Hogwarts
---
James was jolted awake by a blood-curdling scream. His heart leapt in his chest, and he was immediately alert, his hand reaching for his wand instinctively. For a split second, he wondered if they were under attack, some danger lurking in the night. He blinked into the dark room, the sound of... Harrison’s scream ringing in his ears. The noise had been so raw, so full of terror—it couldn’t be a dream.
He swung his legs out of bed, disoriented for a moment as his feet hit the cool wooden floor. He didn’t waste a second. He threw open the door and dashed down the hall, still half in sleep but driven by the panic that the scream had triggered in him. Harrison’s room was just down the corridor, and he was already halfway there when another muffled cry broke through the silence of the house.
The door to their room was closed, but James didn’t even knock before pushing it open, ready to rush in and protect his friend. What he saw was far from what he had imagined.
Harrison was sitting up in bed, his face pale, sweat dripping down his temples as he gasped for air, his chest heaving. His eyes were wide, unseeing, caught in the remnants of whatever nightmare had gripped him. It wasn’t like Harrison, not the confident, sharp-witted friend James knew. He was always so put together, even when things were tough. But this… this was different. James felt an immediate surge of concern.
Next to him, Thomas sat calmly, his presence a quiet anchor in the storm. Thomas was leaned forward slightly, one hand resting gently on Harrison’s shoulder, his expression as composed as ever. James had never seen Thomas look unsettled. The boy’s calm demeanour was both reassuring and a bit unnerving at the same time, considering the situation.
"Harrison?" James called softly, trying to draw his friend out of the nightmare. He stepped closer, but didn’t reach out just yet—he wasn’t sure how to help, but he needed to be there. “Mate, it’s alright. You’re safe.”
Harrison jumped slightly at his voice, his wide eyes flicking to James. The fear in them was palpable, and James could see the layers of distress still clinging to him, even though the immediate terror of the nightmare was starting to fade. Harrison took a shaky breath, his body still tense, but when he looked over at Thomas, something softened in his expression, like he found solace in the older boy’s presence.
"I’m fine," Harrison said, his voice shaky, barely above a whisper. “Just… a nightmare.”
James could hear the unease in Harrison’s voice, though he tried to cover it up. James had had nightmares too, of course. He’d wake up gasping, disoriented, but always with the knowledge that it was just his mind playing tricks. But Harrison… well, this was different. This was something deeper.
James glanced at Thomas, who remained quietly supportive, giving Harrison the space he needed without hovering too much. James could sense the bond between them, a closeness that went beyond mere friendship. They had been through something together—something that had formed an unspoken understanding between them. James didn’t fully grasp it, but he respected it.
“Nightmares can feel real,” James said, offering a smile, trying to ease the tension in the room. It felt a little awkward, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a nightmare like Harrison’s. He had his fair share of bad dreams, of course—thoughts of the war and the families who’d been affected, but they never had the hold on him that Harrison’s seemed to. "But they can’t hurt you, mate. They're just dreams."
Harrison gave a shaky little smile at that, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He glanced down, his hands fidgeting with the blanket, as though he were trying to collect himself. “Yeah... I know,” he said, his voice distant. “Just hard to shake, that’s all.”
James’ heart went out to him, but he didn’t know how to help. He had no words for it. Instead, he just gave him a small, understanding nod. Harrison wasn’t one to show weakness, so this was something serious.
The room fell silent for a moment, and James watched Thomas carefully, noting how he stayed close to Harrison without saying much—just being there. It was clear to James that Thomas wasn’t just a friend to Harrison; he was a lifeline in moments like this, a steady presence that helped keep him grounded. Thomas wasn’t rattled by Harrison’s nightmare; instead, he offered quiet reassurance, as though it were a natural instinct.
James shifted his weight, still feeling the lingering tension in the room. He wasn’t unfamiliar with nightmares—he’d seen his mother wake from them a few times when she thought no one was watching—but this felt different. Harrison and Thomas carried something heavier, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore.
