- Rating:
- PG-13
- House:
- Schnoogle
- Characters:
- Harry Potter
- Genres:
- Action
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Stats:
-
Published: 05/02/2004Updated: 05/02/2004Words: 3,079Chapters: 1Hits: 2,142
Beyond the Reflection
Mila
- Story Summary:
- AU - Harry never got the chance to be the "mini James Potter." After being put up for adoption by the Dursleys, Harry finds himself living a different life indeed. And now that he has a deeper understanding of his magical background, his Hogwarts experiences are going to be very different....
Chapter 01
- Chapter Summary:
- AU - Harry never got the chance to be the "mini James Potter." After being put up for adoption by the Dursleys, Harry finds himself living a different life indeed. And now that he has a deeper understanding of his magical background, his Hogwarts experiences are going to be
- Posted:
- 05/02/2004
- Hits:
- 2,142
Dursley Residence
#4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surrey, England
January 5, 1982
"Good doing business with you, Mister Dursley," said the tall man in the dark overcoat that flapped around his legs in the crisp, frigid gusts of wind. In one arm was cradled a small child, bundled up well against the cold. In the other hand, he held out some papers to the man in the door, the sun glinting off of the official governmental seal.
The obese, mustached man in the doorway grasped the papers in one massive hand, eyes glowing greedily as he scanned the papers that liberated him from his tedious assignment. "Yes, yes," he replied. "Good business indeed."
And as the door to the house shut, the man held the sleeping Harry Potter securely to his chest and disappeared.
#4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surrey, England
January 5, 1982
"Good doing business with you, Mister Dursley," said the tall man in the dark overcoat that flapped around his legs in the crisp, frigid gusts of wind. In one arm was cradled a small child, bundled up well against the cold. In the other hand, he held out some papers to the man in the door, the sun glinting off of the official governmental seal.
The obese, mustached man in the doorway grasped the papers in one massive hand, eyes glowing greedily as he scanned the papers that liberated him from his tedious assignment. "Yes, yes," he replied. "Good business indeed."
And as the door to the house shut, the man held the sleeping Harry Potter securely to his chest and disappeared.
Sniekholm Keep
Unplottable Ground
December 27, 1988
Harry Potter picked at his breakfast, pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate with his fork. He looked vaguely disgruntled as he arranged and rearranged the contents of his plate. "Why does it snow so often?" he finally asked in exasperation.
His father, or, at least, the man he had come to consider a father, just laughed and replied, "You're impatient to fly that new broom, aren't you?"
Igor Gallorsky was a tall, dark, and imposing man, standing well over six feet with the muscular, broad-shouldered build of a body-builder. His tanned skin, shoulder length dark grey hair, crooked nose, glaring eyes, and the multitude of raised scars upon his face only complemented and accentuated his dangerous looks.
Harry looked up and commented dryly, "Is it that obvious?"
A laugh was his only reply. Then Igor clapped his hands, summoning one of the house elves to remove Harry's plate. He patted Harry good-naturedly on the back at the boy's groan. "You didn't really expect me to give you a break? Come, let us attend to your lessons."
"But dad..." Harry whined childishly as he was ushered out of the dining room and down the hallway. "Christmas was yesterday..."
"Aye, yesterday. Not today," Igor replied, holding the door to his study open for Harry to enter. "Today we will continue working on those charms. Hogwarts, after all, is only --"
"612 days away. I know." Harry grinned cheekily up at his father as he sat down in the chair placed in front of his father's desk. "But why do I have to learn all this if I'm going to learn it there?"
Igor sat down behind his desk, sighing. "Harry, we've gone over this countless times..."
"And you always say 'So that you'll be better prepared when you get there,'" Harry said, looking at his father over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses. "But that's not the only reason, is it? I can tell you're not telling the whole truth."
Muttering something under his breath, Igor ran his hands through his hair, an uncertain look on his face. Finally, he said, "I never attended Hogwarts. No member of my family has ever attended a magical school, but has been taught by his or her elders. We embraced the Old Magicks, the raw elemental powers of the Earth and Sky. There was none of this new-fangled 'channeling your inner energies through your wand.' Because of this, we are not wizards, but Mages, masters of the earthly powers." He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Remember when I told you the story of Lord Voldemort and your parents' death?"
