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Chapter 22: A Good Start

Harry sneaked a look at his watch as he rattled his trolley into crowded King’s Cross. 10:56. He had four minutes to get to platform nine and three-quarters.

The trolley hit a bump and Hedwig screeched as her cage almost fell off Harry’s trunk. Moony, who had been alongside Hermione, turned around to come to Harry’s aid. "I’ll take her," he said, lifting the cage from the trolley. "We need to keep moving."

Harry pushed the trolley, then frowned. "It’s stuck."

"Stuck?"

"I think one of the wheels is jammed."

Moony put Hedwig back on the trunk and bent down to have a look. "Sure enough," he said. "Hold on a second." Harry saw him pull out his wand and tap the wheel in question, then stand quickly up. "Try it now."

But before Harry could push on the trolley, matters went entirely out of his control. A voice shouted, "Out of my way, Mudblood!" and something large and heavy cannoned into him from one side, knocking him to the floor and winding him.

"Sorry," said another voice, sounding distressed. "Sorry — are you all right? I didn’t mean to, he pushed me..."

"All right," gasped Harry as the weight moved off him. Moony had helped the other boy to his feet, and was now offering his hand to Harry, who took it, got up, and looked around.

He had been run into by Dudley Dursley.

Who was currently staring in dismay at his own trolley. It had been tipped over, and his trunk had burst open. His clothes and schoolbooks were strewn across the floor.

"You’ll never make the train with all this to pick up," said Harry, making up his mind in a flash. "I’ll help you."

"No, you go — it doesn’t matter, I’ll phone my mum to pick me up, I’ll get to school some other way—"

"I’ll get you on the train, boys," said Moony calmly, bending down to retrieve an armful of Dursley’s robes. "Let’s get this cleared up." In between loads, he gave Harry the Marauder sign for "well done."

With three of them working, it took only three minutes to get the trunk repacked, but that was too long. Harry groaned as the station clock struck eleven. "We’ve missed it."

"Harry, do you really know me as poorly as all that?" asked Moony a bit challengingly. "I said I’d get you on the train, and I will. You too, Mr. Dursley — I believe that’s your name?"

"Yes, sir."

"Remus Lupin. I’m one of Harry’s guardians."

"Nice to meet you, sir." Dursley shook Moony’s hand. "Can you really get us on the train?"

"Yes. Come on, boys, you’re about to do something that will make all your friends jealous."

Moony led them out of the station, back across the road, to the Weasleys’ car. Harry brought his trolley around to the back of the car, but Moony shook his head. "I want them in the main compartment with you," he said. "Trust me." He helped them load their trunks into the back seat, then got into the driver’s seat. Harry sat in the front seat with Hedwig’s cage on his lap, and Dursley climbed in the other back door.

"Is something wrong?" Siss inquired from inside Harry’s shirt. "Should you not be on the school transport by now?"

"We got delayed," said Harry as quietly as he could, to try and avoid attracting Dursley’s attention.

Moony started the ignition with his wand, then pressed a small silver button on the dash. Dursley made a funny noise as the car and its occupants vanished completely, even to themselves.

"It’s perfectly all right," said Moony. "That’s the Invisibility Booster. Hold on, we’re going up."

"Up?" repeated Dursley in a slightly wavering tone. "Do you mean this car—"

Moony must have stepped on the gas. The car rumbled and took off.

"Flies," finished Dursley in a sort of half-awed, half-scared tone of voice. "It flies!"

"Yes, it does. We’ll catch up with the train, get you boys on board, and then I’ll take it home."

"Is it yours?"

"It belongs to a neighbor of ours. We’re just borrowing it."

Harry couldn’t resist. "Borrowing without permission?"

"And who said I didn’t get permission, you young scamp?" retorted Moony, chuckling. "Next stop, Hogwarts Express."

xXxXx

"Harry?" asked Hermione, looking up from her book. "Isn’t he with you?"

Draco shook his head. "I thought he was with you."

"He was right behind me in the station," said Meghan. "Something must have happened to him — we’ve got to go back and look—"

"They’re not going to stop the whole train for one student," said Ron. "Not even Harry Potter. Besides, Mrs. Danger’s there, and Mr. Moony. They’ll take care of it."

"I hope he’s all right," said Hermione anxiously.

