"So where do you think you're going to be?" Ron asked.
"I think I have a pretty good idea," Harry responded.
"I'm going to be a Gryffindor," Ron announced proudly.
"How do you know that?" Harry asked. "I mean, unless you're a lazy, traitorous, idiot, you could end up in any of the other three houses."
"All my family has been in Gryffindor," Ron explained.
"So? Do Gryffindor parents necessarily have to raise Gryffindor children?" Harry asked, panicking slightly at the thought that Gryffindors being such horrible parents that their children would HAVE to be brave to survive it.
"All my family's been in Hufflepuff," Ernie Macmillan volunteered.
"And you already know that my family's all been in Slytherin," Draco reminded him.
"So all three of you want to be in one particular house simply because everyone else has been there?" Harry asked.
"Yep," Ron nodded.
"Well, I hate to break it to you, but that sounds a lot like Hufflepuff loyalty, wanting to be in the same House as everyone else in your family," Harry said casually. Ron and Draco looked distraught while Ernie beamed.
"Although," Harry continued thoughtfully. "Wanting to be in a House that everyone trusts implicitly and always underestimates is brilliant, possibly Ravenclaw of you. Or else a great way to help your Slytherin ambitions along."
Ernie growled at Harry, but was saved having to answer by his name being called. Fortunately, Malfoy didn't have much time to advance on Harry menacingly before his name was called.
"You didn't really mean all that, did you Harry?" Ron asked, his face white. "I really want to be in Gryffindor."
"I'm sure you'll get in there," Harry assured him, feeling a little bit guilty for messing with them. Not very, because Draco usually had anything Harry felt the need to do to him coming (well, except that whole attempted murder thing sixth year, but to be fair Draco tried to Crucio him first) and in a little over a year Ernie would most likely be convinced that he was evil. Ron, however, still had a huge inferiority complex that Harry wanted to help with, not make worse. He didn't have much more time to ponder this, however, as his name was up soon.
"Potter, Harry," Professor McGonagall read off.
Instantly, the whispers broke out.
"Potter, did she say?"
"The Harry Potter?"
Now, Harry had had his fair share of notoriety in his first life and had had years to get used to the fame. Still, nothing quite compared to the first time a large group of people (particularly teenagers) had seen him.
"Yes, that's right," Harry said, stepping forward. The gossiping quickly died down and the teachers looked at each other in slight surprise. Clearly everyone had expected him to just passively encourage the rumors. As if. "I am Harry Potter. If anyone asks me if I'm sure that I am, thus implying that I don't have the capabilities of any self-respecting one-year-old, I will hex them. You have been warned."
Now, Harry wasn't sure that he'd actually hex them (at least if they were a third year or younger), but it seemed like a good way to stop all of the nonstop questioning of his identity. And the horrified look on Snape's face was a nice touch. Although now he probably just inadvertently confirmed that he was, in fact, James Potter reincarnate. Well, such is the life.
Harry then walked over to the hat and placed it on his head.
"Hmmm," the Hat said. "Difficult. Very Difficult."
How is it difficult? You've already sorted me once.
"Yes, but now you've gone back in time to manipulate events in your favor, which is a very Slytherin thing to do."
Good point. Except, you know, for the whole 'It was a complete and total accident' part.
"Well, you're incredibly intelligent for someone of your age, maybe you should be a Ravenclaw," the Hat suggested next.
Harry rolled his eyes. Actually, I'm rather average for someone of MY age, so no I shouldn't. Although I'll be damned if I let Hermione beat me as far as grades go. I don't care if she IS a genius; I'm still twelve years older than her.
The Hat sighed. "Fine, no Ravenclaw either. But since your loyalty, particularly to the Weasley family who you seem to support no matter what they do, is astounding, what about Hufflepuff?"
Harry shrugged. Go ahead; I'll just transfer to Gryffindor.
"Can you do that?" the Hat asked.
Another shrug. I'm the boy-who-lived pre-dark-wizard-rumors. I can decide who lives and who dies.
"Rather full of yourself, aren't you?" the Hat asked, annoyed at Harry's rejection of all other houses.
