Chapter Six

Professor Harry James Potter was inscribed in gold, curly letters across the bottom of the trunk. Harry held it in his lap, remembering the grin on Ginny's face as he'd pulled off the wrapping the night of his birthday, sitting in the Burrow with his friends-really, his family-around him. The trunk had been empty, then. Now it was packed full of his necessities, most of his other belongings at Hogwarts already.

He looked out the train window, watching the scenery fly by as the Hogwarts Express sped across the countryside. He recalled his first time on the train, sitting by Ron, feasting on the treats he'd bought from the trolley. He remembered meeting Hermione, how she'd helped Neville, a boy she'd just met, as he hunted for his lost toad; how she'd cleaned his glasses and pointed out dirt on Ron's nose, of all things. Then the following year, when the barrier had sealed, and Harry had sat in the passenger seat of Arthur Weasley's flying car, Ron driving in a misguided attempt to reach Hogwarts. That had been Ginny's first year at school. Merlin's beard, he was glad it had been the Weasleys walking by as he'd wondered how to find Platform 9 ¾. What would he have done without them?

Harry smiled and rested his head against the seat just as the carriage door slid open.

"Sorry to disturb you, dear," said the trolley witch. "Anything from the trolley?"

"Yes-some Pumpkin Pasties and a couple of Chocolate Frogs."

She handed him the treats, and he passed a few Sickles over. "Thank you, dear," she said, and pulled his door closed.

Harry unwrapped a Frog and checked the card. Severus Snape, it read. The picture was uninhabited, and he didn't bother reading the description, although he tucked the card into his pocket. Curious, he opened the other one and sighed. Harry James Potter. He had more of those than the rest combined, since his friends at the Ministry often gave their cards to him as a sort of running joke. He tucked the card away anyway and closed his eyes-he'd only rest them for a moment, and then start work on one of his lesson plans for the week. He still wasn't sure what was best for seventh years...

Next thing he knew, Harry was jolted awake by the train's long, loud whistle. He glanced out the window to see they'd arrived in the station. Students had flooded the platform. As he exited the train, he heard Hagrid's exuberant cries of "Firs' years! Firs' years, righ' this way, please!"

"Merlin's beard!" said a student. "It's Harry Potter!"

Harry cringed, wishing he had his Invisibility Cloak as students turned to take a look.

"The Chosen One!" said one girl.

"I heard he's Defense teacher this year," said another loudly.

He decided to act as if he couldn't hear them, and walked to the furthest carriage from the train. The thestral watched him as he boarded, but before he could close the door, a girl popped up, grinning at him. "Can I sit with you, Mr. Harry Potter?"

"Er, yeah-it's Professor," he stammered.

She hurried to sit across from him, and his shoulders slumped as four more students followed her lead. He finally pulled the door shut and made himself smile at the students.

They grinned back, exchanging excited glances, and held out quills and parchment.

"Can we get your autograph, please?"

When Harry reached the entrance hall, his hands were stained with ink, and he was slightly out of breath from avoiding his dozens of fans. He glanced over to an often unused classroom just to one side, where Professor Sprout could be seen through a window, instructing the first years in preparation for the Sorting. She smiled at him as he passed.

Harry strode through the set of double doors into the Great Hall, striding up the center of the four long House tables. The only occupants of the Hall were the teachers, who were seated at the front of the room, Professor McGonagall at the center-Dumbledore's spot, Harry couldn't help but think.

One chair was unoccupied. It was on the far right side of the High Table, crammed next to the towering form of Rubeus Hagrid, and obviously meant for Harry. He hurried to take his place, and no sooner had he sat down than the doors opened once again, allowing hundreds of black-robed students to stream inside. It took some time for the students to fill their respective tables-Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff-and as they were seated, Hagrid leaned over, beaming.

"Blimey, Harry, can't believe yer a teacher this year. Exciting, innit?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, Hagrid, it's definitely exciting. Sort of makes me nervous though, too, though. I'm not much older than these seventh years, and I'm kind of worried. Think they'll listen to me?"

