Harry's uncle, Vernon Dursley, had just left him there at King's Cross Station laughing derisively at the directions on Harry's train ticket to go to Platform 9 ¾, and then abandoned him to his own devices. Unfortunately Harry was so unfamiliar with the baggage trolleys that he'd almost immediately overset it. He reloaded it as quickly as he could, of course – a matter of about five minutes due to the weight of the trunk, which was quite heavy for a malnourished eleven-year-old boy. It could have taken longer, but a stranger had finally taken pity on Harry's plight and helped him. Harry then started searching for the platform he needed. He got to Platform 9 and was well on his way to Platform 10 when he saw the blond boy he'd met in Madam Malkin's stride briskly towards the brick barrier between platforms nine and ten – and walk into it, disappearing from sight. He then saw a blonde woman, presumably the boy's mother, take a quick look around, then walk into the same barrier as well, also vanishing. While well-dressed, both looked like they were in costume for a period play. Seeing them walk through a wall had Harry convinced that this had to be magic.

Harry gripped the handle of his cart, looked around to make sure nobody was looking his way, grit his teeth, and ran his cart at the barrier, fully expecting to be brought to a crashing halt. But it didn't happen, and he only just prevented his trolley from crashing into the blonde woman.

"I do beg your forgiveness, ma'am," Harry apologised, for the near miss. "Only it's my first time, you see, and I didn't know what to expect."

The lady looked him up and down, and frowned slightly at his scruffy appearance. "And you are?" she inquired, with just a hint of frost in her voice.

"Harry Potter, ma'am. And I'm sorry to have almost run into you," Harry replied.

'This is Harry Potter? At least he has manners,' she thought, as she took a closer look. Although a good looking boy, her first impression was, unfortunately, only reinforced. The boy had black hair that looked as though a mad hedge clipper had a go at it, and wore round, 'granny' style glasses. He was far too thin, as though he never got enough to eat, and his habiliments looked made for someone over twice his size, and second hand at that.

But maybe the boy had no choice? For a boy who, as a baby, had enough power to survive the Killing Curse, she was trying hard to find reason to excuse his appearance, all thoughts of the boy's carelessness forgotten. He was, after all, Lily's child.

"That's the boy I was telling you of, Mother: the one from the robe shop." The boy from Madam Malkin's had returned to find out what was delaying his mother, and now shot a shy smile at Harry: but it was only momentary, until he remembered himself and adopted a more aristocratic demeanour.

The woman gave Harry a condescending smile and held out one gloved hand. "Narcissa Malfoy," she said, introducing herself.

"Happy to make your acquaintance, Mrs Malfoy," Harry said, politely taking her hand, then releasing it. He then looked questioningly at the blond boy.

"My son, Draco Malfoy," she said, introducing them. "Draco, this is Harry Potter."

Harry frowned a bit at the boy.

"Is something amiss?" Mrs Malfoy asked.

Harry almost told a polite lie, then decided to be frank. "I'm afraid your son insulted a friend of mine, ma'am."

Narcissa looked at her son. "Is this true, Draco?"

The blond boy looked confused for a moment, then defensive as he recalled the incident, about a month prior. "He was a giant, Mother!" Draco replied, defending himself.

"I like Hagrid!" Harry retorted.

"Rubeus Hagrid?" Narcissa inquired, one eyebrow raising slightly.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied.

Draco looked up at his mother, surprised that she should know such a person.

"He's Hogwarts' groundskeeper, Draco: a kindly person, and only a half-giant," the woman told her son. "Did he give you reason to insult him?"

"He's enormous! And have you seen how he dresses?" Draco replied, eyes wide, as though that were reason enough. "And you know what father says about him," he added.

Draco had made the mistake of repeating his father's words to Harry: "I heard he's a sort of savage – lives in a hut in the school grounds, and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

Mrs Malfoy sighed. "I'm afraid Draco has led something of a sheltered life, Mister Potter. I do apologise for him." It would have been gauche to blame Draco's attitudes on his father, although that was indeed the case. However one did not air family differences in public, or to outsiders – and Harry, despite being Lily's son, was definitely an outsider. His poor upbringing made sure of that. However, he still deserved to be given some leeway until his qualities were known.

Draco looked at his mother in astonishment, then tinted when she gave him a mild look of disapproval. He knew what was expected of him.

"I'm sorry to have . . . insulted your friend, Mister Potter," he said.

"Always know who a person is, as well as what that person is before you make judgments, Draco," Narcissa instructed, a hint of iron in her voice.

