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1

Harry Potter sat on the roof of Hogwarts, staring at the sky. Life had finally slowed down for him. He was finishing school. He wasn't fighting for his life. But no matter what he did, he was still on edge, like something could kill him at any moment.

With a sigh, he hopped off and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, he was faced with something he expected but didn't quite know how to describe. There was space all around him, empty and colourless, and before him was a shadowy, hunched something that observed him calmly.

His only logical conclusion was that this was Death.

"Hello?" he asked the being before him. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe - but he didn't need to. He felt his body relaxing like it was succumbing to sleep.

A cold, spidery hand managed to touch him, despite his lack of body, and he felt a chill in his spine wake him up. Bothering to see again, he shuddered at the sight of a large, vaguely humanoid being - if a great black cloak, thrown over mismatched, crackling bones, could be called humanoid.

Something was being shown to him, so he paid attention and watched as concepts - ideas - flew through his mind. Death. Life. Prophecy. A story incomplete; an imbalance in the world. Life again. Death again. Prophecy once more.

"The prophecy?" Harry asked.

Confirmation. Agreement. A repeat of imbalance, and then a quick barrage of life-death-life-death… combined with himself and Voldemort.

He paused to remember the words of the Prophecy, and ones were placed in his thoughts for him - either must die at the hand of the other.

He felt a sickly feeling crawl into his chest, like a worm thrashing in his stomach, far more unpleasant than any butterfly could be.

A concern, a worry he hadn't dared acknowledge suddenly came easily. "Will I be able to die?"

Death, the being pushing ideas into his head, pulled away for a terrible moment, then returned.

Confirmation. Confusion… a strange idea which seemed, really, to fit the description of 'mistake'. It was strange having firm evidence that the gods were not perfect, that they could indeed make mistakes… but now wasn't really the time to ponder over that.

He thought for a moment. "I was supposed to die," he suggested. A strange yes and no which made barely any sense, but slowly organized itself.

The idea of soul. Then shackles, tying him to Earth - shackles which, for some reason, made him think of prophecy.

Then, rewind. Everything he'd seen - going backwards to his first moments. Then forward again - but the shackles fell away.

"I do it again," Harry repeated for clarity, "and I'll be able to die?"

A simple feeling which translated as 'yes'. Then another idea - the self.

Death took the idea and pulled it slowly apart, until the self was soul and body - and then placed the soul inside of another body.

"I'll be someone else," Harry offered.

Agreement.

Harry paused to think. "Will I have to kill Voldemort at the same time he kills me?"

A pause, then a feeling similar to rejection - a no, then. The separated self returned, and the body was animated, and held an item - an item which Harry observed looked like a bracelet with the Deathly Hallows on it.

The animated body pressed the bracelet to Voldemort's skin, and he heard the whistling screams of horcruxes, saw vague forms fly past.

"I get Harry Potter's body to touch the symbol to Voldemort's skin," Harry summarized, "And Voldemort dies?"

Agreement, and a twitch of amusement and a weird appeased-thankfulness mix. Harry found himself smiling.

"So I go back in time," he began, "as someone else."

A nod from the skeletal form, the first physical indication of understanding.

"I make sure my former body presses that symbol to Voldemort's skin, killing Voldemort."

Another nod. Harry smiled.

"Then I die naturally, and Harry's body dies naturally, and everything goes back to the way it's supposed to be."

He could almost hear a distant voice agreeing with him - but it was more a strange rattle than anything. He brushed it off without a thought and nodded. "I… will I remember this? Or my past life?"

A pulse of confirmation, a tinge of humour.

"Then I'm ready whenever you want to… send me, I suppose. I've waited long enough to die, so if this is what it takes…" Harry attempted to express himself, and found his emotion conveyed. This, more than anything, pleased Death.

Death's hand reached out, and Harry was suddenly physical again. He could feel himself being pulled in all directions, but stayed still as Death drew the hallows on Harry's wrist.

With a final scratch, Death sent Harry on his way.

Nicolas Flamel had lived a fulfilling life. Creating the Philosopher's Stone at forty, he'd proceeded to live through the ages with his wife, Perenelle, out in a small town called Devon. At six hundred and fifty four, he could definitely say that his life had been successful.

Rising for a new day, he dressed quickly and laid a kiss on his stirring wife's forehead, smiling gently at her. That he'd been able to bring his wife with him on his ageless journey was a gift he would never doubt.

Alas - the one thing he'd never had or done was raise a child of his own. With a gentle sigh, he began heading for the door out of their bedchambers when a sudden chill crept down his back, reminding him instantly of a memory from long ago.

It had been at the moment he had created the stone that he had first met Death, and made him a promise. He sighed and turned, expecting any moment for his debt to be forcefully paid. He had waited quite long, anyways.

Death stood over his wife, a looming creature of darkness and bones, which observed her carefully. Then, with a small gesture, it dragged him helplessly back onto his bed.

"Is it time for me to pay my debts to you?" Nicolas asked simply. His wife had woken, and she watched in mild fear and awe. Being old dulled your reactions to everything, and it seemed his wife was no exception.

Death seemed to pause entirely, then slowly dragged a limb over Nicolas's head. With a nod, a rattling, ominous voice filled the room.

"I have a favour to ask of you and your mate," Death announced. "And yes. Once this favour is done, I wish you to return, Nicolas, Perenelle."

Nicolas nodded. "Whatever I can do - consider it done."

"As with I," Perenelle said, finding her voice.

Death seemed to take on an eerie eagerness. "I have with me a soul with a duty to fulfill," he explained. "A strong soul. He will be born by you, Perenelle, and I ask this; guide him until he is ready to face his task. Nicolas, listen always to his words. Be the family Fate ripped from him when she decided to play with my souls," he hissed, "until the passing of the 21st season of his life. Then, and without delay, I will return you to myself."

The elderly pair glanced at each other momentarily, then bowed deeply in mutual appreciation. Death seemed confused, but nodded to each and stepped away slowly.

Nicolas found his voice. "Death - thank you. You have given us our one greatest wish - a child of our own. We will raise him as best we can." Perenelle nodded in teary-eyed agreement, and if one was able to perceive the complex and minute ways Death expressed itself, happiness would have been closest to Death's emotion.

With a final step back, Death faded, leaving Nicolas and Perenelle to prepare to raise a child.

2

Harry was born into the world, ironically, at the exact same moment as Harry James Potter, the boy-who-lived - late on July the 31st, in 1980. While Harry's new body, as well as his old one, had been born, he hadn't been able to take control of it yet. Natural order took over, and he was refused control for months.

