It was Hagrid that received them at the train station and it was a Harry that was slightly busy admiring his new clothes that went onto a random boat. The robes were so breezy, so elegant. Wizarding fashion wasn't one of the things he'd expected to get excited about, but it was definitely a vibe. He thought he looked quite fetching in his new ensemble plus wizard's hat. He had always managed to pull off a hat, no matter the body, apparently that was a spiritual quality. It was because he was too busy admiring his own reflection, per say, despite there being no mirror, that Harry found himself in a boat with the Weasley twins and Cedric.
He sighed as he forlornly looked around for the other boats, seeing that none of them had a free spot.
"Thanks for the chocolate frog, I guess. My pocket is full of chocolate now," Harry said to the twins sitting in front of him, in lieu of a greeting, accepting his fate.
"Got you good, didn't we?" the one on the right cackled, "I knew it was a good idea to practise slipping things in people's pockets," the other one said, before they introduced themselves as Gred and Forge.
"Interesting names your parents picked," Harry noted, while leaning on the edge of the boat and admiring the perfect clear sky and the reflection of the bright moon on the placid lake. "Is it intentional that if one switches the first letters of your names one gets Fred and George?
"Their names really are Fred and George. They just think they're funny," Cedric interjected.
"Haha," Harry deadpanned, "How do you guys know each other, if I may ask?"
"Oh, we're neighbours," Cedric explained, but the conversation was interrupted by Hogwarts coming into view as the boats passed a bend. The rest of the ride remained silent, everyone being too busy admiring the beautifully lit castle. Harry felt touched, as if he'd travelled to another world and seen something not meant for his eyes.
They eventually stopped at an underground pier and all the students exited and formed a crowd around a stern-looking older woman with emerald green robes, who had been waiting for them. "All there?" She asked, turning to Hagrid.
She received a nod and off they were.
"Must be nice being neighbours, you can hang out in the summer," Harry remarked. "Hard to keep older friendships alive if you end up in different houses, I imagine. So many new people to get to know. Don't get me started on the different schedules," he mused, not remembering that it had ever been mentioned in the books that the Weasley twins and Cedric had any significant connection.
"Yeah, Cedric's gonna be sorted into Puff and then he'll be too lame to hang out with," One twin said, "a real tragedy," the other said.
"Hufflepuff is not lame!" Cedric protested and made to lightly shove one of the red-heads, who quickly dodged back.
"You guys already know where you want to be sorted then?" Harry asked.
"Gryffindor rules!" the twins shouted.
"My whole family has been in Hufflepuff for a while now. I heard stories about the common house and it sounds really nice. I wouldn't mind. Do you have a preference?"
"Anything but Slytherin is fine, muggleborn and all." Harry replied blasely, only for someone to shove him from behind.
He stumbled forward but righted himself before he could fall. Turning around angrily he saw a pale, dark-haired boy scowling at him. "We wouldn't want you there anyway, mu-" The boy spat, paused, before growing even paler than his already pale complexion. Dude really needed a week in the sun.
Harry rolled his eyes at the situation and turned around in the sudden silence and stillness that had formed to see professor McGonagall standing behind him, glaring at them both. He huffed. Good that he wasn't impulsive enough to retaliate, physically or verbally, or else they'd both gotten detention. Harry was perfectly fine with not being locked in a room like he had that much time to waste, thank you very much. "Now, now," he said instead, "There's no reason why we can't get along, we're just here to finish our magical education. Wasting our precious time here fighting each other seems contradictory to the fact that school is supposed to be fun," he said, before taking a step towards the boy and extending a hand. The boy looked between him and his hand, confused, but couldn't back away due to the throng of students surrounding them. He looked at the glaring professor standing behind Harry and shook his hand with a scowl. "See," Harry said, "and suddenly we're all friends and don't have to waste several hours of our lives in detention because we broke each other's noses. I'm Harry Evans, by the way."
"Montague." The boy ground out.
"It was nice meeting you Montague," Harry replied and turned around.
