Intersections

Chapter 1: Introductions

"Boy! Boy! Wake up, boy!" Vernon Dursley barked outside of his nephew's door. "You won't be making me late for my meeting this morning!"

Fifteen-year-old Harry Potter groaned and rolled over in his bed, feet hitting the cold wooden floor as his uncle barged into the room. Vernon's eyes narrowed as he saw Harry's disheveled state. "Hurry up and get ready for school, boy. I don't want any funny business today, you hear me?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry muttered, groping around for his glasses on the nightstand as his uncle stomped down the stairs. He wondered just what kind of "funny business" Uncle Vernon was referring to; he repeated the same warning every morning, but Harry had never been able to figure out what he was talking about. He vaguely remembered a couple of strange events in primary school where he'd been punished for "funny business," but it was so long ago that Harry couldn't remember what he'd done. Sighing, Harry decided not to waste any more time thinking about it and rushed to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He pulled on his ratty, dirty grey school uniform, which his aunt had "graciously" made by dyeing his cousin Dudley's old clothes grey. Harry hated wearing the disgusting rags, but it was better than going starkers, and he did get a new dyed uniform every year to account for his height growth. However, the uniform was still several times too wide for his skinny frame.

Running a hand through his uncontrollable black hair, he looked into the mirror and briefly traced the scar that split the middle of his forehead, shivering as he remembered his nightmare from the previous night. It had been the recurring one, with the high-pitched laughter and the bright green flash of light, a bright green that had turned into a darker green, the same color as his eyes, the same color of the ink on those letters all those years ago. Harry felt his chest tighten at the thought of the letters that had blitzed the house just before he had turned eleven. They had come in not only through the post box, but through the window, under the doors, and even in between the milk bottles delivered to the front steps. They were also the only letters he'd ever seen addressed specifically to Harry Potter. If only he'd been smart enough to hide them in his old cupboard when no one was looking - before his aunt and uncle had snatched them away -

"Boy!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, rudely interrupting Harry's musings. "Vernon's almost ready to leave! Eat your breakfast now or you don't get any at all!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said under his breath, rolling his eyes. He grabbed a worn backpack from his room and trudged down the stairs half-heartedly, pausing only to glance at the cupboard he had slept in till he was eleven. It had been a stifling space, but also a comforting one - the only place he knew he could be alone. Pity that his bedroom (or as his relatives often reminded him, Dudley's second bedroom) couldn't be the same place of peace.

After gulping down a glass of milk and two meager pieces of toast, Harry pulled on his coat and followed Uncle Vernon to the car. As they passed the identical boxy houses of Little Whinging, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly.

"Boy."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry responded dully, already thinking of how miserable he would be at school today.

"Dudley is coming home for the holidays in two weeks. I don't want you to cause him any trouble, understand? No funny business."

There it was again, funny business. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Boy? Did you hear me, you dimwitted fool?" Uncle Vernon was glaring at him from the driver's seat. "I want the holidays to be perfect for Dudley."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry answered for the third time, feeling like a parrot. He groaned softly, thinking of his whale of a cousin. Dudley had tormented him when he was younger, playing games such as Harry Hunting with his rat-faced friend Piers and their cronies Malcolm and Gordon. Harry had often been locked in the cupboard without meals because of things Dudley and his friends had blamed him for, like when Dudley had broken his aunt's favorite vase and other important pieces of china. Harry recalled that the vase had held white lilies, which seemed to float around him in a circle before hitting the floor. When Aunt Petunia had discovered Harry standing amidst the fallen flowers, she had screamed shrilly and shoved Harry into the cupboard as Dudley laughed and pointed.

The car pulled to a stop in front of Stonewall High. True to its name, the ugly rectangular buildings were made entirely out of grey, lifeless stone. Harry looked at them with dread.

"Get out of the car, boy!" Uncle Vernon barked, and Harry started, obeying him automatically. He watched as the car sped off, Uncle Vernon muttering darkly about "dallying twits" and "ungrateful brats," and rolled his eyes as he slowly walked up the front steps of the school, bracing himself for another torturous day.

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Harry sat in the back row of his form room, watching his classmates file in discussing their holiday plans. He heard excited chatter of visiting relatives, family vacations to the coast, and Christmas dinners, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach as he thought of Dudley living in the house again. Even as a teenager, Dudley still bullied Harry whenever he could. Although Harry didn't enjoy attending Stonewall High, he was grateful that he did not have to share a school or a house with his cousin for most of the year. He didn't think he'd be able to bear being around Dudley for such a long time.

