The First Year

Sunshine and Shadows

Ginny looked up from her Charms textbook, watching Harry flip through a journal on potion-making. She had never seen him tackle studying with such fervor before. Not even his O.W.L. year. 'Why do you study potions so much now?' she asked idly, turning a page.

Harry didn't look up from the notes he was making. 'Need it for work. It was my weakest subject in school,' he said. He looked up at Ginny with an expression she couldn't read. 'But not entirely my fault.' His head bent back to his work once more. 'Nor his,' he added so softly, Ginny wasn't sure she'd heard him right.

'Of course it was his,' Ginny snorted. 'I've looked through some of those books you've been studying,' she told him. 'He never taught us half of what's in there.' Ginny rummaged through the pile of books next to Harry. She picked up the smallest one Harry consulted the most and leafed through it. 'Most of this should have been taught to us our first two years.'

Harry remained conspicuously silent. It struck Ginny as odd, since he'd always used any excuse to make a negative comment about Snape.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. 'That's the first time I've ever seen you not say anything negative about him,' she observed.

Harry hitched a shoulder in reply. 'People can change,' he said diffidently.

'And you think he did?'

'I know he did.' Harry closed the journal and tossed it toward his old schoolbag. He got to his feet and set off down the garden, wishing the die-hard reporters who still camped outside the Weasleys' fence would go away. He'd give anything to go on a nice long walk, without having to Apparate to another county or even just to go to the village or Diagon Alley without people staring at him.

'How do you know?' Ginny said, slightly breathless. She'd had to run to catch up with him.

Harry came to a stop in the middle of the paddock. 'I told you he gave me his memories, right?'

'Yeah. You said he'd helped you last year.'

Harry tipped his head back to study the cloud formations overhead. 'I saw everything. From the day he met my mum, until right before he brought Gryffindor's sword to me.' Harry turned abruptly and headed for the relative sanctuary of the hammock. 'Do you think we get Sorted too early?' he asked suddenly.

Ginny trailed after him, bewildered. 'Sorry. Say again?'

'None of us are the same person we were when we got there,' Harry mused, perching in the hammock gingerly.

'Of course not,' Ginny argued. 'We're older, more mature.'

'Well, yes,' Harry agreed. 'But does it know who we really are, or where we're going to end up?' He leaned back in the hammock, watching the shadows and light through the leaves overhead. 'Take Pettigrew, for example...'

'Who is that?' Ginny interrupted. 'The name sounds familiar.'

Harry shrugged. 'He was – was – one of my parents' friends. When they went into hiding, he was their Secret-Keeper. So he told Riddle where to find them.' Harry laughed a bitter, ironic laugh. 'He was Sorted into Gryffindor. And Snape, who was Sorted into Slytherin... Snape is why I'm alive and wasn't killed years ago.'

'Sorting doesn't define who you are,' Ginny countered.

'Maybe,' Harry conceded. 'But how do we know it doesn't set you on a path for the rest of your life when you're only eleven? Doesn't seem fair, somehow...'

Ginny's brows knit in a frown. 'I think you're going to have to start at the beginning with this one.'

Harry sighed and pulled his glasses off, sliding them into the pocket of his shirt. 'Snape and my mum knew each other. When they were younger. Before they even started school. They lived in the same village.'