As per usual for September 1st, platform nine and three quarters was crowded with people—parents, grown siblings, younger siblings and students of all ages. Cats and toads and owls all added to the cacophony of goodbyes, greetings, and promises to write. Among this crowd were a group of three—two children, a dark haired boy with dazzling green eyes, and a red-haired, Scottish girl, accompanied by their adult escort, a dashing man with dark hair, and a WWII inspired greatcoat that billowed behind him as he walked. Currently, the man's gaze was attached to a pretty young woman that had clearly come to see her family off.
"Uncle Jack!" the redhead protested. "The Doctor said that I could hit you if you did that," she said warningly.
"Sorry, sorry," Jack said, laughing. "This day is all about you, Amelia, I know."
"For the last time, it's Amy!" she protested.
"Whatever, Uncle Jack, maybe we should find a compartment?" Amy said, huffing.
"Sure, Amy," Jack agreed, obviously wanting to stop winding her up. He ruffled her dark red hair, and she squealed in protest and ducked out of the way. "Harry? Harry?" He called, catching the attention of the boy. Harry James Potter, who was scanning the platform with wonder, one hand on his trunk and the other holding his owl cage steady atop his trolley, Harry hadn't been paying one whit of attention to Amy and Jack's argument.
"What? Sorry, Uncle Jack."
Jack laughed, the two children waded their way through the crowds to the doors of the train, and Jack helped each of them hoist their trunks aboard and followed them on. Harry and Amy both seemed determined to manage their trunks on their own, but Jack carefully followed them aboard with watchful gaze, ready to assist with the heavy luggage if necessary.
They arrived at an empty compartment, and Jack helped them get the trunks into the overhead compartment before they traipsed off the train for goodbyes. Harry hugged Jack quickly, obviously embarrassed, but Amy threw herself handily into his arms and clung tightly. Jack clung back for just a moment before dropping a quick kiss atop her red hair.
"Okay, remember," Jack began.
"When all else fails, run for your life," Harry and Amy recited in tandem. "Never let the rules get in the way of what you think is right."
"Perfect. We'll be back to pick you up for Christmas. If we don't show up, Donna's number is the second speed-dial on the phone that Rose gave you, and Martha and Mickey are the third. Got it? And got the phone, Amy? It won't work properly around all of that electromagnetic energy, so chances are you'll only get a signal about half the time. But when you do get a signal, Rose is expecting phone calls, are we clear?"
"Yes, Uncle Jack," they chorused.
Jack was poised to set them onto the train when he bumped backwards into a plump, pleasantly motherly red-haired woman, with a brood of matching children—a pair of twins that looked to be the oldest, and a boy and girl that looked to be about the same age as Harry and Amy.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jack said, turning on the charm. The woman blushed slightly.
"Oh, no problem at all," she assured him. "These two are yours?"
"Mine? Oh, no," Jack said. "I'm the disreputable uncle. They're my sister and her husband's. Well, sister—she isn't, really, but I've known her for a long time, and she might as well be. Amelia Pond," he said, resting a hand on Amy's hair. "But she prefers Amy, and Harry Potter."
The woman was shocked, but pulled herself together. Her children had no such scruples—all four of them stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the raven haired boy.
"Are you really, dear? Nobody was sure who had raised you. Good to see that you're in good hands," she said. "These are mine. Four of them, anyway. Percy's already gone off to find his friends, and I have two more that have already graduated. Fred and George, the twins—even I can't tell them apart sometimes," she laughed. "This is Ron, it's his first year, and my daughter, Ginny, who's starting next year. And I'm Molly Weasley."
"Captain Jack Harkness," Jack introduced himself.
"Uncle Jack!" Amy protested.
"Sorry, sorry," Jack said, raising his hands in surrender. "Fine. God forbid that you tell the Doctor on me."
"Whatever," Amy said snootily. "Just flirt somewhere where we can't see it," she added. "I'm getting on the train. Come on, Harry. It's your first year too, Ron, right?" Amy asked the red haired boy.
He nodded dumbly. "Why don't you come and sit with us, then," she said. "We've already found a compartment."
The three of them skirted off, Ron looking partially intimidated, partially thrilled and partially happy just to have been accepted by some of his fellow-first years. Harry wordlessly took the other end of Ron's battered trunk to help get it onto the train, and Ron glanced at him gratefully. They boarded the train and all crowded around the window, where Jack and Molly were still chatting. Ginny was clinging to Molly's hand, and the twins had already dispersed.
Amy opened up the window and hung out of it. "Uncle Jack!" she called.
"Ooo, look at you on a train," Jack said gleefully. "Never thought you'd need to use a train, did you?"
Harry blew Jack a raspberry. "Dad was right about not stirring up too much of a storm," he called. Jack laughed, and Ron managed to get up his courage enough to squeeze in next to Amy and call goodbye to his mother and sister, and Amy managed to talk Ginny into being her pen pal 'because she got sick of talking to boys all the time, and redheaded girls needed to stick together'.
Amelia Pond was a force of nature.
