Harry Potter woke with a groan. His head was pounding against his skull, his back throbbing against the mattress, and his arms numb with pain. He had expected something bad to happen when he asked Vernon (he outright refused to call that pathetic excuse of a man 'Uncle') for a ride to King's Cross today, but he had severely underestimated just how angry the man was. It wasn't his fault that he had no other way to get to the train station, but yet Harry was still blamed.
That was nothing new, though—Harry was used to being blamed for everything.
For his entire life, the Dursleys had hated him for reasons beyond his control—just because he had magical powers that they didn't and they considered that freakish. The Dursleys hated anything they couldn't understand, that was unnatural—and Harry was, unfortunately, the physical embodiment of essentially everything they despised in life.
But at least he had managed to get himself an actual bedroom when his Hogwarts letter arrived in the mail a month ago—the first piece of mail Harry had ever received in the entirety of his eleven years of short, miserable existence.
Rolling over and wincing at the pain that shot through his body, Harry looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was only five o'clock in the morning. He still had hours to go until he could leave this horrible prison where he lived to learn magic for the next ten months.
Harry had always known he was gifted, and not in the way that all teachers describe students when one of them is smarter than the rest, even if that was also true. Harry was thinking of all the different times in his life where something strange happened that couldn't be explained — when he had been running away from bullies, led by his cousin Dudley, of course, and ended up on the school roof; when he had turned his teacher's wig blue; when he set a twenty-foot boa constrictor on Dudley at the zoo solely because Harry thought it would be entertaining, even if the month in his cupboard that followed hadn't been. Then there was the way he could control the length, style, and colour of his hair with only hist willpower, or how he could make people hurt if they made him angry.
Harry rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of Dudley's old jeans, which were three times too large for his short, skinny frame from never being fed enough and growing up in a cupboard under the stairs. He ran a hand through his jet-black hair as he looked in the mirror on the door of his broken wardrobe and decided it would probably be best if it wasn't so messy. He screwed up his face in concentration, and his hair arranged itself with a neat part to one side, covering both of his ears. His emerald eyes were covered by thick, round-framed glasses that were several years out of date, but it was better than nothing—maybe there was a magical way to fix his eyesight.
At exactly half past ten, Vernon dropped Harry off at King's Cross station. He drove off, cackling madly and believing his freakish nephew was abandoned and alone.
Harry rolled his eyes and started dragging his old, battered trunk through the station. He had hated having to pay for all his school supplies by himself, but Harry had become quite talented at the subtle art of pick-pocketing over the years—the Dursleys never paid for his lunches at school, so it had been a necessary skill to learn if he didn't want to starve to death, even though the thought had crossed his mind at times. The only things Harry had been able to get that weren't second-hand while doing his school shopping were his cauldron, potion ingredients, and wand. Everything else was pre-owned, but he was used to not having anything of his own and wasn't about to complain, especially now that he was finally escaping the Dursleys—temporarily, at least.
Arriving at platforms nine and ten, Harry casually strolled right through the brick barrier between them, just as was instructed in Hogwarts, A History.
On the other side he found a gleaming scarlet steam engine and a platform filled with people. The sounds of cats, owls, and other animals filled Harry's ears along with the chatter of parents saying goodbye to their children. Smoke drifted over the crowd from the train, but Harry pushed his way through, ignoring the way his stomach clenched at the reminder that no one was there to see him off.
Harry had always been alone in life with nothing but books for company, and he had always hated it, but he wasn't about to actively seek people out—he wasa freak, after all, and freaks weren't allowed to have friends.
He snorted at the thought. Harry simply didn't care enough about people to try and make friends.
He found an empty compartment at the end of the train, but his trunk was too heavy for his small frame to lift without help. Using his basic knowledge of physics (gravity and leverage, specifically) he managed to work the trunk onto the train, ignoring the mocking snickers behind him from the audience that had watched him the entire time instead of helping.
Harry quickly changed into his robes, ignoring the fact that the pockets were useless because of holes, and sat down with The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, continuing where left off on the chapter about the Mending Charm.
He withdrew his wand from the only functioning pocket on the inside of his robes: twelve and a half inches of fine-grained white aspen with a phoenix tail feather core—the only feather given by that specific phoenix, according to Ollivander. He took off his glasses, performed the wand movement, and clearly enunciated the incantation: "Reparo."
With a spark and a zap, his glasses were fixed. The Sellotape that had been holding them together at the bridge and hinges fell off, now unnecessary.
Grinning, Harry put his glasses back on and marveled at the way even his prescription had been repaired. He didn't know how that was possible, but he wasn't about to complain about the ability to see properly for the first time in he didn't even know how long.
Shortly after a whistle sounded, the door to his compartment opened and three boys entered.
Harry ignored them as they lifted their trunks up into the luggage racks and took their seats—two across from him, the last spreading out obnoxiously on the bench beside him.
"So I was telling father," the boy next to Harry said, "I think that first years should be allowed on the Quidditch teams —or at least to have their own brooms. It just isn't fair that we have to wait a year when we already know how to fly, you know?"
