It wasn't long after the meet up that Harry found himself back on the Hogwarts Express.
He'd arrived at the platform a good 45 minutes early, and kept himself busy inside the carriage by trying to knit a sock. Crookshanks was next to him, stretched out on the seat, and batted half-heartedly at his wool skein while he did so.
Kreacher had already elicited a promise from him that Harry would visit Grimmauld Place in his spare time, and Crow was out and about, delivering Harry's wand to Hogwarts, Trace-free as usual.
It left Harry with nothing to do except mutter insults at the sock in question and worry about the year ahead.
"It's easy, she said. All in the heel, she said. And in the meantime, I don't know what the twins are going to ask me about. Ruddy hell."
Crookshanks gave Harry an encouraging look and flicked one ear towards his voice.
"Well, I know that they mean well, and they do seem to be on my side so it's probably going to be good for me in the end – what do you reckon their 'invitation' is about? Are they going to show me the Marauders Map tomorrow? Or the secret passages? Which reminds me, I've completely forgotten to add the House common rooms onto my own Map – why didn't you say anything when I claimed I was finished?"
Crookshanks twitched a tail this time, and Harry had to pause in his rhythmic clicking to tug out a little more of the pale blue wool that he was trying to turn into a gift for Dobby.
"Well, okay fair enough. But it's gotten a little awkward now. I can't exactly ask Luna to come along to break into Hufflepuff with me or anything, can I? And you and Crow don't really fit well under the Cloak – even if you wanted to, which I would never force you to do unless…yes, yes. Sorry. I know." Knitting needles flashing away and catching the morning light, Harry nibbled his lower lip a little. "Did you ever happen to measure Dobby's foot size, by any chance? Ah. Me neither, I'm afraid. This may have been a mistake."
He paused and the subtle sound of footsteps caught his ears. Harry and Crookshanks both looked towards the door to the corridor. Two seconds later, the uniformed conductor slid open the door to Harry's compartment and paused, brows raised, at the sight of someone already present and on the Express.
"'Scuse me." The middle-aged man slid the door closed without trying to talk, for which Harry was grateful, and he was once again left alone in the familiar space with only Crookshanks to hear his mutters.
"Must be quality checks or something," Harry shrugged. "But, as I was saying… the twins, yeah? I mean, I know the animagus potion is ready, so it'll almost definitely be about that, don't you think? They seem to think they know what their forms are going to be. Honestly, I was a little surprised, actually, at how well they seem to know themselves."
Crookshanks got a claw stuck in Harry's wool ball, and Harry had to drop one of his knitting needles to unsnag it from the yarn.
"Oh look at you, this cheeky kneazle." He rescued the wool and resumed his clacking motion. "I mean, I kind of have an idea of what I'll be, I've narrowed it down to three, at least, and by Merlin himself but I have been practising my Transfiguration hard recently! I reckon I could get an Outstanding, easy, on my N.E.W.T if I sat it now. Don't tell Hermione."
Crookshanks didn't even twitch an ear, and Harry remembered once again that this Crookshanks had no particular attachment to Hermione, just like a certain Snowy Owl no longer had any attachments to Harry.
"Mmm," Harry frowned, the discomfort still present but familiar now. "Where was I? Right. So I can do arms, no arms, legs and no legs, feathers, fur, scales – a forked tongue is easy if I, well. If I really end up needing it…Unlike the actual animagus transformation, the switch back isn't actually wandless, did you know, even though it looks impressive? It just looks like it, but the wand is there, somewhere, inside the transfiguration. So the hours I've spent aren't actually as impressive as they look. Despite me beginning wandless stuff now. Thanks to the twins."
He paused in his knitting to furrow his brows again.
"I mean, it'll definitely be useful for the exams sooner or later, even if the animagus transformation doesn't go as smoothly as they think it will. Still, the twins." He huffed. "Pine martens, eh? Don't ever let me let that slip to Draco, will you? It would be all over the castle in a heartbeat. But somehow, you know, I really didn't expect them to be the same animal as each other. I know everyone confuses them constantly, but I didn't think that would be reflected in their inner…you-know. And I checked, did you know? They – well, they do have the same Patronus, actually, or at least they did last timeline – their patronus forms were both magpies, now I think about it."
