The Eighth Horcrux

The Sorting Hat

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there.  It was Professor McGonagall, the headmistress. Of course, she wasn’t headmistress now, she was in Albus’ time. In the present, she was just the deputy headmistress, which was still a very high position. James calls her Minnie. She calls him Mr. Potter.

‘The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,’ said Hagrid, presenting the lot of them to her.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

She pulled the door wide. The Entrance Hall was just as magnificent as the first time Albus saw it, in his own time. It looked almost identical, in fact. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Albus could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right, but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, and as Albus suspected he had done himself the first time, peering about nervously.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start of-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 smudged nose. Albus bit his lip in nervousness. What was he to do? It’s unlikely now that he’ll be able to talk with Dumbledore immediately, so it will have to be after the sorting. Sod it all, he’d just have to wait and see what happens. Maybe the hat will have some advice for him.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall.  “Please wait quietly.” She said as she exited the chamber.

‘How exactly do they sort us into houses?’ Albus saw a first year ask Ron.

“Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”

Albus’s face gave way to humor, and he stifled a laugh. It wasn’t a terribly well-kept secret, how they were sorted; but he supposed it may not have been common knowledge in his dad’s time.

He looked around and saw that everyone else looked terrified. No one was talking much except his aunt Hermione, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she’d learnt and wondering which one she’d need.

Then something happened which made him jump about a foot in the air – several people behind him screamed. He hadn’t spent much time at Hogwarts in his own time, so this was still something of a shock to see.

“What the –?” He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing.

They had come from all directions. there were many of them that Albus recognized, but there were even more that he didn't. One of the one's Albus recognized was the fat Friar.

‘New students!’ said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them.

‘About to be sorted, I suppose?’

A few people nodded mutely.

‘Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!’ said the Friar. ‘My old house, you know.’

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

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

‘Now, form a line,’ Professor McGonagall told the first-years, ‘and follow me.’

A feeling of despair washed over albus as he held his breath. It was like a silent drowning, and he was trying to come up for air. He suddenly felt very apprehensive about the sorting ceremony. As if his own wasn't nerve wracking enough, now he had to go through his father's. What on earth was going to happen? Would he still be sorted into Slytherin? or would the sorting hat put him in Gryffindor? What about Hufflepuff? Ravenclaw? This was his dad's first year. Obviously, he knew how his dad had ended up sorted, but this was a whole new experience for Albus. He had no idea what was going on, he had no idea why he was in the past, and all he wanted to do was go home to his own time. He missed his friend, and weirdly enough he missed the Slytherin dormitory. He missed his mother, his father, and the rest of his family.

Hell, he would be happy to see James right about now.

And that was saying something.

He heard his Aunt Hermione whisper to someone, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.”

Albus quickly Sucked in a breath. Here it is. The next sorting. Albus finds himself nervous, what if he changes history? What if he fucks everything up and his dad is placed somewhere other than Gryffindor? It would be all his fault. He felt on the edge of an all-out-panic attack.

He really didn’t have time to have a panic attack, though. Time was passing, and finally, the sorting hat opened its mouth to sing.

‘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 belong 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 old 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 folk 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!’

“So, we’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron whispered to Albus. “I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.”

Albus smiled weakly. It sounded like his uncle Fred had been just like his uncle George. A right prankster.

Suddenly, Professor McGonagall spoke:

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,’ she said.

‘Abbott, Hannah!’

Oh, it was Neville’s wife, Albus realized with a start. She ran the Leaky Cauldron back in Albus’ own time –

‘HUFFLEPUFF!’ shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Albus 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 hands with Terry as he joined them.

Albus was tuning most of this out. These weren’t his classmates. This wasn’t his time, and this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Dumbledore would sort this out for him and then he would be home and none of this would matter anyway.

‘Bulstrode, Millicent’ then became a Slytherin. This was, Albus thought, the first Slytherin to be sorted from his dad’s year.  He was starting to feel sick now.

‘Finch-Fletchley, Justin!’

‘HUFFLEPUFF!’