Harry thought for a moment and nodded, unconsciously rubbing the scar on his forehead. Igor frowned at the action before he continued, "When I heard of the Dark Lord's defeat, I went to investigate Godric's Hollow along with my brother, Boris. Because we were not constrained the the wizard's conception of magic, we discovered a dark, dangerous secret there among the ruins."
Igor leaned forward over the desk, his face deadly serious. "Harry, it is important that you never tell anyone what I am about to tell you. The panic, the terror, would destroy the Wizarding World far more quickly that Voldemort ever could." At Harry's dumbfounded nod, Igor said quietly, "Lord Voldemort didn't die. He was banished to an Ethereal Plane... and when he returns he will be more powerful than before."
Sniekholm Keep
Unplottable Ground
June 1, 1991
Harry was staring uncertainly at the wand sitting on the dining room table. "Are you sure I have to use this?" he asked uncertainly. "It seems, I don't know... counter-productive, maybe."
Igor, who was sitting across from him, was also visually examining the wand. "Yes, you're right. By channeling your energy through the wand, you are decreasing your total energy output. Theoretically the point of the process was to focus a wizard's energy, but what I have been teaching you to do is to draw your energy from the planet's natural reserves."
Harry glanced up, looking at his father expectantly. "So I don't have to use it?" he asked.
"I'm afraid you have to," Igor replied with a sigh. At Harry's crestfallen face, he quickly added, "Though if it were up to me you wouldn't have to. But Harry, you're about to enter the Wizarding World... and there you have to act like a wizard. And wizards use wands."
"Why can't I just study to become a mage like you?" Harry asked plaintively. "Then I wouldn't have to go to Hogwarts and I wouldn't have to use this stupid wand." He gestured violently at the offending piece of wood sitting on the table.
Igor looked startled. "You don't want to go to Hogwarts?"
"Not if I have to use a wand!"
Harry watched in astonishment as the blood drained from Igor's face. He was even further surprised when Igor stumbled out of the dining room and into his study without his usual graceful, powerful stride.
Sniekholm Keep
Unplottable Ground
September 1, 1991
07.30 Hours
"You are completely packed then, Harry?"
Harry did not look like an eleven-year-old who was excited to attend the single best Magical Institution of Learning in all of Europe. They hadn't spoken of the wand issue since that day, and Harry knew better than to pry. When Igor was ready to talk, he'd talk. But he'd only tell Harry what was required for him to know, and nothing more.
"Yes, sir," Harry sighed in reply. Already he was starting to feel trapped wearing his brand-new school robes and fingering his abhorred wand. He wanted nothing to do with a culture that was going to force him to act in a way to fit their standards... weren't his standards and Igor's exceptionally high standards good enough?
Igor nodded and glanced at the clock above the mantle in his study. It was a muggle clock, like all of the clocks in Sniekholm Keep were. He had explained to Harry the concept of wizarding clocks, which could tell everything except the time. Those idiotic clocks were just another facet of a society that Harry was beginning to abhor without even having stepped foot into.
Abruptly, Igor gripped Harry by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. "Harry, listen to me," he said, voice deadly earnest. "You must not use your wandless magic unless in a case of extreme emergency or duress. No one must know of your abilities. Voldemort is coming back, and we are going to be one step ahead of him every time. The more information we keep from him the better. No wandless magic. No talking to snakes." He contemplated his next words for a minute before adding, "And I know it's going to be hard, but do try to keep to the shadows. You are the Boy Who Lived, so it won't be easy. But the less attention you attract, the better."
He let go of Harry's shoulders and took a deep breath. "Well, then, my boy. It's time," he said, the beginnings of a gruff smile coming across his face as he reached for the jar of floo powder. Holding the jar out to Harry, the boy who had truly become his son, he whispered, "Good luck, my son."
Harry looked up into Igor's face and, grinning widely, gave him an enormous hug. Smoothing back a few loose strands of his long hair that stubbornly refused to stay tied back with the rest of his hair at the nape of his neck, he checked to make sure that his shrunken trunk was still securely in his pocket. Then he grabbed a handful of floo powder, threw it into the fire ... and he was gone.
