Chapter 4: A Flower, Oddly Sown

There was a bit more mingling between the students when the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station late that evening. It wasn't to be helped – unlike King's Cross, there weren't Hit Wizards stationed every thirty paces. Hogsmeade Station wasn't nearly roomy enough for that.

James and Albus found themselves herded together like sheep with several others.

"If I found out who did that, I'm cursing his bollocks right off!" a young girl snapped quite loudly.

"Melinda, calm down!" a boy insisted just as loudly.

"Can you two keep it moving?" an irritated-sounding youth asked. "We're trying – Pike, what the hell!? Get down from there!"

"Fine, you don't have to yell," a disappointed-sounding boy replied. "Merlin's…"

"You remember what Mum said," another girl followed.

"Mind your business, Corrie," the disappointed-sounding boy replied, now sounding annoyed.

And then another voice – rough, gruff, and as big as the man who owned it – sounded above the rest.

"Firs' years! Firs' years, yer with me!"

"Mr. Hagrid!"

From somewhere nearby Albus, a ginger girl carrying a ginger cat emerged from the crushing throng, to run to and stand under a long-haired, grey-bearded, veritable colossus of a man.

"Mr. Hagrid," Lily repeated, breathless with excitement. "You remember me, don't you?"

"Remember yeh? How could I not?" Hagrid laughed, reaching down a hand to gently palm Lily's entire head. Albus couldn't help but wince. Last time Hagrid had tried to pat him on the head, he'd had a headache for several hours. Hilariously, Fiamma was not nearly as keen on the massive half-giant and, yowling in terror, tried to free herself from Lily's grip.

"Ouch – Fi, stop it!" groaned Lily – the cat had just scratched her in an effort to escape.

"Find yerself a boat," Hagrid chuckled. "We'll have plenty o' time ter talk later, assumin' yer nothin' like yer brothers…"

Albus cringed and put his head down. Hagrid was always waiting for visits from the Potter children. They always found themselves a bit busy.

When the time had come late last term for second years to select the elective courses they would start taking in third year, Albus and all of his friends had diverged somewhat. Rose had gone with Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, which Albus could have seen coming a mile away, given that they were the two most difficult electives available. Scorpius and Sylvia had both chosen Divination and Care of Magical Creatures because they had the reputation of being the two easiest electives. (Although, unlike Scorpius, Sylvia was actually somewhat interested in learning about magical creatures.) Albus had heard too many horror stories about Professor Trelawney from his parents, aunts, and uncles; so he was taking Ancient Runes with Rose, and Care of Magical Creatures with Sylvia and Scorpius. He and Hagrid would see enough of each other this year, but now wasn't quite the time.

He made his way (somewhat against his will from people pushing him in the back) down the path to where the carriages were lined up, ready to transport every student second year and older to the castle. As he approached them, though, he noticed something distinctly different.

No, he still couldn't see whatever was pulling them. But he did notice that the outsides of the carriages were colored – some red, some blue, some green, and some yellow.

"These too?" he heard his older brother groan. "Really?"

"Let's get two others before Brookstanton tries to hop in with us," an Irish brogue Albus recognized as belonging to James's best friend, Murphy, sighed.

"Where's Croyle?" James called. "OI! Croyle! Where'd you go, mate? Damn, did we get more students over the summer or something? Why's it so bloody crowded?"

"Guys," Scorpius called. Albus looked up. Scorpius was sitting alone in one of the red carriages, giving a hand motion of urgency. Albus broke from the crowd, bumped a Ravenclaw aside ("Sorry!") and jumped in, joined shortly thereafter by Sylvia and Rose, the latter of whom immediately took her shoe off and started investigating her foot, whilst the carriage's other three passengers looked at her oddly.

"Someone kept stepping on the back of my heels," she explained, wincing. "I think their trainers had spikes on them or something…"

"Punch his face next time," Sylvia suggested casually.

Rose tried to give Sylvia a look of disapproval, but it was obvious in her eyes that, in her current mood, she didn't think it was entirely a bad idea.

She glanced at Scorpius a bit aimlessly. He raised his eyebrows and said, "Don't look at me. I'm not rubbing them."

Sylvia laughed. Albus wasn't sure whether Rose had been trying to make such a thing happen, but he thought she sure looked disappointed as she pulled her shoe back onto her foot.

