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to-fly-with-clipped-wings · 5 months

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Chapter 1.2 - Train Rides and Talking Hats

Pairing: Harry Potter x Chosen One! Reader

“Oi,” you spoke, feeling your jaw clench at the blond boy’s demeanour. “I’d watch what I was saying if I was you, especially considering the crap that’s spewing out of your sewage-system of a mouth.” Draco Malfoy turned his sharpened gaze toward you. “And I’d be more careful if I was you. You don’t want to make enemies with the wrong people.” “The same goes for you.” OR: in which you hitch a ride on the Hogwarts Express and buckle up for one hell of a ride. → Set in a universe where you are the chosen one, and Harry Potter is your best friend who tries to help you navigate the woes of being the lone hero of the wizarding world. A swap au where you are the chosen one, your parents are dead but the marauders + Lily are not. Eventual Harry x Reader, slowburn, friends to lovers. Series Masterlist

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Perhaps, if you had any less self-respect, having had a mental breakdown on the King’s Cross platform would have been your morning on the 1st of September.

The train leaves at eleven, Hagrid had told you. The Caddels had dropped you off at the station at half past ten before leaving to drop Odette off at her new school, Smeltings, they’d said.

All you were really aware of was the nifty cane that came with the uniform, supposedly used to thwack fellow peers. An excellent training for later life.

Regardless of peculiar apparels or uniform, you had now acquired a steadily rising fear that you would never be able to wear yours, if you couldn’t uncover where exactly platform nine and three-quarters situated on the station.

There they were, right in front of you, platforms nine and ten – right there – but nowhere could you spot any semblance or notion of anything three-quarters related. The large plastic number nine leered tauntingly at you, swinging back and forth vaguely with the passing breeze.

You had pestered the guard manning the station. He hadn’t even heard of Hogwarts, and since you had no flying clue where or even what the school was, you couldn’t describe it to him. The guard stared you down incredulously, as though you were trying to be stupid (you didn’t miss how he eyed Hedwig, the name you had christened your snowy owl, who chirped irritably back at him).

It took every ounce of your remaining willpower to not snap or lunge at him and cause a scene in the middle of the station, especially when a congregation of people had formed a circle around you to observe the exchange curiously.

Apparently, according to a variety of people at the station, there wasn’t even a train that left at eleven o’clock. And to top the cherry on your fabulous sundae of anxiety and chagrin, according to the large clock situated on the arrivals board, you had a little under fifteen minutes to be seated on the train.

You wished Hagrid had left you with more information, but when the man had dropped you back at your house and allowed you the time to blink, he had vanished.

Urgent magical business, you mused dryly. Almost like the kerfuffle of being stranded on a station with not the foggiest idea of where to go.

Fleeting anxiety began to weave around your periphery. What if you missed the train? Were you missing something? Did you need to cast a spell? Oh, you knew you should have read the books before coming to the station. You swore at that moment to leave no page in your spell-books unturned.

You prepared to brandish your wand at the stray ticket box next to platform nine, trying your very best to formulate a spell that would divulge the presence of platform nine and three-quarters.

In a perfectly timed turn of events, a group of people passed behind you, and you managed to glean a glimpse of their conversation.

“ – packed with Muggles, of course –

You heard your neck crack from how fast you wheeled around. Muggles. You had never been happier to hear a single word. The speaker was a stout woman, to an audience of about five red-headed children. Four boys and a girl, who from the conversation that ensued, you discovered was too young to attend Hogwarts just yet.

You turned your hawk-like stare toward ‘Percy’, the oldest boy, as he dashed toward the brick wall of platform nine, pushing his trolley along with him. Wincing, you closed your eyes so you wouldn’t see him and all of his school supplies crash onto the floor.

Miraculously, though, when you peeled your eyelids back open, the boy was gone.

As were the twin brothers, Fred and George (or did their mother say George and Fred?).

There was only one more boy left; a tall – though that entire family seemed to be on stilts – lanky, deeply freckled one. If you wanted to know where the sons were disappearing to, this was your final shot.

“Hey!” you called out, dragging your trolley behind you as you approached the remaining members of the red-headed family. Then, realising how the abruptness of a random girl yelling at someone may be perceived as rude, you decided to dial back your advances. “Hi, sorry. Do you happen to know how to –”

“How to get on to the platform?” she said kindly. “No worries at all, dear. Is this your first time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.”

She pointed at her last son. He had dirt on his nose. You tilted your head slightly toward him in greeting, but your mind, however, was still hyper focused on how the clock was dwindling closer and closer to eleven.

“Pleasure,” you smiled, desperation beginning to blemish your voice, evident as it began to inch one or two octaves higher. “So, er, I’m hoping that you do know how to get to the train?”

“That’s right,” she said. “All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Go on, go now before Ron.”

You ruffled the collar of your shirt, which was looking far too neat and sophisticated (and therefore, not nearly as charming as you liked it to be). “Thanks, Miss.”

