Sunday, 1 September 1991
The train slowed to a halt in Hogsmeade station just as Harry finished tying his generic black tie. He stashed his satchel in his trunk and left it unshrunk in their compartment as he followed his new friends outside.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" Hagrid's voice boomed from down the path. "Harry!" he called, spotting him amongst the crowd, "all right there?"
Harry beamed up at him, "everything's great!"
"That's a good lad," Hagrid said, a bright smile on his face as he gently ruffled Harry's hair. "Everyone follow me!"
They followed Hagrid down a slippery path toward what appeared to be a massive lake below. Harry knew there was a lake on Hogwarts' grounds but he'd never realized it extended all the way to the village.
"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid called over the sounds of the first years slipping and sliding down the slope.
Harry hopped into one of the boats and then held his hand out to help Hermione. They were quickly joined by Ron and Neville as Draco, Theo, and Greg climbed into the next boat over along with a boy named Vincent Crabbe that Draco had pointed out near the end of their journey.
The trip across the lake was incredible, but not as incredible as the feeling of the wards washing over Harry's skin. His Gryffindor ring was almost certainly glowing though his friends were far too distracted by their first sight of the castle to notice. Some of the magic surrounding him was similar to that which emanated from the Gryffindor ring, some of it even felt like Merlin's magic which brought tears to Harry's eyes that he quickly blinked away. It felt almost like Camelot. It felt like coming home.
* * *
Minerva McGonagall stood in front of the massive oak doors that marked the entrance to the castle she'd called home almost her entire life waiting for her first glimpse of her beloved cousin's grandson after a decade of worrying if he was alright. If she closed her eyes she could hear Charlus and Fleamont's laughs echoing as they chased her through the halls of Hogwarts just as they'd done at Ross Hall, their mothers' ancestral home.
She and Charlie had been the exact same age, taking every step side by side. Teaching his son, James, had been a treat, even if he was more of a troublemaker than Charlie and Monty combined. Now all of them were gone, but their legacy lived on in young Harrison.
She could only hope he'd inherited their laugh.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, three knocks echoed through the entry hall. With a deep breath, she waved her hand and directed the doors to open.
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said, face lit up with that same warm smile he directed at every human, creature, and beast he'd ever met.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
She led them deeper into the school to the chamber just next to the Great Hall where she launched into her well-rehearsed welcome speech, eyes roaming the crowd of nervous young faces.
Right as she finished her speech, she spotted a small group at the back of the room crowded around a boy with golden brown hair and bright eyes. It was an odd mix of people; the youngest Weasley boy, the Malfoy, Nott, Goyle, Crabbe, and Longbottom Heirs, and the young Miss Granger whom she'd shown around Diagon Alley, but she couldn't quite place who the young man at the centre of it all. Just as she was about to turn around and fetch the hat and stool, she heard the unmistakable (thanks to many decades of teaching in a magical school) sound of a pet toad escaping and beginning to hop away followed by an achingly familiar laugh that bounced of the chamber walls and melted the ice she'd let settle around her heart.
"Nev he's escaped again!"
Though his laugh was all Potter, his voice sounded nothing like his father. There was a distinct lilt to it that suggested he'd spent most of his life speaking Gaelic or Welsh, almost reminiscent of a young Remus Lupin. She looked over her shoulder just as Harrison scooped up the fleeing toad and gently handed it back to the Longbottom lad and her heart skipped a beat at the specific tilt of his smile. That teasing grin was all Arcturus Black at his most relaxed; those times he'd let his mask drop to poke fun at his cousin Dorea over how smitten she was with 'little Charlie Potter'. That combined with his apparent comfort with Narcissa's child made her think Dumbledore was deeply, deeply mistaken as to where James and Lily's son had spent the last decade.
Her colleagues, and the wizarding world at large, were expecting James Potter's clone with Lily Evans' eyes.
They were in for a shock.
Though he had certainly inherited features from both his parents, there was something unique about him, something all his own.
As she finally turned to leave the chamber to place the Hat and stool, she resolved to build a relationship with this child whether he was one of her lions or not; something in her magic, something in her very soul, told her it'd be well worth it.
* * *
Severus Snape was in a strange mood.
He could hardly even begin to identify what he was feeling.
On the surface level there was excitement that his darling godson would be sorted today, hopefully into his house. Not to make Lucius proud, Severus didn't give a single fuck what Lucius Malfoy thought about anything, but so he could better protect Draco from anything that might try to harm him.
