A/N: I'm going to make this clear. I don't own the Harry Potter series or it's characters. That right goes to JK Rowling

The Sorting Ceremony

In the Great Hall, James was waiting impatiently for his son and the rest of the first years to come through. He didn't want to leave Harry behind, but James wanted his son to have his own experience on the Hogwarts express without his dad their to embarrassed him.

At least James will get to see his son get sorted. That's something only professors who has children or grandchildren attending Hogwarts can experience. Still, James couldn't help but worry about how his son is doing.

James decided to pass the time to congratulate Professor Quirrell for being the first Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor to teach a second time.

Quirrell was this young pale man wearing a turban as he was nervous and twitchy.

"Hey Quirrell, congrats for being the first professor to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts the second time," James patted the young man who jumped in shock. "I must say, I didn't think your idea of taking a yearlong break would overcome the curse, but I'm glad I was proven wrong."

"T-T-Thank you, Pr-Pr-Professor Potter," Quirrell.

Professor Snape who was at the teachers table after starting to work at Hogwarts three years before James, grunted. "Of course you would congratulate Quirrell for being lucky, Potter."

"You're just upset because you been turn down the position again, Snivelus," James said. "I would have thought by now you learned you can't always have your way."

Snape didn't respond.

...Outside…

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald green robes wearing square glasses who had her hair drawn into a tight bun stood there. She had a very stern face, but Harry knew it hide a caring lady who just takes her job seriously.

"The first years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big, Harry bet he could fit his home and the Dursley's home in it and still have room. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase in front led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drones of hundreds of spirits that haunts the castle. Through his many visits here, Harry has met and got along with almost every ghost in the school. Except for one that was in one of the girls bathrooms. Even Harry knew better than to go there.

Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-the-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room."

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours."

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's somehow still smudged nose. Harry stood proudly, waiting patiently to be sorted.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber, leaving most of the students nervous. Wondering what the sorting ceremony was like. Hermione even started going over every spell she knew.

Harry grinned at Ron and Neville as they knew what it would be like. One of the advantages of visiting his dad in Hogwarts is that Harry knew what the ceremony was—even told Ron Neville and even Ginny.

One other advantage Harry had from the visits was that he knew all of the professors and what they are like. Take McGonagall for example: She may seem strict and mean, and you definitely don't want to cross her, but get on her good side, and McGonagall can be your favorite teacher.

Then several people behind Harry screamed: "What the—?"

Many gasped as about twenty ghosts had started streaming through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost—I say, Harry, what are you doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed Harry.

"I'm here waiting to be sorted," Harry said.

"Oh, so you're finally joining the school," said the Fat Friar, smiling at the rest of the first years. "I hope to see many of you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned as the ghost retreated.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and Neville behind Ron. They started walking out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hap was another long table where the teachers were sitting—including James, who had a proud look when he saw Harry, as if this moment was something he been waiting for.

Professor McGonagall led the rest first years up there, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them look like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. The ceiling was dotted with stars, like the night sky outside. Of course Hermione whispered, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."

Harry tried hard not to shake his head. First impression is everything, Harry remembered his father always told him.

…

James watched his son stand at attention in the line, waiting him to be sorted. He remembered when he was sorted, he was anxious to get into Gryffindor like his father before him. Now it was Harry's turn.

Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of that, she put a pointed old dirty wizard hat.

After a few second of complete silence the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth and sang:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might be in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise Ravenclaw,
If you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again. James applauded as he smirked at most of the first years confusion.

…

Harry couldn't help but smile when he heard the other students murmured about having to wear a hat to be sorted.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbot, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes and sat down. A moment's pause—

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake Terry's hands as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw.

"Brown, Lavender" she became the first new Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers.

"Bulstrode, Millient" she became a Slytherin. Most of the table look like an unpleasant lot, but there were few who were just cunning but not evil.

"Crabbe, Vincent" one of two boys who seemed like Malfoy's bodyguards was sorted into Slytherin.

Harry tried to pay attention to who might be his roommates, but they started blurring togetehre.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry did notice that for some kids the hat sorted quickly, but other times it took it's time. Harry understand why. Those the hat is taking time with are the ones with qualities that fits in more than one house, while those sorted quickly must share only one quality that belongs to one house.

"Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him Gryffindor.

Then some names after another one of Malfoy's bodyguards: Gregory Goyle…

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed that hat eagerly on her head.

Harry thought for sure that since Hermione was a book work, she would be sorted into Ravenclaw house, but his surprise, the hat shouted: "GRYFFINDOR!"