Harry looked out the window to see the empty train station, filled with silence and a couple of leaves blowing over the platform before the crowd arrived. He chewed his lip absent-mindedly and found his mind wandering.
"They'll get it corporeal this year, for sure. In fact, their silver mist definitely had a wing-beat rhythm in the Patronus Club, now that I think about it. But birds, eh? So I really didn't expect their animagus to be a cheeky weasel-like ginger anim–mrhm."
He trailed off. "Actually, I take it all back. So sorry."
Crookshanks snorted, and Harry had to turn his sock around to work at another part of the heel.
"Yeah," Harry continued after he'd managed to lose count of his stitches and done some quick maths on his fingers. "So where was I?"
Crookshanks ignored him again, in a way that felt somehow loving but also incredibly bored of Harry's musing monologue. The way Crookshanks' ears actually drooped for an instant had Harry pause and reflect on their current positions.
"Were you, uh, about to sleep? I'm sorry, I don't…I mean…none of this was important, particularly. I wonder if Hermione used to be the same with you, talking your ear off when you're trying to rest? Probably not, do you reckon? She's always been more decisive than me, experience and all aside. Not that you'd know that, owing as to how that was a different timeline… Sorry."
Harry swallowed his words with a quietly audible gulp and blinked a coloured shimmer away from his eyes. Too focused on the knitting, probably.
"I don't…I just…D'you reckon it's because of all this weird peace I've been having recently? I'm used to worrying about things, you know? And, well, I know exactly what needs to be done this year, but I have to wait until it gets here, and the holidays have been so calm and normal and I think I'm organized but I thought that before and it backfired on me…" He sighed heavily, shoulders falling with his breath, and Crookshanks decided that this concern was finally worth paying some attention to.
Ever-patient, Crookshanks rose from his lazy stretch to come to his feet. One precise footstep after another approached Harry, who reacted as any proper wizard would: he paused in his movements to let Crookshanks take charge. Stately and poised, Crookshanks placed first one and then another paw onto Harry's thighs decisively, before finally lolling over on Harry's lap, his length spilling over onto the train seat now that he was full-grown.
Crookshanks was, Harry decided, providing his wizard with the full weight of possible support.
The thought was appreciated.
It helped, actually. Harry, his knitting needles and sock held aloft while he figured out what Crookshanks was trying to achieve, unfroze to slowly lower his arms and slowed his breath. He'd gotten so much better at dealing with 'action' these past few years, but now he remembered to sink into his Occlumency trance in peacetime as well.
He carefully didn't think of the word anxiety.
Instead, as his breath finally slowed and his brain stopped spinning, Harry picked up his knitting again to work in industrious silence for a while, the crisp clicking of his polished holly knitting needles lulling Crookshanks into a light doze. Harry himself found himself thinking of nothing in particular, except the weight of Crookshanks' body on his knees, and the gentle click of wooden needles, and the soft sunshine brushing along the seat leather.
And Crookshanks' slow breathing.
The sun had warmed up a bit as the morning clouds cleared slightly, and the shadows on the seats had moved about an inch onward by the time Luna tapped into Harry's compartment, lugging a heavy-looking suitcase.
"Harry!" she smiled, her wand jutting out from behind her ear as always. "I heard you had a lovely holiday! Happy birthday!"
He wanted to jump up to give the blonde girl a hug, but when a wizard is chosen as kneazle's sleeping spot, he does not question the honour.
"Luna!" Harry instead offered, his smile filling his low voice, careful not to disturb the snoozing feline. "How are you? How's your dad? Thank you, yes, everything was great on my side, thanks. How was your break?"
Luna settled lightly into the window seat opposite Harry, charming her trunk into an out-of-the-way spot with an elegant flick of her wand. "I had a lovely holiday, thank you, Harry. Daddy took me to Panama for some research he was doing for an article. We didn't find anything, unfortunately, but the sunsets are delightful around there."
"Is that so?"
"I painted some very nice ones," Luna continued. "On some local shells. Here, Harry. This is for you."
