Snape woke Harry on the morning of August 30th, tapping him on the shoulder when he refused to get up. He hadn't got any sleep last night, consumed by a nightmare and the usual hyper alertness his body needed to be in every second of every day when he was slightly reminded of… that.

And was he reminded of that often. More often than recently, with a scar -a real scar- on his upper arm was the fruit of his attempts at calming down and getting enough sleep for the important day.

The day was still too early, and Harry and Malfoy, both obviously desperate to go back to bed, walked from chore to chore throughout the apothecary: folding sheets, sweeping floors, making sure everything was packed, clearing the table, making sure everything was packed, and, of course, making sure everything was packed.

Surprisingly, the Patel siblings greeted them when they had finally gotten outside.

"Good morning," Harry said sleepily. Professor Patel smiled lopsidedly, her eyes on the verge of closing, while Mr Patel looked like he'd been awake for a few hours, face bright, hands hanging on the bag on his lap, "Good morning, Harry. Very clear morning for a while now, yes?

Harry looked up. No sun shone from behind a clutter of clouds, and the morning chill made Malfoy pull his coat around him tightly, grimacing.

"Uh," he rubbed the back of his neck, "I think?"

Mr Patel looked back with an amused smile, leaning his right elbow on the arm rest. Balancing his chin on his palm, he glanced towards Professor Patel and Snape, stretching a finger to tap beside his eye.

Harry's mouth fell open in understanding. He nodded, smiling, with Mr Patel winking at him before Snape turned around.

Ten minutes later, he was in a carriage to King's Cross Station with Professor Patel, the apothecary getting smaller and smaller, Mr Patel still waving them next to the hired assistant he would have as company until July. Harry pulled his head from the window, leaning back on the seat, the sound of the horse drowning most of the sound of the rising city.

"You haven't worn your glasses," Professor Patel said, putting a finger between the old book she was reading, touching his foot with hers, "Has Professor Snape said something?" she paused, a smile cracking her lips, "That's a fine sentence."

Beside them, the carriage carrying Snape and Malfoy sped up and overtook them. Harry scoffed at the carriage, because of course he would be cast out, the unwanted load he was.

"Harry?"

"I'm going to try them on the train, in case Snape tries to make me take them back," he mumbled into his hand, "What are you reading, Professor?"

The change of subject, not exactly subtle, got Professor Patel's attention. She watched him carefully, her almost-black eyes seemingly diving into his own. And eventually, like Harry expected, she let it go, not even mentioning it.

"I don't think you'd understand, however," she slid the book open, the pages lined with text Harry had never seen in his life.

"What is that?" Harry asked, eyes following line after line of curves and odd letters, "Is this another language."

"Arabic," Professor Patel said, pressing a stamp between the pages she was reading, skimming through the pages that all looked very familiar.

"Yes but what is it about?" Harry asked, just a little curious, because he didn't know how long it would take to get to King's Cross, and felt in no state of mind to share his thoughts.

Professor Patel seemed like she wasn't sure on where to start, so she turned the cover, pointing at the top, "Do you know what the Bible is? Well, you can imagine this book -the Quran- as almost an Islamic equivalent of the Bible."

"Almost?"

"Well, if they were completely similar Christianity and Islam wouldn't be different, would they?"

"So what's the similarities and differences?" Harry asked, eyes trailing out the window, more and more carriages and horses joining the road, while the streets were filling up with people.

"Among the first, we both believe in a single God, or Allah, in Arabic. Do you know anything about Christianity?"

Harry paused, squeezing his fingers together, "Not really. Could you explain it to me?"

King's Cross, surrounded by carriages and horses and people took more of a hustle to get into than Harry has anticipated. When they finally did reach the Hogwarts Express, Harry had lost both professors and Malfoy, stranded in the middle of Platform 9 with his trunk at hand.

The excitement he'd felt leading up to this day now just made him want to hide somewhere, his heart drumming cruelly against his chest, like a bird desperate to get out of its cage.

Some people pushed around him, shoving their shoulders into his -unintentionally or otherwise- often without an apology, or just snapping at him to get moving.

Harry, of course, not knowing where to go, moved to the back of the station. Like little ants, the people rushed to and fro, loud conversation buzzing around him, his nerves blaring at every possible potential danger.

"Are you also not prone to noise?"

The airy voice had spoken so suddenly that Harry jumped, almost tripping over his trunk. Beside him, was a girl. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty blonde hair, very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look.

