The ballad of an orphaned lamb

“That was the lady that came to my house to tell my folks I’m a witch.” whispered a girl as Professor McGonagall introduced herself, Hogwarts, and asked them to wait until the Sorting ceremony started. She had asked them to ‘smarten up’, and the gaggle of first years started immediately shuffling as she left, smoothing down their robes and fixing their hair.

With a jolt, Harry turned around, recognising the voice. He had taken his glasses off to wipe them, as they were so wet that Professor McGonagall looked more like an abstract painting he’d seen once at Victoria and Albert than an actual human. With his glasses back on, he recognised Ana behind him, squeezing the water out of her braided hair like a rag, between a girl using the hem of her robe to towel down her bushy hair and a boy wiping down mud from his shoe with a napkin. 

“Oh, me too!” the girl answered, her hair becoming wilder and wilder as it got dryer.

“Really? I never thought that’d be how they tell Muggleborns. Guess it makes sense. How did your folks react then?” the boy asked, and Ana stuck her hands in the pockets of her robes, looking in front.

“Oh, my dad was ready to kick her out!” she grinned, and looked in front, as she noticed Harry. He waved towards her, and she returned the wave eagerly.

Harry learnt her full name when the Sorting Ceremony had begun, along with the names of other first-years he’d seen around. The boy with mud on his shoes was Terry Boot, now in Ravenclaw, and Harry couldn't help but notice he still had mud on his shoes as he ran to his table in excitement. The bushy-haired girl, now her hair fully dry, was Hermione Granger, now in Gryffindor. Ana was Ana Lapus, or as she was called out, ‘Anna Lapush’, now in Hufflepuff. The boy after Ana, who Hagrid had to remind, after they’d traveled to the class by boat, that he had forgotten his frog in one of them, after he had already almost forgotten it on the train, was Neville Longbottom, and after a long deliberation by the Sorting Hat, was now in Gryffindor. 

The awful, pale boy, with his hair slicked back from the rain, was named Draco Malfoy. Harry heard Ron groan at his name, before whispering behind him that he’ll tell him about Malfoy later. Harry nodded lightly, both in acknowledgement of Ron, as well as Professor McGonagall, who shot them a look from behind her glasses as the Sorting Hat proclaimed Draco Malfoy a Slytherin.

While the students at the tables were attentive to all first-years sorted, Harry couldn't help but notice the quiet that followed his own name was more poignant. Instead of a light chatter as the first-years before him stepped up to be sorted, the voices that followed his steps were formed of hushed whispers, asking if it was truly him, and before the Hat covered his eyes were students from all four Houses craning their necks to get a better look at him. 

Harry closed his eyes, and focused on the Hat. He knew what House he wanted to be in. He wanted to be in the same House as his parents. He wanted to sit at the same table they sat at, wear the gold and red with pride. It was the thing he wished for most. As the Hat stalled and stalled, whispering about his desire to prove himself, his wits, his mind, that he would make a great fit for Slytherin, Harry gripped the stool he was sat on, repeating in his head that, more than any House, more than anything, he did not wish to be in Slytherin.

The voice of the Hat went quiet for a moment, and Harry heard a moment later the result of his sorting, followed by wild cheers - he saw Ron’s brothers, he saw the girl with wild hair, the boy with the toad, he saw dozens upon dozens of faces applauding and cheering, shaking his hand and patting his shoulders as he sat down with the Gryffindors. They welcomed him among them.

Still with butterflies in his stomach, he soon joined Ron’s brothers and the rest of the Gryffindor students in cheering for him as he approached their table, moving and letting Ron sit between him and Neville.

Harry saw Hagrid at the far end of a long table with all the teachers, and grinned at him as Hagrid gave him a thumbs-up. Harry swore he could see Hagrid mouthing ‘Told ya’ so.’ from under his beard, and raised his shoulders amused. Indeed, Hagrid had always assured him that he was Gryffindor material - and now the proof was right there, as he sat facing Percy, the Prefect with a red and golden badge. His eyes moved from Hagrid to the other teachers at the table, inspecting each and every one of them, before his eyes fell onto the Headmaster. 

He heard of Albus Dumbledore - he’d seen him in Chocolate Frog cards, as well as in the books about British and European magical history he got for Hogwarts. He’d also been regaled with stories about him from Avizina, the small, wrinkly, old witch who taught Lena witchcraft and wizardry when she was his age. He heard from her about how Dumbledore was a great man first and a great wizard second, and how the duel between him and Grindelwald was considered one of the fiercest duels fought in modern wizarding history.

And now, this great wizard was in front of him, and Harry could swear that above his half-moon glasses, he looked straight at him with a smile. In fact, all the teachers at the table, when Harry met their eyes, gave a furtive smile or light nod, and he couldn’t help but happily notice that they were doing the same to other first-years who raised their eyes from their many plates of food to sneakily look at their future teachers.

