster sent me to stay at the Leaky Cauldron in London for a month and I met Liam there. It's been a great summer, Sid! When did you come up for your shopping?"

"The wizard brought me one Monday afternoon in the middle of August. The shop closes for a half day on Mondays. All that stuff we had to buy! I don't know what we'll do with half of it. Those dried mushroom thingies look yucky."

"They smell too," Harry moaned.

"Oh, shut up about the smell, Harry!" Liam groaned. "Honest, Sid, he did nothing but moan about the smells from the apothecary's every time we walked down the alley. I reckon he must have a nose like a bloodhound."

Sidney laughed. "Here, want a Bertie Bott's bean? Bet you won't be able to sniff what flavour it is."

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"You know," Liam said, "those beans they were selling at Honeydukes that taste of everything."

Harry squinted into the bag Sidney was holding out for the other two. There were lots of different coloured beans; no two looked the same. "How do you tell which is which?"

"You don't, silly," Sid said. "That's the point! You just have to take pot luck. There's tons of flavours, and none of them smell."

"Hm... I suppose I'll try." Harry sounded unsure, but Liam nudged him with his elbow, so he reached in and took a green one.

"That might be spinach," Liam said, choosing a yellow one.

"And that might be egg," Sid said, grinning. "My last one was egg. Wasn't too bad; just odd. It was a bit like eating chewy cold egg, sort of a cross between scrambled and hard-boiled."

"Just as long as it's not rotten egg," Harry said, grinning. He tentatively touched his bean with his tongue, but he couldn't work out the flavour by doing that, so he bravely slid it onto his tongue and closed his mouth to suck. The other two watched him, waiting for the verdict. "Tastes a bit like salad," he mumbled, chewing. "Not sweet, but not horrible. Wouldn't really want another one though," he said as he swallowed.

Sidney grinned. "Well, it's fun finding out what you've got."

Liam had popped his yellow bean into his mouth and was chewing. "Argh!" he yelled suddenly, putting up a hand and spitting the messy remains of the bean into it, his face scrunched up comically as if he'd been chewing a wasp. "Ugh, oh, yuck!"

"I take it you don't like it then," Harry asked innocently.

"Oh Merlin! It's mustard, and extra-hot too!" Now Liam was flapping his clean hand in front of his face like an ineffectual fan. "Water!"

Sidney pulled a bottle of water out of his pocket and passed it to Liam with a grin. "Never eat these things without water handy," he advised Harry with a wink while their friend glugged mouthfuls of it.

"Merlin! Those things are bloody dangerous!"

"Don't be daft, Liam," Harry said, laughing. "What's the worst that can happen? They're not dangerous. Sid's right – they're fun."

"You eat another one then!" Liam challenged. "See if you still think they're fun then."

Harry shrugged, mentally kicking himself for boasting; he'd got off lightly first time, but now he couldn't very well refuse. He quickly took a red bean and popped it into his mouth. "Yum," he said after a few seconds. "Tomato ketchup."

Sidney snorted and popped a pink one, smiling. Liam and Harry watched closely, but he continued to smile. "Strawberry," he told the other two who looked rather disbelieving. "And just about the best bloomin' strawberry I've ever tasted. Better than Fortescue's."

Harry looked doubtful about that, but Liam declared, "I don't care if it's the best taste in the entire universe, Sid; I'm not having any more of those bloody beans. Ever." And he took another glug of water.


"Now, first years, I've no doubt this is all rather overwhelming for you, and so I'll just say a few words to you before we go into the Great Hall for the Sorting."

Harry recognised the Scottish accent straightaway, and there she was, Professor McGonagall, still wearing her tall witch's hat and tartan robes, standing at the top of the stairs in front of a pair of double doors.

