Harry
Prologue
He appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He would rant and rave about the need for pure-bloods to reassert their dominance over a Wizarding society that had degenerated so far from Salazar Slytherin's noble ideal. In spite of this, he didn't seem to be related to any of the families that we take as a matter of faith to make up "Nature's Nobility." In fact, his own identity was obscure. Many people, even- and I must admit this– even many of us, refused to take him seriously. Some even thought that we had no need to. The illegitimate Minister was gone, and in our complacency, we believed the world would simply return to what it had been before. (Had it been a decade already, since all this trouble had begun?)
Nevertheless we rested on our laurels as our enemies organized all around us. The truth of the matter was that the "pure-blood aristocracy" that Blum and his followers railed on against, thought itself immortal on the eve of its death. I see this now.
And then, like lightning, the mood of the times changed. A certain Mudblood reporter for the Daily Prophet had written an article mocking the self-proclaimed "Lord Voldemort" as an insignificant and ridiculous figure with delusions of grandeur. Less than a week passed before the green skull with the serpent protruding from its mouth blazed brightly in the night sky over the reporter's home.
Europe would come to grow used to seeing our Lord's symbol in the months to come.
But who are we really? What is it that we're after? Soon, I think, the world will be learning more about us than they ever cared to know.
The morning of September the first dawned with the kind of quality that comes only when Summer is almost gone and the first rumours of Autumn can be felt in the mild chill. Harry had been awake since before sunrise, watching from his window seat in Godric's Hollow as the world slowly emerged from darkness and then the milky whiteness of calm early morning gave way to red and then blue. The old church spire was first to catch the light, its weathered stone glowing amber against the sky. Then came the roses in his mother's garden, their heavy heads lifting as dew evaporated from their petals.
His room, usually a comfortable chaos of books and Quidditch gear, had been tidied the night before. Now it felt almost foreign in its neatness, his trunk packed and standing sentinel by the door, Hedwig's cage gleaming beside it. The snowy owl herself was out hunting – one last flight before the journey north. On his desk lay the letter that had arrived a month before. He had read it so many times he knew its words by heart now and the parchment was soft at the creases. Not that there had ever been any doubt he would attend. But holding the actual letter had made it real in a way that years of expectation hadn't.
The sound of his mother's voice carried up the stairs, accompanied by the smell of coffee and bacon. "James, have you seen my- ah, never mind, found it!" There was a pause, then: "Harry? Are you awake, sweetheart?"
"Coming, Mum!" he called back, giving his reflection one last critical look. His black hair messy again immediately after combing it as usual – a Potter family curse, his father jokingly called it. His green eyes, so like his mother's, looked back at him seriously from behind his glasses. He straightened his collar, smoothed down his shirt, and headed downstairs.
The kitchen was flooded with morning light, turning his mother's dark red hair to flame as she moved between stove and table. James Potter sat in his usual place, the Daily Prophet spread before him, though his eyes followed his wife's movements with the same fond attention Harry had always noticed. Even after all these years, they still looked at each other as if they were sharing a private joke the rest of the world wasn't quite in on.
"Ministry's making noise about cauldron bottom thickness again," James commented, folding the paper away. "Barty Crouch must be thrilled."
Lily laughed, setting a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and toast in front of Harry. "Knowing Barty, he'd probably consider new regulations to be the crowning achievement of his career." She gave Harry a fond smile and then seemed to remember something. "Harry, dear, I do hope you'll remember what we discussed about the invisibility cloak?"
"Only for emergencies," Harry recited dutifully, though he caught his father's wink behind his mother's back. The cloak was carefully packed at the bottom of his trunk, wrapped in the map Sirius had slipped him last Christmas with strict instructions not to tell his mother.
"And remember," James added, his voice taking on an unusually serious tone, "whatever house you're sorted into-"
"We'll be proud of you," Lily finished, running a hand through Harry's unruly hair. "Though I suspect Professor Slughorn's already got his heart set on having you in Slytherin, given how often he mentions how good you are at potions."
James made a show of clutching his heart. "My son, a Slytherin? Sirius would never recover from the shock."
