Chapter 1
Harry Potter stood in the small clearing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, staring down the reptilian face he had been haunted by for the great majority of his life. Several hundred thoughts were flashing through his head, trying to vie for dominance. But, really, it came down to two things, as far as he could tell, ‘Sacrifice, for the school’ versus, ‘What are you doing? What if the magic that mom wove only worked because Snape made Voldemort promise not to kill her?’
Not that it really mattered for much longer, as, much like his godfather before him, the young wizard caught a sudden, errant Avada to center mass, and his life began unspooling backwards, shrouded fully in darkness, seven years of memories flashing by in the wrong direction.
“So, Mister Potter, is that what you want to choose?”
Harry recoiled at the voice, grabbing at the spot where he could still feel the Avada lancing through him, desperate and frantic for a moment as adrenaline surged through his body. It took him far too long to realize he was being addressed.
“Mister Potter? I assure you, you are very much alive. Please.”
Harry looked up at his own forehead to try to focus on the voice, slowly piecing everything together, “Sorting Hat?”
“Indeed. My apologies for confusing you so. Madam Pomfrey has arrived and has cast a calming charm on you.”
“I… just got hit with an Avada…?”
“Everyone experiences the Sorting in their own way, Mister Potter. What you have experienced, all seven years of it? Is but one possible outcome if you choose to go with the young lions. Brave and true, to a fault. You might end up walking out to your own death, or… you could be intelligent about it? Use some of that Potter Luck and a dash of those smarts I can see lumped in the corner of your mind? Perhaps you might even come through it with new allies?”
Harry twisted in his mind to face the professors at the table, thinking, “Quirrell’s up there, right?”
“Indeed.”
“And, old snake face is on the back of his head?” Harry could feel his heart start pounding at just the implication he was prodding at. The possibility.
“Yes. The school, as you well know, is warded to warn Albus of dark magics, and there are few as dark as the young Tom Riddle.”
“Who else knows?”
“Albus was warned the moment Quirrell set foot on the grounds, and Severus appears to be aware of something, even if he isn’t quite sure what he’s detecting.”
“Dumbledore knows?”
“Of course he knows, Harry… Er, may I call you Harry?”
Harry shrugged mentally, “Works for me. If Dumbledore knows, why did he hire Quirrell?”
“An intriguing question, Harry, and one that I cannot give you an answer to, for, as much as Albus has difficulty keeping secrets, he has yet to let slip why he would tempt the Dark Lord with exactly what he’s looking for. I can, however, gift you a line of thinking to begin to try to understand your illustrious Headmaster. Why do you suppose the other founders allowed Salazar to build his own house, that you now know, are mostly all dark wizarding families?”
Harry pondered on the question, briefly, “Slytherin was… their friend? From what I remember of History lessons, they were all friends until… muggles were allowed to attend?”
“Yes, that is the public explanation, isn’t it? Hmm? Hang on a moment, Harry, I believe someone would like to intrude on this discussion…”
Inside his own mind, Harry watched as a barrel chested man, draped in furs, solidified in front of the one still undergoing his Sorting.
“Godric, how… strange to see you taking an interest beyond your usual hunting?” The Hat queried at the fragment of soul.
“This is… unusual, then?” Harry asked of the Hat.
“Indeed. Very unusual, it’s not often that Hogwarts plays host to an up and comer such as yourself with the blood of so many Houses and Heirships fighting for dominance.”
Harry blinked, sitting there on the stool as patiently as he could manage.
“While I cannot just knight you as the heir of so many houses, I can inform you how to petition for your rightful status. I can also give you a tidbit of information on how to get the blessing of Salazar. He’s as much gone from Hogwarts as I am.”
“Why would I want Slytherin’s blessing?”
“While you are, by magic’s graces, the Heir of Slytherin by dint of defeating Riddle at the tender age of just barely a year old? Salazar hasn’t exactly been… happy about it? He doesn’t believe that a stroke of luck causing the death of one of his finest descendants is fully worthy of being gifted a title such as ‘Heir’. He’s going to want you to prove yourself. In a manner you will have no foreknowledge of.”
“So, basically, the entirety of my time here at Hogwarts in the preamble to my sorting? My… previous life?”
“That ‘previous life’ was just one possible outcome of what House you are sorted into, Harry,” The Hat interjected, “Now you have some awareness of magic, and a general idea of what being here at Hogwarts could mean for you. You don’t have to go to Gryffindor…”
“Excuse me, Hat.” Godric sounded put off by the statement.
“He doesn’t. Harry is free to choose the House he wants to live within, and, as you said yourself, he is heir to several. It might do for Harry to approach Salazar from a more neutral footing than, ‘Hey, Godric wants me to come to you for training, maybe try to patch the growing rift’, wouldn’t you say?”