Below that was an odd resentment that he always felt when he thought of James Potter. He recognized that his feelings toward the man were both immature and entirely useless seeing as he was long dead, but his son would soon be walking these halls and if Dumbledore was to be believed, he was an exact copy of his father with his mother's eyes.
He wasn't necessarily looking forward to the eyes of his best friend, his sister in all but blood, looking up at him from behind a cauldron as a constant reminder that he'd pushed her away and had been too cowardly to fix it before she died. But, more pressingly, if this child truly was James Potter reincarnate, he'd have to keep him away from Draco. He wasn't going to allow his godson to suffer the same fate of being constantly teased and often outright bullied by mindless Gryffindors.
His strange mood wasn't at all helped by the nostalgic look that'd been on Minerva's face when she'd stepped into the hall to place the Hat and stool before heading back to the antechamber. It was exceedingly difficult to shake Minerva McGonagall's stern exterior and something, or someone, had done it. His galleons were on the Potter brat.
Before he could spiral about Potters and vulnerable godsons and long lost friends any further, the doors swung open and a hoard of first years followed Minerva into the hall like a bunch of ducklings.
He spotted a head of platinum blonde hair at the back of the group and nearly choked on his water when he saw his godson joking around with the latest in the line of Weasleys. He was rather certain hell hadn't frozen over today, but he might just have to check.
As the group approached the front of the hall, he watched Draco turn around to a young girl with wild brown curls who was standing between Theodore Nott and a boy he couldn't place. Nott was looking at the girl in interest as she appeared to be answering Draco's question, gesturing toward the ceiling with an awed grin on her face and the other boy was looking at Draco with a distinctly fond smile.
"Hey," he heard Draco whisper to the second boy as the group crowded directly in front of the staff table, "you sure you won't join me in Slytherin?"
"Pretty sure, Dragon," he responded, his smile taking on a softly teasing edge as Draco scrunched his nose in complaint.
"That is so not fair," Draco huffed. "Harry and Harrison have no embarrassing nicknames and you don't have a Black name so I can't even tease you about your constellation or star."
Severus was now quite sure hell had, in fact, frozen over.
There was only one Harrison on the roster so unless the train had picked up a stray between here and London this child who was fondly joking with his godson was Harry sodding Potter. Merlin save them all.
"If you want to get super technical, grandfather and father did add a middle name when I took up the heir ring."
Severus leaned forward slightly to hear them better as the Sorting Hat began to sing.
"What name?" Draco asked, unholy glee lighting up his eyes at the prospect of new nickname material.
"Guess," Harry whispered back, eyes flicking toward the Gryffindor table.
"Sirius?"
"So close but no dice."
"I don't know what that means."
"Whatever, think harder."
Draco paused and followed Harry's gaze toward the red and gold banner hung above the table, "you said Sirius was close?"
"In terms of DNA."
"The whole family's close in terms of DNA, what with the centuries of inbreeding."
"Maybe we shouldn't advertise that."
"It's common knowledge," Draco shrugged, an unrestrained grin on his face that Severus hadn't seen in years. He decided then and there that he'd do his best to shove his issues with James Potter so far behind his Occlumency walls that they'd never effect how he treated his son if the child was capable of putting that specific smile on his godson's face.
He was rather certain he knew what Harry was getting at and was strangely invested in finding out if Draco would get there as he watched that little nose scrunch up once more in thought, "is it Regulus?"
"Ding ding ding, we have a winner," Harry said, a grin on his face that was so viscerally reminiscent of his apparent namesake that Severus stopped breathing for a moment.
"I'm calling you Lion now."
"King of Beasts," Harry said, a mock haughty expression on his face as his eyes betrayed his humour, "seems accurate."
"Oh please," Draco muttered just as the Sorting Hat closed out its last line, "dragons are by far the cooler animal."
Severus settled back in his chair as Minerva called out "Abbot, Hannah!" and let his mind wander. The roster he'd seen the week prior had listed Harry as 'Harrison James Potter' but the boy had said that grandfather, who Severus assumed was Arcturus Black, had added the middle name when he'd taken up the ring. That would've been on his 11th birthday which, if Severus remembered correctly (and he absolutely did seeing as there was an entire sodding prophecy about it), was at the end of July. He wasn't sure who 'father' could be, but well trained instincts told him the whole thing reeked of Marauder. He wondered idly if Arcturus had also given the boy his last name, then found himself wondering if the official roster Minerva was reading from had been updated in the past month. As his thoughts strayed into musings about how, exactly, the Book of Admissions worked, Minerva called out "Malfoy, Draco!" and he snapped back to attention.