"I wish that Keeper was open," one of the boys across from Harry mumbled. He was tall and gangly with fiery red hair and a freckled face. "Fred and George are the Beaters for Gryffindor, and they said that Oliver Wood is amazing, but he's only a fifth year, so I have to wait until our fourth year before I can try out."
"What about you, Neville?" the first boy asked. "Are you going to try out for the team when a spot opens up? You could be a Chaser with me."
"I'm not sure," said the boy beside the redhead. He had a round, pudgy face and short-cropped sandy blond hair. "I'm not very good at flying, but Dad said he doesn't care. Mum's just happy I'm good at Herbology like her and hopes it carries over to Potions."
The first boy scoffed, "My dad said the Potions teacher, Snape, is a greasy-haired git." The redhead sniggered appreciatively and the blond grinned. "Apparently they were in the same year when they went to school. My dad and his friends even have a nickname for him: Snivellus."
The three boys laughed loudly, but Harry frowned—they sounded an awful lot like Dudley. He prayed that they didn't end up in the same House together, otherwise it would be a very long seven years.
"What House are you going for, Weasley?" the first boy asked.
"Gryffindor," the redhead answered. "My entire family's been in Gryffindor."
"My dad's family's been Gryffindors for centuries," the first boy boasted proudly. "It'd be a disgrace if I went anywhere else."
"Both of my parents were in Gryffindor, and my dad's entire family has been," Neville said, "but my mum says she doesn't care, as long as I'm happy."
The first boy scoffed. "That's what people say when they don't expect you to do anything useful. You had better hope you go to Gryffindor—who knows what people will think if you don't."
Neville shrugged.
"What about you?" The first boy nudged Harry with his foot and made the hand Harry was using to hold the book slip and crinkle the page. "Where're you thinking you'll go?"
Annoyed, Harry didn't even look up from his book.
"Oi," Weasley barked. "He's talking to you."
"But I'm not talking to him," Harry responded quietly, glaring.
"Think you're being funny, do you?" the unnamed boy drawled. "You do know who I am, right?" He continued before Harry could say he didn't care. "I'm the Boy Who Lived."
"Is that supposed to mean something?" Harry asked without taking his focus off his book, where he was now reading about the Fire-Making Charm: Incendio. He was sorely tempted to use it on one of the boys just to get them to leave him alone.
"Are you muggleborn?" the redhead inquired.
Harry didn't know what that meant and chose to stay silent.
"He's probably going to be in Hufflepuff," the first boy laughed. "He doesn't seem to have the brains for Ravenclaw, and with robes like those there's no way he'd be in filthy Slytherin."
The boys all laughed while Harry wondered just how stupid they could be, thinking he was brainless for staying silent because he was reading ahead for their classes or that the traits a person valued was dependent on the quality of their clothing.
"Definitely doesn't have the bravery for Gryffindor, either," Weasley added.
"No brains, no bravery—definitely a Duffer."
Harry glanced out the window and saw a forest racing by. At least they were outside London now, but he wished they were further along in the journey. He returned his attention to his book and ignored the continued taunts and insults from the three boys he was unfortunate enough to be trapped in a compartment with.
From first impressions, Harry got the feeling that the boy beside him wasn't just arrogant, but lazy and self-entitled, too, because he was raised to think he was something special. The boy bragged about his title—the 'Boy Who Lived'—like it should mean something, which suggested he was famous, but Harry had no idea why. He hadn't read anything about a boy with that name in any of his books, though he figured it wouldn't be too hard to learn once he got to Hogwarts.
The redheaded boy, Weasley, gave the impression that he was attempting to ride the first boy's fame to glory of his own through his association with the supposed celebrity. He was dressed in second-hand robes too, but he seemed to think that, despite their current financial similarities, Harry was lesser than him just because he wasn't aware of the first boy's apparently famous identity.
The third boy, Neville, appeared to just be a follower of the first boy, seeing as he had been addressed by his first name, which suggested familiarity. He didn't seem to be a particularly good wizard, either, if his only useful skill—so far, at least—was Herbology, the study of plants.
The rest of the journey was similar to the first half, but Harry thanked whatever god or goddess was watching over him when the boys finally grew tired of harassing him and moved on to discussing something called 'Quidditch.' Harry wasn't sure what it was, but he recalled seeing the term while reading Hogwarts, A History, although he hadn't considered it important at the time. From what he could gather, it was some kind of sport played on broomsticks— which seemed awfully reckless and a great waste of time, in Harry's opinion.
Harry considered it an act of mercy when the train finally stopped. It was pitch black and freezing outside, but Harry smiled when he saw the stars shining brightly and unobscured above him. Having a window through which he could see the night sky was his favorite part about having his own bedroom back at number four, Privet Drive.
The first years followed a giant of a man along a path through the dark trees and to the side of a smooth, black lake. There they were separated into groups of four and boarded small rowboats that crossed the lake to the massive castle lit by candles through hundreds of windows directly across from them on a cliff. They passed through a curtain of ivy beneath the castle and entered an underground harbor, where they abandoned the boats. The giant man led them up a series of stone steps before they emerged in front of the castle.