As the teacher began taking attendance, Harry began to daydream of a life without Dursleys. He had been doing well in his lessons this year, trying to get good marks on the GCSEs so that he could take A-levels and ultimately attend university. A university degree would let him get a decent-paying job, which would give him enough money to afford his own flat. He knew that the Dursleys would kick him out of the house as soon as he turned eighteen, if not sooner, so he planned to use the time he had preparing for the exams as much as he could. Oftentimes his aunt would interrupt his studies and demand that he do housework, but Harry stayed up late at night studying to compensate for the lost time.

"Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter. MR. POTTER!"

Harry blinked and jerked a little, face reddening as his classmates stared and snickered at him.

"Mr. Potter, this is the fifth time I have called your name. Please pay attention to the attendance so that I do not waste everyone's precious time." The form teacher, Mrs. Garbet, looked down at him severely. She had gray hair pulled into a strict bun and a slightly wrinkled face.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry mumbled, staring down at his desk as the snickering grew louder.

"Look at me when I am speaking to you, Mr. Potter. And quiet," Mrs. Garbet snapped. The classroom immediately became silent. She finished taking roll and clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "We have a new student joining our class today. Her name is Hermione Granger. Everyone, please welcome Ms. Granger to Stonewall." Mrs. Garbet clapped her hands, and a toothy brunette girl with bushy hair stepped out from the corner nervously. Some of Harry's classmates applauded without much enthusiasm, exchanging confused glances. It was unusual for a student to transfer in the middle of the term, especially so close to the end of the marking period.

"Ms. Granger, please take a seat next to Mr. Potter in the back row."

Harry looked up, startled that Mrs. Garbet would willingly place anyone next to him, but then realized that the seat next to him was the only seat available. His classmates snickered and gave Hermione pitying looks as she walked through the aisles toward him.

"Hello," she said softly as she put her books onto the desk, pushing her bushy hair back over her shoulder. "I'm Hermione." She smiled at him, adjusting her trim, neat, and new uniform as she sat down.

"Er, hi," Harry responded. It had been a long time since anyone had said spoken to him besides his teachers. "I'm Harry." He looked away, embarrassed about the state of his clothing. Mrs. Garbet was saying something about an assembly tomorrow, and Hermione straightened up, listening attentively. The bell rang for the next lesson, and Harry stood up quickly to hurry to maths.

"Wait - Harry." Harry felt a light tap on his shoulder, and he whipped around.

"Sorry," said Hermione, looking just as startled as Harry felt, "I was wondering if you could show me where my next lesson would be. Everybody else left before I could ask them, you see." She gestured; the classroom was indeed empty.

"Where is it?" Harry asked reluctantly. His maths class was in another building, and the good seats in the back row would be taken soon. Although he rather liked maths and the maths teacher, he preferred not to draw attention to himself during lessons.

"It's in another building - it's the maths set 1 lesson," she explained quickly. "I'm not sure wh-"

"That's great!" Harry said, cutting her off. "I have the same lesson. We'd better hurry, otherwise we'll be late. We only have ten minutes to spare." He rushed out the door, Hermione running behind him. Harry's baggy clothes flapped around him as if he was a bird. For a brief moment, he felt like he was flying.

They made it to the classroom with five minutes to spare. Harry slunk down into his favorite seat in the back row, and Hermione sat down next to him.

"Thanks, Harry!" she exclaimed rather loudly, causing several of their classmates to turn around and gape openly.

Harry started and looked at her. Her cheeks were red from running, and she was smiling happily. "You're welcome." He smiled hesitantly. "The school is a little bit confusing. I got lost here on the first day." Harry couldn't believe it. Was he really about to make a new friend? He'd never had friends in primary school because of Dudley, and by the time he'd started attending Stonewall High, Dudley had already done too much damage. Plus, his old, oversized clothes and disheveled appearance drove off people right away.

"You would get lost, Potter, you runty twit," someone said nastily at the front of the classroom. Harry looked up and saw Dudley's old mate Piers Polkiss sneering at him through a curly brown fringe. His eyes were small and his nose was narrowed; he looked very much like a rat.

"Sod off, Polkiss," Harry retorted, flushing. Some of his classmates tittered.

"Is little Harry scared he's going to lose his new girlfriend?" Polkiss taunted. He stood up, tall and weedy, and began walking down the aisle toward Harry's seat. He looked Hermione up and down, then whistled appreciatively. "I wouldn't mind getting into her knickers."