Correcting one's progeny in public was quite all right, however. It showed that you were a good parent.

"Yes, Mother," Draco replied, before turning his attention back to Harry.

"It was a grievous error on my part," he said apologetically. "I apologise, and would like the chance to begin again," he said, holding out his hand.

Harry eyed the blond boy dubiously, but the apology seemed genuine. He smiled tentatively and took the blond's hand. "You may call me 'Harry'," he said, making a split-second decision. This Malfoy boy seemed nice enough, when he wasn't putting on airs.

"And I'd be honoured to have you call me 'Draco'," the lad replied with a small smile of his own.

Harry liked the feeling he got when he took the blond's hand. It was warm, and tingled just a bit. Draco must have liked it too, because it wasn't until Mrs Malfoy cleared her throat and said, "You really should be boarding the train, dear. It will be leaving soon, and Mister Potter will need to have his trunk loaded," that they came to themselves. When they realised they'd been holding hands quite a bit longer than was called for, both boys' faces turned pink.

When Harry had difficulty getting Hedwig and his trunk onto the train, Narcissa put a lightening charm on the trunk. Harry was very surprised when it seemed he'd suddenly become quite a bit stronger. Draco even unbent enough to help Harry with Hedwig's cage.

"She's quite beautiful, if a bit showy," was his opinion.

"Hagrid bought her for me. Do you have a pet or familiar?" Harry asked, curious.

"My father doesn't believe in having pets. He says they make you weak," was the oblique response. "We have several owls that belong to the manor. One of those, an eagle owl, is assigned to my use while I'm at school."

Draco's tone was very matter-of-fact, but Harry thought he detected a bit of sadness in the statements. He decided not to embarrass his new friend by asking further.

Draco returned to the platform to give his mother a polite hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek in parting, then returned to help Harry.

Seeing the affection between the two, even if displayed in a very restrained manner, caused a welling of sadness in Harry's heart – a sadness that Draco discerned before Harry could hide it. Draco was going to find out why his newly-made friend was sad, of course, but not here in the train aisle. He was quite used to hiding his own emotions, so he gave Harry a big grin as they started off to find an empty compartment.

Soon after they settled in, two very large boys showed up. They scowled at Harry.

"Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, I'd like you to meet my new friend, Harry Potter," Draco said, making introductions.

Although surprised by the bespectacled boy's identity, the large boys' scowls didn't change.

"I said he's a friend, you idiots!" Draco snapped.

Harry's eyebrows rose a bit, but he didn't say anything, letting Draco handle these people, whom he obviously knew.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at Draco questioningly. The blond nodded. They relaxed.

"Sorry about that, Potter," Crabbe said.

"Only we've instructions," Goyle added.

"All right. Nice to make your acquaintance," Harry replied, shaking hands with them as he wondered . . . 'Instructions?'

"They're all right sorts, but have to act the bodyguards," Draco informed Harry.

Harry's eyebrows rose again at that information. This boy needed bodyguards? Why? Was he the son of someone important? But that was something he decided to wait to ask at another time. He'd have wondered at boys their own age acting as bodyguards, but realised that it would hardly be possible for adult bodyguards to live at a boarding school. Still, it was strange.

"Okay, you've done your duty," Draco said in a bored tone, while making 'shooing' gestures with his hands.

The large boys frowned a bit at that, but obediently went to a compartment across the way, ejected the other children who'd been there, then sat down to watch Harry and Draco's compartment.

"If they're here to protect you, shouldn't you be nicer to them?" Harry asked.

"Why?" Draco asked, perplexed.

"Maybe so they'll want to protect you?" Harry said, with a perplexed frown of his own.

Draco shrugged. "If they don't, my father will get their fathers to punish them," he said, as if it was of no importance at all.

'Spoiled,' Harry thought, and wondered if he'd made a good decision to befriend this boy. Still, Draco was the only person he knew here, and was treating him all right so far. Still a bit troubled, he let it go for now.

Other than a rather pudgy boy and a pretentious, bushy-haired girl looking for a toad, and the advent of a witch pushing a tea cart down the aisles loaded with all sorts of treats of which Harry had never heard, the ride to Hogwarts was uneventful.

Harry had been quite hungry, so had asked for "a bit of everything" from the treat cart, for which he paid a bit over eleven sickles. Draco helped him when it became obvious that Harry had absolutely no idea which coins were which. Harry handed the lady a Galleon after Draco told him that the cost was about two-thirds of that.

