Chapter Text
Who would suspect p-p-poor st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?
I’m going to kill you tonight.
Let me speak to him… face to face…
Seize him! SEIZE HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!
Harry opened his eyes with a quiet gasp, awoken from his slumber. His head hurt, his eyes watered, and his hands were on his forehead, pressing onto the lightning-shaped scar, ever the source of his pain.
He sat in his bed and looked around. Acid orange surrounded him, and loud snoring intruded on his hearing. Ron slept in his own bed, the one Harry was in brought by Arthur. When the redhead slept, nothing except maybe an explosion would be able to wake him.
Harry went out and descended the stairs quietly, the time he spent in the Burrow, where the Weasleys lived, providing him with enough experience to skip a squeaky step and to stay close to the wall in general to avoid creating noise and waking up anyone. He entered the kitchen and, without turning the lights on, took a cup and poured water into it. Then, he gulped it down and put the cup into a sink where various dish-washing things came into motion and began washing the cup on their own accord.
Harry sat on a sofa and breathed out. The headaches and nightmares were not novel to him; Voldemort’s cold laugh and the flash of the curse’s green light haunted him in his dreams since he was little. After the Philosopher’s Stone fiasco and his encounter with Voldemort, Harry couldn’t remember a single night when he wouldn’t wake up in a cold sweat, stifling a scream that would have woken up his uncle and resulted in an even bigger headache, this time from a beating.
He sat there for a while, and, when the first light of the morning sun hit his eyes, Harry smiled despite everything. Dursleys weren’t here, and neither was Voldemort. Everything was fine.
The Burrow in the morning of September 1st was the definition of chaos. Everyone moved randomly, picking up things here and there, bumped into each other, growled (even though without malice); everything was loud and unorganised. Harry winced as a bout of a headache hit him, but hid it, as usual. He didn’t really have things to pack; what came with him was already in the trunk, and putting the school equipment there was a matter of one minute the day they returned from Diagon Alley.
Finally, everyone packed, they had a quick but filling breakfast (courtesy of Mrs Weasley), and boarded the Ford Anglia. Somehow, six people, two owls, a rat, and all the trunks fit the small car perfectly.
When Fred had to run back to the house for his broomstick, Mrs Weasley glowered. When George returned for a set of firecrackers, she growled. When the car turned around the third time to allow Ginny to take her diary, she barely held herself together for the sake of her daughter, whose forgetfulness could be forgiven, given she’d go to Hogwarts for the first time in her life.
Of course, they were running late. Mr and Mrs Weasley were arguing; apparently, they were getting late and were unsure if the company would make it to the station in time, and Mr Weasley insisted on using enchantments placed on the car. Ginny sat between them, clearly stressed, the diary in her hands, thumbs caressing its spine. The rest were with him in. The backseat: Ron was napping to his Right, Percy was looking through the windscreen at the road before them, and the twins were discussing something quietly but very lively.
Harry leaned his head against the car’s cool window, looking at the city of London passing by, its streets busy as usual.
“Hurry up!”
One by one, the Weasleys were disappearing in the barrier separating platforms nine and ten. The barrier that separated two worlds.
Percy and Mr Weasley were the first to go. They went at a quick pace towards the barrier and disappeared in it.
“Fred, George, your turn!”
The twins, cheerful as always, ran towards the barrier. It rippled slightly, then swallowed them and their trolleys, letting them pass through onto platform nine and three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express waited for students to board.
Muggles were passing by, ignoring the fact that some people had suddenly learned to go through walls.
Mrs Weasley turned towards Harry and Ron. “You two will go right after us. Don’t dawdle!”
She hurried through the barrier, leading nervous Ginny with one hand and pushing the trolley with the other. Perhaps, leaving two underage children on their own on a crowded platform was not the wisest solution, but ensuring the youngest Weasley boarded the train without trouble took priority.
Regardless, they were the last ones still on the Muggle side of King’s Cross. The clock was ticking; they were going to be the last to get to the Hogwarts Express.
Harry and Ron glanced at each other. “Well, here we go,” Harry murmured, pushing his trolley forward and letting the momentum carry him towards the wall. He could hear Ron doing the same.
He felt no nervousness, only an absolute, unbreakable faith that the barrier would let them through. He had already done this exactly one year ago, and he had seen a dozen people going through it just now. The confidence, along with the magic in his body, was the key to getting through the barrier.
This confidence was shattered like glass when they ran into the wall. The absolutely solid brick wall. Not the barrier that half a dozen people had just gone through.