Great Hall
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry
September 1, 1991
18.00 Hours
The woman -- Professor McGonagall, Harry recalled was her name -- ushered the group of first year students into the Great Hall. Harry could immediately pick out which of the students have come from non-magical families from their amazed murmurs at how the huge, elaborately engraved doors had opened automatically. But what drew gasps from all of the other first years was the enchanted ceiling. Even as the Sorting Hat was singing its song -- which Harry was ignoring dispassionately -- a good number of the first years were still transfixed by the brilliant sunset that was happening directly above their heads. Harry had dismissed the sky after a cursory glance: it was a rather simple spell, after all. Igor had explained the theory to him a little over a year ago.
While Professor McGonagall called out the names of the new students, who each stepped forward to be sorted, Harry gazed about the Great Hall, a quick analysis running through his head. Most of the students appeared to be run-of-the-mill average. The table under the purple banner with the stylized raven -- Ravenclaw, he remembered from Igor's quick review of Hogwarts's history -- held a few people whose faces seemed to reveal a slightly higher intelligence than the other tables. But the Slytherin table intrigued Harry. Never had he seen so many guarded faces. Every face was devoid of emotion, except when a student was sorted into Gryffindor House. Even when a new student arrived at that table, a polite smattering of applause was the extent of the reaction. Gryffindor, by far, had the most emotional and open faces. Loud and boisterous, they were glared at several times by the various teachers sitting at the head table. Hufflepuff seemed to be an amalgamation of the other three tables, a mixture of intellect, guardedness, and friendliness.
Harry realized that enough people had been sorted that the remaining first years were rather noticeable. Remembering his father's words about not attracting attention, he tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible. Since he was one of the tallest of the first years, he bent his knees slightly, hunched his shoulders forward, and tilted his head forward slightly, to obscure others' view of his face. His vision was rather limited in this new, rather uncomfortable position... so he hoped he wasn't too far down the list.
And then, it came: "Potter, Harry."
He straightened up and stepped through the remaining first years to the front and strode to where McGonagall stood, holding the tattered, talking Sorting Hat. Acutely aware of the gasps and whispers that following him, he schooled his features into a perfect emotionless mask. He stayed focused on his destination, never glancing at the tables where he just knew that students were leaning every which way just to get a look at him. Sitting down on the stool, he had a second's glance of people craning their heads to get a glimpse of the Boy Wonder before the rim of the hat dropped over his eyes.
So this is the Sorting Hat, he thought.
Yep. The one and only, came the not-quite-unexpected reply.
Not much to look at, are you? he thought back.
I'll have you know that I was one of the most sophisticated pieces of enchantment that was done by the Founders themselves! Now let's see... what do we have here?
Sophisticated or not, you're still pretty ugly, Harry replied mentally.
Lots of anger... at the whole world... almost... hatred?
Not the whole world, just with wizarding part of it, Harry replied nonchalantly. Can you hurry up already?
Plenty of cunning too... and you're good at reading people. You'd do well in Slytherin....
Then stick me there, already! he mentally replied to the idiotic headgear.
No, that won't do. Not with all that pure-blood nonsense going around. You've got good intelligence... perhaps, Ravenclaw? But Gryffindor would work too....
Hat.... Harry growled mentally, partially amazed that it was even possible to growl mentally.
I give up. What do you want?
I want to cast an Incendio charm on you and watch you burn, came the prompt, sarcastic reply.
How dare you?! The Hat shrieked in his ear -- er, head. I'll have you know that I am the most sophisticated enchanted hat in all of Europe--
Not much competition, eh? Harry replied impudently, enjoying the fun he was having with the enchanted hat.
That's it, I'm through with you! the Hat growled
Finally... he muttered sarcastically.
You will pay for that, Mister Potter, you will. You are going to spend your time from here on in --
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat roared aloud.
Harry plucked the offending piece of headgear off of his head and handed it back to Professor McGonagall, raising an eyebrow at her thunderstruck expression. As he made his way to the Hufflepuff table, underneath the yellow and black banner, he could feel the eyes of the student population following him in utter silence. Taking a seat, Harry bowed his head and proceeded to ignore the others sitting at his table.
Although it took her a while, Professor McGonagall managed to continue with the sorting.
Great Hall
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry
September 2, 1991
06.00 Hours
He had been at Hogwarts for a total of twelve hours and was still singularly unimpressed with it.
Actually, to be more specific, he had been unimpressed with the students more so than with the facilities.