A little, yeah, Harry admitted. But hey, isn't that a Gryffindor trait? And why are you trying so hard to put me in a different House?
"Well, what am I supposed to do? Just put you in Gryffindor because you want me to and because I did it once already? That's not how these things work," the Hat explained.
That's how it worked last time, Harry disagreed.
"Well, as I have no memory of the incident, I'm forced to speculate. You, as a terrified eleven-year-old, had the nerve to argue with the being that decided the course of your life. Sounds like Gryffindor to me."
What do you mean 'course of your life'? I thought it only affected Hogwarts?
The Hat chuckled, actually chuckled. "Oh please, do you really believe that? Name one Slytherin nobody thought was either evil or a coward? Or, occasionally, an evil coward?"
Harry didn't have an answer for that.
"Or take Ravenclaws. They're supposed to be incredibly inept and spend their whole lives studying, even when you're hit in the face of examples of this not being true, such as, from what I can tell of your experiences, Cho Chang and Luna Lovegood. Or Hufflepuff, they're supposed to be the House you go in when you don't have what it takes to be in any of the other houses, but Cedric Diggory was apparently the most qualified person in his year."
What do they say about Gryffindor? Harry asked, highly amused.
"Cannon Fodder."
Harry snorted. Typical. I guess I kinda see your point, though. I mean, Hagrid basically told me that all Dark Wizards are Slytherins, even though he knew at least one Golden-boy Gryffindor became one, even if he does think it's Sirius not Pettigrew. And you hear a lot about how so-and-so's family was all Slytherin so of course they're all Death Eaters or, at the very least, Pureblood fanatics. And the Weasley's put so much stock in the fact that they're all Gryffindor's that it's ridiculous.
"So you'll go in another House then?" the Hat asked hopefully.
Sorry, Harry apologized. I would, I really would, but I'd like to be with my friends again. Not to mention that Ron's too immature right now to consider being friends with a Slytherin.
"Fine," the Hat grumbled. "I suppose waltzing through the Veil of Death counts as being incredibly reckless anyway, might as well put you with the other people who don't seem to be capable of thinking things through in GRYFFINDOR!"
Predictably, his House gave him the loudest cheer yet, not suspecting that they'd just been insulted. Ron was quickly sorted afterwards.
"Well done, Ron, excellent," Percy said pompously.
"What do you mean excellent?" Harry asked, feigning confusion. "He got a Hogwarts Letter; of course they were going to sort him."
"I meant, good job getting into Gryffindor," Percy explained patronizingly.
"You mean that you would have been upset if he got into any of the other three equally noble Houses? I would've thought you'd just be happy that he's going to be a wizard at all."
"Well, I am, of course I am," Percy quickly backtracked. "It's just that it's better that he's in Gryffindor than in any of the other three."
"I thought Prefects were supposed to help promote inter-House unity," Harry scratched his head. "Maybe I should ask Dumbledore how he plans to achieve that when his representatives among the student body insist on perpetuating House prejudices."
Percy paled as the thought of what such a complaint would do to his chances to be Head Boy.
Harry turned his attention to his fellow first years just in time to hear Seamus ask, "How did he get covered in blood?"
"I've never asked," came the ghost's delicate reply. Unless Harry was very much mistaken, the 'he' they were referring to was the Bloody Baron. Now, he probably shouldn't divulge this, seeing as how it was obviously something they wanted to keep private, but then again, he'd never really liked the Bloody Baron or the Grey Lady.
"I can tell you," Harry spoke up.
Everyone turned to him. "And how would you, a first year, know a thing like that?" Sir Nicholas demanded.
Harry shrugged. "Magic?"
No one could find a flaw with that answer, although if Harry wasn't careful, he'd have everyone clamoring after him to retake Divination as he was obviously a Seer.
"So what happened?" asked Seamus.