Harry offered to share, and after hesitating, Draco accepted. He wasn't really hungry, but he would have forced Harry into a rudeness, if the dark-haired boy then ate in front of him.

While they ate, and drank pumpkin juice, a strange, lightly spiced beverage that Harry finally decided wasn't half bad, Draco learnt a lot about his companion and his circumstances before now. It wasn't so much what Harry said as what he avoided saying that gave it away, although he did slip once and refer to being 'sent to my cupboard'. It was an extremely hard concept for Draco to wrap his mind around, but this boy, the hero of the wizarding world, the 'Boy Who Lived', had actually seemed to have had a very spartan, unhappy childhood. Judging by how thin and pale Harry was, and how much he had eaten, he hadn't been fed well, either.

Draco himself was naturally slender. He ate well, but not overly much. When he was full, he quit eating, no matter what was left on his plate. That Harry most likely had never had that option disturbed the other boy. That he hadn't remembered from the stories he'd been told that Harry's parents had been killed, and that Harry's sadness at the station had likely been from wishing he could have had a parting hug with his own parents, disturbed him more.

The blond had no experience with caring about people outside his immediate family, but he was learning.

A comfortable silence ensued, and a short while later Draco discovered that his new friend had nodded off, so he sat and watched the scenery pass by.

Of a sudden there was a pounding on their cubicle door, then it slid open and a voice shouted, "Hey, you lot! Hogwarts in twenty! You'll need your robes on, so look smart!"

Somewhere in there, Draco had fallen asleep as well. That must have been a prefect at the door. He'd been told of them. Looking over at the too thin dark-haired boy who had beome a friend in such a short time, he was just in time to see Harry recovering from a look of fear. He frowned. He'd have expected Harry to be just as startled as he had been, but his look had been more akin to terror than mere startlement.

"Your aunt and uncle...." Draco ventured. "They didn't much care for you, did they?" He had a feeling that was a vast understatement.

Harry blushed and dropped his head to hide his eyes, but shook his head 'no'. It was a small movement, but enough. Harry wasn't going to lie to his new friend, but he really wished the boy hadn't asked. He didn't want to be pitied. This was his chance at a new start, and he just wanted to forget them. Hopefully he'd never have to go back. Surely if he explained his situation, he could stay elsewhere?

Harry raised his head, looking into Draco's light-gray eyes. "Don't tell anyone, will you? I'd rather forget about all that."

Draco slowly nodded his acquiescence. The implications of Harry's situation were almost frightening.

Their robes on, it wasn't much longer before the train chuffed to a stop. Odd, really, since the train was a magical artifact and didn't use coal or other fuels, and wasn't nearly as mechanical as it looked.

As they debarked, Harry heard Hagrid calling "Firs' Years! Firs' Years, this way!"

Harry's first reaction was joy in anticipation of seeing the kind-hearted half-giant again. His second was trepidation, wondering if Draco would still be dismissive of him. He needn't have worried.

Harry grabbed Draco's hand and pulled him along behind him until he was standing in front of Hagrid.

"Hello, Hagrid!" Harry said with a grin. "I'd like you to meet my new friend, Draco Malfoy!"

Although Hagrid's answering grin didn't go away completely at that introduction, it did diminish considerably. "A Malfoy, eh?" he said amiably enough. "Well hopefully our Harry, here, will be a good influence on yeh."

Harry frowned. What was wrong with being a Malfoy? Draco—

The blond's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hopefully we shall benefit each other, sir." Draco's voice was civil, if somewhat cool and strained.

Harry was proud of him. Hagrid had given him cause to sling a few verbal barbs, and Draco had refrained from doing so. He squeezed the hand he was still holding, and smiled his approval. Draco looked back at him, his eyes cold, then reluctantly smiled back, his eyes thawing as well.

"Tha' shall be as it will," the big man said. "Now in the boats wi' yeh. We're runnin' a bit late."

Hagrid's voice rose as he addressed the small crowd of children that was gathering. "Firs' Years, to me! Four to a boat, please, an' be careful yeh doan' spill out!"

Harry looked around and saw the bushy-haired girl again. The pudgy boy with the toad was there too, as well as a rather loud red-headed boy who was expounding on what his brothers had told him of the school. Crabbe and Goyle were only a couple of metres away, trying to be surreptitious while doing their job, and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Draco sneered at the redheaded boy's poor social presence. "That has to be a Weasley," the blond said snidely, nodding at the redhead. "More children than sense or money, my father says."