Hermione flushed. "Get away from me, you pig," she hissed, glowering fiercely.

"Feisty tart, isn't she?" Polkiss leered at Hermione. "I do like girls with a little...fight. Perhaps you and I could take this to the lavatory, love?" He reached one lanky arm out to stroke Hermione's hair.

Harry stood up so quickly that he didn't even realize what had happened, grabbing Polkiss' outstretched arm and placing himself in front of Hermione. "I said, get away from her, Polkiss," he snarled, reaching out and pushing Polkiss backward onto the floor. Several people gasped around them.

Snarling, Polkiss stood up and lunged toward Harry, grabbing him by his loose collar. Harry's shirt ripped and almost slid off as Polkiss lifted him in the air. In the background, Hermione cried out, "Stop!"

"Put me down, Polkiss," Harry gasped dizzily, reaching behind himself and grabbing onto a desk.

"What's the matter, Potter?" Polkiss laughed. "Feeling a little out-of-breath?" He shook Harry a little; Harry heard his shirt tear even more. "A little dizzy? I hope you haven't forgotten how much fun we used to have playing Harry Hunting. I'll remind you in case you don't remember." Polkiss pulled his arm back as if he were about to punch Harry.

"Mr. Polkiss!" a deep voice thundered at the front of the classroom. "Please take your seat immediately!"

Harry had never been so grateful to his maths teacher, Mr. Rowle, a large, bald black man who stood glaring at them from the front of the classroom. Polkiss scowled and dropped Harry roughly into his seat, knocking Harry's maths book onto the floor in the process. Hermione, looking frightened, quickly picked it up and handed it to Harry.

"Mr. Polkiss, we do not manhandle our classmates. Is that understood?" roared Mr. Rowle with a very sharp tone.

"Yes, sir," Polkiss answered sullenly.

"Good," Mr. Rowle said. "Now, everyone, please turn your book to page 284." He waited until the rustling of pages had died down. "I trust you have all completed last night's homework. Ms. Balim, please put the answer to number one on the board. Mr. Cramer, number two. Mr. Faye, number three..."

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After maths lessons, Harry ran to the toilet and pulled out the roll of tape he kept in his backpack. He used to use it for his glasses, which constantly broke in half until his aunt had decided to buy him a new pair upon the school's suggestion. He quickly pulled off some strips of tape and began placing it on the inside of his shirt, fruitlessly trying to tape the ripped portions together. Perhaps if he wore his coat all day, nobody would notice the tear - but students weren't allowed to wear coats during lessons. Looking despondently at himself in the mirror, Harry decided he'd just have to ask Aunt Petunia to buy him a new set of clothing for once. A ripped shirt was unacceptable even by her neglectful standards.

Opening the door, he jumped slightly at the sight of Hermione, who was standing outside of the toilet clutching her maths book tightly to her chest.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, more rudely than he intended.

"I just wanted to say thank you," said Hermione, with a note of apprehension in her voice, "for - defending me." She smiled at him, uncertainly.

"You're welcome," Harry answered, running a hand through his hair nervously. No one had ever thanked him before. It felt...bizarre.

"What's your next subject?" Hermione asked. "Mine is English literature. I think it's just behind the corridor."

"Yeah, it should be," Harry said, feeling slightly put out. "I don't have English literature right now - I have biology. It's actually in the main building, so I've got to run."

"Oh, all right," Hermione said, looking a little disappointed. "Well - bye then, Harry. Maybe I'll see you during the break. Or - how about lunch? In the form room?"

"Yeah," Harry said, his mouth suddenly dry. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

Hermione smiled and turned around. Harry watched her disappear around the corner, a strange, new warm feeling in his chest.

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Hermione sat down in her English literature lesson, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn't see Polkiss in the same room. A group of girls near the back seemed to be staring at her, whispering to each other occasionally and sniggering quietly. Hermione She sighed. Had she already made enemies on her first day? She'd noticed that Harry was an outcast among his classmates, but she couldn't understand why. Although he dressed rather shabbily, he seemed like a nice, smart, and helpful person who was willing to be her friend. Taking out a notebook and a few pens, she tapped a pen back and forth to distract herself, noticing that there were still six minutes before lessons began.

"Hi," said a voice next to her. Hermione turned her head and saw a blonde girl with pale blue eyes smiling at her. "You're Harry Potter's friend, aren't you?" the girl asked boldly.

"Yes," Hermione said, holding out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."