Then eleven o'clock struck, and the train left, carrying the students away from their parents, and the four of them settled into seats.
"So, are you really Harry Potter?" Ron asked eagerly.
"Yeah," Harry assured him, pulling up the fringe of his hair and showing off his scar. Ron stared at it for a full thirty seconds.
"Do you—do you remember anything?"
Harry arched a brow in an unimpressed manner. "You know that I was one, right?"
"Well, yeah, but," Ron babbled embarrassedly.
"Sort of. I used to just see a lot of green light in my dreams, but I ran into a Pythian when we were on Helgard last year, and it unlocked my memories. I remember a man that must have been my father, telling my mum to take me and run, and then I remember someone threatening him, that must have been Voldemort." Ron flinched at the name, but Harry didn't notice. "Then my mother begged Voldemort to take her instead, and he told her to stand aside, and if she did he would spare her. Then he killed her, and turned his wand on me. Then there was a lot of green light, and my head hurt and the house exploded."
Ron looked horrified, and very, very pale. Harry realized that most people his age weren't as accustomed to violence as he was.
"Oh," Ron said, sounding very small. "Sorry."
"No, it's okay," Harry assured him. "It was a long time ago."
"So," Ron said awkwardly, attempting to change the subject. "You're siblings, then? You don't have the same last name, and nobody said anything about there being another Potter child."
"Well, I was adopted when I was one," Harry explained. "Mum and Dad raised me, and then when I was seven we found Amy. She knew Dad, but she knew a future version of him. She got kidnapped by... ahem, an old friend of Dad's, but he was trying to get revenge or something. And since Mum and Dad had gotten separated, the Master got Rose back, too. But then, it turned out that her parents had been eaten by the crack in time in her bedroom wall, and her aunt didn't want her anyway, so we kept her after us and Aunt Martha rescued her from the Master. That's why she calls them Doctor and Rose instead of Mum and Dad, like me."
Ron stared.
"Time travel," Amy stage whispered, leaning towards him carefully. "I met the Doctor's next incarnation right after he regenerated. He crashed into my shed. Then the Master heard about me saying that I knew the Doctor and kidnapped me when he tried to take over the world with the Toclofane and had the year that never was. That won't happen till 2007, though, so we're safe for now."
Ron stared some more.
Ron didn't seem capable of words. "But—time travel," he finally managed. "Dad says that it's regulated by the ministry, that it's only to be used in serious circumstances."
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Amy said mischiviously. "Harry actually met Shakespeare, I'm so jealous. And Aunt Martha is his Dark Lady—you know, the Dark Lady of Shakespeare's sonnets."
"Girls—they're barmy, mate. Shakespeare was boring. And he wrote funny. But when Aunt Martha tried to talk funny, Dad told her not to," Harry complained, leaning conspiratorilly towards Ron. "Besides, Amy's name is in one of Vincent Van Gogh's paintings, so she'll probably get to meet him."
Ron just looked hopelessly lost.
Amy stuck her tongue out at Harry.
"That's not possible."
"Ron," Amy said. "I like you, cause you're ginger, and us gingers need to stick together. But open your mind. Eighty percent of the population of this world would say that this isn't possible, but that doesn't mean that it really isn't, does it?"
"I suppose not," Ron said.
"They would say that you and your family can't exist, but look at that—you, existing," Harry added. "Don't you think that that might mean that there are other things out there, as well?"
Ron paused for a split second. "I guess you're right," he said. "So, what's really out there? Do you guys have some kind of super time turner?"
"Try time travelling space ship," Harry said, grinning. "The TARDIS is the last of her kind, though, so they're not exactly readily available."
"Space ship?"
"Yeah—imagine it. All of time and space, anywhere, anywhen. The year five-hundred thousand. The year one-hundred trillion—I went there once. Every planet that you can imagine, and all of the ones that you can't."
"Wow," Ron said. Amy pulled her necklace out of her shirt.
"Here, see? This comes from the Bazoolium Bazaar, on Pyaha." She placed the charm on the necklace in his hand. "Works like a mood ring, sort of—changes colors with my mood. But mood rings work with body tempurature, and this is actually sightly psychic—it can really tell my mood. See, I'm excited and happy and sort of nervous—the purple, red and that foresty green color."
The compartment door slid open, and Amy tucked her necklace back into her shirt. "Hi, sorry," a polite-looking, round faced boy said. "Have you seen a toad? He's gone missing, and my Gran's going to kill me."
"Nope," Amy said. "Haven't seen a toad. But, Harry, did you still have that—"
"Yeah," Harry said, already standing on the bench seat in the compartment, rummaging through his trunk. "Is it some sort of weird, magical toad?" Harry called over his shoulder. "Or is it just a standard amphibian? Because Dad gave me something—a life sign detector. Ha! Found it!" He pulled his head out of the trunk, triumphantly waving a metal thing with a screen around. "See, we turn it on, and it detects 3000 life forms. But we narrow it to humanoid, and it goes down to 1700. Takes out all the pets, see? But we narrow it to amphibian—"
Harry messed around with it for a moment. "Three. And I hit toad, and we get one. Now I press track," he did so, and the mechanism lit up and started beeping. Harry poked it out of the compartment. "That way. What's your name, anyway?"