Harry buried his head in his hands, “It’s not enough to be used as a pawn by Dumbledore, now the Founders are using me?”
“No, Harry. Magic itself is.”
“That’s not better! I would just leave Hogwarts, but I can’t bring myself to return to living with the Dursleys… What do I do?”
The Hat motioned limblessly on top of Harry’s head, dispersing the image of Godric to speak to the young wizard more privately, “What say we look at the Houses as the Founders would’ve?”
“Pardon?”
“Well, you see, it has been such an awfully long time since I’ve had the opportunity to use the old Sorting Speech. A bit of nostalgia can be good for the soul, as it were. So, to wit: You might seek fame and fortune amongst the Gryffindors, called upon at a moment’s notice to stand up for what is right, if not popular. Or perhaps? You might fit well with the Ravenclaws, those who would study the past to predict the future. Or, of course, there are the Hufflepuffs, loyal, thoughtful, caring, masters of their craft, be it magic or otherwise. And, lastly, there are the Slytherins, studious, crafty, ingenious in finding new ways to twist their own ether, that they might distill the very essence of magic itself.”
Harry blinked at the new descriptions. On one hand, he could very well see where the Founder’s intents had been laid down, and promptly forgotten as the Houses became cliques. On the other, as far as he could see, no one living remembered the original intentions of the Founders, so, it didn’t matter as much, right?
“So, what do you mean by ‘masters of their craft’?”
“Oh ho? Hufflepuff children, despite looking to the outside as ‘the best of friends’, and little else? When a House member gets an idea in their head, a thing they want to master? That drive? It is quite quickly spread to the rest of the House, until everyone is focused on helping the student master their new desire. They want, in short, for the best possible outcome, the best possible scenario for a new wizard. You wouldn’t have, say, Miss Granger’s fire lit under your foot, but, you also wouldn’t have Mister Weasley’s sloth dragging you down. You could also, quite easily, claim your titles and be afforded, by the Rules and Regulations, your very own dorm, all to yourself. As the lord of a House most Ancient and Noble? You are to be given certain privileges.”
“Isn’t Draco also a lord of a House most Ancient and Noble?”
“No, not quite yet, he is a Lord in training, as his father is still the Lord of House Malfoy. A meaningless title, either way, what with the Malfoy line only recently migrating from France.”
“Ah, hell with it, I’ll go with Hufflepuff. It’ll be different, and I can still befriend Hermione and Ron…”
“Very true, Mister Potter. And you’re quite certain?”
“No, but when has that stopped me before?”
“Interesting point, then it had better be.”
Outside, in the Great Hall, the Hat finally crowed triumphantly, “Hufflepuff!”
Minerva removed the Hat from Harry’s head, glad that he wasn’t about to be labeled a Hat Stall, but, much like most of the Hall, in complete disarray at the thought of the child of two of her friends being assigned to the House of the Loyal.
Harry hopped up off the stool to thunderous cheers from the length of Hufflepuff table. The newly sorted Puff was brought up at a single, familiar voice calling over the din of the House, “Wotcher, Harry!”
Harry spun to search the table, eventually focusing on the head of literally sea blue hair, “Hey, Ny-” and cut himself off before he could say it, even on accident, “-nice to meet you…” he finished lamely.
Beyond the confusion of Harry apparently recognizing her enough to reply directly, Tonks wasn’t exactly starstruck by the first year, she knew he was The Boy Who Lived, and that was that, as far as she was concerned. She would most likely look back at his greeting later and realize, or at least suspect, that he had started to call her by her hated name. And she might hold that over him, but, for now, the night was to be full of food and eventual partying, so she shoved it to one side.
And Harry continued on down the stretch of tables, eventually ending up at an open seat across from, “Justin,” Harry bobbed his head as he sat down.
That caught the blond haired boy slightly off guard. “You know my name?”
“I was paying attention when Mcgonagall called names?” Harry’s attention drifted up to the staff table, focused almost immediately on Snape and the back of Quirrell’s head, covered in turban, as Harry remembered. Followed shortly by a sharp, stabbing pain in his scar that had become so familiar for the past seven years, until he had realized it was Ol’ Snakeface trying to assert his dominance over Harry by way of Legilimency, so, since he couldn’t use the full suite of mental blocks, not in front of other first years, he just suffered the pinch in his forehead, wincing slightly.
“You okay, Harry?”
Harry twisted at the voice, he had never really paid much attention to its owner, he knew her aunt was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and that her story was very similar to his, but other than that, Susan Bones was almost entirely an unknown. “Yeah, I’m good. Just realized how hungry I am.”
“And… that made you wince in pain? When was the last time you ate?”
“I mean, I had a box of Bertie Botts on the train ride…”
“Not exactly nutritious fare, before that?”
“Uh…” Harry struggled, “I think I had a bit of bacon grease this morning?”
