Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related terms and characters are the property of JK Rowling. The use of copyrighted material is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and in no way constitutes a challenge to the existing copyright.

Author's Note: Sorry for the gaps between my postings, but I have very few chances to sit down and write these days. I'll always make some time for it, and I'll update when I can, but until mid-summer or so, you'll have to be very patient with me.

In between working my other stories, this one came together, meshing my ideas of a Hufflepuff Harry with a different take on exactly how Harry was affected by Voldemort on Halloween '81. It's meant to stand beside MEtyK, which is my Ravenclaw Harry. I have yet to solidify ideas for a Slytherin Harry, but I might one day. The pacing of this story will be a little quicker, because like MEtyK and TMF, I have lots to do after the Hogwarts years.

Aside from some very mild tweaks to canon, this story features slightly adjusted Dursleys as well, and I've based Harry's attitude concerning them on a few at-risk children I've worked with and their relationships (or the lack thereof) with their parents. For those who are new to my writing, I am completely aware of all canon details. If something appears differently in my story than Rowling portrayed it, it's because I chose to make it so.

For old readers:

Chapter 3 of MEtyK is 95% done. Chapter 3 of the Pale is 85% done. Chapter 2 of Rose, Oak and Tower is 60% done. Chapter 7 of TMF is 40% done. This chapter just happened to get finished first.

I would like everyone that reads this chapter to post a review, even if it's just a couple words, and even if it's anonymous. More importantly, I'd like those who read to skim through my other stories, if you haven't already read them. In your review of this chapter, I want to know if you want me to focus on finishing one story, or keep updating all of them as I go. If you want me to focus, then which story should I focus on?

I look forward to hearing your opinions.

For now, I present to you the first chapter of The Lesser of Three Evils. Many thanks go out to Phae, who has taken up the challenge of being my beta, and to mathiasgranger, who plays Devil's Advocate for my storylines.

Enjoy!

~TOW

I'm What?

*^*^*^*

Little Whinging was known for its cookie-cutter suburbs, where individuality lost out to conformity on a near-daily basis. This was especially true on Privet Drive, where all fences were white and well maintained, and no one had a car older than last year's model. Every house featured a perfectly manicured lawn and spotless sidewalks. Neighbours smiled at each other and basked in their artificial perfection, smug in the fact that Privet Drive had a secret weapon in the fight against time and entropy, and the utopia it created was well worth the cost.

That secret weapon currently lay on his bed at #4 Privet Drive, counting the money he had earned. School had been out for weeks now, and that meant a summer of odd jobs around the community for him. He couldn't bring himself to complain anymore, though; the community certainly paid well to keep their houses and yards perfect.

This summer would be his eleventh birthday, and he was determined to treat himself in some way. That would mean extra working hours around the house and the neighbourhood, though - he had to make his money last the entire year.

He bit back a sigh, thinking about life as a Dursley. Vernon Dursley had a good job as a supervisor at a drill-making plant, good enough to support his stay-at-home wife, Petunia, and spoil his son, Dudley. The family had a new car, new appliances and furniture, and the best televisions and computers on the market. Their son was getting ready to attend a private school, and had new books, new uniforms, and more birthday presents than anyone could imagine. Yes, life was comfortable as a Dursley.

The problem was that he wasn't a Dursley.

He was Harry Potter.

To say that his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia loved him was to call the midday sky red. They fed him, certainly; he had clothes, school supplies, new glasses, and just last month the family's dentist had patched two small cavities for him. His tiny bedroom had a bed with a night table, a dresser, and a desk with a lamp for his homework. That was the extent of the Dursleys' "love."

Unlike other young boys, Harry worked the summer, doing every job he could get his hands on. Other children would have an allowance from their parents for doing chores, or in Dudley's case, simply for breathing. Harry never did; he had to earn every penny he had, and then fight to keep it at school, because Dudley had a big mouth when it came to Harry's finances. Sometimes, Harry had to fight Dudley himself, whenever his fat cousin blew through his allowance too quickly.

The bruises from those fights lasted for weeks, and the teachers would always yell at him for it. It didn't matter, though; he held on to his money, even against the older boys. Uncle Vernon never really punished him for doing that, unless he was fighting Dudley.

Uncle Vernon didn't much care what he did, and said so on several occasions. Harry was past the years of crying softly in bed when his aunt and uncle celebrated Dudley's good reports, while Vernon just signed Harry's with barely a glance. It didn't matter that Harry's marks were far better than Dudley's were; Harry wasn't a Dursley.

Easier to accept were the lack of birthday parties and the second-hand clothes - they were just things, after all. Harry was hardly proud of himself - if his uncle thought for a moment that he was he would remind Harry that no child who barely survived a car accident caused by his two drunken parents - who didn't survive - should be proud.

Harry was mostly past that pain, too, but sometimes the tears came anyways. He was especially prone to crying when he saw himself in the mirror: Black hair and bright green eyes stared back, marking him forever as a non-Dursley. Tearing through his right eyebrow and up past his hairline was a scar that zigzagged like a lightning bolt, a permanent reminder of how his parents had died.

Scar… trough was more like it, as if a psychopath had removed flesh from his forehead with a potato peeler. The skin refused to knit back together properly, and the scar would sometimes flare up and seep blood - those were not Harry's best days.

The perfect and politically correct people of Little Whinging paid no attention to his scar, though - to be openly biased was to be imperfect, after all. No, Harry could do yard work and manual labour like a team of four grown men, and that's what Little Whinging remembered; that's what they paid for.

His uncle would probably allow him garage space if he bought himself a new bicycle. That would mean better mobility, and maybe a few extra jobs a day, since he could get around faster. Harry's work made the Dursleys a popular family, so his uncle would most likely go along with it.

After storing his cash under a loose floorboard, Harry pulled out a small notepad and pencil, and began to scribble a new entry. The notepad had several messy entries in it, spanning more than five years. Every entry coincided with what his aunt would call a "freakish occurrence," one of several he had each year.

He started the journal at five, when his hair kept growing back, despite his aunt's best efforts to trim it. He missed a few entries back then - writing was hard to do. He put more effort into it after the time that Dudley and his friends tried to beat him up, only to find that he had somehow made it onto the school roof.

His current entry was much the same. Just yesterday, he was mending the fence at #13, and after turning away for a moment to wipe his brow and wish the work was done already, he turned back to see a flawless, perfectly white fence in front of him.

He hadn't even cracked open the paint.

It was another thing that marked him as different, but it was something that he was beginning to think he could control. Every instance was something that he wanted, an outcome that he was all but praying for, that miraculously occurred. That fence incident netted him an extra thirty pounds from the astonished man, and gave his reputation for unparalleled handiwork a huge boost. Being so close to the 31^st of July, Harry considered it an early birthday present.

If only he knew more about this, he could make his life better. Maybe the Dursleys would even be nicer to him, if he could use it to help. That, more than anything, appealed to Harry.

As if the world had heard his thoughts, his door opened forcefully, admitting his uncle. Vernon looked angry - so angry, that his face was redder than a stove element.

"Here, read this," he said tersely, handing Harry an envelope. "And before you ask a stupid question, yes, it's true. Make sure this doesn't bother us. We want no part of this… freakishness."

Vernon was out the door before Harry could say a word. Confused and slightly hurt, Harry looked at the envelope.

Harry Potter

Smallest Bedroom,

#4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging, Surrey

Smallest bedroom? That was an unusual, if accurate, address tag. Harry tore the envelope open, and stared in growing confusion at the embossed letterhead, realizing that his fingers were not feeling paper, but a thick, rough parchment that must have cost ten times as much to produce. His eyes scanned the title repeatedly, as if they refused to register the print.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"No way."

His uncle had said it was real, though, and Vernon wouldn't pull a prank. As Harry read through the letter - an acceptance letter into a magical school, no less - Harry's doubts began to fade, vanishing almost completely when he found the reply address to get more information.

Finally, his dream of understanding these events was coming true. "Brilliant," he whispered to himself as he re-folded the letter. "This is going to be brilliant."

*^*^*^*

It was an agonizing two days before Harry received a reply to his return letter. A large, thick envelope came in the post, containing several pamphlets with information that Harry soaked up - not the least of which were the directions to a place called Diagon Alley. There was also a form to fill out, setting up an appointment with one of the professors to act as a guide. Harry debated on sending that form, ultimately deciding to explore this Diagon Alley by himself.

It took slightly over an hour for Harry to reach the Leaky Cauldron, a pub that acted as a doorway from London to the Alley. As he approached the pub, he noticed that everyone else on the sidewalk seemed to avoid it, stepping well around the entrance. Once he was near the doorway, they seemed to avoid him, too.

"Cool," he said as he watched people pass him by, oblivious to his presence. He laughed and smiled, said hello to people as they went past, made faces - nothing seemed to attract their attention. He even went so far as to trip a man as he passed; the man simply righted himself and carried on, not sparing a single glance at what might have caused him to stumble.

Eventually tiring of his little game, Harry opened the door to the pub, and stepped inside. The sight that greeted him was intense: Everyone wore flowing coats - no, those were robes - and the clothing underneath looked like it was in style at least two hundred years ago. The clothing wasn't the worst of it, either. Plates of food drifted through the air on their own, making their way to paying customers. Harry glanced at the bar to see an old man waving around a short stick that Harry assumed was a wand, directing food as it went out.

