Minerva McGonagall stood in the entrance hall, waiting for the first years.
The first years, eleven years after that day in 1980. Eleven- the age of the Potter boy, if he'd survived the Muggles. She knew he was on the Hogwarts list, but she'd sent hundreds of letters to him with no reply. But that wasn't her concern now. No, now was time to welcome a new generation Hogwarts. She tugged uneasily at the sleeve of her emerald green robes as she waited, hearing the faint tramping of feet coming up the walk outside. The doors swung open and she straightened, adopting the posture she was known for. Stiff, unyielding, stern. The new students swept in, looking terrified, for the most part, with the exception of one boy with pale blond hair. He looked suspiciously like Lucius Malfoy- his son, most likely. Minerva filed away her observation and turned to the crowd.
"Welcome to Hogwarts. Now, in a few moments you will pass through these doors and join your classmates, but before you take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. While you are here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points. Any rule braking and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup.
"When we go in, I will call your names. You will step up to the front, take your seat on a stool, and be sorted." She swept out the side door leading to the hall, the loud noise assailing her ears. Dumbledore nodded to her and she returned the gesture, making a quick check of her table to ensure the Weasley twins weren't causing too much trouble. Filch placed the stool and Sorting Hat in its place just as the students entered, some wincing at the noise, which was rather extraordinary for only around two hundred and forty students in the entire hall. Minerva unfurled her parchment and read out the first name.
"Abbot, Hannah!" The small girl walked up and sat on the stool as instructed, quickly being sorted into Hufflepuff. She continued reading off names, moving through 'M' (the blond was a Malfoy, as she suspected) and reaching 'P'. Her list had the last, first, then middle names, but she only read the last and first. So it was a shock when she stared at the name she was about to call. It read 'Potter, Harry James'. Her eyes skipped over the 'Harry' and all she saw was 'Potter, James'. James Potter, prankster extraordinaire. James Potter, dead eleven years ago. She finally realized the silence had lasted a beat more than usual, cleared her throat, and read out the name.
"Potter, Harry." A thin boy with glasses, broken at the bridge, and a head of unruly hair like his father, hurried up. He took his seat on the stool and placed the hat on his head carefully, fists clamping shut in surprise, she assumed. Minerva could see his lips moving, but couldn't make out the words. Finally, the silence ended.
"Better be GRYFFINDOR!"