In My Mind

"Potter, Har- Oh, dear. I'm sorry, students, I know that no one needed to hear his name. Such a tragedy, it was, when he died. We must be-"

"When I what? Dear madam, do I look dead to you?" A soft voice called out, a delicate ringing of a sound. The owner of the voice walked calmly foward, the crowd of his surrounding fellow first years parting for him without question. The figure was small, no taller then four feet, and wore black, fitted dress robes, his large hood obscuring his face and head from view. Black, velvet slippers adorned his small feet, making his careful, dainty strides seem all the more feminine. Tiny, white hands carried the only pieces of flesh that could be seen on the figure.

As the small child moved towards the sorting podium, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stood, and raised a hand, intending to halt the coming child.

"I am sorry, son, but your tricks will not work on us. Please, go back and join your fellow first years."

"Tricks? That's funny," the voice laughed, "this is the second time that you simply assumed that I was playing tricks, now isn't it? You know, Vernon nearly killed me that day, and you just simply assumed that I was exaggerating. I think that you really just choose to believe that though. Don't you know that you should never dismiss a six year old when he claims to be abused? Don't you know that six year olds don't have the mental capacity to have an eating disorder? Apparently you don't, or at least, didn't, Headmaster, because you left me at that godforsaken house to die."

Dumbledore gaped. Only one person besides myself knows how I failed the young Potter. That is Harry Potter, who is supposed to be dead! Could this truely be him?

"Then, as I was bleeding to death in an alley, a muggle woman found me. She is the woman that I now am proud to call my surrogate father, and her partner my surrogate mother. She is also the one who found out about my magic, and answered my letter for me. I should be under the name of 'Calisto Melancton.' Funny how you didn't call the name, Professor McGonagall, Father did answer the letter. On a another note, didn't anyone," the stranger's hooded head carefully swiveled from side to side, "wonder why my body wasn't to be found? If anyone had, then I congradulate them, for they are much less a fool then you are, Headmaster Dumbledore."

Harry Potter smiled, but no one could see it. "My body wasn't found, Headmaster, because I wasn't dead. I am very much alive, to this day, so it seems. Still don't believe me? This should convince you." Harry nodded his head back a bit, and his hood fell. Gasps and an occasional whistle filled the room. Harry, although he felt very much like sneering, carefully schooled his features. Harry knew he was beautiful, how could he not? He had long, waist-length inky black hair, each strand the same length. All of his skin, like on his hands, was a creamy white colour. His eyes, huge, with an crystal clearness to them, were a shiny emerald green. He had high cheekbones, and a small nose. Of course Harry knew he was beautiful, and apparently, so did everyone around him. Harry lightly pushed back the hair on the right side of his forehead, revealing the famous scar that Voldemort had given him.

Harry turned from Dumbledore once he was sure that the old man had gotten a good look at his scar. "May I be sorted now, Professor McGonagall?"

McGonagall nodded dumbly, and airily motioned for Harry to come forward and sit on the stool, which Harry did. The Transfigurations Master gently lowered the Sorting Hat onto Harry's head, still in a state of shock, along with everyone else in the Great Hall, save a select few.

Young Potter, I've been anticipating your arrival for years now. You've been very careful these past few days, little one. Very good, asking your mother to make those robes. Smart. Avoiding everyone on the train was a very good move. I am not so sure about what you've just done, but I am certain that it was not a mistake. You are intelligently brave, loyal to those you love, cunning, genious... oh yes, very smart, and that magic, oh child! You will go places with that. Do you know where I'm going to put you, little one?

Harry smirked, Of couse I do, Ralph.

The hat, named Ralph by Helga Hufflepuff a millenia ago, chuckled. Very good, child. You will be a... SLYTHERIN!

A clearly pleased Harry steped down from the stool and gently placed Ralph in Professor McGonagall's hands. Shellshocked, no one in the Great Hall said a word until Harry took a seat at the Slytherin table, next to a aristocratic blond child, who was obviously not as suprised as everyone else was, but was not going to be the only one in Slytherin House to clap. As soon as Harry's slippers hit the foot rest under the table, applause erupted from Slytherin House, and groans could be heard from the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor houses. The Hufflepuffs just continued to smile. Harry, finally giving into tempation, sneered. This would be an interesting year, judging by the shocked faces of his professors.

An interesting year, indeed.