"He’ll be fine," said Draco with a confidence he wished he really felt. "He’ll go to the Leaky Cauldron or something and Floo to Hogwarts — he’ll be there hours before we are — probably have found out who the new Defense professor is—"

"He can’t," said Meghan smugly. "The Defense professor won’t be there until we are."

"Meghan Black, you are annoying when you know something we don’t," said Ginny irritably. "Tell us!"

"I promised I wouldn’t," said Meghan sweetly. "You’ll just have to wait."

"Tell us this much, then," said Ron. "Is the professor on the train with us?"

"No."

"Then why won’t he be there until we are?"

"That’s a little sexist, isn’t it?" said Hermione. "It could be a she."

Meghan giggled. "You’re both wrong."

Six sets of eyes oriented on Meghan. "How can they both be wrong?" asked Neville in bewilderment. "Either the professor’s a man or a woman."

Meghan shook her head, grinning all over her face. "Not telling any more," she chanted. "Not telling any more!"

"Oh, come on, that’s not fair—"

"Come on, Meghan, please—"

"Just give us a hint—"

"Gave you lots already," said Meghan cheerily. "Lots and lots and lots."

"You did not, you only gave us a few—"

But not a word more would Meghan say, wheedle her as everyone might. Hermione soon tired of trying to get information from her and returned to her book, and the boys to their conversation about Quidditch.

Pearl can shut up tighter than a clam when she wants to — or maybe that should be an oyster. She’ll tell us when she’s good and ready.

After a few minutes had passed, Luna lifted her head from the latest edition of The Quibbler. "I hear something," she announced.

"Something like what?" asked Hermione.

"Like a horn. A car horn. Playing ‘Oranges and Lemons.’"

Ron and Ginny looked at each other. "What would Dad be doing out here?" asked Ginny in confusion.

Just then, the horn honked again. This time, everyone heard it.

"It’s right beside us!" Ron stared out the window. "He must have it invisible — but why’s he here? Did we forget something?"

"Open the window!" called a muffled voice.

"Who said that?"

"It’s Harry!" Meghan cried happily. "Your dad must have brought him! Open the window, Ron, quick!"

Ron unlatched the train window and pushed it open. "Harry, is that you?" he called out.

"Yes — can you and Draco and Neville meet us at the door? We’re going to try to get on." It was a bit unsettling, Draco thought, hearing Harry’s voice come from what looked like thin air.

"We?" asked Ron in puzzlement. "Who’s with you?"

"Never mind that now — can you do it?"

"Of course, we’ll be there straight away — door at the end of this car?"

"All right."

Neville stood up and opened the compartment door, nearly falling out as he tripped over someone’s trunk. Draco stepped carefully over the trunk into the hall, and Ron followed him out. They made their way to the end of the car, to the door there, and Draco pulled it open just in time to see the Weasleys’ car shimmer into existence, flying directly alongside the train. He was a bit surprised to see Moony driving the car, and more than a bit surprised at the passenger in the back seat — what was Dudley Dursley doing here?

Harry waved from the front seat. "Can you get the trunks in first?" he called.

Ron nodded. "We’ll try." He leaned down, holding onto the handrail, and unlatched the car door, then reached inside and grabbed the end of Dursley’s trunk, which was the first one there. He pulled it partway into the train, enough for Draco to get a hold on it, then changed his grip and pulled again, until Neville could catch the handle and help Draco haul it the rest of the way on board.

"Hold on a second," shouted Dursley as Ron made to lean into the car for Harry’s trunk. It suddenly started advancing on them. Dursley must be pushing it from the other side, Draco thought. "Can you get it now?"

"Not quite, another foot or so—"

Dursley gave the trunk another good shove.

"There, that’s done it."

Harry’s trunk was on board within a few moments. Dursley crawled along the seat until he was sitting next to the open door. Ron backed up, giving the other boy some room, and Dursley took a moment to nerve himself up, then jumped ponderously from car to train. Ron and Draco grabbed his wrists in time to keep him from falling back out again, and Ron reached out past him to shut the car door.

Moony tapped the brakes, bringing the front seat level with the train’s door, and Harry popped his door open, handing Draco Hedwig’s cage first, then climbing aboard himself, and turning back to slam the car door shut.

"Have a good term!" called Moony from the driver’s seat, waving at them and grinning.

"We will!" shouted Harry back.

Moony’s hand made a motion towards the dash, and the car and its driver vanished. Harry pulled the door of the train shut.

