The Dogfather

The nervous energy as the first years filed into the Great Hall for the sorting ceremony was palpable. Ron, in particular, was giving off Gryffindor or die. Harry thought he was being a bit dramatic. After all, Ron didn’t have the threat of disownment hanging over him. 

“I hope I’m in Gryffindor, too,” said Hermione brightly.

“Really?” said Harry. “I completely had you pegged for Ravenclaw.”

Hermione shrugged. “I read about all the houses in Hogwarts: A History. Gryffindor seems the best by far” - she puffed out her chest a bit - “where dwell the brave at heart.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to be in Gryffindor,” said Harry, “unless you’re implying you’re the best.”

Hermione frowned. “So what if I am?”

“It’s all subjective,” Neville said diplomatically.

“And for the record,” said Harry, “I’m also hoping for Gryffindor.”

“Me too,” said Ron, needlessly.

“Me three,” said Neville. 

Hermione’s shoulders sagged a bit. “How convenient that we all sat in the same compartment and we’re all hoping for the same house,” she said, toneless.

Neville, bless him, grinned broadly. “I know, right?”

“For real, though,” said Harry, “If I’m not in Gryffindor my godfather will disown me.”

“No offense,” said Hermione bitingly, “but your godfather seems like a bit of a tool.”

“Not to mention how awkward that would be, considering he works here now,” said Neville. “D’you think he’d still wave ‘hi’ in the corridor if you were disowned?”

Harry shook his head. “Sirius never cared much for appearances.”

“But where would you go?” asked Ron, looking genuinely concerned. “If he kicked you out? I mean, it's not like you have any other surviving relatives…”

“I do,” said Harry, “they’re muggles. But I don’t think they’d be too thrilled to have me - not by virtue of them being muggles, of course. They’re Tories.”

Hermione clucked her tongue, like this made perfect sense.

“Merlin,” said Ron.

“Actually, this reminds me,” Harry beamed, “I was hoping your mum might make space for me if things go south.”

Ron nodded dutifully. “I’ll write her.”

Professor McGonagall stepped up onto a small platform at the head of the Great Hall. A sudden hush fell over the droning crowd. She placed a tatty old hat on a spindly wooden stool and explained that this, of all things, was the method by which they would be sorted.

Ron’s eyes widened. “Fred and George told me we had to fight a troll.”

Harry stared at him, profoundly disappointed. “And you believed them?”

Ron shrugged sheepishly.

McGonagall began calling out their names alphabetically. Abbot, Hannah went first. A small girl with long pigtails stepped up to the hat and was quickly sorted into Hufflepuff. The Hufflepuff table clapped politely as she went to take a seat.

To Harry’s dismay, Granger Hermione got her wish of being placed in Gryffindor. She grinned broadly when the hat made its decision before tearing it off her head and flouncing over to the table on the far right of the Great Hall. Harry’s groan was drowned out by their loud whoops and cheers.

Neville, Harry was pleased to see, also made it to Gryffindor - not without a lengthy silence during which Harry made eye contact with Sirius at the high table. Sirius mouthed better be Gryffindor or so help me and flashed the disownment papers. Harry sighed.

And, finally -

“Potter, Harry.”

Whispers broke out like small fires across the Great Hall.

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

Harry smiled smugly as he passed Malfoy on the way to the front of the room.

“Nice to see you got off the train safely, Malfoy,” he said airly.

“No thanks to you.”

Harry shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about.”

“Please try your best not to be put in Slytherin,” Malfoy mumbled.

Harry snorted. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Malfoy glared at him. “My name is on the list for Durmstrang if you do end up there, at any rate.”

“You don’t have to worry about transferring,” Harry assured him. “If I’m put in Slytherin I’ll probably flee overseas to America.”

“Hmmph.” Malfoy crossed his arms.

“Potter!” McGonagall barked from across the hall, “what’re you doing?” Evidently, Harry’s celebrity status was no excuse for stalling the Sorting Ceremony.

Several students snickered. “Sorry, Professor!” Harry called, bending over and making a show of smoothing out the carpet, “there was a snag in the rug and I didn’t want anyone else to trip.”

He completed the rest of his walk to the stool without incident. The last thing Harry saw before the black fabric of the hat fell over his eyes was a hall full of students craning to get a better look at him.

Hmm, said a small, low voice in his ear, difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, that’s interesting… so, where shall I put you?

Not Slytherin, Harry thought as hard as he could, Dear God, not Slytherin.

There was a beat. Not Slytherin, eh?

I mean, I guess it WOULD be funny to see Malfoy at Durmstrang, Harry conceded, he wouldn’t last a second there.

I take it you don’t care for this Malfoy fellow?

Can’t stand him.

Making enemies on your first day is a Slytherin quality if I’ve ever heard of one.

No, Harry thought, firmly, I just don’t think he’d have enough meat on his bones to make it through a Scandinavian winter. 

So you wish him to freeze to death?

Well, his father is a die-hard supporter of the man who MURDERED my parents. 

Ah, an orphan. Can’t have another one of them in Slytherin - better be GRYFFINDOR!

Harry ripped the hat from his head to a tremendous explosion of applause. And, also, an actual explosion - a bloom of red and gold fireworks erupted from the head table. 

Harry found his seat at the Gryffindor table, watching fondly as Sirius set off more fireworks and ignited the disownment papers with his wand.

Percy Weasley leaned in to speak to him. “What are those papers your godfather is burning?”

“Those are my disownment papers,” Harry said matter-of-factly. “You know - incase I didn’t get into Gryffindor.”

Percy blinked, flummoxed. “Your godfather was going to disown you if you weren’t in Gryffindor?”

“What? You wouldn’t disown Ron?”

“No -”

Malfoy, predictably, was placed in Slytherin soon after.

