"They're getting antsy," Barchoke said, fiddling with his Concealer as he and Lichfield huddled with Harry by the odd device at the center of the room. The operator of it glanced at them anxiously from a little ways off, wanting to begin.
"Marsh is up there trying to convince everyone I've been taken in by some kids' prank or grand conspiracy theory," the goblin groused. "The others are now hungry enough to listen. It's just my luck the girl had cats on the brain."
"To be fair, there were a couple of other things which popped up regularly too," Lichfield said with a hint of a glance his way Harry chose not to notice. He hadn't had the chance to see Ron or Hermione after they were done, and waiting was not a pleasant experience.
"Just stick to what's important and I'll try to keep them from distracting you like they did her," the goblin told him.
"What do you mean?" asked Harry.
"The ginger kid-," Lichfield said.
"-Ron," Harry interrupted.
"-Right," the old bailiff continued. "Well, he was pretty scatter-brained, which left them with more questions than answers. That had them trying to piece things together - most of the time out loud - which kept diverting her when she was actually doing a pretty good job on her own."
"We've pretty much pieced together your investigation all the way until you got separated," Barchoke explained. "Just show us the Stone and blood will flow," the goblin said eagerly. "Er - metaphorically," he clarified at a look from Harry before scurrying off back to the others.
"Clear your mind," Lichfield advised as the operator goblin led him to the chair and started to strap him down. "But stay focused. Just go with the flow, but concentrate on guiding it if you can," he said paradoxically as the plunger got stuck to Harry's head.
"You ready?" Barchoke called down from the overlooking ring, sending Lichfield sliding back to one side and out of the way.
Harry had never felt less ready. What if he forgot everything and nothing happened at all? What if it started replaying in his entire life and when it got to here, it started all over again? No, he had to focus; he knew what he had to do, kind of - he hoped.
"Show us the end, with the Stone," Barchoke said from the stands above him.
With a lurch in his stomach Harry found himself passing through the curtain of black flames and getting quite a shock. Someone was already there - but it wasn't Snape. It wasn't even Voldemort. It was Quirrell.
"You!" gasped Harry.
Quirrell smiled. His face wasn't twitching at all.
"Me," he said calmly.
"Who's he?" a goblin asked from somewhere.
Before he could wonder where the goblin had come from there was another lurch in his stomach and Harry found himself standing in the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid.
"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell. For some reason it seemed odd to see him without a turban, but the thought disappeared as the young professor grasped his hand. "C-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" he asked curiously.
"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered the young man, as though he'd rather not think about it.
With a rushing sensation Harry found himself back in the bowels of Hogwarts.
"I wondered whether I'd be meeting you here, Potter," Quirrell mused.
"But I thought - Snape-"
With a lurch Harry found himself in Potions class. Hermione had her hand stretched as high into the air as it would go without leaving her seat.
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape sneered triumphantly.
Harry tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.
He was on the Hogwarts Express and the pinched face of Draco Malfoy turned to look disdainfully at Ron.
"Think my name's funny, do you?" Malfoy challenged. "No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."
With another lurch, Harry thought he might lose his lunch. Wait - besides the train, had he eaten lunch?
"Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms," the blonde boy said in a bored drawling voice as he stood on the other stool for his robes. "I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Father into getting one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."
Malfoy snatched the package away from Harry and felt it. This seemed to be getting easier - but wait, what was he doing?
"That's a broomstick," Draco said, throwing the long, thin package back at him with a mixture of jealousy and spite. "You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them."
Ron had a grin on his lips as he simply couldn't resist it rubbing Malfoy's nose in it.
"It's not any old broomstick, it's a Nimbus Two Thousand," Ron crowed. "What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" He grinned at Harry. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."
"What would you know about it, Weasley," Malfoy snapped back as if the very name was an insult. "You couldn't afford half the handle. I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."
There was a bit of confusion as Harry found himself back on the Hogwarts Express.
Draco turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort."
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you?" the pinch-faced blonde said from the other stool in the robe store. "They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine."
With a slight shiver Harry found himself in the dusty little shack Uncle Vernon had dragged them all the way into the sea to find.
"I knew you'd be just the same," Aunt Petunia said sneeringly, "just as strange, just as - as - abnormal - and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"
Harry felt like he'd been punched in the gut. As soon as he found his voice he said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"
Uncle Vernon rounded on him as soon as the door to number four closed, he was so angry he could hardly speak.
"Go - cupboard - stay - no meals," he managed to say before he collapsing into a chair and left Aunt Petunia to scurry away and get him a large brandy.
.....
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