“...And that’s Professor Sprout, she’s the Head of House for Hufflepuffs, teaches Herbology. ” Percy was talking to Hermione, however Harry couldn’t help but listen in to the conversation. “Professor Flitwick is the Head of House for Ravenclaw, he’s going to teach you Charms. And that’s Professor Snape, Head of House for Slytherins. Teaches Potions, but everyone knows he doesn’t want to.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, sneaking a look at Snape. He looked unhealthy, like he hadn’t seen the sun in ages. Long strands of shiny, oily hair fell into his eyes as he spoke with a young professor in an absurdly big, purple turban. With protruding frown marks at the edges of his lips and on his forehead, Snape didn’t look quite happy, and Harry doubted that man had been happy in a long time. On the other hand, the professor next to him seemed flustered, his hand trembling lightly as he stirred his tea.

“He doesn’t want to teach Potions, to be exact.” explained Percy. “See the professor with the turban? That’s Professor Quirrell. He used to teach Muggle Studies, but just got the post for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Bill - my eldest brother, Bill, said Professor Snape keeps applying for the post, but it’s always another teacher that gets appointed.”

“Why does he stay here then?” asked Harry.

“Well, teaching at Hogwarts is an honor, isn’t it?” the girl with wild hair jumped in the conversation, and Percy nodded.

“One of the best places to be at. The esteem of it, only a job at the Ministry could top working here. I plan to work at the Ministry myself when I graduate-”

“Going for Minister, eh, Perce?” 

“Can you imagine the size of that badge?”

Harry looked to his right, and saw Fred and George laugh, poking each other amused. He shoved a handful of potatoes in his mouth and started chewing, trying his best not to laugh or chuckle. After all, Percy seemed to have forgotten about the incident in the compartment. From how Ron talked about him in the train, Harry was sure the first thing Percy would do when he sat down at the Gryffindor table was admonish him. Trying to focus on something else as the twins kept joking about Percy’s dreams of Ministry, Harry looked back to the High Table with all his future professors. He couldn’t help but notice Quirrell’s hand trembling even more, almost dropping the tea in his lap as he turned his head away from Harry. 

***

In the following days, Harry couldn’t help but find the stories Quirrell gave odd. His classrooms smelt strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he had met in Romania. He himself had an odd smell, which Fred and George supposed was from sticking garlic cloves in his own turban. However, while Harry was finding difficulty in his lessons from Lena’s ‘you’ll learn all the magic you need at Hogwarts’ upbringing, he learnt many a thing from growing up in a Romanian wizarding village.

And one of those things was how to get rid of a vampire that keeps bothering you. Which Harry found surprising that Quirrell was not aware of - after all, he was their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!

Harry had seen it happen, once a year or so, sometimes even more. It was a ritual done by a wizard and about a dozen Squibs, usually young men. He remembered leaning over high fences with Gavril, watching on as they prepared themselves, donning grotesque masks with deformed eyes and noses, and tie bells around themselves, the wizard cracking his whip to practice it, as the Squibs waved around enormous, carved sticks. Harry remembered that he was young, he wanted to be one of them as well, before learning what Squibs were. The wizard in charge was a graying, curly-haired, pleasant man, but when he would be in the middle of the ritual, his face would twist, his mouth would turn into a snarl, face reddening as he would be shouting and whistling, whip cracking wildly in his left hand, his right busy waving his wand.

Harry had seen his fair share of English-speaking wizards who come for the ritual, wizards who have had unpleasant interactions with something or other, some which were indeed vampires. Hence, it surprised him that a ‘worldly’ man like Quirrell had no idea about this, and was using garlic, a remedy so rudimentary that he’d seen Lena recommend it to Muggles.

Thankfully, Ron didn’t seem to believe the stories about their teacher’s travels either, and from what Harry saw, many of his Gryffindor classmates treated the Defense classes as a joke, not paying much attention to the forever startled and stuttering Quirrell.

He’d mentioned it in his letter to Lena. He wrote to her a week after his arrival, and told her about his difficult classes with McGonagall, and how there was only one girl in his class who managed to turn a matchstick into a needle. How different the magical plants they studied in Herbology were from the ones he’d use to watch grow and help gather in her garden. How his Defense professor was an odd fellow, and after writing down about the garlic stench in his class, mentioned Percy’s anecdote about how the Potions professor was vying for the post.

He did not write to her, however, about his Potions class. He did not want her to worry, and did not write about how he felt like Snape seemed to hate him from the first moment he laid eyes on him, how he lost points for his class for nothing, how it seemed his simple existence bothered the man. 

And finally, he wrote to her about something Hagrid asked him when he and Ron went to visit his hut Friday afternoon, after his classes. How he noticed an article in the Daily Prophet about a break-in at Gringotts, on the same day that he’d gone with Hagrid in his vault, and saw Hagrid go into another vault, on Dumbledore’s orders. He wrote about how Hagrid evaded the question, and how, right before they left, without Ron hearing, Hagrid asked whether Lena had told him anything about moving closer, now that he’s at Hogwarts.