>From what he had seen of the Hufflepuff common area, along with the types of enchantments that existed there, he was starting to believe that Helga Hufflepuff had, in fact, been a mage. Harry had discovered a brilliantly enchanted chess set in the common room that contained extremely powerful enchantments that he couldn't even begin to fathom how they worked.
Even so, he had noticed something that was starting to worry him. As the Hufflepuff first years were being led to the dorms by the Prefects, Harry had immediately spotted which portrait hid the entrance to the common room. The glowing threads of power that wrapped in the runes of protection and transportation that were inscribed upon the portrait itself made it blatantly obvious to him that this must be the entrance to something. But the other first years didn't seem to notice: they had continued walking down the corridor, chatting, until the Prefect had to call them back.
As he lay in bed, Harry pondered the situation. Was it that they were too caught up in their conversations to notice? Or was it that they really couldn't see it at all?
He was still considering this strange turn of events as he sat down at the table for breakfast -- the first one in the whole house to arrive -- and began inspecting the power lines that were threaded throughout his plate.
His musings were interrupted by a roll of parchment landing on his plate. Glancing up, he saw his father's black hawk, Sokół, perched precariously on the table in front of him, looking highly affronted by the lack of acceptable perches.
Grinning at Sokół, Harry unrolled the parchment and read it quickly:
Harry:
Unplottable Ground
December 27, 1988
Harry Potter picked at his breakfast, pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate with his fork. He looked vaguely disgruntled as he arranged and rearranged the contents of his plate. "Why does it snow so often?" he finally asked in exasperation.
His father, or, at least, the man he had come to consider a father, just laughed and replied, "You're impatient to fly that new broom, aren't you?"
Igor Gallorsky was a tall, dark, and imposing man, standing well over six feet with the muscular, broad-shouldered build of a body-builder. His tanned skin, shoulder length dark grey hair, crooked nose, glaring eyes, and the multitude of raised scars upon his face only complemented and accentuated his dangerous looks.
Harry looked up and commented dryly, "Is it that obvious?"
A laugh was his only reply. Then Igor clapped his hands, summoning one of the house elves to remove Harry's plate. He patted Harry good-naturedly on the back at the boy's groan. "You didn't really expect me to give you a break? Come, let us attend to your lessons."
"But dad..." Harry whined childishly as he was ushered out of the dining room and down the hallway. "Christmas was yesterday..."
"Aye, yesterday. Not today," Igor replied, holding the door to his study open for Harry to enter. "Today we will continue working on those charms. Hogwarts, after all, is only --"
"612 days away. I know." Harry grinned cheekily up at his father as he sat down in the chair placed in front of his father's desk. "But why do I have to learn all this if I'm going to learn it there?"
Igor sat down behind his desk, sighing. "Harry, we've gone over this countless times..."
"And you always say 'So that you'll be better prepared when you get there,'" Harry said, looking at his father over the tops of his wire-rimmed glasses. "But that's not the only reason, is it? I can tell you're not telling the whole truth."
Muttering something under his breath, Igor ran his hands through his hair, an uncertain look on his face. Finally, he said, "I never attended Hogwarts. No member of my family has ever attended a magical school, but has been taught by his or her elders. We embraced the Old Magicks, the raw elemental powers of the Earth and Sky. There was none of this new-fangled 'channeling your inner energies through your wand.' Because of this, we are not wizards, but Mages, masters of the earthly powers." He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Remember when I told you the story of Lord Voldemort and your parents' death?"
Harry thought for a moment and nodded, unconsciously rubbing the scar on his forehead. Igor frowned at the action before he continued, "When I heard of the Dark Lord's defeat, I went to investigate Godric's Hollow along with my brother, Boris. Because we were not constrained the the wizard's conception of magic, we discovered a dark, dangerous secret there among the ruins."
Igor leaned forward over the desk, his face deadly serious. "Harry, it is important that you never tell anyone what I am about to tell you. The panic, the terror, would destroy the Wizarding World far more quickly that Voldemort ever could." At Harry's dumbfounded nod, Igor said quietly, "Lord Voldemort didn't die. He was banished to an Ethereal Plane... and when he returns he will be more powerful than before."
Sniekholm Keep
Unplottable Ground
June 1, 1991
Harry was staring uncertainly at the wand sitting on the dining room table. "Are you sure I have to use this?" he asked uncertainly. "It seems, I don't know... counter-productive, maybe."