Harry slowly walked towards the man, hoping to have at least a few questions answered. As the bartender caught his eye, he almost literally tripped over his own feet, stumbling toward Harry with his hand extended.

"Bless my soul," he exclaimed as he pumped Harry's hand. "It's Harry Potter! Welcome back, Mr. Potter! Welcome back!"

Harry was too stunned to answer, as he was suddenly the center of a riot of people, all wanting to shake his hand and thank him. Feeling like the world's biggest idiot for not knowing why, Harry smiled and thanked people, working his way through the crowd until he reached the bar.

"Excuse me?" he asked. "Do you have a moment?"

"Anything for you, Mr. Potter," replied the enthusiastic barman, giving Harry a wide, gap-toothed smile. "What can old Tom do for you?"

"Well, a couple of things, actually…" Harry carefully explained his need to visit Diagon Alley, as well as his relative newness to everything.

"Well, you're in a spot of luck!" Tom said happily, guiding Harry to a man wearing a turban. "Mr. Potter, meet Quirinus Quirrel, a professor at Hogwarts."

"Hello, sir," said Harry, offering his hand. Quirrel shook it quickly before jerking his hand away.

"P-pleased to m-m-meet you," stuttered Quirrel. "L-looking f-f-f-forward to H-Hogwarts, are y-you?"

"You bet!"

Tom patted Harry on the shoulder, and turned to face Quirrel. "Professor, Mr. Potter needs a guide to set him up for the year and introduce him to the Alley."

"O-oh. A-a-alright, then..." Quirrel beckoned Harry over to a plain brick wall at the end of the pub. Taking out a wand much like Tom's, Quirrel tapped the wall in a few places. With a low rumble, the bricks began to move, turning out to form an archway to a narrow street crammed full of bustling people and the shouts of vendors hawking their wares.

Harry followed the bizarre professor around the Alley as he pointed out the various shops and locations. Despite his stuttering, Harry found that Quirrel was a funny man, and he gave Harry a sneaky look as he pointed out the entrance to a place he called Knockturn Alley, where shops catered to the community's shadier needs.

Their first bout of work was getting access to Harry's bank account, needing to retrieve Harry's key from Headmaster Dumbledore. Harry was surprised to know that he had an account at all, which led to the professor reluctantly explaining the death of his parents at the hands of the Dark Lord Voldemort almost ten years ago, and Harry's miraculous survival when Voldemort tried to kill him, too.

Harry sat back when Quirrel had finished, rubbing his temples the way he'd often seen his uncle do. "They were murdered? I… I was lied to?"

"M-m-maybe," Quirrel said. "Its p-p-possible t-that n-no one t-t-told your r-r-relatives anyth-thing. Y-Y-You-Know-W-Who is a t-t-t-touchy t-topic."

"I can find a book or two on it, right?"

Quirrel nodded, and Harry changed the subject back to school supplies, much to the jittery professor's relief.

Once his key had arrived by mail owl, Harry adopted his uncle's seriousness about money and made a detailed inventory of his vault. He had five thousand galleons, give or take the smaller coins, which he estimated to be about twenty-five thousand pounds. There was also a list of larger accounts and properties held in trust for his seventeenth birthday, the wizarding age of majority. Gathering the money he needed for his supplies and some extra to convert to pounds, Harry began to shop.

Quirrel was very helpful, directing him from shop to shop, and often suggesting which items were worth paying extra for, and which ones weren't.

"T-t-two things all s-s-students should h-h-have," he said, "Is a t-t-trunk that c-c-can shrink its-s-s-self, and h-h-h-high q-quality r-r-robes. Exp-p-pensive, but w-worth it."

"The trunk, I understand," agreed Harry. "Why the robes, though?"

"T-t-they can t-take more ab-b-buse and s-st-still be repaired. Bes-s-sides, it n-n-never h-h-h-h-hurts t-to l-l-look nicer." The professor offered a smile, and Harry grinned back. It would be good to look nice, and it wasn't too much more, so he agreed, and spent some extra time at Madam Malkin's while she took his measurements.

The last place Harry went was to Ollivander's for a wand. The old man had an eerie presence, but he seemed very knowledgeable and dedicated to his work.

"You remember every wand you've sold?" Harry asked when Ollivander had commented on it. "How do you do that? That's amazing!"

"It has a lot to do with making them," Ollivander hedged, "and the rest is experience." Ollivander measured all parts of Harry's body, and then gathered a handful of wands he thought might work.

"I really like the way this one feels," Harry said, running his hand across one of the wands on the table.

"Hmm. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches… well, give it a go."

Harry grabbed the wand, and golden sparks shot from the tip, dancing in random directions across the ceiling.

Ollivander clapped his hands. "My, my, what a bond! I think you've found your wand, Mr. Potter!"

Harry nodded enthusiastically, feeling the wood warm beneath his hands.

"It feels amazing! So, do I need anything to hold the wand - a holster, or something?"

"Good gracious, no!" laughed Ollivander. "My wands are the best for a reason, you know. You've bonded well with your wand, so this should be easy for you. Hold your wand down to your side, like so. Now, let it go - don't worry, just let go." Harry did, and instead of falling, the wand moved up, defying gravity and resting snugly against his inner forearm.

"Cool!" exclaimed Harry as he shook his arm around. Try as he might, nothing would dislodge the wand. Harry made a downward wrist-flick on impulse, and to his surprise, the wand fell down again, coming to rest in his palm just as he closed his hand to catch it.

"Well done!" said Ollivander, clapping lightly from behind his table. "Just so you know, you can place your wand just about anywhere - your leg, your back - and it will stay there. That release motion, of course, only works when you allow it to attach to the forearm. Otherwise, you must grab hold yourself."

"Okay, then." As Harry retrieved his money, he noticed a signboard at the back of the shop advertising specific components of a wand for sale. "Uh, Mr. Ollivander, if you sell wands, why do you sell the parts?"

The wand-maker glanced back at the sign, and then smiled at Harry. "The best wand match is always the one that you make for yourself. Of course, those skills come with time. It's not a very common thing anymore." He gestured to Harry's new wand. "Many people bond so well with the wands I make in the store, like you have, that there's no purpose to making their own."

Harry nodded his understanding, and said his farewells. All the way down the street, Harry kept playing with his new wand, letting it slide up his forearm, before flicking it back to his hand. Smiling at Harry's excitement, Quirrel took Harry past Eeylops Owl Emporium, where Harry walked out with a snowy owl perched on his shoulder, hooting happily.

"N-n-ow, y-you're g-going h-h-home with a-all, that, r-r-right, P-Potter?"

"Of course, Professor. There's a bus that'll drop me off a block from my house."

"G-g-good. S-s-send y-your owl ah-h-head, she'll alr-r-ready know t-the w-way."

After saying goodbye to the professor, Harry placed his now-shrunken trunk of belongings in his pocket and turned to his new owl. "I was thinking of calling you Hedwig. You like that?" Hedwig blinked at him and hooted, prancing in place on his shoulder. "Great! Can you find my house, then, Hedwig? I'm the left window on the north side."

Hedwig bobbed her head in an almost-human nod, and leapt from Harry's shoulder, flying up into the air, and disappearing into the blue. Harry turned and walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, his thoughts moving from his owl to bus schedules.

*

It was early evening by the time Harry got home, and he entered the house to see his uncle and aunt looking over financial statements in the living room. The sound of the television from Dudley's room announced his cousin's whereabouts.

"It's more than we can afford right now," Vernon said quietly.

"But it's our only chance to enrol Dudley!" Petunia protested. "Surely, something else can make way?"

"And ruin our credit with overdue payments? I think not! I can free up that kind of money, but it would take at least a month."

"We need it this week, though!"

Harry frowned, and walked over. Hadn't the Dursleys already dealt with Dudley's enrolment? After all, Dudley had all his school supplies already. He glanced quickly at the papers they were looking at - Dudley's acceptance letter for Smeltings, along with another letter about the fees involved, and several bank statements. Vernon scooped the papers away from Harry once he noticed him.

"Mind your own business, boy."

"I can get you that, if you want," Harry offered, still excited from his trip to the Alley. "My parents left me with money to get through school, but there's enough extra."

His uncle gave him an incredulous look. "You can come up with two thousand pounds, just like that?"

"I can get it tomorrow," Harry assured him.

Vernon grunted, looking as though something sour had gone down his throat. Petunia, however, looked at him pleadingly, and he finally nodded. "Fine. I'll pay you back by the end of the month."

"You don't need-"

"I'll. Pay. You. Back. By. The. End. Of. The. Month." The look in his uncle's eyes was frightening, and Harry immediately backed away.

"A-alright."

Vernon nodded sharply and left the room, and Harry walked silently upstairs, collapsing onto his bed, trying desperately not to cry. It didn't hurt anymore that his aunt and uncle didn't buy him gifts, but he never thought that they would refuse a gift from him.

"I was only trying to help," he whispered to no one as his tears began to fall. "I just… just wanted…" His voice choked away, but his mind finished for him. It would never matter; Vernon would never care.

He was not a Dursley.

*^*^*^*

Even the sting of his uncle's words could not keep Harry's mood down for very long. Avoiding his grumbling uncle, Harry spent as much time as he could in Diagon Alley, poking his head through books in Flourish and Blotts, and buying the interesting ones. Many of the shopkeepers recognized him, and Harry took the time to ask as many questions about his family as he could.