"Neville Longbottom," the boy stuttered, looking very confused.
"Harry Potter; that's my sister, Amy Pond, and this is Ron Weasley." Amy waved. Ron still looked slightly dumbstruck.
The odd group trouped out of their compartment and down the corridor, following the signals that only Harry and Amy seemed to understand. They reached the end of the train, and Harry stooped down and produced a toad, hiding under a trolley in the dark. "Here you are, Neville," Harry said.
"Trevor!"
"You named him 'Trevor'? Why not something more creative?" Harry complained. "Like Mega Ultra Flame Deathsman, or something equally epic."
"Um... I think I'll stick with Trevor, thanks," Neville said meekly. Harry pouted at him.
They were on the way back to their compartment when they ran into a bushy-haired brunette. "Hermione!" Neville said. "Thanks for your help—I found him."
"Oh," the girl said, in a faintly bossy tone of voice. "You're welcome. Did you help him?" She asked the three of them.
"Yeah," Amy said cheerfully. "I'm Amy Pond, that's my brother, Harry Potter. And this is Ron Weasley. We've got a compartment, if you want to come and sit with us? Both of you," she added to Neville.
Neville and Hermione seemed grateful for the invitation, and happily joined the others in their compartment. Hermione told Harry all about the books that he was in, and Neville and Ron got over their starstruck qualities rather quickly, after talking to the real Harry Potter.
Harry and Amy bought some candy for everyone to share, and Ron's dried up sandwiches lay forgotten on the seat in the compartment. They were almost to Hogwarts when the doors of their compartment slid open.
"They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment," a pale blond boy said as he entered. He scanned everyone before deciding that Harry was, indeed his best bet. "It's you, is it?"
"That's my name, don't wear it out," Harry said glibly.
"And, what? A Longbottom, a Weasley—and a couple of muggleborns?"
Harry didn't like this boy at all, but decided to take the diplomatic route for now. Even his Dad tried to avoid irritating people when he first landed on a new planet, until he had figured out the situation.
"That's my sister," he said, slightly coldly, but mostly civilly. "Amy Pond; Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, and this is Hermione Granger."
"Right, then. There are lots of different families in the wizarding world; don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort, Potter. I can help you there."
Harry snapped. "Did you just imply that my sister is the wrong sort? And that I should, what, abandon her? Who do you think you are?"
"Draco Malfoy," the boy said, clearly not getting that Harry was mad at him. "What do you say?"
"Are you deluded?" Harry asked. "My sister."
"You're a blood traitor," the boy said flatly.
"Sure," Harry agreed blandly. "If that's what someone who is loyal to his family is called, then I'm happy to be a blood traitor. Toddle off, now."
The blond stalked off, fuming, and Ron congragulated Harry happily. "That was brilliant. My dad says that everyone knows that the Malfoys were supporters of You-Know-Who in the war," Ron stated.
"Yeah, and my Gran says that it's shameless, the way that Lucius Malfoy bribed his way out of Azkaban," Neville chimed in.
"Hang on, back up. War?" Harry asked. "I mean, I get that there was this evil guy, and I managed to vanquish him with my super forehead, but I haven't heard anything about a war."
"Actually," Hermione interrupted. "Based on the books that I've read, it was really more of a really extreme terrorist group that was reigning hell on the population than a true war. Or maybe a revolution? Sort of—they weren't trying to overthrow the current system, just take it over and use it to their advantage."
"What was this conflict about?" Harry asked, leaning forward.
"Well," Hermione hedged. "The books seem hesitant to say—the wizarding world is ashamed of it, I think, spawning that sort of conflict, but from reading between the lines, I think that it was about blood. The really old, dark families that want to eradicate muggleborns and the older light families that don't agree with them."
"Basically, yeah," Ron said.
"Oh, perfect," Amy muttered. "Racism. That's just fabulous. And that guy, Malfoy, he called you guys blood traitors?"
"Old light family that's only remained pure by chance, rather than unwillingness to mingle the lines with muggle blood," Neville explained wearily. "The dark families are willing to do anything to remain pure, even with the 'pure' families having mostly died out. They intermarry, they're all really inbred. Well," he added. "The light pureblood families are sort of inbred, too, but like I said, they've only really remained pure by chance. They marry for love in most of those families."
"And pureblood means..." Harry prompted.
"Four magical grandparents, by ministry definition," Ron said. "But some of the older families define it with eight magical greats. Muggleborn is someone descended directly from two muggles; half blood is anything in between. You're a half blood, Harry, because your father was pureblood and your mother was muggleborn. If you marry a pureblood, then your children will be pureblood by ministry definition."
Hermione looked half disgusted and half fascinated. "And what if your parents are both muggleborns?"
"Half," Ron said, glancing at Neville to confirm. "Because both parents are magical." Neville nodded in agreement.