"That," said Ron in tones of admiration, "was brilliant."

xXxXx

The first thing Dursley did when they had all gotten out of the little stairwell was apologize to Draco for the blindfolding incident last year, and to Neville for laughing at him.

"I thought I wanted to get in with Nott and his crowd," he said. "But you were right with what you said that day before Easter. I would only ever have been a bootlicker if I’d stayed with him. I wised up over the summer, stopped answering his letters, especially when he started talking about me being useful to him — I didn’t want to be his dog."

"Good on you," said Harry.

"But he didn’t like it. So he had Goyle tip my trolley over in the station today, and Crabbe knocked me off my feet. And I don’t think it was a coincidence that he knocked me into you, Potter — Nott blames you for Slytherin’s losing the House Cup last year — did you really stop Quirrell and Lockhart from stealing something valuable?"

"Sort of. It’s kind of complicated, though, and I’m not really allowed to talk about it."

"All right. Thanks for getting me on the train." Dursley set off in search of somewhere to sit, and Harry and the other boys went down the hall to their own compartment, where the girls hugged him and fussed over him at length.

"It was funny, though," he said later, while he was telling the story of their short flight in the Ford Anglia. "I think Dursley heard me talking to Siss. And he may have seen her, while he was helping you get the trunks on board. But he didn’t say anything about it."

"He’s a Muggleborn," said Hermione. "He may not know about Parseltongue."

"He’s a Slytherin, though," said Draco thoughtfully. "You’d think he’d have heard of it..."

xXxXx

Remus Apparated into the music room of the Den and luxuriated for a moment in the quiet of the house. It might get on his nerves after a while, he knew, but for the time being it was very pleasant indeed.

A querying thought found Danger asleep, napping, so she was probably on one of the couches instead of upstairs. He went looking.

She was in the living room, one hand close to her mouth in a strangely familiar pose.

It seems Hermione comes by it honestly.

Her Pack-pendants had fallen out of the loose neck of her blouse, and were hanging down from the couch by their chain. Remus bent to restore them to her, then frowned. Something about them looked odd...

Oh, you mean I haven’t told you this story?

No, I don’t think so.

You’ll get a kick out of this. I told you about witnessing a truly amazing argument upstairs, didn’t I?

Yes.

What I failed to mention was that the argument also involved me. This statement was accompanied by a complex mixture of emotions. Pride was involved, Remus discovered, as well as shame, embarrassment, surprise, and a very strong wish to simply fade into the background. You see... the thing is...

They all wanted you as a secondary Heir?

How’d you guess?

The fact that your pendants are currently polychromatic tipped me off.

For a while, I felt like the dress in Sleeping Beauty. Blue, pink, blue, pink...

How did it end?

Well, it seems the same tactic that works to stop the cubs fighting also works on the Founders.

Shouting "SHUT UP" at the top of your lungs?

Yes. But not for the same reason.

I would say not. Remus was hovering between being scandalized and amused, with amused tending to win.

The cubs listen to me because they know what I’ll do to them if they don’t. The Founders... well, they haven’t been told to shut up by anyone who isn’t one of them in such a long time that I think I got through on shock value alone.

So you ended up being secondaried to all four Houses?

Is that even a word?

Now it is. Are you?

Yes.

And still no word on what, if anything, this gives us?

No, but I have a feeling it’ll come up eventually.

Things do have a way of doing that. "And you know, there’s no reason for us to keep it quiet," Remus went on aloud. "We have the whole house to ourselves."

"Going to get a chance to see what our lives would have been like if my parents had never died, I guess," mused Danger. "If we had just met normally, fallen in love, gotten married."

"As they say, normal is overrated." Remus bent over to kiss Danger. "Do we know yet if the placement of the colors means anything?"

"Sort of. It means how you tend to act around those people. For instance, my red is on the one with the cubs. I’m my bravest around them, because I’m partially responsible for them. Yellow on the one with you and Sirius and Letha — I guess because I’m the dependable, homebody type in this Pack. Blue for my parents, because we loved learning things together, and green for the Pack-friends. I suppose that means I’m supposed to try to out-Slytherin old Grumpy?"

Remus snickered.

"What?"

"Trying to imagine his face if you called him that. Not just Grumpy, but Old Grumpy."

"Old Grumpy Guts," said Danger promptly, making her husband laugh even harder. "Old Greasy Grumpy Guts."

Stop it before I kiss you.

What kind of threat is that?

One that I hope you’ll make me follow up on.

Old Greasy Grimy Grumpy Guts.