*

"No, Mr. Potter, I'm sorry," said Madam Malkin when he stopped in to pick up the rest of his order. "I never knew your parents, aside from when they came in for robes. They seemed happy, though, and they were certainly over the moon when Lily was pregnant with you."

*

"Heard your mother was amazing at Potions," the apothecary wheezed, as he swept his shop. "Professor Slughorn was Hogwarts' Potions Master at the time, and he told me he was very impressed with her work."

*

"James would come in for equipment all the time," crowed the owner of Quality Quidditch Supplies. "New pads, new broom kits… you'd think he ran into the ground every match he had! Well, maybe he did, but he was a bang-up Chaser for Gryffindor; won two games for his team even though they lost the Snitch! At the school level, that's saying something!"

*

"Inseparable, they were!" the woman at the counter of Magical Menagerie said longingly. "Called themselves the Marauders and they wreaked havoc on the school. Those were fun times… before things got bad. James, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black…" her tone darkened as she reached the last name. "He switched sides near the end, I hear, and betrayed your parents. The Ministry holds him responsible for their deaths, and Peter died fighting him just after. He's in Azkaban Prison, and he'll stay there 'till he dies. Sad thing, really. Sad…"

*

"Remus?" Tom scratched his head, before shaking it slightly. "Haven't seen him in a couple years now, I'm afraid. He's always been a quiet man, but after your parents died, he almost faded away. Tell you what, you let me ask around, and we'll see if I can't find him for you."

*

Harry waited patiently as the minutes ticked by. Shortly after 1, the London-side door opened, and a man in threadbare, patched robes walked in. His salt-and-pepper hair was short, and he kept a small moustache. A permanent sadness hung from his features, and it made him seem far older than Harry thought he was.

The man's head swivelled, spotting him immediately. "Harry?" he asked, looking astonished.

"That's me," replied Harry with a smile. "Mr. Lupin, right? I'm pleased to meet you."

"The pleasure's mine. And please, call me Remus - I can't ever imagine you calling me by my last name." They shook hands, and sat back down at Harry's table. Hours quickly passed as Remus talked about his parents, and Harry filled in the events of his youth. As they talked, Remus seemed to get younger and younger, the melancholy falling from him as easily as a dog sheds fur.

*

Feeling more than a little empowered from his conversation with Remus, Harry decided that now was as good a time as any to confront his uncle. When he arrived back at Privet Drive, Harry walked up to Vernon, who put down his coffee and frowned.

"What do you want, boy?"

"I need to know something," Harry said. "You told me my parents died in a car accident; why?"

Vernon's eyebrow rose slightly, and his thick greying moustache twitched, a sign of annoyance. "I told you that because that's what Petunia told me. What of it?"

"They didn't die that way; they were murdered - well, assassinated, really, in part of a war."

"By some freak wizard, no doubt?" Harry nodded once, and Vernon scoffed. "Figures. In a way, that's worse than drunk driving. Reckless heroics; how stupid do you get?"

Having heard more than enough, Harry turned and left the kitchen, going to the upstairs washroom. He had expected his uncle's vitriol, but the one small happiness that he garnered from it was that despite Vernon's continued rejection, at least his uncle hadn't lied.

When Harry saw himself in the mirror, he couldn't bring himself to feel bad anymore. That vicious scar on his forehead was from a dark wizard's curse, and there was an undeniable sense of 'cool' that went along with that.

*

Harry met Remus several more times at the Cauldron, and as Remus continued to expand on his parents' history, the empty piece of Harry's heart reserved for his Uncle Vernon filled slightly, in the form of Remus Lupin.

*^*^*^*

True to his word, Vernon came into Harry's room August 31^st and slapped an envelope full of money on his trunk before turning to leave just as quickly. Harry wordlessly pocketed it without checking the amount - Vernon would never cheat on a debt. He carefully packed a backpack with a set of robes and two fantasy novels to read to pass the time. Deciding to expand his journal of magic, Harry also packed his notepad of experiences. Tapping his trunk with his wand to shrink it, Harry placed that in the backpack, too. The next day, Harry trudged out of the house, feeling very much like every other boy heading off to school.

"Head to King's Cross," Harry instructed Hedwig. "Find me on the Hogwarts Express." With a hoot, Hedwig flew off, and Harry walked off to the bus stop.

Harry soon found himself walking inside King's Cross Station, staring at the false wall between Platforms 9 and 10. There were obviously wizarding families there, and Harry quietly observed a few pass through the portal before Harry steeled himself to do the same. He felt like a fool walking into a wall, but just like the others, he passed right through, and found himself staring at a large red steam engine, with a plaque that read "Hogwarts Express."

The inside of the train was large and spacious - exactly the opposite of what Harry expected from the old train cars. The train was obviously larger on the inside than it was on the outside: Each compartment was big enough for six grown adults, and the hallways were wide enough for nearly thee people to walk side-by-side.

"So cool," he muttered to himself as he chose a compartment to sit in. He opened the window, and not five minutes later, Hedwig arrived, flying in and perching on the back of his seat.

The train slowly filled, and Harry pulled out one of his books to read, losing himself in the story.

"Excuse me?"

Harry looked up to see a girl with brown bushy hair in muggle clothing looking at him. A rather portly boy in a wizard's robe was a few feet behind her. "Is it alright if we sit here?" the girl asked. "The other compartments are quite noisy."

Harry smiled and motioned to the seats. He stopped reading long enough to help the other boy heave his and the girl's trunks up onto the storage rack, and then sat down again.

"I'm Hermione Granger," the girl said, offering her hand.

"Neville Longbottom," mumbled the boy, following Hermione's lead and putting his hand out.

"Harry Potter." Harry shook both their hands; Neville's face registered his shock, while Hermione gave a thoughtful frown.

"I've read about you," she said.

"I've read about me, too. The books knew more about my family than I did."

"Really? That's awful!"

Harry gave a small shrug. "Yeah, well… that changed pretty quickly. I spent all of August rooting around Diagon Alley finding out what I could. It took me awhile to track down a family friend and get some good stories, though."

"What about Gringotts?" Neville suggested.

"Tried that; the goblins know what's in my vaults, and not a whit more. Still, I met one man - Remus Lupin - who knew my parents. I plan on asking the professors if they knew my parents, and maybe send out some letters with Hedwig here."

Hermione's brown eyes brightened as she looked up past Harry's shoulder. "Is that your owl? She's very pretty."

"Yeah, she's great."

"I wish I had an owl," she sighed. "I couldn't afford a pet, and my parents are allergic to a lot of animals, anyways."

"Well, if you want, you can use Hedwig. I'm sure she won't mind; will you, girl?"

Hedwig gave an affirmative hoot, puffing out her feathers, and grooming her wing.

They talked for a while, as the Express moved slowly out of London. Eventually, Hermione turned to her schoolbooks, and Harry again pulled out his novel.

"Why are you reading that?" asked Hermione when she saw his book. "Aren't you worried about learning magic? I tried hard to memorize all our books…"

"I spent all August reading," Harry said dismissively, not looking up from his novel. "A few hours on the train aren't going to make me smarter."

"But it's all so fascinating! I've tried a few spells - nothing big, mind you…"

Harry's head snapped up. "You did? How'd you get past the Trace?"

Neville looked confused. "The what?"

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, I didn't! I tried my spells in Diagon Alley. They didn't send me any warnings the first time, so I kept doing it. I don't think they can track us there."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, I did that, too. I was hoping for a better shortcut."

"Sorry," she said, shrugging her shoulders apologetically. "So, what spells have you tried?"

"Reparo, Scourgify… you know, stuff that makes life easier."

"You guys have done magic?" Neville stared at them, horrified and excited all at once. "Didn't the Ministry catch you? I mean, I thought that we couldn't do magic except at Hogwarts 'till we're of age."

Harry smiled as Hermione launched into an explanation of the Trace, and turned back to his book.

The train stopped several times on its trip, and more and more students piled on board as they headed north. As luck would have it, however, no one bothered them in their compartment. Hermione immersed herself in studying, while Harry read his book. Twice, he had to jump up to help Neville catch his toad, Trevor, who seemed eager to escape.

Finally, the train pulled into Hogsmeade, and Harry quickly unfolded his robes, throwing them on.

"Where's your trunk?" asked Hermione in her now-expected tone of curiosity.

"In there," he replied, pointing to his backpack.

"Isn't a backpack going to look a little odd for a wizard?"

Harry finished dressing, and then smirked. "Here's another spell I thought was too useful not to learn. Reducio." Harry's backpack shrunk itself to the size of a small wallet, and Harry picked it up and put it in his pocket.

"Cool!" exclaimed Neville. "My gram always does that. I wish she'd have done my trunk before we left."

Hermione gave Neville a critical eye. "And who would have enlarged it?" Not having an answer, Neville blushed and looked down. Hermione turned back to Harry with a worried expression. "You can enlarge your things again, can't you?"

Harry nodded. "Yup. The trunk can enlarge and shrink itself, though."

Hermione was immediately interested. "Really? I thought those were terribly expensive." Neville quickly elbowed Hermione from the side, making her yelp.

"He's a Potter," he explained to the irritated girl. "If anyone's got money, Harry does."