"Uh," Harry looked around to see if anyone had seen the girl as well. No one stopped by, "I don't think I am?"

"Wrackspurts float into a person's ear, see," the girl said, watching him above a magazine she was holding upside down, "Causes confusion and unfocus. Most people don't even realise it."

"Is that why you're here?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at the cork necklace wrapped around her neck and the radish earrings hanging from her ears, "Wait, Wrack-what?"

The girl lowered the newspaper, a hazy smile on her lips, eyes following Harry's every movement, "People can't see them," Luna whispered, as though anyone could hear her with the noise in the Platform, "But I think they're stronger when there's a lot of noise. More victims, see?"

"Right," said Harry turning to the platform, the brick wall scraping his hands, "What was your name again?"

The girl lowered her newspaper, staring intensely into Harry's eyes, "Luna Lovegood," she said excitedly, taking Harry's hand into a long-lasting shake, "You haven't told me yours."

"Ali Patel," he said, Luna letting go of his hand when he had finished.

"What house are you in, Ali? If you were in second year, I would remember, or perhaps the Wrackspurts have been busier than usual," she said to no one in particular, eyes focusing on a spot momentarily, before growing wide. She lifted a hand, digging between strands of hair, and to Harry's surprise, pulled out a pencil and began writing on the back of the magazine, "Research," she told him, leaning on the wall as well, showing the page to him.

"On Wrackspurts?" Harry said, looking at the handwriting, the one below Luna's name written in a mirroring way.

"Their effects are quite extraordinary," she closed the magazine, the upside down cover reading something Harry couldn't decipher until he tilted his head, mouthing the words a few times.

"Quibbler?"

He lifted his head at the sound of paper ruffling and rubbing together, finding a small stack of magazines on Luna's arms, "I think you'd want one, Ali Patel."

"You know," he followed Luna's eyes while picking up a magazine to find Snape walking towards him, eyes not pleased, "I think I will. Thank you for talking to me, Luna."

Snape's black shoes skid to a stop in front of them, "Ms Lovegood, Mr Patel, the train is set to leave in twenty minutes."

"Exactly, Professor Snape," Luna said, again with the seemingly forced eye contact, "The road should be clear at exactly seven minutes to eleven."

Where Harry expected Snape to belittle Luna, he nodded along to her claims, gesturing for Harry to follow him, "The same cannot be said for Mr Patel. Come along."

She waved after him after Harry had dropped his hand, looking down at her magazine.

"And where were you?" Snape said, looking around them as they walked back to the train, the large white clock with jagged black hands showing numbers Harry's couldn't read.

"With Luna. I thought you were the one that found me, sir." Harry asked innocently, keeping his expression blank when Snape glared over his shoulder, hand still on his shoulder.

"This sort of behaviour will not continue into Hogwarts, Mr Patel."

"No, sir."

Heaving his trunk after Snape, he handed it over to one of the train workers. The man glanced at the tag with his name and grade, and looked up at the ticket he was holding, "You haven't written your house on this, boy."

"Special occasion," Snape assured the man in the uniform, "New student, not yet sorted."

The man looked at Snape one last time before shrugging, scribbling something down on the ticket and handing it back, pulling the trunk beside a heap of others that were yet to be put onto the train, "Safe travels."

Snape snatched the ticket before Harry could claim it, dodging the people in the crowd and pulling Harry behind him, nodding to any students or parents that greeted him. The crowd soon started to disperse, though, with more and more students entering the train, and Harry and Snape stood in line with other students that looked Harry's age to get inside.

"Have Professor Patel and Malfoy entered the train already?"

"Just Draco," Snape said, looking around the station, his eyes catching something in the crowd and making him grimace. But whoever or whatever it was, Harry couldn't find them.

The line got smaller and smaller until it was their turn, the train humming under his feet as Harry grabbed the rails, stepping in and, on Snape's word, turning right. The narrow hallway was filled with students, flitting in and out of compartments, chatting with each other or occupying themselves with other means. And though difficult, they did find a compartment which was empty save for some bags, and Snape steered him inside, looking around like it was a dusty, spider-infested room.

"I can stay by myself," Harry said, sitting down and placing his bag on the seat, "Are professors allowed in these compartments?"

"Don't be daft," said Snape, looking into the compartment," Of course they are."

"And are parents?"

The way Snape's head whirled around and his eyes turned livid gave Harry enough reason to believe he had stepped on the wrong nerve. Snape lifted a finger, pointing at Harry warningly, "You take one foot out of the carriage, Patel, and on your condition, I swear my patience won't be spent on you."