That’ll do it.

The Den lay peaceful in the afternoon sunlight.

xXxXx

The train ride passed pleasantly and uneventfully after Harry’s arrival. The lunch cart came by, and conversations began and ended, along with games of Exploding Snap and Go Fish, until Ron looked out the window and announced that they were almost there, and there was a mad rush to get changed into robes. Neville accidentally gave Luna a bloody nose with his elbow, and apologized profusely.

"It’s quite all right," she said, holding against her nose a wad of tissue, which Hermione had produced from her trunk. "Come here a second."

Neville stepped closer to her, and Luna pulled up the sleeve of his robes, took a butterbeer cap from her pocket, and without changing her expression in the slightest scratched his arm with it, drawing blood. Neville yelped and tried to pull away, but Luna wasn’t finished. She took the tissue from her nose and dabbed it against the scratch.

"There," she said in a tone of satisfaction. "Now we’re blood brother and sister." Everyone except Neville found this amusing.

Meghan, instead of changing into Hogwarts robes, had donned her best blue ones, and was looking quite excited indeed. In a silly mood, Harry offered her his arm, which she took grandly, and escorted her out into the hall. Ron and Ginny followed them, Ginny looking almost sick with apprehension. "Getting Sorted doesn’t hurt?" she asked Ron one more time.

"Not a bit," Ron told her. "It can be a little scary — everyone looks at you — but it’s over quickly. Don’t worry, Gin, you’ll be a Gryffindor."

Draco and Hermione were the next pair out of the compartment, Draco carrying Hedwig’s cage. "How do we get up to the school?" asked Hermione. "I know only the first years take the boats."

"Boats?" repeated Ginny, sounding interested.

"Hagrid takes you," said Harry quickly.

"There’s carriages for us," said Ron. "Fred and George say they move on their own — no horses, no drivers — or if there are horses, they’re invisible or something."

Neville and Luna came out of the compartment last, Luna holding Trevor. Her nose had stopped bleeding. "I’ll see you at the feast," she said, handing the toad over. "Have a good ride."

"Er, thanks, you too," said Neville weakly, hanging on to Trevor. "D’you think she’s mad at me?" he said in an aside to Harry.

"Luna? No, she’s just mad, full stop. You get used to it after a while."

Draco punched Harry on the shoulder with his free hand, a little harder than was really necessary. "Watch it."

"Watch what?"

Wrangling good-naturedly, they climbed out of the train with the rest of the school.

"Firs’ years!" called Hagrid’s booming voice. "Firs’ years over here!"

"Good luck, Ginny," said Harry, smiling at her. "Good luck, Luna."

The rest of the Pride echoed him. Both girls smiled back a bit shakily. Even Luna’s usual unflappable calm seemed slightly dented as they moved down the platform.

"Hagrid’ll take care of them," said Draco. "He always does."

They waved to Hagrid. He waved back, and shouted, "Come down’n see me soon!" as they followed the flow of traffic out of the station.

Sure enough, horseless carriages were lined up along the road leading out of Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. Harry was about to join the queue for one, but Meghan grabbed his arm.

"Neville," she said, and Harry looked back at his friend.

Neville was staring at the carriages, or rather at the empty shafts of them, his mouth hanging open and his eyes very wide. "Ron, I thought you said there weren’t any horses to the carriages," he said after a moment.

"There aren’t."

"Yes, there are. Great ugly black things with wings."

"Neville, there’s nothing there," said Meghan.

"What do you mean, nothing there — they’re all hitched to the carts! Right in front of us!"

Harry and Draco traded unhappy looks. The last thing they needed was for Neville to start losing his mind.

"Neville, why did you say they were ugly?" asked Hermione.

"Because they are. They’re so thin — it looks like their skin is right over their skeletons. No flesh at all."

"Come on, let’s get a carriage before they all go," said Ron.

"Black winged horses," muttered Hermione as they climbed into one of the last carriages, Neville still looking uneasily at the place where he claimed the horse was. "Skin over bones — Neville, can I ask you kind of an odd question?"

"All right."

"Have you ever seen anyone die?"

Neville blinked. "Yeah. My granddad. When I was about four. First he was breathing, and then... he wasn’t."

Hermione gave a sigh of satisfaction. "Thestrals," she said. "I thought I remembered Hagrid saying once he had a herd of thestrals in the Forest. Thestrals are only visible to people who have seen death."