"That's disgusting," Amy said. "Is there any proven difference in magical ability based on blood? That is what this is supposedly about, isn't it? That the ones of direct magical descent believe that they are automatically superior to muggleborns?"
"Yes," Neville said flatly. "But there hasn't been any proof. In fact, the highest NEWT scores in recent memory were your mother's, Harry, everyone's heard of it because she worked in the Department of Mysteries, and you've got to be really good to get in there. And she was a muggleborn."
"That's disgusting," Harry repeated his sister's earlier statement.
"Not arguing with you, mate. I'm a Weasley. Not just a blood-traitor, but a poor blood-traitor to boot. And my Mum's a Prewitt, they're just as bad on the blood-traitor front."
"Same," Neville said. "Blood-traitor, all the way."
"But—this war. Or, terrorist conflict, as Hermione says. What started it?"
"Well, the dark families have always believed that they were superior, that they deserved better priveleges, that the muggleborns shouldn't be allowed to learn magic. But they never did anything about it," Neville began. "Not till You-Know-Who turned up, anyway. He rallied them, the darker families, and they started killing anyone who stood up to them, and every muggleborn that they came across, to boot. By the time that the ministry had figured that the problem was serious enough that it could be called a war, they had too much power, too many sympathizers amongst the truly rich and powerful of our world."
Harry, Amy and Hermione grimaced at each other. "That's just lovely," Hermione said. "What houses do you think you'll be in?" It was an obvious ploy to change the subject, but Harry let her—he could figure out more about this so called war later. It was a fixed point in time that he defeat Voldemort, on the second of May, 1998. But how he got there was entirely in flux, and entirely under his control.
"Gryffindor," Ron said. "My entire familiy is. All my brothers, my parents."
"Gryffindor does sound like the best," Hermione agreed. "But I'm probably suited to Ravenclaw, as well."
"I don't know," Neville said shyly. "My parents were Gryffindors, but I really don't think that I'm that brave."
Harry tilted a shoulder. "How's it go—Slytherin for the cunning and ambitious, Ravenclaw for the researchers, the intelligent; Hufflepuff for the just and loyal and Gryffindor for the brave and foolhardy?" he asked.
"That's what the books said," Amy chimed in. "I think Gryffindor—I've too much of a temper to go anywhere else."
Harry snorted. "Typical," he muttered.
Amy thwapped him on the shoulder, and everyone else in the compartment winced in sympathy. "I dunno. Gryffindor, or Slytherin, maybe," he finally said. "What about that blond bloke? Malfoy?"
"Slytherin," Ron said in a heartbeat. "Unless he wants to get disinherited."
"Gryffindor then, if that's what populates Slytherin," Harry decided firmly. "I'm smart, but I don't like to study."
"You're loyal," Amy volunteered.
"Meh. I'd get bored in Hufflepuff. I need adventure, and I think that Gryffindor is where adventure turns up."
"So it's decided, then," Amy said. "Whatever happens, however we end up in our houses, we'll all aim for Gryffindor. But if we don't get it, we'll still be friends."
Ron nodded firmly, looking at Hermione like he wasn't too sure about her, but was willing to be friends. Neville and Hermione both scanned the compartment in wonder—clearly, neither of them had had many friends before now.
The train pulled to a stop at the station, and they got out and followed the sound a massive, hulking man that was standing at a dock on the lake, calling for the first years. There were several of the smallest students detaching themselves from the crowd.
"No more'n four to a boat," the man, who had introduced himself as Hagrid, stated.
They glanced at each other, and Harry and Amy split off from the others and got into a different boat—this friendship thing, it was so new, and so fragile, and chances were that they might go home for Christmas and then not show up for three years—that could, and with the TARDIS, often did happen. They wanted their friends to be close in their own right, rather than just following in Harry and Amy's wake.
They ended up in a boat with two girls—a redhead and blond, named Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. Amy did her 'gingers must stick togther' speech again while Harry rolled his eyes, Hannah giggled and Susan, the recipient of the speech, looked vaguely overwhelmed.
Then the boats docked of their own accord, and everyone carefully got out and crowded up the dock to the front steps of the castle, where Hagrid knocked hard on the doors, which swung open carefully, obviously by magic. A tall, stern woman dressed in emerald green, dark hair done up in a tight bun stood there, and thanked Hagrid and quickly ushered them inside.
Hagrid crossed the massive hall and pushed through the huge doors that must lead to the dining room, or whatever they happened to call it, here. This was a castle, after all, they had different names for things in castles.
Professor McGonagall, as Hagrid had called her, guided the students into a small antechamber, where the group of nervous eleven-year-olds huddle just a bit closer than they probably would have otherwise. Harry and Amy—long used to unknown and potentially intimidating and dangerous situations—were the only ones who didn't look like they were shaking in their boots.
Honestly, as far as unknown situations went, this didn't even crack the top fifty.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.
"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarted yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting," she finished, eyeing the dirt that was smudged on Ron's nose, and the way that Neville's cloak was fastened under his left ear. Neville shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, but didn't seem to realize what she was actually looking at. Amy took pity on him and reached over to adjust his cloak, and once Neville realized what she was doing, he looked at her gratefully.