Instead, he watched his new parents with adoration and deep love he never thought he'd feel. The kindness shown in each movement, the love in each glance at his cot - the love his two parents, Nicolas and Perenelle, showed each other - healed Harry's heart.

Here, he was named Nico - presumably after his father. He was showered with gifts from the small families' acquaintances and friends, and found himself, for once, with so many people caring about him that he didn't know what to do about it all. His being special didn't get him suspicious glances or awkward stares, but admiration, as they glanced at the hallows etched into his wrist, as if he were blessed instead of cursed.

However, the older he got, the more nervous he felt. He knew - he knew - what was to happen to Harry Potter. If he were just able to control his body, he could warn them somehow - save Harry's parents, his parents. As time went on, he came to accept it - but he had always wished someone was there to protect them, that someone cared…

But time marched on without pause, and the war continued to rage on - and with each passing day Nico felt certain that the news would soon arrive of the Potter's death.

Perenelle was a naturally gentle soul. With a loving husband and over six hundred years of life under her belt, she was a master of empathy and sympathy, and could tell at a glance when people were feeling sad or uncomfortable.

It was harder, however, to interpret complex emotions from a child - something that had always been kept from her. She treated her little Nico with great care, taking any advice she could get. So, it was with a shock that she woke to Nico wailing terribly.

Leaping out of bed, she snatched up a nightgown and threw it over herself, heading quickly towards her son's crib. He had always been a quiet and peaceful child, and such an outburst was unheard of from the baby. Reaching out, she peered into the crib and was met with a strange sight.

Somehow, her son had gotten his hands on a newspaper. He was staring at the front page in apparent horror, and he turned to look at her with soft, wet eyes.

"Harry," he said clearly - the first word he'd ever said - and with such mourning that Perenelle found herself reaching forward without a thought. She lifted him, newspaper and all, into her arms and cooed softly, letting him nuzzle into her shoulder in an attempt to dry his eyes.

"'Arry," he burbled again, in clear distress, as he pushed the newspaper towards her. She caught it and flipped it out to read, peering at the page.

There was a picture of a small house in a community Perenelle recalled as Godric's Hollow. The headline made her read it twice - POTTER SACRIFICE KILLS VOLDEMORT! - before she dared to believe it.

"Harry!" Nico slurred urgently, pointing at the house. Small, soft hands reached to the paper and gripped it, small sniffles emerging from his throat.

"Who is Harry?" Perenelle asked softly, though she knew Nico wouldn't be able to answer very clearly. She scanned the article until she reached what she needed.

Aurors on the scene reported only two dead - but the true miracle lies in one-year-old Harry Potter, who lost his parents this fateful night. Reports state that when Voldemort tried to kill Harry, Harry's magic bounced away the killing curse, reflecting it upon Voldemort himself.

You heard right - Harry Potter has done the impossible and survived the killing curse.

This reaction - the sharpness of the child's emotion - made her worry. She spent the night soothing the boy, tracing lines down his back and wiping away his copious tears, but there was nothing she could do. She supposed he was mourning for the Potter child's parents, but there was nothing she could say for sure. Regardless, she told her husband of the occurrence and continued on, raising her child with magic and love.

At four, Nico was a prodigy. Literate, intelligent, and highly empathetic, he simply refused to use a training wand - and with good reason. He quickly got a grip on wandless magic, with the assistance of his proud father, and began practicing whenever and however he could. Levitating things, changing the colours of his father's hair whenever he wasn't looking - any spell he could practice, he did.

It was his fourth birthday, when he was handed his father's wand to use for the day, that Nico gave his mother a mischievous smile and waved it gently.

Forth burst a phoenix, made of pure joy. It wove around the room and Nico cackled with joyous laughter at the flabbergasted expressions on the faces of his parents.

"Nico, how long have you been able to do that?" Perenelle asked, touching the phoenix to make sure that it truly was a patronus.

Nico grinned, bouncing on his feet. "Months!" he giggled, dashing towards her and gripping her leg in a hug. "'Cause you're really nice!"

"Hey, hey, what about me?" Nicolas complained, though he too was smiling to the edges of his face. Nico turned around and placed a finger on his chin, tapping it in a pondering way with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Mm, okay. You're nice too," he allowed, smirking. Nicolas rolled his eyes and pulled in his small family for a hug, a squealing child between them.

The moment was killed swiftly, however, when Nico's laughter suddenly ended. He twisted and struggled, forcing the pair to place him on the floor, and stared at his arm.

"What's that, Nico?" Nicolas asked gently, kneeling beside his prankster son, observing this rarely-shown serious side, so reminiscent of the war-torn adults he'd seen leaving the Death Eaters behind them.

On his son's wrist was a simple bracelet, with three strings connected to a symbol he recognized - something which sent chills down his spine. A black, wooden triangle - holding a circle and a straight line down the middle - held the bracelet together.

Just like the symbol etched in his son's wrist, which they had not mentioned since his birth, it seemed he was to be further marked by Death.

With a flash, a small pile of cloth wrapping a set of objects appeared. A letter floated down to land atop it, and Nico walked towards it with a determination Nicolas rarely saw in his precious child. The letter was picked up, and Nico turned around to read it.

"To the soul on a mission," he read, "congratulations on your fourth cycle alive, however contradictory it is of me to celebrate it. Congrats, as well, on your twenty-first year of existence."

Nicolas and Perenelle shared a glance. They rarely spoke of Nico's past, if at all, and even then it was an uncomfortable subject. They had never known quite how long he had lived.

"You have trained enough for me to return these to you," he continued, and glanced at the pile. "I assure you that Dumbledore is not short of a wand - however, I believe he is short of an invisibility cloak, which I trust you will return to Harry Potter once he enters Hogwarts."

"Nico?" Perenelle asked gently. "What are those?"

"The Deathly Hallows," Nico replied absently. "I had them before… I didn't think he'd give them to me, but that just goes to show how much I don't know yet." with a sigh, he continued, "The stone, thankfully, has been cleared of the cursed soul residing within it. Use it to summon me whenever you come across the other soul pieces that you have been asked to retrieve - while not necessary, it will make our task easier to complete. I will contact you once more when you enter Hogwarts… how I do that is yet to be seen.

"Be safe, soul, and good luck." Nico closed the letter and summoned the wand with a snap, watching it fly into his hand - and staring in solemn awe at the flash of power as it recognized him. Nico turned to his parents, who suddenly felt rather small.

"I think it's about time I told you about my past," he said quietly. "About what I remember."

The small family gathered on the floor, and summoning his suppressed memories forth, Nico began to expertly tell the story of a boy who lived in a cupboard under the stairs.