"Draco. . . ," Harry said in a warning tone of voice, "you're not going to judge him before you even know him, are you? Being poor isn't a crime."

"Having more children than you can afford should be," Draco muttered, but he backed off.

"That's hardly his fault," Harry replied. He wanted to say something else, but he didn't quite know how to put it in words so he let the subject go, turning to more immediate concerns.

"Come on; let's find a boat," he said.

Draco was thankful that Harry had dropped the subject. Really, he hadn't meant anything with his first remarks about the redhead; he was just saying. He had to defend himself when Harry twitted him for it, though.

"Yer'll see yer first sight o' Hogwarts in a minute," Hagrid proudly told the group.

As they neared the lake, Hogwarts came into sight. It was huge, with many towers and crenellations, light filling each window. Harry would later find out that this happened only once a year, to greet the new First Years, but it was quite impressive.

Draco hadn't realised that they'd been holding hands so long until Harry let go of his to climb carefully into one of the many boats strung out along the shore. They had actually steadied each other down the steep slope to the lake. Draco emulated Harry's care as he, too, climbed in and sat next to his new friend. The bushy-haired girl and a sandy-haired Irish boy (it was obvious from his accent) climbed into the same boat. Harry saw Gregory and Vincent get into the one behind them. They were too large to fit more than two to a boat, unless any others were very small, indeed.

"Harry Potter," Harry said with a smile, introducing himself to their new companions.

"Hermione Granger," the bushy-haired girl responded. Her eyes brightened though, as she recognised the name. She had heard on the train that Harry Potter was also on the train as he was supposed to begin Hogwarts this year as well, but hadn't thought it would be this boy. To think: she had actually talked to him, and not known!

"Seamus Finnigan," the Irish boy replied.

When Draco said nothing, Harry spoke up again. "And this quiet bloke," he said with a smile, "is Draco Malfoy."

Immediately Seamus' face registered distaste. "Malfoy?" he spat.

Hermione only looked curious.

Harry frowned. First Hagrid, and now this boy? "Yes, and he's my friend; so if you have a problem with him, you have a problem with me," he said firmly.

Draco looked at him, surprised that he'd be defended. He felt a warmth in his chest he'd never felt before, and his cheeks felt a bit warm as well.

"You did say 'Harry Potter'?" Hermione asked, ignoring the by-play."'The Boy Who Lived' Harry Potter?"

Seamus belatedly realised with whom he was sharing a boat, and his heated reply was cut short before it began. He looked curiously at the blond, wondering what someone with Harry Potter's reputation could see in a Malfoy that was worthy of friendship.

"So I've been told. I wouldn't know," Harry replied with a scowl. "Bloody silly thing to be famous for, not dying. People do it every day, after all – or not, really."

Draco smirked. He fully agreed, but it would be rude to say so. He was glad that the fame hadn't gone to Harry's head, though.

"But you're in 'Hogwarts: A History', and several other books as well! You killed the Dark Lord!" the girl gushed.

"I was fifteen months old!" Harry protested. "How could I kill anyone?" He'd had time to think about this since Hagrid had given him the outline of his history. The bushy-haired girl's other statement hadn't gone unnoticed, though. People had written about him? About this? Harry was shocked.

Hermione's reply went unsaid as Hagrid's voice again rang out, demanding attention. "Alrigh' now! Sit still, an' don' be rockin' yer boat. Everyone set? Right, then: Forward!"

At that, the boats began to move. The trip across the lake didn't take long, and they were soon approaching an ivy-covered cliff. "Heads down!" boomed Hagrid's voice.

Seconds later, ivy was trailing over them as they passed through an opening in the cliff face and into a tunnel, which was lit only occasionally by a torch. The boats eventually pulled up alongside a platform from which rose a wide flight of well lit stairs that narrowed as they rose.

"Alrigh', everyone out. Careful, now," the big man's voice called out. "'Ere, now! Who's toad is this?"

Harry waited impatiently for Draco to climb out of the boat, said, "Wait here," to Crabbe and Goyle, who had just wandered up, then pulled Draco to a quiet spot on the landing. He was too curious to wait any longer.

What was more curious was that Crabbe and Goyle listened to him, although the fact never occured to anyone that it shouldn't have happened. They were Draco's bodyguards after all, and they'd hardly even met the dark-haired boy.

"Why does everyone hate you as soon as they hear your name?" Harry's voice was low, but intense with urgent curiosity.

Draco's face immediately closed up. "Why? Thinking of joining the parade?" he asked nastily.

