Harry vaguely remembered that Hagrid had introduced himself as the 'keeper of keys' at some point – possibly while Harry was still waking up? - but instead of actually using the keys he probably kept to open the door he knocked instead.

The door was opened by a tall witch with a stern face and emerald green robes, who Hagrid addressed as Professor McGonagall, and Harry hung back a bit until he found his new friends.

"What happened to you?" Ron asked quietly, sounding worried. "I saw you take off, then you just vanished!"

"It's because he's all-over black," Dean volunteered. "If I had a raincoat on and it was dark, people sometimes couldn't see me back at primary school."

"I thought I'd fly alongside," Harry explained. "To save space. But I didn't see when you set off."

He looked back, sniffing, to confirm Trevor was still there – he had the feeling that keeping track of Trevor had been a full-time job for Neville in the past – as they were led through the cavernous entrance hall and into an antechamber.

The Professor briefly outlined the House system, telling them about how there was a process to sort students (but not what it was) and that students would spend most of their time with their house. There was also a bit about the House Cup, but Harry was already worried about something else.

What would happen if he ended up in a house without any of the friends he'd already made? Would he have to not spend time with them?

Could they even make rules about which students you could spend time with?

Sitting on his haunches, he listened to the others discussing what the sorting process could be. Someone suggested that it was a written test, someone else suggested that maybe it was that you had to roll a dice, and one girl announced that she thought it involved pulling a House name out of a hat.

Then there was a gasp of surprise from near the main door.

"Oh, I say!" someone announced, and there were a lot more gasps from the first-years. "That's a dragon!"

"Is it, my good man?" asked another voice. "My goodness, so it is! How did a dragon get in here?"

"Make way!" a third voice called. "I've faced many dragons in my time-"

"Your time was three hundred years ago!" the first voice said, and Harry finally got a good look at them. There were about twenty ghosts, floating closer and spreading out so they could get a good look, and Harry waved.

"It looks rather more friendly than most dragons I've seen," said the third voice. "But that must be a trick! Fetch my sword!"

"Dragons don't usually wear robes, Lord Ridley," a plump little monk's ghost said. "Do you know, I think those are the new students!"

"Then we need to save them from the dragon!" Lord Ridley announced, flourishing a ghostly sword.

"Can you not slay me, please?" Harry asked, stepping forwards a little. "I am a student… this is my first term, though."

"Don't mind Lord Ridley, he's quite harmless," another ghost said, bowing with a hand pressing his hat firmly to his head. "If he does try to slay you, please inform any Hogwarts ghost. Except Peeves, he's not really a ghost but it's easy to get confused."

"Thank you," Harry said, grateful for the support. "I'll remember that."

"What I don't understand is why none of you new students are surprised!" said another ghost, this one a woman with an enormous hairdo. "A dragon is amongst you, and you seem more startled by ghosts!"

"We've had up to nine hours to get used to the idea," Blaise said. "That is, if we hadn't heard the gossip – anyone who'd heard that has been thinking about the idea of a dragon at Hogwarts for more than a month."

One of the girls who'd shared a compartment with Blaise muttered something which Harry didn't catch, but based on his experience with them so far he could sort of guess it wasn't approving.

Then Professor McGonagall told them all to line up, and led them away from the ghosts and into the Great Hall.

Harry's first reaction to the Great Hall was to stop and stare, though he worked out the problem with that quite quickly when a girl tripped over his tail. He reacted just in time to flick his wing out and catch her, saving her from a nasty fall onto the stone flags, and once she was back upright he followed… whoever it was he'd ended up behind… through the hall itself, up towards the top table where the teachers were sitting.

The thousands of floating candles high overhead looked amazing, though he wasn't sure how much of his reaction was amazement at their beauty and how much was that they looked sort of tasty, and the golden plates made his talons itch slightly at the sight of so much precious metal. The enchanted ceiling overhead looked very impressive as well, though it was too light in the hall to see as many stars as you could on a proper dark night, and for a moment Harry wondered if they could extinguish the candles to get a better look.

Shrugging the idea off, he looked up at the teachers. There were some very strange looking people there – Hagrid at least he'd seen before, but there was a tiny little man who was sitting on several cushions and a really very old man with a long white beard, and at the other end of the table a woman with a red witch's hat sat next to a sallow-faced man who appeared to be dressed entirely in simple black robes.