The carriage door was slid closed, thudding loudly, rattling the glass pane. Harry swallowed thickly, from the window watching Snape retreat without even looking back.

Granted, it took a few precious moments to calm down, hands inside his pockets. Was he being too harsh? No. He couldn't be. He'd been patient with Snape for so long, so what if the man couldn't take a bit of his own medicine.

And granted, his arm burned by the time he was calm enough to stand up and walk around, but that also wasn't his fault. He didn't want his heart to pound in his ears and his breaths felt like small knives cutting his supply of oxygen.

The door sliding open made Harry turn.

"Ron?"

"Harry?" Ron said, a grin growing on his face, "You really came to Hogwarts!"

Harry grinned as well, standing up, "Some things happened, I guess," he said, then looking at the girl beside him, "Uh, hullo."

"Hello," the girl said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy dark hair, rather large front teeth and skin matching the color of her hair, "Hermione Granger."

"Oh. Hello Hermione," Harry said, looking at the door when the train jostled, the first whistle cutting through the air.

"And you are?" Hermione asked, sitting down on one side, while Ron and Harry sat on the opposite end.

Harry opened his mouth to answer when he remembered that he had already introduced himself to Ron as Harry, not Ali. The train gave another whistle, the thin sound jabbing his ears. They all watched the door until the whistle stopped, and the train finally started to move, the doors slamming shut.

Harry noticed Hermione sharing a glance with Ron. When Ron opened his mouth to answer, so did Harry, but both were interrupted when the door was slammed open, a dishevelled Malfoy entering the compartment.

"Honestly, Weasley," Malfoy started, struggling to close the door, almost falling on the seats when the door gave and slid closed, "I almost missed the train saying farewell to your mother-," he stopped when he turned around, eyes landing on Harry. Immediately, he crossed his arms, leaning on one foot and narrowing his eyes at Harry.

"I see you've met Pot-"

For a horrible second, both Harry and Malfoy locked gazes, eyes wide and a horrible feeling of dread spreading like spilt water through them. Harry almost sprang to his feet, alarms blaring in his head, and Malfoy losing the little color he had in his cheeks.

Hermione cleared her throat, "Draco?"

"Potiful," Malfoy said, clearing his throat and straightening his back, digging a hand into his pocket while walking in, rolling his eyes at the look on Hermione's face, "Pointless and pitiful, two things Patel over here is great at being-"

"Hey!"

"Honestly, Granger. Do I have to explain everything to you?"

"Not if you use an actual word," Hermione argued, accepting the book Draco offered him, turning it over in her hand while Ron took the paper from Malfoy with some hesitance, "Did you say Patel?"

"Oh, he didn't tell you? Ali here is Professor Patel's nephew of sorts."

"Nephew?" Ron cried, then turning to look at Harry, "Ali? I thought your name was Harry."

Malfoy turned around very elegantly, a hand on his hip, "I thought your name was Ali."

The train wavered, the scenery passing them in blurry lines, with the trains puffing steam mingling with the sound of the wheels running over the trains and machinery. Harry licked his lip, looked at Ron and bowed his head.

"Sorry, Ron. I lied," he said, rubbing the back of his head, "I was... embarrassed."

"Embarrassed? Why were you embarrassed? Really, Ali, ma always says-"

"Ronald," Hermione said, a little warningly, tapping her fingers on the book, "This is a really great book, Draco. Was it any trouble?"

"Not that," Malfoy said, dropping on the seat beside Hermione, pointing at the paper in Ron's hand, "Do you know how difficult it usually is to convince Uncle Sev to take me to the joke shop?" he said while glancing at Harry, not continuing with his words until Hermione urged him forward, waving a hand while he went on about how he tried his best to write out the things he saw, hoping it helped Fred and George, who were Ron's twin older brothers.

"And what are they going to do with it?" Harry asked, looking at the paper from above Ron's shoulder, a little pride blossoming in his chest when he saw that Malfoy's handwriting wasn't exactly neat either.

"Build their own."

"They can do that?"

Ron shrugged, "Haven't yet. But they reckon they're close, anyway."

At noon, Malfoy finally left the carriage, claiming he had other friends to sit with as well. So did Hermione. And Ron. Both with promises to come back soon, very curious to ask him questions now that Malfoy was out of the compartment. Harry waved them off, alone in the little compartment at the end of the train.

