HPMM125

Chapter 121

Lunch was not the fun affair it had become for him. Oh, it

was still filled with chatter and joking like always, and

Harry certainly acted like he was having a good time. But

honestly, he really just wanted to finish lunch so he could

drag his friends off and yell at them for not listening to him

the night before. Harry was just grateful none of them

were skilled at reading other people, or they might have

actually noticed that his smiles and laughs were even

faker than the ones he gave when he had been at muggle

school.

Eventually, lunch ended. It was Thursday, so they didn't

have classes afterward, which meant it was the perfect

time for Harry to let them know his displeasure.

Which was why after lunch, at Harry's insistence, Hannah,

Lisa, Neville, Susan and Terry all found themselves

standing in an unused classrooms on the second floor. It

was, in fact, the very same classroom Harry had used

when practicing Transfiguration last night, before that troll

had tried turning him into a human pancake.

He selected this place for two reasons. One, because it

was secure and no one came here very often. And two,

because he wanted to remind them of what happened last

night so his talk would be that much more effective.

During lunch he had worked up a whole speech to that he

would give them on how foolish they had been to ignore

his order to leave and find a teacher, and how

disappointed he was in them. Yet now that they were here,

the words hanging off the tip of his tongue, Harry wasn't all

that sure about what he wanted to say anymore. Or

maybe he was just afraid of losing their friendship.

No, Harry mentally shook his head. That wasn't it. They

needed to understand that what they had done was

dangerous and stupid. They needed to know why they

couldn't something like that again.

"Harry?" Lisa interrupted the boy's thoughts, a curious and

slightly worried expression on her face. "Are you alright?"

"No," Harry told her, running a hand through his hair and

blowing out a large breath at the same time. "No, I am not.

In fact, I am incredibly disappointed in all of you." Every

single one of Harry's friends blinked. Then their eyes

widened. They looked like they wanted to say something,

but he wasn't going to let them get a word in before he

finished.

"Just what in the bloody hell were you guys thinking?!

Sticking around while a murderous troll was rampaging

through the castle when I explicitly told you to leave!"

Neville and the others took a step back in shock and a

little bit of fear when Harry gave them a fierce glare. It was

a look they had never seen on him before. In fact, no one

had ever been subject to this glare except the Dursleys

when he was younger. The only difference between this

one and the one he often gave his relatives was that the

look he gave now contained worry, while the other had

been an expression of Harry's hatred.

Both had the same effect, however, and were utterly

terrifying to behold.

"H-Harry," Neville stuttered out, looking more than a little

intimidated. "W-we just wanted to help you, mate."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn't need help?"

asked Harry, practically hissing now. He was beginning to

get worked up. Not even his skills in Occlumency were

helping him keep a clear head. "Did it never occur to you

that perhaps I had a plan for dealing with the troll? That

maybe I had everything under control before you

interfered?"

"It didn't look that way," Terry muttered, only to stiffen

when Harry's eyes, blazing with emerald green fire the

same color as the killing curse, pierced his own like a

spear. The Ravenclaw boy gulped, but somehow

managed to find his voice. "We all saw how much trouble

you were in. That thing was close to squashing you like a

grape."

"The troll would have never hit me," Harry told him

adamantly. "Troll's are notorious for their strength, not their

brains or lightning fast reflexes. It would have never

touched me. And had you lot not decided to try and play

hero and simply gone off and found a teacher like I told

you to, none of what happened last night would have

happened! Gods, the only reason I even ended up half

dead was because it went after you guys!"

Everyone flinched as Harry made his point. Terry and

Neville looked stricken, torn between wanting to argue

with their friend and acknowledging that he may actually

have a point. Lisa had a hand close to her mouth and was

shaking her head, eyes watering with tears that refused to

fall. Susan and Hannah were much worse. The blond pigtailed girl looked like someone had just killed her puppy,

while her friend stared at the ground, shoulders shaking

as she shed silent tears.

A part of Harry felt guilty, but he squashed that part and

reminded himself that they needed to understand how

foolish their actions had been. They needed to realize that

they could have easily been killed.

"I had everything under control." Harry rounded on them

again. "And it would have continued to stay that way had

you five not been so bloody stupid and just ran like I told

you to!"

"We couldn't leave you!"

Once again, all were surprised by Susan Bones as she

shouted at Harry. Even the young raven-haired boy found

himself staring at the girl in wide eyed surprise.

"We couldn't just leave you," Susan said again, her red

hair flying about her face like ardent flame whipping about

in a strong breeze. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her

body shook from the emotions pouring from her. "I could

have never forgiven myself if something happened to you.