"Yeah, I've got money," Harry agreed sadly. "It's about all I've got, though."

"Sorry," mumbled Neville, suddenly very quiet. "I know what that's like… they got my parents, too." Harry looked over at Neville, surprised. Hermione looked stricken at the news, and Harry shared a small smile with Neville as Hermione tried her very best to cheer them both up.

*^*^*^*

As Hermione prattled on about what she'd read in Hogwarts: A History, Harry looked around at the smooth stone halls and archways. A boat trip across the enormous lake had certainly been an impressive way to introduce the school, and the castle was massive. Towers and buildings grew off each other in a way that made Hogwarts a fairytale come to life, a castle that only magic could build.

The Great Hall was enormous, and the four Houses of students looked at the first years from amazingly long tables. Up at the front of the Hall, the professors looked on from a head table, and a small stool sat just in front of them, with a ratty old wizard's hat sitting on it. Harry swore the hat was looking around, its wrinkles and creases forming the likeness of a face.

Harry paid close attention to the Houses as the Sorting Ceremony took place. The table to his far right was Slytherin, where all the students had green and silver trim to their robes. Most of the students had impeccable grooming, not a hair out of place, and seemed to take great care in their comportment - he'd never complain about table manners in that House, judging from the way they sat. A few students in the House looked like mindless brutes, but even they were mindful of their looks.

In sharp contrast to their appearance and their etiquette, the conversations that filtered to Harry's ears were appalling. A great many of them were placing bets on which first years were Mudbloods, which Harry knew was an insult. Others were debating on which ones "looked like Slytherin material," and which ones "were doomed to be 'Puffs."

Harry couldn't help but look at the students around him; a tall, slender boy with white-blond hair, grey eyes and aristocratic features all but screamed Slytherin to him. The girl beside him had slightly darker blond hair, a darker shade of eyes, and a slightly upturned nose. Regardless of those differences, Harry was certain she'd be in Slytherin, too. Feeling more than a little put off at the apparent elitism, Harry hoped he didn't end up in their House.

The next table, just to his right, was Ravenclaw. The students here were muttering to themselves about school assignments, and a lot of them had their schoolbooks with them. Ravenclaw prided themselves on their studies, and Harry could all but feel their general disdain as they looked at the newcomers. Only when the Sorting Hat announced "Ravenclaw!" did their opinion of a student seem to change.

The table featured mostly wealthy students, just like Slytherin. A few of them were scruffier, but they were by far the minority.

Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were to his left and far left, respectively. Harry noticed that there was a lot of talking and laughing at those tables, and - more telling - a lot of talking and laughing between those tables. Most of the yellow and red trimmed robes were lacklustre; Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were obviously the 'common' tables, while Ravenclaw and Slytherin were the 'elite.'

Slytherin looked like it required family ties, money, or something that set the student apart. Ravenclaw required some prerequisite genius. Gryffindor supposedly valued courage and risk-taking, and Hufflepuff valued loyalty and hard work; none of those values were limiting, though.

Harry frowned as the crisp voice of Professor McGonagall announced Hermione's name. Here was the first indication…

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry blinked, and thought furiously as he applauded. He'd expected Ravenclaw for Hermione, but she seemed quite happy with the outcome. Something was wrong with his theory. Neville ended up in Gryffindor, too, but that was less surprising. There had to be something to his thoughts, though, because both the blond kids - Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson - became Slytherins just as he had guessed.

"Potter, Harry!" called McGonagall. The whispered conversations reached a crescendo at his name, and Harry walked forward cautiously. The Hat was a little large for his head, but he was interested to see just what this Sorting involved.

A deep, rumbling laughter echoed between his ears. My, but you've got a sharp mind, a voice said. The Houses aren't as black-and-white as you think they are, you know.

"Are you the Hat?" Harry asked in a small whisper.

Indeed. Ah, I see that Slytherin's worst tendencies have poisoned your opinion of them already. Such a pity, you'd do well there…

Hmm. Ravenclaw could use you, but no… Your studies are a little too focused for a true academic, wouldn't you say?

"Can I stay with my friends?" he asked, glancing over to where Neville and Hermione were sitting. "It doesn't seem to matter if I'm in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor."

Oh, it matters, the Hat replied, it matters more than you think.

"Hufflepuff, then."

Is that what you want?

"What I want? I thought - that's it, isn't it?" Harry's voice rose a bit, but quieted at the continued murmuring of the Hall. "The Slytherins and Ravenclaws, they're all there because they chose to be, aren't they?"

Mostly true. Slytherin is a House tainted by its past. The only students that are sorted there are those who choose to be. Ravenclaw has its resident geniuses; many also choose that House to help them along in their studies. If all your friends are academics, after all, chances are you will be, too.

It's not friendship that drives your choice, though, is it? I see images of your uncle behind this.

Harry's mood fell at the Hat's remark, but he remained silent.

Is that your decision, then?

"Yes."

Very well. "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry smirked as he heard the shouts of protest from Slytherin table and the cheers from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. "Take that," he whispered as took the hat off, leaving it on the stool. He walked over to his new House, sitting far enough down to talk to Hermione and Neville.

A girl - a seventh year, by the look of her - tapped him on the shoulder. "How'd you end up in Hufflepuff?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer but stopped, staring at the girl's hair. It shifted smoothly through a myriad of colors, tending towards violent neon in their brightness.

"Um, nice hair," he said once he'd gathered his wits. The color change ceased immediately, stuck in-between a bright green and a platinum blond. "Going for Slytherin colors?" A blush formed on the girl's cheeks, and her hair faded to brown.

"That's really cool," he said, offering his hand. "Harry Potter."

"Tonks," she said, shaking his hand. "Just Tonks, please. Now how'd you end up with us?"

"Who cares?" shouted a red-haired boy from the Gryffindor table. "We've got Potter!"

A boy identical to the first stood up, and the twins did a small circular war dance, chanting, "We've got Potter, we've got Potter!" while everyone laughed.

"To answer your question," Harry said, loud enough for the nearby Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors to hear, "I chose to be here." The cheering rose in volume, and even Neville and Hermione cheered at his statement.

The tapping of a crystal goblet from the head table cut through the clamour and silenced the students. The headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, rose to speak, holding his long white beard away from his dinner plate as he did so.

"Welcome to Hogwarts!" he called, his voice far more powerful than Harry expected. "This will be a wonderful year, I'm sure; but for now, we must eat!"

The sound of cutlery quickly overcame the sound of students as the tables filled with amazing amounts of food. Harry quickly filled his plate, extremely hungry after the long train ride.

Soon, stuffed to the gills and content from an evening spent talking with his new friends, Harry happily followed Tonks to the Hufflepuff dorms, and collapsed in his new bed, falling asleep immediately.

*

The morning found him in the office of his head of house, Professor Sprout. "How was your first night in Hufflepuff?" asked the professor, smiling kindly at him.

"It was fine," he replied. "Everyone's friendly. Hermione and Neville are happy in Gryffindor, so it's all good."

"I'm glad to hear it." The professor stopped for a moment to glance at the parchment in front of her. "According to this, you were raised by muggles?"

Harry nodded. "My Uncle and Aunt raised me."

"So, you're comfortable with muggle society?"

"I've worked my summers for the neighbourhood for three years now," he replied somewhat proudly. "I'm pretty sure that there aren't any surprises left for me to learn."

"And you intend to keep in touch with muggle society?" Harry nodded. "Good," she said, marking something on the parchment. "Now, then: I have an assessment test that I want you to finish for me. It isn't a big deal," she added, seeing his surprise, "every student writes it. It helps us identify any weak areas, and it gets you used to our grading system. Scoring an Acceptable on the test means that you're perfectly ready for Hogwarts, so don't fret on getting everything exactly right."

"What are the other scores?" asked Harry, interested.

"The other passing scores are Exceeds Expectations and Outstanding. Either of those means that you're quite advanced in your studies."

Harry nodded, and took the test from Professor Sprout, heading back to the common room to write. It took him an hour to finish it, and covered everything he thought he'd ever learned: Math, reading, writing, even science. As Harry got to the end, the parchment folded and crumpled at the bottom, forming the shape of a mouth.

"Hello," it said. "Speak with me in English, please."

Harry stared at the paper in surprise. "Uh, alright…"

"How are you doing?"

"I'm good, thanks. Um, how about you?"

"Very good, thank you. What is the weather like outside?"

On and on the parchment talked, and Harry answered as best he could, eventually getting over the shock of talking to the parchment. Was this part of the test?

In answer, the parchment paused, and then opened its 'mouth' again to speak.

"Bonjour. Parlez avec moi en Français, s'il vous plait."

"Uh, oui," stammered Harry, uncertain. "Um… je peux parler un peu…"

"Bien. Comment ça va?"

"Pas mal… et tu?"

Harry repeated most of the same conversation he had just had, struggling over the language. The parchment even asked him if he could write in French, but Harry said no. As it finished, Harry waited as it paused, and then started again.

"Hallo. Sprechen Sie bitte mit mir auf Deutsch."

"Oh, boy. Ah… Ich werde … versuchen. Err… Sprechen Sie bitte … etwas … langsamer."

"Selbstverständlich," the parchment said, speaking much slower, as Harry had asked it to. "Wie geht es Ihnen?"