Not half an hour later, they did come back, Harry's ears burning when he showed a little too much enthusiasm at their return. Hermione and Ron weren't extraordinary. In fact, they looked like any other student but for some reason, he felt he could get really close to them.

If only Malfoy wasn't in the middle.

"So you really are Professor Patel's nephew? Why are you starting school now?" was Hermione's first questions, which only opened the floodgates to many more. His parents, dead. He'd been living with the Patels, this term taking up an apprenticeship with Snape (which Hermione reacted with wonder in her eyes), which allowed him the opportunity to study at Hogwarts.

The rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north; the windows were now a solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until the workers started to light the lanterns along the corridors and over the luggage racks. The train rattled, the rain hammered, the wind roared, but still, they talked.

During their conversation, though, Harry remembered a few things that made him jump from his seat and almost run down the length of the corridor to find Snape.

"You good, mate?" Ron asked, taking a sandwich out of the tin box he'd opened between them.

"Just-" he poked his head out into the corridor, wanting to slam his head against the door. How could he have forgotten Oliver and the others? He had a vault of money! A vault of money that surely had to hold a sum worth protecting, if Dumbledore's word was to be trusted. He could help his family, even get them to school! With a reminder to ask Snape about it later, he shut the door with some difficulty, "Remembered something."

The words hardly left him when the train started to slow down.

"Great," said Ron, getting up and walking to try and see outside, "I'm starving. I want to get to the feast…"

"We can't be there yet," said Hermione, checking her pocket watch, "So why're we stopping?"

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows. Harry, who was nearest the door, got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments. The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks.

"What's going on?" said Ron's voice from behind Harry.

Harry felt his way back to his seat.

"D'you think we've broken down?"

"Don't know…"

There was a squeaking sound, and Harry saw the dim black outline of Ron, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out. "There's something moving out there," Ron said. "I think people are coming aboard…"

The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell painfully over Harry's legs.

"Sorry!" squeaked the boy who had fallen over Harry's legs, trying to push himself up before tripping on his legs and falling again, needing Ron and Harry to help him up.

"Hello, Neville," said Hermione, who had stood up and was helping the boy, Neville, brush the dust from his clothes. She craned her neck to look at the door, she too struggled to slide it closed, "What's happening?"

"Don't know," breathed Neville, round-faced, chubby and blond haired, "I came to ask you- Oh, hello," he stopped brushing his arm when he saw Harry, "Don't think I've seen you before."

"Long story," said Ron, pulling Neville in after Harry offered a small wave, "Look, I saw something outside mate and-"

Harry heard the door slide open again, this time a girl that looked remarkably like Ron entered the compartment.

"Ron-"

But before she could finish her sentence, the whole carriage fell quiet.

The group in the compartment all turned to face the corridor, where a couple of heavy footsteps were slowly approaching. The ragged image of Sirius Black sprang to mind, and Harry's hands started to shake, making him press them against the cold glass at the cries that followed with every step closer, every harshly opened door.

Until finally, it was their turn.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames of the corridor, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. His face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Harry's eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water… But it was visible only for a split second. As though the person -could he be called a person ?- beneath the cloak sensed Harry's gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak.

And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

The same things happened. Just like before. And it didn't matter that the person was asking them for their names, because though Harry could hear him, a hot flash of anxiety swept over him. He broke into a cold sweat, his heart-rate spiking as every little sound grew louder and louder.

The man behind the hood demanding his name only made the sick feeling in his stomach worsen, the nausea rising. He looked up as the man approached, gazing at the others in the carriage with pleading eyes.

"I said what's your name, boy," said a hoarse, raspy voice, like the man hadn't drunk any water in days.

"Ali Patel," Ron said, voice rising, "I said this before! Can't you see he's-he's-"

"If he don' have nothin to hide, no reason to be nervous," the man said behind his cloak, turning the pages in his hand, "I said what's your name, boy!"

The thoughts screaming at him to run hadn't left. But Harry pushed his sleeve up, arm against his chest, nail curling down his skin, "H- Ali Patel."

The papers in his hands ruffled, and the whole compartment held their breath. The man closed the papers with a satisfied click of his tongue, stashing them inside the folds of his cloak, "Right. Not registered, as I reckoned. You're coming with me."

"What?"

The protests from the compartment weren't enough to stop the man from grabbing Harry's now bleeding arm, starting to drag him into the corridor.