You sucked in a deep breath before gathering your courage and sprinted toward the very solid, opaque looking barrier of platform nine and three-quarters.

As you were running, you realised you were almost there – and then, quite suddenly, you weren’t.

Rather, you now found yourself underneath a sign that read Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock.

Permeating through a brick wall was yet another box to check from your list of magical experiences. Twice, actually, if you counted the entrance to Diagon Alley. Odd was it indeed, but it was your odd now, and you lest let anyone try and rob you of it.

You stood in awe, head on a swivel as you examined the new environment. A mammoth of a train, one whose size could only be attributed to the slight of one’s magical hand, with smoke seeping out of its charcoal chimneys, stood tall against the crowded stage of the station.

You turned around to see if the red-headed family had made it through as well, and sure enough, there they were. The woman was still looking at you, and when you waved at her, her face split into a soft smile and she returned the gesture.

You swept your dishevelled hair to the side – it had tousled itself into a heaping mess sometime during your episode on the other side of the train station.

You only registered the consequence of this action when the red-headed woman’s eyes widened, and as an abrupt muteness circulated throughout the platform, capitulating the vocal cords of what seemed to be every single man, woman and/or child present there at that very moment.

Families that were once bidding their children goodbye, lovingly caressing cheeks or smoothing down fly-away hairs, or families who were once loading trunks onto compartments, were now reacting in an identical fashion of the same scene that had transpired at the leaky pub; normal chatter was extinguished, and murmurs crept around the platform like an amateur thief in a treasure trove.

“The lightning scar!”

“Is that – oh, my sweet Merlin, it is!”

“Oh – where –?!”

“Move! Let me get a glimpse!”

“Look, over there!”

“(Y/n) (L/n)!”

You stiffened slightly under everyone’s combined gazes, the abruptness of this changing you off guard. But, as quickly as the alarm had rippled into your body, it had dispersed out.

A smirk split your face, and you nodded toward the woman closest to you (who promptly went pink and near-fainted) as a way to acknowledge that you acknowledged their sudden interest in you. You heard someone chuckle at your brazenness, and a few more flurries of whispers burgeoned from other by-standers.

During the time it took for you to jostle your trolley into an empty carriage near the back of the train, the number of people actively tracking your every move had died down, though only by a fraction. From the corners of your eyes, you could still see the odd third-year trying to estimate how many laces you had on your shoes, no doubt so he could pester his parents into getting the same.

(You kept to yourself that they had previously belonged to Odette, however, as you seriously doubted anyone wanted to know that (Y/n) (L/n), hero of the wizarding world, still wore hand-me-downs.)

Unfortunately, it seemed that although you possessed the power to terminate the reign of the darkest and most powerful wizards in history, you had apparently not attained the muscles required to heave your trunk up the stairs onto the Hogwarts Express. You stumbled back, cursing as you reeled from the pain that rocketed through your foot after you dropped your trunk on your toes.

“Want a hand?”

You looked up. It was one of the red-headed twins, from that family you had met before.

“Yes,” you said almost immediately. “Er, please.”

“Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!”

The three of you managed to successfully store your trunk into the corner of your compartment. Before you could thank the twins for their help, though, one of the twins pointed at the spot on your forehead where the thin lightning-shaped scar donned your skin.

“You’re (Y/n) (L/n),” he announced. Just like Olivander, this had not been a question, but rather a statement.

“Yes,” you straightened your posture a little higher. “That’s right. I am.”

The two boys gawked at you, and you subtly swept your sweaty hair to expose the scar even further. To your slightest dismay, however, the familiar voice of the red-headed mother drifted through the carriage before you were able to elaborate further on your battle-scar.

“Fred? George? Are you there?” Both the twins groaned at their mother’s summoning. Sparing one last glance at you, they ambled toward her call. “Coming, Mum.”

You waved the twins goodbye. Sitting down by the window, you ducked your head so you could listen to the family, who were still on the platform, whilst being half-hidden at the same time. Their mother had scourged out a handkerchief and was furiously scrubbing at Ron’s nose to rid the smudge of dirt that laid upon it.

You watched with amusement as Ron tried to lurch away before being caught in his mother’s iron-fisted clutches once again.

“Mum – geroff!”

One of the twins snickered, leaning close to Ron. “Aaaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?”

“Shut up!” You saw the oldest of the red-headed siblings saunter towards his family, already draped in his robes. A shiny red and gold badge was pinned onto his chest, with the letter P engraved onto it.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said stiffly. “I’m up front, the Prefects have got two compartments to themselves –”

“Oh, are you a Prefect, Percy?” One of the twins gasped, bringing his hands to his face in disbelief. “You should have said something, we had no idea.”

“Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it, once –”

“Or twice –”

“A minute –”

“All summer –”

You huffed a laugh at the back and forth going between the family. Percy the Prefect’s face was starting to sport a lovely bright, irritable shade of red.

“How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” queried one of the twins.

