Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 15: The Sorting
The large doors swung open, and the first-years marched into the Great Hall.
Harry must have read about this room hundreds of times. He had seen it in his imagination, painted in warm tones and filled with wonder and laughter.
But the reality is usually different.
The ceiling was enchanted, of course. A perfect mirror of the night sky outside, scattered with stars and the occasional drifting cloud.
Candles floated in mid-air by the thousands, casting a soft glow over the four long house tables.
The tables were laden with gleaming plates and goblets, waiting for the feast to come. And at the far end of the hall, on a raised dais, sat the staff table, facing the students.
It should have been magical, and in a way...it was. But the magic here felt heavy and oppressive...it was not the joyful scene he had envisioned for so long.
After everything he had seen of this world, he could not say he was surprised, but...he was a bit disappointed.
The older students watched them enter with expressions that varied from boredom to an unsettling, cold assessment. There was no cheering and no welcoming smiles...just a few whispers and stares.
Harry's eyes swept over the four tables, each decorated with its house colours. Red and gold for Gryffindor. Green and silver for Slythering. Blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, and yellow and black for Hufflepuff.
He had expected to feel some kind of pull towards one of them...perhaps a sense of belonging, but so far, all he felt was uncertainty.
His gaze moved to the staff table.
Professors sat in a long row, their faces illuminated by candlelight.
Some were old, some were young, some were studying their newest students with keen interest, while others simply looked bored.
A tiny wizard with silver hair...Professor Flintwick, Head of Ravenclaw.
A plump woman with a kind face and earth coloured robees...Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff.
A stern, severe woman with thin lips, whom he was already familiar with...Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor.
A man with dark robes and equally dark long hair...Severus Snape. Her expression was soft, almost kind, as he looked at the new students.
Finally, at the centre of the table, in a high-backed chair that could pass as a throne, sat Albus Dumbledore.
His hair was long and white, his beard flowing down to his chest. His robes were deep purple, embroidered with silver runes that seemed to shift and move. Half-moon spectacles sat on his nose, and when he smiled (which he did), it was a warm smile. As the first years went to their places, he watched them with a twinkle in his eyes.
But Harry had seen that twinkle before. In his dream...it had not reached his eyes then, and it did not reach now either. He would not be so easily fooled into trusting that man, after everything he had seen and heard since waking up in this crooked world.
He forced himself to look away from the old wizard, scanning the rest of the staff table.
Next to Snape was a woman Harry did not recognize. She was tall and slender, with light brown hair that streaked with grey and pulled back into a loose knot. Her robes were deep blue, and her face was kind but tired, with faint lines around her eyes. A small silver badge on her chest read: Andromeda Tonks - Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Harry knew that name, although he knew little about this person. She was supposed to be Nymphadora Tonks's mother.
The only thing he could recall about her was that she married a Muggleborn man and was expelled from the House of Black. But he knew nothing about her personality and character.
Harry filed the name away. He would have a chance to learn more about her later.
McGonagall had stopped the first-years in a cleared space before the staff table. A three-legged stool stood alone, and on it rested an old, tattered wizard's hat...the Sorting Hat.
"When I call your name," McGonagall announced, her voice resounding through the hall, "you will come forward, sit on the stool, and I will place the hat upon your head. The hat will then sort you into the most appropriate house. Step forward when called."
She unrolled a long parchment scroll.
"Abbott, Hannah."
A small, blonde girl hurried forward, sat down, and placed the hat on her head. The hat twisted, opened a seam near its brim, and after a moment shouted:
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
The Hufflepuff table applauded politely. Hannah Abbott hurried over, looking relieved.
One by one, the names were called in alphabetical order. Harry watched, his heart beating steadily, as each student made the short journey to the stool.
"Bones, Susan." Hufflepuff.
"Boot, Terry." Ravenclaw.
"Brocklehurst, Mandy." Ravenclaw.
"Brown, Lavender." Gryffindor.
At the Gryffindor table, Lavender Brown was welcomed with enthusiastic clapping. Harry noticed that the Gryffindors seemed the loudest, the most confident. They sat a little straighter, smiled a little wider.
"Bulstrode, Millicent." Slytherin.
Millicent Bulstrode...a large, square-jawed girl, stomped over to the green-and-silver table without a word.
"Corner, Michael." Ravenclaw.
"Crabbe, Vincent." Slytherin.
Vincent Crabbe lumbered forward, had the hat placed on his head, and after a few seconds, the hat declared "SLYTHERIN." He walked to the Slytherin table with a grunt, where a few older students nodded at him.
"Davis, Tracey." Slytherin.
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin." Hufflepuff.
"Finnigan, Seamus." Gryffindor.
"Goldstein, Anthony." Ravenclaw.
"Granger, Hermione." Ravenclaw.
This caught Harry's attention. 'Is she also going to be sorted in the same house as before?...will she be a Gryffindor?...or...' He watched with attention to find out.
Hermione walked to the stool with precise, measured steps. The hat barely touched her head before shouting "RAVENCLAW!" She nodded sharply and walked to the blue-and-bronze table, where she sat without looking at anyone.
One of the names Harry had been half-dreading came.
"Longbottom, Neville." Called McGonagall.
Neville Longbottom walked forward with confidence, his head held high. His robes were immaculate, his shoes polished to a shine. He placed the hat on his head with a serene smile.
The hat seemed to hesitate for a long moment before finally shouting:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table erupted in cheer. Neville walked to the table with a pleasant smile on his face. He shook hands with Weasley twins and a few other senior students before finding his seat.