Harry struggled through the conversation, even worse at German than he was at French. Were all wizards multilingual? He'd picked up smatterings of languages from his neighbors; Little Whinging was on the outskirts of Surrey, and immigrants who had some money to their name often moved into the area. Working around those families, Harry began to pick up on their language. Every now and then, one of the men would take a liking to Harry and teach him a few swear words too.

"Konnichiwa. Watashi no nihongo wa wakarimasu-ka?"

Harry rocked back. "What? Was that… Japanese? Sorry, I can't speak that."

"That is fine," the parchment said, and it switched again.

"Hola. Hable por favor conmigo en Español."

Harry smiled, recognizing Spanish. "Puedo hacer eso."

Again and again, the parchment switched languages, but aside from when it spoke Portuguese, Harry didn't recognize any others. "This test is completed," it said after a long hour of switching languages. "Please give the test back to your head of house." The mouth disappeared, folding neatly back into an unblemished sheet.

Harry shook his head, staring at the paper in amazement. Gathering his wits, he walked to Professor Sprout's office again, and knocked on her door.

"Come in!" he heard, and the door opened with a click.

"That was awesome!" he said as he handed her the test. "I can't believe it spoke so many languages!"

"It is a very good charm, isn't it?" said Sprout as she paged through his test. "It also mostly corrects itself, too… well now; you've picked up a few languages, haven't you?"

Harry blushed and looked down. "I just talk a lot with my neighbors."

"It's a good thing, Mr. Potter. Most students come in here with just English, so it's nice to see that you're better-rounded."

Harry stifled a sigh of relief - he wasn't behind, after all.

"This test is very well done," Sprout continued, putting the parchment down. "I'll go through it more thoroughly later, but I'd say you've earned an Exceeds on it - good job."

"Thanks, professor." Harry left her office, heading to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Hey, Harry!" Hermione waved him over, and the Gryffindors shifted to make room for him. Harry smiled and sat beside Hermione, smiling across the table at Neville.

"How'd your test go?" she blurted, an eager look on her face. Harry rolled his eyes - trust Hermione to ask about that first thing.

"It was horrible," he said sorrowfully. "I failed everything." Neville's eyes widened for a moment, but Hermione just smacked Harry on the arm.

"Says the boy who reads novels and studied all August. Tell me!"

"Sprout says I've got an Exceeds," he said with a shrug. "She was pretty happy that I knew more than English, too."

"Really? I could speak and write French, but that was it. What can you speak?"

"Cool. Can't write anything but English. Um… Some French, Spanish, Portuguese, and a little bit of German. Learned from my neighbours."

"Wow, that's really good!"

"You did really well," agreed Neville. "I've only got English; got an A on the test, though, so I'm happy."

"I hope I got an Outstanding," Hermione said, a trace of worry in her voice. "I mean, I think I did everything right…"

Harry resisted the urge to snicker. "Don't worry, I'm sure you did." Neville shared Harry's mirth, but Hermione smiled brightly at the praise.

*^*^*^*

Classes began the next day. The assignments were harder than the standard Harry was used to, but not outlandishly so. Papers to write, spells to learn, and exercises to be completed using those spells. The professors were an eclectic bunch, ranging from the by-the-book McGonagall to the denigrating Snape. That man made Potions the hardest chore, but Harry was immune to his spiteful comments and sarcastic barbs. Snape, for all he seemed to hate Harry, had nothing on the apathetic Vernon Dursley. So completely and utterly ignored by Harry, Snape began to focus on other students halfway into their second lesson.

Defence was also fun. Quirrel was a cautious teacher, and the students often giggled at his speech impediment, but Harry liked him. The professor would often bring books into class for Harry to take with him that had some good spells in them, and Harry gave the course his absolute best effort.

All classes had two houses at a time; the classes he shared with Hermione and Neville quickly became his favourites. The Ravenclaws tended to ignore the Hufflepuff students, while the Slytherins openly mocked them.

Even in their flying lessons, the Ravenclaws looked like they had studied brooms to death, and expected to do well. Everyone was shocked when, by the end of the lesson, Harry was rolling and diving, laughing as he urged his broom faster and faster.

After their instructor, Madam Hooch, convinced Harry to come down for air, she went to fetch Professor Sprout.

"That was great!" called a Hufflepuff girl named Susan. "Do you think you'll try for the team next year?"

"Team?" Harry didn't get an answer, however, as Professor Sprout descended upon him, guiding him quickly through the castle towards the Defence classroom. She poked her head into the class, and Tonks joined them in the hall, a questioning expression on her face. That expression quickly cleared as Sprout whispered excitedly in her ear, and then turned back to him.

"Mr. Potter, I'd like to introduce you to the captain of the Hufflepuff team, Nymphadora Tonks." Harry saw Tonks wince as Sprout said her name and her hair shifted from light pink to a deep blue for a moment.

"We've met," Harry said, smiling at Tonks.

"Wotcher!" she said, clapping Harry on the shoulder and turning him around, walking down the hall. "Professor Sprout says you're a good flyer. Ever played Quidditch before?" Harry shook his head. "No? Well, I'll get you up to speed. We need a new Chaser badly, and Sprout thinks you're it."

"I'll give it a go," he said.

"Confident, ain'cha? Okay, Potter, let's see your moves!" Once they were out near the Quidditch pitch, Tonks tossed Harry her broom, and he shot off into the air, whooping for joy at the power the higher-quality broom afforded him, pulling all sorts of loops.

"Hey, fly-boy!" shouted Tonks from the ground. "Catch!" A red ball flew into his vision, and he reached out and snagged it. Seeing the triple hoops at the end of the pitch, Harry rocketed towards them, flying for the center hoop. At the last moment, he jerked left and threw with all his might, sending the ball through the side hoop.

"Who-hoo!" Tonks cheered from beneath him. "He's trainable! Alright, Potter, get down here, and I'll show ya the ropes!"

*

Hermione looked both excited and confused when Harry explained where he was that afternoon. "So, you're a Chaser for Hufflepuff then?"

"Seems it," Harry said. "Tonks was happy with my flying, so I'll go to their practice on Tuesday evening, and give it a shot."

"But, what about a broom? First years aren't allowed to have one at school."

"Professor Sprout said that Quidditch teams are the exception to that, so I'll get one this weekend."

Hermione hesitated, and then said, "Your dad was a Chaser, wasn't he? It's kind of like you're following in his footsteps."

Harry gave her a tremendous smile. "Maybe a different house, but it's really cool to think that my dad did this, too." Hermione matched his smile, and listened as Harry talked about Quidditch for the rest of the afternoon.

Quidditch training was long and hard, and the game was painfully complicated. Sprout handed him a new Nimbus 2000, and he put it through its paces, working with Daniels and Everett, the other two Chasers. Cedric Diggory, their Seeker, took the time to train Harry for his position just in case Cedric wasn't able to play.

"Ravenclaws are mediocre, and Slytherin are horrible," Tonks said as she lectured him on the other teams. "They play rough, though, so the longer the game goes, the more likely Slytherin is to win. Gryffindor…" she trailed off, blowing out a long breath. "They're a good team; really good. Don't know how we're going to deal with them, really. They've got the best Beater team, the best Chaser team, and a pretty good Seeker."

"So we get better," Harry said with a shrug. "I mean, they got that way by practising, right? So…" Harry stopped, struck by an idea. "Tell me; are there any recordings of past games? Not from here, but professional ones."

"Sure," Cedric said. "I've got a few from the Falcons." The rest of the 'Puffs took shots at him for his choice of team, but Harry waved them down.

"Just let me finish, alright? Okay, can you get those owled in, Cedric? Whether the team's 'good' or not, what they are is better than any school team."

Tonks plopped herself down beside the two of them. "Where'ya going with this, Har?"

Harry shrugged, his cheeks reddening at being the sudden center of attention. "Well… I reckon that if we use the Falcons as a goal, work on using plays that they use, we're going to get a lot better - we'd have to, if we could pull them off. It's better than just practicing the usual and worrying about how good Gryffindor is, right?"

Tonks ruffled his hair, and he laughed as hers changed color to neon yellow. "It's a good idea, let's give it a shot! Diggory, if you can bring some of those in, we'll see if we can't get just a little bit more pro, and take the wind out of Wood's sails."

Cedric delivered as promised, and the team struggled to master plays that their brooms could barely tolerate. Tonks was a good Beater, and her counterpart, Qold, already knew a few good moves, and didn't have much issue taking to some of the Falcon's Bludger tactics. Mallory, the Keeper, went through a rough workout as Harry flew through the Falcon's plays with a Dursley's determination. Daniels and Everett, both fourth-years, balked at the idea of a first-year telling them how to play. Under direct threat of dismissal from Tonks, they followed Harry's lead as best they could on their older brooms. True to Harry's prediction, their coordination did increase.

By the time Hufflepuff's first game came up, they looked much more cohesive as a team.

"We actually have a chance to win!" Tonks said as she paced in front of them in the changing room. "Not just this game, but the Quidditch Cup itself! This game's all about nerve. No one expects the plays we're going to try, and I think that we've finally got a Chaser team that can compete."

Harry, Daniels and Everett gave a hearty cheer, and Tonks beamed at them, her hair flashing through several colors.