Harry briefly noticed that the sallow-faced man was staring at him – and with an expression that looked like he was overcome with horror, or perhaps shock – before there was the scrape of wood on stone as a four-legged stool was put in front of them.

A very old-looking hat was put on the stool, and Harry tilted his head. Were they going to be pulling names out of a hat?

Then it started to sing, and by the end Harry felt he had a better idea of what was going on.

Slightly.

Fortunately, the sorting process itself didn't seem to take all that long. When a name was called out (and they were going alphabetically) the student hurried to the stool, placed the hat on their head, and then the hat mumbled to itself for a bit before shouting out the name of the house – or sometimes shouted it out immediately, though Harry couldn't really tell if there was any sort of pattern to it.

Harry had been expecting that the first of the people he'd actually met properly who would get sorted was Hermione, but it transpired that it was actually one of the girls he'd met while hunting for Trevor – Tracey, whose surname was Davis and which meant that she went quite near the front of the list. She got about thirty seconds of mumbling, then was assigned to Slytherin, and walked over to that table accompanied by applause.

Hermione was naturally second, and went to Gryffindor after several minutes of Hat-based contemplation. Daphne (whose surname turned out to be Greengrass) went third, joining her friend with a much quicker decision, and Harry wondered whether she was cunning or underhanded or both.

Or maybe he was overthinking it. The song had mentioned a couple of features of each House, but were those really all of them? Maybe Slytherin was also for the people who liked snakes, or Ravenclaw for people who liked flying? Or perhaps Hufflepuffs liked oranges, that was a word it was supposed to be hard to rhyme.

Realizing he was still overthinking it, Harry looked around for something to take his mind off it, and turned his attention back to the table with all the teachers on it. The sallow man near the end seemed to have calmed down a bit, though he was still eyeing Harry (or at least Harry felt like it was him in particular who was being looked at), while there was a scarred-looking wizard also focused on Harry who was actually writing furiously on something the young dragon couldn't quite see.

At least the wizard on the end with a massive turban wasn't staring at Harry. In fact, the turbaned wizard was looking almost directly away from Harry.

The warning tingle of an incipient headache made Harry realize that this wasn't helping; he was now worried about teachers either seeing him as a study project or being scared of him, and neither was really very nice.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat announced, and Harry turned back to see who it had been. Embarrassingly, it was Neville, who must have been under the hat for several minutes and who Harry had completely missed.

Dean was paling slightly and Ron had gone a funny grey colour, and Harry wasn't sure how he looked either. Wouldn't this be much less stressful if they'd done it in private?

As it was, he knew it was coming, and he knew roughly when, but he had no idea how many people had names that were ahead of him in the alphabet so every new name just ratcheted up the tension. It was sort of like how he imagined Impression would be (if you were one of the humans, anyway; dragons never had to wait for Impression).

Draco went to Slytherin very quickly indeed, the hat barely having time to touch his head, which only made Harry wonder about cunning again.

Maybe he just wanted to be with his two big friends, who'd also gone to Slytherin?

Hopefully when it was actually his turn it would be all right…

Over the next few minutes, Harry discovered that there were four other people waiting to be Sorted whose surnames began with P, and all of them were before him in the alphabet. The twins Patil had been a little puzzling, as they'd gone to different Houses, and Harry briefly wondered if the whole thing was just random before his name was finally called.

Whispering broke out all over the hall, and Harry was slightly surprised to discover that at least some of the Hogwarts students had both not visited him on the train and not noticed the dragon standing in the row waiting to be sorted.

Then he put the hat on, which fell over his eyes.

"Well, now!" said a small voice in his ear. "This is quite the surprise! I knew there was a dragon, most certainly, but you haven't always been a dragon, even if you think of yourself as one..."

Harry closed his eyes, and there was a pause.

"Where did you go?" the voice asked. "I swear you were there a moment ago..."

That made Harry blink, and the hat went on. "Ah, there you are! I see, I see, dragon scale, very magically resistant. Don't close those eyes, now… and, my word! Do you know, it's rare that I get a good book to enjoy? Not many people read before they come here, or at least not books worth reading..."

What's actually going on? Harry asked, doing his best to think in the direction of the hat. You're reading my mind?

"Well, yes, yes, don't fuss! I've been doing it all this time, and it's quite honestly tradition," the hat replied. "Ah, yes, I see… don't worry, I may be a person but I'm quite happy with my lot. Well, I say that, it'd be nice to read a book or two every now and again, I'm sure you agree… but to sort students is the highlight of my year, and I really do spend most of the rest of the time sleeping."