"I'm glad you managed to sort that out," McGonagall said approvingly, "onwards then, we've wasted enough time."
"That was wicked," one of the twins whispered to Harry once they were on their way to the great hall again. Cedric seemed like he wanted to add something as well, but a well-timed backwards glance from McGonagall convinced him not too. Overall it was a sombre group of first years that eventually arrived at a great set of wooden doors leading to the great hall.
It wasn't long before the wooden doors opened with an ominous creaking sound. Truly completing the contradictory reality of a castle that was somehow magical, but had rusty hinges. It was definitely a sombre aesthetic, an impression that was immediately ruined by youthful chatter and a bright hall illuminated by countless candles.
-/-
"Hufflepuff," the sorting hat shouted and was promptly removed from Cedric's head by professor McGonagall.
"Harry Evans," she read from the scroll in her hand and the red-hair slowly began making his way to the stool sitting right in front of the staff table. He used this opportunity to observe the professors, the only unknown being a stiff woman that looked to be somewhere in her fifties and in desperate need of a proper meal. Otherwise it was as he remembered. Hagrid, Kettleburn, Slughorn, Dumbledore, Quirrell…. No Snape.
He smiled forlornly as he climbed the steps to the hat, closed his eyes and cleared his mind.
Nothing existed as he sat and had the hat put upon his head.
Nothing was thought as the hat whispered into his ear. "Look, It's a nice trick, but it'll just hurt if I have to actually break in. So give me something."
Harry sighed and released his hold on the void, it probably would have been too much to hope for to have mastered Occlumency without formal instruction or learning material. 'Not Slytherin,' he thought at the hat, before thinking about how going to Hogwarts to a potentially dangerous unknown exhibited bravery and how his perpetual learning and practice exhibited a thirst for knowledge and an astounding amount of hard-work. 'Take your pick,' he projected, not really having a preference.
"Well," the hat said, out loud this time, so the entire hall could hear, "it better be, Hufflepuff!"
Once Harry stood up from the chair, the yellow and black table burst into applause, joined by the corpulent monk floating atop it.
"The applause feels undeserved," Harry whispered to Cedric, who he'd sat down next to. "I just sat on a chair."
"It's more that the house wants the new students to feel welcome I think," Cedric whispered back, before they both turned to watch the next sorting.
It wasn't long before all the students were sorted and the headmaster, a man with an impressive silver beard and garishly purple robes stood up and gathered the attention of the room onto himself. Dumbledore, of course, gave a lengthy speech, not anything particularly mention-worthy being situated within it. The only thing Harry paid attention to was when the man introduced the new Defence against the Dark arts professor, a certain, "Professor Twix." Her background was curiously not elucidated upon and nobody in the great hall seemed particularly excited. The applause was rather middling.
Harry perked up however, when the headmaster ended his speech with, "Nitment, Bobbsi, Smithens," which caused the food to appear. "Those must be house-elf names," he muttered before quickly securing some roast beef, caramelised carrots and roasted potatoes. In addition to this he poured a clear tomato soup into his goblet and sipped from it in between bites.
"Does it taste good? Drinking tomato soup like that?" a blonde girl, with her hair in two braids sitting on his.
"Penny, right?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, sorry. Your name is Harry?" she asked, at which he nodded.
"Well, I like tomato soup. Considering the only other options are pumpkin juice and water, I decided to go with the more fun option." He glanced at her plate. Mashed potatoes with gravy. He smiled. "I see you know what you like enough to stick to a single thing though."
Penny turned her nose up, "Hogwarts is awesome, no parents to badger me into eating vegetables," she proclaimed, as if being a picky and difficult eater was something to be proud of.
Harry hummed and looked at her sceptically, before returning back to his meal. It wasn't his job to fix anyone's eating habits. "I like your braids, by the way," he said, so as to not end the conversation on the topic of food. The braids were indeed very cute. Penny had very bright blonde hair, half of which she tied into three braids, two of which rested on her front making sure her tie wasn't lonely. The last one ran from the top of her head to the back, where it joined the follicles that were allowed to swing freely down her back.