A week later, Nico was gripping his mother's hand and scanning Privet Drive, his clear hatred for the place startling his parents - though, after all he'd told them about the people who lived here, it was clear that it was justified.

"Any moment now," he insisted again, bouncing on his heels. "Harry'll show up today, I'm sure."

"We know," Perenelle chuckled weakly.

Nicolas knelt down next to his son, sighing away his nerves. "Son, would you rather we weren't here for this?"

Nico raised an eyebrow. "Why?" Then he seemed to think. "Oh. Harry's not going to trust adults."

Nicolas nodded. "You'll have an easier time. We'll take a stroll around the block, yeah? You watch for Harry, and be careful about it."

"Of course," Nico replied, rolling his eyes. "Mentally damaged kid. I'm not going to be cruel to him, Pops."

Nicolas smirked. "Alright. Well, I'll just head off with Perenelle. You stay safe." He rose and offered Perenelle his arm, and together they walked down the muggle street, disillusioned so as not to attract attention to their unique attire.

Nico, of course, had conjured his own set of clothes for this occasion, and glanced each way before running over to the other side of the street. He sat on the curb and waited, humming an old tune to himself to pass the time.

It wasn't long before he felt a prickle on his spine, and a small voice said, "What's that song?"

Nico turned, and he felt his heart sink in deep sympathy. This Potter looked even worse than he had. The boy - who by now was sidestepping nervously and squeezing his eyes shut, waiting to be punished for asking questions - was wearing clear rags, and his arms were bony and thin. He stood up and pulled Harry down to sit next to him, the bony child shivering at even a brief touch.

"My friend wrote it for me," Nico told him honestly. "He made me a flute to play it on, but I lost it. So now I just sing."

Harry blinked at him in bewildered understanding and nodded. "Thank you," he managed, "for… for answering me."

Nico smiled sadly. "It's okay to ask me questions," he offered. "I promise. I won't hurt you just because you're curious."

Harry fell silent, and the two four-year-olds sat on the step.

"You mean it?" he asked shyly. Quickly, he added, "I don't doubt you, it's just that-"

"-nobody ever offered before," Nico finished for him. "I know. I know a lot of things."

"I don't know much," Harry admitted. "Uncle Vernon says freaks aren't supposed to know much."

Nico tilted his head, considering how to answer. "What is a freak?" he asked at last.

"I'm a freak," Harry admitted quietly.

"Then freaks must be very nice people," Nico concluded. "And a nice person is a very good thing to be."

Harry brightened. "You think I'm nice?"

"Of course you are," Nico replied. "If you weren't nice, you would have been rude or hurt me. But you said thank you and you're friendly. That makes you nice."

Harry frowned. Silence fell again, and Nico began to sing softly again, recalling the tune Hagrid had played on a whittled instrument, in a time forgotten by all but him.

"What's normal?" Harry inquired.

"Boring," Nico replied immediately, ending his song. "Boring and plain. I much prefer unique, myself. It makes people interesting."

"So the Dursleys want me to be… not interesting," Harry concluded.

"I suppose," Nico answered. "But really, that's self-contradictory."

"Self-contradictory?" Harry inquired, confused.

Nico backpedalled. "You can't be normal because you are special," Nico explained. "You are special because you are you. They can't ask someone unique and interesting to be normal. It's… like asking fire to be water. It doesn't work."

"Oh," Harry concluded sadly.

Nico patted Harry's shoulder. "Don't be sad," he requested softly. "I like you just the way you are. You're special, and nice - and those are really good things. Normal people aren't very much fun, so it's much better to be unique, like you," he rambled.

"Why am I unique?" Harry asked glumly, drawing on the granite with his feet. Nico grinned.

"Cause you're magic," he said happily. "And magic is super special. It can make things from thin air, and get you across the country in seconds! You can fly, and make paintings move, and make fireworks from the tip of your finger…"

"The Dursleys don't like magic," Harry realized. "And that's why they don't like me!"

"They don't like magic?" Nico inquired, even though he knew quite well that they despised it. "Well that's silly. Just 'cause they don't like magic they don't want you to have it? They sound really silly to me."

Harry nodded in agreement and stared into the distance.

"D'you think," Harry said, "if I show the Dursleys that magic can be good, that they'll like me?"

Nico shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted freely. "But whenever you did magic before, did they like it?"

"No," Harry realized sadly. "No, they didn't."

"Maybe don't do that, then," Nico offered, patting his shoulder. "Don't worry, Emeralds - when you go to Hogwarts, you'll be able to use your magic all the time!"

"Emeralds?" Harry asked, glancing around.

Nico laughed. "You, silly! Your eyes - they're green. So - Emeralds." he took a leap of faith and pulled the emaciated child into a hug. "It's a nickname!"

Harry smiled weakly, relaxing in the hold. "I've never had a nickname before."

"Me neither," Nico replied. Thinking quickly to have the conversation continue, he added, "I used to pretend I was somebody else though."

Harry shifted, and Nico let go. Stretching, Harry asked, "who?"

"My best friend," Nico replied, chuckling. "You'd like him - he was really good at chess. And my other best friend, she was super-smart! The three of us, we were inseparable."

Harry tilted his head. "Really?"

"Really," Nico confirmed. "Hey, maybe someday you'll have some best friends too. Then you can tell me about them!"

Harry drooped. "But Dudley'll scare them away."

"Not at Hogwarts," Nico replied reasonably. "Dudley can't go there. He'd fall in the lake, and the squid would kick him out," he announced confidently.

"At Hogwarts," Harry said quietly. "You think a place like that exists?"

"I don't think, Emeralds," Nico tutted, a mischievous grin on his face. "I know."

Nico insisted on visiting Harry as frequently as he could. Every day, Nico would manage to snatch up the floo powder from wherever it was hidden, use it to floo to the neighbourhood, and dash his way to the Dursley home to help Harry with his chores. Nicolas wanted to help him somehow, but he also knew that by interfering any more than Nico requested was not the best idea. Supportive as they were, however, they always remained by his side, offering him support - even when he sometimes came home exhausted from healing Harry's wounds.

Harry leaned on Nico like a crutch, borrowing his strength and relying on him for all his knowledge. Of course, Nico pushed him towards making his own good habits - studying, reading, learning, the good things - but it was still Nico who taught him the most important things.

On Nico's fifth birthday, he asked to have Harry join him.

"Last year," he said seriously, "I had you two. It was an awesome birthday. Harry's got the same birthday as me. I want him to have an awesome birthday too."

Nicolas could see nothing wrong with this. "Alright, Nico, you can ask him," he allowed. "Just make sure he won't be missed."

With a confident nod, Nico stepped into the floo's flames and vanished.

