Chapter Text
Like all the institutes Harry had previously attended, Hogwarts was a remarkable boarding school for particularly gifted, or particularly wealthy, students raging from eleven to eighteen years of age. The building was ancient, with thick stone walls and high ceilings, the classrooms scattered across the seven floors of what must have once been a castle and the large dormitories offered a view of the typical Scottish countryside, complete with a lake and heather-covered hills. The Headmaster’s office was filled with portraits of those who had previously held the position, the shelves stacked with tomes of probably priceless value, but the most interesting thing was the old man himself, with long white hair and an equally long beard. He wore a funky suit, and had half-moon glasses perched on his pointy nose, but despite his appearance his voice was deep, typical of someone who is now getting on in years but has lived a life dedicated to education. He was fiddling with little success behind a laptop that had seen better days, mumbling under his breath as he scanned through the names in search of Harry’s.
“Potter!” he exclaimed when he finally managed to find his timetable, blue eyes alit with satisfaction. The printer screamed like a dying bird before spitting out the paper that would be his handbook and map for the next few months, but Harry had learned to ignore such subtleties.
“Four schools in five years… Are your parents in the military?”
“Yes, my father…” the boy began, but evidently the Headmaster already knew his history quite well and the question was merely rhetorical, probably to make him feel more at ease, as he interrupted him to state that he wouldn’t find Hogwarts very different from the other institutes listed on his CV.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I should meet a colleague of yours who had just returned from a sabbatical,” said Mr. Dumbledore by a way of dismissal.
Harry had never considered taking a gap year, let alone letting his innate academic talents go to waste, so he had turned down every opportunity he had been offered to join the American army and had been content to learn various foreign languages based on where his father was sent as ambassador. Of all the places he had visited, his favourite was definitely France, where he studied the previous semester. He had seen his parents for an exorbitant total of two hours over the course of six months, and they had both been on video calls, but it was worth it, as he had experienced Christmas in the Alps and learned both to ski and ice skate. When he entered the Headmaster’s office, he had been more or less 90% certain that the stories of his travels would win him some friends here too, but seeing the face of the boy waiting outside, he wasn’t that sure anymore. The young man must’ve been around his age, but his neatly styled platinum hair and ice-cold stare gave the impression he was older and more tired, a feature accentuated by the deep dark circles under his eyes, highlighted by a diaphanous complexion. There had been a senior at Beauxbatons who looked incredibly similar to him, but not as if they were siblings, more like two otherworldly entities at the antipodes of the attractiveness spectrum, with her on the side that makes hordes of guys drool and him on the one that makes the same people lower their gazes as not to unleash his anger. Harry prayed they wouldn’t share a lot of classes, but within a few days, he had the displeasure of running into the dude again. Not that Draco Malfoy, that was his name, was everything the Hogwarts student body had to offer. In fact, waiting for him in the Common Room, was the person who would act as his guide in the first period, a plump boy who was extremely eager to make friends. Neville Longbottom seemed to know everything about everyone, and walking around with him was really an experience. It didn’t take Harry long to realize the school was divided into cliques. There were the basic beautiful ones, to whom it wasn’t worth speaking if they weren’t the first to do so, under penalty of being stared at with the same expression dedicated to a chewing gum stuck to the sole of their shoes; the art kids, who were best kept at a safe distance as long as you didn’t want your uniform covered in fresh paint; the delusional social justice warriors, political stoners who took offence for third parties who weren’t offended in the first place, and the athletes. There were probably many other colorful subcultures, but Harry's attention was drawn by a gorgeous red-haired girl wandering around the courtyard with books under her arm, evidently looking for someone she knew.
“What group is she in?” Harry asked his new friend, who however suggested to leave the lady alone.
“And why should I? I burn, I pine, I perish for her,” Harry replied, but judging by Neville’s reaction it must’ve been a common sentiment at Hogwarts, for in addition to being beautiful, Ginny Weasley was also deep and cultured.
“Listen, forget her. She’s incredibly uptight, and it’s a widely known fact that she and her friends are not interested in dating,” the resident went on, but Harry was only half listening. The lessons hadn’t started yet, the sun was shining high in the sky, and a girl with slender legs and an angelic laugh had just stolen his heart.