"The Grey Lady, who, by the way, is the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower, is actually Helena Ravenclaw, the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw. I'm guessing being the daughter of the most brilliant witch of the time couldn't have been easy and she developed an inferiority complex. Her mother had a diadem that was said to make the wearer wiser. Helena decided it was a good idea to steal the diadem and run off to points unknown with it. Her mother sent a former suitor of hers, the Bloody Baron, to go and retrieve her. Helena wanted to go back was too proud and so refused. The Baron lost his temper, killed her, realized what he did, went all Emo, and then killed himself," Harry said, helping himself to some treacle tart.
"That sounds like a bad soap opera," Hermione said, sounding affronted. "Are you sure?"
"Hermione, didn't we already go over the whole 'asking Harry if he's sure' thing when it came to my name?"
"Well, yes, but you're more likely to know you're name than something that happened over a millennium ago?" Hermione asked reasonably.
"Yeah, how would you know?" Dean Thomas asked him.
Harry shrugged. "She told me?"
"Who, the Grey Lady?" Nearly Headless Nick looked bewildered. At Harry's nod, he continued, "When?"
"Seventh year," Harry replied, making use of the amazing phenomena that was telling the truth but having that truth be so incredible that everyone assumed you were joking. Well, if you were lucky. If not, they tended to think you were a lying schizophrenic.
"Well, if you didn't want to tell us, you could have just said so," Seamus told him.
Eventually, the subject turned to 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, but Harry frowned. It had seemed so amusing the first time around, but with what he'd heard of Snape's upbringing because Eileen Prince had done exactly the same thing…
"You're lucky," Harry found himself saying. Everyone looked over at him, confused. "You're lucky your dad took it so well. He could have easily panicked and left. Or stayed and resented your mother for lying to him and you for trapping him there. You're lucky that your father's a good man."
There was an awkward silence for a moment, as no one quite knew what to say to that.
Finally, Ron asked, "What about you, Neville?"
"Well, my Gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the family thought I was a Muggle for ages."
"Don't you mean a Squib?" Harry asked.
Neville nodded. "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 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."
Dear God, what a difference a mere dozen years makes in a person's perspective! "So, let me get this straight," Harry said, trying to stay calm. "You're basically saying that your family kept attempting to kill you in order to try and force you to do some magic? So, if you hadn't been a wizard they would have rather that you died? And your Grandmother was so happy that you were magic she completely overlooked the fact that if you hadn't managed to use magic, you would have died?"
"W-well they wanted to know if I was going to be able to attend Hogwarts," Neville said timidly.
Harry knew that this probably wasn't something that Neville needed to hear, but it WAS something that he needed to say. He remembered all too well the damage Neville's 'loving family' had done to him, damage it took him years to get over. Harry also remembered Neville destroying the last bit of Voldemort's immortality and enabling Harry to win and felt an intense wave of anger at the thought of what Neville's childhood must have been like. Because honestly, the Dursley's may have hated him with a passion and made that abundantly clear, but at least they never tried to kill him.
"If they wanted to know so badly, they should have checked the Hogwarts register. Granted that was probably highly unusual and possibly against regulation, but Dumbledore would have made an exception if he knew that your relatives would attempt to kill you," Harry said coldly. "And all that pressure was probably detrimental to any chance of you performing accidental magic. Basically, what I'm saying is that they really shouldn't have done that you, Neville."
Neville said nothing, but eyed him with an oddly speculative look on his face.
----
Harry's classes progressed much as they did the last time, he supposed, except he knew how to perform all the simple first-year spells and thus his teachers were torn between thinking he was a prodigy and thinking he was somehow cheating.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was a little different, though. Harry decided that while he wouldn't do anything that would make it blatantly obvious that he knew that Quirrell and Voldemort on the back of his head, that didn't mean he had to ignore what he had noticed the first time around, even if he had misinterpreted it.
The minute Quirrell's back was turned to write on the chalkboard, Harry felt the familiar pain in his scar (or semi-familiar; he hadn't felt it in six years, after all) and he put his hand on his forehead and yelped.
"E-e-everything all r-right, Mr. P-P-P-Potter?" Quirrell asked.
"Your turban makes my scar hurt," Harry said bluntly.
"W-what?" Quirrell asked, looked panicked.
The rest of the class just laughed, clearly not believing him. But, he supposed that was better than them deciding he was crazy. In fact, maybe if he set it up like this now, there wouldn't be that Rita Skeeter fiasco when she found out about his dreams.