"...happy birthday, dear Nico," the group stretched out the note for far longer than they had to, "happy birthday to you."

Nico grinned and blew gently, each flame winking out easily. Harry sat at his side, bouncing eagerly in his seat and gripping Nico's hand tightly.

"How much cake would you like?" Nico inquired gently, gesturing minutely for his mother to hold off on cutting the delicacy.

Harry blushed. "A lot," he admitted. "I never get cake."

Another gesture, and Perenelle knew to cut large slices as she piled cake onto fancy plates, handing the first one to Harry.

"For me?" he inquired, bewildered.

"Well, it wouldn't be a proper Flamel birthday without it," Nicolas chimed in. "Dig in, Harry. You've earned it."

Nico, to demonstrate, took his own piece with a flick of the wrist and began to eat morsels he pulled off the edge, ignoring the fork entirely.

Perenelle rolled her eyes and watched as Harry finally decided to let go of his inhibitions and eat his fill, consuming a disastrous amount of cake. This was the exact reason she had bothered to stuff them with healthier foods first; after this, they would not eat anything put before them. It was enough that she'd had the foresight to realize Nico would attempt to spoil Harry, even on his own birthday - not that they didn't share it.

Cake polished off, the two of them settled into the couch to open presents. Every two or three obligation gifts, Nico insisted that Harry got to open one of the boxes, stating firmly that it was part of the experience. While Harry couldn't keep what he found, he was regardless overjoyed by the things he found and was able to pass on to Nico.

The final box suitably destroyed by eager youths, Harry pulled Nico into a hug and murmured, "Sorry I couldn't get you anything…"

"You're more important than a box, Emeralds," Nico huffed. He cast a serious look at his parents and plastered on a smile. "In fact, we haven't finished getting presents."

Harry pulled away and frowned. "We've opened all the boxes, though."

"Sure we have," Nico agreed. "But not all gifts are in boxes. Hold out your arm."

Harry watched as Nico pulled off the bracelet he'd never taken off since they'd met - a wooden triangle, holding a circle and a line, held on his arm by three leather strings. His eyes widened as the bracelet was pushed onto his own frail arm.

"For me?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah," Nico confirmed. "You'll never lose it." The sheer confidence in Nico's voice was enough to convince Harry of the same, and he pulled his arm back, admiring the simple object with childlike fascination.

Nico glanced at his father, sighed, and slung an arm around Harry's shoulder.

"Happy birthday, Harry."

Nico fought back tears - of sadness and of strain - as he poured pure magic into Harry's body. It was not easy, and definitely not efficient, but Nico didn't know enough about first aid to do much else.

Harry whimpered as his arms snapped back to where they were supposed to be, as his lung was mended, his broken foot rearranged. It only took a few minutes, but by the time Nico was finished, he was exhausted.

Harry opened his eyes, tested his body, and immediately went to Nico's side. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern leaking into his actions as he offered a shoulder for Nico to lean on.

"I should be asking you that," Nico huffed. "I hate those Dursleys. They shouldn't hurt you like this."

Harry nodded glumly in agreement, but said softly, "you know there isn't anything we can do, Nico."

Nico glanced again at Harry's scars. Far more scars than the original Harry - he - had ever had. He could feel himself grinding down his own teeth. "I should be able to protect you, Harry, and I can't even manage that..."

"It's okay, Nico," Harry insisted. "I'll survive…"

Nico screamed in frustration. "You shouldn't HAVE to survive, Harry!" he hissed. "You should be happy, and healthy, in a house with people who love you. This -" he gestured to the house with a grandiose disgust, "-is a mockery of what you should have. It is insulting."

There was a snap of apparition, and Nico got a sinking feeling in his gut. He quickly disillusioned Harry's bracelet and turned around to find a wand pointed at his head.

"I'm afraid this budding friendship must end," a benevolent voice, conflicting and confused in the original Harry's memories, snapped into a solid disgust which shocked even Nico. "To think a magical child lives in this neighbourhood… but no more. Harry must not know about magic…"

Harry shook in fear, and Nico turned away from the grandfatherly Dumbledore. "Go into the Dursley home, Harry," he said, with an eerie calm.

"Ni-" Harry began.

"Go in the house," Nico repeated. "Now. Please."

Harry paused, then turned to glare at the grandfatherly figure, whose eyes were twinkling-

A burst of sparks exploded in Dumbledore's face, and Nico hissed, "HARRY! GET IN THE HOUSE!"

Startled out of his wits, Harry raced away, stopping only on the doorstep to glance rapidly between his first friend and the strange wizard who had approached them.

Nico turned to Dumbledore and summoned forth the powerful, primal magic he'd been training since he'd been born in this world. "I believe only one of us will forget this meeting," Nico said calmly.

Harry dove into the house, confident that the magic was Nico's.

Dumbledore's shock was only matched by how unprepared he was to have his mind rearranged in a flash of light.

When he returned to full consciousness, he considered nothing suspicious, for he didn't remember Nico at all - nor falling unconscious in the first place. He glanced at the wards, tested their strength, nodded and apparated away.

3

Harry James Potter believed in magic.

No matter how many times the Dursleys insisted that magic didn't exist, he knew quite well that it did. After all, he used it to clean their dishes and fix his wounds every time he got hurt. He used it to escape bullies and protect the fragile parts of his sanity. Yes, Harry Potter knew quite well that magic was real - so when the letter came, he merely smiled, slid it into his cupboard as he walked by, and gave the Dursleys their morning papers.

To be honest, he'd been waiting for five years for that letter, but he couldn't show his excitement yet. He had to bide his time. Glancing at the bracelet on his wrist - one that nobody ever noticed unless he pointed it out - he smiled, a childish glee fueling his energetic steps. Memories, of a boy long forgotten from a time long ago, made him eager to go to Hogwarts just as soon as he could.

Nico. He hadn't seen his friend in years. A niggling bit of pessimist reminded him that it was entirely possible that Nico had died that day, protecting him - but he couldn't think like that. He just had to convince himself that there was some other reason Nico had abandoned him.

It was in the mind of someone used to being inadequate that he decided he hadn't been smart enough.

The number of times Nico had looked exasperated… it was likely that Nico was very smart, and simply didn't have the time to answer all of Harry's silly questions. It probably annoyed Nico to no end - the old man had just been a good excuse, surely…

That night, Harry snatched up a pen and wrote an elegant answer.

Dear Professor McGonagall;

I would be thrilled to attend your school, but unfortunately, my guardians are unlikely to approve of such a notion. It is for this reason that I request a guide to aide me in purchasing the items on the list and to retrieve me for school if I am to attend, as I doubt the Dursleys would be willing to drive me to London and back to open invisible doors and go to invisible boarding schools, despite my own room having an invisible door. While I may not have their approval, that has never stopped me before.