She reached into a pocket in her robe and drew out a tiny little oval seashell. It was pink on the underside, Harry noticed as he held it up in the light, and the painting on the curved top was full of pastel colours and pale cotton-bud clouds.
He held up at eye-level for a moment, evaluating. "It's lovely, thank you, Luna."
"I did this one thinking of you, Harry," she shrugged and pulled out from somewhere a new edition of the Quibbler. "You can keep it with your potplants. Are you going to come to the Art Club this year, now that you've finished your very secret Map?"
Harry shrugged, and then had to lift his hands as Crookshanks, on his lap, mewed in displeasure at the weight in his sleep. "I haven't finished it, actually." Harry had to admit. "There were a few things I forgot. But I can come to the club with you, Luna, if you want. I don't know what I'll do though."
Out of another pocket, Luna pulled her colourful Spectrespecs and turned the magazine upside down. "A little bit of everything, I think, would suit you, Harry. I sometimes think you need to do things for fun and not perfection, so experimenting will be good for you, I believe."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "But surely everything worth doing…"
"Life is too important to be taken seriously, Harry Potter."
Harry paused. Luna continued.
"I've always thought you need practice with peace and quiet sometimes."
"You're probably not wrong," he agreed, and picked up his knitting needles again so that they could sit in companionable silence.
After ten or fifteen minutes of silent company, the only sounds being Crookshanks' buzzing snores, the click of knitting needles and the rasping turn of pages, Hermione came. She brought bustle and efficiency and discussion back to the small space.
Then, a few minutes after the conversation restarted, Neville turned up with more stories of his greenhouses, and, as always, Ron dashed into the compartment halfway breathless with five minutes to spare before the Express blew its final whistle. This time he only popped his head in, before explaining that Seamus and Dean had a compartment further up and had promised to have a game of gobstones with him.
Harry waved goodbye to his red-headed friend feeling a little confused. He was pleased that Ron had other friends, of course. And it was wonderful that Ron didn't seem to be comparing himself to Harry so much, and coming up anxious either.
But – and Dean and Seamus were really good blokes – how had that happened?
Then the Hogwarts Express started with a squeal and a jerk and a jolt, and Harry's body fell into the familiar rhythm that had punctuated his life for the last ten or eleven years now.
The conversation was light and childish. In between gossip of who was dating who, and which bands had broken up with their drummers, and how parents and guardians were changing their expectations about after-Hogwarts prospects, Hermione worried about holiday homework and described her travels with her parents. Neville described the growth of his plants and the latest dramas in his grandmother's social circle. Luna speckled the conversation with off-beat insights that kept everyone off balance.
It was delightfully familiar.
Harry managed to finish the heel of his sock before lunchtime, and Crookshanks woke up enough to be fussed over and admired before slipping out of the compartment to wander the train for a bit.
Over the next hour, a few heads popped in to chat: Demelza Robins and a few giggling friends, Colin and Ginny, Su Li and Cedric Diggory and the hulking Slytherin beaters Bole and Derrick, for some reason, who'd apparently adopted Harry after the Patronus Club of last year.
Then after a short time of no interruptions, and the post-lunch daze, a delicate paper aeroplane batted at the window of the door around one in the afternoon.
Neville was the first one to notice it, sitting, as he was, closest to the door.
"What's the sound?" he asked, blinking his eyes open and stifling a yawn while something fluttered and flapped against the glass.
"What's what?" Hermione opened her eyes too, but it was Harry who stretched and got up to pull open the door. The slightly crumpled paper aeroplane dove straight into his arms and then rested there, like its charm-work was fading or it needed a well-deserved break.
"Some kind of note, apparently," Harry informed the group, and opened it where he stood, still leaning against the faintly rattling door while a small group of Hufflepuff students wandered past him and whispered frantically once they had done so.
Potter, the note began bluntly. I'm waiting for you by the boys' toilets in the last carriage. Let me know when you're on your way.
Draco had never quite got the hang of asking for attention, Harry noticed with an amused quirk of his mouth, and he pulled out his quill to scribble, On my way, before sending the aeroplane back with a quick tap of his finger.