It was not too long after that, that the carriages started rolling of their own accord. (Well, that was how it appeared. Albus knew it not to be true; he just couldn't see what was pulling the bloody things.) Sylvia heaved a yawn and stretched her arms up and out, directly around Rose.

"You look worried," Sylvia commented, grasping Rose around the shoulder. "Not like you don't always look worried… but, seriously… you're going to go gray by twenty if you keep this up. What's wrong?"

"Just thinking about Hugo," Rose admitted. "He's never liked open water much. Can't swim well."

The first year students, unlike the others, always took their first ride to Hogwarts in the boats that crossed the Black Lake. It was quite a long boat ride over quite a bit of open water.

"What, do you think he'd fall in?" Sylvia asked. "I'm sure the giant squid would put him back. After a couple of minutes."

Scorpius became distracted at looking at something outside the carriage. The expression on his face, though, made it obvious that he was simply trying not to laugh too hard at Rose's expense.

"That's not funny!" Rose exclaimed, the pink tinge of her ears visible even in this silvery-blue moonlight.

"The squid's never killed anyone," Sylvia replied defensively. "Dad says it just likes its fun. Doesn't have many playmates. Apparently, the grindylows are deathly afraid of it and the merpeople are a bunch of arseholes with spears, right?"

"How would I know?" asked Rose.

"Weren't your parents both kidnapped by merpeople once?" Sylvia asked. "That's what Dad told me."

"That's not exactly–" Rose sighed, palming her face. "You're insufferable."

"Sorry?" Sylvia uttered before going to her go-to catchphrase when talking with Rose. "English, please?"

"That is English," Rose repeated wearily, for the first of what was sure to be many times this year. Sylvia laughed.

"So… how do you think they split up the first years?" Scorpius asked.

"How can they?" Sylvia queried. "They don't have Houses yet."

"Yeah, maybe they're better off staying on the other side of the lake," Scorpius muttered cynically, earning himself a look from Rose.

"Don't be such a downer," she said – but Albus could tell it was on her mind as well.

"So, you never told us…" Sylvia queried probingly, a knowing half-smile on her face. "What did you and Lilith Cross talk about?"

Rose's eyes widened. Albus had almost forgotten – she'd been asleep the whole way and hadn't heard the news.

"Wait a second…"

"Didn't get around to much talking, really," Scorpius said. "She just asked if I remembered her and I told her I did…"

He shrugged casually, but he looked rather flustered.

"Wait…" Rose still seemed to be trying to wrap her head around it. "Are you telling me Lilith Cross is back at Hogwarts? That Lilith Cross? The one we knew from first year?"

"Unless Laurel Cross has another sister that we don't know about," Sylvia commented.

"But how?" asked Rose. "She wasn't expelled?"

"I guess not," Sylvia answered skeptically.

"From the sound of it, someone or something convinced Lilith's parents to pull her out of school and keep her out for all of last year," Scorpius said. "But… it sounds like her parents separated. Her mother took her, but Laurel stayed with their father."

"So is she going to be a year behind now?" asked Rose. Sylvia discreetly rolled her eyes. Rose didn't see it. "I mean…"

"Not sure," Scorpius said. "Depends on if she passed her E.E.L.s."

"What?" Sylvia uttered flatly.

"Oh, that's right," Rose sighed, grimacing in frustration at her failure to remember. "The E.E.L. Educational Equivalency Level. Long story short, if you're a school-aged student that's not taking classes at Hogwarts for some reason, you can take a Hogwarts-approved test and don't have to sit that year again if you pass it."

"James had to take one – back in June," Albus remembered. "For Defence. He was studying with a private tutor, but he's back with Malcolm this year."

"He passed it, I'm guessing?" replied Sylvia.

"I'd say," Albus answered. "Dad said he scored a hundred thirty-eight percent."

"What!?" Sylvia yelled, her eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. (Scorpius winced and prodded at his ear.)

"The proctor said he was about a year ahead – could've sat the fourth year Defence final and passed it easily. But they wouldn't let him take fifth-year level Defence with his fourth-year classes. Or they couldn't."

"Never knew that about James," Sylvia remarked.

"Oh, yeah, he's obsessed with Defence Against the Dark Arts," Albus said. "Wants to be an Auror like Dad when he gets out of school."

"Probably explains how he got out of what happened last May," Scorpius replied.