‘Finnigan, Seamus’

Albus’ ears perked up at that name. That was one of his Dad’s friends. He’d met him briefly a few times, along with his husband Dean. They had lived somewhere in the muggle world, Albus thought, running some sort of demolition business.

‘Granger, Hermione!’

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

‘GRYFFINDOR!’ shouted the hat.

Ron groaned.

“Great. Bloody perfect.” He moaned.

Albus hid a snicker. He wouldn’t say that forever. If his uncle Ron only knew…

“Malfoy, Draco!”

Scorpius’ father gave him a grin.

Albus whispered “Good luck!” to him. Ron reluctantly muttered the same as Draco passed him.

Professor McGonagall placed the hat on Draco’s head.

…

…

…

…

…

Damn. How long would his sorting take? Albus wondered.

“Slytherin!” It eventually shouted.

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking more than a little relieved.

There weren’t many people left now.

‘Moon, Nott, both Patils, someone named Perks, and then,

“Potter, Harry!”

Albus almost forgot to move when he heard his dad’s name being called.

“Potter, did she say?”

“THE Harry Potter?”

The last thing Albus saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the Hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. In the next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. Again. Merlin, he hated that his last name was so far down the alphabet.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

‘Hmm,’ said a small voice in his ear. ‘Difficult. Very difficult. This doesn’t seem very much like your first time under me, is it, Mr. Potter? Hm…so, you’re a Slytherin, are you, my boy? Hmm…but your father…he was a Gryffindor? But that’s not right, not right at all…I see your mind, Albus Potter…but you father’s mind is here too…I can see his ambition and yours are very similar. He and you are both cunning folk…why was he sorted into Gryffindor house when it’s so obvious where you get it from...So where shall I put you? Hmm…Hmm…Hmm…’

Ages passed before Albus remembered exactly what it was his dad had said to him before he had gotten on the train.

‘The sorting hat takes your choice into account.’ He had said.

Albus gripped the edges of the stool in nervousness and thought, ‘Not Slytherin, please, Mr. Hat. I feel like I’m already fucking up the timeline. Please.’

‘Not Slytherin, eh?’ said the small voice. ‘Are you sure? This is a pickle, isn’t it? Hmm…where are you to go now, Mr. Potter?’ asked the hat.

‘PLEASE just put my dad in Gryffindor. It’s where he belongs.’ Albus thought. ‘It’s how it’s supposed to be.’

The hat gave a snort of amusement.

‘Well, if you’re sure – better be GRYFFINDOR!’

It was silent all around the Great Hall.

It was weird, Albus thought, making his way over to the Gryffindor table. His legs felt like Jelly Slugs, and he seemed to have a difficult time breathing. He needed to calm down. He was on the brink of a full-fledged panic attack.

How on earth had he managed to get placed into Gryffindor? He knew for a fact that something was wrong. What on earth was going on here? Why was he here?

He just wanted to go home.

As he approached the Gryffindor table, he saw quite a few people that were cheering loudly. His uncle George and his twin were shouting that they “Got Potter”

Once he had sat down Albus took in his surroundings. Aside from all the people patting him on the back and welcoming him to Gryffindor, Albus still felt nervous.

It was weird, he thought, being in Gryffindor. He felt like a snake in lions clothing. He supposes that's what he was. albus took a deep breath and looked up at the high table. He quickly caught the eye of Dumbledore, who was staring at him inquisitively. The headmaster smiled warmly at him, but Albus saw an odd shadow pass over his eyes behind the Half Moon spectacles he was sporting.

Albus was having a hard time focusing on the goings on around him. He needed to calm down. Being a Gryffindor was what he was supposed to be in the first place. It's what his dad was, what his mother was, and what all his cousins were.

So why on earth did he feel so out of place?

Bringing his senses back to reality, Albus faintly recognized Ron being sorted into Gryffindor. Albus clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.

‘Well done, Ron, excellent,’ said Percy Weasley pompously. Albus sighed. Some things never change, apparently. Such as his uncle Percy’s pompous attitude. Merlin he was just as insufferable as a teenager.