Harry was quite taken aback, but recovered quickly.

"I keep my friends," Harry said, his tone almost threatening in its intensity. Not that I've had any, he thought to himself. But he meant what he said. He wasn't about to abandon a friend without a damned good reason, and maybe not then. He stood there, waiting for an explanation.

Draco's hard exterior softened a bit, but he didn't drop his defences entirely. "They think my father was a Death Eater in the last war," he said.

Now Harry was confused. "What war? World War Two? And what's a death eater?" he asked, envisioning African cannibals. He'd seen pictures once, in an ancient National Geographic.^®

"Now if you'll all follow me....." Hagrid called out, striding up the stairs.

"It will have to wait," Draco said perfunctorily, pushing past Harry.

Harry caught him up. "Fine," he said, so only Draco could hear, "but just so you know: I only care what you're like – not your family." Considering his own family, he could do no less for others than he wanted for himself.

Draco shot him a quick look full of hope and doubt. In the circles he was used to, lineage was everything, and it was much easier to be thrown in the gutters than to rise out of them. One's whole family could lose prestige from the actions of one person, no matter how many generations ago. He wanted to believe that his father was innocent of the charges levelled at him and that everyone else was jealous of the Malfoy prestige, but if it wasn't so, his father had played a dangerous game with the family honour.

Hagrid had knocked on the double doors during this time, and they had been opened by an older witch with black hair pulled back into a severe bun. She looked to be as hard as nails, and just as unforgiving.

"The new Firs' Years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said to the woman, gesturing towards the children behind him.

The woman's clipped, though mild Scottish accent replied, "Thank you, Hagrid. I shall take them from here."

She turned to the gathered youngsters. "If you will all follow me?" Without a second glance she turned and strode down the long corridor that had been behind her.

Her confidence was justified as, like a flock of sheep, the children poured through the door to follow her: even Draco, though not without a slight sneer, first. After all, what else could they do? There was nowhere else to go unless they wanted to live on the stairs – or worse, brave whatever was in the water while trying to swim out. He'd heard of the giant squid and other creatures from his mother's tales of the school.

Hagrid was, even now, pulling the line of boats away from the dock, likely to store them somewhere until next year – or whenever else they might be needed.

They came to another set of double doors where the strict-looking woman again turned, and addressed them. "Wait here. When I return you will be called to be sorted into the House you will occupy for the rest of your time at Hogwarts. I suggest you make use of this time to make yourselves as presentable as possible." She then slipped through the doors and closed them behind her, leaving the group of eleven-year-olds to their own devices.

There was some discussion and worrying about how the sorting was done, with the redheaded boy claiming his brothers had told him they'd have to wrestle a troll, which claim was widely scoffed at by most of the other chldren before the subject was dropped. Draco whispered to Harry that his mother had said that a hat would do the job.

Before Harry could question the statement, he was interrupted.

"You're a Malfoy, aren't you?" The snide, hateful tone of the question came from the loud red-headed boy. "My father told me all about you lot. I bet you're going to be a Death Eater just like your father."

Draco's form had stiffened after the first three words. Now he turned to face the speaker, his face cold. Looking the redhead up and down, his expression said he'd just seen a particularly disgusting, but uninteresting bit of rubish. "And with all that red hair, and those tatty second-hand robes, you must be a Weasley," Draco said snidely, ignoring Harry's attempts to distract him. "More children than sense or galleons, I hear."

"You needn't sink to his level," Harry hissed in Draco's ear.

The redhead looked about ready to let his fists fly, his face a shade of red that clashed horribly with his hair.

"You're right," Draco replied with a glance at his friend. "I don't know why I'm wasting my time." Unwisely, he turned away from the other boy, his attention caught by a group of ghosts that had just drifted through the walls, discussing something about someone called 'Peeves', their appearance causing some of the children to shrink away or scream at the sight of them.

Weasley was so angry and focused on Draco that he didn't notice the ghosts.

Fortunately for Draco, the door opened again just as the redhead jumped at him, making Harry's preemptive, though – due to his small size and less than optimum physical condition – likely useless move to block the boy, unnecessary.

"Mister Weasley!" the woman exclaimed loudly. She had picked him out early on. The resemblance was unmistakable, she having taught, or being in the process of teaching most of his other siblings. "What is the meaning of this?"

The red-faced boy had arrested his actions immediately upon hearing the voice of authority, but his fists were still clenched at his sides – and if looks could kill, he would have been on his way to prison. "He insulted my family!" he accused, pointing at Draco.