It took some time for Harry to stand up; a headache flare almost knocked him out. He shook his head several times and looked at the wall in astonishment, still not believing what had just happened. Hedwig barked in outrage; the cage was lying on its side. He picked up the cage and placed it straight in the trolley with an apologetic look at his owl.
Ron put his hand onto the wall, then pushed. Nothing happened. “What the actual f—”
He was interrupted by a clock’s mocking chime.
It was eleven o’clock.
They were too late.
“—uck!”
Ron hit the wall, then hissed in pain.
“Stop it. Muggles are watching,” Harry said, leaning on his cart.
Too late; a guard, attracted by the commotion, approached them. “What’s happening here? What on Earth are you doing?”
“Sorry about that, sir,” Harry spoke, “It was just an accident, I lost control of the trolley. We’ll be more careful, I promise. We’ll wait for our parents here, they’ll catch up with us soon.”
The guard looked at them sternly, then turned away and went along the platform. Harry observed him and the crowd dispersing, uninterested in something so normal as two boys with no parents in sight, carrying large trunks and a snowy owl in a cage. Perhaps, some magic at play, a stray thought flashed in Harry’s mind. He pinched his nose in annoyance, letting the thought slip away; there were more pressing concerns at the moment.
“Right,” he said as soon as people around them started moving, “let’s get away a bit.”
“What are we going to do?” Ron asked from behind, pushing his cart in front of him. “The train’s left! What happened?”
“I know nothing you don’t,” Harry grumbled, stopping at a bench and sitting down, rubbing his temples.
Ron did not calm down.
“Harry… if we could not go in… maybe Mum and Dad can’t get back through to us?”
“They’ll find a way out. We just have to wait for them by—”
“The car!” Ron exclaimed. “We can fly it to Hogwarts!”
Harry considered the idea, but the longer he did, the more flaws he saw.
“First, I’m not sure that I won’t be expelled for using the magic. Second, I doubt that the car will make it to Hogwarts; we’ve been flying to the Burrow, what, three hours? It’d already begun whining, and your father mentioned something he’d never tested if it could go longer. I’d rather not test it on our skin.
“And third: can you imagine what’s going to happen when your parents can’t find us, the car’s gone? Wasn’t one dressing-down from your mum enough for you?”
Ron paled at the thought of facing his mother after such a stunt. Meanwhile, Harry pondered their other options. Sending Hedwig? The owl was even slower than the car; it would only reach Hogwarts by night. Going to the Leaky Cauldron? The journey would take forever, and none of them knew London.
He wondered for a moment what would happen if the train arrived and the teachers found out they weren’t there. He decided not to think about it anymore.
“I say we wait for your parents by the car,” Harry pressed on. “They will search for us, and it’s an obvious place to look. They’ll figure it out.”
“But it’s an emergency, isn’t it? The law—” Ron protested, but the enthusiasm in his voice was almost gone.
“I’m not sure the Ministry will see it that way. They sent me a warning because of a bloody house-elf!”
Harry stood up. “Let’s go. If your parents don’t come up, we’ll think of something else.”
While Mr and Mrs Weasley understood almost immediately that Harry and Ron were missing, it took them ten minutes to attempt (and fail) to leave the platform through the barrier, Apparate back onto the station, and, after not finding the boys, try and check the car.
“Mum! Dad! We couldn’t go through! What happened?” Ron shouted as soon as he saw his parents. Harry winced from a bout of a headache caused by his friend’s loud voice.
“We don’t know,” Mr Weasley said. “I’ll contact the Department of Magical Transportation and have them inspect the barrier. I’ve never heard about something like that. But first, we send you to Hogwarts.”
“But how are we going to get there? We could just fly…” Ron still couldn’t let go of his idea.
Mrs Weasley’s reaction was immediate and quite loud. “Absolutely not! You’re not flying to Hogwarts, Ronald Weasley! One time on this… thing… was enough!”
“It would be unwise, indeed.” Mr Weasley put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, trying to calm her down. “Besides, there’s a much faster option: I’ll make a Portkey for you two. We could probably drive to the Leaky Cauldron and use their Floo, but I’m sure you are not a fan of it, right, Harry?” he smiled, but the smile was strained, trying to hide nervousness.
He opened the Ford Anglia’s boot and started rummaging in it.
“No, that won’t do… that’s still useful… aha!”
He straightened with a proud expression on his face and presented to the world… a yellow rubber duck.