Albus frowned. James didn't talk much – at all, really – about what had happened that evening. But Albus had noticed that he wasn't quite the same afterward. He was quieter, almost sullen, spent most of his time shut up in his room. He'd taken his broom out to fly only once or twice, and he'd only joined friends and family at Dad's birthday party because it was expected of him to show up.

What had happened in Neville's office, anyway? Albus hardly knew details, and either James had been told by their father not to talk about it, or he was not keen on volunteering information. Probably a bit of both, Albus thought. James had kept quite a bit from him in recent months. One thing was for sure, though; whatever had happened in that room that day – and whatever was happening to Hogwarts as a whole – it was changing the people around him. And not for the better.

It was a helpless feeling, to watch the people you cared about most losing their smiles bit by bit. There seemed to be a dark cloud, even over this carriage of friends. They had all stopped talking, reduced now to exchanging uneasy glances with each other as the castle grew ever closer. No one knew what awaited them inside those walls, away from their homes, away from their families. That should have been exciting, but this year, it was disquieting.

He looked up at Scorpius for a moment. The blonde-haired boy, who had been seemingly deep in thought, caught Albus's eye and frowned.

"Something on your mind?" Albus asked.

"Nothing. Just…" Scorpius glanced out of the carriage, toward the woods. "I don't know if I would have let Lilith Cross come back if it were up to me."

"We don't know that she set that fire, Scorpius," Albus said, somewhat adamantly. "How can you punish someone when no one's sure she's guilty?"

"Everyone thinks she did it, right?" Scorpius asked, frowning. "That's bad enough. She might get treated like she did it."

"She doesn't deserve that," Albus said.

"You know that doesn't mean anything," Scorpius said meaningfully.

He glanced at Rose, and then Albus.

"In any case," Albus said, "it's not any of our business."

Scorpius leaned back. "Guess you're right."

But he hadn't let the matter drop; Albus could tell that by the look in his eye.

The rest of the ride to the castle was uneasy but uneventful. Albus and hundreds of others began filing into the Great Hall, where Albus immediately noticed something different.

"Oof!" Albus let out a surprised grunt as someone walked into the back of him and nearly knocked him to his face.

"Watch it!" came the voice of this third-year classmate, Desmond McLaggen. Albus whirled around. Desmond was a Beater on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, brown-haired and strapping for a thirteen-year-old. He still made Albus, who had grown a couple of inches since last year, feel like some sort of mosquito. "What'd you stop for?"

"Look where they've put the tables," Albus pointed out.

Even before the 'incident', students sat according to their Houses at the two feasts bookending the school year. It would be terribly confusing for the new first-years being Sorted otherwise. But the tables, for as long as Albus could remember them, had gone, from left to right: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Slytherin.

Not this year.

Gryffindor were furthest to the left, with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff in the middle. Slytherin was furthest right.

"What?" Sylvia noticed it. "Why'd they put us against the windows?"

But Albus, as he was herded to a spot in the Great Hall that didn't feel like home, knew exactly why they had done it. He sat down and stared blankly at the empty plates and goblet in front of him. At least the food itself wouldn't suffer. Hopefully.

He observed silently as the other three tables started to fill themselves. There was a momentary scrum near the entrance, and for a horrible moment, Albus thought that a fight had started in the Great Hall. A few seconds later, though, whatever situation there had been was resolved, albeit with a student emerging from the small throng and yelling at another. Out of the nearer, more visible side, and nearly impossible to miss because of his bulk, came Ravenclaw Beater and seventh (if Albus remembered correctly) year, Donaghan Craig. Clinging onto his arm, looking smaller and mousier than usual, was a Ravenclaw girl in Albus's year, Iris Conrad. She walked right through Albus's line of sight, and Albus could see tears on her face.

Sylvia, who was on the other side of the table and had been close enough to touch both Ravenclaws (and thankfully didn't – Craig looked positively murderous at the moment), watched them go by and asked what everyone was thinking: "What was all that?"

"Don't know. Couldn't see," Albus said. Almost on cue, they got a bit more context. Professor Gladstone, the head of Ravenclaw House, had made a beeline down Ravenclaw's row, golden-blonde hair trailing behind her with her blue cloak as she walked. And whatever she had just said to Craig, he hadn't liked:

"Are you yanking my wand?!" he exclaimed in a snarling Scottish brogue. With the arm he wasn't using to keep a tight, muscular, protective grip on Iris, he gestured emphatically toward the Hufflepuff table and shouted, "Jeremy Corbin tried to grab hold of her! He's lucky he's got that badge on or I would have knocked his bloody teeth down his throat!"

