Just in case you're not clear on this... I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters in this story, they're all J.K. Rowling's. Except Tipsy... I claim Tipsy.
"Firs' years, o'er here!"
Hagrid's cry rang out as the Hogwarts Express opened to a flood of students pouring out into the overcast evening. A group of timid first years scurried past Harry towards the boats. Harry heard gasps from many of the older students as they all approached the carriages.
"What is that pulling the carriage?"
"Have those always been there?"
"I wonder what they are…"
Harry was confused by the chatter at first, but then it dawned on him: the thestrals. He had been able to see them since fifth year, but most of the students were just now able to see them. It was a grim testament to the number of deaths and how much Hogwarts and its students had really suffered.
The carriage ride was quiet as its occupants soaked in the landscape around them. The teachers had stayed all summer, repairing and sprucing up the castle after the damage from the final battle. The grounds had been remarkably restored, and it was difficult to tell if there had really ever been a battle at all. And then there it was; the castle looming ahead of them, its turrets and towers tall above them, reaching towards the gray sky.
At last, the carriages reached the castle. Harry jumped out of the carriage, and was alarmed to find that, somehow, a group of reporters had been stationed just in front of the castle entrance, waiting for them. Not again.
Harry didn't even stop to reprimand them. He helped Ginny and Hermione out of the carriage quickly and ushered them into the castle, away from the paparazzi. Neville, Ron, and Luna hurried after them. But the crowd of reporters still called out questions to them, hoping to glean any answers they could.
"Is it true you're pregnant, Miss Weasley?"
"Are you sure you're the father, Mr. Potter?"
The six teenagers didn't hear any more of the questions, for at that precise moment a livid Professor Flitwick hastened past them, ready to chew out the persistent press.
"How did they get here?" Ginny looked up at him. Professor Flitwick could be heard screaming in the background, and Ron looked over his shoulder to see the gaggle of reporters looking absolutely terrified of the old man. "Surely Professor McGonagall wouldn't let them in!"
"Perhaps they came through Hogsmeade," Hermione guessed.
"Reporters… most of them have never opened their minds enough to think of true news, like Crumple-Horned Snorcack sightings and such, and would prefer the mundane stories of other peoples' lives." Luna shook her head in dismay. "Pity, really."
"Luna's right," Ron chimed in. "Must be a sad life, making your living off of following around some whiny teenage git." He stole a glance at Harry, smirking at him slyly.
"Now listen here, mate –" Harry started to retort, but before he could, they were met by Professor McGonagall.
"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. I'm glad I found you. I need to show you your dormitory right now, for there won't be time after the feast. Besides, you'll be assisting first-years after the meal anyway. Hurry up now, no time to waste."
"Right, Professor. See you all." Harry looked back at his friends as he followed the headmistress. Ron's face looked clouded, but Harry just brushed it off as nothing.
After many a winding staircase and more than a few trick stairs, the pair found that Professor McGonagall had led them to a portrait of Godric Gryffindor.
"The password is dittany. I suppose I'll leave you two to look around for a moment, but you need to be in the Great Hall in twenty minutes." Professor McGonagall bade them farewell and started back down the steps.
Harry and Hermione had no time to waste. After they gave the password to Godric, they clambered through the portrait hole and were met by a small house elf with soft grey eyes.
"Mr. Harry and Miss Hermy-one!" she squeaked, seemingly barely able to contain her excitement. "I is Tipsy, your very own personal house elf!"
Harry was pleasantly surprised, but disguised his joy after seeing the horror etched on Hermione's face.
"Oh, no Tipsy. We don't need a house elf. I couldn't ask you to work for us," Hermione assured the little house elf.
"But I must, Miss Hermy-one! 'Tis my duty! I have worked for the Heads since I was but a wee elf! And my mother before me, and my grandmother as well… Miss Hermy-one, it's a time-honored tradition!" the little elf explained.
"Tipsy, it's very kind of you to offer your services, but unless you let me pay you and buy you a nice set of clothes, I just can't let you serve us." Hermione said.
At this, Harry was shocked to see the calm house elf throw her petite body to the ground in a fit of despair.
"B-b-but… it is my duty! Tipsy mustn't disgrace her ancestors! You need Tipsy to look after you! Oh, how shall Tipsy live down being fired from her distinguished position?" her wails filled the common room.