“Because he’s a Prefect,” their mother smoothed Percy’s already-perfectly-smoothened hair fondly. “All right, dear, well have a good term – send me an owl when you get there.”

She sent him off with a kiss.

You sunk back into your seat. For some reason, the jovial atmosphere you’d felt upon discovering the magical platform had now become strangely dampened.

Call it a moment of weakness, sure – but in that moment, you wished that you could have a mother. A mother who would dote on you like that or who would comfort you.

But, as soon as that looming train of thoughts had festered, you vanquished them from your mind – the other kids could keep their affectionate mothers who waved them goodbye as they left, the same, in fact, would go for their superficial, gentle-natured fathers; you had your fame and that topped any shred of whatever they may have had, whatever you were missing.

As though the red-head family were suddenly attuned with your train of thought, you heard the voice of the youngest child (the girl) pipe up. “Oh! (Y/n) (L/n) On the train? Please can I go see her, Mum, please, please…”

“You’ve already seen her, Ginny, and the poor girl isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Fred? How do you know?”

“Asked her. Saw the scar. It’s really there – like lightning.”

“Poor dear.”

Your fingers traced the pattern of the scar, not particularly enjoying the feeling of pity emanating from the family.

“No wonder she was alone. I wondered. She was ever enthusiastic, though, when she asked how to get on to the platform. I’d have thought she’d be scared, by herself…”

“Never mind that, do you think she remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”

The red-headed mother swelled like an angry bullfrog. “I forbid you to ask her that, Fred! No, don’t you dare. As though she needs reminding of –... ”

The disarrayed ruckus of another family hurriedly barrelling onto the platform and ushering their boy onto the train, stripped your focus from the ginger group.

Observing the mop of black hair, you realised pleasantly that it was the boy you had met at the Quidditch store that day in Diagon Alley. Closely behind him, a stressed looking woman with copper-coloured hair, followed him briskly onto the train. Your lips twitched as you noticed that she possessed the same brilliant green eyes as her son.

The father, a carbon copy of his son, followed seconds after, carrying a tremendously large trunk onto the train. There was one more man – perhaps one of the uncles the boy had mentioned – who remained on the platform, presumably allowing the family their final moments together. He didn’t really look alike to the mother or father of Quidditch Boy’s family, so you guessed that he was probably an uncle by choice, not blood. He had sandy brown hair with substantially sized scars running down the entirety of his face and neck. There was a large, shaggy black dog beside him too, and you swore that it had winked when it saw you looking at it.

A shrill burst of steam raged outwards from the chimney of the train. You guessed that this was a warning to families that the train was about to depart right now. True to your word, just as Quidditch Boy’s mother and father practically leapt off the train carriage they’d left their son in, the train doors slammed shut, and the vehicle began dutifully chugging forward.

Left behind now, was the platform of nine and three-quarters.

Leaning back in your seat, you exhaled roughly. This was it, the moment that marked the beginning of your journey into Hogwarts. You had no clue where you were going, but you just knew it would be good. A grand moment, you were sure, but what you were also sure of was that the next few hours on the train (or possibly days or months, who knew?) would result in you being bored out of your mind. Stuck in an empty carriage by yourself with no one to talk to – tragic – maybe it would do you some good if you popped down into one of the other carriages and try to find some other first-years.

Coincidentally, the door of the compartment was opened by none other than Quidditch Boy himself. His hair was askew, glasses lopsided and cheeks clearly flushed from the rush of trying to scramble onto the Hogwarts Express before it departed. He did not have his trunk with him, so his father was probably able to store it in time.

“Hey, again,” he flashed you a bashful smile. “Would it be alright if I could sit here with you?”

“Sure, no problem.”

You observed him as he took the seat opposite you. He was already wearing robes of sorts, not the Hogwarts ones, judging from the lack of school emblem, but the sorts that you hypothesised would be the wizarding equivalent to a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Er,” he started, causing you to look over at him. “It’s nice to see you. Again.”

“Yeah.” you agreed with him, offering a lopsided smile. “Great. To meet you.”

“Yep.”

The compartment fell into a highly awkward silence, one that you were not at all familiar with. Back with the Caddels, or even at your previous school, you had no problem whatsoever making friends with strangers. In fact, conversation came easily to you – you weren’t the school captain for no reason, after all. So the stuffiness invading the atmosphere was most definitely unwelcome, and quite frankly, unnatural.

Thankfully the awkward cloud hanging above you and Quidditch Boy dissipated abruptly when the compartment door slid open again, revealing the tall, freckled, ginger boy, Ron.

His eyes widened when he saw you sitting in front of him. “Uh – sorry, anyone else sitting here? Everywhere else is full.”

Quidditch Boy shook his head and Ron took the seat beside them, so they were both facing you. Ron’s eyes hadn’t settled and he kept on glancing toward you and then toward the window whenever he made eye contact with you. It was amusing, his discomfort, from how often he did it.