"But then we should all be able to see them," objected Harry. "All except Meghan. After last year..."

"You were unconscious by the time Quirrell actually died," said Hermione. "And we none of us saw what happened to Lockhart. Just... what was left. I think you have to see it happen, or know it’s happening, to count."

"Well, this is cheerful," said Ron grumpily. "Now that we know Neville’s not going out of his mind, can we please talk about something else?"

"All right," said Draco. "Meghan, where are you going to sleep?"

"Gryffindor Tower," said Meghan promptly. "Hermione’s dorm."

"What!"

"You’ve only got four in there, there’s room for another bed."

Hermione seemed about to protest, but subsided. "If I find even one thing different from the way I left it, I’ll know who to blame," she said severely instead.

"I could have slept in the Hogwarts Den, but we didn’t want anyone else to know about it," said Meghan innocently. "And they thought I’d be happiest in with you."

"Who thought?" asked Harry.

Meghan giggled. "You’ll find out," she sing-songed. "You’ll find out!"

The carriages were soon pulling up in front of Hogwarts Castle. It was a fine night, not terribly cool, and the moon only a few days away from full (the Pride would be denning all together, for the first time, on one of their first nights at Hogwarts), so no one was in a huge hurry to go indoors. What looked like the entire school, minus the first years, was milling about in front of the steps, friends who hadn’t met on the train exclaiming over one another, girls embracing, boys exchanging handshakes and backslaps.

Draco climbed out of the carriage and accepted Hedwig’s cage from Hermione, who climbed out after him. He looked up into the sky, frowning, as Neville clambered out, then handed Meghan down. "Something wrong?" Harry asked him.

"Not wrong. Not exactly. But I thought I heard something."

"Something? Like what?"

"Like a motor..."

Meghan, Harry noticed, was watching the sky to the south, staring over the lake eagerly, and he turned to face in that direction as well.

"I hear it too," said Ron to Draco. "What d’you reckon—"

"Oh, look, look!" cried Hermione excitedly, pointing out over the lake. "Look, everyone!"

Meghan squealed and clapped her hands, jumping up and down in excitement. "They’re coming! They’re coming!"

Who "they" were, Harry no longer had to ask. Not with what he could now see, and hear.

A motorcycle was racing along the surface of the lake, skimming the water with its tires. By the light of the moon, Harry could see that there were two people mounted on it, and although their helmets hid most of their faces, he would have bet his broomstick on their identities.

No wonder Meghan’s allowed to live here.

The motorcycle pulled up, climbing steeply, then roared through the air towards them. The awed, chattering students parted to make space for it, and the driver set it down gently right in front of the great stone steps.

The passenger dismounted first and pulled off her helmet, Vanishing it with a careless wave of her wand. The driver, having set his kickstand so that his vehicle wouldn’t fall over, climbed off as well and removed his own helmet.

There was a wave of "Oooh" as his face became visible.

Padfoot tapped his helmet twice with his wand, shrinking it to palm-size, then popped his seat up, dropped it into the cavity thus revealed, and shut the seat again firmly. "Good evening, everyone," he said pleasantly. "Shall we go inside?"

Meghan’s smile could have lit the whole area if the moon hadn’t been up, Harry thought. She was prancing as Padfoot and Letha led the students indoors. Draco opened Hedwig’s cage before they went in, and the white owl nibbled his fingers affectionately and brushed a wing past Harry, Hermione, and Meghan as she flew off to the Owlery with the other student-owned owls. The cage went off to one side in the entrance hall — a house-elf would take it up to their dormitory later.

"Hello, Sirius," said Professor McGonagall, who was just coming down the marble stairs as they came inside. "Aletha."

"Minerva," said Padfoot with a smile, as Letha nodded graciously.

"I hope you didn’t leave that disreputable thing of yours sitting in front of the steps for the first years to kick at," said McGonagall, a trifle testily.

Padfoot looked disturbed. "I suppose I should move it, then," he said, and hastily turned and went back outside.

"Excellent work," said Letha. "Couldn’t have done better myself."

"Thank you." McGonagall added something under her breath that Harry caught by dint of being, at the moment, quite close to her.

"What did she say?" asked Ron as they passed into the Great Hall.

"She said, ‘I may survive this year after all.’"

"You didn’t know about... them. Right?" Ron’s expression suggested that if Harry had known and not told him, Ron, then he, Harry, was a git beyond the power of words to describe.