Well, Gryffindors do have some bookworms in the house, Harry thought to himself.

"Longbottom, Neville!" Professor McGonagall called out some time after Hermione.

Neville came forward, almost falling over on his way, before sitting in the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFINDOR," Neville ran off, still wearing the hat, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to.

Some kid name Morag MacDougal, Malfoy was called forward. The hat barely touched his head when it screamed "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy joined two big kids who seemed to be his goons in the Slytherin Table.

After Moon, Nott, Parkinson, two twin girls name Pati, and Sally-Anne Perks, McGonagall hollered, "Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like hissing fires from most of first years, as this was their first time seeing him.

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the remaining first years staring at him. Then he was looking at the black inside of the hat as he waited.

"Hmmm," said a small voice in his head. "A difficult one here. I see a bit of wisdom, and plenty of loyalty, yes. But there's also cunningness… yes, that's for sure. And yet very courageous and plenty of love. Difficult."

I won't mind being in Gryffindor, Harry thought.

"Gryffindor, huh? Oh, I see. You want to make your daddy and uncles proud. Not to mention live up to your mother's memory. Well, since that's what you want, better be—GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and rushed toward Gryffindor table to shake hands with Percy Weasley and joined Neville.

…

James couldn't hide his sigh of relief when he heard that hat yelled "GRYFFINDOR!"

He was slightly worried when the hat took so long to sort Harry. He thought Gryffindor would have been the obvious choice for Harry, but as the hat took its time it silently reminded James that Harry had qualities for the other three houses too: Cunning, loyalty, and yes—a bit of wisdom from his mother.

"It looks like you have to kiss the quidditch cup goodbye Snivels," James said.

"What are you talking about?" Snape demanded.

"Oh come on, surely you are aware of how ever team captain had their eyes on my son," James said, "If I remember correctly, even the Slytherin's team captain had interest."

Snape sneered. "Maybe so, Potter, but may I remind you that First Years can't join any Quidditch teams."

"Actually, the rules stated a first year can't have his broom. But as soon as you'll find out, that rule won't matter for Harry or any first year wanting to join their house team," James stated.

Snape narrowed his eyes, "What are you talking about?"

"Weasley, Ron!"

"You'll find out soon," James said as he turned back to the sorting ceremony.

Ron was pale green by now as he approached the stool. James sat forward as the hat was placed on the young Weasley's head.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry Neville and the rest of the Weasleys clapped the loudest as Ron joined them in Gryffindor table.

Last was Blaise Zabini, who was sorted into Slytherin house. Then Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the sorting hat away.

…

As Harry watched McGonagall leave, someone patted Harry on the shoulder. Harry turned to see a burly fifth-year boy who Harry recognize as the current Captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch Team: Oliver Wood.

"After your first flying lessons, come and see me about your first Seeker practice," Wood said before heading back to his seat before Harry could argue.

Harry turned to the table the professors sat and saw his dad winking at him like he was aware of what Oliver just said.

At the center of the table sat Albus Dumbledore. He also recognizes Severus Snape giving Harry the usual cold stare. Harry knew about his dad's and the Potion's master's history and his connection to Harry's mother.

At that moment Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat down and everyone clapped and cheered. At that moment the plates magically filled themselves with piles of food: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and peppermint humbugs.

Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything and began to eat.

"That does look good," said the ghost in a ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak. "It's been almost five hundred years since I last eat, and although I don't need to eat it, I do miss it."

Most of the First Year Gryffindors stared at the ghost.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I don't think I introduce myself." Said the ghost. "Sir Nicholas de Mismy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Towers."

"He's also known as Nearly Headless Nick," Harry said.

"I would prefer being called Sir Nicholas de Mismy—" the ghost began stiffly before the sandy haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Sir Nicholas gave Harry a slight loathing stare for ruining this conversation. Harry just shrugged it off as he continued eating.

Like this," said Sir Nicholas irritably. He seized his left ear and pull. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Somebody had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, "So—new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the Cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable—he's the Slytherin ghost."

Harry glanced at the Slytherin table and was almost happy to see Malfoy sitting next to a horrible ghost with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest."

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

"I doubt he would share with you if you did," Harry said, "I asked him once, and all he told me was that it wasn't his blood."

Hermione frowned. "You been to Hogwarts before?"

Harry nodded. "My uncle use to sneak me into the castle to visit my dad while he works here. In fact that's him next to Quirrell."

Harry pointed to James who was devouring a piece of pork chop.

"That's your dad?" Hermione asked. "What does he teach?"

