Chapter Three
Severus wished he had earplugs as Malfoy ranted
in the Slytherin common room. The blond leader of the seventh years - excluding
Severus - had been expounding for days what he would do to the man who had
landed in the middle of "the best game of Quidditch in our seven years at
this sorry excuse for a school." The black-haired youth was sure that the
man hadn't intended on being there, judging by the way the soot and smoke had
covered his body.
Dumbledore hadn't said anything more about
the man, but Severus knew that several people from the Ministry had been here
to talk about it. He knew this because he had been talking to Professor
Montrose about a potion when the summons to Dumbledore's office had arrived.
The Head of Hufflepuff was showing Severus several different ways to brew one
of the harder potions on the curriculum when the owl had flown through the
window.
When Montrose had come back, the man hadn't
answered any of Severus' questions. Knowing that, he bided his time to find out
just what was going on. The day after that he had gone over to the hospital
wing to see what was going on, but hadn't seen anything before Madam Pomfrey
shooed him out of the infirmary.
The man is in a private room, Severus
thought. That makes him one of three things: he's on the verge of dying, which
was very possible judging by the state of him three days ago; he's a dangerous
criminal who happened to break through all the wards surrounding the castle and
they were keeping him here until they could find a safe way to transport him to
the Ministry for a trial; or three, he'd be staying here.
Malfoy's voice rose even higher and Severus
winced inwardly. Deciding that he would get much studying done, he packed his
bags and rose.
"Where you going, Snape?" Goyle
asked.
One thin eyebrow lifted disdainfully.
"Why should I tell you?"
"Is the library your destination,
Severus?" Malfoy asked, his attention switched momentarily. "Or are
you going to try once more to find out who our visitor is?"
Severus smiled thinly. "I believe that
the books in the library hold more sway over my curiosity than some man dying
in the hospital wing." Sending a look to Malfoy that said he would refuse
to answer any more questions, he quietly left the dungeons.
On his way, he made sure to take a path that
would take him past the infirmary. Seeing nothing once more, he had just
rounded the corner to the library when he heard the door to the infirmary open
as Dumbledore talked.
"We'll get you some things until we can
get you into a house, Harry," the headmaster was saying.
"Thank you, sir," a soft baritone
answered him.
Severus froze at the voice, the resonance of
it sending a shiver down his spine. Swiftly turning around and pulling himself
deeper into the shadows, he waited for the two to pass by where he was hiding.
As they did, he had to hold in a gasp when he got a good look at the young man
walking beside the headmaster.
Long black hair, longer than even that prick
Black's, swayed down his back in a mad tumble. It wasn't curly, but wasn't
straight either. The messy hair framed his face, and more specifically his
eyes. But what drew his attention was the oddly shaped scar on his forehead.
The slightly puckered skin looked like it was in the shape of a lightning bolt.
Thinking of how he arrived at Hogwarts, Severus found himself thinking it was
appropriate.
"I think you will like Diagon Alley,
Harry. Before we go, we should hide that scar. Though it may help us find out
who you are, we can keep it back for security."
"That's fine, sir. Diagon Alley - what
is there?" the soft voice asked as they walked out of earshot.
'Harry.'
Severus liked it. From the boy's stance, his
name fit him very well. The tall, proud walk he used displayed an awesome power
within him.
Turning back around, he walked quickly to
the library. At the spot he had claimed his first year here, Severus sat in the
cushiony chair, not bothering to get out his books. He wouldn't be able to
concentrate on them for a while. He'd just sit here and think about what he had
seen before he would. If someone saw him, he could just say that had been
thinking about a potion - no one bothered to ask beyond that.
******
Sirius was practically bouncing in his seat
next to James, and the last remaining Potter was, frankly, tired of it.
"Padfoot, would you stop that?" he
asked. "If you don't, I'll hex you into tomorrow."
The other boy laughed off the threat.
"I can't, Prongs. I just can't wait to see which house this Harry guy will
be in."
"A hairy guy?" Peter Pettigrew
asked as he slid into his seat.
"No, Pete," Lily corrected from
the other side of James. "Sirius was talking about the boy they are going
to be sorting before dinner."
"Oh." The slightly overweight boy
hadn't talked much about the rumors that had swiftly passed through the school when
the headmaster and a strange boy had been seen entering the castle's main doors
with several bags an hour before. Even before that, he had seemed disinterested
in the entire subject of the mystery man who had interrupted the Quidditch
match.
Remus arrived, face slightly sweaty from the
swift journey he'd had to make to Gryffindor tower before coming to dinner.
"Is it going to be before dinner?" he asked as he sat down.
James nodded as Dumbledore entered the room,
a black-haired boy of about his age following him.