The giant raised a massive fist and knocked on the door three times.
The door opened at once, revealing a witch in emerald-green robes with a tight bun of black hair. Her gaze passed over the first years with a stern expression.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," the giant said.
"Thank you, Hagrid," the witch replied. "I shall take them from here."
The first years followed Professor McGonagall into the entrance hall, which was large enough to fit the Dursleys' entire house and still have plenty of space. The ceiling them was so far above them that it almost seemed like there wasn't one.
Professor McGonagall led them down the corridor, passed a door through which Harry could hear the excited chatter of the rest of the students, and into an empty chamber.
"The Sorting Ceremony shall begin in a few moments," Professor McGonagall started. She proceeded to explain the four Houses and how they would be like their families while they were at Hogwarts. They could earn points for their Houses by proving themselves in class and following rules, but any rule-breaking would be punished. "Now, form a line, and follow me."
Harry stood behind a blonde girl and the first years were led out of the chamber, across the corridor, and through great double doors into a room unlike anything Harry could have imagined. The Great Hall was filled with four long tables where the students sat, upon which were empty golden goblets and plates. At the top of the hall was a fifth table filled with members of the staff, perpendicular to the others. Thousands of candles hung in the air, illuminating the hall beneath a ceiling that showed the starry night sky as clearly as if they were outside. Professor McGonagall led the first years up to stand in front of the staff table, facing the rest of the students. She brought out a four-legged stool, upon which she placed an extremely old, patched and frayed hat.
"When I call your name," she said, "you will come forward, place the Sorting Hat upon your head, and wait to be Sorted.
"Abbott, Hannah!"
A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line and up to the hat, which fell over her eyes as she sat down on the stool. A moment's pause, then the brim of the hat opened.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" it shouted.
The table second from the left exploded with applause. Harry could see a silvery ghost dressed like a monk waving merrily at Abbott as she joined the Hufflepuffs.
"Bones, Susan!"
She, too, joined Hufflepuff and took a seat beside Abbott.
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
A brown-haired boy scampered off to sit at the table second from the right. Several other students from Ravenclaw stood up to shake Boot's hand as he took his seat.
'Brown, Lavender' became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left of the hall gave her thunderous applause. A pair of redheaded twins who looked like Weasley catcalled the girl. Harry sneered in disgust at their behavior.
"Bulstrode, Millicent!"
A square-shaped girl lumbered to the stool, where the hat shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"
The table on the far right clapped as Bulstrode joined them.
When 'Granger, Hermione' was called, a girl with bushy-brown hair nearly sprinted to the stool and eagerly jammed the hat on her head. It sat there for a long time before declaring, "GRYFFINDOR!"
"Longbottom, Neville!"
The blond boy from the train stepped forward and tripped over his robes, inciting a round of laughter from most of the hall's occupants.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
"Malfoy, Draco!"
A boy with a pale, pointed face swaggered forward. The Sorting Hat had barely touched his head when it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"
He strutted off to join a pair of mean-looking, thickset boys.
'Nott'… 'Parkinson'… 'Patil' and 'Patil'… 'Perks'…
"Potter, Evan!"
Harry gaped as the boy from his compartment on the train swaggered forward in a manner scarily similar to Draco Malfoy's. The other Potter had untidy black hair with hazel eyes and he was a few inches taller than Harry.
However, they had very little resemblance, so Harry's fears were completely irrational, right? They couldn't possibly be related, despite sharing the same last name—a surname that Harry had never heard of someone else having before, although he was young, so it was entirely possible.
The other boy had a thin face with soft features and a longer nose than Harry's, while Harry had sharper features, hollower cheeks, and his hair wasn't nearly as untidy when he… used his powers… to control it…
Bugger—this didn't look good.
The Great Hall exploded into whispers as Evan Potter stepped out of the line, so clearly Harry's earlier guess that the prat was famous had some accuracy to it.
"The Evan Potter?"
"Potter, did she say?"
The Sorting Hat hadn't even touched his head before it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Evan Potter received the loudest cheers of the night. The redheaded twins stood up and shouted, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" The arrogant celebrity took a seat next to Neville Longbottom, grinning and relishing all the attention.
"Potter, Hardwin!"
The Great Hall seemed to freeze as Harry left the line. He could see several dropped jaws over at the Gryffindor table. Evan looked stunned and furious as he gawked at Harry.
The last thing Harry saw before the Sorting Hat covered his eyes was a Hall full of people craning their necks to get a better look at him.
"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Plenty of courage, I see. A thirst for knowledge befitting the most studious of Ravenclaws, as well, but a willingness to use it for your own desires, now that's interesting… So where to put you?" Isn't that your job? Harry thought bitingly.
The hat seemed to chuckle. "Indeed," it agreed. "A thirst to prove yourself… curious… Yes, you would do very well in Slytherin. You could find greatness among the House of Snakes, but the challenges could prove too much —"
I can handle it, Harry insisted.
The hat chuckled again. "Very well… better be—SLYTHERIN!"