Are you really planning to move us here? He wrote, and looked at the ink shining in the candlelight.

No - that was stupid. That wasn’t something he could just ask like that. Harry got out his wand, and tried to use the charm he’d learnt a day ago that would remove ink from paper. He waved his wand once saying the incantation. Nothing. Twice. Three times. 

Oh, come on.

The letters were as fresh as before, his last words still shining in the candlelight with fresh ink. He tried once again, and this time, the ink of his last paragraph appeared fainter, yet it was still fully legible. Frustrated, he ripped out the paper, instead writing at the back about his new friend Ron (and would she believe the first friend he made was Charlie’s brother?), and lastly, asked her to wish everyone back there well. 

“I need to send this letter…want to come with me to the owlery?” Harry turned to ask Ron, who turned around confused, his quill dropping on the parchment.

“Is that what you’ve been doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you were doing your homework for McGonagall!”

“Oh, right..” Harry looked at the empty parchment he only had a title written in, thrown away at one corner of the table. That surely was the plan when they’d sat down, before he got lost in writing.

“That’s not good.” Ron looked over his work, shaking his head. “I must’ve snoozed about halfway in writing this. I put down the same thing about vanishment three times! Do you think McGonagall’s going to notice?”

“Depends, if she’ll snooze reading it, maybe.” Harry chuckled.

Ron groaned, before giving up, saying that’s a problem for tomorrow. They got up and went out of the common room, going towards the owlery together. And it seemed they weren’t the only ones doing so - there were other students, some of whom Harry recognised from the Sorting. Among them was Ana, who had just sent off an owl as they opened the door.

“Oh, it’s you! Hi Harry.”

“Hi - oh, Ana, this is my friend, Ron. Ron, this is-”

“Anna.” She introduced herself with the English pronunciation, side-eyeing Harry, before focusing on Ron. “I know you, your brother’s a Prefect, right? Did you know he can take House points?”

“I-...uh-” Ron stuttered at her indignation, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What’d he take points for?”

“Well, why would they give us wands and teach us magic, if we can’t practice it with every occasion?” 

At that, both Harry and Ron burst into laughter, thinking about Percy trying to explain that exact point to the witch. Harry imagined him trying to reign in increasing frustration, as Ana told them about her practicing her Charms spells in the hallways, sounding exasperated with Percy and his explanations, and even more with him taking two points from Hufflepuff - one for crooking about five paintings, and another for her language when he took the first point.

“Oh, yeah - that reminds me… Thanks for your help back then. My mum made you this as a thank you, too. You don’t have to wear it, but if you ever meet her again, you can tell her I gave it to you if she asks.” Ana rummaged through her pockets, taking out a thin, red, bracelet, with a small golden coin in the middle. Harry recognised it immediately for what it was, but let her continue explaining.

“It’s like a little… trinket, I guess. I know it’s a Muggle thing, but she believes these things work, it’s for good luck and... although - oh, well, I can see you, uh, have one already.” she stammered as she spoke, and Harry’s eyes widened. He looked immediately at his left hand, where the sleeve of his robe had caught into an exposed nail, pulling itself up and revealing his wrist, as well as an almost identical bracelet he had from Despina.

It wasn’t a Muggle thing - well, not really in the way she described it. From what he learnt from Despina, the old woman that gave him his when he was a baby, it was rudimentary magic for protection, that Muggles co-opted and started wearing for ‘good luck’ when they saw wizards wear them. Harry covered his arm quickly, and took the bracelet from her, thanking her and her mom.

Ana stared at him briefly, appearing as if she wanted to say something, before shaking her head, and saying her goodbyes to Harry and Ron. However, Harry swore that as she passed him, she heard her whisper a goodbye in Romanian.

“What’s that, then?” Ron asked, and Harry shrugged, putting Ana’s mom’s bracelet in his pocket, before walking to look towards Hedwig. 

“Oh, I helped her family when they came to Diagon Alley.” Harry shrugged, looking for Hedwig.

“No, I mean-... that bracelet you have.”

“Oh, this thing.” He took his time tying his letter, trying to think of an answer. He did not want to lie to Ron, however he did not want to admit to having spent most of his life away from Britain,  not feeling a connection to it, a connection with the people, the food, the music. During his class with Snape, all he could think about was going back to Romania. If Gavril was taught on an apprentice system, why couldn’t he be? After all, the wizards there were no inferior to the ones here. Harry shook the thought away - it’s only been one week. And he couldn’t let one teacher sully his experience. 

“They’re common thank-you’s where Magdalena, the witch that raised me is from. Good luck and protection. I think Ana’s mom must be from the same place. Maybe.” Well, more than maybe. 

“Can’t be that common if I never got one.” Ron pulled his cuffs up, and showed Harry his pale, bare wrists. “I like to think I’ve done at least a thing that gets me a thank-you.”

Harry watched Hedwig take off on her long journey across Europe, and pulled at the red thread bracelet Despina gave him. “Here, you can have mine as a thank you for coming here.”