"You heard me," Harry told him. "So I would appreciate it if you could not have your turban completely facing me as I think that would be more conducive to my learning environment."
"How does your SCAR hurt, Harry?" Hermione asked skeptically. "Wouldn't that be your forehead?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, Hermione. All I know is that my scar hurts, not my forehead."
"HOW?" Hermione repeated.
Harry wasn't quite sure how to explain it and so left it at that.
----
Finally came the day he was most looking forward to: First-year Potions as a semi-competent adult. Some would consider this cheating. Harry would consider having the Potions teacher not have a personal vendetta against you as cheating. It evened out.
"Ah, yes," were Snape's first words to him. "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity."
"I'm sorry, sir, is that your way of asking for an autograph?" Harry asked innocently. He took the vein bulging in Snape's forehead to be a 'no' and continued, "It's just that I only found out that my parents weren't drunken bums who died in a car crash a little over a month ago, so I'm very new to this fame thing. I appreciate how considerate you're being."
Oh, now look, another vein! While Harry fully acknowledged that Snape was one of the metaphorical 'good guys', he also realized that the only possible chance of him getting Snape to like him died when the Sorting Hat proclaimed him a Gryffindor.
Actually, he reflected, he very well could make an effort…Nah. What was the fun if he didn't have anyone to bother? And at least with Snape, everyone took his side.
"Potter!" Snape's voice jolted him out of his musings. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood."
"Draught of Living Death," Harry replied matter-of-factly.
"Which is?" Snape pressed.
"Professor, I'm not entirely sure why you're asking me questions to which you don't know the answer but I'm pleased to inform you that I, a first year, know that it is a very powerful sleeping potion that makes it appear that you're dead."
"Of course I knew that, Potter!" Snape snapped.
"I'm sure you did," Harry said, sounding slightly dubious.
"Well, I suppose everyone gets lucky once, something that you'd know plenty about, Potter…" Snape muttered distractedly.
Harry stared. "Um, sir? Did you just compare me getting a potions answer to correct to Voldemort attempting to brutally murder me after brutally murdering my Mum and Dad?"
Snape started, realizing he'd spoken aloud. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"In the potions cupboard?" Harry suggested.
Snape's eyes flashed. "Potter!"
"What? You can't actually expect me to go out, find a goat, and extract a bezoar from its stomach…can you?" At this, Harry looked a bit scared; he had no doubt that Snape could very well expect that of Harry. Especially if he continued to provoke him like this.
"What's the difference between monkshood and Wolfsbane?" Snape fired off another question.
"It's not very nice to try and trick me, sir," Harry said. "And I know full well that they're the same plant. Although why they go by two different names, well, three if you count aconite, is beyond me."
"I suppose you qualify as competent, Potter," Snape said grudgingly, completely ignoring the fact that first years should not be expected to memorize their textbooks on the first day.
Although that first question…when Harry was trying to get Ginny to forgive him for abandoning her after Dumbledore's funeral, he decided to send her a message in flowers and so got a book on Victorian Flower Language. If he recalled correctly, asphodel was a type of lily meaning 'My regrets follow you to the grave' and wormwood means 'absence' and also typically symbolized bitter sorrow. If you combined that, it meant 'I bitterly regret Lily's death.' Now, there's no way a normal first year would be able to get that (and Harry didn't even know if Snape meant to convey that), but is just seemed like too big of a coincidence, out of all the potions Snape could have asked about, he chose that.
"Thank you," Harry said quietly.
Snape just nodded curtly. "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
Harry partnered with Ron and noticed that Neville was looking a bit pale.
"Hey, Neville? Why don't you work with Hermione? After all, she's read the textbook a few times and so she probably won't mess up," Harry suggested.
Hermione smiled at this and the two moved over to the same table.
And Harry was right; Hermione did know what she was doing and Neville managed to avoid exploding anything this time around. He still cast Protego on himself, but that was more to get into the habit of it. Now that he knew how to protect himself from the various potions incidents, why not use it, after all?