"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said, appraising the new first years gathered around her before the door to the Great Hall. "In a moment, you will all be sorted into your houses. These houses will be like a family away from home for you."

"So, psychologically toxic and perpetually on the verge of divorce?" Harry asked.

"Ummm, if you'd like, yes."

"Guess I won't be getting homesick."

"Trevor!" A chubby boy shouted, running forward to grab the animal at McGonagall's feet.

"Hey look, didn't we throw that toad out the window of the train?" Morty asked. Harry quickly elbowed him in the side. "Ow, okay, jeez, sorry I said anything."

Suddenly, ghosts.

"Ooo, Ickle firsties, what fun for jolly old Peeves!"

"It's a Class 6 Poltergeist!" Morty shouted.

"Take aim!" Harry raised the barrel of his portable proton pack and pushed the button.

Two strings of light caught Peeves around the middle. "Whoah, okay, time out, what's happening!" the poltergeist asked.

"Don't cross the streams!" Morty said.

"I've done this before, jackass!"

As the first years watched, the poltergeist was dragged screaming into one of the packs. Harry popped the case open and pulled out a small container. "Whatever you do, do not let him out," he said, handing it to McGonagall. "I do NOT want to have to deal with that trivial bullshit for the next seven years."

McGonagall stared in utter confusion at Harry and Morty before regaining her composure. "If you're all quite finished, then follow me."

"Hey, Harry, I have a question," Morty asked as the first years entered the Great Hall. "If we live in America, why are we going to a school in England? I mean, isn't there, like, an American school of magic or something."

"Huh, Morty, that's a really thought-provoking question," Harry conceded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I wouldn't think about it too hard if I were you."

"Do you have any explanation? It doesn't make any sense. I'm fourteen but I'm a first-year with you, an eleven-year-old. Come to think of it, I've never had any hint of magic at all until this summer." Morty dropped to his knees. "What's happening to me? Something is wrong! Reality is collapsing!"

"Is he okay?" Ron asked. A large circle was beginning to gather around Morty, who was now flopping on the floor like a fish and shouting gibberish.

"Yeah, he's fine. I just need to reset him."

Harry pushed his way through the crowd and knelt down beside Morty. "Let me go! This life is a lie and I need to wake up! Kill me and break the simulation! Harry ignored him as he pulled a pair of latex gloves from his robe pocket and pulled them on. "Morty, relax, this may sting just a little. "Then he wound back and slapped Morty across the face as hard as he could.

The crowd of students winced and stepped back. "That's a strong backhand," a first-year student who we won't mention again whispered to his neighbor.

It took two more slaps to knock some sense into him. Harry helped Morty up, steadying him so he wouldn't fall. "You all right, Morty?" Harry asked.

"Y-y-yeah, I'm alright. What happened?"

"You just fell down. Your blood sugar must be crashing. Here, have an Almond Joy."

"Do you have a Mounds?"

"What do I look like, that candy man?" Harry looked up and noticed the horrified stares of the students around him. "Fuck off! We'll go to the Great Hall when we're good and ready!"

The Great Hall, to use a cliche, was breathtaking. In fact, two of the first years stopped breathing and fell to the marble floor gasping like landed fish. They were quickly dragged out of the room by school house elves.

"Wow, l-look, Harry, you can see the stars through the ceiling!"

"Hogwarts: A History says it's an enchantment added during the tenure of Headmaster Flash in 1659," Hermione explained.

Harry shook his head. "It's just effects added in post."

"But the book says-"

"If the book said for you to jump off a cliff, would you do it?" Silence. "That's what I thought."

Despite Harry's best interests, Hermione had joined them in the compartment, having failed to locate the Toad he thought he'd murdered. Harry read her in an instant. An only child, a know-it-all. Trouble was, she knew everything from books, which just made her a parrot of someone else's voice. Harry may have been a know-it-all as well, but he learned everything from experience, legit as fuuuuuck.

Harry had waited impatiently through the roll call of forgettable names. He dimly registered that Hermione had ended up in Gryffindor, while the little albino snot Malfoy had been put in Slytherin.

"What house do you wanna be in, Harry?" Morty whispered.

"The house system is meaningless, designed to ferment competitive rivalry between the students," Harry whispered back. "I'm above that, and you should be too."

"My family's always been in Gryffindor," Ron whispered.

"Congratu-fucking-lations."

"Potter, Harry."

The hall fell silent, all eyes turning towards the dwindling group of first years. It took Harry a few moments to realize they'd meant him. He stormed up the aisle and plopped onto the stool. "Sanchez, lady," he muttered to McGonagall, eyes flashing daggers. He grabbed the hat and threw it on his head, where it sank down past the ears and over his eyes.

Well, well, what have we here. Quite the interesting child.

You're in my mind. How are you doing that, and don't say magic, or I'll put you through a paper shredder.

Plenty of ambition, plenty of cunning. You feel you're above all the rest. Slytherin would do you quite well.

Fine, then, Slytherin. Doesn't matter to me in any way.

Such surety in your powers, maybe Gryffindor.

Whatever.

Look, kid, the Hat finally said, breaking the enigmatic bullshit, you've got to give me some cooperation, here.

This entire thing is meaningless. It's like the Briggs-Myers personality test. You're just making these kids read into their personalities, sorting through the contradictions to reach their imagined or idealized selves. Sure, I'm cunning and ambitious. I'm also foolhardy and cocksure, hardworking, and book-smart. I could honestly go in any one of these four houses, so I honestly have no fucking opinion whatsoever on which stupid color I wear on my tie.

You're an obnoxious little bastard, aren't you?

Damn skippy.

Alright, fuck it, BETTER BE GRYFFINDOR!

The hall broke into cheers as Harry stood up and tossed the hat away like a frisbee, walking over to the Gryffindor table with a face like a sour grape.

"WE GOT POTTER!" Two annoying twin redheads were shouting. Weasleys, Harry guessed.

He sat quietly, picking at a stain on his sleeve until his nephew's name came up.

"Smith, Mortimer."

Morty walked down the aisle, tripping and knocking over the stool to the laughter of the assembles students (as well as some of the more mean-spirited professors). The hat fell onto his head. "GRYFFINDOR!" It shouted within milliseconds.

"Huh, had you pegged for a Hufflepuff," Harry said as Morty joined him at the lion's table.

"Well, I told the hat I wanted to be with you, Ron and Hermione," Morty replied.

"Awwwwww, that's really, really sad."

A few minutes later, the sorting was complete. Dumbledore stood up, looking like a complete fucking idiot, in Harry's opinion. "Welcome, first years, to Hogwarts! May you all collect memories to cherish throughout your lives."

"Hey, l-l-look, that weird guy from the Leakey Cauldron is our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Morty said, gesturing to the turbaned man.

"Great, now I'll have to listen to two annoying stutterers," Harry replied with fake enthusiasm. He did look up, however, catching a glimpse of the oily-haired professor beside Quirrell. "Ow," he said, putting a hand to his scar.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked.

"Nothing, my scar just hurt as I was looking at Mr. Head-and-Shoulders over there."

"Do you think it has anything to do with You-Know-Who?"

"Yes? No? Who gives a fuck?" Harry replied, exasperated. "Not everything has a concrete, mystical explanation, Ron."

"In magic, it usually does," Ron's brother Fred/George said.

"Well, it doesn't." Harry turned his full attention to the food on his plate. "It was a quick pain, nothing more. Simple explanation, no need to investigate."

"And finally, all students should avoid the third-floor corridor, unless they want to meet a very nasty death."

Harry dropped his fork and turned to look at the Headmaster. The old man met his gaze and winked. "That, however, was meaningful as fuck."