HELLO WONDERFUL READERS:

I am back with fanfics, but no longer on . You can find me on ao3 now as auzu (kach-noona).

I'm afraid that "Not another Sorting!" will not be extended, but it has been revised and published on ao3 by yours truly. There is also a special, short bonus over on ao3. Thank you for all the memories, and I hope you'll be able to come over and say hi!

Not another Sorting!

a harry potter fanfic

by kach-noona

Synopsis:

One moment Harry Potter was celebrating the one hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary of the end of the war, and the next moment he was back in the Great Hall as a 1st year, waiting to be Sorted. But this Harry is not going to take it in good cheer…

May 2nd, 2147

The Great Hall, Hogwarts

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the Minister of Magic, Oswald Ogden," a straitlaced young man said as he stepped away from the platform.

Minister Ogden, a whiskered and wide-bellied wizard, stepped up to the platform. "Ahem, ahem, thank you, Weatherby." The young man stiffened and muttered, "The name's Bartleby, Bartholomew Bartleby, you plump buffoon". He looked rather displeased as he went to go sit next to his grandmother, Lucy Bartleby nee Weasley.

"Ahem, ahem, thank you all for coming to the, ahem, one hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary, ahem, of the Battle of Hogwarts and the defeat of, ahem, Tom Riddle," said the Minister. "Ahem, we are gathered here to, ahem, acknowledge the one who, ahem, defeated Riddle not once, but twice. Ahem, ahem, ladies and gentlemen, please direct your attention to, ahem, a toast from Harry Potter!"

The wizards and witches gathered in the Great Hall to commemorate the anniversary of the end of the Second Wizarding War clapped enthusiastically as a very old, yet still tall-backed and commanding, figure stood from the head table and walked to the platform. They whispered excitedly to their spouses and siblings, "That's him! That's Harry Potter!"

Harry Potter, super-centenarian and Hero of the Wizarding World, smiled in a crinkly way as he took the platform. "Thank you, Minister Ogden for that introduction, and thank you all for coming here tonight." His green eyes, still emerald-bright at the age of one hundred-and-sixty-seven, smiled as well. "The war was not won just thanks to me, but by the cooperation and effort of individual witches and wizards, just like you." After finishing his toast, he took his seat next to his eldest daughter, Lily Luna, and her brood of blond and red-headed Scamanders.

The next hour or so went on for an uneventful and rather boring time accompanied by the soft jazz music of the Quintet of the Diagon Alley Hot Club. Harry excused himself after finishing off some treacle tart - quite good, but not as wonderful as that of Molly Weasley's - and made a familiar trek to the Astronomy Tower.

The moonlight was especially brilliant and beautiful that night, and with the wind gently caressing his face, Harry felt all of the old memories rush back to him. The birth of his first great-grandchild, the wedding of his eldest grandchild, the births of his grandchildren, Lily's wedding to Lorcan, Albus' wedding to Anna Bones, James' wedding to Linda Longbottom, Teddy and Victoire's wedding and first child, Harry's own wedding to Hermione, Ginny's funeral, the births of his children, graduating from Hogwarts, defeating Voldemort, Snape's death, hunting for the Horcruxes, Dumbledore's death, sixth year, fifth year, Triwizard Tournament, third year, basilisk, and arriving at Hogwarts for the very first time all arrived to him.

Harry smiled wistfully. Returning to Hogwarts brought back so many memories, both good and bad, happy and tragic. But all in all, it had been a good life. In fact, Harry wouldn't mind taking a nap, possibly one from which he would wake to find himself with all his loved ones...

Thud.

Harry blinked.

Then blinked again.

What, he tried to say.

"What?" His voice said.

"I said, Potter, Harry," an unmistakable, stern, and yet caring voice rang in Harry's ears.