I eagerly await your reply and apologize for any inconvenience I cause.

Harry Potter.

"I am sure it is nothing to worry about," Dumbledore insisted. "We can send Hagrid, if we must, but I must say he's got more important things to do."

McGonagall's teeth ground as she held her severe, sharp tongue. Rubbing down her reply until it was suitable for polite company, she replied, "Surely there is nothing wrong with me taking a moment to check, Albus. We are so close to the moment where he will be accessible to all anyways." It was clear - at least to her - that Harry had become slightly unbalanced. Surely, even just a short visit to one of the arguably most important students wouldn't be so costly?!

Dumbledore sighed. "You will find nothing, Minerva. You know how much we need you at this essential time."

"I think twenty years of teaching experience has taught me to handle it, even when I take a moment to check something," Minerva replied coldly.

Dumbledore merely shook his head, and turning on her heel, she marched off towards the dungeons for help from the one man who wouldn't ignore her, despite how loath she was to ask for him to help the Potter child.

Harry woke up to a sharp knock on the door and quickly rose from his sleep. Quickly casting a refreshment spell, so that he didn't look like a child in rags, he charmed his clothes to be nicer and opened the door.

"Hello, sir," he said automatically, eying up the man critically. He was quite obviously a wizard, and from the looks of it he was also a rather weary and severe individual; Harry could tell from the lines around his face and eyes, and the general commanding aura he exuded.

"Hello," he replied tightly. "Can you bring Harry Potter here? I must speak to him."

Harry, always a cautious sort, inquired; "Whatever for? He doesn't usually get visitors."

The man's snarl grew alarmingly. "He wrote a letter requesting a guide, as his guardians were likely to decide he was not to enter magical education. Considering he can't get up in the morning…" he huffed. "I'm inclined to believe they are right."

"I see," Harry said, keeping carefully calm. "I'm afraid he isn't here; he's busy making breakfast."

The man seemed rather startled. "Harry Potter makes his own breakfast?" The face fell. "Ah, he probably has house-elves…"

"House-elves?" Harry inquired, genuinely curious. "What are those?"

The man pulled his wand, and Harry flung himself aside as a spell flew past. "Whoa! Alright, alright, I won't ask. Sir, you wanted to see Harry? He'll be here later today. He's got morning chores, and then of course, there's school. I'm sure he'll be here at four and available to speak to you."

The man huffed, still holding his wand, but seemed to decide not to go for the immediate obliviation option just yet. "I swear. He asks for help and then decides to go who-knows-where!"

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," he apologized calmly. Just then, there was a thump-thump-thump on the stairs, and Harry smirked as Dudley came storming down the stairs.

The man raised an eyebrow at the overweight child, and they went even further when Harry dodged a punch thrown at his head without batting an eyelid. Dudley walked off, seemingly uninterested in the newcomer, but quickly returned.

"Oi, freak, where's breakfast?" Dudley asked crudely.

Harry laughed away in his mind as his plan began to take form. "Harry's making it. I've just got to finish speaking to the nice man here, Dudley."

"Well I want breakfast NOW!" Dudley screamed, and Harry grinned at the man's wince. In a flail of fists, Harry held up his arms to bear the abuse and looked pleadingly at the man who was frozen on the doorstep.

In a flash, the man pushed Dudley away, and Harry smiled broadly. It was working! He huddled near the potted plants and cowered dramatically in the corner of the room.

Further thumping and stepping down of stairs, and Harry watched as Petunia let out a shriek of horror. His stomach sank, however, when Vernon came down with a gun and aimed it directly at the robed man.

"What a lovely welcome," he drawled, gesturing to Harry's blooming bruises and Dudley's fists. Harry let out a weak whimper for effect, and in a bad attempt to distract his uncle from the robed individual. "I hadn't known you'd adopted a house-elf, Petunia. And your boy has shown such good manners towards him, too."

Petunia quailed under the man's glare. Vernon adjusted his gun.

The man snapped, and the gun twisted itself in a neat pretzel. "I believe we'll all be forgetting this… terribly upsetting incident," he announced. WIth a wave, the three Dursleys fell into a trace.

"We were never here," he said to them, grabbing Harry's wrist. "Goodbye, Petunia. I hope you don't mind me borrowing him for a while…"

"...No, not at all…" she agreed, still in a trancelike state.

With a final yank towards the door, The man apparated away.

They reappeared in a rundown house.

"It isn't much," he announced, "but it is home, and until I find out what Petunia has done, yours as well."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said kindly. "And I'm sorry for putting you in danger. Uncle Vernon has never pulled a gun on anyone before." He felt guilt settle in for abusing this man's trust, but he hoped deeply that he would understand.

"I'm sure," the man replied dryly. "Clean yourself up and take a seat in the kitchen; I'll make some tea, if there's any left. I believe it's time we talk."

Harry nodded slowly and gestured to himself. One burst of magic later, he was clean, if a little ragged, and he walked through the new environment, sitting in one of the chairs cautiously.

A cup of tea was placed before him, and the man sat down. "My name," he began, "is Severus Snape. I am a Professor at the school Harry's been admitted to, and arrived to aid him in the change. As you can see," he gestured, "Harry is not here, and I believed your situation to be more important. Now - who are you?"

"I'm Freak," Harry replied smartly. "And Harry's right here." he pointed to his head. His scar had been dealt with by Nico a long time ago, but it was still hilarious pointing to it for proof of his identity.

Snape gave him a bewildered, and somewhat irritated, look. "What on earth do you mean?"

Harry smiled. "Whenever Harry gets hurt, I show up to take his place and deal with mean people." he frowned. "It's been a long time since I've been Harry, though. I've been Freak for a while now."

Severus Snape gulped. "You are Harry Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "I can be. But Harry Potter is ungrateful and useless, so Freak has to do all the work and protect him."

This exchange was one he'd practiced for for a long time. He watched in solemn satisfaction as understanding bloomed on Snape's face - and then a deep, burning anger, fueled by sadness and guilt.

Huh. Extreme reaction.

"I'm sorry," Severus said quietly, "but I need a moment… Harry. Please stay here. Enjoy your tea." He rose abruptly and marched off, presumably to absorb the fact that Harry had been abused - supposedly enough to make him form an alternate personality.

He didn't want to be Harry, ever again. It was painful and stressful and wasn't worth the effort. Nico had said that as long as he had the bracelet, Nico would recognize him. So being Harry wasn't too important.