What if you were hurt, or worse, killed? If something had

happened to you I—"

Susan broke off. More tears ran from her eyes and down

her cheeks. She shook her head once, as if to dispel

whatever had caused her to stop talking, but was

unsuccessful.

As everyone else stared at the normally shy and quiet girl

in shock, Harry closed his eyes as guilt finally

overwhelmed him. Yes, what they had done was stupid

and beyond reckless, but really, were his actions that night

any better? He had run head first into danger the moment

he heard Hermione's scream. He had fought against a troll

with only a small set of first year defense spells in his

repertoire. And when his friends had been in danger he

had jumped on said troll's back, as if that would actually

do something. He may have been able to kill it in the end,

but that had been act of luck, not skill.

"Look..." Harry blew out a deep breath and ran his fingers

through his hair. "It's not that I don't appreciate your desire

to help it's just..." he paused, hesitating, then shook his

head. "It's just that you guys could have easily been killed.

What if that troll managed to reach you before I reached

it? What would have happened if I had been just a tad

slower with my wand? What if that last second spell I used

to trip it hadn't worked? That thing would have killed you,

and I..." He grit his teeth, refusing to shed any tears. "... I

don't think I could ever live with myself if something

happened to any of you."

His friends dropped their heads in shame. Harry shut his

eyes and shook his.

"That's why I need you to understand," Harry looked at the

group of mixed house company imploringly. "You can't act

so recklessly. If I ask you guys to do something, it's

because I know what I'm doing, because I have a plan. I

acknowledge that I what I did was little better, but I also

know my own limitations, and killing that troll had never

been in my plans. I was only hoping to distract it long

enough for a teacher to come by. That's why I asked you

to run."

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Chapter 122

"We're sorry, Harry." Susan seemed to be the

spokesperson for the group right now. The other four didn't

speak, none of them were even capable of it. Hannah and

Lisa were sniffling, and Neville and Terry looked physically

ill. "We promise, if something dangerous like this happens

again and you tell us to do something, we'll put our trust in

you."

"Well, hopefully nothing like this will happen again," Harry

said, grimacing. "And I'm... I'm also sorry. I didn't mean to

be so harsh. It's just, aside from Lisa, you guys are the

only friends I have. I don't want any of you to get hurt."

"We feel the same way, Harry," Neville told him. Everyone

else agreed, and Harry felt whatever anger left from their

actions fade away. He just couldn't stay mad at them. He

didn't want to stay mad at them. "You're our friend. That's

why we couldn't leave you to face that thing alone."

"Thank you." Harry couldn't quite contain his smile.

Despite seeing him gruesomely kill a troll, in spite of him

throwing harsh—and admittedly hypocritical—words in

their face, they still wanted to be his friend.

A strange warmth spread through his body, a feeling he

normally only associated with Lisa Crawft.

He really did find a great group of people here at

Hogwarts.

XoX

Harry Potter waited until everyone else had gone to bed.

To his left he could, Neville lay curled in a ball. Seamus

and Dean had also entered dream land, and he could hear

the black boy mumbling football plays in his sleep while

the Irish child snored away.

Sitting up as slowly as possible so as not to make the bed

squeak and possibly awaken the other three boys in his

dormitory, Harry carefully brought his legs over the edge of

the bed and slid off.

His bare feet touched warm, fuzzy carpet, and the ravenhaired child crept over to the foot of his bed with light,

silent footsteps.

Kneeling down next to his trunk, he hissed the word that

would allow him to unlock it.

"Open."

There was a soft click as the lock on the trunk undid itself.

The small dial began to rotate until it reached the number

one, where some of his most important items were stored.

He pushed the trunk open, revealing a ladder attached to

the rim closest to him. Stepping onto the first set of rungs,

Harry began his journey into his trunk.

The small tunnel of space in his trunk soon expanded as

he reached the halfway mark. The barely two by three feet

of space was now large enough to fit the entire wardrobe

of most famous actresses. Or a large library of books. For

that was what Harry had turned this particular

compartment of his trunk into. Lining all four walls from top

to bottom were large bookshelves filled with books.

Ok, so there were not as many books as he would like to

have. Currently he only had 250 books that he had bought

from Flourish and Blotts, enough to keep him occupied for

a good while, but nowhere near the amount he wanted.

That was fine, though. He planned on filling this entire

compartment with books in due time.

