tired even for a phoenix

September 1

His train ride to Hogwarts goes mostly undisturbed. Generally, students understand that drawn curtains signify "this compartment is taken, and its occupants aren't open to visitors." The only interruptions are the woman pushing the trolley cart, who knocks cheerily and then pops open the door despite a lack of response.

As Harry dropped about 50 quid that morning on snacks and a couple of sandwiches, he doesn't say anything from underneath his invisibility cloak to give away that the room is occupied. She shuts the door and continues on her way shortly.

A little after that - later than Harry would have assumed - the door slides open again, and Hermione pops her head in. Harry holds still and quiets his breathing, and after a quick scan of the room, Hermione moves on. Not fast enough for Harry to miss the prefect's badge on her robes.

Wonder who got it for the boys, Harry ponders, probably Dean, or maybe Neville. Both would do well as prefects and would be good counterpoints to Hermione.

Besides those two interruptions, the trip to Scotland was quiet and peaceful. Eventually, when he tires of the views outside the window, Harry digs out one of the muggle fiction books he purchased that morning and contented himself with reading it, the book and snacks all hidden under the invisibility cloak with him.

When he notices the sun has started its descent, he stands and pulls out his trunk again. He packs the book and the leftover sweets away and then throws on his robes. Reluctantly, he returns the invisibility cloak to the protected compartment.

Within thirty minutes, the train is slowing to a stop at the Hogsmeade station, and the volume of voices outside his compartment rises again with excited chatter. He waits a few minutes, hoping to let the majority go ahead of him, but eventually, he knows he has to exit the train, or he'll end up back in London. Harry forces himself to stand and step out into the train corridor, bracing for whatever reaction he'll get this year. He sees a few people walking ahead of him, but he's timed it well, and there's no one too close to his carriage.

He heads towards the nearest exit, eyes scanning the students moving in a mass exodus from the train station. As he steps down onto the outdoor platform, he thinks he hears someone calling his name—not in recognition after spotting him, but more to try and locate him in a crowd.

Ducking his head, Harry lets himself be swept into the group until he reaches the carriages. He jolts upon recognizing the horseless carriages are no longer horseless at all and instead are drawn by some kind of terrifying bat-horse hybrid.  No one else seems to be reacting to them, however, so Harry shrugs it off as something he'll have to look into later and climbs into a carriage with two third years who stare at him wide-eyed and huddle together in the corner farthest away from him.

Harry ignores their whispering and just stares out the window, waiting for the first view of Hogwarts. They round a corner, and there - through the trees - Harry can finally see the castle. Rising up from the Black Lake the castle shines in the sunset.

Harry feels a tension in his shoulders - three months old and mostly ignored - release.

He's finally home.

*

Harry is crossing the threshold into the entry way, ignoring the sideways glances thrown his direction from the students around him and dodging floating ghosts when he hears another voice calling out for him.

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter, wait there, please."

Scanning the space, he makes eye contact with Professor McGonagall, who's making her way towards him.

When she reaches him, she blinks at him, expression a bit taken aback, before seeming to shake herself and focus back on why she was seeking him out.

"Mr. Potter, you'll need to come this way to wait for the first years."

What?

"Er. What do you mean, Professor?"

"For the sorting, Mr. Potter."

She frowns at his continued confused expression, "Did you not read the letter that was sent to you, Mr. Potter?"

"No, I opened it enough to see it was just the standard letter from Hogwarts and then…" crumpled it up and threw it away in a fit of anger, "got distracted by something else. I never returned to it, reckoned I could track down the fifth-year supplies without it." He says with a shrug.

McGonagall's eyes widen and she seems unsure of what to say. "Ah. I suppose…I suppose that explains why I didn't get a reply then, Mr. Potter. I did include a personal note asking you to follow up with me if you had any questions about the contents."

An expression of unsureness passes her face - an expression rarely worn by Professor McGonagall. She quickly looks around, and seems to register the many heads turned in their direction (and likely ears trying to tune in), and sighs.

"Follow me, Mr. Potter. I'll explain in private."

Glancing once at the open doors to the Great Hall, already beckoning him in with the soft candlelight and smells from the kitchen underneath, Harry follows his head of house down a side hallway into a small room that might have once been an office but now is empty save a few crates along the back wall.