Finally, Snape returned. "I'm going to call over a colleague of mine and discuss your situation with her. Can I trust you to stay here until I return?"

"Of course, sir," Harry said, still smiling serenely. "I'll stay right here."

Harry watched until Snape walked away, and then began to fiddle with his bracelet to pass the time.

Harry watched the banter between Mr. Snape and his colleague with amusement. Their chatter was quite amusing, even if it was about himself, which actually made him slightly uncomfortable.

"We can't tell Dumbledore," was what they agreed on. What to do, however, was the argument.

"He needs medical help!" Minerva argued. "I can swear Poppy to secrecy, Severus. He needs that help."

"We can't risk it," Severus refuted calmly. "I know quite well he needs help, but until we can find a failsafe way to do this under the radar of that bloody headmaster, there is no other choice than to disguise him as someone else."

Finally, Harry decided it was time to interject. "Um, Sir? Madam?" he asked quietly. "Is Harry in trouble?"

"Of course not, dear." Minerva's face transformed from the powerful horror it had been to 'sweet grandmother' in seconds. "Harry did nothing wrong. We're just worried that others might want to… annoy him."

"Oh," Harry nodded. "That makes sense. So if Harry can't go, does that mean Freak has to?"

Severus gestured to Harry, as if Harry were proving his point.

Minerva groaned. "Alright - but we are not calling you freak. It is a cruel name to give a child."

Harry nodded softly in agreement. "May I choose?"

Severus, this time, went softie. "Alright, Harry. You may choose."

Harry grinned. "Emer Rald."

A blink of confusion, and then understanding. "After your eyes," Severus said softly. "Yes, yes, I like it. Emer it is."

"Maybe Emmerson, just to make it a little more believable?" Minerva offered, though Severus would not be moved from the symbolic name.

"Fine, he huffed. "Emmerson Rald. Emer, we'll take you to be introduced tomorrow. Minerva and I need to plan." he paused. "I'll set up a room later today, and some wards…"

Harry smirked and left the teachers to their thinking. He had more important things to do.

He walked off in search of a bookshelf to raid.

"He'll be there, Nico," Nicolas soothed. Nico bounced on his feet regardless, eager to hop through the floo to the station and wait for Harry. It had been five years - five years since he'd last seen Harry. Five years where he'd trained tirelessly to be strong enough to protect Harry - even, if necessary, from Dumbledore.

He couldn't return of his own volition. Even if Dumbledore had no intention to care for Harry, obliviation would stink of danger to him, and it was doubtless that there was an increase in observation since he'd obliviated the old man. The blood wards had deflected him when he had tried to approach Harry, no matter what he did. There was no knowing just what had happened to Harry since - and that made Nico sick to his stomach to think about.

Unlike his own childhood, this Harry had been meek, and his body even smaller than he remembered. He half-expected an emaciated wreck to enter Hogwarts. He could only hope that Harry would forgive him when they met again.

Finally, finally, it was time. Year after year of training was all for this. He was strong - could see his magic pulse around him when he was thinking to do it, could see muscle where his past self had had fat or bone. It was all going to be worth it.

"Don't forget to write," Perenelle said softly. "We may not be perfect, but we are always here for you."

Nico nodded slowly, gulping. "I… yeah. Thank you. I'll write as often as I can," he replied quietly. He took a deep breath, gave them both solid hugs, and turned to the floo.

With a graceful toss, he called, "King's Cross." The fire flared, and he disappeared.

"I still don't know why you insisted on the train, Mr. Rald," Severus said stuffily.

"Oh, that's simple," Harry replied, smiling serenely. "Nico will be here. I wish to see him. And if I don't, then I can introduce myself to some people."

Severus declined to comment about the mysterious Nico, but as it turned out, he would quickly find out much about him anyways.

Harry suddenly froze, eyes riveted on another teen standing at the platform and occasionally glancing at his wrist or tapping his foot. He was on the muscular side for someone his age, and he was obviously from a wealthy family, considering the quality of his dress. His eyes were a dark brown, and his hair a jet-black, dark as the night sky. Severus could tell from the moment he caught sight of him that this boy would be a heartbreaker; he had the same casual, jockish confidence that had won James Potter the love of the female Hogwarts population.

The boy glanced up, caught sight of Harry, and froze with equal shock. Then, as if a clock was being started up again, he choked, "Emeralds!"

Running towards each other across the station, they collided in the center of the station, and the stronger boy held Harry around the middle in a vice grip and spun a few times, laughing hysterically. Finally calming down, Nico let go and stared for a few seconds, sharp eyes inspecting Harry critically.

Nico relaxed, and sent a hand through Harry's hair. "You remember me?"

"How could I forget?" Harry replied softly.

Severus raised an eyebrow as he approached, observing the tender moment cautiously. The moment the boy - Nico - had appeared, Harry's entire demeanor had changed. From a serene, unmoved child, void of reaction or emotion, this 'Nico' had pulled out a fragile voice, weak, young, and remarkably inquisitive, considering where the conversation went next.

"Where have you been?" Harry demanded. "Why did you leave after that weirdo? Were you okay? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? Is there-"

"Too many questions, too little time," Nico replied smartly. "Emeralds, you remember the wards. They were set to defend against me after the incident." This seemed to depress him heavily, but he quickly hid it behind a mask of professionalism as Severus approached.

"What's this, Emmerson?" Severus held in a chuckle, though he felt his lip twitch in an irritating reaction. "I suppose you must be this 'Nico' he keeps going on about."

Harry blushed a vibrant red once he realized the implications, but Nico barreled on obliviously. "Yes, sir, I am." Nico confirmed. "My name is Nico Flamel. It is a pleasure to meet you." Turning to Harry again, he said softly, "We'll catch up on the train. I'm sure there's a lot to say that hasn't been said yet."

Harry nodded, and Severus coughed. "Flamel?" he inquired once more. "I was under the impression that the last living members were… incapable of having a child."

"They were blessed," Nico replied calmly, so certain in his tone that Severus was almost inclined to believe it. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, sir."

That startled Severus enough that he spoke. "I am Severus Snape, Potions Professor at Hogwarts." he announced grimly. "I expect you will pay attention in my class."

"That is a good idea, considering that Hogwarts is a school, and I am there to learn," Nico replied, chuckling. "Don't worry, Professor - I happen to have a personal appreciation for your subject. You won't be asking house-elves to mop up my cauldron."

"I should hope not," Severus nodded. "Mr. Rald, I believe you can make your own way onto the train safely?"

"I can," Harry replied, reassuming his serene persona. He turned to Nico. "Let's go," he insisted, tugging Nico along by the sleeve. "I want to get good seats."

