LANDSLIDE, james potter [2]

Chapter Two

Harry James Potter had lived a life of tragedy. He was only a year old when his parents died in a supposed car accident, like normal people could do. He was eleven when he realized that they were anything but normal and their death was anything but an accident. 

There was a whole world out there waiting for him, a world where he would be appreciated and adored. It was a nice change from his daily life with his mother's sister, her husband and her pig of a son, Dudley. The Dursleys weren't the kindest to the young boy, but it had been all he knew. 

They became even crueler once Harry seemed to be followed by owls, delivering strange letters that he was never allowed to read. It came to its climax once he pulled them out of the house and onto a small island in a storm. 

But then his savior had come in a large man named Hagrid, who brought him the first birthday cake he could remember having. He had told him he was a famous wizard, that his parents had been the same and that he had his name put down to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry under the leadership of one Albus Dumbledore. 

Harry had been promised an escape from his dreary life, one he gladly accepted. Hagrid had taken him to Diagon Alley to gather school supplies (he was sure he had caught a glimpse of a solid gold cauldron he'd ask about).

One of the more boring things to shop would be his black school robes, but Harry thought it would be brilliant to have clothes that would fit him perfectly. He had spent most of his life in Dudley's oversized hand-me-downs. 

Harry wasn't alone in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, though. A pale, blond boy was being fitted for his robes an unknown witch, while Harry was fitted by Madam Malkin herself. He wondered is she may have recognized who he was. 

"Hullo," the boy greeted in a friendly way. He looked right over the witch who was fitting him for his robes, as if she wasn't worth looking at. She was only doing services for him, after all. "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," Harry responded shortly. This had been the first wizard he had met that was his own age, and he felt a bit awkward about it. Maybe he would be such an outsider at Hogwarts because everyone else knew each other while he was raised by muggles. 

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow," the boy said smugly. "Have you got your own broom?"

"No," the bespecactled eleven-year old responded shortly. He didn't know that witches and wizards actually used brooms. He thought that was only true in fairytales, but he used to think the same about magic, too. 

The blond boy already seemed a bit less interested in him. All sons of the old, rich wizarding families had their own brooms. He was starting to wonder if this boy wasn't the right sort. "Play Quidditch at all?"

Harry had never heard of Quidditch in his life. He made a mental note to ask Hagrid about it later, even though it did sound like a made up word. Maybe the boy had made it up just to mess with him. "No."

"I do. Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Mother doesn't care much, she has never really liked Quidditch. I can't see why," he rolled his eyes. "Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," Harry responded shortly. Both because he didn't know anything about the Hogwarts houses, and because he hoped that the boy would take a hint and realize that he didn't enjoy talking to him. 

"Well, no really knows until they get there, do they? But I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" the blond boy chuckled meanly.