"Of course not. They didn’t tell us anything. I thought it might be someone I knew, but I had no idea it would be them..."

"And that’s why you said the new professor is neither a man nor a woman," said Draco. "It’s both. They’re going to teach together, aren’t they? Like Quirrell and Lockhart?"

Meghan nodded. "I think so. And they’ll share the suite too."

The Pride shuddered. "I didn’t need to be reminded of that, thank you," said Hermione.

"But they weren’t... doing anything," said Neville. "Right?"

"I don’t think they were," said Harry as the Pride found seats at the Gryffindor table. "I think they were just sharing because they both had the connection with Vol — You-Know-Who."

Draco agreed. "It was probably so he could keep an eye on both of them at once."

"Wonder how he found Lockhart," said Harry thoughtfully. "Quirrell said he found him — that’s Quirrell found You-Know-Who — when he was traveling and went to the wrong bit of forest. But I can’t see Lockhart in the forest. Not really."

"And besides, he wouldn’t have been in the forest, after that," said Draco. "He would have been with Quirrell."

"So maybe Quirrell met Lockhart somewhere," said Ron impatiently. "Who cares? I’m starving, I wish the first years’d hurry up and get here."

Padfoot reentered the Great Hall and came along the Gryffindor side of it, nodding to the Pride as he passed them, on his way to the High Table.

Meghan was looking smug. "I’m breaking tradition," she announced.

"How so?" asked Harry, knowing he was probably setting himself up for some kind of fall.

"I’m going to be the first witch ever to know how Sorting happens before I’m a first year myself."

"True enough," said Draco. "Better make it the first one that we know about though. I’d wager one or two kids found out over the years."

"Maybe if they had parents who were pushovers," said Ron.

"I like breaking tradition," said Meghan, obviously reveling in saying startling things. "I want to do it a lot, all my life."

"This from the person who always eats her meals in precisely the same order," observed Draco in Harry’s ear.

"Look at Snape," said Neville suddenly. "What’s wrong with him?"

The Potions Master’s face was twisted in lines of utter loathing. Following his line of sight, Harry was unsurprised to see that he was glaring at Padfoot and Letha, who were chatting animatedly with Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout respectively. "Nothing," he said. "He always looks like that when he sees Padfoot."

"Maybe we’ll get lucky," said Ron, "and he’ll get an ulcer."

"Oh, Ronald," groaned Hermione. "Are you ever going to grow up?"

"Hermione, I’m twelve! If I’m not allowed to be immature when I’m twelve, when can I be?"

"Besides," said Draco before Hermione could answer this, "we don’t need him any grumpier than he already is."

A careful lift of pale brows on the word "grumpier" banished all reactions but laughter, and just as it was dying away, a side door of the Great Hall opened to admit Hagrid, who went to his seat at the High Table, on the end beside Professor Sprout. Letha smiled and said something to him as he sat down, and a moment later, the main doors of the Great Hall swung ponderously open.

Professor McGonagall led the long line of first years up the aisle between the tables. Ginny and Luna were in the middle of the line, Luna looking very slightly unnerved, Ginny’s every freckle standing out in relief against her pale face. Harry grinned at her, and after a moment she smiled back, timidly.

Professor McGonagall fetched the Sorting Hat and its stool from the alcove where it had been sitting until now. The first years looked at it blankly, and everyone else expectantly.

The Hat straightened itself up and seemed to shake slightly as if looking about the Hall. Then the rip near its brim opened up, and the Hat broke into song:

The op’ning of another year

Brings once again my duties

Of welcoming to Hogwarts School

Our newest bucks and beauties.

The time has come for you to find

Where you would be best suited,

And in what House (to put it plain)

You soon will be included.

If you enjoy your bravado,

And daring deeds of do,

Then I believe that Gryffindor

Is just the place for you.

If you instead desire to learn

And spend your days in thought,

Then I’ll send you to Ravenclaw,

Exactly as I ought.

Or if you don’t mind working hard,

Perhaps with little fame,

The word I’ll shout is Hufflepuff

When I have heard your name.

But if by chance ambition burns

Within your clever soul,

Then I believe that Slytherin

Will fit you, on the whole.

You’ve naught to fear — the Sorting Hat

Has never been off target!

So sit right down and try me on,

And hear me speak, and mark it!

Everyone applauded the Hat as it bowed to the four House tables, then to the High Table.

"Does it make up a new song every year?" asked Harry as he clapped.