The door closed, a muffliato cast, and Nico immediately pushed Harry into a seat and began asking questions.

"What's the whole 'Emmerson' thing about, Emeralds?" he asked, concerned.

Harry made a placating gesture. "A long story. I decided… I wanted to escape. So I pretended to have a split personality… I was going to insist on attending as someone else. I remember your stories, about, about how they treated famous people here. Turns out I didn't need to…" he chuckled weakly. "Mr. Snape was so horrified by Auntie and Uncle that he took me away from there immediately. They're considering how to get a healer to me to study my mental scarring, but it's unlikely they'll find one who isn't tied to Dumbledore in some way."

Nico nodded. "Do you mind if I…" he gestured vaguely to Harry, and Harry nodded, holding still.

Nico sent a few diagnosing spells at Harry, frowned, and nodded. "Right. Physically, you're on the road to recovery from those blasted muggles… mentally… sorry, I might have to dig a bit," he apologized quickly.

"S'fine, you can't help that," Harry agreed quietly. He felt the dull throb of a headache begin after a few minutes, but thankfully Nico removed himself seconds later.

"A bit more scarring," Nico winced. "I… I'm so sorry I wasn't there to protect you, Emeralds. I should've tried harder to get to you…"

"S'okay," Harry shrugged, flopping over to lean on Nico's shoulder. "M'just glad I didn't do anything to… to make you leave."

"You never could make me leave," Nico replied faithfully. "So - tell me about the last five years."

"I'm not that interesting, Nico," Harry admitted. "I just… pretended to be bad at school. Ran away from Dudley's gang. Made breakfast. Harry things."

Nico nodded. "Alright. I guess."

"And what did you do?" Harry poked Nico's arm. "You've got more muscle on you."

"Intense training," Nico replied, turning away. "I… wanted to be prepared, if anything like… the weirdo… happened again." Shrugging, he continued, "I want you to join me on my morning runs. You need more muscle strength, Em."

Harry didn't refute that, instead merely nodding. Nico glanced out the window, then snapped.

A cookie jar appeared in front of them. "I remember where Mum and Dad keep it," he explained. "Not that hard to summon things remotely if you know their location like your own house."

"You have got to teach me that," Harry insisted, snatching up a cookie eagerly. "I want to steal Dudley's chocolate."

They laughed, and conversation turned to lighter subjects.

Shortly after the journey began, the Trolley lady came by and Nico purchased half the cart, spreading the surely unhealthy amount of candy over the seats and munching through them slowly. Nico started off charming all of Harry's things, adding protection spells, recall spells (for those pesky bottom-of-the-bottomless-bag books), and other simple things he thought to add.

Wanting to teach, he also summarized what he was doing. Harry listened with rapt attention as Nico outlined different simple rune arrangements and complicated charms as he cast them. They were on his second book when there was a knock on the door.

Nico gestured, opening it, and a rather bewildered girl stood at the door. He glanced up and carefully schooled his expression into indifference.

"Good morning," he greeted her. "Is there something I can help you with?" Harry, he noticed, had assumed a cheerfully oblivious expression and was messing with his chocolate frog as if it were a real one.

Hermione Granger glanced around, sighed, and nodded. "I can't find any seats. Do you mind…?"

Nico nodded understandingly and snapped. The candy organized itself, and Harry placed a pout on his face as his frog was hovered on the top of the stack of chocolate frog packets. A seat now available, she walked in with purpose and sat down, jumping in her seat slightly when the door closed by itself.

Nico gave Harry a pointed look and smiled at Hermione. "Hello, Hermione. It's nice to meet you."

HIs cover plan in motion, she frowned. "Er, Hello. How did you know my name? Is it a spell?"

He noticed she was far more reserved than his Hermione, who would boss people around and exclaimed everything loudly. Something had definitely happened to change her reaction.

"I know a lot of things," Nico replied enigmatically.

Harry nodded in agreement, snatching up his chocolate frog again, shrugging, and snapping it in two. "I've never figured out where he gets his information. Just roll with it," he advised her. "You're Hermione?"

"Yes," she smiled tentatively. "Who are you?"

"H- Emmerson." he grinned. "Emmerson Rald. He's Nico." Nico gave a slight wave and picked up his wand again.

"Oh! Are you doing magic?" She inquired eagerly. "What kind?"

"Wards and Charms," Nico replied idly. "I was telling Harry about the Waterproofing charm… useful unless you're swimming."

She giggled, imagining a person falling through water without getting a single drop on them. "That would be useful to know."

He rolled his eyes. "You're a shoe-in for Ravenclaw. Want me to teach you how?"

Hermione already had her wand ready, and her bag in front of her. With a laugh of slightly hysterical familiarity, Nico began to teach the two how to waterproof their bags.

4

The train ground to a stop, and Nico rose, ignoring Hermione's mild panic at having forgotten to put on their robes. He sighed, snapped, and their robes flew from their suitcases and fell onto them comfortably.

Nico shrugged at her annoyed look and cast a charm on his suitcase, letting it hover at his side as he waited for Harry and Hermione to be ready to go.

They dismounted the train and quickly followed Hagrid, who led them down the path towards the lake. The twins were pretending to be drunken sailors, and children's laughter rang through the clearing alongside the chuckles from a half-giant.

Hitting the water, Hermione let out a small gasp, Harry's smile grew to the edges of his face, and Nico froze.

"Are you okay, Nico?" Harry interjected after a moment. Nico slowly registered the words and nodded shakily, hopping into a boat thoughtlessly and staring at a particular tower sadly.

Finally, Hermione plucked up the courage to ask, "what's wrong?"

"I know a lot of things," Nico repeated, but this time it was haunted by a mild fear and stabbing regret. "Sometimes the things I know aren't true. But that doesn't mean they hurt any less."

For Hermione, to whom knowledge had always been a friend and ally wherever she went, the idea of knowledge hurting was so alien that the words missed her entirely. What didn't miss her was the sadness in his eyes and the tight grip he had on the seat of the boat, as if he'd fall in the water if he were to let go.

Harry frowned, shuffled over, and patted Nico's shoulder.

"Can I…" he gestured to Hermione, and Nico nodded slowly.

"Secrecy," Nico reminded him. "But okay."

The plan continued on flawlessly. "He's a seer," Harry explained quietly. Nico belatedly cast a muffliato. "Someone who occasionally gets glimpses of the future, or make prophecies. Nico doesn't usually get warning about them, so it probably felt like reality - like the future was happening at the same time as the present."

Hermione looked at Nico with renewed awe and nodded. "Is it… painful?"