"Only after you insulted his!" Harry retorted, defending his friend. He still didn't know what a 'death eater' was, but he had gathered that it was something bad.

Draco was glaring at his 'bodyguards'. Why hadn't they done their job? They were definitely getting an earful when there was time.

Noticing the blond's expression, the two boys belatedly moved between he and Harry, and the Weasley boy. The redhead tried to hide his gulp of apprehension, but even the subtle threat of the two large boys' presence didn't seem to lessen his ire.

"We don't have time to sort this out, now. We must get on with the Sorting," Professor McGonagall stated.

"Please move on," the woman said to the ghosts, who had paused to watch the little drama and had been commenting about the poor behaviour amongst themselves.

With a nod in her direction, they continued on through the wall opposite the one they'd come through.

There was the sound of someone trying to stifle laughter.

"Is something amusing, Mister...?"

The sandy-haired boy addressed sobered quickly upon being singled out. He swallowed. "Finnigan, ma'am. Seamus Finnigan. It's just . . . can't sort, because we have to Sort?" By the end of his sentence, the irrepressible Irish lad was grinning, inviting the dour-looking matron to join him.

Despite herself, the corners of Minerva McGonagall's lips twitched before she exerted control of her demeanour again. As the Head of Gryffindor House, she thought this one was likely to be one of hers. "Yes. I see," she said, then addressed the small group in front of her. "However, we shall address this situation after you have been sorted into your Houses."

"Watch yourself, Malfoy. You won't always have your goons around," the Weasley hissed in a low tone. It wasn't low enough.

"Mister Weasley! You have just given credence to Mister Potter's words," the woman exclaimed.

Ronald Weasley cringed at her tone, then paled as the name registered. "Potter?" he inquired. "Not . . . Harry Potter?" He knew that if 'The Boy Who Lived' came to Hogwarts they would likely be in the same year, but what a way to meet! He hoped against hope he was wrong.

Harry nodded, dashing that hope. Harry wasn't sure why his name should have made such an impact, despite what he'd been told, but he was glad it had, if it would make this boy leave his friends alone.

"Oh, bugger," Ron moaned. He'd called the boy one of Malfoy's goons! "And you're Malfoy's friend?" he inquired incredulously.

"Yes, I am," Harry said, defiance in his voice.

Professor McGonagall cut in at that point. She had already allowed too much time to this incident. "Queue up!" she ordered the young people. Harry and Draco made sure to be next each other. When they were all in line she turned, opened both doors dramatically with a wave of her wand, and led them into the Great Hall.

Harry marvelled at the scene. The first thing he noticed was what seemed like hundreds of candles floating in the air. Next were the rows of tables, which were mostly filled with young people of both sexes in black robes. At the head of the room was yet another large table at which sat adults of various ages: the teaching and school staff, Harry guessed, which would make that the Head Table. One of them was quite small, though – a midget? And was there a ceiling? Tiny lights in a black background twinkled from above, looking like nothing less than the night sky out of doors.

"It's enchanted to look like that," Hermione's awe-filled voice said as she also stared at it. "It's in 'Hogwart's: A History'."

Harry heard, but didn't comment. He made a note to himself to read that book, if he could find a copy.

On a stool near the Head Table sat a battered, dirty, worn, poor excuse for a leather wizard's hat.

"Is that it?" Harry whispered to Draco.

"It's likely," the blond replied. It fit his mother's description of it, certainly.

Suddenly a deep crease in the leather hat opened near the brim, becoming mouth-like, and it began to sing.

Draco started snickering at the expression on Harry's face. "You really were raised by Muggles, weren't you?" he whispered gleefully in Harry's ear.

Harry just nodded, still stunned that a hat could do anything, let alone sing!

"Abbot, Hannah!" Professor McGonagall called, when the hat had finished.

The Sorting had begun, and Harry had only a vague idea of what the beat-up old hat had sung. Something about founders and being a hat, though.

McGonagall put the hat on the girl's head after she sat on the stool. It was only a moment before the hat cried out, "Hufflepuff!" The girl took off the hat, handed it back to the stern-looking woman, and walked happily over to the table under the yellow and black banner picturing a badger.

Name after name was called. Harry didn't even try to remember which name belonged to whom for most of the new pupils, or where they were sorted. Of the names he knew, Crabbe, Vincent, had been sorted into Slytherin, as had Goyle, Gregory, later on. Finnigan, Seamus, was sorted into Gryffindor, and then "Granger, Hermione!" was called.