Mrs Weasley was unimpressed, and the boys glanced at each other in confusion. In the meantime, Mr Weasley looked around to make sure he wasn’t seen, took out his wand, tapped the toy with it, and murmured a couple of spells. The rubber duck became twice as large and briefly glowed blue.
“Alright, boys,” Mr Weasley turned to Harry and Ron. “This is a Portkey; in about a minute, it will take you to Hogsmeade, a village near Hogwarts.” He grinned. “Students are allowed to visit it from the third year, but you’ll have a chance to take a look early!
“Anyway, when you’re there, send Professor McGonagall an owl, she’ll collect you. You can wait for her in the Three Broomsticks, it’s quite easy to find; I’m pretty sure you’ll land near it. Understood? Then grab the Portkey and hold on to your things. Three… two… one…”
Harry had barely put his hand on the rubber duck when it activated. There was a sensation like he was roughly pulled by a hook under his navel, then a whirlwind of colours and sounds, his head exploded with pain, and he only just kept his hand on the Portkey…
Then they roughly landed on a paved street.
Ron’s face was slightly green as he stood up. Harry preferred to stay down for a while: the day was far more eventful than he would expect from his first day at school, and he was certain that, with his luck, it was not the end of it. So, he allowed himself a moment of peace, until Hedwig reminded him of her presence. She didn’t like the Portkeys any more than her master did.
A broom is much better, a thought flickered in Harry’s head as he stumbled to his feet. At least, the Portkey landed them softly.
The street around them was devoid of people.
At the end of the street, a building stood. Over its door, three broomsticks were hanging, forming a triangle.
Easy to find, indeed.
Harry opened Hedwig’s cage, letting her out. “Sorry about all that, girl,” he muttered.
The owl darted out of the cage, immediately taking flight. She made a circle, then landed on the boy’s shoulder, and bit his ear hard enough to convey her displeasure but not to pierce the skin.
“Let’s go,” Harry said, taking hold of his trolley, wondering idly whether anyone would bother to return these to King’s Cross.
The trolleys were slightly unwieldy on the stone pavement, but the boys no longer needed to hurry. They strolled, recovering from the eventful morning. Their eyes wandered over shopfronts and alleys branching off the main street, taking everything in. Harry paused in front of Spintwitches Sporting Needs, but could only sigh in disappointment: the shop was closed.
All in all, Hogsmeade looked… dull. Lacklustre. Devoid of life.
Something flickered, as though someone switched a TV channel, and a different picture stood before his eyes: the lit street was noisy, bustling with students, and all the shops were open, inviting.
But then the image was gone. Hogsmeade shrank to a lifeless, empty street.
Harry dropped to his knees, brought down by the strongest bout of headache he had ever experienced. His vision blurred, bright spots danced before his eyes, and a nasty high-pitched tone drowned out all other sounds. He could only feel Hedwig flapping her wings, trying to regain balance, hitting him a couple of times. The boy froze in place, only jerking his head in an attempt to regain his senses.
Eventually, the sight and the hearing returned. The first thing he heard was Ron.
“Harry! Harry, what’s going on?” Panic was clear in his friend’s voice.
Harry stood up slowly and shakily and breathed in and out a few times. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not!” Ron responded hotly. “You went pale all of a sudden, then dropped and just stood on your knees for a minute! What happened?”
“I’m fine now,” Harry repeated. “It was just a headache, nothing to worry about. Come on, let’s go write McGonagall. This place is empty anyway.”
He started moving, using the trolley as a support, but Ron was not done.
“You’ve almost collapsed, and you call that fine? Harry—”
Harry raised his hand without looking at his friend. “Look, it was just a headache. Trust me, I’ve had much worse. I won’t even remember it by tomorrow, you’ll see. Now, can we just get to the bloody inn and write a letter and get to Hogwarts already?” He felt irritation seeping into his voice and tried his best to calm down.
Ron sulked for a while. “Fine,” he finally said. “But if it happens again, I’ll take you to Madam Pomfrey, whether you like it or not.”
The inn was mostly empty. Only a few wizards sat at a table in a far corner. Harry ran a hand through his hair, ensuring his scar vanished beneath the locks. No matter how many years passed, the people would always notice it first and him, second. He hated it, hated how it made him feel like a museum exhibit.
The patrons threw curious glances at them but quickly lost interest and returned to what, from such a distance, looked like some card game. Harry and Ron went in and sat down behind a table. Hedwig flew away from Harry’s shoulder, deciding to stay on the handle of the trolley Harry rolled into a corner.
