'Very well, you have a good mind... Ambition, and the will to go extremely far to achieve your goals... You're smart, but you have a, say, straightforward intelligence... Loyal to a fault, you'll always protect those you love, with your life if you must; and the bravery...' The Hat started, with a drawling and yet interested voice.

'You'd do very well in any of the four Houses, you have all the qualities for that, but those qualities are, in you, tainted by the bravery; it's like the Gryffindor in you twisted all of them to his advantage... With the mind you have, there's really only one House for you, and if you'd take advice from a centuries old hat, take this one: learn how to defend yourself. You'll need it.'

'GRYFFINDOR!' it roared to the Great Hall, Harry's new Housemates standing up to loudly clap, proclaiming their delight, the resst of the Hall clapping too, unsurprised and, in a way, relieved that the Boy-Who-Lived didn't end up in Slytherin.

Harry Potter, national hero of Britain, walked to his new table, his new family, with a straight back and his head held high, as when he entered the Hall minutes before.

Harry was a hero by ambition: unwanted at his home, he'd spent every spare moment away from 4, Privet Drive, to help at the Church, at the school, anywhere he could; it was the fight of an unloved child to protect and support the unlucky and rejected, often at his own risk.

More than once, Harry pounced from a bush to kick a would-be bully in the shins or crotch before disappearing again, and often he'd saved potential targets and victims. He'd followed suspicious individuals to report them to the authorities, confronted people years older than him; he was ten and entered Hogwarts with many scars, but an intact bravery and deserved pride. There wasn't a Heroic Fantasy novel he hadn't read.

Some called him stupid, well if they were right then there was a whole House dedicated to stupid at Hogwarts. And he was determined to be the King of Stupid.

His first friends, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom, were expectedly people he knew he'd have to protect one day. A look at Neville had revealed incredible shyness and an expectancy of seven years of heavy bullying while a conversation with Hermione showed she was lonely and with a temperament that would make her life unbearable among magicals.

But not with Harry, oh no, he'd protect them. Not change them of course, but he'd give everything to give those two a good life, including his own. Not that it would be that hard, right? Few would confront the Boy-Who-Lived's best friends, and with time they'd learn to adapt to the world they lived in, until the day they didn't need him anymore.

Harry had also met another kid, Ron Weasley, who would certainly be his friend in the years to come, but the poor redhead was short-sighted, and if left unchecked, a potential bully. He'd keep an eye on the boy but he had no need for Harry's help, his confidence was healthy and his numerous brothers would defend him if need be.

The last relevant encounter of the revealing trainride was of course the introduction of Draco Malfoy; Harry Potter had vowed at the age of three and four months to fight evil wherever it lay, so the blond kid had better be ready for a fight!

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Weeks in, Harry was pleased with his progress. He'd epicly rescued Neville when he'd lost control of his own broom, nobly defended his comrade's valuable property from the hands of his malevolent rival, thus earning his place in his House's glorious team for the fine sport that Quidditch is, defended the Muggleborn lady from the spite of overpampered princesses, and proved his worth through determined hard work and well-earned good grades.

Already Neville's confidence was growing, albeit slowly, and Hermione was starting to understand that shoving knowledge in other people's faces was not a recommended way to socialize in their current environment.

What had attracted his interest most of all, though, was the Forbidden Corridor. A place where painful Death was promised to trespassers; well Harry had trespassed, and after gathering the knowledge that a three headed dog was sitting on a trapdoor, smartly fled to plan further exploration. That damn corridor was a desperate call for adventure, was it not?

Time kept passing by until the night of Halloween: the anniversary of his parent's murder and end of the greatest Evil of the age. Like any good hero would, Harry was sitting away from the celebrating crowds, instead mourning and contemplating a life that was not and would never be his; it was a coincidence that the brown-haired damsel of the Library was crying in her distress in the toilets at the same time, but he'd still decided to go about his unhealthy contemplations in the adjacent boy's toilets, just in case and to feel slightly less alone.

Great sounds that made his very guts vibrate, and a powerful yet disturbing smell invaded his nostrils and made his smaller hairs curl in panic, woke him from his thoughts.

A gracious swipe of his sleeve across his eyes cleansed them of any embryon of manly tears, and he stood up, his mighty wand tightly clenched in his hand, to investigate the matter. Quiet as a feline predator, he prowled out of the toilets to catch a glimpse of a bloodthirsty beast's back entering the theatre of Lady Booksmart's cries of sadness and terror.