"You have arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which will be your home until you are sixteen years old and have completed your final magical examinations, known as OWLs – the Ordinary Wizarding Levels," McGonagall continued, and Harry and his companions all listened carefully. While you are here we will endeavour to teach you the skills you need to live in wizarding Britain today, and to be able to protect yourself, your family and friends from the perils that beset us in the magical world. To this end, you will think of Hogwarts as your home. You are safe here, as the castle and grounds make up one of the strongest warded places in Britain. Your headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, is one of the greatest wizards of our time, and the teaching staff are chosen to be the best and most knowledgeable in their field. All magical children who have the capability are accepted into Hogwarts, both for their own good and the good of our country.
"Shortly, you will undergo the Sorting Ceremony, where you will be put into one of the four School houses. This house will be your home; here you will be able to earn points by good work and behaviour, or lose points by breaking the school rules or behaving badly, in class or out. Needless to say, losing points would make you unpopular with your fellows, as the four houses compete throughout the year to win the House Cup. Last year's champions were Slytherin House. I am the head of Gryffindor House.

"Now, if you are ready, we will go into the hall where you will wait quietly for your turn to be Sorted."

They filed in and stood in a line down the central aisle. Harry felt very exposed with what felt like thousands of pairs of eyes trained on him. He kept looking straight ahead, not daring to look around. As they'd walked in, he'd noticed there were four very long tables that ran the length of the hall, with students seated at either side of each of them. Some of the students looked like grown-ups, they were so tall and mature-looking, but Harry knew now that the oldest of them was sixteen. Once Hogwarts was done with you, you had to find your way in the wizarding world, which was a scary thing. But scarier still, at the present moment, was standing here waiting for this 'Sorting' to take place.

A stool was set at the front of a raised platform, upon which the teachers were seated behind a long table. Professor Dumbledore was in the centre on a very ornate chair; Harry thought it might be a throne. On top of the three-legged stool was a strange object: a battered old hat, ripped and torn in places. It might be a witch's or a wizard's hat, for it had a brim and was tall, tapering up to a point like McGonagall's. It might have looked nice once upon a time, but now it was saggy and sorry-looking. Harry wondered what was so special about it, because everyone's attention seemed to be fixed on it.

"That's the Sorting Hat," someone hissed quietly behind him. "I read about it in Hogwarts, a History."

Harry glanced back to see a girl with bushy brown hair who was looking very smug for knowing something the others didn't. Liam gave Harry a nudge in the ribs and rolled his eyes. "There's always a know-it-all," he whispered.

"Now, first years, when I call your name you will come and sit on the stool. I shall place the hat on your head and you will be Sorted."

Harry had no idea what McGonagall was talking about, and he was heartily glad 'P' was well down the alphabet; he'd be able to watch the others going first. Liam was luckiest of all: 'W' had to be right at the end.

"Hannah Abbot."

A scared looking girl came forward and McGonagall gestured to her to sit down. Hannah sat on the stool and McGonagall lowered the hat onto her head. Hannah suddenly jumped, as if someone had touched her, and her eyes widened in surprise. Harry wondered what was happening, until suddenly the hat moved – the rent in the brim opened wide and a gruff voice called: "Hufflepuff."

The hat, it seemed, could talk! Harry's eyes goggled as McGonagall lifted it off Hannah's head and pointed to one of the tables on the left. Hannah went and sat in an empty chair there, next to a slightly older student, who Harry thought was probably a second year. Was this all that happened? Well, it wasn't too bad. Harry started to relax.


Just before Harry's turn, Sidney Padley went up. He looked very nervous, and lowered himself onto the stool rather shakily. He too reacted as if the hat had stung him, or something. When the hat made its decision, which it seemed to take its time about, Harry was rather surprised to hear it shout: "Gryffindor", because that, he'd heard from the know-it-all Hermione Granger (as her name turned out to be), was the house for courageous witches and wizards. Liam reckoned she'd got her houses mixed up though, because she'd said Ravenclaw was the house for clever people, and she was a know-it-all but she'd been put into Gryffindor. "Well, if she's got it wrong, perhaps the hat knows better; she's obviously not as clever as she thinks she is," Harry whispered, until McGonagall gave him a glare and he quickly shut up.