“Well,” James said after a moment, trying to shift the mood. “If you need anything, just say the word, alright? We’ve got a busy day ahead.”
Harrison nodded, and for the first time, the tension seemed to ease slightly from his shoulders. “I will. Thanks, James.”
James hesitated, his gaze flickering to Thomas. Something about the way he handled all of this—calm, steady, as if nightmares and fear were nothing new—nagged at him. He wanted to understand, but he didn’t know how to ask.
Before he could stop himself, the words left his mouth. “You seem used to this,” he said carefully, watching Thomas’s reaction. “Like… you’ve seen this before.”
Thomas didn’t look surprised by the observation. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, regarding James with that unreadable expression of his.
“I have,” he admitted after a moment. “Not just from Harrison.”
James frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
Thomas let out a quiet breath, his gaze shifting away briefly before returning to James. “Being a half-blood means you learn how people see you before you even know who you are.” His voice was steady, but there was something deeper beneath the surface—something James couldn’t quite place.
“In the magical world, you’re not pure enough,” Thomas continued. “Doesn’t matter how talented you are, how much you prove yourself—someone will always see you as lesser. And in the Muggle world? You’re a freak. You don’t belong there either. You’re caught between two worlds, both telling you that you’re not really one of them.”
James was silent, caught off guard by the honesty in Thomas’s words.
“People put so much stock in blood,” Thomas murmured, his gaze distant. “In status. In old families and ancient names. They think they know you because of it. That it defines what you are, what you’ll become.” A dry, humourless chuckle escaped him. “They don’t care about the person—just the label. And if you don’t fit into the one they want, then you’re nothing to them.”
James swallowed, suddenly aware of just how different their lives had been. He’d grown up with everything—respect, status, a name that carried weight. He’d never once had to wonder if he belonged.
“…That’s not right,” he said finally, though the words felt small in comparison.
Thomas just tilted his head slightly, regarding him with something almost amused. “No, it’s not. But that’s the way it is.”
Another pause. James found himself looking between Thomas and Harrison, realizing that whatever bond they had—it ran deeper than he’d first thought.
“Well,” James said again, though his voice was softer now. “For what it’s worth… you do belong here. Both of you.”
Harrison blinked at that, his expression briefly unreadable, before he glanced at Thomas. Something unspoken passed between them, and though neither said a word, Thomas’s shoulders relaxed just slightly.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked back at James. “We’ll see.”
James didn’t push, but he found himself wanting to. Wanting to prove to them both that Hogwarts would be different.
For now, though, he just nodded.
---
Laying back down in his bed, James let his thoughts wander. He thought about Remus and how difficult it must be for him to keep his condition under control. He thought about Sirius, whose family’s disdain for him must feel like a constant battle. Then, there was Peter, who had been quiet lately—too quiet. James couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling that something was off with him. He pushed the thought aside, though. Maybe he was just overthinking.
And, of course, there was Lily. She was always on his mind, even in moments like this. James wondered how she was faring, how she was coping with everything.
His thoughts drifted, and somehow, they landed on Snape.
The name alone was enough to put him in a bad mood. James had spent years watching the other boy bury himself in the Dark Arts, sneering at anyone who didn’t fit into his narrow little world. It was obvious where his loyalties lay, and James had long since written him off as a lost cause.
But then, Thomas’s words echoed in his mind. 'Being a half-blood means you learn how people see you before you even know who you are.'
James frowned, staring up at the ceiling. He knew Snape was a half-blood, but he had never really thought about what that meant. Snape always acted like he belonged with them, the people who would easily cast him aside for someone more 'pure'. James had always found it pathetic—why pretend to be something you weren’t just to be accepted by people who would never actually accept you?
And yet... wasn’t that exactly why Thomas had said it was so hard?
James let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. He thought of Harrison and Thomas, he knew he wasn't the brightest but James prided himself on being observant, the way Harrison would flinch at louder sounds, how Thomas would always instinctively look for the exit or reach for his wand and from what Thomas had said a lot of it had to do with something they couldn't even control. As if they were less just because they weren’t purebloods. James hated that. He hated the thought of anyone treating them like they didn’t belong just because of blood.