Harry had been watching him carefully. 'So that's Neville,' he thought.
He appears to be charming and confident. But he knew better than to judge a book by its cover, and wondered what kind of person was hiding beneath that kind smile.
He made a mental note to be careful around Neville Longbottom.
More names were named.
"MacDougal, Morag." Ravenclaw.
"Macmillan, Ernest." Hufflepuff.
"Malone, Roger." Ravenclaw.
"Malfoy, Draco." Slytherin.
Draco walked to the stool with his shoulders slightly hunched, feeling obviously nervous. The hat fell over his eyes, and after a few seconds, it called out, "SLYTHERIN." Draco looked relieved as he walked to the green-and-silver table.
"Nott, Theodore." Slytherin.
"Parkinson, Pansy." Slytherin.
Pansy shot Harry a quick, encouraging glance before marching to the Slytherin table, her chin held high despite her trembling hands.
"Perks, Sally-Anne." Hufflepuff.
"Potter, Harry."
The hall fell silent.
Harry walked forward, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. He could feel every eye on him...the students, the professors, the portraits on the walls. He reached the stool, sat down, and the professor placed the hat on his head.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then a voice spoke inside his mind.
"Ah, Potter, let's see...how very unusual. You have a lot on your mind."
Harry held his breath. He did not have the chance to think about this, but...
'Can the hat read my thoughts?' he began to panic.
What if the hat discovers that he is an impostor?. Someone who doesnt belong here...someone who came from a different world. One with no magic.
It spoke again.
"You have courage, yes...but you are also cunning and ambitious. A mind that questions everything."
"Just sort me already, please..." Harry whispered while trying to keep his thoughts under control.
"Impatient, just like your father. Perhaps Gryffindor would be the best house for you. It will certainly help in your ambitions..."
"No, please. Not Gryffindor. Anywhere but Gryffindor." The last thing he wanted was to be in the same house as those nasty Weasley boys. He could not imagine having to share a bedroom with Ron or being subjected to being constantly harassed by the twins. And Neville would be there too...
"You dont like the lions, huh?. That is probably wise. The lion's den is a dangerous place."
Harry's eyes moved to the green table. He spotted Draco, Crabbe, and Pansy looking at him with concern in their eyes.
"Slytherin..." He whispered without thinking.
"Very well...Better be..." The hat opened its seam and shouted for all the hall to hear:
"SLYTHERIN!"
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then, the Slytherin table erupted in applause. It wasn't the roaring cheers of the Gryffindors, but a steady, respectful clapping.
Harry saw Draco beaming, Pansy grinning, and Vincent Crabbe nodding slowly, and...he knew he had made the right decision.
He was also very relieved that the hat had made no mention of anything about his unique circumstances.
'Maybe the hat can't truly read all of my thoughts, and can simply pick up on my individual qualities.' He wasn't sure if that was the case, but for his peace of mind, he would choose to believe it was.
McGonagall picked up the hat, and he was about to walk about when he caught a glimpse of the staff table and froze.
Dumbledore was looking directly at him. There was a warm grandfatherly smile on his face, but his eyes...his eyes were cold as ice, and just for a fraction of a second, Harry saw something flicker across them.
Disappointment.
'He wanted me in Gryffindor,' Harry realized. Like his parents...like his soldiers.
He looked away and walked to the Slytherin table, sliding onto the bench next to Draco.
"Well done," Draco whispered. "I was worried the hat would put you somewhere… else."
"Me too," Harry admitted.
Across the hall, Ron Weasley was staring at him with a mixture of surprise and disdain. Beside Ron, a boy with sandy hair and a cruel mouth...one of his friends, Harry assumed, whispered something in Ron's ear.
The other friend, a stocky boy with a scar above his eyebrow, laughed quietly.
'I'll need to learn their names,' Harry thought.
So he asked Draco, since he seemed to know a lot about the magical society.
"Oh, those two?" Draco also glanced towards Weasley. "Their names are Oliver Rivers and Stephen Runcorn."
Harry searched his memories but could not recall anyone with those names.
"They are half-bloods." Pansy joined in their conversation. "I met them a year ago at a birthday party. They are...really nasty."
Draco nodded. "Their fathers were simple wizards, with no significant background. But this changed when they chose to serve the Weasley family. I dont know exactly what kind of job their fathers do, but...those two are always with Weasley, acting as his personal assistants."
"Or bodyguards, if you will," Pansy added.
Harry nodded. He was familiar with that setting already.
The sorting continued. Ron and his two minions were sorted into Gryffindor, of course. The hat had barely touched Ron's head before yelling the house name.
He walked to the table of red and gold to thunderous applause, shaking hands with Neville and clapping Rivers and Runcorn on the shoulders.
When the sorting finally ended, Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment, and Dumbledore rose from his chair.
His voice was warm and fatherly as it filled the hall.
"Welcome, new students. Welcome back, returning students. Before we begin our feast, I have only a few words for you." He spread his arms wide, his purple robes catching the candlelight. "Let us remember that here at Hogwarts, we are one family. We are united under a common purpose: to learn, to grow, and to serve the greater good."
His eyes swept over the hall and lingered on Harry for just a moment.
"Let the feast begin."
Golden plates became filled with food.
Laughter and chatter echoed off the stone walls, but Harry could barely taste a single thing.
Dumbledore's cold, disappointed eyes followed him all through dinner, and he knew this decision was going to come back to him.
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