"Fred and George say it does," said Ron. "I suppose it gets bored in between Sortings. But it could just be reusing ones from a couple hundred years ago — we’d never know..."

Professor McGonagall had begun to call names from her scroll. Student after student was Sorted. Harry tuned out in favor of looking once more at the High Table. Letha caught his eye, winked at him, then flicked her eyes back to the Sorting. Harry looked at the stool just in time to hear the Hat shout "GRYFFINDOR!" Professor McGonagall lifted it away from the head of a small, mousy-looking boy, who tore over to the cheering Gryffindor table, looking terribly excited.

"What was his name?" asked Harry. "Did anyone catch it?"

"Creevey," said Hermione. "Colin Creevey."

"I think he’s Muggleborn," said Draco.

"How can you tell?" asked Neville.

"Look how he’s looking around at everything. The ceiling, the candles, Hagrid."

"Everyone stares at Hagrid a little when they first meet him," objected Harry.

"All right, that’s true, but not everyone stares at things like the candles. And he almost tripped on his robes. He’s not used to wearing them. Muggleborn."

"Lovegood, Luna!" called Professor McGonagall.

Luna stepped up to the stool, and the Hat fell onto her head. Harry sneaked a glance at Draco. His brother had all his fingers crossed in his lap and was muttering something under his breath. Harry would have been ready to wager it was "Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor, come on, Gryffindor..."

The Hat opened its mouth, then closed it again.

"That’s odd," said Ron. "It didn’t do that with anyone else."

"Yes, it did," contradicted Hermione. "Remember, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"Who did it do that with?" Ron looked confused.

Harry jerked his head towards Draco.

"Oh. I thought you meant this year."

The Hat straightened up once more. Draco inhaled sharply.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The table burst into applause, the Pack clapping harder than anyone and giving voice to several joyous yells, as Luna walked unhurriedly over to them, smiling rather more broadly than usual. She intercepted Meghan’s joyous hug first, then Hermione’s, then accepted Harry’s and Ron’s and Neville’s handshakes and sat down next to Draco. "Here I am," she said simply.

Draco grinned at her and offered her his hand. They shook heartily. "I was afraid you weren’t going to make it," he said.

"The Hat didn’t want me to," said Luna. "It wanted to put me in Ravenclaw. But I argued with it, and I won. Now we just need Ginny."

This year there were apparently no last names beginning with X, Y, or Z (what kind of last name would begin with X, Harry wondered), and nothing starting with Wi or Wo, making Ginny the last to be called. She was not quite green, as Ron had been at his Sorting the previous year, but she went even a little paler than she had been before when Professor McGonagall read out, "Weasley, Ginevra!"

Harry discovered an intense interest in himself as to where Ginny would be placed. It was only natural, of course, since she was his Pridemate, and he was supposed to care about her as such... also, it would be more convenient, for Pride meetings and denning and such, if they were all in the same House...

"GRYFFINDOR!" announced the Hat.

Three Weasleys, four cubs, Neville, and Luna all screamed at the same time. Ginny ran into Ron’s waiting arms, laughing, and the Pride closed in around her, hugging her and pounding her on the back. Even Percy was cheering — he seemed to unbend somewhat where Ginny was involved, Harry had noticed.

Dumbledore was getting to his feet. "I can only echo the Sorting Hat, in saying, welcome to Hogwarts," he said. "Welcome to those who are new, welcome back to those who are not, and with that being said, let all else be postponed until after we have taken care of the most important matter at hand. Supper."

Plates and platters, bowls and dishes, appeared on the tables, all heaped high with delicious-looking food. Harry grabbed a few chops for himself before Ron could get at them — he knew from experience that once his friend got a hold of something, there wouldn’t be much left for anyone else — and served Meghan a spoonful of mashed turnips with his other hand.

"I don’t want these," complained Meghan.

"They’re good for you."

"I don’t care."

Harry looked up at the High Table and caught Letha’s eye. Lifting Meghan’s plate, he pointed at it, at her, and at the bowl of turnips.

Letha looked straight at Meghan and mouthed, Eat it.

Meghan pouted. Letha gave her the look, and Meghan quickly started shoveling the turnips into her mouth, apparently on the idea that if she ate it quickly she wouldn’t have to taste it so much. "Maybe I should ask if I can eat at the High Table," she said, swallowing a huge mouthful.

Draco laughed. "Pearl, you couldn’t even see over the High Table."

