I
Harry packed the last of his belongings, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach. The Dursleys had finally grown weary of him and decided to send him off to a boarding school for troublesome teens. Despite his vehement protests and pleading, they remained unmoved. Everything he held dear —as little as he had— was here , in this place he despised. His two most cherished companions, the only true friends he had managed to make in his ten years of schooling, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, were the anchors of his life.
Hermione, the daughter of two dentists, resided near the school, boasting the best grades year after year. Ron, the sixth son of seven, with an unwavering sense of justice, a penchant for wild ideas, and unparalleled skill in chess. The trio had shared countless memories since they were 11, forming an unbreakable bond. From the escapade orchestrated by Ron's brothers to rescue him from the confines of Dudley's second bedroom to exploring the mystical forest and plunging into its river, their adventures were the stuff of legend.
Harry sighed as he closed his worn-out bag and tattered suitcase, the meagre possessions given to him for school. Descending the stairs, he tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, wary of inviting another black eye before the last one had fully healed. Despite the goodbyes exchanged earlier, he longed to see Ron and Hermione once more before his departure.
His uncle Vernon arrived, bellowing impatiently for Harry to get in the car. As they drove to the station, Vernon incessantly lamented the money spent on the "freak" in his care. Harry stole one last glance at the house, pondering if he would ever reunite with his friends. A heavy sense of melancholy enveloped him, casting a shadow even under the midday sun.
After half an hour, they reached the train station. Uncle Vernon, after purchasing the tickets, handed one to Harry and left him to navigate the journey alone. Harry wandered through the station, observing a diverse array of people boarding trains—some in a hurry, others with a wistful demeanour, and a few radiating boundless excitement. He knew he belonged to the melancholic group, torn between relief to escape the Dursleys and the profound sadness of leaving his friends behind.
Entering the train, Harry found an empty compartment. The journey started, and as the city gradually disappeared from view, lush greenery and endless trees surrounded him. The sky, a vibrant blue, and the radiant sun overhead failed to dispel the heaviness in his heart. No one joined him in his compartment, granting him a moment of tranquillity. Harry alternated between gazing out at the passing scenery, trying to decipher the shapes of clouds and trees, and attempting to steal a bit of sleep—his restless mind consumed by thoughts of the unknown that awaited him at the boarding school.
As the train journey stretched on, Harry initially sought solace in the rhythmic clatter of wheels against tracks, contemplating the unknowns that awaited him at the boarding school. However, as hours ticked by, impatience seized him. His leg bounced incessantly, a subconscious attempt to quell the surging energy that had unexpectedly surged within him. The ride remained uneventful, the passing trolley tempting him with treats that, unfortunately, he couldn't afford. Polite declines became his routine response to the persistent lady behind the cart.
After what felt like an eternity, the train came to a halt at a station vastly different from the familiar one in his town. This new stop radiated with bright lights and throngs of people, a stark contrast to the quiet simplicity of Harry's hometown station. His relatives, ever reluctant to make his journey comfortable, handed him a hastily scribbled note with a direction that simply read, "Hogwarts, Scotland." The ambiguity of the message seemed deliberate, almost as if they hoped he would get lost and vanish from their lives forever.
Anxiety gnawed at Harry as he considered the prospect of being stranded in an unfamiliar place at night. Despite the inner turmoil, he mustered the courage to inquire about the school, albeit with a certain subdued tone. Shame lingered in his thoughts, as he imagined the judgement that might accompany the mention of a renowned institution for misbehaved children.
At long last, a compassionate lady took notice of his plight. With genuine kindness, she not only provided him with the school's address but went above and beyond by personally guiding him there. Gratitude welled up within Harry, and he made sure to express his profound thanks to her once they reached their destination.