The Hat had hardly touched a hair on Draco's head before it shouted out "Slytherin!"
Severus clapped politely, not quite able to keep the soft smile off his face as Draco hopped off the school and beelined straight for Harry who let out a whoop before high-fiving his cousin. Draco held tighter to the offered hand, pulling them closer together so he could gently tap his forehead against Harry's temple in a rather adorable act of familial affection before walking toward the Slytherin table with his head held high; gamely ignoring the thinly veiled shock at a Malfoy showing any sort of tenderness.
It was only six names later when Minerva called out "Potter-Black, Harrison!" which answered at least one of Severus' questions. He saw the Headmaster's eyes widen in shock before his face faded to a thoughtful expression, likely trying to rationalize how the child had ended up being recognized by both his proper name and a hyphenated surname while living in Surrey with a family of Muggles.
He might just have to make a bet with Minerva on when, exactly, Albus would figure out some player had changed the game.
* * *
As Harry stepped forward, whispers broke out around the Great Hall. He did his best to ignore the craning necks as people tried to get a good look at him as the Hat was placed upon his head. It was large enough that it slipped down over his eyes, giving the added benefit of blocking out the stares of his new schoolmates.
"Hello, rí beag," a soft voice whispered as wonderfully familiar magic surged around him.
"Em?" he thought back in total shock.
"I helped enchant this old thing. It belonged to Godric, you know, your great-great-great however many greats grandfather. I laced together the four founders magic so they could select the new members of their houses every year, even after they were gone."
"Does everyone hear you?"
"No, most hear the voice of Godric's father, Gilead. We embedded his personality using a rather complex series of charms that I'm sure you'll be asking me about next time I see you. He had a very comforting grandfathery voice, makes this old hat sound quite wise."
"So are you going to sort me?"
"No, I'll let their magic take over and you'll hear Gilead. I just wanted to say hello and remind you that I love you dearly, mo mhac."
"I love you too, athair."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, keeping his tears at bay as a new voice filled his head, "well isn't this incredible," it said, sounding absolutely overjoyed, "Magic has once again recognized an Heir of Gryffindor, I think you'd fit right in with my son's house, dear boy. You carry our blood and our title after all. But I won't just put you there because I want to, give me a moment to let the magic work."
"Yes sir."
"Call me grandfather, child, and come visit me sometime. I've got many stories to tell and it's your obligation as my grandson, however far removed, to listen to an old man."
"It'd be an honour."
"Hmm," the Hat hummed, seemingly done with flooding Harry's mind with thoughts of family and legacy and love, "you'd do well in any of the houses. You're witty and loyal and cunning and brave, but I think it's courage that defines you, Child of Fate. It's that very courage that'll allow you to one day take the throne, it better be … GRYFFINDOR!" Gilead shouted to the crowd.
Harry grinned as his new house erupted in cheers, he looked over his shoulder to see Draco raising his hand for an air five, something Hermione had taught him around Edinburgh. Harry raised his hand back, smiling even wider at the fact they weren't letting their houses divide them. He'd feared it for all of a second before Draco assured him they'd be family no matter what.
He placed the hat back on the stool and smiled up at McGonagall who was looking at him with a warmth in her eyes he tended to associate with his grandfather and felt his magic sing as she gently squeezed his shoulder before turning back to the roster, something in his very soul recognized her as kin.
With a new warmth in his heart, he strode down the hall and accepted the hugs, high fives, and pats on the back from everyone at the end of the table before taking his place next to Hermione and across from Neville with a massive grin still plastered across his face. Someone reached around Hermione to ruffle his hair and Harry instinctively leaned into the touch as he turned his head slightly to see who it was.
George, with a smile so full of joy Harry couldn't help but grin right back.
"Welcome home, Harry," George said, voice soft and eyes fond.
"Thanks," Harry replied, wondering, for a moment, why his cheeks felt warm.
Harry found Hagrid at the end nearest the Gryffindor table and somehow grinned even wider as the Gamekeeper shot him a thumbs up with a proud smile on his face. Albus Dumbledore was sat in the centre in a large gold chair, he caught Harry's eye and smiled softly and Harry found himself agreeing with Remus; the Headmaster wasn't some evil mastermind who was plotting how best to use Harry as a weapon, he was an old man who'd seen too much in his life who was weighed down by responsibility and expectation. A man forced to act like he was all knowing, who'd been conditioned to avoid asking for help.
It was still dangerous, to be certain. But it was fixable; they simply needed to find the right approach.
