Until the End

* * *

And that day finally came. Harry woke up shortly after dawn and was unable to fall back asleep. He was too nervous. He changed his mind about going to that school a dozen times over the last week only. Surely the whole wizarding world will manage without him just fine. They had the almighty Dumbledore, after all. Yes, most likely Harry would have to leave the Dursleys and go into hiding for years, but at least he'd have his peace. Plus it really wouldn't be a hard fit to accomplish with magic, and Harry was well trained. So as he stood on the porch, observing how Vernon struggled with his trunk as he loaded it in the car (for some reason…Harry never thought the whale would ever do anything for him) all Harry could think of was "Why? What the hell am I doing?" It wasn't too late to ditch them all and go have a life. Especially if he did it in London. Nobody would ever find him. On the other hand, all that potential knowledge that the magical world had was too much of a temptation. All those books that Harry saw in the Flourish and Blotts… Sighing, Harry moved to the car. All this better be worth it. With a quiet grunt, Harry opened the car door and then paused for the briefest moment. Someone magical was near. Pretending to throw one last nostalgic glance at the place, Harry cautiously looked around the street, his gaze lingering for a few seconds on the corner where the spy stood. But he or she was invisible. "Making sure the blessed Harry Potter did not run away, aren't we?" If they would graze him like that all the time, Harry would go mad or kill somebody. He'd have to do something about it and soon because surely a cold-blooded murder would raise questions. All loaded, the Dursleys and Harry took off on a long road, which went in complete silence. It was amusing how much the family feared him now when Harry was officially aware of his wizarding origins. The pig sat so still, almost not breathing, that one might think he was a statue and not a boy. Petunia constantly turned around to quickly glance at her son, making sure he was not harmed. By the end of the journey, her eyes were red from tears. Harry hated tears. At half past ten he found himself standing at the entrance of the King's Cross with his trunk and owl cage on the ground before him. The Dursleys' car flew away the moment Vernon climbed inside and closed the door. Good. Suddenly Harry realised that he wouldn't have to see those ugly faces for almost ten months and grinned. The surge of genuine happiness shot through him for the first time in many years. Yes, tolerating young dunderheads will definitely be worth it. Ignoring the dull ache in his freshly dislocated shoulder, Harry let the bird out of its cage and told her to fly to Hogwarts, then picked up the now-weightless trunk with the empty cage and went inside the station, instantly feeling magic around him. A third of the crowd there was witches and wizards, and all of them seemed to go in one direction, so Harry easily followed. Not that he'd have any problem with finding the right place without it after hours spent watching Hagrid's memories. As logic dictated, the entrance to platform 9¾ turned out to be between platforms 9 and 10. Harry watched several people go through the barrier. It was an interesting solution. The nerd inside him couldn't resist the urge, and Harry found himself sitting at the platform near the barrier and studying it with utter amazement. Layers of magic that were placed on it, their interactions with each other and with the magic of each man, woman, and kid that walked through were so fascinating that Harry almost lost track of time. “— packed with Muggles, of course —” sounded somewhere near. The familiar word caught Harry's attention and he begrudgingly snapped out of his observations. He'd have months to study this more closely, he reminded himself and got up. The large red-headed family hurriedly passed him. The mother was frowning and chatting constantly, scolding her sons, but Harry didn't listen. It wasn't important. One by one all of them went through the barrier, and Harry followed after just a few seconds. The wizarding platform did not have anything astonishingly different from the muggle ones, besides the fact that it throbbed with magic. Harry felt slightly lightheaded from the sheer amount of it. Near the platform stood an old-fashioned bright red train with kids hanging out of almost every window. They were all happy, and for once, Harry found himself not irritated by it. Strangely enough. No one recognized him so far, and not wishing to tempt fate, Harry hastily boarded the train, picked the nearest empty compartment, and got settled. Harry very rarely travelled by train, but he loved it. He loved the atmosphere, the special smell, and the small wiggling of the moving carriages. But this particular train felt even more special, and not just because of magic that soaked every inch of it. It was like he suddenly was in the other century, and Harry wondered if time travelling was possible. He should definitely find out and maybe even try. The compartment was nice, even if a little dusty, and the red plush that covered the seats was worn-out on the edges. The dingy table between the seats had definitely seen better days. The name Tom was written on the corner of its surface, then scratched out, and letters 'SB' and 'JP' put underneath. Vandals. If only they knew how hard it was to get rid of those kind of things. They probably hadn't worked a day in their lives. Suddenly the compartment door swung open, making Harry jerk on his seat, and the twins from that red-headed family that he followed through the barrier, stood on the threshold with confusion on their almost identical faces. "Sorry, we thought it was empty here," said one. Harry shrugged through the intensified pain in the shoulder and smiled politely. "No, I'm here." Again, he felt like such an idiot, stating the obvious. The other twin suddenly widened his eyes and elbowed his brother, catching his attention, and then threw a meaningful glance on Harry. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at Harry’s forehead. "Here we go…" sighed Harry just a moment before the second twin got the message. “Blimey,” he said. “Are you — ?” “He is,” said the first twin. “Aren’t you?” he added to Harry. “What?” “Harry Potter!” both of them exclaimed in unison, looking disgustingly hopeful. “Oh, him,” Harry replied, disgusted with himself now. “I mean, yes, I am.” While the two boys stared at him in absolute awe, Harry thought that maybe it wasn't too late to get off the bloody train, all knowledge be damned. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train’s open door. “Fred? George? Are you there?” “Coming, Mom,” they yelled back, with the last regretful look finally vanishing from sight, and Harry relaxed on his seat. It was awful. Harry felt like an animal in a zoo, and the situation was bound to get only worse. And if anyone found out about his true self and powers, he would never see the end of it. So maybe if all of them thought that Harry was nothing special, they'd leave him be. Yes, that was the best chance Harry had. He needed to blend in with the crowd. But he'd no idea how. So the only option was to find someone whose lead to follow, some sort of a role model of a typical wizarding child's behaviour. Harry Potter needed a friend. As unbelievable as it sounded. But first, Harry decided to deal with his shoulder. Vernon did a good job with nearly ripping his arm off this morning, but Harry was too preoccupied with thoughts about that blasted school to care much, so he left it be until he had a free moment later — in other words, until now. Through the open window he heard how the twins excitedly told their family about him. Maybe one of the countless red-headed children would suffice as a friend. Not a bad idea. The train whistled and slowly began to move. It rounded a corner and then speeded up. Houses and trees flashed past the window. Harry felt dread rising up in his chest. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into — but judging by how things went so far, he feared that it was bound to be worse than what he left behind. But Harry didn't have time to dwell on it. The compartment door opened again, interrupting his healing, and one of the red-heads came in. The youngest boy, Harry supposed. “Anyone sitting there?” he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry. “Everywhere else is full.” "My ass it's full," thought Harry. "You're a terrible liar, young sir." But deciding not to antagonise the potential friend that so easily and willingly came, Harry shook his head. The red-head immediately plopped on the seat, his eyes automatically searching Harry's forehead. "Oh, please, do stare at me…" Speeding up the healing of his shoulder, Harry tried to look as innocent as he possibly could. The process required a lot of focus, and he didn't want to seem strange to the other boy, or miss some of his words. As if sensing Harry's thoughts, the red-head averted his gaze and even blushed a little bit. Ha. This time Harry noticed the twins nearing the compartment before they barged in. “Hey, Ron,” they said. “Listen, we’re going down the middle of the train — Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.” “Right,” mumbled Ron in response, looking down at his shoes. “Harry, Did we introduce ourselves?” asked the other twin, proudly raising his chin and pointing first at his twin, then at himself, and then at their younger brother. “Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.” He smiled and then slid out of the door, with Harry and Ron's "bye" echoing after them. Harry looked expectantly at his schoolmate, as if inviting him to get this over with. “Are you really Harry Potter?” Ron blurted out, taking the clue. Harry nodded. “Oh — well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George’s jokes,” said Ron. “And have you really got — you know… ” And he pointed at Harry's forehead. "Oh, for the love of God…" Harry lifted his newly healed arm to pull back his bangs, showing the blasted scar, and then watched with rising annoyance how Ron foolishly and shamelessly gaped at him for a long moment. “Imbecile…” "So that's where You-Know-Who…" "Yes," said Harry a bit too harshly, but Ron didn’t seem to notice. "But I can't remember it." It was a lie. Since the giant jimbo’s visit last month, Harry tried a few times to dig out the full memory of that day. It was a mystery that he could solve. He was successful for the most part, but knowing how little he was when it all happened, there wasn’t much to even hope for finding. But Weasley didn’t need to know that. "Nothing?" the red-head asked, ineptly fishing for details. His eyes shone like a christmas tree. "Well…” Harry decided to indulge the boy a little to show his willingness to form a friendship. He remembered from some books he read and from his observations of other kids in his old school that friends were supposed to share information with each other. “I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else." "Wow," breathed Ron, bulging his eyes for several seconds and then hastily turned to the window again. Harry could see the wheels oh so slowly spinning in the boy’s head as the pieces fell into the right places with a soft click. This could’ve been funny, if it wasn't so sad. Harry pressed down the urge to roll his eyes and drop the act. If all his schoolmates were so daft, he was in for seven years of torture. “Get it together, man!” he scolded himself. "Are all your family wizards?" Harry asked after a minute, attempting to divert the conversation from him. "Er… Yes, I think so," replied Ron. "I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him." "So you must know loads of magic already." Judging by the blush the boy sported right now, he obviously didn’t, but Harry just couldn’t resist the temptation of having a little fun. "I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron, abruptly changing the subject, which nearly made Harry smirk. "What are they like?" "Horrible,” he deadpanned. “Well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers." "Five," said Ron, his face falling. He definitely didn’t like being the youngest of them. Harry listened to his whining about the rest of the Weasley children in astonishment. If he only knew what it's like to have absolutely nothing and no one, if he’d spend a day the way Harry spent his entire life, he’d realise what a pile of bullshit all his complaints were. Stupid child. Anger and revulsion rose in Harry’s chest, but he quickly stomped the feelings down. They wouldn’t help in the slightest. Suddenly Harry needed Ron to understand. He obviously was a good kid, and it was not his fault that he didn’t know how much he had. So Harry told him some things about him. About poverty, Dudley’s clothes, birthday presents (or lack thereof). Nothing truly big or shocking, but something an eleven-year-old Ron would still consider significant. It seemed to cheer the boy up a bit. Of course, what would make one feel better, if not the knowledge that the other had it worse. "…and until Hagrid told me, I didn’t know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort —” Ron's eyes widened again. “What?” asked Harry, trying to look confused, though he knew perfectly well 'what'. “You said You-Know-Who’s name!” exclaimed Weasley, sounding both shocked and impressed. “I’d have thought you, of all people —” “I’m not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name,” replied Harry, “I just never knew you shouldn’t. See what I mean? I’ve got loads to learn… I bet…” he added, trying to come up with