For the first time, he hesitated.
James wasn’t about to like Snape, and he certainly wasn’t going to pretend the bloke hadn’t been a complete arse for years. But suddenly, calling him Snivellus didn’t feel right anymore. Not because Snape hadn’t earned it—he had—but because James was starting to see things a little differently now.
With an irritated sigh, he rolled onto his side, shaking his head. It didn’t change anything. Snape had made his choices. He still walked the line of the Dark Arts, still surrounded himself with people James would never trust. But for the first time, James wondered if maybe—just maybe—things hadn’t been as simple as he’d always believed.
It was a fleeting thought, one he wasn’t ready to linger on.
There were more important things to focus on—like getting through tomorrow in one piece.
With that, he closed his eyes, willing himself back to sleep.
---
James woke up groggy the next morning, his mind still sluggish from the restless sleep that had followed his visit to Harrison and Thomas’ room. The nightmare had rattled him more than he cared to admit—not because of the dream itself, but because of the way Harrison had looked. James had seen people wake up from nightmares before, but there had been something different about his friend’s reaction. The raw fear in his eyes, the way his breath had come in sharp, broken gasps—it had been the kind of terror that lingers, that stays with a person even after they wake.
And Thomas… Thomas had been there instantly, steady and unshaken, as though this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. As if he had done this before—many times.
James rubbed his face tiredly, exhaling as he sat up in bed. The morning light was streaming through the curtains, casting golden streaks across his duvet. The house was quiet, save for the faint sound of birds outside and the distant murmur of voices downstairs. He figured his parents were already up, probably discussing some Ministry nonsense that he didn’t particularly care about.
With a stretch, James finally forced himself to get out of bed. He wasn’t the type to dwell on things—he liked action, movement, fixing things with a joke or a well-timed distraction. But as he padded across the room and pulled on his robes, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in his chest.
Harrison and Thomas had known each other for years—James had assumed they had grown up together, inseparable since childhood. But last night had shown him something new. There was a weight to their bond, an unspoken understanding that went beyond friendship. It was as if they had endured something together, something neither of them talked about.
And James hated not knowing.
Pushing the thought aside for now, he left his room and made his way downstairs.
The Potter family’s dining room was as grand as ever, with enchanted chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a long mahogany table set with a lavish breakfast spread. His mother, sat at the far end, sipping her tea while reading the Daily Prophet. His father, was stirring his coffee with slow, deliberate movements, his expression thoughtful.
Harrison and Thomas were already there.
James paused for a moment at the sight of them.
Harrison looked fine. He was sitting normally, holding a cup of tea between his hands, his face blank with quiet attentiveness as Thomas spoke to him in hushed tones. If James hadn’t seen him last night, he wouldn’t have suspected a thing.
But now he had seen, and he couldn’t unsee it.
"Morning," James greeted, sliding into the seat across from them.
Harrison glanced up, offering a polite nod, but his usual easy-going smirk wasn’t there. Thomas, ever composed, merely inclined his head.
"Did you sleep well, dear?" Dorea asked, briefly glancing at James over the top of her newspaper.
"Like a dream," James lied smoothly, forcing a grin. No need to worry his mother over something she couldn’t fix. "What’s in the Prophet today? Anything actually interesting?"
His mother made a noise of disapproval. "The usual," she sighed, folding the paper neatly before placing it on the table. "Talk of the war. Another attack in Cardiff, and the Ministry is still fumbling to keep things under control. Oh, and there’s some gossip about Hogwarts. Apparently, Dumbledore is making arrangements for two new transfer students this year."
James’ eyebrows shot up. A smirk forming "Transfers? That’s rare. I wonder who on earth they could possibly be?"
