"Just a child, with sellotaped glasses and knobbly knees and messy hair."

Harry Potter had never seen so much food, or so many people in one place at once in his life before. He wondered if the things were directly proportional - the more people, the more food, automatically.

He stared down at his plate, then around at the other students, then back down at the food.

He picked up his fork and tentatively speared a baby potato. He brought it slowly to his mouth, and let it hover there for a moment, like a nervous teenager leaning in for his first kiss. He just let it stay there, not quite touching his mouth, breathing it in, the heat warming his lips, the scent wafting up his nostrils.

He took a final, deep sniff, before parting his lips enough to let in the tip of the potato. He clamped his teeth down, detaching a large sliver. It was quite possibly the most wonderful thing he'd ever had in his mouth - a far cry of the leftovers he got at the Dursleys. It was warm and smooth and buttery, and he fought back a moan as he chewed slowly, relishing each bite.

"Enjoying the potatoes, Harry?"

He looked over at Ron Weasley, who was watching him with amusement, and grinned sheepishly.

"Mm," he nodded. "They're really good, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Try the sausages, they're excellent."

Harry heaped a few sausages on his plate. They were indeed good. Maybe even better than the potatoes.

The pudding was the best though. Harry's first bite of treacle tart sent jolts of sweetness through his taste buds, and it only got better.

He finished the pudding a lot quicker than the main course, and, feeling warm and full and sleepy, he glanced around. So many people. There were about a hundred on each table, and they were all talking loudly over each other. He'd never seen so many people, and he was getting uncomfortable.

In an attempt to calm himself down, he glanced up to the High Table, where there were only teachers. He saw Hagrid, who was digging into a jam tart, and waved when he saw Harry looking at him. Harry grinned and waved back, then turned his gaze further down the table. He saw Professor Quirrell's turban before he actually saw Professor Quirrell - the thing was so big! - and then he turned his attention to the man Quirrell was talking to.

He felt a funny, scared squirming in his stomach at the sight of that man. He had long, greasy black hair and a hooked nose that put Harry in mind of a hawk.

"Percy," Harry said, still looking at the man, "Who's that talking to Professor Quirrell?"

"Mm?" Percy said, and followed his gaze. "Oh, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, and he's Head of Slytherin. No wonder Quirrell looks nervous, everyone knows Snape's after the Defence job. Knows a lot about the Dark Arts, does Snape."

Harry nodded absently, and continued to stare at the side of Professor Snape's head. Then, something very strange happened. Snape turned his head to look down the Gryffindor table. The moment his fathomless black eyes met Harry's green ones Harry felt a stab of pain jolt through his scar. He sucked his breath in sharply through his teeth, and clutched his forehead.

"You alright, Harry?" That was Ron, who was staring at him now in concern, a spoon of chocolate ice cream halfway to his mouth.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, tearing his gaze away and looking around at Ron. The pain dissipated and he lowered his hand slowly. "Yeah."

Ron was still looking at him oddly, so Harry said, "Headache. Just a little one. It's gone now."

Ron smiled sympathetically. "Yeah, probably ‘cause you're just not used to this many people talking all at once." He gave a crooked grin, which Harry returned.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "That'll be it."

*

The dormitory was a lot better than the Great Hall, Harry decided. For one thing, besides him, there were only four other people in there, and usually they were asleep. For another, the beds were massive four-poster, with curtains he could close, shutting everything else out. It was like his cupboard, but cosier and softer. He would have been quite happy to spend all his free time tucked away behind those curtains, but Ron would start asking questions.

Still, it gave him somewhere to hide, like a cupboard, and people usually left him alone there. And there was magic here, and friends, people who liked him. He considered that magic all in itself.

There were downsides, like Potions, where Professor Snape snapped and snarled and sneered, and the Slytherins would laugh. But Harry was sure they'd get over it. And even if they didn't, he could live with it. He lived through much worse at primary school.

And the Gryffindors always stood up for him, like he was someone worth defending. That made up for all manner of things. That made up for when he caught them staring across the Common Room at his scar. Made up for the looks people gave him sometimes, like he was an exotic animal in a zoo.

Still. It didn't bother him unduly. He knew, in this world of magic, everything was going to be alright. It would be alright.

"A child who looks out with innocence and naivety and hope for this brave new world."