A pretty middle-aged woman approached them, with curiosity from seeing students written on her face.
“What are you doing here, my dears? The Hogwarts Express will only arrive in the evening. How did you get here?” She asked them with a polite smile.
“We missed the train, ma’am,” Harry replied. “The barrier at King’s Cross wouldn’t let us through, and we couldn’t go to the station. Ron’s parents sent us here; they told us to get here and send McGonagall a letter so that she’d pick us up.”
The woman frowned. “Strange. I’ve never heard of the barrier not letting students pass. Well, you can wait for your Professor here. If you want to eat or drink something, you’ll find me at the counter. I’m Rosmerta, by the way, I own the place.”
Madam Rosmerta smiled at the boys and strolled back to the counter.
Harry took a piece of parchment and a quill out of his trunk, then returned to the table and began writing.
Dear Professor McGonagall,
Ron and I were unable to board the Hogwarts Express due to what seemed to be a malfunction with the barrier at King’s Cross. As I understand, the Ministry has been notified about this. Mr Weasley sent us to Hogsmeade via a Portkey, and we are currently at the Three Broomsticks.
Could you help us get to Hogwarts? I apologise for the inconvenience.
Respectfully,
Harry Potter
Harry rolled the parchment and tied the letter to Hedwig’s leg. “Give it to Professor McGonagall, will you? You can go to Owlery and rest after that.”
Hedwig barked and flew onto his shoulder, her yellow eyes on the door.
“Good girl.” Harry smiled and went for the exit. He opened the door, and the owl flew from his shoulder to the castle of Hogwarts. The boy watched her for a few moments, then went to the counter.
“So, what do you have to drink?” he asked Madam Rosmerta.
She smiled and gave him the menu. He skimmed through it, but none of the drinks were familiar to him. Not that he had a chance to hold a menu once in his life: the Dursleys would never take him to any place, leaving him under Mrs Figg’s supervision.
“Two mulled meads, please.”
“Oh, that’ll warm you right up! Sit tight, I’ll bring it over.”
The cheery keeper of the Tree Broomsticks returned soon, bringing two big hot mugs of mead. “Here you go. That’ll be two sickles.”
Harry put silver coins on the counter, thanked Madam Rosmerta and returned to the table where Ron was sitting. “Here. My treat,” he said, putting one mug in front of his friend.
They drank in silence. The warm mead chased away the Scottish cool. Harry couldn’t help but wonder: What happened to the barrier?
“Well, here we are,” Hagrid said when they reached the Gryffindor Common Room. “I’ll leave yeh here. I still have things ter do. See yeh at the Feast.” He smiled and left.
Harry dropped into a soft chair in front of the fireplace that was already burning. “What a day,” he said, looking around without leaving the comfortable seat.
The Common Room did not change since the time he last saw it in June. Decorated in scarlet and gold, with a lot of armchairs around, it was cozy in a way it was difficult for him to describe.
Ron opened his trunk and started rummaging in it. He threw aside a couple of schoolbooks that seemed to be in the way, then made a satisfied grunt and demonstrated a chess set. “Wanna play?”.
Harry moved closer to a low table without a word. “Just don’t go all out on me, alright? I want to hold out for more than five turns.”
But even with Ron holding back as much as possible, Harry lost miserably after half an hour of desperately trying to survive the onslaught.
“Checkmate,” Ron said smugly, and Harry’s king saluted him.
“They hate me, I swear,” Harry groaned, leaning back in his chair.
“One more?” Ron asked, but Harry shook his head.
Ron shrugged and began putting the pieces into the intricately carved box. Harry stood up, paced around, stretching, then stopped before a bookshelf. He picked a Transfiguration textbook, returned to his chair, and began reading. After some time, he felt a gaze on him and lowered the book. Ron was looking at him as though he had grown a second head.
“What?” Harry asked a bit defensively.
“Why are you reading a textbook?”
“Well, there’s not much to do here. Besides, we’re in school; we’re supposed to read stuff.”
Ron shuddered slightly. “Come on, reading is for Hermione.”
Harry frowned at his friend. “Do you want to say I’m too stupid for that or something like that?”
“No, I just—”
“Or that we should depend on Hermione to do all the work for us? Because then why are we even here?”
Ron remained silent.
“I’m a wizard,” Harry continued, “and I want to be a good one. If it means being more like Hermione… I guess I can live with that.”
With that, he returned to the book, leaving Ron to process his words.
“But— the barrier never malfunctioned! How is that even possible?”