"Indeed," Chalres said mildly. "From Poland. The ones who defied the dark lord. Quite the mysterious pair—no family, no guardians. Just two boys arriving alone. The Prophet is already stirring up speculation, but Dumbledore is keeping the details private."
James immediately turned to Harrison and Thomas. They were both perfectly composed, though he didn’t miss the brief flicker of amusement in Thomas’ expression.
"So, you’re still the talk of the paper," James said, shaking his head with a smirk. "Wonder if they'll ever grow tired of you."
Harrison sighed, setting his cup down. "I can hope it will happen."
"Agreed," Thomas added, his tone cool. "But it was inevitable."
James studied them for a moment. The way Thomas spoke—it was always careful, deliberate, with no wasted words. James was beginning to realize just how calculated the other boy was. Not in an untrustworthy way, necessarily, but in a way that suggested he was always three steps ahead, always thinking about the consequences before making a move.
He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
"At least you’ll have the school year to settle in before the Prophet finds something else to gossip about," Charles offered kindly. "The war will keep them busy soon enough."
That killed the conversation quickly.
They all knew the war was getting worse. It was an unspoken truth that loomed over everything these days. No one said it outright, but James could see the tension in his parents’ shoulders, the way his mother’s fingers curled a little too tightly around her teacup.
He knew what they were thinking.
It was only a matter of time before the war reached them. In England.
He glanced at Harrison again, the uneasy feeling from last night returning in full force. There was something about his friend—something James couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Maybe it was the way he and Thomas always seemed so prepared, like they had already braced themselves for something far worse than what was coming.
And James he wanted to protect them. Dark Lord or not they were now his friends and he would protect his friends to death.
---
The morning air was crisp as Charlus and Dorea Potter stood near the grand fireplace in the sitting room, watching the three boys prepare to leave. The Potter estate was quiet, save for the occasional pop of house-elves finishing last-minute preparations.
Harrison and Thomas stood side by side, their school trunks shrunken and tucked safely into their pockets, their expressions composed. James, on the other hand, was shifting from foot to foot, clearly restless.
"It’s a straightforward trip," Charlus reminded them, his sharp gaze settling on James in particular. "Straight to Dumbledore’s office. No detours, no trouble."
James rolled his eyes but grinned. "Come on, Dad, when have I ever caused trouble?"
Charlus raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and Dorea, who was standing nearby, let out a quiet laugh.
Harrison, watching the exchange, found himself smiling slightly. The way the Potter family interacted was so normal, so easy and warm—it was something he wasn’t used to but appreciated more than he could express.
Dorea, who had been silent so far, stepped forward, her sharp eyes scanning Harrison and Thomas carefully. There was no judgment in her gaze, just the quiet assessment of a woman who had seen and endured much in her lifetime.
"You’ll do well at Hogwarts," she said at last, her voice smooth and certain. "Just remember—people will talk. They always do. Let them."
Thomas gave her a slight nod, his expression unreadable. "We’re used to it."
James, standing between them, glanced between the two, sensing a deeper meaning in the exchange.
Dorea’s gaze lingered on Harrison for a moment longer before she did something unexpected—she reached out and gently brushed a stray curl from his forehead. It was an oddly maternal gesture, and Harrison stiffened slightly, unused to such casual affection.
"You’ll be fine," she said softly.
Harrison swallowed, then nodded. "Thank you."
Charlus cleared his throat, glancing at the clock. "It’s time. The Floo is set directly to Dumbledore’s office—he’ll be expecting you."
James grinned, clearly eager to get going, and reached for the Floo powder first. "See you at Christmas!" he called before stepping into the emerald flames and vanishing.
Harrison hesitated only a second before following. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder, gave Charlus and Dorea one last nod of gratitude, then stepped into the flames. "Hogwarts—Headmaster’s Office!"
The moment the green fire roared around him, the world spun violently. Colours blurred, rooms flickered past in a whirlwind of sensation, and then—
He stumbled forward, barely catching himself as he landed on solid ground.