“Hey, Ron.” The red-headed twins popped into the compartment suddenly. “Listen, we’re going back down the middle of the train – Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”

“Right,” said the youngest sibling.

So we’re not going to question the spider. Okay, seems good.

“(Y/n),” the other twin, the one who hadn’t been talking to Ron, turned to you. “And other Kid,” referring to Quidditch Boy, “did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.” The three of you said bye in unison as the twins left.

As soon as they were gone, Ron blurted out, “Can we see the scar?” You blinked at him, and he went pink, but complied anyway (you had no qualms to showing off the lightning-shaped bolt). Pulling your hair back, the scar on your forehead was revealed to Quidditch Boy and Ron.

“Wow,” breathed out Quidditch Boy. “It really does look like lightning.”

Ron was equally stunned. “So that’s where You-Know-Who – ?”

“Yes.” You grinned brightly at their awed expressions. They stared at you a couple seconds longer before Ron diverted his gaze back to the greenery flitting through the window.

“So, is your whole family magic then?” you asked Ron.

You already knew that Quidditch Boy’s father was a pure-blood and his mother was a muggle-born, whatever that meant; you weren’t going to be the one to say you had no idea what those were.

“Quidditch Boy?” puzzled Quidditch Boy, eyebrows furrowing.

Ah, had you said that outloud? Whoops.

You laughed, bringing a hand to your nape. “Sorry, I don’t know your name, so I’ve kind of just resorted to calling you Quidditch Boy in my mind.”

“Uh, well, I’m Harry, Harry Potter.” said Harry, smiling at you once more.

“Nice to meet you, Harry Potter.”

Ron interjected into the conversation, for which you were grateful. The ginger boy seemed to hold the power of evaporating awkwardness with a snap of his freckles fingers. “Pure-blooded means that everyone on his father’s side is magic. I’m the same – everyone in my family is a wizard, well maybe except for my mum’s second cousin who’s an accountant, but we don’t really talk about him.”

“I get it,” you said, cupping your chin with your hand. “I’ve got no clue what I am. But I know that my father had no magic.”

“A muggle,” Ron nodded appreciably. “Well, basically everyone knows that your mother was a pure-blood, though. That makes you a half-blood like him, since you’re a mix of two bloods.” He pointed at Harry. You were slightly startled that he knew more about your family and lineage than you did yourself. Maybe you should get used to people knowing more about you, than you did yourself.

“A muggle-born’s a witch or wizard who was born from muggle parents,” continued Ron.

You tilted your head to the side. “Where does their magic come from, if they’ve got no magical blood or whatever?”

Ron looked partially affronted. “Who knows, – magic isn’t exactly something that comes in a nice little package that gets delivered to you when the time is right. All I know is that if you’ve got magic, then you’ve got it. That’s all there is to it, really.” He waved his hands about in the air for further emphasis.

This was probably a topic Ron was passionate about, as you noticed his ears flushing red under the combined blank stares of you and Harry. You decided then that if Ron were to ever wear something salmon-coloured, it would definitely wash him out. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between his face and his left knee.

You tried to recover from the painful silence. “You two must know loads of magic then.”

“Not nearly enough as my mum wants me to,” said Harry.

“Hear, hear,” mumbled Ron.

“Huh. Guess that’s one good thing that comes out of being an orphan.”

You chuckled at the uncomfortable looks on the boys’ faces.

“I heard you went to live with Muggles,” said Ron, scratching the back of his neck. “What’re they like?”

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Not outstandingly nice or anything, but they do their job. Would be cooler to have wizarding brothers like you though.”

“Not if you’ve got five of them.” answered Ron gloomily. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes and Charlie’s old wand. I wanted an owl, but they couldn't aff – I mean, they got Percy one instead for becoming a Prefect.”

Ron’s ears went pink again. Your brain, it seemed, was temporarily delayed and was not able to formulate a response to that.

“I’m sure you’ll do better than all your brothers combined,” said Harry.

Ron smiled gratefully at him.

As the train rolled onward and your surroundings grew greener, you, quite helpfully, took Hedwig’s cage and placed her on the centre of the table, announcing that the first one to get nipped whilst feeding her treats would be declared the ultimate ‘Lame Loser Lord.’

The three of you fell into an easy conversation after that, and you barely even realised how much time had passed until a smiling, old-looking woman popped her head into the compartment and said “anything off the trolley, dears?”

With that lovely gesture, you had leapt out of your seat and essentially pounced onto the food she was offering. Your pockets were lined with wizard money now, an infinite stash really, and so there was nothing stopping you from buying three of everything she had. As such, you, Harry and Ron had to drag back the food you’d purchased before dumping it on the table.

“Hungry, are you?” said Ron, raising his eyebrows at the pile of snacks that was nearly as tall as him.

“Starving,” you grinned back.

You, Harry and Ron tore into the pasties and cakes, the mountain rapidly diminishing by the second. There was one incident with a chocolate frog creeping into Hedwig’s cage before getting mauled by her talons. The card that supposedly came with the treat, according to Harry and Ron, had also been destroyed, so Harry had given his to you. One with a moving picture of Albus Dumbledore, who had waved politely at your stunned expression.