Igor, who was sitting across from him, was also visually examining the wand. "Yes, you're right. By channeling your energy through the wand, you are decreasing your total energy output. Theoretically the point of the process was to focus a wizard's energy, but what I have been teaching you to do is to draw your energy from the planet's natural reserves."
Harry glanced up, looking at his father expectantly. "So I don't have to use it?" he asked.
"I'm afraid you have to," Igor replied with a sigh. At Harry's crestfallen face, he quickly added, "Though if it were up to me you wouldn't have to. But Harry, you're about to enter the Wizarding World... and there you have to act like a wizard. And wizards use wands."
"Why can't I just study to become a mage like you?" Harry asked plaintively. "Then I wouldn't have to go to Hogwarts and I wouldn't have to use this stupid wand." He gestured violently at the offending piece of wood sitting on the table.
Igor looked startled. "You don't want to go to Hogwarts?"
"Not if I have to use a wand!"
Harry watched in astonishment as the blood drained from Igor's face. He was even further surprised when Igor stumbled out of the dining room and into his study without his usual graceful, powerful stride.
Sniekholm Keep
Unplottable Ground
September 1, 1991
07.30 Hours
"You are completely packed then, Harry?"
Harry did not look like an eleven-year-old who was excited to attend the single best Magical Institution of Learning in all of Europe. They hadn't spoken of the wand issue since that day, and Harry knew better than to pry. When Igor was ready to talk, he'd talk. But he'd only tell Harry what was required for him to know, and nothing more.
"Yes, sir," Harry sighed in reply. Already he was starting to feel trapped wearing his brand-new school robes and fingering his abhorred wand. He wanted nothing to do with a culture that was going to force him to act in a way to fit their standards... weren't his standards and Igor's exceptionally high standards good enough?
Igor nodded and glanced at the clock above the mantle in his study. It was a muggle clock, like all of the clocks in Sniekholm Keep were. He had explained to Harry the concept of wizarding clocks, which could tell everything except the time. Those idiotic clocks were just another facet of a society that Harry was beginning to abhor without even having stepped foot into.
Abruptly, Igor gripped Harry by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. "Harry, listen to me," he said, voice deadly earnest. "You must not use your wandless magic unless in a case of extreme emergency or duress. No one must know of your abilities. Voldemort is coming back, and we are going to be one step ahead of him every time. The more information we keep from him the better. No wandless magic. No talking to snakes." He contemplated his next words for a minute before adding, "And I know it's going to be hard, but do try to keep to the shadows. You are the Boy Who Lived, so it won't be easy. But the less attention you attract, the better."
He let go of Harry's shoulders and took a deep breath. "Well, then, my boy. It's time," he said, the beginnings of a gruff smile coming across his face as he reached for the jar of floo powder. Holding the jar out to Harry, the boy who had truly become his son, he whispered, "Good luck, my son."
Harry looked up into Igor's face and, grinning widely, gave him an enormous hug. Smoothing back a few loose strands of his long hair that stubbornly refused to stay tied back with the rest of his hair at the nape of his neck, he checked to make sure that his shrunken trunk was still securely in his pocket. Then he grabbed a handful of floo powder, threw it into the fire ... and he was gone.
Great Hall
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry
September 1, 1991
18.00 Hours
The woman -- Professor McGonagall, Harry recalled was her name -- ushered the group of first year students into the Great Hall. Harry could immediately pick out which of the students have come from non-magical families from their amazed murmurs at how the huge, elaborately engraved doors had opened automatically. But what drew gasps from all of the other first years was the enchanted ceiling. Even as the Sorting Hat was singing its song -- which Harry was ignoring dispassionately -- a good number of the first years were still transfixed by the brilliant sunset that was happening directly above their heads. Harry had dismissed the sky after a cursory glance: it was a rather simple spell, after all. Igor had explained the theory to him a little over a year ago.