Harry looked up and was almost brought down to his knees by the scene. The Great Hall, with its splendorous night-sky ceiling and long tables set with plates and silverware looked precisely as it had at the anniversary dinner. However, the people seated at the tables were faces Harry most definitely did not remember seeing at the dinner. Instead of the usual Ministry officials and families eager to see the legendary hero, schoolchildren and staff wearing their formal robes were present. And somehow, they were the same ones Harry went through Hogwarts with.

The voice snapped, "Mr. Potter, if you would kindly step up to the stool, the Sorting Hat will be able to Sort you all the more sooner."

Harry gaped in awe at Minerva McGonagall, in the flesh and tall pointy hat, much taller that he last remembered seeing her. Then Harry realized that it was he who had grown shorter - he was precisely the height he was at when he was only eleven years old.

What was this? Had he drunk one firewhiskey, generously sponsored by Minister Ogden's family, too many? Surely this was a hallucination...or had fate deigned to send him to his past for some strange task? Why? Harry was fine with his life as it was. He could have left this world after that life, perfectly content.

Then Harry was broken out of his musings when he noticed something that was very familiar, and very unappreciated.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said in a sharp tone. "We have more students awaiting to be Sorted after you. If you would please-"

"Oh, hell no," said Harry flatly. The Sorting Hat...not the Sorting Hat!

McGonagall's left eye twitched slightly. "Excuse me, Mr. Potter?"

"Not another Sorting...There is no way in hell that I'm going to let that damn thing touch my head again." The 'damn thing' in question looked wounded, or at least as wounded as a thousand-year-old talking hat could look, but Minerva McGonagall looked as if she had bitten into something very sour. Her eye-twitching had sped up to a moderate pace now.

Snape sneered. "Disobedient and disrespectful of authority, just like his father," said the Potions master bitingly.

McGonagall's eye was twitching at a very fast tempo now. "Professor Snape," she hissed under her breath, the emphasis on her colleague's name both obvious and dangerous. Snape masterfully glowered at Harry.

Harry simply rolled his eyes. A hundred and fifty years did a lot to temper a wizard, and this Harry just did not care about how rude and glare-y Snape was to him. Hell, only a few years after the war, the hero had even named his second child 'Albus Severus'.

"Regardless of your personal opinions about the Sorting Hat, you must be Sorted into a House, Mr. Potter, in order to become a student at Hogwarts," said McGonagall after regaining her composure and control over her eye.

Harry sighed. "Alright, alright, just give me the Hat," he said in a placating manner. McGonagall handed him the dusty old Sorting Hat and Harry placed it on his head after seating himself on the stool.

The Hat was silent for a few moments. Then, he spoke. "I am quite injured, Mr. Potter, by your callous refusal to be Sorted and your rude description of me as 'that damn thing'."

Harry shrugged. "If you can truly read my mind, Alistair, you would see that we did away with the Sorting of students after my wife became Headmistress."

"Indeed," said the Hat, "and what became of me?"

"Well, Hermione did insist that we keep you, as you were a magical artifact…"

"Then why refer to me as 'that damn thing'?"

"After we got rid of the Sorting, you were so bored out of your burlap mind that you took to singing Sorting songs. Of the lewd variety. While located in my quarters. At unearthly hours, usually right as I was falling asleep or trying to, ahem, have some time with my wife." One particular incident surfaced to the front of Harry's mind.

He had just Floo'd into his chambers after a busy day at the Ministry, when he was greeted by a flirtatious Hermione. And just as they were stumbling into the bedroom, the Hat had burst into a loud and bawdy rendition of 'The Slytherin's Snake is Long and Dexterous, Quite, Quite So'. That quickly killed the mood and caused Harry to banish the Sorting Hat for the first time of many.

Alistair gave a wistful little sigh. "I do suppose that it was a bit over-the-top, but a fitting revenge nevertheless." He grinned, or made a close approximation of one. "Now won't you let me Sort you?"

Harry shook his head. "Oh, just shut up. I'm still not getting Sorted."