Harry looked at Hermione apologetically. "I know you don't want a house elf, Mione, but wouldn't it be better to let her work and treat her well than put the poor thing through this misery? It seems she's quite set on being our house elf," he shrugged.
"Well… alright," Hermione turned to Tipsy who was still sniffling softly. "Tipsy, I'm sorry. I suppose... you can be our house elf." she said reluctantly
The change in Tipsy's behavior was astounding. "Yes, Miss Hermy-one! Of course, whatever you say! Ooh, you should be getting to the Great Hall! It's almost time for the meal!"
"She's right, you know," Harry added, slowly walking back to the portrait hole. "It's almost seven."
"I suppose we should go," Hermione said.
"Oh, Tipsy will not disappoint you Mr. Harry and Miss Hermy-one! Tipsy shall strive to be good house elf to you!" She proceeded to scurry around the dormitory, cleaning and unpacking their things at a feverish pace.
"Thank you very much, Tipsy!" they called as they made their way down to the Great Hall.
As the pair strode through the massive doors towards the Gryffindor table, they were met by a group of their friends and acquaintances rushing to meet them. The sudden roar of the chattering teens left Harry's head spinning. He was vaguely aware of walking towards the Gryffindor table, but felt that he was being moved forward by the crowd rather than his own two feet.
Before the Golden Trio could be showered with any more attention, Professor McGonagall stood up from her place at the Head Table to begin the Sorting. Harry felt too dazed to take in much of what was happening; between his recent lack of sleep and the eventful day, he was rather tired, and he had a sinking feeling that the day was far from over.
Harry was jolted from his musings by the end of the Sorting. Professor McGonagall was saying something, but Harry wasn't quite processing it.
"…I'd like you all to extend a warm welcome to Professor Dewhurst."
He turned to Hermione in confusion.
"That's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Harry," she explained with a worried tone, correctly reading Harry's expression. "She's an American Auror."
Harry looked at the unfamiliar witch at the Head Table, who was brushing her blonde bangs out of her eyes and smiling slightly as she talked to Professor Sprout. She noticed Harry, and as she caught his eye, he had the strangest sense of déjà vu. He rubbed his scar absentmindedly, and Hermione noticed.
"Harry," she caught his attention as she touched his shoulder lightly. "Are you going to be okay?" Her brow furrowed in concern.
"I'm fine, Mione," Harry assured her, but she wasn't convinced.
Once Professor McGonagall sat back down, the food appeared before them. The meal was as splendid as ever, but Harry could barely taste the food. He wondered if he was coming down with the flu, but brushed the notion aside without a second thought.
When everyone was done ooh-ing and aah-ing over the meal, they turned to the Golden Trio, much to Harry and Hermione's chagrin. Ron, however, seemed to enjoy the attention, regaling people with exaggerated stories of hunting for horcruxes and his participation in the Final Battle. A distinctively giggly group of forth-year girls seemed to find the tales absolutely riveting, which annoyed Hermione to no end.
Eventually, students started trickling out of the Great Hall and Hermione and Harry were required to attend to their duties. They helped a terrified looking Ravenclaw first-year that had lost her hat and a pair of anxious little Hufflepuffs trying to find the staircase down to their common room.
As the hour wore on, Hermione noticed that Harry was seeming less and less well. Before long, however, most of the students had cleared out of the entrance hall and were in their respective common rooms. Hermione turned to Harry, who was leaning against a column, barely able to keep his eyes open.
"Come on, Harry," she murmured. "Let's head back to the common room."
The walk seemed ages long; not a word was breathed between the two as they navigated their way through the corridors. At last, they were finally in front of Godric Gryffindor's portrait.
"Dittany."
"Right you are, my dear. Goodnight to you," Godric said as the portrait swung open.
Hermione let out a small gasp as they scrambled through the portrait hole into their private common room. In the midst of dealing with Tipsy earlier, neither Harry nor Hermione had really paid much attention to their living space. It was decorated much like the Gryffindor common room, except smaller and more luxurious. Tipsy was tending to a fire on one side of the room, which cast the area in a warm glow, the golden embroidery of the armchairs glinting in the firelight. Through silken curtains, one could see the lake shimmering under the moon.
Without a word (but perhaps a yawn or two), the two made their ways up to their respective bedrooms. Forgetting to even take off his robes, Harry collapsed onto the bed and fell straight into a deep slumber.
A/N: So... whatcha think? Lemme know in the reviews! I'll try to update soon, but school starts Wednesday so... we'll see how that goes, I guess.