The hat sat and actually squirmed on the bushy-haired girl's head, sitting there for quite some time before it muttered, "Don't try to tell me where you belong, young lady. You're brave enough, but you'll do best in Ravenclaw!" The last word was declaimed quite loudly. The girl didn't appear happy about that decision, but after Professor McGonagall took the hat off her head, she made her way to the appropriate table, head held high.

There were more people he didn't know, and then, "Malfoy, Draco!"

As Draco's name was called there were actually a few boo's and hisses, mostly from the Gryffindor table. Draco ignored them, grinned at Harry, and then turning, his grin morphed into a smirk as he sauntered up to the stool. The hat had no sooner touched Draco's head than it called out, "Slytherin!"

Six children later, it was Harry's turn. "Potter, Harry!"

The susurration of whispers died as shock hit the crowd of pupils, and then started up again, even louder.

"Potter?"

"Harry Potter? He's really here?"

"Is it really 'The Boy Who Lived'?"

"That's what killed the Dark Lord? Not much to look at, is he?"

There were other questions and remarks along the same lines, along with a few outright lies as a few tried to claim friendship with him.

Draco just sat at the Slytherin table with a self-satisfied smirk. He actually did know The-Boy-Who-Lived, at least a little. He hoped Harry would be sorted into Slytherin too, but if not, at least not into Gryffindor. That would make a friendship difficult, considering the rivalry between Slyterin and Gryffindor that he'd been told about.

Very self-conscious now, but trying to emulate Draco's attitude of not seeming to notice anyone else, Harry walked up and sat on the stool. With a smile so small as to be almost unnoticeable, Professor McGonagall placed the hat on Harry's head.

'Oh.... Oh, my. Oh, yes. I've been waiting for you, you know. Oh, but you're a tough one. Slytherin? There's a great desire to prove yourself, there. Gryffindor? Oh, yes, there's courage aplenty. But you're also quite bright, and Ravenclaw is a possibility. You're also loyal to those you believe deserve it. However, I do believe you'd do best in Slytherin,' the hat said in Harry's mind.

A bit taken aback at having a voice speaking in his head, Harry nevertheless thought back at it. 'I think I'd rather like being with Draco, and you put him in Slytherin,' he replied.

'Yes, you have the potential to be great, and Slytherin could definitely help you, there. Very well, then, it had best be . . . ' "SLYTHERIN!" the hat yelled out triumphantly.

Harry took the hat off, grinning, handed it back to the woman without really looking at her, and then almost ran over to join Draco, who was smiling widely back at him, and made room for him on the bench. By the time the congratulations, welcomes (and self-congratulations) from the Slytherins had died down and Harry had the time to return his attention to the Sorting, the consternation that had been showing on the faces of some of the staff had been well hidden, and the last few new students were being Sorted.

"Weasley, Ronald!" was sorted into Gryffindor, and then, "Zabini, Blaise!" who was sorted into Slytherin.

Blaise was a rather pretty boy, Harry distantly thought, if a bit exotic with that dark skin and Asiatic eyes, but he preferred Draco's refined features. He dismissed the thought and turned back to the Head Table where the Headmaster had just stood to make a speech.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts," the old man said. "Before the Sorting Feast begins, I'd just like to say a few words: nitwit, oddment, blubber, tweak." Then he sat, a bit heavily.

"Did he sound a bit off to you?" Harry heard one upperclassman ask another.

"Who can tell? The old man's a slice short of a loaf anyway," was the reply.

"No, I think you're right," said another. "Dumbledore almost sounded depressed!"

Harry tuned out the conversation and turned his attention to all the food that had just appeared on the table. After he got over his astonishment, and taking his cue from from everyone else, he started loading his plate. When he caught sight of Draco's slightly disapproving look, he tried to emulate the blond's manners – but he still managed to eat half again what Draco did. It felt good to have a full belly, for once. Not that the Dursleys had ever really starved him (except once or twice, when he was being punished), but he'd never really got enough to eat.

After the meal there were announcements. Stay out of the forest. No magic in the corridors. The third floor corridor on the right is out of bounds – unless you want to die? Those weren't Dumbledore's exact words, but that was the gist of them. Harry was intrigued. Why was the Forbidden Forest forbidden? What would they have in the school that could cause you to die, and why in the world would they have something like that where children were, anyway? Harry had laughed nervously when he'd heard that announcement, but he noticed many didn't, and somehow he didn't think it was an empty threat.

