"Ravenclaw!" the Sorting Hat announced, briefly filling the grand hall with a stunned silence, which was quickly replaced by a thunderous applause from the Ravenclaw table, a polite applause from the Hufflepuffs, a few claps from Gryffindor, and scowls from Slytherin.

Harry's eyes briefly looked at Hermione and Neville, both of which were amongst the clapping Gryffindors and Ron clapped loudly in the line as he waited to be sorted.

Harry knew the Sorting Hat's decision was the correct one. While he admired Bruce's ambition, bravery and hardworking attitude, the only reason Batman was on the same level as the Superpowered heroes, such as Superman, Wonder Woman, and the Flash, was because of Batman's intelligence, perception and creativity, all traits which Harry shared and valued.

He took off the Sorting Hat and placed it back on its seat and walked over to the Ravenclaw table. Slotting himself next to an Indian girl, named Padma if Harry's recollection was correct, and a pale boy with black swooping hair, called Michael Corner.

Harry turned to look at the staff table, which was easier to see now that his back was not to it. At the far left was Hagrid, who's impressive size had him hanging over his chair, who had clapped at Harry's sorting, albeit with surprise. In the middle of the table, was a golden throne occupied by Dumbledore. His long silver beard shone like the animated stars on the ceiling, and on his face was a polite and grandfatherly smile. Harry saw Professor Quirrell who smiled weakly when him and Harry made eye-contact.

Ron was next to be sorted, and his face had turned back to the pale green that Harry seen on the train, and sweat clung to Ron's forehead. The hat briefly touched Ron's head, before it yelled, "Gryffindor!" Harry clapped and shrugged when Ron looked apologetically at him.

Harry glanced at his empty plate as the last person, Blaise Zabini, was sorted into Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment and carried the Sorting Hat away, as Dumbledore stood up.

Dumbledore's smile was wide, and his arms were opened wide. "Welcome," he said, his voice carrying through the room with little effort. "Welcome to Hogwarts. Before the banquet begins, I have some important words. Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak." He sat back down as everybody who was not a first year clapped and cheered, while the first years looked uncomfortably at each other in confusion.

"Is he senile?" Harry said aloud, aimed to nobody.

"Senile!" The offended voice came from an older student who sat opposite Harry, her long curly blonde hair bounced as she spoke. "Albus Dumbledore is not senile. Dumbledore is one of the greatest wizards of our time. He's just … eccentric. In future, you should watch what you say about Hogwart's staff, especially in front of prefects like myself."

"You're the Ravenclaw prefect?"

The girl nodded, giving a genuine smile. "Penelope Clearwater. I'm the fifth-year female prefect for Ravenclaw."

"I'll keep you in mind if I ever need help with anything," Harry replied truthfully. It was one of Bruce's lessons, make allies, especially ones with more influence and knowledge than you had.

Penelope smiled. "Feel free. Now, eat up," she said.

Harry looked back at the previously empty plates, which were now stacked with food. Sausages and bacon, Yorkshire pudding, various potato options, beef, lamb, pork, and other choices were lined upon the table.

Harry scooped up all of what he wanted and started to eat it. It was nice, but admittedly not as good as Alfred's homecooked meals.

A ghost flew by and looked longingly at the food, her beautiful face carrying an expression of sadness. She smiled feebly as she saw Harry look at her. Harry realised it was the ghost from earlier, that seemed apathetic towards all. "Muggle-born, I assume?" she asked sadly. "It's usually the Muggle-borns that stare."

"Raised by Muggles," Harry replied uncertainly. "But Half-blood by birth. I've never seen … someone like you."

The ghost laughed gloomily. "You mean a ghost." Harry nodded. "Ghosts are a sight you will have to get used to, you'll see a few of them around the wizarding world."

Harry had many questions about ghosts running through his head, his inquisitive side coming out as he asked the most important questions. "What are ghosts? Why are you here? Who are you?"

"I can see why you are a Ravenclaw. Ghosts are the remainder of those that have passed on, who elected to stay on this realm rather than go on to the next plane. We may do this for many reasons; fear of death, unfinished business, to stay with loved ones. But, when we decide to stay, the decision is forever. Once a person becomes a ghost that stays, they can never leave. As for myself, my name has long been erased from history, but the students here refer to me as the Grey Lady. I believed I died around," she paused to think, "800 years ago. I must confess, after your 500th Deathday, you tend to lose count."

"800 years," Harry repeated in shock, trying to imagine simply existing for that long was unimaginable.

"Yes, but enough of talking to me. You are lucky enough to have the living to talk to and food to eat." With that the Grey Lady raised her hand politely and glided silently away.

Harry went back to his now cooled food, and returned to eating it. He ate in silence before he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked to see it was the Indian girl, offering her hand out to shake.

Harry shook the offered hand and the girl smiled. "Padma Patil," she introduced.

"Harry Wayne."

"We were talking about you earlier," Padma admitted indicating her and the two other first year girls next to her. "The Sorting Hat called you Harry Wayne but you fit the description of Harry Potter. We want this settled completely. Are you Harry Potter?" When Padma asked this, the majority of the students at the table turned to listen, some more subtle than others.