Once you’d moved onto Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans, you found a lot of enjoyment when Ron had the misfortune of coming across a bean that tasted like dirty socks. Though, your amusement at Ron’s plight had been adjourned with the appearance of a round-faced boy.

“Sorry,” he said, “but have you seen a toad at all?”

“No, sorry.”

You were taken aback when the boy promptly burst into tears. “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”

“He’ll turn up,” said Harry.

“Yes,” said the boy, turning away dejectedly. “Well, if you see him…”

“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” remarked Ron once the boy had left. “If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could.”

You deadpanned at him. “You haven’t even got any pets to lose, Ron. I’m betting that if you ever got one, you’d have even worse attachment issues than Toad-Boy.”

“Mind you,” said Harry, talking around his mouthful of Cauldron Cake. “That’s saying a lot.”

“What’ve you got then?” asked Ron, turning his head to glare at Harry. “You seem awfully high and mighty for someone who probably doesn’t have rat, or even anything at all.”

“I’ve got a dog,” defended Harry. “Snuffles.”

You and Ron both stifled giggles. “Snuffles? No way you named your dog that!”

“I didn’t pick the name!”

“A dog’s not as good as an owl anyways,” you teased.

“I’d beg to differ – my dog totally is,” Harry grumbled, crossing his arms. “Plus you don’t even need to have an owl – the school’s got its own aviary shock-full of ‘em that you can send letters with.”

“One day, I’m gonna get an owl.” Ron sighed dreamily. “Just for myself, I wouldn’t have to share with Fred or George or Percy or Ginny.”

“Who’s Ginny?”

Before Ron could divulge the identity of this ‘Ginny’, the compartment door was opened by a bushy-haired girl whose face was wrinkled up irritably. Toad-Boy also made a reappearance.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said Ron, but the girl wasn’t listening. Rather, she had been staring at you.

“You’re (Y/n) (L/n).” she declared matter-of-factly. “I saw you on the station. I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

Ron gaped at her and Harry blinked a few times repeatedly.

“Be surprised if I wasn’t,” you said, winking cheekily. You also had no idea what she was talking about though.

She studied you appraisingly before asking Ron and Harry “and who are you?”

“Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter.”

“Pleasure. Well, I’m Hermione Granger. I was ever so pleased when I got my letter to Hogwarts, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learnt all of our set books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough.”

All three pairs of eyebrows furrowed in synchronisation. You, personally, had only caught about one-third of what she had been saying since she’d been basically rapping out her words.

Herminkoni (was that what she said her name was?) began talking again. “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds the best by far, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad. Anyay, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

Herpes Motion thus turned around and left, taking Toad-Boy with her.

“Well,” you announced cheerfully. “She was nice.”

“Sure,” muttered Ron, reaching for a Treacle Tart.

“She was right about one thing though,” said Harry, grinning and brushing his hair out of his face. “Gryffindor, by large, is definitely the best house.”

“Who’s Gryffindor?” you squinted your eyes at him.

Ron attempted an exasperated face-palm with his left hand (he was still holding the tart in his right). Harry laughed at this, and proceeded to explain the four houses to you.

Gryffindor had been the house Ron’s and Harry’s families had gotten into. The house of the brave, it was known for. Ravenclaw, the house for smart people (you had a feeling you would not be getting into that); Hufflepuff was the house for the loyal and well-meaning. And finally, there was Slytherin. Both Ron and Harry detested the green-and-silver clad house, for it had been the group to pump out the most dark witches and wizards.

“Ah,” you said. “So naturally, we should hate that house, since that was the one Voldemort was – “

“Woah,” said Ron, looking impressed. “You just said his name.”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s just a name. Anyways, I’m guessing that you all want Gryffindor then?”

“Of course!” Ron puffed out his chest.

“Hey, did you – ?”

Unfortunately, whatever Harry had wanted to ask had been interrupted by the compartment door sliding open again.

This time, it was a group of three – the ringleader being a sallow-faced, gauntly blonde boy. The other two were giant-sized, goliath looking boys who looked like his bodyguards. And, of course, they were all fixated on you.

“Is it true?” he said. “They’re saying all down the train that (Y/n) (L/N)’s in this compartment. So, it’s you, is it?”

“That’s right,” you smiled at him.

His lips twitched into a small smirk. He waved his hand carelessly at the two body-doubles next to him. “This is Crabbe and that’s Goyle. And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ron choked on his treacle tart, but you suspected that may have been him trying to disguise a sneer. Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Ron, causing your hackles to rise immediately.

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.”

Ron’s face went pink again and he sunk into his seat.

Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry, but before he could say something about his family, you cut him off.

Draco Malfoy turned his sharpened gaze toward you. “And I’d be more careful if I was you. You don’t want to make enemies with the wrong people.”