The headmaster stopped at the stool perched
in front of the teachers' table, the Sorting Hat sitting quietly on it.
Dumbledore cast a beaming smile on the Great Hall. "Students, I would like
to introduce a new student, Harry, to Hogwarts."
The students clapped, James included, even
though he thought it strange that Dumbledore didn't give a last name. Maybe
they hadn't thought of one. Looking over at the Slytherin table to see what
their reaction was, he caught sight of Snape, whose face held a strange look.
He couldn't quite decipher what it was, so he turned back to the headmaster.
The hall was startled when the hat didn't
sing. James figured that it was because it hadn't been given enough time to
make up a song. After all, it had all year to think of a new one for the
Sorting at the beginning of the fall term.
Holding the hat, Dumbledore motioned Harry
to sit on the chair and positioned the hat on his head.
The entire hall sat in silence for five
entire minutes before any movement was seen from the hat.
"I cannot Sort the Lightning Child. He
belongs in all houses and in none."
Shock rippled through the students. James
saw the look of surprise on Dumbledore's face and the other professors.
Harry took off the hat. "Sir?"
The soft voice cut through all the noise,
startling James again. He could hear raw power in that voice. It also sounded
familiar, almost like his father's voice before Voldemort had killed him a year
ago. He looked again at the confused boy who stood talking with Dumbledore in
hushed conversation.
He looked a lot like what he saw in the
mirror, and at the same time he didn't. James wondered if he was a distant
cousin, knowing that the Potter heritage ran very strong in their features.
Dumbledore had finished talking to Harry.
"Since our new student is unable to be
sorted, for tonight I will place him at the Gryffindor table under the care of
our Head Boy and Head Girl. I and your other professors will figure out how
Harry will get his education."
James stood up as Dumbledore pointed Harry
in his direction. As he did, his blue eyes met brilliant green, a half-shade
darker than Lily's. Hiding his confusion, he gave the boy walking towards him a
welcoming smile. Holding out his hand, he said, "Hi, Harry. I'm James
Potter."
******
Harry watched the antics in the Gryffindor
common room. After a confusing dinner, James and his friends had practically
dragged him up to the tower where their dormitories were. All of them had been
friendly but for one. The sandy-haired boy called Peter was chilly to him, a
reaction he, and indeed James, hadn't understood.
"What's the matter, Pete?" James
had asked. "Don't you like Harry?"
Peter had shrugged his shoulders. "I
can't tell yet."
Harry hadn't felt crushed, exactly. He had
felt several emotions coming from the boy sitting across from him. In fact, he
had felt more for being embarrassed by sitting between James and his
girlfriend, Lily, than the slight anger directed at him by Peter.
"Harry!" Sirius called to him,
breaking his train of thought.
"Yes, Sirius?" As he said the
name, a picture flashed behind his eyes. It was a picture of a man like Sirius,
but much older, probably twice his age, his face full of both grief and joy.
Shaking off the brief glimpse, he smiled up at the other boy.
"Can you ride a broom?"
Harry frowned. He remembered walking by a
shop that had held brooms in its front window. He'd had another flash of a
memory, where he had been flying very fast, being chased by something or
somebody. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, "I'm not sure. I could try
tomorrow, though."
Sirius grinned widely. "Yeah. Maybe
Jamie-boy here can learn a couple of new tricks for the Quidditch rematch next
Saturday."
The word 'Quidditch' gave him a flash of red
and gold and silver and green, but nothing as definite as the other pictures.
From that, though, Harry knew that he had played it before. "Maybe,"
he said with a small smile.
~*~
James held his breath at the smile on Harry's
face. The boy did look like his father with that smile, the same one his father
had given to James countless times. The pleased smile had been bestowed on
James when he had brought his father pictures he had painted and his school
scores and Quidditch game results. The smile made him ache for his father, just
a little.
******
Dumbledore smiled as he watched the students
slowly file in for breakfast. It had taken he and the Heads of Houses nearly
three hours to work out a schedule for Harry. The boy would be given his own
room, separate from all four of the houses, but would be able to visit any of
the common rooms.
Once the other professors had left his
office, he had tried to talk to the Sorting Hat about its refusal to Sort
Harry. All the Hat had offered by way of explanation was that with the boy's
memories hidden away, it would be too difficult to 'categorize' him. That
particular phrase had stopped Dumbledore, who had quickly put the Hat back on
its stool and went to sit back down in his chair. As he did, Fawkes left his
perch, his bright red feathers gleaming in the bright candlelight and lamps
that lit the headmaster's office. He had never thought of the Sorting as
categorizing, but he knew now that some people were impossible to do so. The
young man who had appeared out of lightning was one of them.
Petting the phoenix, Dumbledore had sat deep
into the night, thinking about the 'Lightning Child.'