Harry was sure not everyone had this kind of conversation. But maybe that was why Neville and Hermione had taken so long?

"Good, ah, drake," the hat informed him. "Very sharp… and, hmm. Well, now, as to actually sorting you, you present me with something of a puzzler. I know all about how to sort humans, but for dragons I'm flying quite blind. And no, it's not about your favourite colour, but you're quite right that not everything goes into every song. I do a new one every year, you know..."

After what had to be several minutes, Harry had the distinct feeling that the Sorting Hat was quite easily distracted.

"...of course, naturally none of the others would allow Godric to put a griffin on his banner! They said it was all magical creatures or none of them, you see – so that's why there's no dragon house, well, that and that they all preferred other magical creatures if a choice had to be made… I've always suspected old Salazar of sneaking a Basilisk into the Slytherin banner, though…"

The hat caught itself. "Oh, dear, where are my manners… I'm terribly sorry about this. Hmm… well, now… you could do well in Ravenclaw, most certainly – reminds me of a girl from earlier in that respect… Slytherin would make you great, I think..."

That's what Mr. Ollivander said about what He Who Must Not Be Named did, Harry countered. I don't think I like that sort of great.

"True, true, I can see that… well, now, I believe that narrows the choice a little," the hat went on. "You'd certainly rather find out about a problem than not, but… ah, a pleasure to try and Sort, I must say, but if I had to make a choice I'd have to say GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry found a seat next to one of the ghosts – fortunately not Lord Ridley, who gave him a suspicious glare from the other side of the Gryffindor table – and shifted a bit to get his tail properly in place without overbalancing one way or the other, then turned to watch the rest of the sorting.

There weren't many left, and both Dean and Ron came over to Gryffindor – filling up some of the only few places left. Blaise was the last, and he was assigned to Slytherin by the hat after a minute or so of deliberation.

"There's a lot of applause for everyone," Harry said. "Is that normal?"

"Fairly normal," replied someone who he thought was probably one of Ron's many brothers. "It's a big moment, though having you in Gryffindor house is more exciting than normal."

"It shouldn't be, really," Harry replied. "I know it's pretty much impossible for me to not stand out with people who can see I'm a dragon, but I'm not used to it."

He looked over at Ron, who was sitting on the other side of the table. "Yours was fairly quick… did the sorting hat not say much to you?"

"Not really," Ron answered, thinking about it. "Why?"

"He seemed to get distracted really easily," Harry replied. "He spent most of the time with me talking about stuff like the personal tastes of the four wizards and witches the Houses are named after, and about books I'd read, and stuff. I think maybe he just doesn't get to talk all that much."

"Huh," Ron frowned. "I wonder what Neville and Hermione had."

He sniggered. "If that's how it works then maybe he didn't want to say a single word to Malfoy?"

"Isn't his name Draco?" Harry asked.

"Well, yeah, but his surname's-"

"Welcome!" said the headmaster, who Harry remembered from his letters was called Albus Dumbledore, Grand Sorc. and so on. "Welcome one and all! And before we begin our meal, I would like to say a few words."

He cleared his throat. "A Few Words. Thank you."

Harry snorted, then noticed that the plates were suddenly full of all kinds of food.

(Well, that wasn't quite correct. But it was all kinds of human food, and Harry understood they wouldn't vary their menu just for one student if that one student could still eat all the regular food.)

After a very long day of nothing but two sandwiches and some sweets, Harry was quite happy to pile all kind of everything on his plate – mostly roast meat and vegetables, though not exclusively – and dig in.

"My goodness," said the ghost next to Harry, watching as he ate a chicken leg. "I didn't know that was possible."

"What?" Harry asked, then looked down at the remains of the chicken leg – which he'd bitten off cleanly about halfway up, bone and all. "Oh, yeah… the bone's just a bit chewy, that's all."

"For most of us it's a lot more than a bit chewy," Dean said, swallowing his peas. "I think I'd break my teeth if I tried to do that!"

"It's very impressive to watch, actually," the older Weasley boy said. "I wonder what Charlie would think – most dragons don't mind making a mess of what they eat, of course, but you're much more tidy."

"Aunt Petunia would blame me if I dropped anything on the tablecloth," Harry explained. "Besides, manners are fairly easy if you learn them."