The girl shook it firmly. "My name's Katharine Balim," she said. "I saw you in maths class and thought I'd introduce myself. You're new here?"

Hermione nodded. "I just came here from London."

Katharine's eyes widened. "London! That's a long ways away. What brings you to Stonewall?"

Hermione was about to answer, but another voice interrupted her.

"Good morning, class."

"Good morning, Mrs. Boyd," the class answered in unison, except for Hermione.

"Ah! What's this? A new student?" Mrs. Boyd exclaimed in a strong Scottish accent, coming down the aisle toward Hermione.

"Yes, ma'am," said Hermione, standing and feeling rather foolish. "Hermione Granger."

"Welcome to our lessons, Hermione," Mrs. Boyd smiled kindly. "And do sit down. If I may ask - is that the same name 'Hermione' from Shakespeare's A Winter's Tale?"

"Yes, ma'am." Hermione flushed, lowering herself into her seat.

"How lovely!" Mrs. Boyd exclaimed, peering at Hermione over her large black spectacles. "That is quite a coincidence, because today," she announced to the rest of the class, "we will be studying Shakespeare."

Several people groaned in response.

Mrs. Boyd continued, "Shakespeare's sonnets encompass several emotions, but a large part of them explore the emotions associated with love. We are going to begin with a rather bittersweet sonnet, number 88. Everybody, please turn your books to page 182. Hermione, please read the sonnet out loud to the class."

Hermione hadn't expected to be called upon so soon, but she read the sonnet dutifully. After she had finished, Mrs. Boyd looked around expectantly. "Now, who believes they know what the sonnet was about?"

A few people raised their hands.

"Yes, Sara?" Mrs. Boyd asked an Oriental girl with a stream of long black hair.

"It's about being abandoned by the one you love," Sara answered, tossing her head as she spoke.

"Yes, but what else is it about?"

Hermione raised her hand, and Mrs. Boyd nodded toward her. "It's about having your lover abandon you, and you being all right with it," Hermione said.

"And why would you be all right with it?" asked Mrs. Boyd. "Yes, Katharine."

"Because..." Katharine said slowly, her eyes scanning the text. "Your lover will get glory from abandoning you, as the poem states. Any glory - that is, any benefit to the lover is also a benefit to yourself."

"That's correct," Mrs. Boyd said, and Katharine beamed. "Shakespeare is describing love as an intricate intertwining of two lives. The conflicting premise is that even while you are hurting yourself, you are also making yourself happy because you are making the other person happy."

"Then love is both selfish and selfless," a boy toward the back said, smirking as he added, "it's both pain and pleasure."

"That is correct, Thomas," Mrs. Boyd responded, ignoring the giggling that spread across the room. "It seems that in love, good for yourself and good for your lover are two things cannot be separated. Let's see how Shakespeare shows us that, shall we?"

They spent the rest of the lesson analyzing the text, and Mrs. Boyd assigned them two sonnets to read and analyze by the end of the week. Hermione sighed. English was not her best subject, and she would have to work hard in it to score high marks on the GCSE.

After English ended, Katharine asked if Hermione would like to meet some of her friends during the break. Hermione hesitated. She had rather hoped to see Harry again, but she didn't want to miss an opportunity to make more friends. It'd taken her over a year to establish lasting friendships at her old school in London, but when she finally did, she couldn't have been happier. Her closest friends were Matthew and Cecilia, whom she had befriended over particularly difficult experiment chemistry experiment, while she had met Daniel and Richard at the library after they'd begged to borrow the history book she'd been reading for a project. Tall, proud Daniel loved astronomy more than anything in the world, while musically talented Cecilia always insisted that they sing the songs she composed; Richard was a genius with computers who loved to laugh; and Matthew, whose understanding of the sciences had helped many a classmate the week before exams, was a secret fan of cinema. She missed them all dearly and wished that she were with them now. This new world of Stonewall High was unfamiliar and threatening, totally unlike her previous independent school, where blazers and ties were required every day, bullying was strictly regulated, and horrible, rodent-like boys did not make advances upon her.

"Hermione, are you coming?" Katharine tapped her foot impatiently, her pigtails bouncing with the rhythm.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Hermione nodded and followed Katharine out into the hall. Perhaps she'd see Harry on the way there.

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Harry wandered through the halls during the morning break, hoping to see Hermione on his way to the form room. He had almost reached the room when he tripped over something and fell face-forward toward the ground. Shielding his glasses with one arm, he hit the floor and sat back up as quickly as he could, his books scattering everywhere. Guttural guffaws sounded above him as he looked up into the faces of Piers Polkiss and another boy he didn't know.