While the library itself was not very big, it was incredibly

well organized. All of his books were divided thematically,

that is to say, they were divided by subject, by what

branch of magic they were. History. Transfiguration.

Charms. Defense Against the Dark Arts. Etc. etc. And

those categories were further divided by the level of

knowledge they contained; beginner, intermediate,

advanced, and so on.

As Harry's bare feet hit the tiled floor on the bottom, he set

off toward the left of the small library, where he kept all the

books he picked up on combat magic. Technically, it was

not called combat magic by anyone but him. He had

coined the term when organizing his library. Any book that

spoke of using offensive and defensive spells to either

defend yourself from attack, or attack your enemy, he

considered combat magic because it held similarities to

his martial arts: attacking and defending oneself and

others from someone or something that was trying to hurt

or kill.

His fingers trailed along the spines of the books, eyes

scanning their titles. Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed.

A Compendium of Common Curses and Their CounterActions. Confronting the Faceless. Curses and CounterCurses. Dark Arts Defense: Basics for Beginners.

Defensive Magical Theory. And many, many more. All

together he had around twenty books on combat magic

alone. It wasn't very extensive, not by a long shot, but it

was more than enough to get started and that was what

mattered.

He stopped walking when his finger landed on A

Beginner's Guide to Dueling. It was one of four books he

had on Dueling, one of the subbranches of combat magic,

along with The Intermediate Duelist, Advanced Dueling

Tactics, and Spells for Dueling; a Compilation of Curses,

Jinxes, and Hexes.

Grabbing the book's spine, he pulled the beginner's

dueling book off the shelf. It would not help if another troll

decided to attack, but that was ok. He highly doubted that

another troll would come rampaging through the castle

again. Not when the first one obviously failed at doing

whatever it was supposed to do.

For the rest of the night, Harry Potter would spend his time

reading up on dueling. He would need to know, just in

case he ran into the person who decided to set the troll

lose.

He would also need to know about what was on the third

floor corridor, because he was sure that whatever

Dumbledore was hiding there was the reason the troll had

been let lose in the first place.

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Chapter 123

Three Heads is Better than One

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The words echoed all the way to the back of the hall,

unencumbered by any other noises. It probably had

something to do with the acoustics of the room, as well as

the fact that the hall had gone completely silent.

I lifted the Sorting Hat off my head and saw that everyone

was staring at me in shock. I saw mouths hanging wide

open, eyes bulging from their sockets and looking about

ready to simply roll out of their skulls in surprise. No one

even blinked as they stared at me, and I suppose I can't

blame them, my sorting did take a good deal of time.

Deciding not to let the stares bother me, I stood up and

placed the sorting hat back on the stool. I spared a glance

at Professor McGonagall. Her emotions were masked

much better than everyone else's, but I could see her

surprise as well. The other teachers were the same,

except for two. The man I recognize from my card as

Albus Dumbledore, who stared at me with an expression

of intrigue, and the Professor with greasy hair and a

hooked nose, who leered at me like I was the dirt beneath

his boots.

I almost got angry at that leer. It reminded me of how

Vernon Dursley used to look at me before I put the fear of

god into him. But I simply took a deep breath, held it,

allowed my mind to clear of any emotions that could cloud

my judgment as I breathed out, and turned away.

It wouldn't do to lift one of my professor's and hurl them

through a wall or, heaven forbid, one of those stained

glass panels on my very first day of school. I hear it's bad

form.

I walked toward my designated table, the one where

children are decked out in red and gold. Gryffindor. The

House of the Brave. Everyone was still gawking at me,

their eyes wide and mouths open.

For a second, I wonder if I made a mistake in choosing

this House to be the one I'll live in for seven years. I

squashed the impulse to analyze my decision to join

Gryffindor. The choice has now been made. Second

guessing would only serve to distract me from my goals.

It was not until I am nearly halfway to the Gryffindor table

that said table erupted into a frenzy. All of the students

stood up and begin clapping and cheering. I saw the two

Weasley twins chanting, "we've got Potter!" as loudly as

they could. They looked like they'd just won the lottery.

I guess I can't blame them. Much as I detest the thought,

my fame alone makes me a desirable asset for any of the

four houses. Just another reason to dislike the house

system, I guess.

I finally reach the table and am swept in a round of laughs

and back slaps as everyone tried to greet me at once. I

smiled and greeted those around me, presenting them the

image I wanted them to see. First impressions are

everything, and I need to make a good first impression on

these people. I'll be living with them for the next seven

years, after all.

Eventually, I managed to nudge my way to an empty seat,

one right next to the boy who was the very reason I

decided to be sorted into Gryffindor.

