the boy that could have been

who's who

Harry looked around him as he stifled a yawn. They were onto the puddings now and he had eaten until he was pleasantly full, but now he was sleepy. Ron, however, was still going strong, to the amusement of some third-year girls.

He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket (the wizarding world was cool, but parchment and quills still seemed a bit overkill, and for now the Muggle way was more convenient) and quickly sketched a little table:

First years
Gryffindor
Boys:                                       Girls:
Seamus Finnigan               Hermione Granger
Dean Thomas                      Crescent Lupin
Neville Longbottom          Lavender Brown
Ron Weasley                         Parvati Patil
Harry Potter                          Charlotte Black

Slytherin
Boys:                                       Girls:
Draco Malfoy                        Pansy Parkinson
Tyler Pettigrew                    Serena ?
Vincent Crabbe
Gregory Goyle
Theodore Nott
Blaise Zabini

Before he could carry on, however, he was interrupted by Ron.

"What the hell is that?" He exclaimed, ripping the pen out of Harry's hand and causing everybody in the nearby vicinity to stare at him. Those like him that had grown up in wizarding families looked equally confused, but all Muggle-borns and Half-bloods were laughing.

"That's a pen." Smirked Charlotte, who somehow still seemed to be chewing gum despite having just eaten a nice big portion of the feast. 

"What does it do?" Asked an older boy in awe, causing more laughter. Harry took it back off of Ron and flipped his sheet of paper over.

"You write with it, see? It's like a quill, but the ink is built in so it's easier to use."

A couple of people backed away nervously, and the same boy spoke again.

"I don't like it, it's creepy."

Dean Thomas turned towards him, "You're sat in a room with a bunch of ghost, magically appearing food, flying candles, and god knows what else, but that's creepy?"

"Who's god?" Replied the boy, ignoring the rest of what Dean had said. Raucous laughter rose from the table, and Dumbledore actually had to motion for them to quieten down.

"Ah, the trusty blood divide." Smirked Fred, leaning back with satisfaction.

Harry grinned and glanced up towards the head table, where he could feel Dumbledore's eyes on him. He'd finally seen a photo of him on a Chocolate Frog card, but the man was still a mystery. All of the big questions in Harry's life seemed to centre around this man, but he had a strange feeling that a straight answer would not be given.

Glancing along the table, he saw a greasy-haired, hook-nosed professor talking to a turbaned man. The greasy-haired guy looked straight at him, and Harry felt a jarring pain in his forehead. Nowhere near as bad as it had been the day he first met his parents, but it was most definitely noticeable. He clutched his forehead and groaned.

"You alright?" Said Percy the Prefect.

"Who's the bat-like guy talking to the one in the turban?" 

Percy looked slightly disapproving, "Just because he can't hear you, Harry, doesn't mean that he doesn't deserve respect. But that's Professor Snape, the potions master. Beware of him, he can get nasty if you don't behave, and he's not the biggest fan of Gryffindors."

"Is that why he already seems to hate me?" Harry asked nervously, still under the harsh glare of Snape.

"Nonsense." Percy said pompously, "Why would he hate you?"