"There'll be no need for that," Gladstone said firmly. "I'll talk to Malcolm and see if he can sort Corbin out. He's new; probably didn't mean anything by it. In the meantime, I'll thank you to keep your head."

She looked down at Iris, and her demeanor completely softened.

"You all right?"

Iris didn't answer; in fact, she turned her face away from Gladstone and buried it inside Craig's robes. Gladstone stood there awkwardly for a moment, exchanged a glance with Craig, and made her way back up to the staff table.

Thankfully, the Slytherins filed in last, without much incident. Many of them, though, were obviously annoyed – probably that they had been made to wait until the other three houses had found their seats.

"That was strange," Rose commented. "Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws usually get on very well, for the most part."

"For the most part," Scorpius repeated cynically, going to take a drink from his goblet before realizing it was completely empty. Surreptitiously, he set it down on the table, hoping that no one would notice. Sylvia did, and elbowed Albus's ribs to make sure he had, too. "Craig's a loose cannon, though. Anything could have set him off."

At the time, though, Albus observed, Craig seemed to be perfectly calm and docile, letting Iris Conrad rest her head on his shoulder and conversing with another older girl that Albus recognized (although the name escaped him) as one of Ravenclaw's Chasers.

Speaking of Quidditch, Albus caught a glimpse of Freddy Weasley sitting further down the Gryffindor table along with Roxanne, Dominique (her new Prefect's badge gleaming proudly on her robes), and Tommy Jordan.

"Students of Hogwarts." The magically amplified squeak of Headmaster Filius Flitwick rang through the halls. Albus heard it, but several of the students did not. Flitwick repeated himself. "Students of Hogwarts."

An old, old wizard (although not quite as old as Flitwick) at the staff table stood, pulled out his wand and put the tip to his neck.

"SILENCE!"

The entire Great Hall seemed to shake with a booming roar. It had the desired effect.

Flitwick made a face that clearly said that he would have handled things another way. Nevertheless, he continued his speech. "Thank you, Professor Wenster. Students of Hogwarts – here we are, at the beginning of another year. As I'm sure you know, we cannot properly begin another term here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry until our newest additions are Sorted and seated with their Houses. So without further ado, let us begin. Professor Malcolm, if you would?"

Albus had almost forgotten to register the strangeness of Professor Gladstone, who was Flitwick's right-hand woman, being in the Great Hall instead of with the new first years. He and the rest of the Great Hall certainly registered it now, though. Professor Malcolm, a dark-haired, bespectacled wizard with piercing blue eyes, approached the dais straightbacked and proud with first years behind him. There the frayed, old Sorting Hat sat in repose on a single wooden stool.

Malcolm turned to address the crowd of Hogwarts students.

"Nearly a thousand years ago, four powerful wizards and witches made the trek from different parts of Britain to this very spot," he said. "Their goal: create a safe place for wizard children to ply their craft in secret away from the prying eyes and grabbing hands of Muggles. It was a brutal era, where lord and sword ruled in Muggle Britain. Rulers great and small were deposed and killed in war constantly – and no one could know until the next was on his throne, how he felt about magic. Some rulers in that day embraced magic, even had their own court wizards and potion masters. Some were indifferent; they did not accept us as friends, but they left us alone. Some, though, were militantly against it, and killed many people – men, women, children, wizard and Muggle – trying to purge it from the earth. It was about then that we as wizards figured out that our best chance for survival was in community, and the four founders figured out that the next generation's best chance for survival was in community with each other."

"The Four Founders could not necessarily agree on which particular students they wanted to teach," he continued. "But they each prized certain qualities in their pupils, and so appointed an impartial selector for any new student that was to set foot in these halls. Recent history has colored the relationships between the Houses, and misrepresented what each of the Founders truly wanted. The fact is, they were all the best of friends once upon a time, and it was only because of disagreements on how to best protect the students, that the relationships ever fractured. When each of you sits in this chair and puts this Sorting Hat on, it will call out a name, and in so doing send you to one of these four tables, where you will find your closest community for these next seven years of your life. But there are good and less than good in all Houses – in all people. It is up to you to decide, regardless of what the Hat tells you now or what it told you in the past – which of those you will be."