"Well then, Mr. Potter. I suppose it's up to me to tell you this. Although I do hope you know we had intended to explain it to you earlier in the summer and not surprise you with it tonight. I recommend you pay more attention to your post in the future." She says sternly.

Harry has no freaking clue what she's getting at, but he can already tell it's bad news. Surprises never work out for him.

"Right, sorry, Professor. I'll do that."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. Now, earlier this summer it's my understanding you had a…run in, with the Ministry and were tried for underage magic."

He interrupts, "Yes, but it was for a valid reason Professor - self defense. And I was cleared of all charges."

"I'm aware of those facts as well." And she does look sympathetic to his plight as she continues, "Unfortunately, the Ministry, in their…eagerness to uphold the law, expelled you prematurely from Hogwarts. Headmaster Dumbledore had it reversed almost immediately, of course, and following your trial and lack of conviction, there was no question as to your place at Hogwarts. However, when a student is enrolled, or in your case re-enrolled, they…well, they must be sorted."

He stares at her blankly. "But I've already been sorted, Professor. I'm a Gryffindor."

"Yes, Mr. Potter. As you've been in my house for the last four years, I'm quite aware of the results of your initial sorting," she says with a sniff, "but technically, as you have been re-enrolled, you are an unsorted student and, therefore must go once more under the hat."

When it looks like he's going to continue arguing, the Professor is quick to reassure him, "It's nothing more than a formality, Potter. You'll be resorted to Gryffindor and be back in the tower this evening. It does mean, however, that you'll need to wait with the first years before joining your housemates."

Glancing at her watch, her lips purse. "Speaking of the first years, I'm running behind to meet Hagrid with his lot. Please make your way to the entrance of the Great Hall, I'll fetch you once I'm back with the younger students, and we will enter as a group."

And with that, she turns and exits, leaving him in the empty room.

"You'll be resorted to Gryffindor," she told him, but Harry wasn't so sure. He had barely managed to convince the Hat to place him in the house of Lions the first time around, and based on the conversation Harry had with the Hat in his second year, it still thought Slytherin was the better house for him.

What if the Hat won't listen to reason this time? What if the Hat insists on Slytherin and my new dorm mate is Draco-bloody-Malfoy? And, with even more horror, Oh hell, what if Snape becomes my new head of house?

The more he considers it, the more absolutely sure he is that it's what will happen.

Harry doesn't think he's become any more "Gryffindor-ish" or less "Slytherin-like" since the last time he wore the Hat. So he doubts the Hat's opinion will change.

He also isn't nearly as desperate to be in Gryffindor as he was in his first year. Slytherin still doesn't appeal to him, of course, any more than it did four years ago, but if the only options are Gryffindor and Slytherin, Harry is so angry with enough current students or alumni of Gryffindor House that he's not sure he could work up the same level of conviction that managed to convince the Hat the first time around.

And the largest reason why Harry is absolutely positive he'll be wearing a silver and green tie tonight...when has anything gone well for him? Of course, if given the chance, the Universe, or God, or Merlin, or whatever is controlling Harry's life will see fit to throw him in the House full of people (and professors) who despise him and would cheerfully see him dead. Or at least crucioed until he was on the floor drooling.

Once again, it's Harry who will get the short end of the stick. Once again, he'll be the one to have to grin and bear it and shoulder the weight of whatever new indignity Wizarding Britain shoveled over him.

Fuck them. Fuck the sorting hat. Fuck the Slytherins and the Gryffindors and everyone else who only see people in four shades. Fuck Dumbledore, and Snape, and even McGonagall for just dropping this on me and not trying to fix it. For thinking a letter would be sufficient and never following up when I didn't reply. And fuck them for assuming I could only ever be a Gryffindor, for that matter.

Fuck all of them.

Harry does some quick calculations and figures it'll take about ten minutes for McGonagall to walk to the meeting point for the firsties, give her usual sorting night speech - and Merlin is Harry glad she didn't make him listen to that again. It's debatable whether he'd just start cursing everyone in sight or if he'd burst out in hysterical laughter if he had to listen to a lecture about how "Your house is your family." Ten minutes to give the speech and make her way back to the Great Hall.