something to say to even the ground, “I bet I’m the worst in the class.” Ridiculous notion, of course. Harry could've easily passed the NEWTs right after the welcoming feast. The theoretical part was pretty easy to get from somebody else’s mind, as for practicals — he didn't need any of that theory to make things work. He just did it. “You won’t be. There’s loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough.” The conversation thankfully died down after that. Harry stared at the window, thinking about Ron. The boy was a poor choice for a friend, he realised it now. Yes, maybe he was a good kid, but it didn't matter, since they seem to have nothing in common and therefore nothing to talk about. Harry already started to regret the promise that he had made to himself to not venture into the minds of everyone he encountered, since it would have allowed him to come to this conclusion a lot faster. But entering minds left and right might simply be dangerous, because Harry had no way of knowing if the person had any protection or any means of discovering the intrusion. Secrecy was above all. Ron was completely harmless and inept in that regard, so Harry fought with himself for several minutes to press down the urge to look in. But then he supposed that he wouldn't have much to talk about with any of his peers, so did it really matter which one of them he chose? Around half past twelve they were disturbed again by the mid-age woman with tired eyes and mostly fake smile who slid back their door and asked if they wanted something from her cart. Harry threw a glance at the longing expression on Weasley's face, remembering that it was common among friends to share those kind of things, and decided that it would be prudent to use this situation to his advantage. Harry went out into the corridor where the trolley witch stood waiting for him and eyed the strange assortment. He didn't want anything, to be honest, and none of the sweets caught his eye, so he took a bit of everything, not caring how much it would cost him. If it does the trick with Ron, it would be worth it. Luckily, the plan worked exactly as Harry wanted, and the two of them spent the next hour or so bonding over sweets. Dumb and demeaning waste of time, in Harry's opinion, he'd prefer to read or work on his magic instead, but there wasn't much choice. So he stuck an innocent smile to his face, buried all true thoughts and feelings on the matter deep inside his mind, and went with it. Harry needed to get used to this if he was going to pretend to be normal. "At least at the Dursleys no one noticed me…" he sighed, while Ron was busy shoving yet another sweet in his mouth and paid no attention to Harry. He never thought he'd miss his life with the family. At the very least not so soon. The rest of the train ride went pretty much the same way. There were several minor interruptions by other first-years, but aside from that — nothing extraordinary. The round-faced boy, a rather lost one, as it seemed to Harry, came in twice looking for his lost toad (ironically enough), one time with a bushy-haired girl, Hermione Granger. A quite bossy little thing, and arrogant too, but at least she shared his passion for knowledge, which made her Harry's favourite so far. His least favourite compartment visitor was the blond that Harry met last month in Diagon Alley. That little shit was so full himself, Harry barely managed not to show him, along with his two moronic 'bodyguards', what it was like to mess with Harry Potter, secrecy be damned. Harry hoped he wouldn't end up in the same house with them… his restraint was already under too much pressure. It was almost dark outside, so Harry presumed they were getting close. “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately,” a deep male voice suddenly echoed through the train, confirming Harry's thoughts. The two boys quickly donned their robes and made their way to the exit. Harry was not comfortable with leaving his trunk behind, but as always, no choice was available. He made sure to place a few more layers of protection on it, though. Anyone who tried to open the trunk would miss their arms for the rest of their lives. And Harry did not mean it as a reversible prank. Ron pushed his way out of the train onto the tiny dark platform. There were over a hundred over-excited mostly brainless kids here. Was it so hard to at least hang a street lamp or something? Then, as if on Harry’s order, a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?" Harry smiled automatically at Hagrid's big hairy beaming face and nodded. He was quickly becoming quite good at it. That thought made him smirk proudly. Yes, he could do this. It was like a game or a theatre play with The-Boy-Who-Lived as a main character. A little different from his usual repertoire, but all the more interesting. Who would want to be stuck with one role for a lifetime, right? "C'mon, follow me. Any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years, follow me!" boomed the jimbo over the noise of the crowd and immediately turned around, making his way into the darkness. Forty students quickly stumbled after him down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. Thankfully, everybody kept quiet, too afraid to speak. It allowed Harry to better study his surroundings. As far as he remembered, Hogsmeade was the only totally wizarding village in the whole country, and the evidence to that was apparent. The magic here felt older than any of what Harry had ever encountered before. The air and the ground were thick with it; every tree, every bush, every grass-blade, every stone effused magic. It was head-spinning. Harry simultaneously dreaded and anticipated to know what Hogwarts’ magic felt like. "Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec, jus' round this bend here," called Hagrid over his shoulder and pointed somewhere ahead of him. One by one, all students came to a halt on the edge of a Black lake and made noises of shock and fascination. Harry stood between Ron and some other boy and quietly looked at the other side of the lake where, perched atop a high mountain, stood an enormous castle with many turrets and towers, its windows sparkling in the starry sky. Harry saw that image in Hagrid’s mind a month ago, remembered the excitement and anxiety that tightened the chest of the young half-giant at this moment. He glanced around and saw those emotions mirrored on the faces of his classmates now. The view was breathtaking and all, but Harry was unable to feel the same. To them all Hogwarts represented the future and possibilities, for Harry… He had a gut feeling that he’s making a huge mistake. That if he steps inside that castle, he’ll condemn himself for a life in another circle of hell, way worse than usual. And with each passing second that feeling only got stronger. Silence that hung among them in the cold pitch-black night seemed ominous, and magic that swarmed around did not raise any joy in Harry anymore. "Right then. No more 'n four to a boat!" grunted Hagrid, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry took a last deep breath, turned away from the view, and resolutely followed Ron to his doom. "Everyone in?" shouted jimbo a minute later from the first boat, which he occupied all by himself. "Right then. FORWARD!" They started to move. Harry felt the exact moment when the fleet crossed the border of the school grounds. The impact with what he assumed was some protective line was bloody heavy. Harry jerked on his seat, nearly falling into the water because of the sudden wave of shock, buzzing through his entire body. Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes briefly and tried to clear his head but to no effect. Hogwarts’ magic was so goddamn strong, it was hard to even concentrate properly. Thoughts bogged down and mixt inside his head, all his nerves went on a high alert, magic roaming throughout his body, prickling, tickling him to the point when it became painful. And the closer to the castle they got, the more unbearable the sensation was. In a moment of true desperation, Harry pushed through the mental fog and went all the way down to the deepest layers of his mind and only then was he able to breathe freely. Harry gave himself three seconds to gather the strength to resurface and then started his journey back, locking the unwanted sensations away on his way up and lowering his awareness of magic around him to a minimum. As a result, he felt numb but at least he could function. The next moment he noticed that the boats were in some narrow tunnel, already nearly reached a kind of underground harbour, where they all were told to climb out. As people did as instructed, Hagrid went to check the boats. "Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" he yelled, bending over the last one. "Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. “Dumbass…” sighed Harry to himself. A few voices giggled and the boy with a toad blushed furiously under the light of Hagrid’s lamp. Poor sod. Life would be hard for him. “Maybe I should befriend him too.” Where did that come from? Then finally after walking through a stone passageway and a flight of stone steps, they all crowded around the huge, oak front door and the giant addressed them again: "Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?" Everyone nodded, Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door, which immediately swung open, showing a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes. Minerva McGonagall, as far as Harry remembered. Deputy headmistress, Gryffindor Head of a house, and a Transfigurations professor. Stern but fair. She’s the one who usually sends the letters at summer. Anger started boiling inside Harry, but it was easy to ignore because of the numbness. "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid proudly. "Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here," replied the witch and pulled the door wide, letting the kids in. The entrance hall was simply huge. But Harry didn’t pay much attention to it because the new wave of magic hit him hard, nearly destroying the shaky control over himself that he just gained a few minutes ago. This time though Harry was prepared for this possibility and the second fight did not require so much effort. Harry followed McGonagall and the rest of the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall on an autopilot, and came to a halt when he bumped into someone ahead of him. "Welcome to Hogwarts," said the professor. "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…” Harry turned her drawling voice off and just stared at the woman. As she slowly swept her gaze over all students before her, she seemed content and calm, collected. Definitely in her usual element. Harry could bet, she has been repeating that same speech every year for many-many years already. Harry tried to catch the woman’s eyes to take a quick look inside her mind and find out how much she knew about his situation, but McGonagall didn’t make eye contact with him even once. "I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly," she said at last and vanished through the door. Harry was starting to become nervous. "How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron to distract himself. "Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking." Didn’t help. But when several people behind him suddenly screamed, making his heart drop, all thoughts about McGonagall and her potential knowledge left Harry’s head. "What the-" ‘fuck,’ Harry almost blurred, but managed to shut himself up in time and turned around to see the reason of the commotion. “Bloody fucking ghosts!” Harry gasped to keep up with his part of the play, and so did the people around him. They all gaped at the transparent figures with open mouths and listened to their conversation. After five minutes or so McGonagall came back, told them to form a line and led everyone to the Great Hall. Walking in, Harry did his best to gawk around as everyone else did in what he hoped was awe. The place was overdid a tad for his liking, but Harry decided that The-Boy-Who-Lived would’ve loved it. The Great Hall was approximately the same size as the Entrance Hall and was lit by countless candles, floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. Staring. At the opposite side of the hall on a dais stood another long table with teachers, who were also staring but not quite so obvious. Some of them had a kind of patronising smile on their faces, which was only worse, if you ask Harry. He wanted to get a closer look at professors, especially at the one in ridiculous robes in the middle and another in black who seemed to follow his every movement with a blank gaze. Harry knew that gaze, have seen it many times in the mirror. But McGonagall lined them up near the dais, facing the other students, so the teachers were sitting behind them, which made Harry postpone his endeavour for some time. Hundreds of faces stared at them in eager anticipation, and once again Harry felt like an animal in the zoo. To avoid prying eyes, Harry looked up at the famous enchanted ceiling. "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History," whispered Hermione somewhere to his right. When McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years and put the Sorting Hat on top of it, Harry tore his gaze away from the stars, shining above calmly, and looked at the Hat that started its song. Some nonsense about houses or something like that. It didn’t really matter. The Hat itself was far more fascinating than stupid poetry. It was old, very old. Maybe the same age as the castle, more or less, and contained far more magic than any other occupant of the room. The object obviously was sentient, and Harry wondered how it happened. Was it the result of some complicated spell or something else? He supposed he’d find out soon enough. When the song ended, the whole hall burst into applause, Harry included, though for the life of him he couldn’t understand what for. The Hat bowed to each of the four tables and then became still again, as if someone switched it off. Weasley whispered something about trolls, and Harry just smiled in response, since he didn’t hear the rest of the words. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," said McGonagall, theatrically holding up a parchment. And it started. "Abbott, Hannah!" While the named girl dragged herself towards the stool, all of a sudden, Harry realised the significance of this moment. He just couldn’t let some hat decide his fate. "HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the Hat. “Well, Hufflepuff is out, obviously.” The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit with them. "Bones, Susan!" “So it’s either Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin.” "HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the Hat again somewhere in the background. "Boot, Terry!" Mulling over everything he knew about each of the three houses, Harry came to a conclusion that Ravenclaw would be interesting for him (even if highly unlikely — he had no doubts in his intellect, but his surviving instinct was much more prevalent, he suspected for some reason) but not for The-Boy-Who-Lived, Slytherin wasn’t an option either because it would raise unwanted questions and suspicions (though Harry knew that house would be perfect), which left him stuck with Gryffindor... "GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the Hat, and Granger jumped from the stool, rushing toward her table. Longbottom was also sent to Gryffindor to Harry’s surprise. He’d have thought the boy to be a Hufflepuff. Morag MacDougal became a Ravenclaw. Malfoy went to Slytherin, along with his thick friends Crabbe and Goyle. How Harry envied the little asshole… Lily Moon joined Hufflepuff, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson — Slytherin, Padma Patil became Ravenclaw, her sister Parvati — Gryffindor, Sally-Anne Perks also went to the lions, and then, at last... "Potter, Harry!" cried out McGonagall a little louder than the previous names. Harry stepped forward, doing all he could to ignore the annoying whispers that filled the Great Hall after a moment of dead silence. He could feel hundreds of eyes burning holes through him and wanted nothing more than to wipe them all from existence. He perched the stool and the next second the hat was placed on his head, covering his eyes. Good, he did not have any desire to view those stupid faces staring at him. When the Hat was on him, its magic seemed even more strong, and for a moment Harry's head started spinning. He grabbed the edges of the stool to prevent himself from falling. Coming back to his senses quickly, Harry felt the Hat trying to penetrate his mind and pushed it away reflexively. "Hmm," a dry whisper rustled in his ear after a moment. "Quite a strong one, aren't you?” Harry tried to reach with his magic to that of the Hat, but also was met with resistance. With enough effort, he could've broken it, but Harry decided to be nicer first. He allowed the Hat access to the top layer of his mind. "I need you to sort me into Gryffindor," he asked mentally. "I cannot sort you without knowing your mind and your abilities," replied the stupid clothing. Harry sighed, starting to get frustrated. "I will not let you roam in my mind. Sort me into Gryffindor while I'm asking nicely, and let's be done with it." Harry's words were followed with silence, and the Hat stubbornly tried to penetrate his mind again. He made another futile attempt to merge their magics in response. "From what I see, you'd be perfect in Slytherin, boy." Harry did not like to be called 'boy', and the Hat chuckled. "Oh, you think so?" he bit back sarcastically. "I need to be sorted into Gryffindor." Pushing stronger, Harry finally was able to touch the ancient magic, even if only for a moment. The Hat jerked on his head from the impact, and immediately hissed: "Fine! Fine, have it your way! But know that Slytherin would've been perfect for you, boy, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. No? Well, if you're sure… better be GRYFFINDOR!" the last word was shouted aloud for everyone to hear. Sighing with relief, Harry took off the hat and walked toward the Gryffindor table. He was getting the loudest cheer yet, but didn't care at the moment. He studied the faces of other students, trying to determine their reactions. Gryffindors were beyond joyful, some looked cathartic, the dunderheads. None of the other houses seemed surprised, so Harry exhaled another sigh of relief that he made the right choice. The Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" on the whole hall. But knowing himself, Harry couldn't discern just why on earth they all were so happy. Even the Gryffindor ghost looked pleased with the famous Potter joining the house. Harry was definitely not pleased with him showing that appreciation though. His arm felt as if after being pinned with icy needles. And now, finally, after he sat down, he could properly see the High Table. He smiled back at the giant who was seated at the left end of the Head table but otherwise ignored him. Harry’s eyes travelled to the centre where in a throne-like golden chair sat Albus Dumbledore in his ridiculous bright purple robes and with his ridiculously long white and shiny beard. The man wore a small polite smile and looked amiably at every student, clapping a little each time someone was sorted. All his appearance screamed 'trust me', which made Harry's stomach flip. He knew instantly that he should be wary of that particular wizard and his 'grandfather' act. On Dumbledore's right sat another figure that caught Harry's attention earlier. Severus Snape, head of Slytherin, the local Potions master. He didn't look at Harry, which allowed him to study him for a moment. The man was young, one of the youngest staff members as far as Harry could tell, but he definitely held a high enough position in the school hierarchy to be occupying the chair in which, logically, McGonagall should be sitting. He was the only unmoving figure at the table, still and impassive as a marble statue. Harry had a strong suspicion that the man was quite adept in mind magic. He himself would look the same way if he hasn't been constantly making a conscious effort not to. Flicking his eyes back to Dumbledore, Harry caught his gaze for a second. What happened next, Harry would regret for years afterwards. A sudden tugging at the edge of the top layer of his mind