The Sorting Hat did sing a song after this, but from the parts that Albus paid attention to, it was just about what Malcolm had just said, and quite unnecessary. (Or maybe Malcolm's speech was quite unnecessary. Albus didn't know which.)

When the Hat was finally done, Malcolm unfurled a rather long scroll. Then, he freed his hands from it, and allowed it to float in front of him.

"Show-off," Albus heard Sylvia mutter next to him, causing him to smile.

"ADDISON, ARMON!"

The first boy was pale and thin, and what hair he had atop his head was a colorless stubble. It was as if someone had shaved him completely bald and the hair was just recently starting to grow back. The hat barely had to touch his stubbly pate. Its decision was almost instant:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table, seemingly caught off guard for a second, began clapping politely. Tommy, though, jumped to his feet and was much more enthusiastic than the rest; Dominique, by contrast, stayed in her seat, but she appeared to be wiping her eyes for some reason. When young Armon reached the Gryffindor table, Tommy offered him a seat right beside himself.

"ANTHONY, MICHAEL!"

A second boy approached the dais and sat on the stool. His head was small – the hat swallowed it all the way down to his nose, eliciting laughter from a few students.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Looks like we might have a large class this year," Rose commented over the applause.

Lily would be part of it, Albus hoped, as "AURELIUS, WESLEY!" became the first Ravenclaw this year.

James

"Berrow," Murphy muttered after Malcolm yelled the name over the silent Great Hall. A blond, privileged-looking boy assumed the wooden chair. The Sorting Hat fell over his head and took a while. "I say Slytherin. What's your guess?"

Cecil Brookstanton shrugged. "Ravenclaw."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"That's two wrong," Murphy said as Brookstanton sighed. "Six Knuts to me."

"No, it's three Knuts. I got Aurelius right," Brookstanton protested, leaning boredly against his wrist as he observed the Sorting from a distance.

"So did I. That's a push, not a win," Murphy replied. "Six Knuts."

Brookstanton flashed Murphy a rude hand gesture, right before Malcolm shouted again:

"BODE, OPHELIA!"

A small girl, pale and black-haired, ascended the dais slowly and somewhat mournfully.

Murphy and Brookstanton glanced at each other. "Slytherin."

They were both right: "SLYTHERIN!"

And off the little girl skulked toward the Slytherin table on the opposite side of the hall.

Closely following her were two girls, surnamed Cadwallader and Corbin. Both were sorted into Hufflepuff, and the second bounded down to the house table to unabashedly and warmly embrace one of the Hufflepuff Prefects. James eyed the prefect and his younger sister (James guessed), registering the familiarity of the name.

"DRAKE, DARIAN!" was also sorted into Hufflepuff, as was the following student, Ezra Fawley. (Brookstanton lost a few more Knuts on this one and smacked the table – he was sure that four students in a row would not be sorted into Hufflepuff.)

"Bloody hell – rate they're going, they'll be eight to a room," Murphy commented with a smirk on his face.

James was continuing to scan the Hufflepuff table. He found Laurel Cross, and toward the end…

"Oh, my God," he whispered in shock. "Murph."

He elbowed his best friend, just as Joyeuse Garland, a small, curly blonde that looked closer to eight than eleven, jumped off the dais and skipped to the Ravenclaw table.

"What's going on?" Murphy asked.

"Look at the Hufflepuff table. All the way down at the end," James answered.

There was a slight pause, punctuated by the Sorting Hat booming the name of "GRAYSON, KELLER!"

Keller Grayson did not get in the way of Murphy's view, as he was Sorted into Ravenclaw and took a seat at the end closest to the staff table.

At the Hufflepuff table, though, sitting alone on the edge that was closest to the Great Hall's doors, was a young girl James Potter and Richard Murphy had not seen in a very, very long time.

"Merlin's balls," Murphy droned in shock. "That's Lilith effing Cross. She's back. When did that happen?"

James was already several steps ahead of him, though. "You know we've got to—"

"GROVE, DARRELL!"

"God, I wish he would stop yelling," James snarled through his teeth.

"Not to be rude or anything, but…" a boy of Indian descent, not too far away from them, finally spoke up. "Some of us are waiting for family to be Sorted."

James grimaced. "Sorry, Dathan."