"Clumsy as an elephant in ballet shoes, Potter," Polkiss sneered. "Pity your girlfriend wasn't here to see it."

"Shove off, Polkiss," Harry retorted, gathering his books around him and trying to maintain some form of dignity. The tape was coming undone on the inside of his shirt. "And stay away from her, you rat-faced bastard." He stood up, bag and books in hand, and pushed past Polkiss into the form room, ashamed at the sense of relief that washed over him when he saw Mrs. Garbet in the room. At least Polkiss couldn't bother him now.

Harry let out a breath, opening up his Biology book and attempting to read the newest lesson as he unconsciously fiddled with the inside of his shirt. Polkiss hadn't tormented Harry since he'd entered Stonewall in second year, when he'd had been expelled from Smeltings due to a mysterious fight with Dudley. Harry wasn't sure how their friendship had fallen apart, but he was thankful, because Polkiss had left him alone at Stonewall...until now. Harry suspected that the renewed bullying was due to his defense of Hermione in maths. Frowning, he considered whether friendship with the new girl was worth giving up his invisible existence at Stonewall and enduring the same torments he'd undergone during childhood. He had lived without friends for over fourteen years, after all, and he rather liked being invisible because he could always do what he wanted without getting distracted or noticed or bullied.

"Daydreaming again, Mr. Potter?" Mrs. Garbet's sharp voice cut through his thoughts. When Harry looked up, he was surprised to see that she looked almost concerned.

"No, ma'am, just thinking," Harry answered, casting his eyes downward toward his book. He'd barely read a page, and the break was almost over. He wondered where Hermione had gone. Perhaps she had found someone better to spend her time with. Perhaps someone had told her not to be friends with him, had warned her of his reputation as a "strange freak." Scowling, Harry slammed his book shut loudly, waking up the unfortunate souls who had decided to nap in the form room, and headed to his next class.

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Hermione was having a hard time keeping up with all of the new people Katharine was introducing to her. They were in the empty dining hall, standing in front of a large group of strangers.

"This is Sara Cheung," said Katharine. Hermione recognized the Chinese girl from English class. "This is Lina Draper" - a girl with dirty blonde curls smiled and waved - "Arianne Ross" - a short-haired brunette looked up from a book and glanced at Hermione - "and her boyfriend, Will Hankley." A stocky blonde boy nodded at Hermione as Katharine took a breath. "Everyone, this is Hermione Granger. She's new from London," Katharine pulled up a chair, gesturing for Hermione to sit down.

"How do you do?" Will asked in a friendly tone.

"All right," said Hermione. "Stonewall's quite different from my old school. I went to an independent called the Witsford School."

A collective "ooooh" went around the table.

"Aren't you a right snob," Arianne teased, placing her book down onto the table. "I'm joking," she said quickly as Will turned to her with a reprimanding look.

Hermione smiled a little, cheered for the first time today. "Well, Stonewall's not so bad," she said with a shrug. "It's a little unusual, is all."

"Have I told you what happened in maths today?" Katharine exclaimed. The rest of the table except for Hermione shook their heads. Katharine grinned and looked at Hermione, then began describing the fight between Polkiss and Harry in great dramatic detail. Hermione flushed redder and redder as she went on.

After Katharine finished, Lina looked at Hermione with wide brown eyes. "Harry Potter defended you?" she asked incredulously, and she shook her head in disbelief, her curls bouncing from side to side. "I'd never have thought..."

"Me neither," said Sara thoughtfully, exchanging a pensive look with Will as Arianne frowned in puzzlement.

"Thought what?" Hermione asked, wondering what exactly she was missing.

"Potter never pays attention to anybody," Sara explained. "You have to call his name loads of times before he'll answer."

"Are you saying he's slow?" Hermione asked, confused.

"He's not slow. He's always daydreaming," Arianne elaborated. "And," she added, "I think he's a bit of a nutter."

"Arianne," Will scolded, and Arianne shrugged defensively. Will turned to Hermione. "He's not a nutter, but he is rather strange. He doesn't have any friends, and he doesn't seem to want any. He hates having anything to do with people."

Hermione was surprised. Harry had been friendly enough towards her, but then again, he was always claiming that he needed to run off the few times they had talked.

"I'm surprised that he responded to Polkiss at all," continued Will, frowning. "People don't often bother Potter, but when they do, he ignores them."