There was no time to lose so, an epic theme playing in the back of his mind, Harry proudly stood where there used to be a door, and proclaimed with the courage of a just lion:

'Surrender, creature of the Hells! Or I shall slay you!'

And he waited in fairness for the Troll to finish turning around before incanting a loud 'Glisseo!' under its large feet. The creature slipped backwards, smashing its small and hard head against the shattering floor.

Wasting no time, and in a flash of inspiration, Harry stuck his wand in his pocket, ran forward, and jumped to land on the Troll's dazed form. In mid-jump he stuck his left hand toward the ceiling and caught the leather hat that appeared in a burst of magical flames.

His right hand plunged in the Sorting Hat and came out of it armed with a ruby encrusted and no doubt enchanted and legendary sword, which he plunged in his opponent's heart with a flourish.

Hermione stopped crying out of sheer shock at what she'd witnessed. Harry was a good friend but she always thought he was a little delusional when it came to his ambitions of braving Fate's trials to save the innocent. Turns out he was not, and he did have quite the dazzling smile and intense emerald stare when he courteously helped her up.

The professors soon arrived, only to be confused. There, in the girls' toilets, was Harry Potter of all people, comforting his best female friend with a hand while the other held what was unmistakably Godric Gryffindor's sword. And the Troll they had been looking for, the one supposed to be in the dungeons, was dead in the middle of it all, blood still seeping out his one and fatal wound.

'Tell us Harry,' Dumbledore hesitantly began, 'what exactly has happened here?'

Harry turned to face the flabbergasted Hogwarts staff, his smile still gracing his young face.

'Hermione was in need of help; I provided the help. It shall be known that neither Troll nor Dragon shall harm a student while I walk these halls, that I promise!' he proclaimed, apparently proud more than a little bit at ease in the situation. He simply did not understand where there was a problem.

'Of course Harry, of course.. You did warn us to expect no less, didn't you?' the old man continued, and Harry nodded with confidence, 'though we would be most interested in a more detailed tale of your heroic actions. Let's begin with, I don't know, that sword you're wielding with such grace, maybe?'

'Certainly professor. As you can see, I had already subdued the beast and, while I could have ran with Hermione here, I had only delayed the threat and while it never does to leave a Troll alive in the vicinity of schoolchildren, I wasn't properly equipped to deal a fatal blow. Thus I naturally called for Hogwarts' help and, for reasons that are unknown and do not matter, fire brought the Sorting Hat which in turn gave me the sword. Questions?'

The confusion wasn't lessened a tad, so Dumbledore decided to stay reasonable.

'Harry, if you don't mind, I will meet you in my office at a later time to help us all understand better the events which have transpired today. If you would just hand me the sword and keep quiet about said events until we meet?'

Harry's smile finally faltered, though not much, as a frown made itself known abobe his eyes.

'I'm sorry Headmaster but I do believe it was Hogwarts herself that judged me worthy of the sword and, please do not take offense at my words but, who are we to doubt a millenia old magical castle of legend's decision? I'd rather not try to anger such a powerful entity, thank you. And I also believe it would be wiser to let the other students know that they are perfectly safe, for I shall strive to grant them the peace they deserve!' and the last words were not told, but rather exclaimed, with Gryffindor's sword held as high in the air as an eleven year old can raise a sword, and deep green eyes lost, staring at the infinity of some random spot of the ceiling behind the Headmaster.

It was a long day for Albus Dumbledore.

Despite all of his protests, it seemed that the boy was right and all attempts to force the sword out of his hands was mysteriously foiled by their environment, chunks of stone falling on Snape's outstrectched hand, Dumbledore slipping when he lunged for it and so forth. The story of the Boy-Who-Lived slaying a Troll to save his best friend, a girl of course, with the Sword of Gryffindor, was also spread to all Houses and all years by the next day.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It was two months before the end of the year, and the three companions were worried, nervously talking on an isolated couch of the Gryffindor Common Room.

'Someone wants to steal the Stone,' Hermione stated. Neville looked half scared and half confused, like he didn't know and didn't really want to anyway, and hesitantly spoke up:

'But... who? We think Snape was hurt by the Cerberus but other than 'He's evil!' we have no clue!'