"Astronomy," Harry replied. "Because of my visits, I know many of the secrets of Hogwarts—not all of them though. I can even tell you who among Slytherin Table might grow up to be dark wizards, and who are just cunning enough to be in that house but not evil enough to become dark wizards."

"There's a difference?" Dean Thomas asked.

Harry nodded. "Not all students from Slytherin House gone to the Dark side. My uncle—the one that use to sneak me in—he has a cousin who was sorted into Slytherin House, but had nothing to do with the dark side. My dad even mention a Potions master he had as a kid who was also head of Slytherin House, and yet favored my mum who was a muggle-born witch."

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before, before filling itself with deserts: blocks of ice cream in every flavor, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, Hermione asked Ron and Neville, "How do you two know Harry?"

Ron shrugged. "I had two uncles that worked with Harry's dad. After my uncles died and what happened to Harry's mum, my parents and his dad stayed in contact with each other, arranging for Harry and me to play with each other."

"Just about the same for me," Neville said. "My parents worked with Harry's parents. So when my gran took me in, she stayed in contact with Harry's dad so Harry and I could meet and play with each other."

Harry, who started to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. His father, James was talking to a short wizard known as Professor Flick—who was also head of Ravenclaw House. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Snape was talking to a professor who was wearing an absurd turban.

Suddenly, just as Snape looked past the other professor straight into Harry's eyes, a sharp hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Percy asked.

"Yeah. I-it's nothing," Harry lied.

The pain had gone as quickly as it come.

Back at the head table James was staring at Harry concernly as if he saw Harry clapped his hand to his head.

Harry decided to act casual and tell his dad about it tomorrow.

At last, the deserts had disappeared too, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of Fred and George.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind youall that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch. Any first years also interested can sign up, but must use school broom, which—thanks to Professor James Potter, here, is now stocked with fresh new Nimbus 2000s, if you first years think you can handle it."

Harry's jaw dropped. He had no clue that his dad had set up something like this for the school. Now that he think about it, it was obvious. James always sneaking off when they're at Diagon Alley. But still, Harry didn't think it was something like this.

…Head Table…

James chuckled at Harry's shock expression, while also taking notice to Snape's glare.

"You planned this didn't you," Snape responded, "You wanted your son to join Gryffindor's team."

"Oh, come now, Snivelus. How could I have planned for my son to be play for Gryffindor House?" James asked. "Especially Sirius and I combined our funds to make sure there's enough brooms for all the house teams to use—including your own."

That just made Snape glare at James more as Dumbledore finished his announcements.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Every student in the Hall was rather confused by the announcement as they started whispering. Harry was staring at his father for answers, which James hide any hint of.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore.

With a flick of his wand, a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty, Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot."

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, James only heard the Weasley twins singing with a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

James watched his son joined his classmates before heading to a room he had in the teacher's living quarters.

…

Harry Ron Neville, along with seven other first year Gryffindors, followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase.

Harry knew the way to Gryffindor tower (James and Sirius made sure of that every time he visit in case he was in Gryffindor House), but traditions states that first years follow their house prefects.

Harry's legs were like lead from being tired and full of food. It was a good thing he did knew his way, because he was too tired to even pay attention where he was going, or to the whispering voices of the moving portraits. At the most, Harry just wish they were already at Gryffindor tower so he can get some sleep.

Suddenly, they went into a hault and Harry ran into Neville.

Ahead of them was a bundle of walking sticks floating in midair. When Percy tried to get closer, they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist."

Harry knew about Peeves. Every time Harry visited his dad, Peeves always seem to catch on and pull some pranks on him.

"Peeves—" Percy raised his voice, "show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon answered.

"Do you want me to get the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks. And of course he took notice of Harry.

"Oooh, Harry Potty with Ickle Firsties! What fun!" Peeves joked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue, floated above Harry's head and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Harry's head. He heard the poltergeist zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

"I hate that poltergeist," Harry muttered.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she asked.

"Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They had to scrambled through it—Ron and Harry helping Neville out—and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory, and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase that led up to a tower, they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk too much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.

Harry quickly fell asleep without hearing his friends saying something about food. However he had the strangest dream.

He was wearing a turban over his head, and it kept talking to him, telling him he must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was his destiny. But Harry turned it down, saying he belonged to Gryffindor.

When he did, the turban got heavier and heavier. Harry tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully—then there was a burst of green light and Harry woke sweating and shaking.

He rolled over—deciding to talk to his dad about it in the morning—and fell asleep again. But when he woke the next morning, he didn't remember anything about the dream.

A/N: Sorry about not including what James was doing in the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one