"I want this game to set the tone for the year. Cedric, your job is to stop up Ravenclaw's Seeker completely. Her name's Chang, and she's fresh meat. Try not to foul, but keep her from moving. Their Beaters are rubbish, so Qold and I are going to take the Bludgers to their Chasers, and break up any plays they have. Potter, Daniels, Everett, I want you three to score at least 160 points. I want Ravenclaw to lose regardless of the Snitch, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am!" roared the team, and Tonks snapped a salute at them.

"All right, men! Let's go!"

*

"Welcome to the second Quidditch match of the season!" roared Lee Jordan's voice from the announcer's booth. "It's the second grudge match, folks! Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, Earth and Air, Intelligence versus Diligence!"

The crowd cheered appreciatively at Lee's setup, and he continued with a wide grin.

"This year sees new blood on both teams! Ravenclaw has a talented new Seeker, while Hufflepuff shook their lines up with new Chaser blood. All right, here come your teams! First, wearing the blue-and-bronze, we have newcomer Cho Chang, and returning players Hawkins, Groeber, Hatcher, Bohr, Browning and their Captain, Davies!"

The crowd gave an enthusiastic greeting to the team as they took their positions on the pitch. Harry noted that Slytherin seemed to support Ravenclaw from the stands, while many Gryffindors sported Hufflepuff colors. Hearing Tonks give the signal, Harry mounted his broom and took off, flying out over the pitch in formation with the team.

"And wearing the yellow-and-black, we have the returning team of Captain Tonks, Qold, Mallory, Diggory, Everett, Daniels, and their new Chaser, the Boy Who Lived himself, Harry Potter!"

The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs went nuts at Harry's name, and he felt himself flush bright red. The Ravenclaws and Slytherins looked shocked, but there was a fair amount of applause from those houses. Looking quickly over to the stands, Harry saw Professor Quirrel smiling at him and applauding, and the rest of his pre-game jitters faded into excitement.

"The Captains have shook hands, and everyone's in position. There goes the Snitch - and there go the Bludgers! Madam Hooch tosses the Quaffle - Cor, look at Potter go! A clean grab and he's behind the Ravenclaw lines, one-on-one with Bohr - and HE SCORES! 10-0 Hufflepuff!"

Hufflepuff roared its approval, while Professor McGonagall could be heard chastising Lee for swearing. Harry fell back in line with Daniels and Everett, and they quickly signalled to each other as Bohr brought the Quaffle back into play.

"Bohr throws out to Davies, who speeds down the pitch - one armed Sloth grip to get away from Tonks' Bludger, and - Everett steals the Quaffle! Long pass to Potter, who burns back up the pitch. He sh- no, it's a pass to Dan- SCORES! Daniels scores! It's 20-nil Hufflepuff! That was a pro play by Potter and Daniels. Where did they get these moves?"

On and on the game went, Harry, Daniels and Everett scoring with nearly every play they made, while Davies and his line fought to cross the pitch against a withering barrage from Tonks and Qold. Ravenclaw regained some momentum, but Harry urged his fellow Chasers on. They had the Quaffle more often than not, and Bohr could barely keep up with their plays. The game was passing at light-speed, and only when Tonks hollered to Cedric did Harry look up to the scoreboard. His face split into a savage grin, seeing that they were ahead 170-40, very close to the gap Tonks had requested.

"Come on!" he called to Everett. "We've got three goals to make up!"

"Potter's got the Quaffle again!" Lee announced. "He's tearing up- whoa, that was close! Potter just barely avoided losing his face to a Bludger. He lobs over to Everett, who's struggling to lose Browning. He backs off, and settles for a pass to Daniels, who drops it to Potter. Potter flies up the center, and Davies and Hawkins are all over him. Everett loops overhead! It's a high lob pass to Everett, who fires to Daniels! It's Daniels on Bohr; he goes left - SCORES! Right through Bohr's legs!

"Bohr throws back out to Davies, and - wait, Diggory's after the Snitch! Look at him go! Chang's a ways off, and I don't think she can catch up! He's reaching, reaching - he's got it! Diggory's got the Snitch! Hufflepuff wins, 330-40!"

*

Half of Gryffindor had come down to the Hufflepuff common room to join in the celebration, including their entire Quidditch team.

"Good show, Potter!" their Captain, Oliver Wood, said as he pumped Harry's hand. "You'll do your team proud - those were some great moves!"

The rest of the team, including the notorious Weasley Twins, Fred and George, also stopped to congratulate him. Tonks introduced him to several of her friends, and Harry played the dutiful socialite for a good hour and a half, before grabbing a Butterbeer from the ice buckets and retreating to a corner with his friends.

"That was a really good game!" said Hermione as they lounged near the fireplace. "You did really well; I'm actually kind of surprised, since you were new and all."

"Dealt with it like everything else," he said. "A lot of sweat." Neville nodded and laughed, while Hermione wrinkled her nose cutely.

*^*^*^*

The next day, Quirrel held him back at the end of their Defence class.

"T-That was a g-g-good game," he said. "C-C-Congratul-l-lations."

"Thanks, professor," said Harry, fighting a blush. "I think everyone played really well."

The professor nodded, and walked around his desk to squat down in front of Harry.

"Y-y-you're v-v-very good at t-the material in t-t-this course," said Quirrel, smiling proudly. "I'd l-like to g-g-give you a ch-chance to d-do something outs-side of the c-c-curric-c-culum. H-H-How would y-you l-l-like t-to c-c-come in f-for extra l-l-lessons? S-say, T-T-Thursday evenings?"

"That'd be great!" Harry said, nearly jumping in place. "I'd love to learn from you!"

Quirrel gave Harry's shoulder a pat and sent him on his way, and Harry had to resist the urge to run up to the library. Extra Defence lessons with Quirrel, Hermione would be so jealous!

*

Harry's intention had been to focus on duelling spells, but Quirrel admonished him to start with the basics. Several weeks went by while they worked on Harry's footwork and sense of location, before Quirrel was satisfied enough to trade some light spells with him.

Hermione was indeed jealous, but not overly enthusiastic about the idea of duelling. She seemed more than satisfied with Harry's description of their lessons, and other than the Body Bind and the Shield Charm, she wasn't very interested in combat spells.

On their seventh lesson together, Quirrel told Harry about the Philosopher's Stone hidden in the out-of-bounds third-floor corridor, and his small frustration at not being able to see the contributions of the other professors.

"I j-j-just w-want t-to s-s-see h-how my c-contribution compares," he said. "A-anyways, b-best that y-y-you keep q-quiet about it, P-Potter; you s-shouldn't know ab-b-bout it, after all."

Harry felt far too indebted to Quirrel for his kindness to let it pass, though; it would be such a small thing to try to get answers for him, and it seemed harmless enough, as Quirrel was in on at least some of it, too. He was too afraid to approach Dumbledore, and the idea of approaching Snape was appalling, but he worked up the courage to talk to the other involved professors, hoping that aside from their answers, they might also know more about his parents.

"I'm not sure I should be talking to you about this," McGonagall said, looking quite put out that he'd mentioned the Stone at all.

"Professor Quirrel just talked about it in passing," Harry said. "He mentioned that you'd done some impressive magic to help out, and he was wondering how it compared to his contribution. I don't mean to pry, but I thought maybe I could get an answer for him."

McGonagall frowned, but slowly sat down at her desk. "I suppose…" she said grudgingly, "do you play chess, Potter?" Harry nodded. "Well, think big, and consider some of the games played by Judit Polgar…"

Harry left McGonagall's office with a slight headache, and a profound respect for the way the old woman thought. Quirrel would never believe the amount of effort she'd put into that trap.

Flitwick was thrilled to discuss his trap with Harry. "Your mother was amazing at Charms work!" he exclaimed. "She'd be very impressed with this; you'll like it too. It involves brooms."

Sprout was almost as pleased, though for a different reason. "You'll actually see some of that in your next class," she said. "It took a long time to breed that plant, and it's placed just perfectly."

Hagrid was actually thrilled that Harry knew about the dog. "Fluffy's great; Yeh can tell Quirrel that nothin'll get pas' Fluffy, 'less it knows a good tune. A few minutes o' music'll put 'im right to sleep, but yeh won' find no music here!"

Harry spent his next lesson with Quirrel talking about their various traps, and Quirrel thanked him profusely, sending him away with a Dark Detector. "N-never kn-kn-know when y-you'll n-n-need one," he said, smiling.

The Dark Detector reminded Harry of his friends, and the fact that Christmas was quickly approaching. A letter to Remus produced cards and small gifts to owl to Hermione and Neville, both of whom had gone home for the holidays. After some deliberation, he also had Remus pick up some small items for Tonks and Cedric, who were very friendly to him, and a high-quality quill and ink set for Professor Quirrel, who'd been an amazing mentor so far. Quirrel had made Hogwarts so much more interesting than just a school, and Harry hoped that he'd stay on as a professor at least until Harry graduated.

*

Christmas Day dawned with presents - a foreign concept for Harry. There were presents from Hermione and Neville, as well as a mysteriously unmarked present that held something beyond his wildest dreams:

An Invisibility Cloak.

Harry used the cloak to sneak into the Restricted Section of the library once, just to see if he could. After that, though, the urge to use the cloak quickly faded - there simply wasn't anything to do where he could put it to use. He was far happier to spend the holiday chatting and sparring with Quirrel, who seemed to open up a little without the other students around.