"Well..." said Sara, considering something for a moment. "I heard that in primary school, Polkiss was best friends with Potter's cousin, Dud or Dur-something, and they bullied him like mad."

"Polkiss always said that Potter was a no-good freak," Lina chimed in, nodding enthusiastically and making her curls bounce up and down wildly. "He was in one of my lessons first year."

"Maybe Potter was reacting to some repressed childhood trauma that Polkiss triggered!" Katharine said excitedly.

"Or maybe," Sara continued dryly, "Potter's pent-up rage about his childhood bullying made him explode at Polkiss today."

Katharine frowned for an instant and looked at Hermione sharply. "Perhaps Potter fancies you!"

Everyone's heads swiveled abruptly toward Hermione, who turned red and shook her head vigorously. "I don't think so," she said. "I just met him." Hermione had never considered the possibility, and thinking of it only made her feel embarrassed. She didn't often receive attention from boys, and when she did, she didn't enjoy it.

"Being fancied by Potter. Blech," said Arianne quietly, earning herself another glare from Will.

"It was quite dashing of him to defend your honor," said Lina dreamily. "I wish someone would do that for me." Sara, Will, and Katharine exchanged exasperated looks as Arianne rolled her eyes.

"We had better be heading back," Sara said, standing up, "Break is almost over." She shook Lina gently, who still had a dreamy look upon her face, and asked, ""Will we see you in the dining hall for lunch, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head. "I told Harry I'd eat with him in the form room," she answered.

"Oh," Lina said, drawing out the word with her breath in a knowing manner.

Sara laughed. "Tomorrow, then."

Nodding, Hermione followed the chattering group back to the main building, chewing her lip thoughtfully as she walked. Did Harry really not want any friends? Would he not show up to eat lunch with her? Had his niceness and helpfulness only been an act? After all, Katharine and her friends had been at Stonewall far longer than Hermione. They would have to know better than she did.

She scowled at the questions running through her mind. The only way to answer them was to wait for Harry in the form room during lunch. If he didn't show up, she could always join her new friends in the dining hall.

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The next two hours passed quickly for Hermione. She had physics and history lessons, both of which she enjoyed greatly. Lina was in the same physics lesson, but didn't sit next to Hermione, preferring to sit in the back and giggle softly at a lanky boy with lots of freckles on his face. Hermione was rather thankful that she knew nobody in her history lesson, allowing her to concentrate completely. With some apprehension, she headed in the direction of the form room, and found Harry already there, sitting in the back row and reading a textbook intently. On closer inspection, Hermione found that his eyes were not moving. He was simply staring at the page, seemingly lost in thought.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione said, looking around. Nobody else was in the room. It seemed that the dining hall was the more popular place to have meals.

Harry jerked a little as if he had been woken up. He raised his head, looking surprised. "You came," he said, sounding awed.

"Of course," said Hermione, taking the seat next to him. "I said as much." She pulled out her lunch, made lovingly by her mother: a lettuce, bacon, and tomato sandwich with a dash of mayonnaise, a banana, a bag of crisps, and some shortbread. Harry eyed her lunch with an oddly envious look before taking out a ham and cheese sandwich and a small plum.

"I already ate part of my lunch," Harry said quickly as she cast a dubious glance at his measly meal.

Hermione frowned and nodded, unwilling to pry for now. It was entirely likely that he had, since teenage boys had monstrous appetites. Harry had already wolfed down half of his sandwich by the time she had finished her first bite. They sat in an awkward silence for a while, with chewing and swallowing the only sounds filling the room, as Harry stared at the desk, Hermione watching him until she felt embarrassed enough to look away.

Finally, Hermione waited until Harry had finished his sandwich, and asked, "Have you lived in Surrey your whole life?"

He nodded, raising his eyes to meet hers. Through his round black spectacles, she could see they were a dark, shuttered green. "And you?" he asked, hesitantly. "Did you always in London before you came here?"

Hermione nodded, eager to make conversation. "Sometimes my parents and I take trips to France, though."

"Oh," said Harry. "Is it nice there?"

"It's lovely. Have you ever been?"

Harry shook his head. "I've never been anywhere else except for London," he said, "and that was only once." He smiled as if remembering something fondly.

"What was the reason?" Hermione asked.

"It was my cousin's birthday," Harry explained. "He was aggravating a sleeping boa constrictor, and a few minutes later, it escaped somehow. The glass on its cage disappeared - as if by magic." A shiver ran through his body suddenly.