"Hullo, Neville!" I greeted the boy with the same friendly

smile I've used on everyone else. Neville stared at me in

shock, like he couldn't believe I was talking to him. With

what I've seen of him so far, I'm not surprised. The boy

doesn't seem to think much of himself. At least he

managed to snap out of his stupor quickly.

"Oh! Um, erm, hullo, Harry."

I wanted to say more, engage the boy in conversation so I

can determine the best method of earning his allegiance,

but Professor McGonagall decided to restart the sorting

ceremony and called up another first year. I payed close

attention to everyone who was sorted, putting each name

to a face and memorizing which house they went to.

"Weasley, Ronald!"

I watched the red haired boy sit down on the stool and the

hat cover his head, drooping down to his ears. My mind

went back to our first encounter on the Hogwarts Express.

Truth be told, I still wasn't quite sure what to think of that

meeting. It really left a bad taste in my mouth. But I also

couldn't deny that I overreacted. Perhaps I should

apologize to him later on? While I have no intention of

being friends with him, I also don't want to alienate anyone

who may prove potentially useful.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

I blinked in surprise as the youngest Weasley was sorted

into the House of Badgers. I watched the boy's face turn

redder than his hair as he yanked the hat off his head and

nearly threw it away, before angrily stomping to the

Hufflepuff table. None of the Hufflepuff's clapped, probably

because of the angry look in his eyes, and Ron, ignoring

them, shoved himself into a seat with an almost audible

growl.

I shake my head and focused my attention away from the

boy. My eyes scanned the Gryffindor table. All of the other

Weasley's are there, and from my understanding, the

Weasley's have been consistently Gryffindor for many

many years. Much as certain children from darker

pureblood families like the Blacks are almost always

consistently Slytherin, it was tradition for certain families to

always be Gryffindor.

Then again, Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, so it's not like

traditions couldn't be broken.

The three other Weasley children looked most

disappointed to see one of their own being Sorted into

another House. Percy looked mournful, as if someone had

just told him he was no longer a prefect. The twins were

shaking their heads pityingly.

"A real shame about our dear brother's Sorting, right

Fred?"

"Too right, George. I am most disappointed to see

Ronikkens being Sorted into the House of Cowards. Then

again, he always has been easily intimidated by us."

"Well, we did turn his teddy bear into a spider when he

was younger. Maybe it's our fault he got Sorted into

Hufflepuff?"

"Nah!" They both finished together.

I frowned as I heard the slight dig on Hufflepuff. It was one

thing to hear from Andromeda how everyone thought

Hufflepuff was the house of duffers, cowards and left

overs, but it was quite another to hear two students talking

about the same thing. Was this truly how everyone saw

that house? It almost made him wish he could take back

his decision and get sorted there just so they could have

some claim to fame.

The only other person I took a personal interest in was

Blaise Zabini, who got sorted into Slytherin. My eyes

trailed the dark-skinned boy as he sat down next to Tracey

and Daphne, the former gave the boy a dazzling smile and

a pat on the back while the latter settled for a nod. Blaise

seemed to take both gestures with poise. He was very in

control of himself, I noted. He would make a good ally.

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Chapter 124

All attention was diverted when Albus Dumbledore stood

to his feet. The man was giving a wide, beaming smile, as

if just seeing them all sitting there, chattering excitedly,

was enough to make him the happiest man alive.

He spread his arms out wide in a grand, welcoming

gesture. I thought it made him like Gandalf trying his hand

at conducting an orchestra, what with the hair and beard.

"Welcome!" His voice boomed out, every bit as grand as

his gestures. "Welcome to another 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!"

While everyone else clapped, I found myself staring at the

man with furrowed brows. The headmaster seemed a bit

off to me. He reminded me of those animals who look

completely harmless, but can be incredibly deadly when

you get to close. It made me wonder how much of that

'mad hatter' act was just an act. Or if it was even an act at

all.

"He seems to be a bit off his rocker, doesn't he?" I

commented to Neville, who looked at me with wide eyes.

Maybe he was just surprised I had so blatantly insulted the

headmaster by calling him crazy.

"Well, I guess," Neville muttered unsurely. I frowned at the

boy. He seemed so unsure of himself. Was this really the

heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom?

"My Gran always told me Dumbledore is one of the most

powerful wizards in the world, but that he's always been a

tad... erm, eccentric?"

"I suppose that's a good word to describe him," I

concurred. Eccentric definitely described Dumbledore well,

from what I had seen so far. Most geniuses are like that.