Meghan picked up her goblet of pumpkin juice to take a drink. "Whoops."

Draco glared at her and grabbed a napkin to mop at his robes.

"Meghan, have you tried the brown sugar on those?" asked Neville from down the table. "It makes them a lot better."

"No, I didn’t even know there was any — where is it?"

Neville passed a small bowl piled high with coarse sugar crystals. Meghan took a generous pinch and sprinkled it over the turnips, then took a careful spoonful. Her eyes widened. "Much better," she said, and applied the sugar liberally, stirring it in.

Harry gave Neville a thumbs up. Neville smiled back, then returned to his Yorkshire pudding.

He’s better at dealing with my little sister than I am.

Harry wasn’t quite sure if that bothered him or not.

He was just scraping the last bits of his treacle pudding off the dish with his spoon when things began to get quiet, alerting him that Dumbledore had just stood up again.

"There are start-of-term notices, as usual — first year students will kindly be informed that the Forest on the grounds is forbidden to all students. The rest of you will kindly be reminded, and perhaps this year the reminder will sink in." This was patently addressed to a pair of identical redheads at the Gryffindor table, who looked innocently back at the Headmaster.

If they had spoken, Harry thought, Fred would have said, "Who," and George, "Us?"

"Quidditch tryouts will be held in the second week of term. See your House team captain or Madam Hooch for more details."

"Wood, right?" whispered Draco to Harry.

"Right."

"And finally, introductions are in order. Professors Quirrell and Lockhart were unfortunately unable to rejoin us here at Hogwarts for another school year..." Dumbledore paused to allow the snickering to die down. "However, the arrangement of having two teachers in the Defense Against the Dark Arts post was highly successful. May I therefore introduce Professor Sirius Black and Professor Aletha Freeman-Black."

Padfoot and Letha stood up as the school applauded them. Padfoot’s name, in particular, was buzzing about the Hall, usually with the adjective "cool" or "wicked" appended. Apparently, for some reason that escaped Harry, people thought it would be interesting to be taught Defense Against the Dark Arts by a man who had long been considered one of the Darkest wizards of modern times.

I’m just waiting until he pranks Snape.

"I wish you all a fine night of rest, to refresh minds and bodies and prepare them for another year of learning," concluded Dumbledore.

The teachers began to get up, and the prefects started calling for first years to follow them. "We’ll see you tomorrow," said Ron to Ginny. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." Ginny smiled at them all before hurrying over to Percy.

"Good night," said Luna. "Will I see you at breakfast?"

"I’ll be here," promised Draco.

"We all will," said Harry, kicking his brother gently on the ankle. Don’t make it too obvious you like her, fox, we’ll have enough to deal with this year.

Part of what they had to deal with was beckoning them from the teachers’ dais.

Meghan was already there, hugging Letha happily, as Harry, Hermione, and Draco caught up. "Surprise," said Padfoot, grinning at them.

"You’re not kidding," said Draco.

"How are you splitting up the classes?" Hermione wanted to know.

"We’re thinking we’ll run joint lessons at the moment," said Padfoot. "Both of us doing them all, instead of splitting it up by year."

"That way, if we decide to change in the middle of the year, we’ll both know what’s going on in all the classes," finished Letha. "And one important thing. In private, you may call us what you always do, but in public, and especially in class, it’s Professor. Understand?"

"Yes, Professor," said Harry.

"And no more PDA," added Padfoot. "We don’t need people being reminded."

"Not even me?" asked Meghan sadly.

"Well, you’re a special case, Pearl." Letha kissed the top of Meghan’s head. "But yes, in general, not even you. If you want some time with us, come to the office — you know where it is, I’m sure — and we’ll find time. But most of the time, we need to act like nothing more than teacher and student. All right?"

"All right," said Draco.

"Yes, Professor," said Hermione cheekily.

"One point from Gryffindor for disrespect to your teachers," said Padfoot in a frighteningly good imitation of Snape.

"We’ll be good, Professor Black," said Harry quickly. "We promise. Pack honor — Pack and Pride honor."

"Pack and Pride honor," the other cubs repeated.

Letha smiled. "Two points to Gryffindor, for a good recovery. But that’s the last time we favor you, understand?"

"Understand," said the cubs, almost in unison.

"Good. Now — bed." Padfoot made a shooing motion. "Before I change forms and chase you there myself."

The cubs fled the Great Hall, laughing.

It was going to be a good year.

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