Then she licked her finger and cleaned the smudge off of Ron's nose, before he had the chance to pull away. Harry snorted at his sister's persistent mothering, but ducked away when she tried to go after his perpetually messy hair.
He had long since begun using said hair to his advantage. Dad had spent a great deal of time teaching him how to arrange that hair from 'bed head' to 'carefully dishevelled disarray', and Harry was pleased with today's results.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," McGonagall said, something that looked suspiciously like laughter shining in her eyes as she observed Amy finish with her group of friends and start on her fellow first years. "Please wait quietly."
"So," Harry said, turning to Ron. "What does this 'sorting' consist of, exactly?"
"I dunno," Ron muttered helpfully. "Some sort of test, I think. Fred says that it hurts a lot, but I think that he was joking."
"Those twins, they like to wind you up, don't they?"
"Yeah," Ron said.
"Well, test or not, we'll be ready," Harry assured him. This should be interesting.
No one else was talking except for Hermione, who was rapidly whispering about spells that she had read about, and if she would maybe need them, but Amy stopped her quickly. "Mione," Amy said.
"I—did you call me Mione?"
"Yeah. Better than Hermy, don't you think? Nicknames are good—my full name is Amelia, but nobody calls me that unless I'm in trouble, or the Doctor calls me that when he's worried about me. But when I first met him, he said that I have a name like a fairytale. Amelia Pond," she affected an accent that Harry figured belonged to his dad's next incarnation, because it certainly didn't belong to the current one.
"It does, sort of sound like a fairytale," Hermione agreed. "And I guess I don't mind if you call me Mione." She looked utterly bewildered.
"Okay," Amy said, grinning. "And all you're doing is making everyone nervous—nobody knows very much magic yet, so I don't think that's the sort of test that they'll do. If anything, they'll do one of those personality compatible tests. Besides, I don't think that this is the sort of test that you can fail—you'll end up in one of four houses."
Everyone around them tried not to look like they were clinging to Amy's reassuring words, but failed.
"Okay," Hermione gasped.
"That's all right," Amy soothed. "Breathe."
Amy was halfway through soothing the whole room down from their keyed up nervousness when a bunch of ghosts drifted through the far wall and ruined the whole thing. Several people screamed, and most all of them jumped. Even Harry jumped in surprise, but when he saw the ghosts, he wasn't nearly so nervous anymore. Ghosts, he could deal with. Even if they happened to be Gelth. Stopping alien invasions—just another day's work.
They seemed to be arguing. "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance -"
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all bad names and you know, he's not really even a ghost - I say, what are you doing here?"
A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years. Nobody answered. "New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"
A few people nodded mutely.
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old House, you know."
"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." Professor McGonagall had returned, and with her, she seemed to have brought most of the students' nervousness. So much for all of Amy's hard work. "Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."
Deciding to be a gentleman, Harry bowed, Elizabethan-style to Hermione, the closest female to him, and nudged Ron into doing the same towards Amy. Amy laughed, and, curtseying prettily, took Ron's clumsily offered arm. Hermione followed Amy's lead and took Harry's, and then a chain began. McGonagall watched in shock as a child who could only be James and Lily's son offered a girl his arm, and started all of the first years pairing off into a neat little line of two, boys escorting girls. Draco Malfoy, seemingly intent on showing Harry up, quickly offered his arm to the little girl that must have been a Parkinson, and she could see Neville Longbottom pairing off with Susan Bones, and all of the other students following their lead.
She successfully kept the shock off of her face as she led the first years into the Great Hall.
Nobody had been quite sure what had happened to Harry Potter. She had strong suspicions that even Albus hadn't known where the boy had gone, though he had kept confidently saying that he knew that he was safe and in good hands. They had left the child on the doorstep of his muggle relatives, but he had been gone the next morning, and careful investigation had confirmed that Petunia Dursley hadn't even seen the child.
Eventually and rather abruptly, though, Albus had insisted on giving up the search, had stated that he was sure that Harry was safe, and that was that. And now here he was, accompanied by a muggleborn sister, to boot.
Shaking the thought off, McGonagall placed the sorting stool down on the front steps of the hall, and dropped the hat on top of it before standing to the side. The hat opened its mouth...
"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Cheering ensued from the Weasley boys.
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry,
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
"We only had to try on a hat," Harry heard Ron saying to Amy behind him. "I'm going to kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!"
Harry, on the other hand, had other concerns. He did not enjoy letting telepathic beings, besides his father and sometimes the Master, into his head, and it sounded like the hat intended to conduct a thorough scan. He threw a concerned glance at Amy over his shoulder. When Hermione smiled at him, looking as relieved as Ron sounded Harry decided not to voice his concerns—protecting herself from malicious telepaths was not something that Hermione should ever have to worry about, and certainly not at the age of eleven.