“The same goes for you.”

You stared down Draco Malfoy. Harry was glancing back and forth between the two of you, and he looked ready to stand up if this altercation escalated.

“You don’t get to come in here and poke fun at us,” you muttered slowly. “Especially, if you want to end up on good terms with me.”

His cheeks tinged a faint pink. “Not like I would want to be friends with the likes of you.” He placed the emphasis on ‘you’ the same way you did.

You, Harry and Ron all stood up.

“I think it’d be best if you left.” you gritted out, disliking the boy less and less by every twitch of his rat-like face.

Unfortunately for you, Malfoy’s rattish face had broken out into a sneer. “You’ll regret making enemies out of me, (L/n). I promise you that much.”

He furiously spun around and out of the carriage, but not before he could shoot you a final scathing look. Crabbe and Goyle chased after him, robes billowing out from behind them.

“What a buffoon,” you huffed angrily.

“Agreed,” said Harry, still glaring at the door.

“I’ve heard of his family before,” said Ron darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.”

“‘Specially if they thought it was the winning side,” added Harry.

The door opened before you could open your mouth. There was Hermit Yeti, yet again, standing at the entrance.

“What has been going on? Why did I just see three boys bolting out of this compartment?” She looked you up and down. “You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!”

“They were the ones starting it – not us!” defended Ron, scowling at her.

“All right – I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” she said sniffly. “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know that?”

“Thank you,” you interjected, glaring at her on behalf of Ron. “Could you leave now?”

And finally, Herm-onion left.

If you had to guess, it had been only an hour after that when the train had pulled to a stop. You had donned your robes, ensuring that they still had your signature wind-swept appearance about them. Ron and Harry were also wearing their robes now too. You stuffed your pockets with the remaining sweets as you left the train.

Hopping out of the train and onto the station, you were delighted to be met with the familiar, gentle face of Hagrid.

“Firs’-years! Firs-years over here! All right there, (Y/n)?” He beamed at you from under his scraggly beard.

You waved enthusiastically at him.

The first-years, it looked like, had their own means of reaching the school, which involved travelling in groups of four in a little boat across a lake. You, Harry, Ron and the bushy-haired girl (to your displeasure) took a boat close to the front.

Whilst you did not dislike the girl, you weren’t fond of her tendency to huff or be bossy, especially when she did it toward Ron (which you found she did often). Harry hadn’t done anything to get into her wrong books, and nor vice versa, so they were probably on the most amicable terms between you, him and Ron.

The boats glided in unison across the great body of water, before coming to a stop at the front of the school’s castle. You could hardly hear Toad-Boy’s reunion with his toad (“Trevor”) amongst the excited buzzing in your ears.

The gaggle of first-years came to a stop at the entrance of Hogwarts, a ginormous wooden castle door. Hagrid raised his fist and rapped three times on it.

The door opened immediately. There was a stern, grey-haired witch standing behind it. She was sifting through the crowd intensely, and her gaze did not linger on your scar like how most peoples’ did.

“The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

The door was opened further and you streamed into the Entrance Hall. The entire school was huge, you realised, and was very elaborately decorated – like something you would read in a book. Flaming torches illuminated the corridor. The first-years were pulled into a little room, next to a place where you could hear the rest of the school talking.

It was then you noticed that Ron appeared quite pale under his freckles and that Harry was fiddling with his fingers. In fact, every first-year seemed to be exhibiting some sort of nervous tick, apart from Malfoy, who was rolling his eyes for some reason.

You drew your eyebrows together in confusion. Should you have been scared too? It wasn’t like they were going to force you to fight each other or anything right? At least, that’s what you hoped. Although, you definitely knew that if they made you fight, you’d win.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and speed free time in your house common room.

She continued giving a debrief of the houses, but as it was something you had already heard from Harry and Ron, it wasn’t anything new. You fidgeted restlessly, wanting to get onto the Sorting already.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.�� Her eyes lingered on your messy hair and ruffled collar, where one lapel was sticking up.

Once she left, you turned to Harry and Ron. “What do they do to get us into these houses? Is it like a test? Based on how you answer, that’s where you get in? Like, ‘what is the square root of sixteen?’”

“That’s probably only good for finding Ravenclaws and non-Ravenclaws though,” said Ron, taking you seriously. “My brothers said it was a test too, though. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”

Harry was looking more unsettled by the minute.

“Hey,” you said, patting his shoulder. “Don’t be nervous. I’m sure Ron’s brothers are just messing with us.”

“Me too,” nodded Ron.

“But,” Harry’s green eyes met yours anxiously. “A test? In front of the whole school? I barely know two spells, how will they sort me with that? What if they send me home? What if –”

“Listen,” you said. “That’s already two more spells than I know, and probably most of the first-years too. That Malfoy included.”

You narrowed your eyes at said boy, before returning them to Harry. “Don’t worry, alright? I’m sure we'll all do great.”