"It took me a while," Ron admitted, keeping his elbows clear of the table. "But Mum would give me a real telling-off if I made a mistake."

"Of course she did, Ronald," his brother said. "And rightly so as well."

"Percy," Ron groaned. "Not now?"

Harry looked a little wistfully at their interaction, wondering what it would be like if Dudley was okay with him all the time instead of just when he needed something, and took another bite of roast potatoes.

There was a faint clang.

"...oops," Harry blushed. "I haven't done that for years..."

Everyone within four places stared as Harry pulled the remains of his fork out of his mouth and put it down. It still had the flare, but all four tines had vanished completely.

"Is there something I should do to tell someone?" he asked. "Sorry about that, it was just really tasty..."

Percy took his wand out of his pocket and tapped the fork, and it regrew the tines in a trice.

"...okay, that was cool," Dean pronounced. "What was that?"

"Just a simple transfiguration," Percy said, but Harry could tell he was pleased. "There are restrictions on what transfiguration can do, such as that it can't create food, but-"

"Wait, hold on," Harry asked. "It can't create food?"

He pointed at the fork. "If that's made of metal, I could eat it. Does that mean it can create food for me?"

"No, that's different," Percy told him. "The First Exception to Gamp's Law is that you can't turn something that isn't food into food. What I did there was to increase the amount of what was already there."

He frowned. "Though, now I come to think of it, maybe you could transfigure something you can't eat into something you can eat. What can't you eat?"

Harry had to think long and hard.

"Um… I actually can't think of anything?" he admitted. "I haven't tried everything, but everything I've tried has been pretty edible."

"That's remarkable," Percy said. "But it does mean you could probably consider the First Exception irrelevant… unless you do find something you can't eat, and you can turn it into metal or something."

Harry shrugged, then picked up a pot pie and ate it.

"...that was in a china dish," Dean pointed out. "I'm kind of afraid you'll eat your books one day, mate."

The dragon shook his head firmly. "No, I… it's kind of hard to describe, I just think of them as… mine, I think?"

"I think I'll let the House-Elves know to prepare extra dishes for the Gryffindor table," Percy said.

"Oh, there are House-Elves at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, revealing herself to be a bit further down than Percy. "They're not mentioned in Hogwarts: A History, but I saw mention of legislation to improve their rights in Modern Magical History."

"That's right, it's how such a large castle with so many students is taken care of," Percy explained.

Harry listened with half an ear to the conversation, but mostly just concentrated on eating – this time trying to confine himself to things that were actually meant to be eaten.

Over the course of the next hour or so, everyone ate their fill – then the main meals were exchanged for desserts, in a variety as great (or greater) than the main courses.

Fortunately, so many of the Gryffindors had already asked Harry the Five Obvious Questions on the train that the conversation over the dessert started some way after that. Harry got asked about his home life, and he did his best to explain how he got on with his family.

"For the last month or so I was living in the loft," he said. "And… honestly, I think that kind of worked out best."

"But surely your aunt and uncle would want to see you?" a third-year girl asked. "And how you were doing?"

"Not really," Harry replied, with a shrug. One of his wings went through Sir Nicholas, which felt oddly chilling, and he furled it again before continuing. "I… kind of think they knew I was magic before I knew it – except for the dragon thing – and they didn't really like it. But they're not too bad."

He inspected a jam doughnut, biting into it, then swallowed and went on. "I just try to stay out of the way as much as possible, and when I come down for meals I cook them – that way it's easier to eat the packaging."

That drew a few stares, and Dean laughed.

"I really hope I don't get used to how you eat stuff, mate," he said. "It's great every time."

That drew attention to him, and he shrugged. "For me, well… I don't know what happened to my birth dad, but my new dad treats me just like one of his kids. Mum actually thinks my birth dad might have been a wizard, now, 'cause that would explain where I came from."

"That's actually quite plausible," Percy informed him. "You were born a year or two before Harry ended the last war."

"That makes it sound like I had anything to do with it," Harry winced. "I don't know what happened."

"So you grew up in an all-Muggle household?" Seamus Finnegan asked. "Mine was half and half, so I never really had trouble adjusting to magic and stuff."

Dean nodded, and pointed at Harry. "He grew up in a Muggle household too, don't forget."

"So did I, obviously," Hermione said. "All these differences really are fascinating. It must be so helpful to grow up around magic and absorb all these spells as they're being used."

