"...My name's Harry Potter. Nice to meet you too."
When I spotted no flash of recognition on her face, my half-formed hypothesis was confirmed. Harry Potter must not be the Chosen One in this timeline - although he most likely lost his parents early on, and grew up in the normal world. Unbeknownst to my revelation, she excitedly resumed the conversation.
"Have you started on the textbooks yet? I've learnt all of them by heart, just in case of course, and I already tried a few spells myself. Not all successfully, mind you. I have to read all the reference books we bought in Diagon Alley, my parents would not let me buy new ones until I finished..."
I felt this body's memories react somewhat to that - it appears 'Harry' has also started with some books, who could've known. His memories about them were a bit blurry, though how much of that's due to reading without much light, I can't be sure. No wonder the round glasses felt so thick.
"I tried Lumos already, but I must've done the wand movement incorrectly, since it looked like this- " I moved my wand in the pattern, lighting the tip quite weakly, to Hermione's curiosity "-would you happen to know why?"
Her reaction to that honest question was, of course, to try it and succeed in producing a brilliant light almost immediately. We then dug through thousands of pages of Charms that she brought, stopping to exchange notes and debate, looking like two nerds in their zone. Which I suppose we kind of were.
When the train finally jolted, beginning its departure, me and the bushy-haired bookworm went into brief silence as London's landscape receded into the distance, our heated argument temporarily forgotten. I agreed with the 'Harry' inside: it really was magical.
The two of us then opened our books and read quietly. Our ride until sundown was quite smooth, both literally and figuratively. Double seating and soft seats notwithstanding, Hermione's dedication towards someone she just met was quite nice, albeit slightly overwhelming.
Since she did not wander about and felt content exchanging with a fellow nerd, thus sparing intrusion of the Malfoy menace, we learnt quite a bit from and about each other. Apparently enough so that by the end of the ride, I was biting off a chocolate frog head with Hermione wondering out loud how accurate it is to the real version.
The peaceful time passed slightly too quickly for my liking, however, and soon we were leaving the carriage at Hagrid's booming voice.
"Firsties over 'ere!"
The Groundskeeper held aloft a lantern, its glow flickering on his enormous frame and the lake's shifting waves. The first-years left their trunks on the carriage and crowded around the man, myself and Hermione included.
He gave a glance and a nod to all of us, which I suppose is only for attendance. It was only when a pompous Neville strolled over that Hagrid winked, his gruff beard lifting into something that might be a smile.
"Doin' alright', lad?"
The Boy-Who-Lived nodded in return, eager to show everyone his acquaintance and importance - to my own annoyance, most seemed to agree. Hermione spared him a glance, her eyes widened at the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. She was about to rush over for questions when I held her back.
"Do you know him?" I asked "because if you don't, running at him would be rather rude."
"Of course! Don't you? He's Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived! I saw him in at least five of the 'Modern History' books; he defeated Voldemort!"
At the name, a few students looked startled and scared, giving both of us a wide berth. I sighed and wordlessly pulled her to the boats. Hermione looked affronted but didn't start to protest, seeing as another pair was about to join us. The twins introduced themselves as Parvati and Padma Patil, a gesture which we returned. At my name, both shared a glance before Padma started to chat with Hermione.
"Professor Flitwick was the one who brought us to Diagon Alley. Both of our parents were magical, so he was only there to check on my equipment list and answer questions - he seems terribly smart, though. How about you, Hermione?"
"My family met Professor McGonagall. Mum and dad wouldn't believe it, when she transformed into a cat to prove magic is real - they're dentists, see. It took enlarging their gold rings to bracelets before they could believe it. Though, from what I read over the summer, that's really advanced magic, so we won't be doing that for a while."
She looked a bit glum towards the end, but stared at me expectantly. I replied, slightly reluctantly.
"Professor Dumbledore visited me. Come to think of it, he didn't do more than lift a box into the air before I believed him - I could already do that back then..."
While Hermione seemed impressed - whether from Dumbles showing up or me doing telekinesis, the twins were less so and were staring at me with a disguised apprehension. The memory of his visit, which should be a major event for an orphan like Harry, was suspiciously blurry, as if he had tampered with it. Not to mention the involuntary shudder at the name 'Dumbledore'.
For the next bit, the twins avoided speaking to me, only asking me 'Yes' or 'No's' to answer such as 'Did you know about magic before the letter?' or 'Have you had any accidental outbursts?' - both of which I said no to, since it's always better to be considered a squib like old Neville than too competent. How my first reply managed to do that, I haven't any clear ideas. After my disinterest, Hermione stopped trying to drag me into the conversation and I zoned out for a while.
My attention only relapsed from the loud gasps erupting around me. Apparently, the boats have gotten much closer to Hogwarts, enough to see the magnificent silhouette of the castle, its dark tones illuminated by countless torches. A chill passed over me, though unsure of whether from awe or some ancient magic.
As we neared the shores, murmurs grew quiet. Even the squabbling of schoolchildren, whom I suspect were the famed Chosen One and Draco Malfoy, had stopped. I followed the first-years towards the slowly opening doors, and saw the emerald robes and black, pointed hat of a witch. Her stern gaze flitted to all of us.
Stepping onto the solid jetty, I remembered those sleepless nights dreaming about the magical castle, waving wand and not have to worry about anything. Together with Hermione, I followed the first-years towards the towering doors - and my future.
I took a deep breath, taking in the scent of old parchment and burning oil - within it, an indescribable warmth.
I was... home.
____________________________________________________________________________
Headmaster's Office, West Towers
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore could guess exactly what his Transfiguration professor was saying from his balcony.
"I'll take them from here, Hagrid."
The half-giant took that cue to stay behind. Professor McGonagall led all first years inside, as it should always be, and the doors slammed shut.
Pulling his eyes away from that all too familiar scene, Albus stared out to the twinkling night sky.
Once upon a time, the great wizard would be overjoyed to show these children the wonders of magic and watch them grow into respectable men and women. And just as Minerva, Filius and even Horace told him - it's been 11 years.
More than a decade since Riddle's disappearance. Yet while others celebrated, went on with their lives and forgot the terrible War, Albus was not at ease. Paranoia and fear gripped him ever more as the years went by. The great wizard feared that, from those innocent students, any one could become another Dark Lord. Even worse, he knew there would be.
Worse yet, Albus comprehended the allure of power, having seen it corrode men all too many times. Regardless of 'sides' in the war, atrocities were committed, yet the winners were forgiven and losers vilified as evil. Dumbledore could not see the end to this cycle of madness, only a brief respite.
And just as the first years pass the gates, Albus felt again that fear of the unknown conflicting with his anticipation as an educator. For a moment, the Headmaster wished to nip this thread in its bud. The wand in his hand could really do that.
But he couldn't do it. Just as he couldn't, all those years ago, facing an inquisitive mind, filled with so much potential. Tom Riddle. Grindelwald...
Yet, one of those proving him wrong was standing behind him.
"Severus," he said without looking back, "please keep an eye on Quirrel for me."
And he repeated Ariana's last words.
"Have hope, Albus. Remember: forgive yourself."