While Professor McGonagall called out the names of the new students, who each stepped forward to be sorted, Harry gazed about the Great Hall, a quick analysis running through his head. Most of the students appeared to be run-of-the-mill average. The table under the purple banner with the stylized raven -- Ravenclaw, he remembered from Igor's quick review of Hogwarts's history -- held a few people whose faces seemed to reveal a slightly higher intelligence than the other tables. But the Slytherin table intrigued Harry. Never had he seen so many guarded faces. Every face was devoid of emotion, except when a student was sorted into Gryffindor House. Even when a new student arrived at that table, a polite smattering of applause was the extent of the reaction. Gryffindor, by far, had the most emotional and open faces. Loud and boisterous, they were glared at several times by the various teachers sitting at the head table. Hufflepuff seemed to be an amalgamation of the other three tables, a mixture of intellect, guardedness, and friendliness.
Harry realized that enough people had been sorted that the remaining first years were rather noticeable. Remembering his father's words about not attracting attention, he tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible. Since he was one of the tallest of the first years, he bent his knees slightly, hunched his shoulders forward, and tilted his head forward slightly, to obscure others' view of his face. His vision was rather limited in this new, rather uncomfortable position... so he hoped he wasn't too far down the list.
And then, it came: "Potter, Harry."
He straightened up and stepped through the remaining first years to the front and strode to where McGonagall stood, holding the tattered, talking Sorting Hat. Acutely aware of the gasps and whispers that following him, he schooled his features into a perfect emotionless mask. He stayed focused on his destination, never glancing at the tables where he just knew that students were leaning every which way just to get a look at him. Sitting down on the stool, he had a second's glance of people craning their heads to get a glimpse of the Boy Wonder before the rim of the hat dropped over his eyes.
So this is the Sorting Hat, he thought.
Yep. The one and only, came the not-quite-unexpected reply.
Not much to look at, are you? he thought back.
I'll have you know that I was one of the most sophisticated pieces of enchantment that was done by the Founders themselves! Now let's see... what do we have here?
Sophisticated or not, you're still pretty ugly, Harry replied mentally.
Lots of anger... at the whole world... almost... hatred?
Not the whole world, just with wizarding part of it, Harry replied nonchalantly. Can you hurry up already?
Plenty of cunning too... and you're good at reading people. You'd do well in Slytherin....
Then stick me there, already! he mentally replied to the idiotic headgear.
No, that won't do. Not with all that pure-blood nonsense going around. You've got good intelligence... perhaps, Ravenclaw? But Gryffindor would work too....
Hat.... Harry growled mentally, partially amazed that it was even possible to growl mentally.
I give up. What do you want?
I want to cast an Incendio charm on you and watch you burn, came the prompt, sarcastic reply.
How dare you?! The Hat shrieked in his ear -- er, head. I'll have you know that I am the most sophisticated enchanted hat in all of Europe--
Not much competition, eh? Harry replied impudently, enjoying the fun he was having with the enchanted hat.
That's it, I'm through with you! the Hat growled
Finally... he muttered sarcastically.
You will pay for that, Mister Potter, you will. You are going to spend your time from here on in --
"HUFFLEPUFF!" The Hat roared aloud.
Harry plucked the offending piece of headgear off of his head and handed it back to Professor McGonagall, raising an eyebrow at her thunderstruck expression. As he made his way to the Hufflepuff table, underneath the yellow and black banner, he could feel the eyes of the student population following him in utter silence. Taking a seat, Harry bowed his head and proceeded to ignore the others sitting at his table.
Although it took her a while, Professor McGonagall managed to continue with the sorting.
Great Hall
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry
September 2, 1991
06.00 Hours
He had been at Hogwarts for a total of twelve hours and was still singularly unimpressed with it.
Actually, to be more specific, he had been unimpressed with the students more so than with the facilities.
>From what he had seen of the Hufflepuff common area, along with the types of enchantments that existed there, he was starting to believe that Helga Hufflepuff had, in fact, been a mage. Harry had discovered a brilliantly enchanted chess set in the common room that contained extremely powerful enchantments that he couldn't even begin to fathom how they worked.
Even so, he had noticed something that was starting to worry him. As the Hufflepuff first years were being led to the dorms by the Prefects, Harry had immediately spotted which portrait hid the entrance to the common room. The glowing threads of power that wrapped in the runes of protection and transportation that were inscribed upon the portrait itself made it blatantly obvious to him that this must be the entrance to something. But the other first years didn't seem to notice: they had continued walking down the corridor, chatting, until the Prefect had to call them back.
As he lay in bed, Harry pondered the situation. Was it that they were too caught up in their conversations to notice? Or was it that they really couldn't see it at all?