"Morning, all," Sirius said from the doorway, as if summoned by his name. Harry's godfather looked as elegantly disheveled as ever in deep blue robes as he settled into the chair beside him and helped himself to breakfast.
"You're early," Lily observed, though she was already placing a cup of coffee in front of him.
"Couldn't sleep," Sirius admitted. "Kept thinking about our first day. Remember how you hexed James on the train, Lily?"
"He deserved it," Lily said primly, but her eyes were dancing. "He was being insufferable."
"I was being charming," James protested.
"You were being an arrogant toerag, as I believe I informed you at the time."
Harry listened to their familiar bickering with half an ear, his mind already racing ahead to the journey before him. His mother must have noticed his distraction, because her hand came to rest on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
"Nervous?" she asked softly.
"A bit," he admitted. "What if..." He trailed off, not sure how to voice the jumble of worries in his head.
"What if you're brilliant?" Sirius suggested. "What if you make great friends? What if you have adventures that'll make your old godfather jealous?"
"What if you focus on your studies?" Lily added pointedly.
"That too," Sirius agreed, with the air of someone making a great concession.
The morning passed too quickly after that, in a whirl of last-minute checks and double-checks. Had he packed his cauldron? Yes. His books? All seven of them. His wand? He patted his pocket for the hundredth time, feeling the warm wood of holly and phoenix feather respond to his touch.
He remembered the curious look Mr. Ollivander had given him when the wand chose him, the way the wandmaker's silvery eyes had lingered on his face. "Curious," he had murmured. "Very curious." But before he could explain what was curious, Lily had smoothly steered the conversation elsewhere, a skill Harry had noticed she often employed when conversations strayed into uncomfortable territory.
They took a Ministry car to King's Cross, arranged by his dad's friend Frank Longbottom in the Auror office. The journey passed in a blur of London streets and last-minute advice from his parents, while Sirius entertained him with increasingly outlandish stories about his own school days, most of which Lily insisted were greatly exaggerated.
They emerged through the barrier onto Platform 9¾, into a cloud of steam. The scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express gleamed like a jewel. The platform was already crowded with families saying their goodbyes. Harry recognized several faces from various social gatherings – the Malfoys standing in aristocratic isolation, young Draco's pale hair catching the light; the Greengrass parents saying goodbye to their eldest daughter as her sister hugged her tightly, a group of redheads that could only be the Weasleys creating cheerful chaos near the front of the train.
"Now remember dear," Lily began, but whatever she was going to say was lost as Hedwig chose that moment to swoop down from the rafters, causing several nearby first years to gasp in admiration as she landed gracefully on Harry's shoulder.
"Show-off," Harry told her fondly, offering her an owl treat from his pocket.
James helped him find an empty compartment and stow his trunk, then pulled him into a tight hug. "Write to us tonight, let us know how the sorting goes. And remember-"
"I know, Dad. You'll be proud of me whatever house I'm in."
"That's right." James stepped back, adjusting his glasses in a gesture Harry recognized as emotion being masked. "Though if you do end up in Gryffindor, I may have a special surprise for you."
"James Potter, are you trying to influence our son's sorting?" Lily's voice was stern, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears as she pulled Harry into her arms. "Oh, my darling boy. Be good. Be safe. Be yourself."
"But not too good," Sirius added, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Lily. "What? A few detentions build character!"
The warning whistle blew, and suddenly the goodbyes became more urgent. One last hug from his mother, a handshake from his father that turned into another hug, a wink from Sirius, and then Harry was leaning out the window as the train began to move, waving until his family disappeared into the steam.
He had been settled into his seat for a while when the compartment door slid open. Two girls stood there – one he recognized as the older Greengrass sister. Tall for her age and blonde with ice-blue eyes that seemed to take in everything at once, the other shorter with dark hair and a friendly smile and hazel eyes.
"Do you mind if we join you?" the dark-haired girl asked. "Everywhere else is either full or..." She wrinkled her nose. "Well, let's just say some of our year-mates-to-be could use lessons in basic manners."