Harry sighed. "I used to be called Harry Potter. I know the stories you all say about me, that I killed Voldemort and ended a war. Truth is, I'm not that boy. My birth parents were killed by him, something I only found out recently. Then my extended family took me in before they were killed. Then I was formally adopted, I changed my last name to Wayne to honour him. The name 'Potter' means nothing to me, I am not their child, and as far as I'm concerned to suggest otherwise is an insult to the man that cared for and raised me. If that answer pleases you all, I am Harry Wayne." With all that said, Harry turned back to his food and ate in silence.

When the table had finished their meals, the main courses vanished instantly. A moment later the deserts appeared in their places, consisting of ice-cream, chocolate cakes, doughnuts, and everything else.

Harry helped himself to a slice of cake and a scoop of ice-cream and listened to everybody around chat amongst themselves about their upcoming lessons and their families. "I'm a pure-blood, not that that matters," said Padma, "and I think I'm looking forwards to Defence Against the Dark Arts the most, both of my parents used to be tutors for it in Bangladesh."

Michael was the next to talk. "Half-blood. I think I'll enjoy Potions the most."

"What about you Harry?" Penelope asked.

"Half-blood by birth. But raised by Muggles as long as I can remember. I've read all the books for our lessons, and I think I'm looking forwards to anything practical." One of the only reasons Harry was eager to learn magic was to help out Batman as his new sidekick.

Penelope laughed in agreement. "Exactly what I wanted to do in my first year here. But, you have to know the theory first, and even then, you'll only learn minor things."

Harry glanced at the staff table. "So those are the teachers? What do they all teach?"

Penelope pointed at Hagrid on the far left, who was drinking from an oversized goblet. "Hagrid the gamekeeper." Her finger moved to the next staff members as she introduced them. "Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff and the Herbology teacher. Professor Flitwick, our head of house and the Charms teacher. Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor and the Transfiguration teacher. Dumbledore, you know about him already. That's Professor Quirrell, he used to teach Muggle Studies but this year he's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry stared at Quirrell, who was talking to another teacher with pale skin, greasy black hair, and a hooked nose.

Then the pain started. The greasy haired teacher looked past Quirrell and straight at Harry. The pain shot from the scar of Harry's forehead, a burning sensation, like hot pins had been pushed into his skull.

Harry's hand rushed to his head.

"Are you ok?" Penelope asked concernedly.

The pain had gone as quickly as it started, and Harry withdrew his hand. "I'm fine." Harry stared back at the greasy haired professor, but he was no longer looking back. "Who's that next to Professor Quirrell?"

"Professor Snape. Head of Slytherin and the Potions Master. Watch out for him, rumour is he's after Quirrell's job and he knows a lot about Dark Arts."

Harry continued to watch the Potion Master for a while but he never looked at him again.

Eventually, desserts were finished with and disappeared, and Dumbledore rose to his feet again. The room fell silent with anticipation.

"Now that we are all watered and fed, I have the start-of-term notices to give you. The first years should be aware, the forest on the ground is forbidden to all students. Our caretaker, Mr Filch, wishes to remind you that no magic is to be used between classes in the corridors. For those now in their second year or above, Quidditch trials will take place in the second week of this term, those interested should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must say that this year, the third-floor corridor is out of bounds to everybody who does not wish to die a painful death."

Harry looked at Penelope. "Is he serious?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied, although her face was confused. "It's strange, usually he explains why things are banned, the Forbidden Forest is full of beasts, unsupervised magic could be dangerous. I wonder if he told any of the prefects." Her eyes dotted to the other prefects in the room, Harry noticing they all looked as perplexed as Penelope was.

Dumbledore spoke again, his voice ending the conversations that had started. "And now, bedtime."

Penelope stood up. "First year Ravenclaws, follow me," she instructed.

The few Ravenclaw first years, Harry noted there was only eight, all stood obediently and followed. They walked out of the hall, up a staircase, through doorways, and up another staircase which Harry was convinced moved.

Finally, they reached their destination. An oak door with a bronze eagle knocker hanging from it. Penelope waited until the first years were all stood by her. "What you should know about Ravenclaw is we value intelligence, creativity and originality. Because of that, we do not have passwords to remember, we have riddles to solve. To gain entry we must be asked by the eagle and answer correctly. If you do not solve it, either wait for somebody to help, or try again."

The eagle knocker seemed to wait until Penelope was finished talking, before it stretched to life, opening its beak and asking, "What can you put in a bag to make it lighter?"

"There is no one right answer," Penelope explained to the younger children. "We just need an intelligent answer that makes sense."

Michael was the first to answer, "Helium." The Pure-bloods looked confused by this but the answer made sense to all those raised by Muggles.

"A hole," Harry tried, a hole in a bag would make everything fall out and be lighter.

"The Lumos charm," replied Padma, and all the wizard raised first years nodded in agreement.

"All good answers," the eagle responded. It cawed loudly and the door opened.

The Ravenclaw common room was a wide and round room with arched windows showing the school grounds below. Desks were dotted around the room, next to bookcases crammed of novels.

Near a staircase stood a tall marble statue of a woman, who smiled as the first years approached.

Penelope took the timetables that were hanging on a notice board and handed them out to the students before she ordered the girls up the staircase and to the left, while the boys went to the right.

Through the doors were their beds, large and inviting, with dark blue duvets and bronze coloured curtains. The trunks were already in their rooms, and the boys simply pulled on the nightclothes and climbed into their beds.

Within minutes, exhausted by the train, the food, and the nerves, all the boys were asleep.