Christmas break soon ended, and Harry spent the first evening up in Gryffindor tower, trading stories with Hermione, Neville, and Neville's friend Ron Weasley.

"Someone gave this to you?" Hermione said, holding up his cloak. "How… I mean, do they have any idea what you could do with this?"

"I kind of think that they mean for me to be a little bit immune to the rules," said Harry, running his fingers over the smooth fabric.

"But why?" asked Neville. "I mean, it's cool, but… won't it get you expelled?"

Harry shrugged. "Not if I'm careful."

With the start of classes, Quidditch practices, and Quirrel's evening lessons, Harry's chances to use his cloak decreased dramatically. He always kept the cloak shrunk in his side pocket, but there never seemed to be a good chance to use it.

*^*^*^*

January became February, which warmed slightly into March. Harry maintained his grades, and gently ribbed Hermione for not beating him in Defence. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, to the amusement of the rest of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.

Harry repeated his performance on the Quidditch pitch, dominating the Hufflepuff-Slytherin game. Too small and too fast for the Slytherin Chasers to catch, Harry scored nearly every time he had the Quaffle. Cedric outperformed Higgs handily, catching the Snitch just as Harry scored his fifteenth goal, and the two shared a lap to the thunderous applause from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, for a 320-60 victory.

Harry was all smiles for the rest of the month. This entire school year was perfect, an amazing turnaround in life. He had friends, adults that cared about him, and he was doing well in school. Life couldn't possibly be better, and he said as much to his friends.

*

In late March, Dumbledore was absent at breakfast - an oddity to be sure. Quirrel approached him that day after Defence class.

"T-t-tell me," he asked, "w-w-would y-you like t-to h-help me c-check up on the S-S-Stone?"

Harry's eyes went wide with surprise. "Really? Sure! Why are we checking on it?"

"J-just a r-r-routine check."

Harry walked with Quirrel to the third floor, nearly bouncing in excitement. After learning so much about the Philosopher's Stone and its defences, he would finally see them in action.

Quirrel calmly took out a harp, and enchanted it to play on its own as they approached Fluffy's room. When the opened the door, the giant three-headed Cerberus was already dropping off, and its heads barely grunted to acknowledge their presence. Quirrel led him quickly to the trapdoor at the massive beast's feet, and dropped through.

There was a burst of flame, and Harry jumped down at Quirrel's command.

"You burned the Devil's Snare?" Harry said, looking at the dying plant.

"I-It w-w-will g-grow back," he assured him. "It's a h-h-healthy plant."

Harry nodded uncertainly, and kept walking. Professor Sprout hadn't mentioned that Devil's Snare would recover from fire.

As they approached the next room, Quirrel looked to Harry. "C-care to do the h-honours, Potter?"

Smiling, Harry mounted one of the brooms in the room, and quickly chased after the oldest-looking flying key, dodging and weaving through countless others. Very shortly, he had it in his hand, and offered it to Quirrel, who unlocked the door quickly.

"I'll deal w-with this one," he said confidently, and Harry sat back and watched as Quirrel pulled out a small book and dominated McGonagall's chess game in very short order. Quirrel ducked ahead into the next doorway, and screamed a curse. There was a flash of light, and Harry ran to catch up.

"Just a Troll," Quirrel said as Harry entered the room. "They're very hard to deal with, if you don't know just what curse to use."

"That was your defence?" Harry asked, looking at the Troll on the ground, looking quite dead.

"Yes - he'll be up and about quickly, so let's move."

Harry followed Quirrel into the next room, and flames sprung up in both doorways, trapping them. Quirrel stooped over a set of potions on the far side, and quickly pointed one out. "This one," he said assertively. "You and I will both drink, and we'll pass through."

Harry quickly did so, and they passed through a wall of black flame, and into an enormous room with a mirror in its center.

"What's this?" asked Harry, mystified.

"Dumbledore's defence," Quirrel spat. "And he would, of course, use the most infernally annoying artefact, wouldn't he?"

Harry stopped walking, shocked at Quirrel's change in attitude. Where was his stutter? Why was he angry?

"Professor, what's going on?"

"What do you think's going on, Potter? Come on, use that head of yours; you're actually pretty intelligent, you know, more's the pity."

"I… you…" Harry shook his head, unwilling to make the obvious connection. "I… I don't…"

Harry backed away from the grinning professor, drawing his wand and feeling for the wall behind him.

"Are you finally getting it?" asked Quirrel, his face now alight with maniacal glee. "Are you finally putting the pieces together? Did you enjoy your perfect year, Potter? Aren't you so happy you met me in Diagon Alley? Because I'm extremely happy to have met you!"

"No, you can't! We're here to help protect it! You helped set these defences up!" Harry instinctively backed away from Quirrel as he approached, walking in a wide circle near the edge of the room.

"Does it hurt?" mocked Quirrel as they circled each other. "Does it pain you to know that I used you to gain access to the Stone? Those fools would hardly consider Harry Potter to be a threat to their security, after all. And who'd ever suspect poor, s-stuttering P-P-Professor Q-Quirrel?"

"I trusted you," Harry growled, sparks shooting from his wand as it reacted to his growing anger. "I thought you were my friend."

"Of course you did," Quirrel said, speaking as though Harry was stupid. "I wanted you to feel exactly like that. After all, if you or anyone suspected me even a little bit, this would have been a lot more difficult."

The mirror stood before them both, and Harry deliberately kept his gaze away from it, and locked on Quirrel's wand. The professor had him dead, but there had to be something he could do, some way to keep him away from that mirror. This was his fault - he'd fix it. It's what his uncle would do.

"I think that we've spent enough time talking, don't you?" Quirrel brought his wand to bear against Harry, and Harry instinctively ran towards the professor, desperate to reach the wand before the spell fired. Quirrel laughed as he backpedalled casually.

"Avada…"

Harry pushed his legs as fast as they'd go, closing the last remaining feet and lunging at the professor.

"Kedavra!"

A burning sensation shot across his left arm and side, but Harry pressed forward, barrelling into the shocked professor and knocking his wand away. Harry kept pushing ahead to stay well inside the bigger man's reach. He pummelled Quirrel's kidney with vicious left hooks, swinging as hard and fast as he could. Quirrel yelped in pain with each hit, and struggled to throw Harry off of him; after a half-dozen solid hits, he finally secured a grip on Harry's shoulders, and shoved him away roughly. Quirrel then lunged for his fallen wand. Harry, suddenly remembering his own wand, quickly took aim.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The Body Bind hit Quirrel dead center just as he stooped to grab his wand. He went rigid immediately, toppling sideways and hitting the ground with a painful thud. Harry fell over the immobilized professor to pound repeatedly on Quirrel's unprotected face, dropping his wand to use both fists.

"You sodding bastard!" he screamed, flailing away as Quirrel's face became a sea of blood. Harry felt the crunch of bone under his fists, and stopped swinging. As the haze of anger cleared, he looked at Quirrel with horror.

The professor's face was gone, unrecognizable, the bone completely caved in. A dark mist was trailing away from under Quirrel's turban, making its way to the exit. As Harry looked towards the doorway, a figure emerged through the flames, scattering the mist to the side.

"Harry!" Dumbledore shouted, rushing over. "Harry, what's happened?"

"I killed him," he whispered, far too shocked to say more. "I killed him."

"Harry, Harry, look at me." Harry numbly obeyed, staring into Dumbledore's intense blue eyes. They seemed to calm him, pulsating with a soothing light. Harry felt his eyelids droop, and before he could think to stop it, a welcome darkness engulfed his thoughts, plunging him into sleep.

*

Harry slowly opened his eyes, blinking as he took in his surroundings. Blurry white… probably the Hospital Wing. Groping around for his glasses, Harry finally located them and put them on. Yes, definitely the Hospital Wing.

"Harry?"

He turned immediately, panicking as he recognized Dumbledore's voice.

"Calm down," soothed the headmaster, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I was able to go over most of the events in the chambers, and I believe that Voldemort was using you to get to the Stone."

"Voldemort!" blurted Harry. That wasn't what he had expected to hear.

"Yes, that was the black mist I stepped through, no doubt. Voldemort had possessed Quirrel, to be as near as he could for when Quirrel retrieved the Stone."

"But… but… I killed him. I… he helped me, and, and I thought…" Tears came quickly, and Harry pulled his knees to him, rocking miserably. "I thought he was my friend," he choked out.

To Harry's surprise, Dumbledore simply reached his arms around him, and pulled Harry into a strong embrace. Harry fought against it, but the sobs were uncontrollable.

"I hate him," he growled when he regained control of his voice. "I'm glad he's dead. I hate him!"

"Let it out, Harry," Dumbledore coaxed. "No one can hear you; let it out."

"I HATE HIM!" he screamed. "I HATE HIM FOR USING ME! I HATE HIM FOR NOT CARING! WHY?! WASN'T I GOOD ENOUGH? WHY AM I NEVER GOOD ENOUGH FOR PEOPLE TO CARE?! WHY?! Why? Why…?"

Harry trailed off, panting, and Dumbledore held him close, rocking back and forth.

"I'm not sorry I killed him," Harry decided after a moment's silence. "Someone would have had to; I'm glad it was me."

He felt Dumbledore sigh around him.