Wandless and wordless, it took Harry thirty seconds to get the magic right before he imbued it in the folded paper and had it float off back to Draco, but refilling an old charm with power was a lot easier than casting a muggle-repellent over eight wizards in London. Then he followed the wispy little thing to the back of the train at a slightly slower pace.
"I hope you weren't waiting long," Harry spoke first, to cut off Draco's minor complaints and the habitual whinging that he knew would begin the conversation otherwise.
"You…I didn't wait long," the blond Slytherin sulked. "I got your aeroplane just fine. Crabbe and Goyle weren't saying anything interesting, after all. They say hi, by the way, and happy birthday and all that."
Harry raised his eyes. "Tell them thanks, I guess," he acknowledged. "I didn't think they'd remember. Or care, if I'm being frank with you."
"Oh, they didn't. And they don't," Draco waved a dismissive hand. "They're not very reliable like that, but that's what they need me for."
"You reminded them for me?"
"What? No!" Draco's blush flooded his pale skin immediately. "I mean, kind of, I suppose? It was only polite, after all. And they don't hate you. They just tend not to think about people they don't see every day, you see."
Harry could imagine. He grinned cheerfully Draco's way, and then pulled the slightly-taller boy over to an empty seat in the open-coach carriage, so they didn't have to talk immediately in front of the toilet door.
"So. You called. I came. What can I do for you?" Harry asked once Draco and he were seated, and the Slytherin had finished fussing with his robes so that the fabric folds lay just right.
Draco palmed a little box wrapped in Slytherin-green wrapping and tossed it unceremoniously into Harry's surprised hands. "Happy naming day. Belated birthday, all that rot," he muttered into the front of his robes. "I've been following your fuss in the papers – because you're such a terrible correspondent, Potter – and I noticed that you didn't mention that when you accepted your names, you accepted them in a ritual naming day adaptation."
Harry fumbled the gift, which was heavier than he expected. "Er, did I not?"
The blond arched one very displeased eyebrow. "Indeed, Harry. The present I gave you for your birthday was in no way appropriate for a formal renaming ritual, and so I find myself in the embarrassing situation of having to regift you something more appropriate. Your muggles have ruined you, Harry. You simply have no idea of the importance of some traditions!"
Obediently, Harry agreed, and Draco promptly interrupted Harry's apologies to instruct him to open the wrapping immediately. "I'm positive that none of your Gryffindors will have thought to give you the traditional gifts," Draco informed Harry with a smirk, and he was halfway right because the most traditional gifts had come from Harry's lawyer and his house-elves, "and so it fell to me to fix the error. Hurry up then. You can tear the paper open, you know."
Harry did know, but as someone who had never really had presents, treating even the gift wrap preciously felt special and important to him. He peeled back the spellotape carefully, despite Draco's impatient encouragement, and soon revealed an elaborate silver hinged box. It was polished to a shine, and was embossed with crossed wands and two large trees and all kinds of intricate borders.
"I…wow, Draco. What's this then?"
Harry held the thing carefully in his hands and then turned it over to inspect all six fancy sides.
"A jewellery box," Draco explained, pride alight in his face. "A traditional gift for new babies, most usually. Boys or girls, before you ask. Given by someone particularly close to the family for all the little trinkets and adornments that the newly named baby will receive over their lifetime. Since we're practically cousins and all."
Harry shot Draco a sceptical look. "And for fourteen-year-olds?"
Draco shrugged. "If you ever had one before, Harry – and I'm sure that your father would have organised for one back in the day, if it isn't lost now – it was for your first name. A part of the tradition that you've found yourself outgrowing now. What with your new names, and all. So."
With gentle fingertips, Harry cracked the thing open to see a soft inner velvet – in Slytherin green, of course, as expected of Draco – and saw a delightfully organised box that had far more space in it than Harry was expecting.
"In honour of Harry James Justus Ambrose Corbin Potter." Draco shrugged.
Peering closely, Harry saw a tiny 'Harry J. J. A. C. Potter' embroidered in the lower-left corner of the velvet inlay.
"Wow, this is…unexpected, Draco. It's beautiful. Thank you," Harry had to acknowledge with embarrassment, and he immediately decided to store Regulus' pocket watch in it, along with all the cuff links and pins that Sirius had made him get these past holidays.