The Headmaster’s office was just as grand as he remembered—bookshelves lined the walls, enchanted instruments whirred and clicked on every surface, and the ever-present golden phoenix, Fawkes, watched the newcomers with piercing intelligence.
James was already there, dusting soot off his robes with a practiced motion.
Thomas stepped out of the Floo next, as graceful as ever, barely disturbed by the magical transportation. He glanced around the office with mild interest, then turned to Harrison, eyes flicking over him in silent question—Are you alright?
Harrison gave a slight nod.
A moment later, a warm voice broke the silence.
"Ah, our new students have arrived."
Albus Dumbledore stood near his desk, his eyes twinkling with their usual unreadable light. He looked exactly as Harrison remembered if slightly younger—long silver beard, half-moon spectacles, and an air of quiet authority.
Harrison straightened instinctively, his heart beating just a little faster. Did he recognize him?
Thomas, standing beside him, was perfectly composed, his expression as carefully neutral as always.
James, however, grinned. "Alright, Professor?" he said casually, as if he hadn’t just arrived in a swirl of fire and soot.
Dumbledore’s lips twitched in amusement. "Quite well, Mr. Potter. And yourself?"
"Never better."
Dumbledore’s gaze shifted, settling on Harrison and Thomas. "Harrison Evans. Thomas Avery," he said smoothly. "It is a pleasure to officially welcome you both to Hogwarts."
Harrison inclined his head respectfully, while Thomas merely offered a polite nod.
Dumbledore studied them for a moment longer, and Harrison could feel the weight of his gaze, as if the Headmaster could see right through him.
But then, as quickly as it came, the moment passed.
"Now," Dumbledore continued, "before we proceed with the Sorting, there are a few matters we must discuss…"
----
Dumbledore regarded them both with quiet intensity, his hands folded neatly on the desk before him. Beside Harry, Tom remained perfectly composed, betraying nothing. James Potter stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching them both with thinly veiled curiosity.
Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on Tom as if assessing before he spoke. “Well, you will be given a chance to start anew here. None of your past worries should trouble yo here. However, before you begin at Hogwarts, I would like to speak with you both—individually.”
Harry felt Tom go still beside him for a fraction of a second before the other boy inclined his head. “Of course.”
Dumbledore gestured to Tom. “Mr Avery, if you would wait outside for a moment? And you too Mr Potter.”
Tom’s gaze flickered toward Harry, unreadable, before he rose from his seat and strode toward the door. James followed him, leaving Harry alone with Dumbledore.
---
As the door clicked shut, Dumbledore’s expression softened slightly. “You seem wary, Mr. Evans.”
Harry forced himself to relax. “I just want a fresh start, sir.”
Dumbledore hummed, studying him with an expression Harry had seen before—thoughtful, evaluating, the gaze of a man who could see more than most. “A fresh start,” Dumbledore repeated. “Not an unreasonable wish. But I wonder, do you seek a fresh start because you must, or because you wish to leave something behind?”
Harry hesitated. “Does it matter?”
Dumbledore smiled faintly. “Perhaps not. But curiosity is one of my many faults.”
Before Harry could reply, a soft trill filled the room. He turned, surprised to see Fawkes perched beside the desk, watching him with intelligent golden eyes.
“You have quite the attentive audience,” Dumbledore mused as Fawkes let out another soft note, ruffling his feathers.
Harry hesitated, then cautiously extended his hand. To his mild shock, Fawkes leaned forward and pressed his head into Harry’s palm. A warmth spread through his fingertips, soothing, almost reassuring.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “He does not often take to strangers so quickly. A curious thing.”
Harry swallowed, forcing a small smile as he ran his fingers gently over the phoenix’s soft feathers. “Maybe he just likes me.”
“Or perhaps he senses something familiar in you,” Dumbledore murmured. “Phoenixes are remarkably perceptive creatures.”
Harry kept his expression carefully neutral as Fawkes let out another soft, pleased hum before withdrawing.
Dumbledore steepled his fingers together. “Tell me, Mr. Evans… what do you want from your time at Hogwarts?”