It was easy to find Hermione in the crowd, her bushy hair visible from far away. However, she saw them even faster, standing before the Great Hall.
They stepped through the open doors of the Great Hall and went to Gryffindor’s table.
“We don’t know.” Harry shrugged. “Everything breaks sooner or later.”
“I find it hard to believe that the barrier worked for everyone—students, their parents— but broke down on you,” Hermione scoffed and sat down on the bench. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“But who could do this?” Harry looked at her. “And who would want to?”
“Well, we know somebody wanted to keep you out of Hogwarts.” Ron plopped himself down to Harry’s right. “The elf couldn’t just go by himself, could it?”
Hermione’s neck almost cracked. “What elf?”
They told her about Dobby, the house elf—how he had appeared in Harry’s room, what he wanted, and what happened afterwards. Hermione’s eyes grew wider with each word.
“They did what?” she shrieked when Ron mentioned the bars on Harry’s window. Several students turned to stare.
“Keep it down,” Harry hissed at her; his head throbbed in protest at the sudden noise.
He was spared from further interrogation as Professor McGonagall entered the Great Hall with the first years in tow.
Ginny’s red hair was easily visible even from where they sat. She fidgeted, unnerved by the full hall of students whose attention was now concentrated on the newcomers.
The Great Hall went silent. Professor McGonagall stood near a four-legged stool. On the stool was the Sorting Hat. A few moments of silence passed, and then the Hat opened its mouth and began singing. It was not the greatest singer, and the rhyme wasn’t impeccable, but the song soothed Harry and filled him with a warm feeling. He was home.
The Hat finished the song, and students erupted with a round of applause. Professor McGonagall waited until it subsided and unfolded a long roll of parchment.
“When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit to be sorted.”
Harry remembered his Sorting, how frightened they all were.
Then, a different memory hit.
“SLYTHERIN!”
He stood up from the stool to the polite claps of professors and students alike, straightened his tie that changed colour to emerald green, put the Hat down, and went to the Slytherin’s table with a confident stride.
Harry shook his head. He wasn’t a Slytherin; he resisted that vehemently and was Sorted into Gryffindor.
The Sorting began with overenthusiastic Colin Creevey, who, after short pause, was sent to Gryffindor. After him, Amadeus Harper went into Slytherin; the reaction of the hall was much more subdued, and only a fourth of the students was clapping in full.
Soon, it was Ginny’s turn. She sat on the stool, her face flushed, when he saw everyone was looking at her. Then she put on the Hat, a brief moment passed…
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Their table exploded with applause, her brothers contributing to the noise as well as they could. The twins intercepted her as she went past them, still red, and made her sit with them.
Professor McGonagall put away the roll, the stool, and the Hat, then sat down at the teacher table. Then, the Headmaster stood up, smiling at his students.
“Welcome, welcome, everyone! I will speak of the boring things later; now, it’s time for the feast!” He spread his hands, and the dishes on all the tables were full of every kind of food.
Harry put everything he felt like eating and could reach on his plate and began to eat.
“So, you were in Hogsmeade?” Hermione asked as she filled her plate. “How was it? You must’ve been the first students below the third year that went there.”
“Knowing Fred and George, I won’t be surprised if they got there in their first year,” Harry replied. “And it’s not like we did much sightseeing. We landed, went to the pub, I sent a letter to McGonagall, she sent Hagrid, and we went to the castle.”
“But you’ve still seen something, haven’t you?” Hermione pressed on.
Harry sighed and put down the fork. “It was almost empty, Hermione. A nice, tidy village, but not many people were there; a few in the Three Broomsticks, that’s the pub we waited in, but that’s all.”
“Oh.” Hermione sounded disappointed.
“That’s because you were on the main street,” Fred and George chipped in. “It’s where Hogwarts students spend their money; you should see it when it’s a Hogsmeade weekend. Locals have other places to spend time at.”
Hermione turned her attention to the twins, and they started an animated chat. Harry returned to his food.
After everyone ate and drank, Dumbledore got up again, and the Hall fell silent.
“I have a few notices for you before you go to your beds. First-years should remember that the forest near the castle is forbidden for all pupils. I have also been asked by Mr Filch to remind you all that spell-casting in the corridors is not allowed.
“That’s all, off you go!”
Chatter and noise filled the Great Hall once again as everyone rose to leave. Harry allowed the crowd to lead him to the Common Room, where he quickly changed into pyjamas, dropped into his bed and fell asleep.
It was good to be home.