While Draco puffed up in pleasure, Harry found himself oddly touched by the gesture. The boy even knew how important the traditions of his renaming had been to Harry. Only his lawyer had been so thoughtful about all the little moments, before this.
Harry blinked.
Draco was good at gift-giving, he found himself realising. And it was helping Harry find his place, somehow.
All these little traditional things people were giving him, well, it was the same with the names too, wasn't it? Harry found himself stepping in the footsteps of wizards gone before him, and found the thought oddly comforting when he thought of it.
The long train ride continued with little more to show for it except a tenuous plan to meet with Draco in the evenings sometimes, and a promise extracted from Harry by fourteen different people to keep up the Patronus Club this year too.
Fred and George popped by the compartment around the time they passed Gleneagles, and chatted cheerfully. Furthermore, they completely ignored their previous message about needing to talk, leaving Harry feeling oddly off-balance. The talk was going to be private then, was it?
Harry was half expecting it, but the worry left him feeling a little bit hollow.
So it was with a sense of relief and homecoming that Harry alighted from the Express at the station in Hogsmeade and found himself a seat on the carriages to return to the huge Scottish castle on the hill.
"Another new year," Hermione muttered as the carriage rounded the last bend and the castle, its windows lighted cheerfully, came into view. "But some things never change, do they?"
"It's good to be back, I guess," Neville agreed from the seat next to Harry this time, and Harry agreed with everything they were saying.
But some things did change, Harry realised. Because his vision was still wonky, and even in the dark, after the sun had gone down to leave the castle in shadow and candlelight, his eyesight was full of light.
There were coloured circles like refracted rainbows shining from each window in oddly orange or blue or violet sparkles. There were huge, high rampants that stood solid and black against the midnight blue sky, and yet they shimmered with green sparks and golden cobwebs as he looked.
And the doors that Harry and his friends approached were full of green blossoms and kaleidoscope lights that pulsed and swam like startlight in Harry's tired eyes.
He paused midstride and blinked his eyes shut and open again.
Still there.
Harry stopped walking, leaving Neville and Hermione to stride six paces ahead. He closed his eyes again, brows furrowed with effort, and focused better this time.
Eyes open, and the lights were dimmer this time at least. Easier to ignore. He ignored the little burgeoning headache that his focus had rewarded him with.
Whatever hangover he'd gotten from that portkey into England had really messed with his senses, Harry thought. Then he jogged to catch back up with his mates, and pushed the matter from his mind.
Inside the warmth and comfort of the castle proper, Harry and Hermione missed the Sorting again.
This year, it surprised neither of them when Professor McGonagall called them both over and into the little antechamber off the Entrance Hall while the rest of the Gryffindor returnees were streaming into the Great Hall.
"Mr Potter, Miss Granger," the professor greeted them with a thin-lipped smile. "Very well done on a successful last year to both of you."
Hermione shuffled a little where she stood, and stood straighter on the lush rug at the praise. Harry ducked his head.
"I admit I found myself delighted when Professor Dumbledore informed me at the end of last year that I held the top Third-Year students in my House," the tall, thin woman continued, "and it reflects well upon you both that you have lived up to the expectations that I, myself, and Mr. Weasley have placed upon you. You do Hogwarts proud."
She pulled out, from somewhere that Harry didn't quite catch, two long, slender chains from which hung the tiny, familiar hourglasses.
Harry reached for it eagerly. Professor McGonagall pulled the chains back, out of his reach, and bestowed upon Harry a fond but stern look. Her glasses glinted repressively.
"Before I can admit these into your keeping, Mister Potter, I am required by the Department of Mysteries to remind you of the rules and expectations. A moment, please."
It was around that time that Harry fought down the adrenaline of being back-on-track, regulating his breathing and finding his patience at the sign that this could not be rushed through. He noticed he was blinking a lot, and clenching and reclenching his fists.
To his left, Hermione shot him an amused, exasperated look. She, Harry noticed belatedly, was far calmer and more discrete in her enthusiasm to grab the little trinket back.