The school loomed before him, a colossal structure that surpassed any educational institution he had ever laid eyes on. Its grandiosity was only matched by its antiquity, boasting a design reminiscent of a castle, with walls hewn from solid rock. The architectural beauty was accentuated by the presence of majestic stained glass windows, surpassing even those he had marvelled at in a church at the tender age of seven when Miss Figg couldn't take him one sunday when the dursleys went to church. Every facet of the school exuded a captivating splendour, leaving Harry awestruck and, at the same time, acutely aware of how profoundly out of place he felt in its imposing presence.
Gripping his backpack a little tighter, Harry drew in a steadying breath and proceeded toward the entrance gates. Each step seemed to magnify the subtle trembling in his legs, a physical manifestation of his internal unease. Upon reaching the security booth, he presented his papers, securing passage into the school grounds.
Within the expansive campus, a diverse mix of kids caught his attention—some around his age, perhaps a bit older, and even younger ones, some as young as twelve. This revelation struck him, prompting a silent contemplation. What could have led children so young to this place?
While Harry acknowledged that he wasn't the epitome of a model child, he couldn't pinpoint a specific incident that warranted his relatives sending him here. Admittedly, he had his moments of recklessness, and he wouldn't deny the occasional dalliance with smoking. However, the extent of his 'fights' amounted to being Dudley and his friends' unwilling punching bag, because if he mustered the audacity to retaliate, he'd find himself on the receiving end of a relentless thrashing, leaving him so battered that even his closest friends wouldn't be able to recognize him.
Navigating the expansive hallways for a few minutes, he eventually arrived at the principal's office. A series of knocks echoed until a voice from within granted him permission to enter. The office sprawled across two levels, adorned with an assortment of trinkets. Positioned in the center was an elderly figure, sporting a beard and attire that edged towards eccentricity. The principal greeted him with a light smile, motioning for him to approach. With cautious steps, Harry crossed the threshold, settling into one of the chairs with his luggage at his side.
Juggling the papers a bit, he awkwardly handed them over to the old man. During this brief exchange, Harry found himself staring at the wall seeking distraccion for his restless mind. After a few moments, the headmaster looked up, gracing him with another warm smile.
"Ah yes, Harry James Potter. I was wondering when you would arrive," he said, introducing himself, "Albus Dumbledore. A pleasure to meet you." Dumbledore extended his right hand, which Harry accepted with gratitude. Expecting a stern and imposing headmaster, Harry found himself relieved by Dumbledore's amicable demeanour.
"Harry Potter, sir, but of course, you already know that," he stammered somewhat awkwardly.
"Well, yes, but don't worry, my boy," he chuckled lightly. "Here's your timetable, and here," he handed him two papers, "is your dorm number. I'm sure you'll adapt perfectly. Let me call Severus to escort you there; this place can be a little tricky the first time."
After a brief wait, an enigmatic figure clad entirely in black entered the room. From top to bottom, every inch of the man was covered in black attire, complemented by the deepest, most penetrating black eyes Harry had ever encountered and shoulder-length black hair.
As the man's gaze landed on Harry, his already furrowed eyebrows descended into a deeper frown, and a palpable wave of hatred seemed to emanate from his eyes. Despite Harry's accustomed resilience to being looked down upon, the sudden intensity of the man's glare caught him off guard. He instinctively recoiled in his seat, attempting to shrink into the smallest possible space.
"Come, Potter. I don't have all day," he spat the name as if each syllable carried a venomous sting.
Obligingly, Harry rose from his seat and trailed the professor, maintaining a careful distance. As they traversed the corridors for several minutes, he found himself captivated by the school's enchanting architecture. His gaze wandered, taking in the high ceilings, medieval-esque floors, and the mesmerising view of the outside world through the windows. It was as if he had stepped into a fairytale, half-expecting magic to unfurl at any moment.
The solid rock beneath his feet resonated with each step, creating a harmonious rhythm that echoed through the desolate hallways. Perhaps, amid the chaos, he had stumbled upon the one aspect that he didn't despise—a semblance of beauty amidst the mess.