Beside you, Ron nodded appreciatively (although it looked like his skin was beginning to reach a sickly pale green colour).

“You’re right,” said Harry, and you were pleased to see that he was a fraction less scared than he was a moment ago.

You didn’t bother with ‘smartening yourself up.’ You were already pretty smart enough, in your opinion. Having bested the darkest wizard of the age at a meagre one year old didn’t come to just anyone, you know?

After a whole debacle with some ghosts flying in to greet you before the ceremony, Professor McGonagall entered the room once more. You all trudged in a single-file line into the Great Hall.

You gaped openly at the Great Hall, which looked even bigger than the Entrance. Four long tables were lain across the room, with golden plates and goblets sitting on each. The students were segregated by houses, indicated by the colour of their robes and ties. There were also several candles floating in the air, which was pretty sweet too. Oh, and the roof looked like the sky as well.

Professor McGongagall placed a three-legged stool in front of school, and then she placed a rusty-looking hat on top of it. You deadpanned when it broke into song, and even more when everyone burst into applause once it finished.

“So, we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron whisper-yelled to you and Harry. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!”

Harry gave him a nervous smile, and you said “I told you it wouldn’t have been that bad. Probably.”

Professor McGonagall approached the stool, unravelling a long roll of parchment paper. “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said. “Abbott, Hannah!”

Hannah stumbled from the crowd of first-years and toward her. If you squinted, she looked a little like Odette, with yellower hair. She placed the hat on her head and after a moment of silence, the hat shouted out “HUFFLEPUFF!”

The table on the right, with the yellow-and-black clad students cheered and hollered as Hannah went to join them.

‘Bones, Susan’ went up next and she too went to Hufflepuff. ‘Boot, Terry’ went to Ravenclaw, and ‘Brown Lavender’ became the first new Gryffindor. The cheering from the red table was definitely the loudest, especially when right after ‘Bulstrode Millicent’ was sorted in Slytherin and all she got was only a polite and semi-silent applause from her new house.

A few more people went, and then, so did ‘Granger, Hermione’ (so that was her name) who sat on the stool for a precariously long period of time before being sent to Gryffindor. Ron groaned. Toad-Boy (Longbottom, Neville) got Gryffindor too, but he was on the stool for longer than Hermione. A few more people went after them.

You were raising your hand to scratch your ear when your name was called.

As you stepped forward, the students in the Hall whispered loudly, just as they had done at the station.

“(L/n), did she say?”

“The (Y/n) (L/n)?”

Those comments did not help the rising ego blooming inside of you. You swaggered over the stool and sat down. Your fingers delicately gripped the brim of the hat. The fabric felt ragged and old underneath your fingertips. You brought the Sorting Hat down toward your –

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat had barely scraped the fly-away hairs on your head when it had shrieked out the name of your house.

The Great Hall was silent for a few, stunned moments, taken aback by your instantaneous sorting (which you guessed was not a frequent occurrence). You stared back at them with wide eyes, darting downwards to look at Harry and Ron. They were wide-eyed too, before Harry broke the silence and beamed a gigantic smile at you, and the Gryffindor table erupted into cheers – louder cheers than for any of the people before you.

You felt a warm glow in your chest. You looked around the table, and saw many friendly faces. Percy the Prefect had dived over the table (almost) to shake your hand vigorously and you could hear the Weasley twins jeering and yelling out “We got (L/n)! We got (L/n)!” Even a ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, was congratulating you by patting your arm, which felt like you were being doused in a cold bucket of water.

At the High Table, Hagrid was grinning and gave you the thumbs up. Dumbledore, you recognised him from the chocolate frog card, was up there too with a faint twinkle in his eye.

The only notable people left up, really, were Harry and Ron.

Harry had been called first.

The Sorting Hat was sat upon his head for what seemed to be the better portion of an eternity. For the first time since your arrival, you felt a jolt of fear. What if you and your friends would be separated into different houses? You didn’t to be stuck in a full with only Neville and Hermione, everyday you would wake up to find Neville’s slimy toad on your pillowcase or –

You felt a surge of joy and relief, as after a minute or two, the hat declared “GRYFFINDOR!” and the Great Hall erupted in cheers for Harry. You clapped your hands and smiled widely, looking for him among the sea of red and gold.

He took a seat beside you and you high-fived him.

“Nice to see you here, Potter, Harry,” you said, changing your voice to mimic McGonagall’s.

“Nice to see you too, the (Y/n) (L/n),” he snickered, mocking the way the students had reacted when they’d heard your name.

You grinned at him, shoving his shoulder.

Ron joined you rather quickly, even though he was one of the last people to get sorted. You were delighted at this, as it meant you could still be with them for the rest of your Hogwarts years, according to what Professor McGonagall had said.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, “Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

He sat down, and as he did, food magically appeared in front of you.

“Is he – a bit mad?” Harry asked you uncertainly.

“Probably,” you said, shrugging, reaching for the roast potatoes.