Harry's breath was pulled from his chest. Really pulled from his chest. The carriage was becoming smaller, the faces stranger and the ensuing storm consuming his whole body was burning him, drowning him, suffocating him and burying all at once.

Malfoy made a brief entrance in the distance, as Harry was struggling to get his arm free, trying to tell the man he hadn't done anything. But if it really was Malfoy, he left soon enough, running into the other carriage, becoming a small dot in the distance. Each compartment they passed was witness to Harry being humiliatingly dragged through the corridor, the man's vice grip allowing the blood to slide down his arm, staining the carpet in red.

The only thing Harry relied on was that the group from the carriage hadn't stopped following them, the man grunting in response to each question, turning to glare at Hermione once her persistent questions had stepped on a nerve.

That, and the approaching group of adults that were stepping hastily towards them when they reached the wide, empty corridor of the dining cart.

Snape was among them.

Harry had never Snape so absolutely, absolutely livid.

"Sir," he spoke, breaths heaving, hardly gaining any oxygen before he took another, "I didn't leave, really I didn't mean please-"

In a swift movement, the man's hand was wrenched from Harry's arm, leaving behind a burning scratch. Harry felt the air around him bear him down. The pair of hands that took him from the man left him to tilt his head up, Snape's fingers pushing his hair down, although Harry still had the balm on, and lifting up his arm, narrowing his eyes at it before displaying it for the rest of the adults to see.

Snape himself led him to the back of the diner carriage, sitting him down and glancing occasionally to the group of men, eyes like slits narrowing on the man that had dragged Harry. Letting go of his arm, he stood up, once more glancing at the adults.

"Stay here," he said in a low voice before moving to the group. Even from behind, his stance was sharp and angry.

Harry scoffed into his hands

"This is a student of Hogwarts!"shouted Snape the minute he had entered the circle, pointing his finger at the man that looked to be in charge, "When the Headmaster agreed for an in depth search, he specifically conditioned you to stay away from the students!"

"Now, Professor Snape, I'm sure this man, uh-"

"Demeter."

"Oh, yes. I'm sure Demeter here had some-"

The rest of the conversation flew past Harry, with Snape shouting. And shouting. And shouting some more. Sirius Black was mentioned a few times, with Snape claiming it was absolutely unreasonable to do this to a student, who was clearly, to even the mind with but a sprinkle of rationale, still a child.

When the shouts and clamor of voices finally ceased, the adults disbanded and the group of people Snape had threatened to report to Dumbledore left to the right of the carriage, while the men who had backed Snape in his argument left through the other side, each glancing at Harry as they left.

All but Snape, and surprisingly, the man they had run into in Diagon Alley.

The train's whistle sounded through the rain. Harry made to stand up, to join the friends he'd just made, but Snape put a hand on his chest, urging him back down, "I need to clean your arm. Lupin, if you're going to be kind enough to stay, do be useful and get some water and clean rags."

Lupin looked to both sides, like he expected the rags and water to appear suddenly midair.

Pressure lifted from Harry's arm when Snape removed his fingers, turning the arm to look at the other side, sighing, "Just water then, Lupin. Be quick about it."

As Snape couldn't do anything about Harry's arm, he stressfully paced the length of the corridor, offering Harry a pleasant headache to match the exhaustion settling in his bones. Ten minutes later, when Mr Lupin still hadn't arrived, Snape pulled open a window, hands twitching at his sides.

"You can smoke if you want to," Harry muttered, leaning his head on the table, arms limp beside his head, the rattling of the train tilting his body from side to side.

He didn't. Pulling the window closed when Mr Lupin came back with a small bowl, the water splashing around the brim when Snape snatched it from his hands, placing it on the table.

"Arm," Snape said, removing a handkerchief from his coat -one of many, apparently- and waving it open. The fabric sunk into the bowl, the remaining water splashing back down when Snape twisted it. He pressed Harry's arm down on the table, dabbing the handkerchief on the wound.

Coldness crept up his arm. Harry flinched at the contact, trying to pull away. When Snape didn't let go, Mr Lupin stepped forward. At the creak of the floorboards, Snape wrenched his head back, with what Harry guessed to be a glare on his face, and actually made Lupin step back, hands clenched at his sides.

The rag touched his arm again, the blood lapping up by white handkerchief. Snape ran a hand down Harry's arm, frowning at the marks, "Did he do this?"

Harry shrugged, pulling his knees towards him. He heard Snape click his tongue, then flop the rag back into the water, "Do you have one?"