Harry hesitated only for a moment. “To learn. To have a future.”
“And Mr Avery?”
Harry’s fingers curled slightly against his robes. “He wants the same.”
Dumbledore watched him carefully, as if considering his response. Then, after a moment, he nodded.
“There is something familiar about you, Mr. Evans,” he said suddenly. “Your magic feels… well-worn. Experienced.”
Harry forced himself to chuckle, shaking his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “It is meant as one.”
Silence stretched between them before Dumbledore finally leaned back. “Very well. You may send Mr Avery in now.”
Harry stood, feeling as though he had passed some kind of test, and exited the office.
Outside, Tom was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, speaking quietly with James. The moment the door clicked shut behind Harry, Tom pushed off the wall and gave him a brief, unreadable look before stepping past him into the office.
The door closed again, and Harry exhaled slowly.
James regarded him curiously. “You’re a mystery, Harrison Evans.”
Harry forced a smirk. “Good. I’d hate to be predictable.”
James let out a quiet chuckle but didn’t press further.
----
Inside the office, Tom lowered himself into the chair across from Dumbledore and smiled. “I must admit, sir, I wasn’t expecting private conversations.”
Dumbledore returned the smile with a knowing glint in his eye. “Some matters are better understood in confidence, wouldn’t you agree?”
Tom inclined his head. “Of course.”
Dumbledore studied him with a careful gaze, one that Tom recognized all too well. It was the look of a man who saw too much. He did not like it.
“You are remarkably composed for someone in your position,” Dumbledore remarked.
Tom’s smile widened, effortlessly concealing the unease coiling in his stomach. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“I imagine you have.”
There was a beat of silence before Dumbledore leaned forward, expression unreadable. “Tell me, Mr Avery… who are you?”
Tom held his gaze, his own expression calm. “I am exactly who I claim to be.”
Dumbledore didn’t look away. “And yet, I feel as though I have met you before.”
Tom’s fingers curled slightly against the armrest, but he didn’t let the unease show. “Perhaps I simply have a familiar face.”
Dumbledore let the words settle before finally leaning back, his expression still thoughtful. “Perhaps.”
Another pause. Then Dumbledore spoke again, this time with a hint of intrigue in his voice. “Your request to bring a pet with you to Hogwarts was quite unusual.”
Tom raised a brow. “Unusual?”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with something like amusement. “Not many students choose to bring a snake.”
Tom didn’t let his smirk slip. “It seemed fitting.”
Dumbledore chuckled softly. “A fascinating creature, truly. A green tree python, if I’m not mistaken?”
Tom nodded. "Yes Serena she is my companion." He had deliberately chosen a non-magical breed, something that wouldn’t draw too much suspicion.
Dumbledore leaned back, observing him curiously. “You know, I once had a dear friend with a fondness for unusual companions. He would have been quite interested in your choice.”
Tom tilted his head. “And you, Professor? Are you interested or wary?”
Dumbledore merely smiled. “Curious, I should say.”
Then, after a pause, he added, “Do you understand her?”
Tom’s pulse thrummed for a moment, but he kept his expression neutral. “Yes.”
Dumbledore’s brows lifted slightly, but there was no sign of wariness, only intrigue. “Fascinating. Parseltongue is a rare gift.”
Tom held his gaze. “It is.”
Dumbledore regarded him for a long moment before speaking again. “You are a very ambitious young man, aren’t you, Mr Avery?”
Tom smiled, though there was a sharpness to it. “Is that a bad thing, Professor?”
“Not at all,” Dumbledore said easily. “But ambition, when unchecked, can lead one down dangerous paths.”
Tom’s expression didn’t change, but he knew a warning when he heard one.
Dumbledore watched him carefully before his expression softened slightly. “Despite my wariness, I am pleased to welcome you to Hogwarts.”
Tom let out a short breath of laughter. “Even though you don’t trust me?”