"Thanks," Penny muttered with a blush before diving face-first into her mashed potatoes.
Harry returned to his own meal, thinking sardonically that Penny was what his daughter would have looked like, if he'd been allowed to have one in his previous life.
Interlude: Horace Slughorn
31st July 1989: late afternoon, after Harry's trip to Diagon Alley
Loud sounds of banging, exploding, or panging did not generally exhibit any emotions. However, there would be few who wouldn't be able to ascertain the tiredness of the loud crack that resounded throughout the Scottish Highlands that day.
Slughorn waved his wand at the wrought-iron Hogwarts gates that had suddenly replaced the puerile Surrey and stepped through the small opening he'd created. A wonderful view of the beautiful castle in which he was a teacher opened up before him, but the scene left him cold. When was the last time such a thing had occurred?
"Surely not since the end of the war," the old man said as he began walking up to the institute, feeling all his years and weight, metaphorical and otherwise. He could have simply apparated to the three broomsticks and taken a short trip through the floo to his pleasantly cool office in the dungeons. But Albus had wished to speak with him, and he preferred taking a bit longer to get there. He needed to sort his thoughts.
Harry Evans, the problem on his mind. Terribly bright, precocious, and interested in magic beyond his grasp and the grasp of most wizards. Even he at his age had only mastered median levels of Occlumency and he was considered accomplished for the feat.
He brought up a tissue to wipe at his runny nose. The boy. He reminded him of Lily, just that he took all the qualities she'd had and amplified them. Intellect to genius, coquettishness to precociousness and control to mastery. It hadn't escaped him that for their entire interaction, except perhaps immediately after the boy had gotten his wand, Harry had only shown him what he'd wanted him to see. In that way, he reminded Slughorn of another student, one much older now, whom he'd harboured in his house.
He entered the castle and started laboriously making his way upstairs to the headmaster's office. The castle was empty of students and professors alike, the draw of spending the summer elsewhere being too much for the staff. Dumbledore would be in his office, however. Being the headmaster of Hogwarts might not have been the older man's only position, but it was likely the only one that he felt he had left. Slughorn thought similarly; he'd had a chance to run away and leave the life of education and intellectual toil behind. Retire and enjoy the connections he'd made while teaching. Throw elaborate dinner parties with money assured by the semi-regular sale of rare potions like Felix Felicis.
The chance had long passed and the only thing left from the days in which he would have taken that chance was a profound sense of moral disgust. Losing Lily like that, likely to one of his own students, had broken him. Something Albus had used to his own advantage to reform Slughorn into something more befitting his own philosophy. For all that Horace had avoided taking a stance his entire life, preferring to hedge his bets and enjoy the seduction attempts from both sides, the blood war hadn't left him any other choice. The crimes committed had been so hideous he'd become unable to run.
It remained to be seen if Harry Evans would be a student he'd need to go out of his way to protect or one of the students he'd need to protect others from. Horace sincerely hoped his worries were unfounded, but unlike Albus, he didn't have the energy to believe in the innate goodness of humanity, or children anymore. Not after...
"Candy pop," he said to the gargoyle in front of the headmaster's office, paying attention not to lock eyes with any of the paintings present in the corridor. They were entertainment-deprived from how empty the castle was and would take any opportunity to try to involve him in a conversation. The doors opened and he walked up the stairs, greeting the bearded old man sitting at his desk late into the afternoon and writing what seemed like a policy proposal for the Wizengamot if the format of the parchment was any indication.
"Good evening, Albus," Horace said as he sat down in the plush armchair that had appeared under his behind after he'd walked up to the desk. He sighed in contentment as Albus quickly finished up his work before putting away the quill and folding his hands under his chin to lock blue eyes on blue.
"Thank you again, Horace, for undertaking the trip. Considering the circumstances, I thought it better to send a professor."
"Of course, a half-blood whose magical parentage is dead barely has any more knowledge than a muggle-born."
"How has young Harry Evans been doing, he lives with his aunt, correct?"