Hermione looked at him, shocked. "Harry, that's really dangerous!" she exclaimed. "A boa constrictor on the loose! What if ate a small child by accident?"

Harry shrugged, looking a little disappointed. "I thought it was funny," he muttered. "Seeing how scared my cousin was, at the least."

"Weren't you scared?" Hermione knitted her brow.

"No," said Harry. "This one wasn't big enough to eat babies, much less a ten-year-old like me." He smiled again, but it was peculiar. "Before it got loose, I saw it wake up. I almost felt as if it understood me."

"What do you mean, 'understood'?" asked Hermione, starting to think that Harry was a little bit off his rocker.

Harry must have sensed this, because he shook his head, his smile disappearing. "Forget it," he said quietly, his face red with embarrassment. He bit into his plum, looking down at his desk. Hermione sighed and continued eating her sandwich. She must have been too pushy, which she had a tendency to be when she was shocked or angry. Her mother was always telling her to calm down.

"Do you want some crisps?" she asked Harry, pushing them toward him.

A surprised, grateful look came over his face. "You don't want them?" he asked, grabbing the bag and looking back up at her.

Hermione shook her head. "I have enough food already." It was true; as soon as she finished her banana, she'd be full.

"Thanks," he said, grinning appreciatively.

"You're welcome," Hermione said. "You can have my shortbread too."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her generosity. "Aren't you going to be hungry later?"

"No, but you will be," Hermione replied lightly. Harry grinned again, and Hermione smiled. Harry wasn't as strange as everyone claimed - he was just a little shy and awkward. She had a feeling that they were going to become very good friends.

"Harry," she said, as they left the form room, "how would you like to join me and Katharine for lunch tomorrow in the dining hall?"

Harry looked surprised, but he nodded slowly. "I'll do that," he said, sounding pleased as she turned to walk toward the opposite direction. "And - Hermione?"

Hermione turned back around. "Yes?" she asked inquisitively.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

With the glowing knowledge that she had done something good, Hermione walked away with a spring in her step, not noticing the tall, curly-haired boy watching her intently from behind the corner of the hallway.

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"Boy! Come downstairs and wash the dishes!" Aunt Petunia shouted up the stairs.

Harry grumbled, annoyed at the interruption of his geography study, and ambled down the stairs, reviewing the text in his head as he let warm water run over his fingers. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia in the living room were watching the news on the telly, and Harry let his mind wander, smiling a little as he thought of his new friend.

"The Prime Minister says that no one has yet been arrested for the deadly explosion on London's King's Street two weeks ago. The explosion destroyed several shops and businesses in the area, but fortunately, only three people were injured and none were killed. Investigators are still trying to determine how this particular symbol could have been imprinted onto the sky after the explosion."

Hands still soapy, Harry crept silently to the entrance of the living room, looking curiously at the photograph displayed on the telly screen. A green image was outlined clearly against the hazy sky: a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. Harry felt a chill go through him; the bright green was the same color as the flash of light in his recurring nightmare.

"Although the image only remained for a few minutes after the explosion, there have been numerous sightings of it across London on in the sky, in shops, and on the underground. Investigators believe that the symbol is associated with a secret gang that has yet to be discovered."

"Those hooligans ought to be found and executed," Uncle Vernon barked at the television screen. "Godspeed to the police!"

The newscaster moved on to another story. Harry sneaked back to the kitchen sink and finished washing the dishes. He was just about to go back up to his room when he noticed Aunt Petunia staring at him from the entrance of the living room, looking extremely pale.

"Aunt Petunia?" asked Harry cautiously. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, moving closer to him. Harry hovered at the sink uncertainly.

"Harry," she said, grabbing his wrist. Harry jumped, alarmed. She never called him by his first name or touched him unless she could help it. "I need to show you something," she hissed urgently.

"All - all right," said Harry, wondering at the sudden change that had come over her. Aunt Petunia squeezed his wrist tighter. "Ouch! That hurts, Aunt Petunia," he exclaimed softly, trying not to disturb his uncle, who was barking at the television again. She let go of his wrist and led him to the cupboard under the stairs where he had stayed for the first eleven years of his life. Harry stopped some distance behind her, rubbing his wrist, and watched her open the door. He wondered if this was a trap to lock him in the cupboard.

Instead, Aunt Petunia crawled into the small space and began rummaging through it, coughing slightly at the dust she was shaking up.

. "What are you looking for?" he asked, starting to think that she had gone mad

"Your letters," she answered absently, her voice muffled by the cupboard.