"Well… you don't, really?" Ron tried. "It's just… mum cleaning the kitchen, or dad fixing the chair. That's all it is, really."

"He's got a point," Dean nodded. "Not like I know how the plumbing works just 'cause I've seen mum doing the washing up."

"I don't know, I think Harry might know how the plumbing works," the third-year girl said.

"I know how to use it, that's not the same thing," Harry replied. "But if you want to know how to fly in a rainstorm, I'm your dragon."

He rubbed his head, remembering a long-ago crash. "The important thing is to listen for when you're about to reach the ground..."

"Hey, hold on a moment," the third-year girl asked. "You taught yourself to fly?"

She blinked. "Well, I suppose you must have done. That's really impressive… I'd better let Wood know we might have some up and coming talent for next year."

"Oh, hold on, I know you," Ron realized. "Fred, George and Charlie talked about you. You're… Angelina, right?"

Angelina nodded in confirmation. "Yeah. Didn't know they talked about me at home though..."

"There's only seven players in a Quidditch team, everyone gets talked about," Seamus pointed out.

"So what are the rules of this thing?" Dean said. "It sounds mad."

That led the discussion off into Quidditch, which did indeed sound quite baffling. Harry wasn't sure it sounded at all safe for people who weren't dragons, and the fact you couldn't tell how long a game was even going to last was completely bizarre.

It gave him a mental image of teachers in the stands shouting lectures at the teams, still playing well into the second week.

As talk of the rules shifted into talk of the teams (Ron apparently being a fan of a real no-hoper team, while Neville admitted to just vaguely supporting whoever sounded like they had a chance that year), Harry looked back up at the table – counting teachers.

"How many classes are there?" he asked Percy, who seemed disinterested in the sports talk.

"Oh, well, for you first-years there's seven," Percy informed him. "Astronomy, Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic. There's also flying lessons in the first term."

Harry nodded as Percy pointed out each of the teachers. The sallow man turned out to be the Potions teacher, Professor Snape, and Professor McGonagall was Transfiguration.

"Then starting in third year you take at least two of five extra classes," Percy went on. "Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Muggle Studies. Professor Kettleburn is Creatures, Ancient Runes is Professor Babbling, Arithmancy is Professor Vector, and Professor Burbage is Muggle Studies."

"Where's the Divination teacher?" Harry asked. "And do you do that subject?"

"I do all the subjects," Percy told Harry, sounding very pleased with himself – and Harry could understand why.

"So what's Divination like?" the dragon went on. "Is it about reading ancient codexes and trying to piece together concordances?"

"Not… really," Percy replied. "To be honest, the teacher isn't always the clearest on the subject. She spends all her time up in her tower."

Harry counted back and forth again, feeling another of those faint tingles warning of a potential headache. Hagrid obviously didn't teach a subject, and the Divination teacher wasn't here… that was the flying teacher, so...

"So what does the headmaster teach?"

"Well, some years he teaches Alchemy, if there's enough interest in it for the sixth-years," Percy said. "But he simply doesn't have the time to teach, normally – he's a very busy man."

Harry nodded, finding that a bit odd but maybe it was just normal here.

"This is my O.W.L year," Percy added. "So I'm quite anxious about Professor Quirrell's subject move. It's always a gamble for Defence."

At Harry's head-tilted look, Percy elaborated. "Defence teachers change every year. It's said that He Who Must Not Be Named cursed the position, and by now it's looking quite true. It's a pity, really, but Professor Quirrell was quite good in Muggle Studies two years ago so I hope we have a good education this year at least."

Harry wasn't sure how to take that.

"So… what's the best class?" he asked. "Of the first year ones, I mean."

"Well, I've always been quite partial to Potions, but nobody else in Gryffindor agrees with me," Percy sighed.

"That's because Professor Snape hates Gryffindor," Angelina interrupted. "You can tell because he takes points off for made-up reasons."

She winked at Harry. "Don't worry, most of the classes are pretty cool. Not History of Magic, though."

Harry looked back up at the table. "That's the one taught by a ghost?"

"Ah, sadly Binns is not such a well-animated ghost as myself," Sir Nicholas sighed. "He may not have noticed that he passed away."

That was such an odd thing to hear, even for the kind of day Harry had had, that he decided to just have one last chocolate eclair instead.