"Which one is it this time?" Murphy asked their classmate. Dathan Rama, like James himself, was the oldest of several siblings. James never remembered exactly how many, and had even more trouble remembering all of their names.

"Parveen, You see—?"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The hat cut him off, and several students at their table stood to welcome Darrell Grove, a grinning, tan-skinned little boy, whose eyes still darted around his surroundings in silent awe of the place which he found himself.

As Grove took a seat not far from Gryffindor's sixth year Prefect, Eamonn Temple (who looked to be in one of his better moods this evening), Dathan repeated, "That's Parveen, right there," pointing at a girl standing on the edge of the throng of students. She was hard to miss there, with brown skin and very long, dark hair that went all the way down to her waist. And with a jolt, James saw another standout head of hair to Parveen's immediate left – this one quite red. "Actually, James, isn't that your sister standing next to her?"

("GUTHRIE, NATHAN!")

"Oh. That's where she went," Murphy commented casually.

James hadn't exactly forgotten that Lily was being Sorted tonight. As far as he was concerned, though, it was a formality. He didn't see any chance that she wouldn't join him and Albus in Gryffindor. She simply had too much of their mother in her. He glanced back toward Lilith Cross, who was quickly obscured when half the Hufflepuff table stood to welcome Nathan Guthrie into their House.

"HARPER, KARYN!"

An unassuming, brown-haired girl took the dais in front of everyone. The Sorting Hat took a moment, but—

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table now jumped to their feet. One girl, at least in James's field of vision, did not, and thus stood out. She sat solemnly and silently at the table, as if this was a funeral and not a celebratory feast. In fact, she had her witch's hat on – an optional part of the Hogwarts uniform that had gone out of style a generation past. But that was always her, James thought. She always danced to a different tune than the rest and was thought of as strange, even mad for it.

It felt like they were miles apart. He couldn't possibly catch her eye from here – not unless she turned around and looked straight at him.

"HUNT, CORAL!"

A tall, rosy-faced girl assumed the chair.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

After that, Campbell Jenkins, a portly boy with whose parents had apparently seen fit to curse him with two last names, was sorted into Hufflepuff. He took a seat next to the Corbin siblings. The little sister smiled sunnily at her new housemate; her brother, the Prefect, attempted to do the same.

Shera Kim joined Coral Hunt in Gryffindor. Amadeus Klein, a beanpole of a boy with a cloud of white-blond curls for hair, was sent to Ravenclaw.

"KUBO, MASANORI!"

A short boy with long eyes scowled suspiciously at everyone from atop the dais, as the Sorting Hat was placed over his head.

"SLYTHERIN!"

The boy winced and visibly deflated for a moment or two, but then took his seat at the Slytherin table. A skinny, bespectacled boy made some sort of comment toward him. Kubo ignored the comment (and swiveled around on the bench, turning his back), but the girl in the witch's hat didn't. She said something rather sharp to the boy in glasses, who put up some sort of feeble argument before going silent.

"So, Potter," Martin Croyle queried. "Is that your sister with the red hair?"

He indicated a girl standing by herself.

"No, no, the other redhead," Murphy, who had seen Lily enough times to know, corrected him.

Croyle grimaced and shrugged. "Fifty-fifty chance. What house do you think she'll be in? Gryffindor?"

"Most of both our parents' sides have been in Gryffindor," James said. "But Lily's clever enough, and the Hat's put a couple of my cousins into Ravenclaw. Really, your guess is as good as mine."

"But you'd obviously much rather she get Sorted into Gryffindor, right?" Croyle reasoned.

"It'd be easier to keep an eye on her," James admitted.

"Damn sight easier than it is for me, anyway – I haven't seen Anna since we got on the train," Murphy commented, trying to crane his neck to see over both the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. Anna was his younger sister, a second year this year, now lost in the wall of black robes at the Hufflepuff table. "By the way, James… if we run across Alex Mack, remind me to punch his jaw."

"What?" uttered James ("HUFFLEPUFF!" the Sorting Hat bellowed as the red-haired first year girl that wasn't Lily Potter, pulled off the hat to join her new house.) "Why?"

"Anna's got it in her head that he's handsome or something," Murphy said, scowling. Croyle let out a laugh. "Plus, he almost concussed you last time you all played."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Most of the House table rose to its feet to applaud. Fearing it would be rude not to do so, James joined them. It took a few moments, but an olive-skinned girl went through his line of sight.