With Sid in Gryffindor, Harry really wanted to be put there too. He'd watched the Sorting with interest, and decided he liked the look of the kids who got put in Gryffindor best of all. He'd taken a few peeks around the hall too, once everyone's attention was on the hat, and he thought some of the other tables looked less friendly. The one on the far side – Slytherin house's table – looked scary; everyone there looked as if they'd got a bad smell under their nose, or was sneering. The Ravenclaws looked snooty, like they did indeed know it all, and the current proceedings were beneath them. The Hufflepuffs seemed okay – very friendly in fact – but Harry still wanted Gryffindor.

"Harry Potter."

When Harry's name was called out, there was an immediate buzz of excited conversation around the room, and all eyes turned to him. Harry walked towards the stool with sudden fear; what was the matter? McGonagall gestured to him to sit, and Harry was soon distracted from everyone's reaction by the feel of the hat being placed on his head. Then he was entirely distracted as a voice spoke in his ear.

"My, my, so it's young Harry Potter, eh? Well, you're a different one and no mistake! A boy who follows his fate, aren't you? That's understandable, of course... but well now, wherever shall I put you?"

Harry didn't know if he ought to reply. No one had talked when they were being Sorted, and he didn't want to draw attention to himself any more than his name already had. He was worrying about just what that might mean, when the hat spoke again.

"Slytherin is for the cunning and ambitious, and you are no one's fool. Ambitious, too, aren't you? Wanting to make something of yourself in the wizarding world. Oh, yes, Slytherin would help you do that... What's that? You don't want to be in Slytherin? A pity... Well what else, what else? Ah yes, you have a fine mind, but that's not your overriding ability, I feel. And loyalty, yes, you have that too. Your friends are very important to you, are they not? Hmm... hmm... Then of course, you are brave. Few can claim to be braver than you, who faced fear at the earliest age... faced it, and overcame it. So yes, your overriding characteristic must be bravery, for you are Harry Potter... and so... "Gryffindor!"

And it was done, he was in Gryffindor! Harry's face broke into a huge grin, and he jumped up when McGonagall removed the hat and almost ran over to sit next to Sidney at the Gryffindor table. He waved back at Liam from there, and now all he could do was wait, and hope, and keep his fingers and toes crossed that Liam would be in Gryffindor too.

And Harry's perfect summer stayed perfect, as Liam Webster was Sorted into the same house as Harry and Sid, and the three boys sat at the long table and happily stuffed themselves with the food served for the Welcoming Feast.

And that would have been that, the arrival at Hogwarts; no more to be said but that Harry settled into his new quarters in Gryffindor Tower and immediately felt at home. Would have been... were it not for the Hat. The hat's role was to Sort all new arrivals; that was understood. But it had also been observed throughout the centuries that sometimes the hat spoke at other times; it issued warnings or advice, and the wizard who ignored it was a fool, or so it was said. And so the staff sat up and watched with sudden, fierce concentration as the hat, left resting on the stool waiting to be put away for another year, sat up and spoke during the feast, and all voices stilled to listen to it.

The work begun in death and blood,
Begins again in student-hood.
The babe who lived to spite the moon
Has come to where he'll find the One;
And one and One conjoined will be,
And blood and death will e'er be freed.

Everyone waited for more. That couldn't be it, could it? A verse, six lines, and no meaning that anyone could make out. It sounded like a prophecy, obscure and tantalising, as the hat's past pronouncements had usually been. That night many in Hogwarts castle lay sleepless, trying to find meaning in those words. Some had ideas; but none could see clearly. Even Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher, could do no more than say it would all be revealed in the fullness of time. She seemed rather put out that she had not delivered the verse, but no one else was surprised by that. And the Hat, of course, knew no more than it said; it was only a mouthpiece, after all. It had been left by the Founders and was full of ancient, deep magic; but mostly it was just a hat.