As promised, Padfoot told Harry everything except his real identity, which he kept secret for the same reason Harry had to keep his ability to talk to the snake a secret.

There was a mystery there, but one Padfoot begged him not to try to uncover it as he had yet to develop the means to keep secrets from those that might wish him hard. But Padfoot promised to teach him soon. After two years at Hogwarts, he said.

Then, Harry played along when the letters and the half-giant named Hagrid came, never revealing that he had a friend who taught him everything long before Hagrid even tried.

And then, one month later, after spending some more time with Padfoot and learning his school book cover to cover, it was finally time to discover the place Padfoot and Hagrid told him so highly about.

It took some begging to get Vernon to drop Harry off at the King's Cross Station. But in the end, the happy perspective of getting rid of Harry for ten months far outweighed the inconvenience for the Dursleys, so they gave in a lot faster than Harry expected. Not that he did not care much anymore.

It always had been Padfoot and him against the world. The Dursleys were hardly a darker footnote in what he hoped would be his grand adventure in this brand new world, a magical world. In which none of the people who shunned or despised him would ever belong.

Harry could not help but feel excited, his heart pounding hard as he ran straight to the barrier between Platform Nine and Ten, and then grinned like a fool as he magically passed through, right as Padfoot told him.

How did it work? Was it a spatial or illusion charm? How did they fit an entire platform and railway without the Muggles noticing? And what insane amount of magic was needed to permanently maintain it from London to Hogwarts? It was mind-blowing.

The actual Hogwarts Express paled in comparison. It was quite a mundane steam engine, exactly like the one he saw during his school field trip when he was seven. But, while the other first-years were mouth agape seeing one for the first time, he could not share that feeling anymore. And so he thought: 'Yep. That's cool. I hope some wizard made a fix to prevent all the smoke and cinders inside the wagon. Or this will be a long, unpleasant ride,' before shrugging it off.

And then he walked straight to the wagon at the opposite end of the train.

According to Padfoot, the prefects, a group of nosy killjoys, would gather at the head of the train, so if he did not want to be bothered, aiming for the tail should be his goal. It seems like sensible advice, and so, that's what he did.

An even more pleasant surprise was that the closer he got to the end of the train, the freer compartment he saw until he climbed in the very last wagon and, out of a whim, chose to settle in the penultimate one.

It was a quiet and peaceful moment. But, according to Padfoot, it would become rare once she reached Hogwarts as he was a celebrity, for something he did nothing and even wished for:

Voldemort died, taking both his parents to the grave, leaving him as the sole survivor of the dark wizard.

He was a mere lucky survivor turned into a miracle child by the court of public opinion, sentenced for life to be known as the Boy-who-Lived, and lived under the scrutiny of every wizard and witch, for they firmly believed he was somewhat unique. But they forgot that his parents probably were the ones to give their lives to make it happen.

Most of those people would not understand where he was coming from and what he had been through. And as Padfoot told him:

"It comes and goes. Be it a good or bad reputation, only those who can see through the halo and reach for you are worth your time."

He did not understand the halo thing and how people were supposed to reach him, but he certainly understood the general principle. Of course, it would take him some time to tell apart who were real friends and who were only chasing after the fame, but he would figure it out.

§§§

In the end, Harry made no friends on the Hogwarts Express, but he was in no rush. At least he knew who he did not want to be friends with, as some blond git had already crossed the line, and a redhead triggered a warning.

He quickly excused himself shortly after the blond visit, claiming he had to change to switch compartments, leave the insensitive, pushy redhead behind, and never return.

Though the redhead did not take the hint, and when they got off the train and followed Hagrid, climbing down the narrow path to the boat, he was right there, back at his side, asking why he left him behind. So Harry decided to ignore him and concentrate on the other passenger.

With them was Hermione, who made a brief appearance in his compartment, as she was helping Neville, the last occupant of their embarkation, find his toad. Unfortunately, the batrachian was still nowhere to be seen, but a decent talk to break the ice.

Though it was a hunch, it seems Neville cared more about his grandmother's reaction than the toad itself. He did not know the kid enough to give him pet advice, but the urge was there. And as a bonus: both kids could not care less about whatever fame he had there.

In the end, Trevor, the missing toad, finally got back to his unwilling master, and Harry kept talking with the two until the deputy Headmistress McGonagall gave her speech. At which point, no one dared utter a word while waiting for the sorting ceremony in that dark chamber.

§§§

Except for a certain Megan Jones, who got a seizure right after being sorted to Gryffindor — so much for it being the house of the braves — the Sorting had been rather long and uneventful. And then, after a wait that felt like forever, it had been Harry's turn to put the Sorting Hat on his head.

'Hmm,' said a small voice in his ear. 'Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting ... So where shall I put you?'

For the first time since he got here, Harry was nervous. Padfoot told him everything about the houses. And though the man was somewhat biased toward Gryffindor, where his parents and all their friend went from, and against Slytherin, where most Deatheater from the war came from, his companion still told him everything he knew in the most unfiltered manner.

But the main argument that stuck against Slytherin was the living accommodation. He could make do living nearby the kitchen or in a tower, but living in a dungeon under the lake for the next seven years was a no-go. Besides, Harry never forgot Padfoot advice to keep his snake close to the chest, and Slytherin was the house of snakes.

'Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.' He thought as hard as he could.

'Not Slytherin, eh?' said the small voice. 'Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that – no? Well, if you're sure – better be GRYFFINDOR!'

The relief of not being sorted to Slytherin somewhat outweighs the joy of being sorted in the same house as his parents, but still, he could not pretend it did not matter or did not cross his mind. Despite Sirius's reassurance, Harry wanted to be as close to his parents as possible. And he had no other way to be close to them than to walk in their footstep.

Both had been Gryffindor. Her father and friends had been kind of the school's pranksters, while her mother had been top of the class in every subject — totally no pressure. Yet it was one thing he could cross off his wishlist: be Gryffindor, like his parents. So now, he just had to make friends, be top of his class, and make it to the Quidditch team.