With the meal over, Professor Dumbledore gave a short speech. Harry was a bit disappointed to find that a whole area not far from the castle was forbidden to students – it would mean that he couldn't actually go out there to visit – but then again there was a lot of other space around to stretch his wings, and if he hadn't been noticed in years of flying around southern England then he'd probably get away with it up here in what had to be northern Scotland.

There was a mention that it wasn't allowed to do magic in the corridors between classes, which made sense, and one about Quidditch trials which had most of the table commenting excitedly. Apparently Gryffindor was down two players – it'd be three except for a reserve player who would now step up to the main squad – so it was a matter of considerable importance, though Harry was still trying to puzzle out how it could be fair.

There was a codicil about how, yes, there was an incoming student who was a dragon, and that Professor Dumbledore hoped that nobody would hold his little physical peculiarity against him or make too much of a fuss about it. The young dragon in question wasn't at all sure that it would work, but the effort was nice.

Finally, there was something about how there was a corridor which was out of bounds on pain of death.

"...what?" Harry asked. "Really? Why?"

"I couldn't say," Sir Nicholas replied. "Though I do think I might take a look at some time – death holds no fear for those who have already departed, I might say."

Then Dumbledore mentioned a school song, and Harry's ears perked up – though, fortunately, slowly enough that his glasses didn't go flying off this time.

His mind spun with thoughts of the Harper Hall, of the poetry of Arda and of the music of Valdemar, and his tail flicked from side to side eagerly as Dumbledore conjured the words out of thin air.

Then the Headmaster told them all to pick a tune.

Several minutes later, Harry finally took his paws off his ears.

"What was that?" he asked, weakly. "That – that's not music..."

"Well, it's how the school song's always been," Percy replied, then stood up. "First years, follow me please-"

"I was expecting a proper beat to it," Harry went on, still trying to get his head around what had just happened. "Or a tune, maybe?"

Shaking his head and wondering if maybe he could write one, Harry followed the rest of the first-years up the steps. The castle's layout seemed awfully confusing, with the staircases moving the way they did, and then they got into Gryffindor Tower by way of a portrait who asked for a password.

"Are they all like that?" Harry asked, trying to ignore the password – Caput Draconis sounded unpleasant, though he was sure they hadn't planned it.

"Oh, heavens no," the portrait replied. "Not all houses trust a portrait."

"Sorry, I should really ask your name," Harry added. "I'm not really used to portraits being alive yet."

"Well, aren't you the surprise!" she smiled, as Harry walked around the side a little – moving so he could still see her, as the other tired first-years filed through the doorway behind her. "A dragon, and so well-mannered as well. Alas, I fear that I must guard my identity, and so you have my permission to refer to me as all do – as the Fat Lady of Gryffindor."

Seeing Harry's surprise, she laughed. "Dear me, don't you know that to be plump was a compliment for centuries? It entertains me so to hear everyone calling me beautiful."

Harry nodded in understanding, then walked over to check something. Sure enough, despite the complex route they'd taken to get here, they were at the top of the Grand Staircase – and it had a large enough open space that Harry felt confident of being able to fly up or down and save quite a lot of time.

The dorm rooms for the first year boys were up several flights of spiral stairs, and when Harry belatedly got up there the others had already changed into their pyjamas. Not having the same chore, Harry spent a few minutes checking on his things – everything was in his trunk, though Hedwig's cage was empty and she was presumably being sorted out – before getting a couple of dozen letters out and piling them on his bed.

"What's that for?" Dean asked, sounding sleepy, as Harry disrobed.

"It kind of… helps me sleep," Harry replied, unsure how to really put it. "I think it's a dragon thing? Not sure, though."

Actually getting into bed was a bit of a puzzler, though. Unlike his robes he couldn't really avoid coming into contact with the bed linen with his talons, and he sort of stared at it thinking for several more minutes.

"Wassat?" Ron mumbled. "Not… ergh… not slept in a bed before?"

"...funnily enough, no," Harry admitted. "Maybe it'll work out. Your brother fixed something, maybe they can fix any holes I make..."

Ron's yawn reminded Harry how long the day had been, and he crawled into bed himself before sort of curling up. The sheets stuck to a few places on his wings and paws, but Harry comforted himself with the thought that if he did damage the bed he could at least use the same one all year.

Or, failing that, see if this tower had an attic.

AN:

I did consider what House to put Harry in, but ultimately the fact remains that while he's a lot more of a book-reader than in canon it's still not enough to put him in Ravenclaw.