He was still considering this strange turn of events as he sat down at the table for breakfast -- the first one in the whole house to arrive -- and began inspecting the power lines that were threaded throughout his plate.
His musings were interrupted by a roll of parchment landing on his plate. Glancing up, he saw his father's black hawk, Sokół, perched precariously on the table in front of him, looking highly affronted by the lack of acceptable perches.
Grinning at Sokół, Harry unrolled the parchment and read it quickly:
Harry:
My congratulations
on being sorted into Hufflepuff. A wise decision on your part in
manipulating the Sorting Hat to place you there. According to my
research, Hufflepuff is one of the most over-looked houses. Heroes come
from Gryffindor, Traitors come from Slytherin, and Scholars come from
Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff is known for being dull and boring and normal. Excellent work, my boy.
I sent Sokół to you as a sort of dual purpose gift. For all intents and purposes, he is yours now. He is a fine companion, a good familiar, and an excellent letter carrier. Treat him well, Harry.
Should you ever need anything, be sure to send me a letter. For that matter, send me letters regularly. I do need to keep up-to-date! Be sure to inform me about your classes and their curriculum, so I know what we should review over the summer.
That brings me to my next topic. I realize that your wand is a touchy subject, but I will be expecting you to continue your lessons in wandless magic and the theories of Magick with me during your holidays and the summer. I will be expecting you for Christmas here at Sniekholm. After all-- Christmas is a family affair. And we are a family.
Good luck with your classes. And try not to make the extent of your knowledge too noticeable. Inconspicuous is the key.
Your father,
Igor Gallorsky
I sent Sokół to you as a sort of dual purpose gift. For all intents and purposes, he is yours now. He is a fine companion, a good familiar, and an excellent letter carrier. Treat him well, Harry.
Should you ever need anything, be sure to send me a letter. For that matter, send me letters regularly. I do need to keep up-to-date! Be sure to inform me about your classes and their curriculum, so I know what we should review over the summer.
That brings me to my next topic. I realize that your wand is a touchy subject, but I will be expecting you to continue your lessons in wandless magic and the theories of Magick with me during your holidays and the summer. I will be expecting you for Christmas here at Sniekholm. After all-- Christmas is a family affair. And we are a family.
Good luck with your classes. And try not to make the extent of your knowledge too noticeable. Inconspicuous is the key.
Your father,
Igor Gallorsky
Harry grinned at his
father's repeated -- though sometimes veiled -- warnings about staying
out of the center of attention. Folding up the note, he was in the
process of stuffing it into one of the pockets of his robe when a
shadow fell over his table.
Glancing up, he saw a woman with grey hair arranged about her head in tight curls peering thoughtfully at Sokół. In her arms she carried several stacks of paper. Seeing she had Harry's attention, she gestured to the hawk with her free hand, "Is he yours?"
At Harry's nod, she handed him one of the pieces of paper and continued, "Very well. I am Madame Hooch, your Head of House. This is your class schedule. Do you have any questions?"
With a polite reassurance that no, he had no questions and that yes, he knew his way around relatively fine, Madame Hooch continued down the table to where an older student appeared to be on the verge of collapse into his empty breakfast plate.
Harry gave the schedule a cursory glance, sighing at the utter simplicity of the classes. As the food appeared on his plate, he resolved to write a letter back to his father during his free time.
It was going to be a very long year.
Glancing up, he saw a woman with grey hair arranged about her head in tight curls peering thoughtfully at Sokół. In her arms she carried several stacks of paper. Seeing she had Harry's attention, she gestured to the hawk with her free hand, "Is he yours?"
At Harry's nod, she handed him one of the pieces of paper and continued, "Very well. I am Madame Hooch, your Head of House. This is your class schedule. Do you have any questions?"
With a polite reassurance that no, he had no questions and that yes, he knew his way around relatively fine, Madame Hooch continued down the table to where an older student appeared to be on the verge of collapse into his empty breakfast plate.
Harry gave the schedule a cursory glance, sighing at the utter simplicity of the classes. As the food appeared on his plate, he resolved to write a letter back to his father during his free time.
It was going to be a very long year.
Author notes: Just an idea that popped randomly into my head while catching at a baseball game in the pouring rain. Igor's character came to life while I stood staring dumbly at the ball that I [somehow] caught, inadvertantly saving the game. So tell me what you think.