There didn't appear to be anything that he could do, though, but hope for the best. He decided that they wouldn't have a telepath that didn't respect people's boundaries in a school, so decided that if there was anything that he didn't want the hat to see, he would try closing a door on it and hope that the hat would decide to respect that.
"Abbott, Hannah," McGonagall called. Hannah, shaking, climbed the stairs, and the hat was on her head for only about ten seconds before it sorted her into Hufflepuff.
Harry tuned things out until they reached "Granger, Hermione," who eagerly let go of his arm and bolted for the hat. It turned out that the hat took longer for some people—it had been three minutes and twenty-six seconds before the hat decided on Gryffindor.
"Longbottom, Neville."
Neville's sorting was the longest so far—he sat there for three minutes and fifty-three seconds—the hall was beginning to get restless, whispers echoing through the corners as even the teachers looked intrigued. Finally: Gryffindor. Harry promptly tuned out again, hearing names: Patil, Padma, Patil, Parvati, and finally,
"Pond, Amelia."
Harry stuck two fingers into his mouth and wolf-whistled, his sister smacked him as she passed. The hat decided almost immediately on Gryffindor, but Amy didn't get up right away—she didn't move. McGonagall moved to take the hat off of her head, and Amy stood.
"Thanks," she said laughing.
"No, thank you, my dear. I have had many names over the years, but I would be honored if you called me Alistair, especially after so honorable a man. You come back and talk to me, Miss Pond."
"Call me Amy if you like, Alistair," Amy said cheerfully.
"She named him after the Brigadier?" Harry muttered. McGonagall stared after the girl as she moved to the Gryffindor table and sat down with Neville and Hermione. Finally, blinking, she turned back to her list. Harry had predicted that there would be no one between Pond and Potter, and he was correct.
"Potter, Harry!"
As Harry stepped forward, the hall erupted into whispers.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
Along with the whispers, the students all strained out of their seats, and some people stood up so that they could see him better. Harry rolled his eyes as he strode to the hat, jerked it over his eyes and sat down on the stool.
He tensed up, but found that he didn't need to.
"Hello, Mr. Potter. I've just had the most fascinating conversation with your sister about the ethics of telepathy—don't be concerned—if something is private, I shall, of course, avoid prying."
"Thank you," Harry thought back. "I appreciate that."
"Now, Mr. Potter, what shall I do with you?"
"I figure that Gryffindor and Slytherin would suit me best—however, from what I've seen, I'd prefer Gryffindor."
"Because of Mr. Malfoy?"
"And because my sister and all of my friends are Gryffindor already," Harry said.
"Sound logic. But you could be great in Slytherin."
"Not if I got expelled for killing that stupid little ferret in the first week," Harry returned. "I have very little talent at controlling my temper, which I've gotten from my dad."
"Both, I'd wager," the hat said. "Your biological father also had quite the uncontrollable temper."
"So..."
"You've got it—though, the logical way that you presented your argument to me would actually lean towards Ravenclaw. But, better be..."
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The table at the far right exploded into cheers that Harry noted were far louder than anyone else had received. He flicked his eyes upwards. "It was nice to meet you, Alistair," he wordlessly adopted Amy's name for the hat as it was removed from his head.
"Likewise, Mr. Potter," the hat replied aloud. "Though, I fail to see why you and your sister are so convinced that I remind you of this Brigadier that you know."
"You kind of have to meet him," Harry said, bowing to the hat. The Gryffindor table had slowed their cheering slightly, and were eying him in confusion, unsure as to why he hadn't simply taken off the hat and sat down where he was supposed to be.
Harry made his way to the Gryffindor table and settled in next to Amy, to wait for Ron to join them, and wait for the feast to begin. Ron did, indeed join then—second last of the first years, expected, with a name like Weasley.
"Well done, Ron, excellent," said the brother that Harry hadn't met yet. He was very pompous.
"What do you mean?" Harry flung back. "He got the letter, of course they were going to sort him."
"I meant well done on making Gryffindor," Percy replied, nose firmly in the air.
"Are you suggesting that Gryffindor is somehow better than the other houses?" Harry asked. "That your parents wouldn't be equally proud of his achievements if he were in one of the others? That's not a very good attitude for a prefect to have, is it?"
Percy choked slightly, and got up to move down the table and sit with some other people of his year.
"Harry, that was brilliant," Ron said. Fred and George, the twins, congratulated Harry, and Amy laughed along.
...
At first, it was hard getting adjusted to Hogwarts, and he knew that Amy felt the same way. Ron, Hermione and Neville (but especially Hermione) all seemed to regard Hogwarts as a huge, big, magical adventure, but Harry and Amy could only see that they had to stay in one place for three and a half months. There was no adventure, no toppling corrupt regimes, no aliens and new planets.
First, there was Snape. That man, had, as far as Harry could tell, despised him instantly, and careful application of questions suggested that it was because James Potter was his biological father. He was horrible to Neville (when someone isn't doing well in your subject, especially a dangerous one like potions, it seemed to Harry that it made more sense to talk to them about their struggles, to offer them extra help, not intimidate them) he took points away from Hermione for getting the right answers.