Harry's eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. Unsure if he had heard her correctly, he repeated, "My letters?"

Aunt Petunia took her head out of the cupboard briefly, looking extremely irritated. Her normally neat, pristine blonde hair and her clothes were covered in dust. "Yes, boy, your letters, the ones you received before you turned eleven. Now stop asking questions."

Harry snapped his mouth shut, waiting anxiously. He couldn't believe that he was finally getting a chance to see the letters - his letters - that should he'd regretted not opening for four years. Whoever had sent them had been very desperate to contact him, and Harry was sorely disappointed when the letters had stopped coming to the house.

Coughing raspily, Aunt Petunia emerged with a stack of yellowed envelopes in her hand. Harry recognized the green ink on them immediately, and resisted the urge to grab them out of her hand. Brushing herself off, she closed the cupboard the door, then handed the letters to Harry. One of them was open, but the rest were not.

"You have to find the headmaster," Aunt Petunia said.

Harry stared at her. "The headmaster?" he said stupidly. "Of Stonewall?"

"No, you idiot," she hissed. "Of the school that sent these letters. Go on, take them upstairs and read them." She looked around nervously as if she didn't want her husband to find out what she was doing.

"All right, Aunt Petunia," said Harry slowly, as if he was talking to a dangerous animal, and then he raced up the stairs into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Trembling in excitement, Harry took the letter out of the open envelope and unfolded it. The paper felt old and thick, like ancient parchment. The letter looked like it had been written using calligraphy. Harry read the thin, loopy handwriting carefully.

Dear Mr. Potter:

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...

As Harry continued reading, he felt a sick, consuming rage rise up inside of him. Was this some kind of elaborate practical joke designed by his aunt to make him feel disappointed and angry and embarrassed? Perhaps Dudley had written all of these letters and planted them around the house as a cruel trick. But Harry knew from experience that Dudley couldn't write calligraphy, and that his cousin's penmanship was not nearly as good as those in the letters. Perhaps he'd custom-ordered the letters from some sort of shop.

His face burning with frustration, Harry threw the letter on the floor and opened all of the other envelopes. They all contained the same things: a congratulatory acceptance letter and a list of supplies, half of which Harry were certain didn't exist. Soon the floor of Harry's room was covered with crumpled paper balls of varying shapes and sizes. Harry fumed and kicked them around, picking some up and throwing them at the walls as he tried to relieve his blinding, angry disappointment. How could he have been so stupid? How could he think that anything good would come from something he wanted so badly? Every time his hopes were raised, they were dashed by cold, hard reality.

He mind flashed to Hermione, the new student he had befriended at Stonewall today. Was she also another false hope? Was he going to give up his invisible, bully-free status only to be betrayed by the tempting promise of friendship? Harry groaned, running his hands through his hair and wanting to scream, but he knew that if he did, his uncle would come in and yell at him for hours. He settled for taking one of the letters and ripping it in half, then again, and again, and again. He tore apart one of the envelopes too, trying to ignore the overwhelming disillusionment he felt as he did so. "Stupid!" he snapped at himself, blinking back sudden tears. "Stupid! Idiot!"

"What are you doing?!" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice cut through his rampage. Harry stopped ripping and looked at her, breathing shakily. His aunt was standing at the doorway of the bedroom, clutching her chest and looking extremely agitated.

"These letters aren't real," he informed her bluntly. "This school doesn't exist. I don't know why you thought it'd be funny to give these to me" -he ripped the piece of envelope he was holding in half again--"but I don't think this is a good joke -"

"Stop! Stop!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, snatching the ruined envelope out of Harry's hand. "You idiot boy!" She picked up one of the undamaged letters and envelopes from the floor and clutched them tightly. "You idiot boy," she snapped more calmly, taking the items into her and Uncle Vernon's bedroom. Harry heard some drawers open and close and knew that she was hiding them. Returning to Harry's room, she ordered stiffly, "Clean up your room," and walked back down the stairs.

Harry watched her, feeling sick and confused and a little bit guilty, and he picked up the crumpled letters and envelopes from the floor. He couldn't bring himself to throw them away, so instead he settled on putting them neatly in a pile under his bed. Perhaps one day he'd be able to dispose of them like the rubbish they were.

Sighing, Harry scanned his geography text before deciding that he could no longer concentrate on his studies tonight. He hopped into bed and turned off the light, but lay awake for most of the night, thinking restlessly about magic and wizards and Aunt Petunia.

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