"What?" Mr Lupin asked.

"A handkerchief. Clean, if possible."

From his coat, Mr Lupin pulled out a handkerchief, which Snape inspected in the light before tying it around Harry's arm, pulling his sleeve down and even buttoning it.

"Thank you, sir," Harry mumbled, eyes cast down, tapping his fingers on the seat. The train had sped up, rain rattling against the glass and the rumbling of thunder getting closer and closer.

A loud snap made Harry and Snape jump. Professor Lupin was breaking a small slab of chocolate into pieces. "Here," he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. "Eat it. It'll help."

Harry took the chocolate but didn't eat it.

Snape and Lupin shared a glance.

"Should I ask if you want some?"

At Snape's silence, Mr Lupin crumpled up the chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.

"Who were those people?" Harry asked, looking between the two of them.

Snape motioned for Harry to move in the seat and sat down beside him, rubbing his face tiredly, like a mother who had worked all day, "Ministry officials looking for Sirius Black. That delirious man took the absence of your name from the school register to mean something suspicious," the words were spat like venom, making Harry think that only the law was stopping Snape from throttling the man.

Mr Lupin cleared his throat, "Speaking of which-"

"-Shall not be talked here. Good day, Lupin," Snape said, opening one eye. Lighting flashed behind them, Harry flinching when the thunder followed. He had no idea what these two men were competing in, but Mr Lupin straightened up in the end, adjusting his collar.

"Eat," he repeated. "It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, in anycase, excuse me…"

He strolled past Harry and disappeared into the corridor.

Harry looked after him, lifting the chocolate to his mouth - the first time he would be eating it in his life. But more important things bothered him at the moment.

He didn't understand. He felt weak and shivery, as though he were recovering from a bad bout of flu; he also felt the beginnings of shame. Why did he keep going to incidents like that, when no one else did? Harry took a bite and to his great surprise felt warmth spread suddenly to the tips of his fingers and toes.

"We'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes," said Professor Snape. "Are you better?"

"Fine," he muttered, embarrassed. They didn't talk much during the remainder of the journey. At long last, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, and there was a great scramble to get outside; people shouted, carts rolled, and the adults called for order through the crowd. It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets.

Snape made sure he didn't leave his sight.

"Firs' years this way!" called an unfamiliar voice. Harry turned and saw the gigantic outline of a man at the other end of the platform, beckoning the terrified-looking new students forward.

He didn't see anyone he knew until they reached the gates which paved the road up to Hogwarts, students scrambling to hurry up to the school. Hermione, Ron and even Malfoy were waiting at the iron gates.

"Are you alright, Ali?" asked Hermione fervently, her coat above her head.

"You shouldn't have waited," Harry said, taking his bag from Ron with a weak smile, tugging it under his arm and eyes flicking towards his sleeve, "Not bad, thank you."

Malfoy didn't say anything, leaving the group to join his Slytherin friends when Harry finished talking. Harry felt better since the chocolate, but still weak. Ron and Hermione kept looking at him sideways, as though frightened something might happen again, but Snape urged them to continue up the road.

As everyone was wet upon entering the large castle that was Hogwarts, the students were told to go to their dormitories and change into the dry clothes in their bags, uniform or otherwise.

Harry just shuffled in the hallway, the first years being led by teachers to the bathrooms to change their clothes.

"Where am I going to change, sir?" Harry asked, water dripping from his hair. Snape, who also had water dripping from his sagging hair and clothes shook his head, telling him to come along.

Instead of going up like the rest of the school, Snape led him downstairs, the noise of the castle getting softer and softer, only a buzz in the background while they walked down the dark corridors. Silk flames shed light into the corridor; slabs of rock formed the walls.

They stepped in front of a set of doors. In the dark, Harry heard the jingle of keys, three locks sliding open before the handle could turn.

Light crept into the cold room. Snape entered first, leaving Harry outside. How he maneuvered in the dark, Harry didn't know, but he came back with a lantern either way, lighting it with the candles in the corridor and then letting him in.

"I won't come out," Snape said, placing the candle on the table, "Call for me when you are dressed."

He then disappeared into a room, retreating into the dark. Ten minutes later, Harry called for Snape, hair wet and uniform damp. Snape, no different, handed Harry a towel, waiting until he dried his hair before walking towards the door.

"Come along, Patel."

The door closed behind them, a gentle thud in the silence of the corridor.