“You ‘think’?” Susan was riding the edge of mania, and Harry could see it.
“Yeah?” Maybe clamming up would be wise?
“A bit of bacon grease? Meaning…? Just the grease?”
Harry shrugged, “ ’S more than I’ve had in a week. And I’m not answering any more questions until I’ve got a lawyer present.”
“A lawyer?” Susan pulled a face at that. “Harry? Do I need to get my aunt involved?”
Harry raised a finger just slightly in the air, “See previous answer.”
“Do you have a lawyer?” Justin interrupted from across the table.
Harry shrugged, “I’m sure I could summon a makeshift lawyer from Susan’s aunt’s people if it comes to that. Hell, I could probably lean on the goblins at Gringotts for at least the name of one.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Susan shrieked right in Harry’s ear.
Harry was thankfully saved by the Welcoming Feast suddenly filling the table in front of him, and he immediately stuffed a popover in his mouth to stop himself from answering any more of Susan’s questions.
After the feast had concluded, and everyone was so full they could barely move, the Heads of House and their prefects all lead their charges down or up to their dorms, which gave Harry his first intentional witnessing of Professor Sprout rapping her wand hand on the edge of the cask barrel to the tune of ‘Hel-ga-Huff-le-puff’ before sweeping her arm into the common room beyond, “Enter, and be welcome, students. All of your belongings that you brought from home have been transported to your new rooms, feel free to ask a prefect if you need help finding your lodgings, or if you have any questions. Mister Potter? A moment of your time?”
Harry stiffened slightly, uncertain what the professor might want from him, but willing to hang back as she had requested. The entirety of Hufflepuff House filtered into the common room, leaving the herbology professor and the once-again-a-first-year standing out in the hallway between the kitchens and the dorms.
“Mister Potter? Not that I’m at all doubting your placement in my House, but, are you sure?”
Harry sighed at the question, as he had been thinking very similar thoughts, second guessing his own decision ever since he sat down, “I mean, I chose to join this House, with only a little bit of pushing from the Sorting Hat. I have also been informed, in no small ways, that my joining any House would be a win for that House. All because I managed to not be killed by a madman. That said, I have also… seen what ambition can do to a person, and, maybe I just want an actual schooling? Rather than year after year of insanity? What a concept! Actually wanting to learn when you attend a school.” Harry paused briefly, aware of the growing look of confusion on Pomona Sprout’s face. “Yes?”
“So, you joined my House because you wanted a simple life?”
“No, that’s not what I mean, I just want to actually learn, and I figured, maybe living in the soil of Hufflepuff might help me blossom into an arch mage?”
Professor Sprout’s face lit up at Harry using herbology terms, faltering ever so slightly at the concept of an arch mage, but otherwise back to her bubbly and enthusiastic self, “Well, please, don’t take my confusion as an indictment on my House? It’s just not a common thing for ‘famous’ wizards to willingly join. Just because they don’t understand how Hufflepuff works.”
Harry reached out, gently setting his hand on Pomona’s arm, “I have also been told that I should look into what is required to claim my lordship?”
“Your lordship?”
“I am the Lord of an Ancient and Noble House…” Harry tripped slightly over the title.
Not that it mattered, as Harry was suddenly pulled into a very grandmotherly hug, confusing the poor boy at the response.
“Oh! Oh dear! Of course, the Ancient and Noble House Potter? The… process, as I understand it, isn’t lengthy, but it is difficult, you will probably want to talk to… hmm… Bones? What’s her niece's name?”
Harry snorted slightly, “Susan?”
“Yes! Her aunt would be your first bet as to staking your claim to the Lordship.”
“Susan and I have… spoken… do you know any good lawyers?”
Professor Sprout looked slightly down at Harry, the confusion writ all over her face, “Law-yer?”
Harry shook his head, “Never mind,” Clearly, not a wizarding thing, not with such things as Veritaserum so frivolously bandied about.
“Mister Potter? What did you tell miss Bones?”
Harry tightened up at the question, “She… uh, asked me when the last time I’d eaten was… and started to wonder if she needed to get her aunt involved on my behalf. I said I wasn’t answering any more questions without a lawyer involved.”
Professor Sprout frowned briefly, thinking in that way Harry was aware that she did, “Oh! You want an advocatus! Which is going to be difficult to find, as the Lord of the Manor appoints them. And, I very much doubt that your father had one. Although, Minerva might know…?”
Harry took a moment to let the information settle, “I will just have to see her tomorrow, right now, the Feast is sitting a bit heavy.”
“Was it all the butter? Need to make fertilizer?”
Harry blushed at the question, “I… um…? No, I think I just ate too much to stop me from answering Susan’s questions.”
Pomona Sprout released Harry from the hug, gesturing for him to head on into the commons room, “Go on with you, then. I expect to see you in class tomorrow, Lord Potter.”