Horace nodded, "He seemed well informed, as much as he could be. His aunt likely knew at least some things about the magical world from her sister. She was very displeased to see me and wanted to send the boy to another school, but I managed to convince her otherwise." He laughed bitterly, while Albus sighed.
"Despite anecdotal evidence to the contrary in this particular case, Hogwarts is one of the safest, if not the safest school in the world. It's good you managed to convince his family."
Horace hesitated, "It was partially the boy himself that did the convincing, his aunt and uncle seem to trust him a lot. He said that he would leave Hogwarts if another conflict started brewing on the horizon, saying one could see the signs of an incoming war before it happened."
"Even the best diviners cannot predict the specifics of the future," Albus said non-committedly to that factoid. "Otherwise?" he asked.
Horace hesitated again, but this time he gave into his desire to not disclose the full story. For all that, there had been some similarities between Tom Riddle and Harry Evans. Both orphans, intelligent, talented with magic, if the display he'd glimpsed through Ollivander's window was any indication... There was just as much Lily in the boy and most importantly, Harry had grown up in a seemingly loving family. He knew, however, that if he were to say things as they were, Albus would be wary of the boy. The man had a Voldemort-shaped hole in the rational part of his brain and it had been partially his handling of Tom that had contributed to making the man what he was today. Although, who knew, some wizards were simply destined for the wrong kind of greatness. "He reminds me of Lily, he takes after her," Horace thus said instead. "I imagine he'll be a student to look out for."
"We always need more of those," Albus mused and started getting up from his chair. Likely to wish Horace a good night and dismiss him.
"Albus, about the new professor," Horace said before he could be told to leave. He might as well address an issue that he saw if he was already here. The headmaster paused but remained standing, looking at him. "Is it smart to let a ministry asset teach Defence against the Dark Arts? Furthermore, the woman is a curse-breaker not a handler of dangerous beasts, or an auror. "
The headmaster ran a hand through his silvery beard, revealing stripes of lime green on the robe below as it parted. It made the purple ensemble even more questionable. Albus frowned, which was a rare enough thing to happen. Horace knew he'd struck a nerve. "I sincerely doubt that a ministry official was given leave to teach without a reason myself, but you know how desperately we need professors for this subject. Who knows, perhaps she'd break the curse on the position."
"I wouldn't get my hopes up, " Horace grunted, "if we wanted a real chance of getting rid of the curse we'd take a curse-breaker from Gringotts, rather than one from the ministry. Everyone knows that the best ones don't work for the government. The pay is just not good enough. "
"I wouldn't let her hear that opinion," Albus warned, "she seemed quite proud of her accomplishments, which I completely understand. They are why I hired her instead of that charming escaped convict from China who was trying to use the position to gain diplomatic immunity. "
"Good night, Albus, " Horace said with a grimace. His patience with the man always disappeared when he brought up one of the ridiculous applications they got for the Defence against the Dark Arts position every year.
"Good night, Horace, I wouldn't worry about it too much. We've managed before and we will manage again," the man said, standing amidst his instruments as they whistled, blared and jumped. Horace's eyes got stuck for a moment on a silver compass, meant to seek out splintered pieces of souls. But ever since the day it had been created, it had just been spinning around in circles. Useless. A painting sneezed from where it had been listening in on their conversation. It startled him from his thoughts and made him realise how tired he was. He ran a head down his face as he left the office, Dumbledore staying behind, likely to continue working in his tower.
"Don't stay up too late," he muttered in lieu of another platitude, knowing that with Albus' age, the man was likely feeling the bite of the approaching night much more strongly than he.
"For that matter, I can unfortunately make no promises." Was the answer he got.
Vous aimerez peut-être aussi
Commentaire de paragraphe
La fonction de commentaire de paragraphe est maintenant disponible sur le Web ! Déplacez la souris sur n’importe quel paragraphe et cliquez sur l’icône pour ajouter votre commentaire.
De plus, vous pouvez toujours l’activer/désactiver dans les paramètres.
OK