Harry gives himself precisely four minutes and thirty seconds to freak the fuck out about his inevitable move to Slytherin.

He has just under five minutes to let out the anger that's been creeping up on him all day. He cracks his neck and then whirls around, lightning already sparking from his left hand. As he aims at the boxes across the room, he draws his wand and begins casting in rapid succession.

Lightning - Bombarda - Confringo - Lightning - Lightning - Expulso - Bombarda - Diffindo - Depulso - Lightning

Over and over, cycling through as many offensive and destructive spells as he knew alternated with crackling energy stretching from him across the room.

Four minutes later, Harry is leaning over his knees, panting.

The room is - well, not destroyed. The old stone of Hogwarts holds up much too well to be ruined by his spells, but the crates that were along the wall are reduced to smoldering pieces of wood, the window is shattered, and the tapestries on either side of the door have been sliced into multiple pieces, which were then either frozen and shattered on the stone floor or blown up. There's ash floating through the air and a few scorch marks along the walls, but that'll all be handled with a good cleaning.

"Dobby," Harry pants, trying to catch his breath

A moment of silence, and then - POP "Harry Potter calls for Dobby? Dobby is being so happy to see Harry Potter again!"

Harry smiles at the elf. Despite Dobby's overzealous attempts at "protecting" Harry back in second year, it couldn't be denied that Dobby was loyal to Harry.

"Hey Dobby, I'm sorry to ask this, but any chance you could help me with cleaning this room up? I've got to run to the sorting."

Dobby nods confidently and is already focusing on different areas of the room, mess disappearing with snaps of his fingers as Harry heads towards the door.

"Thanks, Dobby, I owe you majorly. Come find me later this week so we can catch up, yeah?"

Harry closes the door softly behind him, blocking out Dobby's joyful acceptance. His hands are still shaking slightly, but he's caught his breath again.

Harry walks back to the Great Hall. As he goes, he focuses on his breathing, making it as steady as possible.

In. Hold. Out. Hold.

Repeat.

He can survive this.

What is Severus Snape when he's faced down Voldemort - in some form - three separate times?

What is 100 Slytherin dorm mates ready to curse him in the back when he faced down 100 dementors hungry for his soul?

What is the inevitable disgust and vitriol of the Gryffindors when, over the last three months, he felt the much more devastating indifference of his loved ones?

He can survive this. He can survive being a Slytherin. If it all goes to plan, he'll take a NEWT in a year and be considered a full legal adult. He could leave Hogwarts behind then. Just leave and set out on his own. Find somewhere that your school house doesn't matter.

With his breathing regulated, he starts repeating a mantra from the book he read on the train earlier. He can't remember all of it, but what he does remember is soothing. As he repeats it over and over to himself, it gets even more jumbled and simplified in his mind. Distilled down to a short, repeatable phrase.

I must not fear. Fear is the little death. I will face my fear and let it pass over me. When the fear is gone, only I will remain.

I must not fear. Fear is the little death. I will face my fear, and when it is gone, only I will remain.

Fear is the little death, and when it is gone, only I will remain.

Fear is death. I will remain.

Fear is death. I will remain.

Harry turns the corner of the hallway that intersects the entrance to the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall will be coming from the opposite direction, and he thinks he can barely hear the first years' excited whispers coming down the corridor.

He pulls his shoulders back, posture straight enough even Aunt Petunia wouldn't find a complaint.

Fear is death. I will remain.

Soft footfalls drawing nearer, none louder than the click click of McGonagall's boots at the front of the pack.

His chin goes up, expression neutral, and gaze purposefully distant. He won't let a single person in Hogwarts know he's upset about this. They wouldn't honestly give a damn anyway, except for the opportunity to mock him about it.

Fear is death. I will remain.

By the time the clump of wide-eyed first years round the corner, Harry is, by all appearances, waiting unbothered just a few steps away from the entrance to the Great Hall. He's out of sight of anyone within but can hear their voices, impatient and hungry.