"Please," Harry said, gesturing to the empty seats. "I'm Harry Potter."
"Tracey Davis," the dark-haired girl replied, settling into the seat opposite him. "And this is-"
"Daphne Greengrass," the blonde girl finished, her voice cool but not unfriendly. She moved with unconscious grace as she took her seat, arranging her robes with precise movements. "I believe our mothers were in the same year at Hogwarts."
"They were," Harry confirmed. "Though I think they were in different houses?"
"Mother was in Slytherin," Daphne said. "As we'll be, naturally." Evidently she meant Tracey and herself.
"You sound very certain about that," Tracey observed amusedly.
"Where else would we be?" Daphne raised one elegant eyebrow. "You've certainly got the cunning for it, Trace, whatever anyone says about..." She trailed off, but Harry noticed Tracey's slight stiffening at the unfinished thought.
"About my being half-blood?" Tracey's tone was light, but there was a challenge in it. "I'd rather be judged on my own merits than my ancestry, wouldn't you?"
"Indeed. Though speaking of which," Daphne turned to Harry, "Have you met the group up front? A young Mr. Hitler and his devoted followers. They're already decided that they're the Knights of something-or-other."
"Of Thule, I think," Tracey supplied, rolling her eyes. "Though why anyone would want to follow that Hitler fellow is beyond me. Practically swooning over that article about the Death Eater attack in Yorkshire."
"Pathetic," Daphne agreed.
Harry felt a chill at the mention of Death Eaters. His parents rarely discussed Voldemort directly with him, but he had overheard enough conversations between them and Sirius and Remus to understand the growing threat. Late-night discussions when they thought he was asleep, worried whispers about disappearances and the Dark Mark appearing more frequently. He'd seen how his father's hand often strayed to his wand when they were in public now, how his mother's eyes scanned crowds more carefully. Still, at Hogwarts they would be safe. There was no question of that. Dumbledore was there, after all, and even Voldemort was afraid of him.
The conversation turned to lighter topics as the train carried them north through ever-wilder country. Tracey, it emerged, was a fountain of knowledge about both magical and muggle culture, thanks to her mixed parentage. She kept them entertained with stories about her father's reactions to magical household items, while Daphne occasionally offered dry observations that made both of them laugh.
As morning wore into afternoon, other students stopped by their compartment. Draco Malfoy made a brief appearance, sizing up the occupants before declaring with careful casualness that he might see them in Slytherin. A round-faced boy named Neville Longbottom – Frank's boy, Harry knew – came searching for his lost toad, prompting Daphne to demonstrate a neat locating charm she'd learned from her mother.
"That's advanced magic for a first year," Harry observed, impressed.
"Mother believes in being prepared," Daphne replied simply. "Though I notice you recognized the wand movement before I cast. Been studying ahead as well?"
Harry grinned. "Mum could be a Charms Professor if Professor Flitwick ever retires. Some things you pick up just by being around her."
As the afternoon wore on, Harry noticed the countryside outside growing wilder, the shadows lengthening.
"We should probably think about changing soon," Tracey said, glancing out the window. "Can't be too far now."
As if in response to her words, the sky outside began to darken—or perhaps Harry had only just noticed it—and lights appeared in the distance. Harry felt his heartbeat quicken. Somewhere ahead in the gathering dusk lay Hogwarts, and with it all the promise and possibility of the years to come.
After they had changed, Harry caught Daphne's eye as they prepared for arrival, and saw his own mix of excitement and apprehension mirrored there, though more carefully controlled. Tracey was practically bouncing in her seat, her earlier composure forgotten in the face of their approaching destination.
The train began to slow, and Harry found himself hoping that whatever houses they ended up in, this wouldn't be the end of their newfound friendship. Something about the balance between them – Tracey's warmth, Daphne's cool intelligence, and his own sense of where he might fit between them – felt right in some way he couldn't quite explain.
As the train drew into Hogsmeade station, Harry thought he caught a glimpse of towering castle walls against the darkening sky. Finally. He was beyond ready for what would come next.