From a pocket in her outer robe, the professor pulled out a cleanly folded parchment, and shook it open without haste. "Considering that the both of you have read the complete instructional booklet last year, I have been informed a quick reminder will do. Please observe the following."
While she read the whole bullet-pointed list out, the Department's rules and expectations, Harry and Hermione stood still, trying not to fidget. Back straight and lips dry, Harry fought to keep his eyes on McGonagall's face instead of the glint of gold in her hands.
After what seemed like hours, her voice slowed.
"I hope I need not repeat to you the expectations of your behaviour this year? The Time-Turners will remain completely secret from everyone? You will use the time made available to you wisely?"
"Yes, Professor." This time, Harry managed not to make grabby motions towards the hourglass.
"Then you may have them," the Deputy Headmistress announced proudly, and watched with fond amusement as first Harry and then Hermione reached out to reverently hang the golden chains around their necks.
She clapped her hands together once. "Well then. We have missed seeing Professor Flitwick perform the Sorting for the second year running," Professor McGonagall announced. "It occurs to me that to avoid drawing attention to your repeated absences, you may be interested in turning back and catching up on some lost time."
Hermione froze where she stood and stared at the professor, mouth open. "But…Professor…didn't you just say…?"
"…That your privilege should be put to wise use? Indeed, Miss Granger. Mister Potter, do help her out. I shall see the two of you at the Feast."
She strode out, leaving Hermione to glare at Harry in consternation.
"Harry…I don't get it. Professor McGonagall clearly said…"
Harry's own eyebrows finally relaxed from where they had risen. "I know, right? Lemme think." He tucked his own hourglass under this shirt, making sure that the glinting chain was also hidden under his collar. "Let's use your time-turner, alright? I think she doesn't want us to miss the Sorting every year."
Hermione's hands obeyed Harry's instructions, tucking the golden chain over his head even as her voice continued protesting. "'Every year'. We've only missed one Sorting, last year. It's hardly a pattern yet, Harry."
Harry shrugged, taking care not to pull the chain with his movement. "But I'm planning on keeping on with my electives next year too. Aren't you? And Professor McGonagall is usually very visible during the Sorting – I mean, it's always been her with the Hat before, hasn't it? So I suppose that if she's always missing and we're missing with her, then some people – Slytherins, mostly, I bet, with maybe a dash of Ravenclaw in there too – will start asking questions."
His bushy-haired friend shook her head decisively. "Professor Snape surely knows about this already, Harry. It wouldn't take long for the professors to work it out based off the timetables."
Harry turned to give her an amused look. "I meant the students. Can you imagine the time-turners staying a secret if, say, Draco Malfoy or a Marcus Flint type got wind of them?"
"…Oooh. Fair point."
"Come along then. Are you going to turn it or not? Just once should do."
They snuck into seats next to Neville just as the new students came shuffling into the Hall.
"Welcome back," Nev said. "That wasn't long at all. Is everything all right?"
"Oh, yeah," Harry added before Hermione could come up with an overcomplicated excuse. "Just a chat about our grades last year. Did we miss anything?"
Neville shrugged. "Only a conversation about how tiny they all are this year. Do either of you remember being that small and nervous? 'Cause I sure don't."
Harry grinned and ruffled Neville's hair with such enthusiasm and energy that Neville's face was half-pushed into the long, wooden table. Neville had come so far since that first year when he was afraid of everything and convinced that he didn't belong in Gryffindor. At least that was one good thing that Harry had done by coming back. "You're a good bloke, Nev," he managed to murmur, while Hermione offered, "Look at their little faces under those big wizarding hats. We really have come a long way, haven't we?"
"Hmm."
Professor Flitwick's tiny form was darting around the scraggly line of eleven-year-olds when Hermione's eyes sharpened and she leaned over to mutter into Harry's ear.
"There's an awful lot of them this year, isn't there Harry?"
"There really is." Harry didn't actually know how many students were in his year at Hogwarts, but there definitely wasn't this many. One, two three…seven, eight…was that twelve or thirteen – they kept moving – er, sixteen…thirty-three-ish, maybe? Uh…forty-two…somewhere between fifty-nine and seventy-three?…He lost count.