Further down the table sat the odd man Harry had met in the Leaky. He couldn't figure out why, exactly, the professor was wearing a turban but decided it was rather inappropriate to ask. There was something about the man that put Harry on edge, something in his magic that was just slightly off.
Not wanting to spend any more time analysing the off-putting Defense professor, Harry let his eyes wander further down the table where he spotted a man he vaguely recognized from the photo albums Remus had technically stolen from Godric's Hollow the month before Harry's 6th birthday.
Severus Snape wasn't so much looking at him as he was studying him. Harry, not wanting to get on the bad side of his cousin's godfather and, selfishly, wanting the chance to talk to this man who'd known his mother as a child, shot him a kind smile and felt hope flutter in his chest as Snape nodded in return.
He let his attention wander back to the sorting just in time for Ron's name to be called. It didn't take long for him to join them at the Gryffindor table, greeted by raucous cheers and hugs from his older brothers. He took the seat next to Neville, grinning like mad.
After 'Zabini, Blaise' was sorted to Slytherin, Dumbledore stood and spread out his arms, a beaming smile on his face.
"Welcome!" he called, the hall going quiet as he spoke. "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 and everyone cheered. Harry wasn't sure whether they were cheering for the slightly insane welcoming speech or the food that'd just materialized on the tables, but he decided he didn't quite care.
"Is he … a bit mad?" Harry asked, looking across the table at Percy, Ron's older brother who was (very proudly) one of the Fifth Year Prefects.
"Mad?" Percy said. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"
Harry happily accepted the potatoes as he thought over Percy's response. It was quite funny hearing people refer to Dumbledore as the greatest wizard in the world when Harry had been raised by Merlin Emrys. His personal bar for great wizards was pretty impossible to meet. He was, however, happy to hear someone outside his family unit acknowledge that Albus Dumbledore might be just a touch off his rocker.
As he began filling his plate, the Gryffindor ghost floated closer, mumbling about wishing he could eat before speaking up and addressing the whole group of First Years, "I don't think I've introduced myself, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."
He scanned the table, eyes going wide when he met Harry's gaze before bowing his head subtly in respect. Harry was rather relieved this Knight hadn't made some great show of fealty, he wasn't anywhere near ready to explain the Pendragon of it all. He'd never heard Sir Nicholas' name in any of Merlin's tales but he was looking forward to getting to know the ghost better, hoping he'd have some wisdom to pass on or at least some entertaining stories to share.
As he thought more about it, he actually couldn't be sure whether Sir Nicholas acknowledged him because of his royal title or because of his connection to Death.
He'd also mentioned being the resident ghost of Gryffindor tower so it might've had something to do with his being the Heir to that House.
Harry zoned back into the conversation as Sir Nicholas showed Seamus how, exactly, one can be nearly headless before launching into a diatribe about how they needed to Gryffindor up and win the House Cup, something about the Bloody Baron becoming unbearable.
As his classmates chattered about their parents and classes and whatever else came to mind, Harry found himself zoning out once again. He was seriously ready for bed but it didn't appear that the feast was going to wind down any time soon. As his gaze drifted back toward the Head Table, a sharp pain struck his head, rippling through the exact path of his scar. His only outward reaction was the slight crinkling of his nose as he pushed the pain away and scanned his surroundings for the source.
Quirrell.
Harry hadn't ever felt pain in his scar. He knew that it'd briefly played host to a fragment of Voldemort's soul but since that trip to the Goblins a decade ago it hadn't given him any trouble.
For it to react now?
Something dangerous was brewing and finely honed instincts told Harry that no matter how much he tried to avoid it, he'd still end up smack dab in the middle.
* * *
Gryffindor Tower was exactly how Sirius and Remus had described it and Harry immediately fell in love.
Every couch looked perfectly plush and comfortably worn in, the rugs and tapestries decorating the room made the castle stone seem impossibly cozy, the fire was crackling, emitting a warmth that seemed to settle in Harry's very bones.
Percy pointed them toward their dorms and Harry forced himself to focus on these first moments in his new home, pushing all thoughts of potential danger (a threat that only got more real when Dumbledore casually mentioned 'the third floor corridor' and 'certain death' in the same sentence) to the back of his mind.
He found his trunk already stationed in front of the bed safely nestled between Ron and Neville and smiled softly as he opened it to search for his pyjamas. He pulled on his favourite flannel pants and a sweater he'd liberated from Remus' closet and crawled under the covers, barely getting out a mumbled goodnight before crashing into his bed where he was quickly lulled to sleep by the soft hum of Hogwarts magic.