You scarfed down your food, listening to the conservation around you. You cheered when the dessert had come, causing the people around you to chuckle, quietly – except for Ron, who had gotten to the apple pie before you could.

You wrestled Ron for a slice of said pie, and were happily munching on it when you glanced back up to the High Table. Hagrid was drinking from his goblet, and Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were in a deep discussion with each other. Another Professor, in a purple turban, was fiddling nervously with his cutlery, tapping his fork against the edge of the table. He was speaking with a professor with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin.

The teacher, as though he could sense your presence, glanced straight past the Turban-Professor and bore his black eyes into yours – a sharp, hot pain seared within your scar, and you let out a hiss of pain.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked you, foreheading furrowing in concern.

“N-nothing.” The pain had left as quickly as it had come. How strange. You got the feeling that the hooked-nose teacher did not like you very much.

“Who's that teacher, the greasy-haired one?” you pointed at him, not discretely.

Harry stifled a laugh. “That’s Snape. No one likes him, they say he wants to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, but every year he gets stuck as the Potions one instead. My dad doesn’t like him at all – actually, my entire family doesn’t really too.”

“Why’s that?” you questioned.

“Not sure,” said Harry, but he scratched his cheek nervously. “They won’t tell me.”

Deciding not to press him further, you continued to watch Snape a little longer. He never looked at you again, though, after that.

Once the desserts had all faded away, Dumbledore had announced his final speech and conducted a very tragic school school orchestra. He wiped his eyes when he had finished. “Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

Powering your legs through the sheer force of the food you’d guzzled down, you followed Percy up to the Gryffindor Tower. With horror, you realised that you’d have to climb an average of seven staircases everyday, simply just to get to your bed.

Anyways, the entrance to the Gryffindor headquarters was through a painting of a Fat Lady and she flipped open when you told her the password, Caput Draconis. You scrambled through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room.

You lazily trudged up the stairs, and without even bothering to notice that your trunk had been transported up to your dorm room, you face-planted onto your bed and fell into a heavy sleep.

Perhaps you had eaten a bit too much, because that night, you had a very strange dream.

You were staring into a mirror, desperately trying to tug off a purple turban from your head. When did you get a turban? How did you get a turban? The fabric of the turban grew tighter, making you feel a sharp pain in your skull as the turban squeezed your head like a vice. You wondered how you got into this mess in the first place.

Furiously pulling, pulling, at the turban finally caused it to unravel and expose your hair. With a start, as you glanced back to the mirror, you discerned that your face had, horrifyingly enough, taken on the face of Snape. His own black, empty eyes stared back at you.

You scrambled back, leaping away from his cockroach-like eyes, only to find that, for some reason, there was a bottomless abyss behind you. You fell down, down, down into a pit. Closing your eyes as your head thrummed painfully, you braced yourself for the impact.

A bright flash of green light, and a high, cruel laugh jerked you awake.

Oddly enough, however, when you’d gone back to sleep, you hadn’t remembered the dream at all. You did question, however, the next morning why when you closed your eyes, all you saw was a luminous, green light in the shape of a lightning-bolt scar.

.｡*ﾟ🗲.*.｡　ﾟ*..🗲｡*ﾟ

→ Author's Note: Hello my lovelies, welcome to ch 1.2 yippee!! Sorry that its super long but we’re pretty already halfway through the ch 1 portion of the series XD — I’m guessing now that it's gonna reach about 1.4 or 1.5 but I could also be widely incorrect :P Anyways that’s all so catch ya next time :))) thank you

Time for this chapters analysis ~ You will have probs noticed one of the most canon-divergent parts of this series so far is that instead of the same dilemma Harry faced when he was getting sorted (Slytherin vs Gryffindor), as soon as the hat touched the little hairs upon your head, you were sorted into Gryffindor. During this chapter, and a little of the last one (but mostly this one), I've kinda been subtly trying to hint that the Reader is really quite arrogant and brazen. Rather than Harry as the chosen one, where he longs for a quiet and normal life, Reader dives headfirst into her role. She shamelessly self-promotes her lightning-scar and doesn’t try to hide it – she knows she’s special and she feeds into that!! She’s kinda like James Potter in that regard >.< and therefore I want her to kind of be epitome of a Gryffindor (courageous and arrogant) and maybe, maybe not, a parallel to Draco Malfoy (who also got sorted into Slytherin ASAP, and is ambitious and arrogant) hehe → that’s also why Reader and Malfoy get more aggressive even more quickly than Harry did in canon… Anyways!!! This is the briefest hint at what I have in store for this series, and we’ll see how Reader’s arrogance courageousness deviates Harry Potter from canon. Tbh I’m planning to make the reader Percy Jackson-coded (with the sass and reckless bravery and loyalty and what not) and maybe just the slightest bit Gojo-coded hehe, I know that it's not that clear rn lol but I’ll work my way into it hopefully… Anyways, thanks again! :D Series Masterlist

Taglist (thanks for asking!): @kaverichauhan

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