Being so mad is what also makes them so brilliant, or at

least that's how it is in some of the fiction novels I've read.

My mind was brought out of my reverie when a delectable

scent invaded my nose. I turned my head to see a

veritable feast sitting on the once empty dishes on the

table. There was a lot more variety than I had ever seen;

roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops,

sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast

potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy,

ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint

humbugs. Most of the food I noticed consisted of meat.

And as I piled food onto my plate, I wondered if I could

somehow convince the chefs here to make some foreign

foods. I've always had a thing for Italian and French foods.

As I began to eat my meal with the poise and grace

Andromeda instilled into me, a ghost floated toward where

Neville and I were sitting.

"Oh but that does look good," he said sadly, and I could

have sworn drool was coming out of his mouth.

"I take it ghosts aren't able to eat?" It was something of a

stupid question, but I couldn't keep myself from asking. I

was curious, and this was the first time I had ever had the

chance to speak with a spirit.

"I haven't eaten for nearly four-hundred years," said 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 MimsyPorpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor

Tower."

"Four-hundred years is an awfully long time," I murmured,

trying to imagine what it would feel like to be a ghost for

that long. I couldn't, or maybe I simply didn't want to. The

idea of being a disembodied spirit, incapable of interacting

physically with the rest of the world but always there in the

background bothered me more than I cared to admit. I

changed the subject. "How did you become a ghost?"

"Ah, well, you see, I was wandering through a park one

night, when I ran into Lady Grieve, a lady-in-waiting in

King Henry's court. She was so confident that I could

straighten her crooked teeth that I simply couldn't say no.

As it turns out, I couldn't straighten her teeth. My efforts

backfired. She grew tusks, and I was executed the

following morning by an improper decapitation."

I raised an eyebrow at the story. I knew about King Henry

VII who had seized the crown in 1485, but I did not know

this tidbit of information. Then again, it was probably

something the wizards at the time had tried to cover up.

"What do you mean 'improper decapitation?'" I asked.

In response to my question, Nicholas grabbed his head

and yanked on it. Many people 'ewwed' as flesh muscle

and bone parted from each other until the man's head was

hanging to his neck by a small sinew of flesh. I found

myself blinking as I got a perfect view of the third cervical

bone in the spine and the meaty muscles around it. It was

a very grim and disgusting sight.

"That's why we call him 'Nearly Headless Nick,'" one of the

twins said. Fred, I believe.

"I prefer to be called Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington,"

Nicholas said haughtily. I got the feeling this was a very

sore subject for him. That nickname was probably

something he had been dealing with for hundreds of

years. I actually felt kind of sorry for him.

He perked up a moment later, thankfully, and coughed into

his hand.

"So—new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win

the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never

gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup

six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost

unbearable—he's the Slytherin ghost."

I turned my eyes towards the Slytherin table and saw the

ghost in question. He had blank eyes, a gaunt face, and

his robes were stained silver with blood. I wondered at

this. Was that his own blood or someone else's? The

ghost was sitting right next to Malfoy, who looked

incredibly uncomfortable by the ghost's proximity.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with

great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

Once everyone had finished eating, the plates cleaned

themselves to a sparkling shine, as if they had never been

dirtied in the first place. I was impressed. The magic didn't

look like much compared to some of the things I had

heard of, but it would be incredibly useful to learn. It would

also save me time when I cleaned the dishes at the

Dursley's.

A moment later desserts appeared on the table. Blocks of

ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies,

treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle,

strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding and many other flavours

I had never heard of. I took some of the treacle tart and

began pondering the intricacies of the magic they used to

summon the food here, trying to come up with a viable

theory for how such a summoning would work.

While I began making theories on magically creating a

wormhole within the fabrics of reality to summon food

through, the other students began talking about their

families

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Chapter 125

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle.

Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were

married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The others laughed.

What about you, Neville?" I asked politely.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said

Neville, "but the family thought I was all- Muggle for ages.

My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard

and force some magic out of me—he pushed me off the

end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned—but nothing

happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round

for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs

window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered

him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced

—all the way down the garden and into the road. They

were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so

happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in

here—they thought I might not be magic enough to come,

you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me

my toad."

"Are you telling me that you call uncle attempted to force

the magic out of you via attempted murder?" I asked in a

soft, dangerous voice. I tried keeping my emotions under

control, and I think I succeeded, for the most part, but I

know I couldn't control everything, not when I felt such

anger at someone attempting to kill their family in some

misguided attempt to force magic out of them. Maybe it

was just because of how my relatives had tried to stamp

the magic out of me, or maybe it was because of my

preconceived notions of how family should behave with

each other, but the thought that someone could harm a

child for such a mundane reason pissed me off to know

end.