"I'm not saying its right, or that it was a good thing," he defended, "but someone, maybe an Auror, maybe you… someone would have had to do it. It was just… just a job to do… and it's taken care of."

"Yes Harry," said Dumbledore. "It is taken care of. You'll forgive me, I hope, for believing that such a responsibility should have been mine, and not yours."

"I know… but I was there, so…"

"Yes."

"How…How did I kill him? I mean, I can throw a punch, but I… I… crushed his face." Harry winced at the memory. "That can't happen… can it?"

"I think it has mostly to do with the protection you carry from Voldemort." Harry turned to look at Dumbledore pleadingly.

"Your mother died to save you," he explained, "and in so doing, she gave you a powerful form of protection from Voldemort - even the people he possesses, such as he did Quirrel. Your very touch causes him pain, and it likely exacerbated the damage your fists were causing."

"Some spell of his didn't work, either," Harry supplied. "Something like Avada Kedavra."

"What?!" Dumbledore leaned back and stared at Harry, his eyes regaining their frightening intensity. "Are you certain?"

"It went right down my side," Harry confirmed, tracing the path. "What is that?"

"An Unforgivable Curse," Dumbledore said darkly. "A death spell."

"Oh… so, my protection again…?"

"Maybe." Dumbledore looked away pensively. "Maybe… I'll have to think on that. I wouldn't have expected it."

Harry shrugged, his emotions returning to normal. "Well, I'm just glad it's there."

Dumbledore managed a small smile, and his eyes were once again calm and friendly. "Yes, Harry. Be very glad."

Dumbledore talked with him for another hour, as they ate a small meal. Harry related the year's events with Quirrel, and they chatted about Harry's time in general at Hogwarts. Dumbledore's watch eventually made a gong-like sound, and he stood to leave.

"As best you can, I want you to put this behind you," he said kindly. "Nothing will come of it, and I will deal with Quirrel's obvious absence. I would like you to focus on the present and the future. You have done well, Harry; I hope, however, that we can both leave any future events to the Aurors."

They both left the Hospital Wing in relatively high spirits, Dumbledore heading for his office, and Harry heading to the library to look for Hermione.

*

"…So the whole thing was one big trap," he summarized to his friends. "The entire bloody setup was meant to slow someone down and alert Dumbledore, so he could come and deal with whoever it was. That's why Quirrel wanted all the information on the traps, and why he had to wait until Dumbledore had left the school - it was the only chance he had at getting through fast enough to get the Stone before Dumbledore showed up."

"And you almost handed it to him," Ron finished for him; Harry scowled at him.

"Yeah, don't remind me. Anyways, Dumbledore moved the Stone out of Hogwarts. Now that Voldemort's been flushed out, there's no reason to keep it here."

"I don't like it," Hermione said unhappily. "Professor Dumbledore brought You-Know-Who into the castle; he put everyone at risk!"

Harry shrugged. "I thought it was a pretty good idea, actually. Quirrel would have had to take some serious risks to figure everything out, if I hadn't been a complete idiot and handed him everything."

"It's not your fault…" Hermione started, but Harry cut her off.

"It is my fault!" he snapped. "Quirrel played the nice guy right from the beginning, and I couldn't see a bribe when it was right in front of my face! All those extra lessons…"

"Hey, at least you learned something," offered Neville, giving Harry a tentative smile. Harry scoffed, looking away.

"Yeah, fat lot of good that did. What did I do when he pulled a wand? Charged the wanker and took a curse to the side for it."

Hermione swatted his arm. "Harry, stop swearing!"

"Fuck, fuck, fucketty-fuck fuck!" he returned, and the conversation derailed as the boys descended into hysterical laughter, with even Hermione giggling.

*^*^*^*

School went on, with Dumbledore himself finishing Defence classes for the year. Despite Quirrel's betrayal, the class became even more interesting to Harry than it had been, and even though he no longer had special lessons, he maintained the top mark for the year.

The final match of the season pitted the far superior Gryffindor team against Hufflepuff for the Cup, a gruelling game that Hufflepuff won 160-150, when Harry finally slipped a goal past Wood's impregnable defence just before Cedric caught the Snitch. An amazed Oliver Wood handed the Quidditch Cup to Harry and Cedric, who both presented it to an ecstatic Nymphadora Tonks. The Gryffindors stormed the Hufflepuff common room for the celebration, which lasted well into the night.

Led by Hermione's ability to earn house points in classes, Gryffindor edged ahead of Ravenclaw for the House Cup, handing that house its first defeat in several years. Buoyed by the recent victories and his admittedly good exam results, Harry was in a good mood as the year drew to a close.

"Well, you officially beat me in Defence," Hermione said, comparing their marks while Harry read over her shoulder, absently folding a robe to pack into his trunk.

"Cool. Not bad everywhere else, too. An A in History, but E's everywhere else… Nothing on your sea of O's, but I'm happy."

"You should try a little harder in History, you know…"

"Save it," he said, snapping his trunk shut, and shrinking it with a tap. "It's a boring class. Bother me about it in four years, when the OWLs come up."

Hermione gave him a dramatic sigh, and Harry reached over and snatched up one of her bushy locks of hair, playing with it. Hermione quickly stole it back, giving him a quirky smile.

*

The trip back to King's Cross was noticeably happier than the trip to Hogwarts. Harry took to reading his novels again, happy to be doing something other than schoolwork for a change. He leant his first novel to Hermione, who read happily beside him while Neville and Ron played Exploding Snap with Fred and George.

"You'll send Hedwig with letters, won't you?" asked Hermione as they pulled into the station.

"Of course," he replied. He offered a hug, and Hermione took him up on it, squeezing as hard as she could.

"Have a good summer," she said, blushing slightly. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. Tell you what; if we can, let's meet up. Maybe we can catch a movie or something?"

"That would be great!" she said, suddenly much happier. "Oh! I see my parents! Bye, Harry!"

"Bye!"

Harry waved as she ran to her parents, hugging them with the same ferocity that she had hugged him.

Saying goodbye to Ron and Neville, Harry hoisted his backpack and made his way carefully out of the station, looking for the nearest bus stop. There was one stop he needed to make before returning to the Dursleys.

*

"Hello, Mr. Potter. I'm surprised to see you back so soon. Is there anything wrong with your wand?"

"No, no," Harry answered quickly. "It's great… Mr. Ollivander, I'm looking for a place to work for the summer…"

"And you'd want to work here?" Ollivander's eyebrows rose. "My shop does reasonable business, but it's not very exciting. Surely this wouldn't be your first choice."

"I think it'd be fun. I also… I know that it's a little early, but I was hoping you'd show me how to make my own wand."

Ollivander gave him a sad smile. "You would miss out on those lessons, wouldn't you? Such a pity, to lose your parents. If you're certain of the job, I'll not turn away a helping hand. Shall we say… 5 galleons a day?"

Harry quickly did the math, and nodded. "It's more than I'd earn with the muggles." Easier work, too, but Harry thought it best not to mention that.

"Excellent! As for the wand, I'll warn you again, you've got a strong bond already, so you won't see any great difference…"

"I know. I'd just like to say I've done it, and maybe run some designs around the outside. If I have to look at the thing the rest of my life, it should at least be interesting."

"Agreed!" laughed Ollivander. "The wand should reflect the wizard."

They talked a while, and Harry agreed to come in at the start of the new week. Satisfied that he had secured summer spending money, along with an easy way to practice his magic during the break, Harry walked back to the Cauldron, waiting for the bus to take him home.

*^*^*^*

Ollivander's concept of 'reasonable business' was selling three or four wands a day, along with some accessories on the side. Within a week, Harry was able to manage the front of the store by himself, and since most witches and wizards knew their wand specifications when looking for replacements, Ollivander only made an appearance if a child was getting their first wand. Even then, he often took the time to show Harry how to gauge the bonding, and the customers were very patient, being more than thrilled to be served by Harry Potter.

More helpful to Harry was the fact that he was in Diagon Alley every day. Using Flourish and Blots as a library, Harry quickly finished research for his summer homework on his lunch breaks, and wrote the papers when he arrived at the Dursleys in the evening.

The Dursleys seemed not to care that Harry arrived home close to 8pm every night. Dudley did, but that was only to whine that Harry had a later curfew than he did.

"And why, exactly, are you home so late every night?" asked his Aunt Petunia, eager to placate Dudley.

"I have a summer job," mumbled Harry as he ate his cold dinner.

"What's this?" Vernon looked up from his newspaper. "You've got a job?" Harry nodded. "And it's a job with … them, right?" Harry frowned at the implied insult, but again nodded.

Vernon's face contorted. "Are you telling me that these freaks are willing to employ children? What kind of wages are they paying you?"

"It's not bad," Harry protested. "I'm just helping at a shop. It pays about, err… hold on… six-ish hours … so about eighty … a little over 4 pounds an hour."

"Hmm." Vernon sat back, his face relaxing. "Better than your normal fare, then."

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "A lot better."

Vernon grunted, and turned back to his paper, signalling the end of the conversation. Shaking his head, Harry left the kitchen, heading upstairs to collapse on his bed. It had been a long year, but things hadn't much changed here. He still wasn't a Dursley.

But he felt much more like a Potter.

*^*^*^*

Please review! Remember, what I said in my A/N above: I'm counting on you all to tell me what you want!

~TOW