And Harry couldn't do anything but pity the man. He honestly couldn't muster up the burning hatred that Ron, Neville, Hermione and especially Amy seemed to have. He was petty, and childish, and he was the one who had wasted his entire life and all of his energy hating a dead man, and projecting that man's ghost onto the man's son.
Draco Malfoy tried very hard to start up a schoolboy rivalry with him, but rarely succeeded. He only managed to wind Harry up when he picked at his friends, and Malfoy seemed to sense this—he regularly picked on Neville, and with Neville's poor self esteem, he didn't see any reason why he would be able to stand up to Malfoy.
Like today—a perfectly ordinary day, except that it was their first flying lesson. Hermione was so nervous, she was literally shaking where she sat, trying to find flying tips in the books that she had taken from the library. Neville, just as nervous (and Harry could see why, given how often Neville managed to hurt himself with both feet firmly planted on the ground) clung desperately to her every word, and Ron, the most experienced flyer of the group, told embellished stories of helicopters and hang gliders between throwing out flying tips that probably only made sense to people that already knew what they were doing, anyway.
He and Amy were indifferent—they had done more dangerous things on a regular basis, and it couldn't be too difficult, or they wouldn't let children do it.
The post came in, and Neville unwrapped a large red orb from his gran, that he explained was called a rememberall, and said that it turned red when you were forgetting something. He was trying to figure out what it was that he had forgotten when Malfoy came by and smoothly plucked it from his hands.
"Give it back, Malfoy," Harry said, his temper fraying at the seams. Neville had it hard enough without Malfoy picking on him all the time.
"Heh, look at this thing," Malfoy snickered, ignoring Harry and turning to his posse.
Harry carefully got to his feet. "Give it back, Malfoy," he bit out.
Amy's eyes went wide, and she stood as well. Oncoming Storm tone. "Malfoy," Amy said warningly.
Malfoy glanced behind him at the staff table and tossed the rememberall back before waltzing away, and leaving Harry ready to snarl. The child had been raised by a Time Lord, after all, and there was nothing like the fury of a Time Lord.
"Harry, it's okay. It's over," Amy soothed him. Hermione looked alarmed, but Ron and Neville were too busy fuming over Malfoy themselves to see the anger rolling off their friend.
...
The next incident happened during the flying lesson itself. Neville fell off his broom almost instantly, and Madame Hooch had left to take him to the hospital wing. Quick conversation ensued, and Hermione decided to ask to go with them, and Neville looked at her gratefully.
Then Malfoy grabbed the rememberall that had fallen from Neville's pocket and threatened to put it up a tree. Harry hopped onto his broom without thinking, and, half-an-hour later, found himself the seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Whoops.
Hermione was lecturing him for it when Malfoy waltzed over to challenge him to a duel.
"You realize that this is almost certainly a trap, right," Hermione persisted, hanging onto them as Ron, Amy and Harry tried to shake her and Neville off, Hermione because she so persistently disapproved of this activity, and Neville because he had broken his wrist today, and he would be better off getting some rest.
"Of course," Harry replied. Ron stared at him. "I'm bored, I haven't got anything better to do, and if I don't run away from something soon, I'm going to blow something up. Right, Amy?"
"Yeah, exactly," the redheaded Scot said.
Rolling her eyes, Hermione and Neville followed them into the corridor and to the trophy room, where, as predicted, they nearly walked into Filch and took off in the other direction. Filch finally had them cornered when they came to a locked door, and Harry banged on it helplessly a few times.
"God, stupidhead, get out of the way," Amy said, brandishing a thin metal tube with a blue light on the end.
"Is that Dad's spare sonic?"
"Duh."
"Where'd you get it?"
"Stole it," Amy said cheerfully, buzzing the screwdriver at the door. Nothing happened, and Amy pressed the button again. "The TARDIS helped."
"Dad's going to kill you," Harry said. "But not if Filch kills us first! That's wood! It doesn't do wood, stupid!"
"Oh, both of you, move over," Hermione ordered, brandishing her wand at the door. "Alohamora."
They tumbled through the door as it opened, and slammed it behind them, panting. Harry and Amy grinned at each other in excitement, and Neville began tugging naggingly on Harry's sleeve. "God, Neville, what is it?"
He turned around, and saw, quite clearly, what.
"Oh-ho, you are beautiful, aren't you?" Harry asked shiftily.
"Oh, he is," Amy agreed. She was fumbling in the pocket of her robe, and she produced their intergalactic superphone, entrusted to her because she broke things less often than Harry did. "Just hold still for one moment—"
"What are you doing?" Hermione shrieked. "Run!"
"Damnit, I wanted to say that," Harry said, turning away from the snarling three-headed dog, grabbing at his sister's hand and taking off out the door and down the corridor, slamming it shut behind them. They arrived back at the portrait hole, panting.
"That was brilliant—did you get the photo?" Harry asked Amy.