The others must have sensed my change in mood,

because Neville, Seamus, and Dean all leaned backwards

slightly.

"W-Well, it's not like I was hurt or anything," Neville

stuttered out, and I realized that I may not have been as

successful as keeping the rage out of my voice as I

thought. I frowned. It seemed I was slipping.

"Sorry, Neville," I told him, and everyone else, "I didn't

mean to frighten you or anything. I just don't like that

someone would willingly put you in harms way to try and

force magic out of you. That's no way to treat family." I

was being honest too. I had always believed that family

should be held in the highest regard and treated with love

and respect. And while I did not consider the Dursleys to

be my family, I did consider Lisa to be my family, and I

always tried to treat her well, even if I acted a little distant

at times.

"No, it's fine," Neville said. He seemed pleased by my

words, almost uncomfortably so. I got the feeling no one

had ever stuck up for him before. Hmm... maybe that

could be my ticket to gaining his allegiance. "Thank you."

I gave him a friendly smile.

"You're welcome."

Conversation flowed by and I let myself be swept into it. I

kept my ears open and listened to everyone else as they

spoke, even adding a few comments myself, but my body

was pretty much running on auto-pilot. I didn't need to pay

full attention to remember everything that went on around

me. It was one of the many benefits of having eidetic

memory.

I let my eyes scan the other tables, searching for those I

felt would make the best allies. Susan and Hannah were

sitting next to Sally-Ann Perks and Megan Jones, talking

animatedly. Well, Hannah was talking, Susan was listening

with a small smile. At the Slytherin table Tracey, Blaise

and Daphne were all sitting together. I noticed that while

they were sitting with the other first years, they seemed to

be a separate entity from most of them. Only Lilith Moon, a

dark-haired girl with green eyes, pale skin and a few

freckles on her nose seemed to be separate from Draco

Malfoy and his ilk like the other three. I got the feeling she

was a bit of a loner.

My eyes wandered over the Ravenclaw table. I didn't

know anyone in that house, so I couldn't make a welljudged decision on who to ally with from their yet. I studied

a few of the first years for a moment, before moving on.

Over at the staff table I could see Albus Dumbledore

speaking to Professor McGonagall about something, and

Hagrid was drinking from a large cup. I tried to put a name

to the faces I could see based on my mother's

descriptions in her journal. I recognized Professor's

Flitwick and Sprout, the Head of House Ravenclaw and

Hufflepuff respectively. My mind could also place the

school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, but many of the others I

did not recognize. They must have come after my parents

graduated.

One person I did recognize was Severus Snape. My

mother's former best friend. He looked a lot like her

journals described him as, only more angry and bitter. His

face seemed to be set in a constant sneer, like he had just

gotten so used to sneering all the time that it became

permanently stuck on his face. He sat next to a man I did

not recognize wearing a purple turban.

As if sensing my eyes on him, Snape turned and his sneer

seemed to deepen. At the same time I sensed a burst of

intense pain in my scar. I ignored it, having felt much

worse, and simply let my eyes move away from the

greasy-haired man's loathsome gaze and continue

studying the other teachers.

The desserts soon disappeared in the same manner as

dinner, and Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet again.

The hall fell silent, and Harry found himself impressed.

Despite looking like a frail old man, he obviously

commanded a lot of respect.

"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and

watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is

forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students

would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the

Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to

remind you all that no magic should be used between

classes in the corridors."

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the

term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams

should contact Madam Hooch."

"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."

A few people laughed at the declaration. I did not. My eyes

narrowed. I wondered if he was being serious, and if so,

why was something apparently dangerous enough to

cause death even in this school in the first place?

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school

song!" cried Dumbledore. I noticed almost immediately

that the eyes of the other teacher's had become fixed.

Clearly, this was not something they enjoyed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying

to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out

of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself,

snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and

off we go!"

What followed next was quite possibly the most god awful

singing I had ever heard in my life, and when I considered

how bad Lisa was at singing, that was truly saying

something. I loved the girl like a sister, but by the gods her

voice could shatter glass. This was worse, much worse.

Everyone singing was doing so to a completely different

rhythm, they were all off beat, off key, off tune. It was

utterly horrendous, and I was extremely aggravated to

know that this memory was going to be branded into my

mind for life.

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