startled him, and he slammed down the shields that he practised for the whole last month for exactly those kinds of situations. Confusion crossed Dumbledore's face for a brief moment as the two of them stared at each other. Harry's heart sank. He'd been discovered within the first half-hour he spent here. The hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" and several seconds later, Ron collapsed on the seat next to Harry, beaming happily. Harry smiled right back, though there probably wasn't much point to it now. Surely Dumbledore was able to put two and two together. "Well done, Ron, excellent," praised another Weasley with a Prefect badge. The sorting was over, McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat and the stool away. Dumbledore rose to his feet and beamed, opening his arms wide, and Harry forced himself to look at the man as if nothing happened, acting like he was interested in the upcoming speech. He wasn't. The only thing that Harry cared for at the moment was what the hell he's going to do now. But thinking about it wouldn't be very useful in the current situation, so Harry locked all worries about the headmaster away, not allowing himself to dwell on them in front of the whole school. "Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" said Dumbledore and sat back down. "What in God's name was that?" "Is he… a bit mad?" be leaned on the table and asked the prefect over the cheers of the rest of the school. Another small wave of magic washed over him. "Mad?" exclaimed the prefect airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?" He glanced down. The table broke with food and Harry found himself at a loss. He saw feasts before (not as big as this one but still), he cooked feasts before, but not once he was allowed to partake. He ate what Petunia gave him, not particularly caring what exactly it was (he cooked it, so the food was definitely safe to eat), so now, when he needed to choose, Harry didn't know what to do. He piled a bit of mashed potatoes with steak on his plate and slowly ate. It was tasty, Harry had to admit, but he liked his own cooking better. "That does look good," said Nearly Headless Nick sadly, watching Harry. "Can't you… ?" Dumb question, of course, he can't." But it was the only stupid thing that came into his mind. Harry observed that all his peers seemed to be asking them rather a lot. Probably because they never thought before speaking. "I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," replied the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower." "I know who you are!" cried Ron suddenly, showering everyone who was unfortunate enough to sit near with potatoes from his mouth. Disgusting. "My brothers told me about you. You're Nearly Headless Nick!" "I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy…" the ghost began stiffly, but the sandy-haired boy — Seamus Finnigan — interrupted: "Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?" The conversation with the ghost continued for quite some time, until the remains of dinner vanished, and desert appeared instead. As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart (it was closer), the talk turned to their families, and he inwardly smirked, wondering what all those faces would look like if he told them about his. "Ugh. Not helping…" Shutting his treacherous self up, Harry tried to listen to everyone to gain a better understanding of the people he'd be living with for the next seven years. Seamus Finnegan did not impress him. He seemed too headstrong for Harry's liking. The way he talked and laughed was too harsh, too forced, too for show. Dean Thomas was quiet and almost shy, but the boy was drawn to Finnegan like a magnet, he literally looked Seamus in the mouth, devouring all his words. Harry didn't like it. Longbottom was too shy for his own sake, but after his childhood stories, Harry saw why the Hat sorted him here. The boy had a backbone. He was just too afraid to act on it. Maybe with little coaxing, Neville would be able find it in himself too. Harry didn't know why, but he genuinely liked that boy. Weasley was… Well, Weasley. Harry couldn't even look at him right now, wary of his reaction to the boy's abysmal table manners. Not that Harry ever cared much about etiquette or anything like that, but at least he knew how to eat with his mouth closed. Other Weasleys didn't seem to have this problem, and for that Harry was grateful. The twins were the most tolerable Weasley kids Harry acquainted so far, but their penchant for all things funny did not bode well with him. The prefect was too pompous and too full of himself, so he better hope that Harry would be able to just ignore him. Granger was a show-off and a know-it-all. Harry was fine with the second, but first… The girl would have a hard time finding any friends, Harry knew it. Such a pity though. He'd befriended her too (if she stopped being so bloody insufferable), but The-Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't, so… Other girls from his year split into pairs already and sat chatting with each other. But if Perks and Roper obviously had a normal amiable conversation, Brown and Patil definitely gossiped. They were throwing sideway glances in all directions and giggled like mad. If that wasn't an indication of brain damage, Harry didn't know what was. Tired of watching students, Harry looked up at the High Table one more time, careful not to catch anyone's direct gaze. Dumbledore was talking to McGonagall and paid Harry no mind. Snape was doing all he could to ignore Quirrell's stuttering, but the fool just wouldn't get it. Others were also chatting among themselves and laughing quietly. Come to think of it, Quirinus Quirrell was a shady character. Harry couldn't point his finger on it, but the feeling that something wasn't right with the man didn’t leave Harry since Diagon Alley. A few things happened at once, very suddenly. Quirrell abandoned his attempts to talk to Snape and turned to Sprout who was sitting at his other side, Snape looked straight into Harry's eyes, and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead. He expected another intrusion in his mind, but the professor just looked at him, his eyes harder than a moment before. Severus Snape definitely did not worship The-Boy-Who-Lived as all others did, and strangely, Harry felt a pang of gratitude toward him because of it. But where the hell did that pain come from? For as long as Harry remembered himself, the scar had never bothered him. Not once. This was strange. Very strange. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked the prefect, whose name turned out to be Percy. "Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to. Everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape." Hmm, new information. Harry stored it carefully for later, watched Snape for another long moment, and then turned back to his dessert. "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," said Dumbledore, standing again. "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 tryouts will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." "Bloody hilarious. Amazing school." The rest of the evening went peacefully enough. After the feast and ridiculous singing, Percy escorted all first-years to the Gryffindor tower and directed them to their respective dormitories. Harry lay in his new soft bed unable to fall asleep. He wasn't the least bit tired, even the numbness he still felt didn't help. So Harry decided to not waste time thrashing in bed, and work on adjusting to the amount of magic around instead. He knew he couldn't go like he had today for seven years. Not to mention, it defied the whole purpose of getting to the damn school in the first place. Harry lay down on top of the covers and closed his eyes, diving deeper and deeper into his mind until he reached the magical core. Magic instantly engulfed him, and Harry sighed in relief. How he missed that! He had no idea how much he was used to its warm gentle swarming and buzzing inside until it stopped. Switching it on full force probably wasn't a good idea though, and Harry decided to do it gradually, hoping to get to his normal state in a week at most. He didn't know how much time had passed, but finally Harry was able to fall asleep peacefully for the rest of the night. The next day was even worse than the Welcoming feast because all those people who couldn't do more than stare at him or whisper behind his back yesterday, today (aside from foolishly gaping at him on every turn) were approaching him and even tried to talk, asking bloody questions. Navigating in the damn castle was hard enough without having to deal with dozens of dunderheads. It was fucking nerve-wracking. The classes were boring. Harry knew everything that they tried to teach them already and spent the whole time observing everyone and adjusting to the castle's magic a bit more. On transfiguration he finally was able to penetrate McGonagall's mind and found out that all she knew about him or the Dursleys was that they weren't the type of people she'd be glad to be acquainted with. Nor did she spend an awful lot of time checking the addresses to which the letters were sent. Not exactly professional, but Harry guessed that with the amount of work the woman had to do every day it wasn't really surprising that she overlooked something. Or, more likely, was overlooking. Consciously. On the way to dinner (with Weasley in tow, as was Harry's 'normal' now) the two boys were suddenly stopped. "Khm, Mr. Potter." At the sound of the headmaster's voice Harry turned around and looked at the old man. "I'd like to have a word with you after dinner," he smiled kindly, looking Harry in the eyes. Harry felt another intrusion, but this time he was ready for it. His shields were strong but invisible. No one would be able to see a damn thing. Real thing, that is. Judging by the confusion in Dumbledore's eyes, the trick with hiding memories behind memories worked perfectly, and Harry allowed himself a small smirk. "Of course, sir," Harry replied politely. Headmaster's eyes twinkled, the man nodded and went on his way, leaving the boys in the corridor. "Wow," gaped Weasley. "What do you recon he wants?" "No idea, Ron. I guess I'll find out soon enough." They stood there for a few more seconds and then continued moving to the Great Hall. This time it didn't take as long as this morning or midday to find it. Though, if Harry was alone, he'd skipped all the 'getting lost' part, since he memorised the location of all classrooms, corridors, staircases and halls he's been today, and there always was a portrait on the wall, or a ghost, or another student he could ask for directions in case he needed to go some new place. But all others were struggling, and so Harry pretended to do the same. He wanted to blend in, after all. Ron was talking some nonsense all the way to dinner, and while they ate too. Quidditch tryouts, homework assignments, quidditch tryouts, freaking staircases, quidditch, Peeves, quidditch, quidditch, quidditch… Harry started to hate the bloody game. Especially now, when all he could think of was Dumbledore's invitation. By the time Harry finished the dessert, his gut was clenched with anxiety he hasn't felt for years. In a haze, he stood up, said goodbye to Weasley and went out of the hall, his legs carrying him on their own accord until Harry suddenly realised that he didn't even know where the damn head office was… He looked around. He didn't even know where the fuck he was now. "Just perfect…" But the portrait in the end of the corridor certainly did, so Harry strolled to it. "I'm so sorry to bother you, ma'am," said Harry politely to the young woman painted in the frame, and she looked up from the book in her hands. "You see, it's my first day at school, and I'm afraid I got lost a little. Could you please help me find the headmaster's office?" The woman tilted her head to the right, eyeing him, and for a moment Harry thought that she wouldn't reply, but after nearly half a minute she smiled and spoke very softly: "That is no trouble. Go further to the end of the corridor, find a staircase behind the tapestry with a big waterfall, go up two flights of stairs, and to the right. The headmaster's office is guarded by a sweet gargoyle." Harry thanked her and hurriedly went in the pointed direction. Five minutes later, he found himself standing in front of the gargoyle. It was definitely the right place, since he could sense Dumbledore's magic on the statue. Not troubled with the lack of password, Harry commanded it to let him in. There wasn't any point in pretending that he couldn't anymore. The gargoyle slid aside at once, revealing an archway in the wall. Harry took one deep cleansing breath and went in. The man was inside, he could feel it even without his senses being on their usual level, which meant that Albus Dumbledore was indeed a God damn strong wizard. Not to be messed with. The moving staircase brought Harry up to the plain wooden door, and not wishing to seem nervous or uncertain, Harry immediately knocked. "Enter," sounded from the other side. Harry went inside the noisy room and strode to the chair beside the desk, placed a hand on its back, and met Dumbledore's eyes with confidence he did not really feel. "You wanted to see me, professor?" The older man held Harry's gaze for a long moment and then nodded, pointing to a chair. "Why don't you take a seat, Mr. Potter?" He looked so serious. No twinkling, no kind smiles, no grandfather attitude, just a very old and very powerful man with a long history behind bright blue eyes. Harry could tell, there was a man with an agenda in