After the sorting ceremony had concluded, headmaster Albus Dumbledore stood up and grinned at everyone. 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 back down. Everybody clapped and cheered.

Albus wasn't sure what had begun the conversation but soon, the talk turned to their families.

“I’m half and half,’ said Seamus. ‘Me dad’s a Muggle. Mam didn’t tell him she was a witch ’til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.”

The others laughed. Albus smirked. He had never understood why some people got married without telling their partner about their magic. If it went bad, they could always be obliviated, he thought.

“What about you, Neville?” said Ron.

“Well, my gran brought me up and she’s a witch,” said Neville, “but the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned – but nothing happened until I was eight. Great-uncle Algie came round for tea, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my great-auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced – all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased. Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here – they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great-uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad.”

‘Damn’, Albus thought, “And I thought my family was eccentric. At least they didn’t hang me out of a window by my ankles. Jeez.’ He made a mental note to talk to Professor Longbottom more once he was back in his own time.

Glancing back up at the High Table, Albus’ eyes met that of a dark-haired man, with a slightly hooked nose. He was dressed all in black and seemed to be glaring daggers at Albus.

‘Ouch!’ Albus clapped a hand to his head suddenly. He was in pain very suddenly, a hot white pain that burned throughout his forehead. Was this the pain his father had gone through as a child?  The pain vanished as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Albus had got from the teacher’s look – it was cold, and his eyes looked like he could stare into Albus’ soul.

“What is it?” asked Percy, concerned.

“N-nothing.” Albus muttered, “M’fine…I guess. Hey Un-uh…uh I mean…Percy, wasn’t it?” he asked in his uncle’s direction.

His uncle’s face brightened.

“Yes, what is it, Harry?”

“Who’s talking to Quirrell? That teacher in black?” Albus asked.

“Oh, that’s Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn’t want to – everyone knows he’s after Quirrell’s job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape.” Percy muttered.

So that was Professor Snape. It was the man for whom he was named. From this perspective it didn't look like Professor Snape much cared for Harry Potter. What on earth had happened that caused his dad to call this man the bravest man he had ever known?

Of course, Albus had grown up hearing the tales of his father. It was almost common knowledge by that point, how his father had triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But there were only so many stories that his father could tell, and honestly, by Albus's time, Harry had burnt himself out telling the stories.

He knew his father had hated being the center of attention, no matter where he went. It never did any good however, as he was always the center of attention. It didn't matter what he wanted; people just were fascinated by him.

Albus knew the stories, he just didn't know enough.

Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The Hall fell silent.

‘Ahem – just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. ‘First-years should note that the forest in 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 the Weasley twins.

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. 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.”

‘Oh no’, Albus thought, ‘Quidditch’. His absolute nemesis. His dad was a Quidditch player in his Hogwarts years, something that Albus would not be able to duplicate no matter how hard he tried.

Merlin’s sake he needed to talk to Dumbledore, effective immediately.

Looking back over at his uncle, Albus tentatively asked if Dumbledore has office hours.

“Office hours?” Percy questioned. “What on earth do you need to talk to him for right now? classes haven't even started yet.” Percy looked confused.

“I just... Have something I need to talk to him about.”

“Hmm.” Percy mused. “If you need to talk to him that badly I'm sure you can speak with him tomorrow.” Percy told him.

Albus sighed. Sure. What was one more day?

it was as if his body was on autopilot. he ate, spoke a little bit with his uncle Ron and his uncle Percy, the rest of his family members. He mostly tuned everything out until they got to the dorm that evening. It was odd, looking at the Gryffindor common room.

Well, it was definitely cozy…and a lot warmer than the dungeons.

Albus grabbed the bed next to Ron and lay down.

‘Tomorrow’, he thought. ‘Tomorrow I will speak with Dumbledore, and he will have everything sorted. I'll be home and this will all have been just a bad dream.’ He hoped.

But the next time he woke, he was in the dungeons again.