"Yeh kiddin'?" said Hagrid. "Yer Harry Potter! 'Course they'll listen to yeh. An' if they don't, yeh know what to do with 'em. Besides," he continued, "yeh've already got their attention."

Harry looked over the crowd of students. Sure enough, most of them were looking at him, talking amongst themselves, jostling each other. He was used to the attention. The sensation of looking down on them instead of being one of them was what threw him. He turned back to Hagrid, shaking his head, feeling suddenly ill.

"I don't know if I can do this," he managed.

"They're intimidatin', all righ'," said Hagrid. "But yeh'll get used to it in no time. I did, didn't I?"

Harry let out a long sigh, just as the doors of the Great Hall opened again, and a stream of tiny, terrified first years followed Professor Sprout to the front, where the Sorting Hat rested on a tall stool.

Hagrid leaned forward eagerly, causing the chair beneath him to groan ominously. "I love the Sortin'," he said. "All those nervous firs' years, findin' out where they fit in best! Makes me think of mine, tell yeh the truth."

Harry hesitated. "What House were you Sorted into, Hagrid?"

"Why, same as you, o' course! I'm a Gryffindor, through an' through."

"And… did you like being a Gryffindor?" He didn't want to be unkind, but he needed to know. "Were you treated well, by the other students?"

Squinting, Hagrid eyed Harry for a moment. "Not always," he said carefully. "I was-well. I was different. People don' like that, usually. But it don' matter now, do it?"

Harry nodded, sorry he'd brought it up. But he couldn't help but think of his conversation with Draco Malfoy, weeks ago. He looked up at the long line of trembling first years. How many of them would find sanctuary in Hogwarts' hallways, cling to the school as the first place they'd ever felt at home? And how many of them would resent the time they spent here, because of the actions of others?

Of course, this wasn't the time for such thoughts. Harry shook his head and returned his attention to the Sorting Hat, which lay deceptively still on that stool.

Had he ever been that small? he wondered as he watched the first years shuffle their feet, nervously glancing between the Hat, the teachers, and the older students. One girl stared in awe at the candle-lit ceiling, which seemed to open up to the sky. Then the seam near the base of the Hat opened, and it cleared its throat-could a hat have a throat?-and began to sing.

Applause filled the air as the Hat's song concluded, and Hagrid rose to his feet, bringing his great hands together with unbridled enthusiasm. "Tha' was beau'iful, wasn' it, Harry?" he asked over his shoulder as the Sorting Hat bowed and fell still.

"Er, yeah," said Harry. His stomach growled, and he sighed. No food would appear on the tables until after the Sorting, and there were almost a hundred first years to be Sorted. He rested his head on his hands and watched Professor Sprout place the Sorting Hat on the first boy's head, whose name he hadn't heard.

"RAVENCLAW!" cried the Hat almost immediately.

The boy looked faintly disappointed, but hurried off to join his table. As he passed the Hufflepuff table, an older girl who looked rather similar to him stood to give him a quick hug.

As the Sorting progressed, Harry noticed at least a dozen cases where a first year was Sorted into a different House than their older sibling-if he was right in assuming that they were related, of course. He was quite sure that in his own school years, though not long ago, the Parvati twins, Sorted into Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, had been an exception, while the Weasleys, every last one of them Gryffindors, had been more of the rule. How strange that so many families were being divided this day, if his assumptions were correct. Soon enough, he'd find out, he was certain. And, well, the Sorting Hat surely knew what it was doing after all this time. Right?

Not quite half of the first years had been Sorted when Gryffindor House gained a small, fat boy whose appearance and unfortunate name ("Portendorfer, Hubert") were strongly reminiscent of Neville Longbottom. Harry couldn't wait to meet the boy. Shortly after, a pair of twins-"Raynott, William" and "Raynott, Priscilla"-were sorted into Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

"Interesting," said Harry.