front of him. A man who wanted something from him and who was unlikely to stop until he got it. Harry sat down but kept silent, waiting for the other to make the first step. It didn't take long. "I must confess, you surprised me, my boy." "Please, sir, if I may. I'd appreciate it if you could refrain from calling me that." Dumbledore measured him with another long glance and dipped his head slightly. "As I've said, you surprised me. Twice, actually." It was Harry's turn to nod. "I don't think there's any point in pretending that either of us does not understand the point of this meeting," said the man quietly. "You are quite a unique wizard, Mr. Potter. I haven't ever seen an eleven-year-old Occlumens that strong. Truthfully speaking, I haven't seen an eleven-year-old Occlumens at all. It makes me wonder what else you are capable of." "Occlumency then. Good to know the name." "No offence, sir, but what makes you think that I'd share it with you? Or anybody." Harry would not tell a damn thing until he was one hundred percent sure there's absolutely no way to avoid it. All his instincts screamed to be cautious. Dumbledore leaned on the table, entwining his fingers. "I am on your side in this, Harry, you can trust me," he said with a slightly softened expression on his face. "On my side in what exactly?" replied Harry, daring the old man to weasel his way out of answering truthfully. Dumbledore was silent for a little while. "I don't think-" "Then I have nothing to tell you." The man sighed, and Harry felt yet another intrusion in his mind. He pushed the headmaster out easily. "This will not get you anywhere," Harry growled quietly. "Didn't you get it the first two times?" "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter." "The hell you are." "Is there anything else? I have a lot of homework to do, sir. Wouldn't want to fall behind in assignments from the start." Dumbledore's eyes hardened again, as he felt Harry slipping between his fingers. "It can wait for an hour or so, I am sure. How about we take turns asking questions?" Harry stood up. "With all due respect, sir, I won't play games with you. Have a pleasant evening." With a nod, he turned on his heels and marched towards the door. "There's a war on our doorstep Harry. A war in which you already have played a huge part." It made Harry stop with his hand on the doorknob. "Voldemort?" he asked, turning around. "I'm afraid so. And it won't let go of you just because you want it to. I too wish that there would be another way, Harry, but there isn't." Harry stood stiffly, cursing himself. He just knew he shouldn't have come here. He fucking knew it! Anger boiled inside of him, but this time it was directed at himself. Damn curiosity. "Why?" he asked harshly, raising his gaze to meet Dumbledore's. "What can I possibly do that you can't? I'm eleven, for God's sake!" Harry exclaimed. "That's why I asked you to come. To find out," replied the headmaster calmly. "I will not be a part of any war," said Harry evenly. "The fact that the man vanished attempting to kill me does not mean anything. I did not do a damn thing back then, and I'm refusing to lift a finger now." "But people will die, Harry…" Harry smirked coldly. "Do I look like I care?" Dumbledore's face fell even more. Harry supposed it was hard to find an argument against that. But, sweet potato, how wrong he was. "Take a seat, Mr. Potter," there was undeniable authority in the man's voice now, and Harry found himself complying, albeit begrudgingly. "How about some tea?" Harry shook his head. "Lemon drop?" "No, thank you." "As you wish. Now, Harry, I understand your unwillingness to participate in the upcoming war, I do,” he spoke softly. “But I’m afraid it is you who doesn’t understand that we simply do not have a choice here. As I’ve said, you already are a big part of it and if my assumptions are correct, you will be a part even bigger.” Harry kept silent, his face hard. “Let me explain…” “That’s what I’ve been expecting from you since the start, you old fool.” “...divination?” Harry tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Most of the people who claim to be a seer are frauds, of course. But there are some who are not. I’ve heard only one true prediction in all my years, Harry, and that prediction was about you.” “Great,” Harry sighed and motioned for Dumbledore to continue. “You are the only one who can vanquish the Dark Lord, Harry.” “Still, it doesn’t mean that I have to, because I don’t.” “Oh but it does, Harry. It does. Because, you see, Tom — that’s Voldemort’s real name — knows that prophecy too. He knows that you’re a threat, maybe an only real threat, and will pursue you until only one of you is left.” Bloody perfect. “This is too surreal.” “Prove it,” said Harry simply, crossing his arms and leaning back on the chair. “How am I to know that you didn’t just come up with it?” Dumbledore fell silent for quite some time, apparently thinking it all through. “Who else knows about it?” suddenly asked Harry, solving the problem. “There’s only four people who know about the existence of the prophecy, five now. Tom Riddle, myself, professor McGonagall, since she was my right hand in the previous war, my spy in Riddle’s ranks, and you, of course.” “Spy?” asked Harry, quirking an eyebrow. “A double spy, to be precise, because Tom thinks him to be his man. You understand, Harry, that I cannot reveal to you any information about that person. At least until I know more about you and your abilities, it would be too dangerous, and I’ve no wish to risk my spy’s position and life.” He didn’t have to. Harry already had a pretty good idea of who that person was. He dropped the subject for now. So McGonagall again, huh… Well, that certainly made things easier. “I want this to be quiet. There’s no need for everyone to know about me or my powers.” “So there are powers,” thought Dumbledore, nodding. “I agree. The prophecy speaks that you’ll ‘have the power the Dark Lord knows not’, and it’s in our best interests that things continue that way.” Harry looked at Dumbledore closely. “If Riddle knows the prophecy, then he knows that I have power,” he stated. “Tom does not know the full prophecy, Harry. He’s just aware that you’re a threat and nothing more.” That made sense. “I think I should go, professor,” said Harry, getting up. There was little point in throwing cryptic words at each other. He needed to know for sure that Dumbledore was telling the truth, and the headmaster needed to know things Harry wasn’t going to divulge until he could trust the man at least a bit. Dumbledore seemed to understand that as well, because he nodded, wished Harry a good night, and rose to his feet. Harry returned the pleasantries and without a spare glance retreated from the office. It was worse than hell.

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