And then the headmaster had announced that everyone would sing the school song . . . to their own tune? Dumbledore waved his wand, causing a banner with words on it to appear over his head, and began. A horrendous din of clashing tunes hit Harry's ears. He looked at Draco and rolled his eyes, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. He and Draco came to an unspoken understanding and they both sat there silently, as did most of Slytherin House, waiting for it all to be over.

Harry's stomach was starting to bother him a bit, as well. Maybe he'd eaten just a bit too much. But he had another laugh when everyone else was through singing, and a pair of redheaded twins (probably Weasleys) under the Gryffindor banner were still singing . . . to a dirge! It was macabre, but so bizarre!

About that time he felt a brief, stabbing pain in his scar. When he recovered enough to look up, he saw two of the teachers looking at him: Professor Quirrel, whom he'd briefly met in Diagon Alley, and a greasy-haired man with a hook nose. The latter was looking thoughtful and a bit discomposed, but Quirrel.... Although his face had the same bumbling, helpless, innocent look that Harry had seen when he'd briefly met the man in the Leaky Cauldron, his eyes were totally malicious. Harry quickly looked away. He had no idea how a teacher he'd barely met could dislike him so much – or why!

But Harry didn't have time to dwell on it, because at that time a prefect came up to them and told them to follow her. Harry was surprised when they headed down into the dungeons. As large as the castle was, Harry had figured they would be on one of the upper floors: maybe even in one of the towers. However, that wasn't the case. Soon they stopped in front of a blank expanse of wall, and the prefect turned to speak to them.

"If you look closely, you will see that the mortar between some of the stones here is a little darker, creating the outline of a snake. The password is 'serpentium nox noctis'."¹

Harry looked at the wall, but although he could see some darker mortar here and there, he couldn't quite make out a snake outline. He squinted at it, looking at the wall from one angle and then another, and finally, slowly, the figure slid into view. Now it seemed so obvious, he couldn't figure out how he'd missed it in the first place. But he'd barely had time to make that observation when the prefect turned around and spoke the password to the wall. In a manner similar to the brick wall that led from behind The Leaky Cauldron into Diagon Alley, the stone shifted and created an opening into the Slytherin common room.

There, just feet away from a large fireplace, stood their Head of House, exuding an imposing aura of authority.

The prefect didn't give any obvious sign, but Harry rather thought she was surprised to find him there. However, she urged her charges, including Harry, to gather around him.

Professor Snape looked solemnly down his nose at them, not deigning to lower his head for the task, and began to speak.

"You have been sorted into the most prestigious house of this school," he began. "However, it is also the most maligned, having fallen victim to the reputations of only a few alumni. You will, therefore, support each other, watch each other's back, and...."

The professor's speech went on in that vein for quite some time, also covering some of Slytherin House' more prestigious history. They were also warned that if they had in-house problems, they were to keep them in-house; they were never to air their differences in front of non-Slytherins. If necessary, he would be the final arbitor. Finally he was finished, and he instructed the prefects to show their new members to their rooms.

Harry turned to go with rest of the boys, when the professor spoke again. "Potter: a moment."

Professor Snape waited until the others were out of the room to continue.

"I knew your father, Potter," he said.

Harry's face lit up. Maybe he could learn something about his parents from this man!

Snape's next words dashed that hope. "We were not friends. However, since you have been sorted into my House, I must consider that perhaps you are cut from a different cloth than he. I shall be keeping a close eye on you. Do not disappoint me." At that he sent Harry on his way and departed the room himself, on his own business.

Bewildered, Harry went in the direction he had seen the Slytherin boys disappear, wondering what his father had been like to provoke such ill feeling.

The prefect that had guided the boys to their rooms found Harry before he could become too lost, and took him to his new room, where he was happy to find that he would be sharing a dorm room with Draco. Goyle and Crabbe, who were also ensconced in the room – all thanks to Draco's influence, the blond loftily informed him. Harry shook his head – amused, now, with Draco's airs, since he knew they were mainly for show and not an integral part of the boy's personality. For the rest of it, he hoped Hagrid was right and he would be able to help modify Draco's attitudes.

Harry was very impressed with his bed. Compared to the cot he'd had to sleep on, it was huge – luxurious – and he said so, again shocking Draco with what Harry must have been used to, and to whom the sleeping arrangements were quite a large step down.

Harry went to sleep that night happy, despite his Head of House' warning, glad to be away from the Dursleys, and having found a friend to share this adventure with: their first year at Hogwarts.

1: 'Snake night', or 'night of the snake'.