McGongall scans him head to toe, and nods at him once satisfied with whatever she sees in his expression, then guides the first years into the Great Hall. Harry trails behind, his hands tucked into his robe pockets nonchalantly. He's half-heartedly hoping people will be distracted by the first years and won't notice him walking a few paces behind.

Alas, he's spotted quickly. An increase of whispers and familiar laughter from the Slytherin table herald his recognition among the other students.

Harry glances at the table of green and silver and sees Malfoy grinning with delight as he leans over to Crabbe next to him. Harry can't hear what he's saying, but thanks to Malfoy's gestures, it's clearly about him.

Another glance, this time aimed towards the Gryffindor table, and Harry's able to spot Ron and Hermione sitting together. Both are watching him with confused expressions, but when he makes eye contact, Ron grins and waves at him. Hermione begins to pantomime something with gestures and mouthed words, but Harry's too far away to have any hope of guessing what she's saying.

He looks away from them and scans the staff table instead. Hagrid's missing, he notes. Snape is scowling at him, per usual. And - oh. The nasty woman from his trial is here. The one who was buddied up to the Minister is apparently obsessed with pink. A quick scan of the table proves she's the only unfamiliar face.

She must be the new DADA teacher. Damn.

McGonagall has reached the front of the room and pauses before scrolling the list of first-year names.

"Due to a clerical issue, Mr. Potter must be resorted. He will follow the first years."

Harry feels the eyes of the entire great hall focus on him and allows his fingers to clench where they're hidden in his pockets. He's grateful McGonagall got it over with without going into detail - he'd have hated to have to stand up here under the eyes of all while she goes on about his circumstances - but the limited information probably just made the other students more intrigued.

"Euan, Abercrombie," McGonagall calls, and a small boy stumbles to the front of the first years, his hands visibly trembling but chin raised.

Gryffindor, Harry thinks, just a few moments before the Hat calls out the same.

Harry spends the next few minutes distracting himself from what's coming by guessing where each student will end up. Despite most of them being blind guesses, he does surprisingly well, guessing about three-quarters of them correctly.

Eventually, however, he's the last student standing at the front of the Great Hall. McGonagall doesn't read his name; she just jerks her head towards the stool as she rolls up the list of names.

Harry takes the few remaining steps forward. Which are basically his last steps as a Griffyndor. He looks past the stool to look at the professor's table again. Dumbledore is staring at his hands, fingertips pressed together in front of him. The rest of them - barring Snape and the pink woman - look cheerfully intrigued by his resorting. Flitwick, when Harry makes eye contact with him, even waves.

The friendly looks end, however, when Harry sits himself on the stool and faces out into the Great Hall. There, the expressions range from outright scowls to confusion. The Sorting Hat lowers on his head, and this time, it finally fits, leaving his view of the Great Hall unblocked.

Well, well. What have we here? I so rarely get to speak with a student more than once, Mr. Potter and you're the first one I've had the chance to actually resort in centuries. The Hat sounds delighted at the situation.

Yes, I'm sure it's all fascinating for you, Harry thinks sullenly, even in his own head - somehow, the Hat makes him feel like he's some kind of experiment that the Hat is observing.

I see you've already made up your mind on where you believe I will sort you this time, Mr. Potter. No attempts to talk me around?

Would it do any good? Harry thinks at the Hat.

Hmm. You are still quite brave, Mr. Potter. And very loyal to those you consider deserving of it. With the right circumstances you might even do well amongst Rowena's lot. That curiosity has only grown since we last met, although you're selective in what it applies to.

Harry stays silent - or rather, keeps his mind as empty as possible. The Hat may be mentioning all the houses, but it doesn't sound sold on any of them.

No, Mr. Potter. I do think I had it right the first time. Perhaps you could suit any house, but with your remaining time in Hogwarts, I shall endeavor to place you in a House that will best suit you. Somewhere that will challenge you. You have learned all you can from Gryffindor.

Harry sighs quietly. He knew it was coming, but it's still a blow.

A word of advice, Mr. Potter. I would encourage you to look to your new house mascot as you adjust to the changes in your life. It's not a comfortable process, but sometimes, we must shed our skin to grow. Best of luck to you, in ”SLYTHERIN!”

The last word is shouted out for the hall to hear, leaving a shocked silence in its wake.