Hermione was about to answer when her mouth froze in shock. A new expressions was slowly emerging on Harry's face, an expression they'd learned to fear over the months. Harry was abou to make a heroic speech, he'd convince them to aid him in an epic quest, they'd risk their lives and come up wounded but victorious. Hopefully victorious.

Harry had the same look when he convinced them to brave the Forbidden Forest's occupants to save the unicorns, only to end up fighting off a cloaked form with Gryffindor's sword. He'd had the same look when he convinced them to accompany him for his duel against Malfoy. He'd forcefully dragged Malfoy into an empty classroom when he didn't show up for their duel the first time around, and it turned into a battle with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle against Harry, Hermione and Neville. Apparently the Sword could block spells and when he'd sliced both his minions' wands in half, Malfoy surrendered.

It was a bad omen, and for some reason they always went with him; he was just so convincing! And when he wasn't, he was just so stubborn than after a week of constant nagging, they just gave up and accompanied him on his next adventure.

When asked why he never went alone, he only replied 'A group of three adventurers makes for the best adventures!', which only made sense to him. He'd also tried several times to turn Neville into a Healer ('I'm the fighter, Hermione's the scholar, and you're good at Herbology!') and never managed to convince Hermione to carry scrolls around under her free arm.

When the determined expression was finally firmly displayed on his young face, he slowly rose from his seat and started pacing slowly in front of the fire. He had a smile that announced a never-ending speech and both of his friends were already shrinking in terror.

'No, we don't know who the thief is, but hev no fear, for I have a plan! Indeed, why do we care about his identity when we already know where he will strike, and what he aims to steal?'

'So we can warn the Headmaster?' Neville tried to stammer.

'NO!' he shouted, causing Neville to whimper.

'It was a rethorical question! We! Do! Not! care! Attention please, non-rethorical question approaching: what is the best way to make sure the Stone cannot be stealed from the Corridor?'

The two others looked at each other in confusion.

'Nobody? Ha! Easy, we take it first!'

And now that he had announced his plan came the motivational speech. Later, when asked what it consisted in, both Neville and Hermione could only answer that it started with something like 'It is our duty, to our people and against our foes, to defend...', the rest was little more than a blurred mass of exclamations and enthusiasm on Harry's part.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

The following day, the three were standing in front of the Forbidden Door under Harry's cloak and with silencing charms all over them. Two out of the three were still wondering what they'd agreed to and why, while the third was firmy holding a raw chunk of beef in his left hand.

He opened the door with his right, and approached the giant dog. The Guardian of the Trapdoor, as he'd taken to calling it, smelled them at their approach and started growling threateningly. Before it could pinpoint their location more precisely, Harry threw the raw meat as far as he could on the side.

The Cerberus, having seen and heard nothing, momentarily left its duty to gulp down the food in one mouthful. It turned around to see the trapdoor closing while screams were coming from beneath it.

A few dozen meters below, three first-year students were slowly getting ensnared in the vicious grip of an evil plant that chose to retreat when most of it was hacked away by an enchanted sword wielded by a fearless kid.

In the next room, Harry easily caught a flying key using the provided brooms.

In the next one, they flew above a chess set using the previously mentioned brooms. The following room was the most challenging one so far...

'We meet again...'

'It's probably not the same Troll, Harry.'

'Hermione, you're ruining the mood. Glisseo!'

One mighty stab later, they made their way to a weird room where all exits were covered by magical fires and a riddle would help them find the correct potion to continue or go back. Hermione solved the riddle in under a minute and, after an encouraging pat on the shoulder and enthusiastic compliments from both boys, a blushing girl and her friends entered the weirdest room so far. And also the easiest.

The three of them were flying back when Harry spoke in disbelief: 'All I had to do was look in the mirror and it gave it to me, it makes no sense! The last trial is supposed to be the most original or the hardest, not the most stupidly easy one. I'm disappointed in Dumbledore now.'

His friends ignored his continued mutters of 'Seriously, a mirror...' all the way back, and the brooms were fast enough to leave the room before the Cerberus could bite them. Of course Hermione was an even worse flier than Neville so she had to cling to Harry on his broom, something she would have enjoyed a little more without the deadly beast attempting to eat them.

Still, it was nice.

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

It was a thoroughly confused Dumbledore that found the freshly un-possessed corpse of Quirrell in the Mirror room, with the Philosopher's Stone gone. There was no way that Voldemort could have escaped with it if he didn't have a body, and... it just made no sense.