"No." Nico shook his head. "But not everybody likes seers, and the few people who are seers are rarely understood."

"Nico is one of the most sane seers there are," Harry agreed. "They tend to have trouble figuring out what's reality and what's not."

Hermione nodded slowly, her face scrunched up in concentration. "I think I understand."

"Don't think too hard about it," Nico advised. "The more you think about it, the less it makes sense. I can tell you a bit about it, but it's rather… mind-bending."

Hermione smiled weakly, a competitive look in her eyes. "I'd like to try."

Nico shrugged. "Alright. The vision I just saw will not come true. I know this because of the contextual details applied to a vision, much like what occurs when in a dreamlike state. The probability can be predicted by observing the residual magical model which resides in the back of the neck for about 3.4 seconds after a prediction is made. Therefore, I know that the individual in the vision was isolated while in reality he is not, and that the actions taken would not be taken in reality either."

Hermione blinked. "Um. So the prediction won't come true… because the facts don't match up?"

"That's a very simplistic view of the matter," Nico replied, chuckling. "But sure. The vision I saw will not become reality, thank goodness. It just threw me off for a bit."

Hagrid hollered for the students to duck, and they watched as ivy dragged along their backs and they entered the school's covered docks. Nico stepped out elegantly and pulled the other two out, tying the boat to the mast and leading them up the stairs.

McGonagall nodded to Harry minutely, and the trio stood and waited as the other students gathered at the top of the stairs, chatting animatedly about the sorting.

"I hope it isn't too hard," Hermione fretted.

"Don't be silly, Hermione, this isn't a test," Nico said calmly. "There's no wrong answer, so there's nothing to worry about. Just be yourself."

Harry gulped. "I'm more worried we'll be in different houses."

Nico nodded. "Even if we're in different houses, Em, I'll make sure we stick together. They can't prevent student friendships."

Reassured, Harry nodded, but the moment was broken by a voice that crawled down Nico's back like a march of cold beetles.

"Well, if it isn't Harry Potter," the voice said.

Nico smirked, turned, and gasped dramatically. "Why, if it isn't Draco Malfoy," he drawled, imitating the blond mockingly. Composing himself, he continued, "what on earth are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"It's lovely that you recognize me," Draco commented smugly. "But you obviously don't know the right sort, do you?"

"Oh, I don't know, I think we're all right sorts here," Nico replied. "After all, if they were left sorts, that wouldn't make any sense at all." There was some scattered giggling at this paradoxical statement, and Nico thought vindictively that he could hear Draco's headache begin.

After a shocked moment, Draco continued, "It seems to me you don't know what i mean. There are the right sort, and the wrong sort, Potter. Look at you - walking around with a pair of muggleborn stock like a commoner. I know better. I can help you there." He shot out an arm and waited.

Nico stared at Draco for a good three seconds before falling backwards laughing his head off. Harry was giggling hysterically, and Hermione herself looked so lost that she went with the flow and let out a few chuckles behind a hand.

"What?" Draco demanded, his hand dropping.

Nico gathered himself and rose to his feet. "You, of all people, should know," he replied. "I can't believe it. Draco Malfoy approaches an Heir, calls him Potter, insults his companions, and proceeds to request an alliance. Did you learn anything since the last time you tried to pull something this ridiculous, Heir Malfoy?"

Draco paled so clearly you could see his skin turn white. He quickly backed away, but it was no use - he already had the attention of the whole first year. It would take ages for him to get over it.

McGonagall coughed. "Ahem. Yes. The sorting will begin shortly. While at Hogwarts, your house will be your home…"

The first years shifted nervously as students were called up, one by one, to be sent to their houses. It wasn't long, this time, before Nico was called, and he walked up with a confidence so clear that few doubted he would be in Gryffindor.

He felt the hat go over his head and waited for the hat to make a decision.

Interesting, very interesting, the hat mused, sifting through his thoughts and his mind. A mind sharp as steel, yes, you'd do brilliantly in Ravenclaw… and courage, plenty of courage, and a fear met and understood… cunning, such a swift mind, with a hint of humour that could transform Slytherin house forever… you're a toughie, aren't you?

I've been told I'm quite an interesting individual, Nico replied. If it's alright with you, I'd like to ask a favour.

Alright, just this once. What is it? The hat asked.

Nico smiled. I'd like to wait to see which house Emeralds goes into. I want to be able to protect him.

The hat shuffled through his head and let out a gasp. How did I miss this? One of the most powerful bonds of loyalty I've ever seen… how intriguing. Mr. Flamel, you would fit in any of the houses equally. I must admit I'm at quite a loss as to how to sort you. I believe I will follow up on your request, if only to sort you with those who will help you succeed.

To the room, the hat cleared his throat and said, "Mr, Flamel, please stand to one side. You will be sorted after the rest of the first years."

Considering it had been nearly six minutes, this was a shock. Nico made no hints as to his emotion, but placed the hat back on the stool and stood aside, watching the first years continue to be sorted.

Hermione came shortly after, and after a good three minutes, and a couple of glances at Nico and Harry, the hat proclaimed, "RAVENCLAW!" the blue-bronze house clapped appreciatively as she sat down among them, next to a girl Nico recalled as being called Mandy.

Finally, finally, Flitwick called, "Emmerson Rald!"

Harry walked up to the hat and placed it on his head. After about three seconds, the hat laughed hysterically.

Mr. Emerald, eh? The hat asked, amused. Mr. Potter, this is a most interesting development.

I'd like to be sorted into Nico's house, please, wherever he may go, Harry insisted. But yes - it is interesting. I hope you haven't sorted anyone named Dudley lately.

I don't believe so, no. The hat replied, a hint of amusement still apparent. You know, Nico said the same thing about you, wanting to be in the same house. I presume you're close?

You're in my head, feel free to take a guess, Harry replied dryly. Yes, we're childhood friends. He's very important to me.

It is nice, to see ones so young with such valuable friendships, the hat mused. Yes - I believe that is far to important to allow you to go anywhere else. Here's to that little part of you that wants to make friends, Harry.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat cried, and Harry hopped off the stool and went to the friendly table. The rest of the sorting Nico ignored, and finally, the hat paused and remembered to sort him.

"Mr. Flamel," the hat's material smirked, "to Hufflepuff."

Harry leaped out of his seat in excitement, yelling out something along the lines of 'Hooray!'. The rest of the house got caught up in his excitement, and there was a resounding applause as Nico took a seat next to Harry, stoically accepting the sideways glomp that he was given.

Let's see if I can't get Hufflepuff to win the house cup, Nico mused, grinning. Thoughts had, he immersed himself fully in the food and general buzz of excitement Hufflepuff had.