"Wha'?" asked Hagrid.

"Er, nothing. Sorry. Forget it." He hadn't meant to speak aloud, and honestly, at this point he couldn't be certain that the divided family members had any significance. Tonight, he'd speak with Professor McGonagall, to sate his curiosity, at least.

Finally, the last girl to be sorted jumped down from the stool as the Sorting Hat's cry of "GRYFFINDOR!" echoed across the Hall.

Professor McGonagall rose from the tall golden chair at the center of the High Table, and raised her hands for attention. The students fell silent, all eyes on her. "Welcome," she said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin our meal, I would ask that each of you join me in thanking our chefs-Hogwarts' very own house-elves."

Harry leaned toward Hagrid. "What-?"

A trio of house-elves, wearing aprons and chef's hats, appeared with a loud CRACK! in front of the High Table, looking rather nervous. Professor McGonagall began to clap, and soon everybody joined in. As the applause died down, she looked sternly over her spectacles at the house-elves, and said, "Thank you, and your fellows, for your services, and for those to come this school year."

"Of course, Mistress McGonagall," said the one in the middle.

"We live to serve, Mistress," said another with a low bow.

The last one shook his head, eyes wide. "Thank you, Mistress."

And then with another sharp CRACK! they vanished again. Harry thought of Hermione-of S.P.E.W-and knew this ritual because of her influence. She was hard at work in the Ministry, fighting for the rights of magical creatures across the world, and had revolutionized the wizarding world already through her efforts, although she was quick to remind everyone that there was much more work to be done.

Then, he stopped thinking of Hermione, for the dishes in front of him had filled suddenly with every kind of food imaginable, and he couldn't shovel it all onto his plate fast enough.

"Blimey, Harry, leave some for the rest of us, won' you?" said Hagrid, laughing.

"Look who's talking," Harry replied, for in each of his enormous hands, Hagrid held chicken drumsticks, tearing off long strips of meat from them with his teeth. His golden plate was bursting with food. "Anyway, Hagrid, how have you been?"

"Well," said Hagrid, "I've been doin' a bit o' readin' this summer, a book Hermione lent me, see-it's a school book of hers, called Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Ever heard of it?"

"Sure, I had to read it in my first year, with Professor Quirrell. I can't say I remember much about it, though." Harry chewed thoughtfully on a bite of roast. "D'you like it?"

"O' course!" said Hagrid. He likely would have said more if he wasn't interrupted by a soft, misty voice from further down the table.

"Harry Potter, returned to Hogwarts once again."

Harry leaned forward to spot the speaker around Hagrid's bulk, and saw Professor Trelawney's large, bespectacled eyes peering back at him. Although he hadn't liked her much as a student, he forced a friendly tone. "Hello, Professor Trelawny. Did the Headmistress tell you I was coming?"

"Oh," she said, her voice ethereal as ever, "no, not Minerva. I Saw your return, of course, I knew to expect you back this year, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"It doesn't take a Seeing Eye to know that," said Harry. "The position was the only one open this year."

"Well," said Professor Trelawney haughtily, "I only wanted to congratulate you, and offer my help in the troubles I predict you'll face in the coming year. But it seems you don't need any help." She sniffed, and retreated out of sight behind Hagrid.

Harry sighed, rubbing his nose where his glasses were perched. His sharp tongue had gotten him into plenty of trouble as a student. Was he really going to let it affect his relationships with his colleagues?

"Hagrid?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you switch me places?"

Hagrid blinked. "Er, yeah. 'Course." He stood, sending his chair scraping back against the stone.

Cringing, Harry stood as well, taking Hagrid's seat while the huge man shuffled over and sat. "Professor Trelawney," he said, and she turned, narrowing her eyes. "I didn't mean to offend you. I appreciate your offer, and your warning. Can we start anew?" He offered his hand.

For a moment, she just looked at him. Then she accepted his hand, and shook it tightly. "Consider it forgotten. And, Harry?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Call me Sybill."