Dumbledore’s smile twitched. “Trust is something that is earned, not freely given. I hope, in time, you and I will come to understand one another better.”
Tom inclined his head. “I suppose we will.”
Dumbledore stood, signalling the conversation had come to an end. “Shall we return to Mr. Evan and Mr Potter?”
Tom rose from his chair smoothly and followed Dumbledore to the door. As it swung open, he met Harry’s gaze briefly before slipping past him into the hallway.
Dumbledore watched the two of them for a moment, then smiled. “I believe you’ll both make fine additions to Hogwarts.”
---
Dumbledore invited all three teenagers back into his office. Handing out lemon drops to which only Tom declined with a polite shake of his head. Folding his hands together, he looked at Harry and Tom with his ever-present twinkle of amusement. "Now, on to the matter of your Sorting."
Harry straightened slightly, while Tom merely raised an eyebrow.
"You will be Sorted after the first years," Dumbledore explained cheerfully. "Once the new students have had their moment, I shall introduce you both as transfer students and call you forward one at a time."
Harry nodded. That made sense. It wasn't like they could just appear in the school without some sort of explanation.
Tom, however, did not seem as easily convinced. "Won't that draw unnecessary attention?" he asked, tone carefully neutral.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as if Tom had just asked whether the sky was blue. "Oh, my dear boy, the entire country already knows who you are. A little extra attention in the Great Hall will hardly make a difference."
Tom inhaled sharply through his nose, looking like he very much disagreed but also knew arguing was pointless.
Before anyone could speak further, the door to Dumbledore's office slammed open so violently that several of the paintings yelped. Even Fawkes flapped his wings in irritation before letting out an unimpressed chirp.
The culprit? A very harried, very furious Professor McGonagall.
"ALBUS!" she snapped, standing in the doorway with her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Do you have ANY idea what time it is?!"
Dumbledore blinked serenely. "Ah. I was under the impression that time was, in fact, a social construct."
McGonagall looked two seconds away from strangling him. "The Sorting Feast was supposed to begin THIRTY MINUTES AGO!"
Harry's eyes widened slightly. Tom tilted his head.
James, sitting in the corner and clearly enjoying the show, burst out laughing. "Oh, this is brilliant."
Dumbledore, in contrast to the growing panic in the room, merely leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. "My dear Minerva," he said lightly, "how ever shall we fix this dreadful problem?"
McGonagall’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "By hurrying, I should think!"
Dumbledore hummed in thought, stroking his beard as though contemplating the very fabric of reality itself. "No, no," he finally mused. "I have a much better idea."
McGonagall stared at him, clearly not trusting whatever he was about to say.
Dumbledore’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. "We shall simply say that everyone else was early."
Silence.
Harry pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. Tom just stared, his face unreadable, but there was something deeply unimpressed in his gaze.
James, on the other hand, looked delighted. "I love this man," he whispered under his breath.
McGonagall, visibly suppressing the urge to throw something, inhaled sharply. "Albus."
Dumbledore beamed.
"Get. Downstairs."
With an exaggerated sigh, Dumbledore rose to his feet. "Alas. A shame my brilliance is so often overlooked."
He turned to Harry and Tom, smiling as though none of this had just happened. "Shall we?"
With that, he strolled past McGonagall, robes billowing dramatically as though he had planned for them to be late.
McGonagall watched him go, her hands twitching like she wanted to throttle him but was using every ounce of self-control to resist.
James, now standing, clapped Harry on the shoulder, grinning. "You’re gonna have a great time here, guys. Trust me."
McGonagall gave Harry and Tom a long-suffering look before spinning on her heel and storming after Dumbledore, muttering what sounded suspiciously like "Merlin help me, I work with an overgrown child."
Harry glanced at Tom.
"Looks like our new headmaster is as mad as ever," Tom observed dryly.
Harry grinned. "Yeah, but at least he's entertaining."
Tom huffed, but there was something almost amused in his expression as they followed the professors down to the Great Hall, preparing themselves for what came next—being Sorted in front of the entire school.