"Yeah, duh. Just got to send it to Dad and the Master and Uncle Jack. Cerberus, maybe?" Amy asked. She pulled out the sonic screwdriver again and clicked it on in the direction of the phone before hissing in triumph. "Signal—finally. I'm going to call Rose."
"What are you guys talking about?" Ron wanted to know.
"What is that? Is that some sort of pager?" Hermione asked, eyeing the mobile carefully.
"It's from the future," Amy said. "It's a mobile—they do exist now, people just don't use them widely, and they don't look anything like this yet. But it's from 2012, modified to pick up a signal anywhere in the universe."
She hit the button for speed dial to their Mum's phone and pressed send. "Hey, Rose," Amy said, smiling happily. "Yes, Harry's here, too. I'm going to put it on speaker, okay?"
Amy did just that, and Harry grinned at his Mum's voice coming down the phone line. "Hi, Mum," he said.
"Harry! Amy," their mother said cheerfully. "How are things at magic school?"
"Boring," Harry complained, pouting. "Does time always pass like this?"
"Like what?" Rose returned, sounding amused.
"Slowly," Harry elaborated. "And in order."
Their mum laughed. "You are your father's son. And you, Amy? How's your term going?"
"We just ran into a three-headed dog because we were out after hours and trespassing somewhere that we were specifically told not to go because it was dangerous," Amy said, shrugging. "It nearly ate us alive. It was awesome."
"Fantastic," Harry added.
Rose laughed again. "Are your friends around?"
"Yes, right here. You're on speaker, so they're listening," Harry said. "Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger."
"Hello," Rose said. "Ron, Neville and Hermione, was it?"
"Um, hi," Hermione, the only person familiar with how a phone worked (even if mobile video phones from 2012 were a bit beyond her yet) said. "I'm Hermione Granger, it's nice to meet you. Harry and Amy talk about you a lot."
"Do we just... talk?" Ron asked cluelessly. "I mean..."
"Yes, you just talk. Hello. Ron, was it? Or Neville? I'm Rose Tyler. Please just call me Rose."
"H-hi," Neville stuttered. "Nice to meet you."
Ron's manners kicked in. "Yes, nice to meet you," he added.
"Well," Rose said. "I should go; your father, the Master, Jack and I are toppling a corrupt regime on Dallas—the planet, not the city, and I'm in a dungeon waiting forone of them to turn up and get me out of here—oh, here we are. Master?"
"Rose," the Master greeted her. Then there were some sounds that Harry really didn't want to contemplate, and then, panting, Rose said,
"The children are on the phone, Master."
"Oh. Hello, brats."
"Hi, Master," Amy and Harry chorused.
"Anyway, I really need to go, now."
"Yeah, so that you can have jail cell sex without scarring us for life," Amy muttered. Harry made a face at her and Rose choked.
"Ahem," she muttered. "Anyway, I love you, Harry, Amy, and it was nice to meet you, Ron and Hermione and Neville. If any of you don't have plans over Christmas, you're welcome to come home with Harry and Amy."
"But—don't you guys live on a time travelling space ship?" Hermione protested.
"And hasn't a part of you always wanted to meet Albert Einstein?" Harry returned as he hit the end button and handed Amy the phone. Hermione gaped at him. Amy gently took her arm and led her to the girl's stairs.
"Night!" Amy called over her shoulder.
"Yeah, night," Harry agreed, waving to his sister.
So, this was born months ago when I got a PM from nya mayaha nya, who suggested that I write a story where Harry was found as a child by the Doctor and Rose, and raised by them instead of the Dursleys. Thank you for the idea, by the way. As you can tell, it sort of exploded. So, you can probably figure that I've fudged timelines around a bit, so here's how everything happened. Rose and the Doctor land in Surrey and find and take Harry sometime between Father's Day and The Empty Child. The rest of Series One progresses as normal. Rose took Bad Wolf into her head at the end of Series One, and it made her immortal. Series two is the same, except that it took place over a time period of nearly six years. Harry is seven when Doomsday happens, and Rose and the Doctor are torn apart. Series Three happens, except for a couple of important factors: the Master isn't as evil as usual, and he and the Doctor are sort of in love... and the Master pulls Rose back across the dimensions using the paradox machine and manages to fall in love with her, too. And, he hears about Amelia Pond, who's been making noise about the Doctor, and kidnaps her in attempt to get at the Doctor. Only to discover that the version of the Doctor that she knows is completely different. They reverse the paradox, the Doctor and Rose drag the Master along with them, and Martha decide to go home. And they decide to keep Amy. Another year passes between Series Three and Four, meaning that at the beginning of Series Four, Harry and Amy are nine. Series Four happens, except that the metacrisis wasn't created, and Donna didn't need to have her memories wiped. Then Torchwood Children of Earth happens, and Jack decides to travel with them for awhile to help get over Ianto. Another year has passed, and it's time to take Harry and Amy to Hogwarts. In the Whoniverse, we're somewhere around Planet of the Dead. Doctor/Master/Rose, and eventual Harry/Ginny and Amy/Rory—though Amy hasn't seen Rory since she was kidnapped from Leadworth, so that'll take awhile.