“Wouldn’t dream of letting you down, Professor.” Harry called back as the wine barrel swung shut between the two of them, leaving Harry to face the rest of the House, not that he had anything to fear from them, as far as he could remember.
“Hello, Harry,” a mousey blonde haired witch greeted the new Hufflepuff as he slid into the only open seat in the lounge area.
“Hannah… right?” Harry pretended to guess.
“That’s me. What did Professor Sprout want you for?”
“Uh, in short? She wanted to know if I knew what I was getting into.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Apparently, whichever House I was sorted in to was going to be a huge ‘get’, because of who I am.”
“Oh yeah? And who are you?”
“I’m the Boy-Who-Lived. I’m famous. And I really don’t want it to be a thing.”
“You don’t want to be famous?”
“No, not really. Mostly? I just want to live a normal life… well, ‘normal’ now including ‘Oh, hey! You’re a wizard!’… You know what I mean?”
“I… suppose so? I would think getting recognized for managing to survive attempted murder might be… interesting, for a while, and then? Maybe it would all start to weigh on the soul, yeah?”
Harry chuckled, “Yeah, maybe…”
“Us half-bloods have to stick together, right? Bide our time, honing our skills, until we can jump out and surprise the other Houses, and the Purebloods to boot!” Hannah finished, breathlessly.
Harry blinked, “Blood status is important to you, is it?”
“Yes, and no, I, hmm, I kind of have a rivalry with a pureblood witch.”
“Oh? Do tell…?” Harry pried.
It was interesting to watch the girl’s face brighten slowly up to pink, and not have it jump straight to purple the way Uncle Vernon frequently did. “Now, I don’t feel like getting into specifics or nothin’, but, you know Daphne Greengrass?”
Harry smiled, “The Ice Queen of Slytherin?”
“Oh, she updated it already?” Hannah started to question, before waving her hand vaguely between the two of them, “Eh… of course she would have. So, I don’t need to tell you how she is with her cryogenic magic?”
“No, I’m well aware of her fondness for ice spells.”
“Well, the short version is? She keeps trying to get me to stop using fire so much.”
Harry chuckled, “Every wand has a signature spell. So, she’s basically trying to get you to upend your life by hoping a new wand would accept you?”
“Yeah, basically. Do you have a signature spell?” Hannah pried back.
“Yes, apparently, expelliarmus.”
Hannah scrunched her face up at that, “Not exactly a big hit, but surprisingly practical, I suppose?”
“It threw an adult though a wall once,” Harry defended.
“What? Why?”
“Not entirely sure, but he was threatening my godfather.”
“Your godfather?”
“Sirius Black,” a voice Harry recognized butted in.
“Oh, hey, Tonks, how long have you been listening in?”
“I was here first. You butted in, not that we were having a conversation or anything. Also, how do you know my name?”
Harry stopped for just a moment, not entirely sure how to answer that without sounding insane, “Popped into Flourish and Blotts to pick up a genealogy on a recommendation, did a lot of reading this past month.”
“And… my name was in the book you picked up?”
“Not the first one, no. But I did start to expand my reading as names started sounding familiar.”
“Alright, whatever, keep your secrets. And you'll keep mine if you know what’s good for you!”
“Threats? From a… wait, weren’t you supposed to graduate last year?”
Tonks turned, very visibly morphing her nose up to look as haughty as she could manage, “No, I just entered seventh year.”
“Huh…” Harry paused, wondering how much of what he was temporarily considering his ‘prior life’ was actually sound.
“Hey, Harry?” Hannah dropped her voice low to whisper into his ear, “How’d she do that? Is that a spell we can learn?”
“That? No, Tonks is a metamorphagus. One of… very few known witches who can change parts of their body at their whim.”
“Oh… are they all witches?”
Harry shrugged, “I’ve only ever heard of Tonks. Not to mention, from what I read, particularly strong metamorphagae can change their entire body.”
“Hey!” Tonks replied, sensing she had been insulted.
“What? I’m only relaying what I’ve read in books. Also, how would we even help you learn how to be a stronger morphagus?”
Tonks’ nose fell, along with her hair drooping low, turning a lilac purple with the motion.
“Well, we’ve at least got a year, I’m sure we can find something…” Harry tried to reason.
In his wanderings of the dorms, Susan had apparently managed to sequester herself completely, so Harry eventually found his new temporary lodgings, alongside Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Ernie Macmillan, both of whom had bunkered down for the night. Harry did his best to be absolutely silent as he made ready for bed and clambered in, plummeting into sleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
“Harry… Harry! I forgot to tell you, find the cupboard under the grand staircase!” the voice of the Sorting Hat intruded over the top of his dreams, which were mostly the garbled mess of dealing with seven years of forewarning.