Murphy asked a question to a nearby Gryffindor, then turned and told James, "Her name was Nasri. Shouldn't be too long now…"

"OBASI, ZA...Zachary?" Malcolm stumbled over the next name when everyone sat down, giving James a chance to chuckle at his expense.

"It's Zakari,"The boy in question not only replied, but had the stones to shoot Malcolm a glare as he ascended the dais.

I'll shake his hand if he gets Sorted into Gryffindor, James thought to himself.

Alas, it was not to be. The Hat decided on "RAVENCLAW!" instead. As he watched the dark-skinned boy descend the dais, he did a quick mental-run through of the alphabet, then, almost before he realized it –

"POTTER, LILY!"

The entire room went silent. James, grimacing, felt that he should have seen that coming. Malcolm's eyes settled on the girl with the flaming red hair – an expression of curiosity, if anything. The look Lily returned Malcolm, and everyone else in the Hall in turn, was blazing and defiant – not just unafraid, but seemingly, wordlessly daring someone to accuse her of showing fear.

She assumed her seat on the stool. Malcolm reached for the hat and settled it on her head.

James's heart sank a bit when the yell of "Gryffindor!" was not immediate. In fact, the Hat said nothing. For a long time. For a very long time.

"What's the deal?" muttered Murphy. "There's only four Houses. Is it that difficult?"

The brim of the hat, here its 'mouth' would have been, opened… James held his breath…

A gritty, rumbling sound escaped it. It cleared its… wait, the Sorting Hat doesn't have a throat. What? James thought, confused.

More silence. Muttering started to pepper through the Great Hall.

"If my watch is reading correctly," Croyle pointed out, looking at the watch on his wrist, "we're just about in Hatstall territory. Four minutes."

James could see Lily slowly starting to lose her nerve up there. She had her eyes shut tight, her hands, white-knuckled, grasping the small, wooden stool. James felt a pang of pity for her. Every impulse within him wanted to run up there, grab her, and hide her away from the appraising, staring eyes of some hundreds of Hogwarts students. He wanted to carry her off the dais and down to this table – she had grown, but he was strong enough. Or at least, he could be for that minute or two it took to yank her out of the spotlight. He remembered back to his own Sorting, three years ago, and how, even for what he was told later was about ten seconds, it felt like he had spent several hours with the eyes of Hogwarts trained solely on him. Such was the curse of being born with the name 'Potter' – but that was his lot in life. Since then, he had learned, in his own way, to deal with it.

Yes, he wanted to go up there and rescue her. And, in the moment, she looked like she would thank him for it. But he would hear about it later. Probably for a long time. She was fiery and stubborn that way. That was exactly why, James thought, she belonged at this table, seated next to him in the empty space he had just shifted over to make.

And yet, she was not going to be Sorted here. Or, at least, the Hat wasn't sure she was going to be Sorted here. It was subtle, but James had noticed Sortings taking a bit longer each year. Not only did there seem to be more incoming students (this was the biggest class that James remembered), but the Hat seemed more and more deliberate about each decision.

Was it doubting its mission? Could a magically-animated object (or maybe it could be called a 'creature' – James didn't know) really doubt to that degree?

Almost without thinking about it, James's gaze drifted across the room, up to the massive, green, serpent-emblazoned banner, and down to the furthest table.

Her eyes locked with his. She had been looking straight at him a while, from what he could tell, and now that their eyes had met, she wasn't looking away.

Had he really seen what he thought he had? Maybe his eyes weren't good (and maybe that was in the blood, he thought as his mind's eye conjured an image of his bespectacled father), but from here, she looked so… strong. It just didn't seem possible after what had happened to her last year. No one that sounded like that should have emerged the same.

Maybe she wasn't the same.

Maybe she was stronger, better for having survived.

Or maybe she was always that strong, and James just hadn't realized it…

The Hat finally shouted its judgment.

Within his chest, his heart stumbled over itself, and for a moment, he had to catch his breath. He did not look up at the dais. He could not bear to. He probably had several people staring at him now, but he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge any of them. In this crowd, he was an island to himself.

"Oh, shit…" James uttered under his breath, at barely a whisper. Then, at last, he turned his eyes to the head of the room, to the stool and the dais.

There, he watched in silent shock as his sister descended, a blank stare on her face, and seated herself at the table of House Slytherin.