Ron was one of the last to be sorted. By the time his name was called, he’d turned an incredible shade of white. Harry was concerned he’d faint as he approached the stool - really, he was being quite dramatic. The Weasley family seemed plenty accepting.

Thankfully, after a few moments’ deliberation, the hat made its choice - “GRYFFINDOR!”

The Weasley siblings erupted into tremendous applause as Ron made his way to the table, cheeks flushed pink. Harry was just happy to see some color back in his face. 

Once Zabini, Blaise was sorted into Slytherin, the welcome feast appeared in front of them all. Harry piled his plate high with treacle tart. Next to him, Ron was double fisting a pair of turkey legs.

The first year boys began to share about their respective families. An Irish boy called Seamus Finnigan explained how his mother didn’t tell his muggle father she was a witch until after they were married. Ron said all his family were witches and wizards, except for an estranged muggle auntie who was an accountant. Neville mentioned having been raised by his Gran.

“I grew up with Sirius,” Harry said, when it was his turn. He nodded to the head table. “He’s right up there, wearing the black robes.”

Seamus scoffed. “They’re all wearing black robes, genius.”

“Well, he has black hair, too,” Harry amended, before remembering about another teacher who also had black hair, albeit much greasier - “but not Sniv - I mean, not Snape.”

Neville frowned. “What were you going to call him?”

“Nothing,” Harry shrugged, “I just almost sneezed, is all.”

“How’d Sirius get the Divination position anyways?” Seamus asked. “Is he a Seer?”

“No,” said Harry. “Although this morning he did predict I’d end up marrying Ron’s sister.”

Ron choked on a bite of pumpkin pie. “Sorry. What?”

“Don’t worry,” Harry assured him, “he’s not that good.”

“So then why was he hired?” Seamus asked.

“I don’t know. It’s anyone's guess - Dumbledore got bored, maybe.”

Dean Thomas, who was sitting beside Seamus and had been mostly quiet up to then, shook his head. “You know, you don’t get this kind of stuff with regular people.”

“What kind of stuff?” Neville asked.

“What regular people?” asked Harry.

“Muggles,” said Dean, frowning. “I’m muggle born.”

“You are?” asked Seamus.

“Were you aware of my fame?” asked Harry.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, if I wasn’t, I sure am now. I wouldn’t call you down-to-earth or humble.”

“Well,” Harry began, “that’s because -”

Ron groaned loudly. “Shut up, Dean - don’t get him started -”

“What?” Dean looked around, bewildered. “What did I say?

“He was about to start talking about nurture and nature,” Neville supplied helpfully, taking a bite of pie.

After the dessert plates had been cleared away, Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet and clapped his hands - it wasn’t dissimilar to the way Harry’s teachers had commanded the class’s attention at muggle primary school. He’d figured they might have a spell for that.

The Great Hall fell silent. 

“Ahem -” Dumbledore began, “just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.”

Dumbledore rattled off his list of housekeeping items - no one was allowed in the Forbidden Forest (hence the name), no magic in the corridors between classes, Quidditch trials the second week of term, contact Madam Hooch if interested -

“...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.”

Harry snorted. “He’s bluffing.” 

Ron stared at him, wide-eyed. “You think so?”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, I don’t have that much faith. But I have to believe Dumbledore wouldn’t house anything actually deadly in a castle full of schoolchildren.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Ron.

“It’s just not conducive to the educational environment,” said Harry. 

“It’s not,” Ron agreed.

“I wonder what happens to people with classes on the third floor?”

“Maybe they get a free period,” Ron said excitedly.

//

The prefects led the first years to their dormitories following the feast. Neville, Seamus, and Dean all fell asleep as soon as they hit their four-posters. Ron sat on his bed, watching Harry stuff pillows under his duvet in a way that was vaguely human-shaped.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m meeting Sirius outside the portrait hole soon,” said Harry. “We’re sneaking Dungbombs into the Slytherin common room - as a celebration of my not being disowned.”

Ron brightened. “Can I come?”

“Nope,” said Harry, “this is strict godfather-godson bonding. Sorry.”

“How come?” asked Ron, frowning.

“Well, Sirius has this feud with Snape, the Potions professor, from his school days. It’s quite childish, really,” Harry explained, “but Snape is head of Slytherin. And he’s already going to make my life a living hell in class, so we figured, why not strike first?”

“That makes perfect sense,” said Ron, nodding.

Harry stepped back to observe his work, then he pulled the curtains closed around his four-poster. “Right - don’t move those pillows on my bed. If I’m not back by midnight it means we got caught and I need back up.”

“What am I supposed to do?” said Ron.

“Do you know where Filch’s office is in relation to here?”

Ron shook his head no. Harry sighed dramatically. “I better not get caught then, yeah?” he said, opening the door. “G’night, Ron.”

“Night, Harry,” said Ron. Before he could shut the door, Ron called out again - “Hey Harry?”

“Yeah?”

Ron’s face glowed in the thin strip of light left by the open door. 

“I’m really glad we both made it to Gryffindor,” he said earnestly.

Harry grinned. “Yeah. Me too.”

Sirius was waiting for him outside the portrait hole with a sack containing what Harry presumed to be Dungbombs over his shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked.

They started down the corridor in silence.

“Were the fireworks really necessary?” Harry asked abruptly.

“Oh, absolutely. It’s the Marauder way,” said Sirius, “welcome to the team, Prongslet.”

Harry stopped walking. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me that.”

“Sorry -”

“It’s humiliating, it makes me want to drive heave -”

“Sometimes I forget.”

“It’s okay. Just try to remember.” They continued walking. Harry realized he had no idea where they were going - “which way is Slytherin?”

“Down through the dungeons,” said Sirius. 

Harry snorted. “Typical.”