"How many people were Sorted last year, Neville?"
"Eh? Oh, you didn't make it to the Feast, did you? About this many, I reckon. Maybe a little less? It's the war, of course, that did it."
Hermione frowned, while Flitwick turned to stride towards the Head Table. "How do you mean?"
Neville exclaimed. "Oh, muggle-born, right!" He caught Hermione's frown. "Not, like, in a bad way, Hermione, but you haven't grown up with the legacy of the wizarding war, have you? We're the smallest school year that Hogwarts has had in centuries. Er," he paused. "Didn't you read Hogwarts: a History?"
"Neville! And I thought we were friends!"
Harry snorted.
"I still have my copy from first year. Why do you ask?"
The other boy shrugged. "They release a new edition every year, didn't you know? There's some updated statistics and stuff in the appendixes, and I'm sure you'll find the answers you want in there somewhere. But we should shush now, because…" he pointed with his chin.
Flitwick began speaking at the exact moment Harry resolved to track down that book. Then the Hat opened its wide brim.
"To those who travel life's long path
I bid you welcome, blessings, cheer!
Forthcoming years will grow you up;
You'll blossom each new year.
But which direction suits you best
My job is to decide.
From Houses Four I'll choose for you
Where you should best abide.
Sweet Hufflepuff, with stern veneer
That hid her heart of gold,
Once swore to make a place for all:
Rich, poor, both young and old.
Proud Ravenclaw, with steely eye,
Pursued her lofty goals.
Those curious, of learned bent,
Were added to her rolls.
Thus wily Slytherin then claimed
He'd, too, pursue delight,
And made a call for those who aimed
For Power, Wealth and Might.
So Gryffindor rose up and said
He'd open doors up wide
For Warriors, for those who fought
For Loyalty, Love, or Pride.
Thus noble Hogwarts School arose
And welcomed Britain's best.
The Sorting Hat, my lowly self,
Will choose where you will rest.
Fear not! My skill's been practised for
Longer than you'd care to count.
I'll place you right, so step on up
And wait for my account!"
The room went wild with applause. The Weasley twins banged the table in appreciation, what seemed like the whole of Hufflepuff roared approval, and someone in Slytherin appeared to be offering a cheers or three in celebration of the song.
Harry clapped along. It felt like years since he'd heard the hat sing. Its gravelly voice was still familiar though, and an overwhelming sense of rightness seemed to fall over him like a cloak as the traditional welcome of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry echoed around the room.
For a moment, Harry forgot that he had come back in time to protect Britain from Voldemort, that he was a war veteran who'd returned to win a war before it began. He forgot that he was older than all his fellow students, that he'd lived through things others only saw in nightmares. That he'd died. And killed. And grieved.
He was just a student, delighted by a magical hat and enthralled by its enchanted song that was sung anew each year.
His hands started to sting as he clapped, his head nodding along to the beat.
The glittering hall was surrounded by grey stone, the dark night sky of the Enchanted Ceiling was lit by hundreds and hundreds of tiny floating candles.
The colours of the four Hogwarts Houses decorated the Hallway, and all around Harry, faces were glowing in interest and excitement and anticipation as Professor Flitwick flourished the Sorting Hat proudly, waiting for the applause to die before he summoned up the first student to be Sorted.
"Armstrong, Amaryllis," was summoned up by Flitwick's squeaky voice, and the Hall descended into quiet anticipation.
Soon the Hogwarts Sorting was complete. Twenty-three students had been Sorted in Gryffindor this year, Harry had been careful to count. Nineteen into Slytherin. Twenty-five and thirty-one into Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively.
"A big year," he muttered to Hermione, who nodded silently. She'd also been counting.
The school song had been sung in its traditional discordance, and the food had been devoured.
Finally, Harry followed the seventh-year prefects into the Tower – the password was "Volens et potens" for the first week at least – and made himself look busy until all the other boys in his dorm room had fallen asleep.
Then, carefully collecting his Invisibility Cloak from deep within his trunk, Harry wrapped it around himself, picked up his incomplete Marauders' Map mark II, and snuck down into the common room to wait for the twins.