Chapter 5: Sorted
Two black-haired Gryffindors lingered at their table long enough to watch the brief but intense discussion pass between the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress. They knew the topic of conversation was the two unexpected arrivals in the hospital wing. As they watched, the Headmaster drew himself up and walked calmly, though rather quickly, from the high table and out of the Great Hall.
James would have given anything to have his invisibility cloak handy at that moment, but it was locked in his trunk. "Who do you think they are?"
"I don't know," Sirius said. "But if they caught old Dumbles by surprise, they must be something special. Let's go before Minnie gives us detention for snooping." He hooked his arm through his friend's and strolled from the Great Hall, dragging James along with him.
"Do you think they'll be Gryffindors?" the bespectacled arm ornament asked.
Sirius considered the look of concern that both of the unconscious students had worn. It was a look James only wore when he was deep in thought over a homework assignment or particularly complicated prank. "Ravenclaws, I'd say."
James nodded, but still wondered about the boy who looked so much like him.
As he wondered, the boy woke.
Harry blinked his eyes and could not understand why he was able to see clearly. He felt neither the familiar weight of his glasses on his nose nor the pressure of them against his temples, yet he could see. It took a moment of blurred thought for him to recall that Tonks had helped him put in the magic contact lenses that morning. As he thought, he remembered the train ride, the attack by Malfoy and the portkey. He sat up and felt his chest for damage, but there was none.
"Ah, you're awake," a familiar voice said. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine, Professor."
Dumbledore studied his face, his twinkling blue eyes moving over every feature slowly as if memorising the boy. It was unnerving.
"Um, Professor," Harry said, eager to get the old wizard to stop studying him. "How long have I been out?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Presuming you were conscious before your arrival, nearly ten hours."
"Have I missed the Sorting?" He registered that it was rather a silly question to ask, but I was the first one that entered his brain.
"You'll forgive me for being so blunt, but you seem to know a great deal about this school," the old man said calmly, "yet I don't know you."
Harry frowned. Was this a joke? "I'm Harry, sir. Harry Potter... You just collected me from my Uncle Vernon's house a few weeks ago... I went with you to convince Horace Slughorn to come out of retirement…" He waited but no recognition lit the Headmaster's eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mr Potter, but Professor Slughorn has not yet decided to retire."
"Not yet decided?" he repeated slowly, considering the choice of words slightly off. Unless... he studied Dumbledore with the same intensity as he had Harry, taking in his two pale, usable hands, neither was blackened and shrivelled. The man was still old, but he could see the touch of brown on the tip of his beard. Professor Dumbledore's beard ought to be fully white. Even a false Headmaster disguised by Polyjuice potion would have a beard white from chin to belt buckle.
"What's the date, sir?"
The old wizard smiled at the boy's quick wit. "The first of September 1976, though not for too much longer." He watched the boy's eyes grow wide. "Given your surname and the similarity you bear to our current Mr Potter, I feel it safe to conclude that you are a relative from the near future." Harry nodded dumbly. "How was it that you came to be in this time?"
Harry frowned as he realised he didn't know. "I… I'm not sure, sir. Where did I arrive?"
"Most curiously inside the castle grounds," the man said, the mystery of it thick in his voice "In the entrance hall to be precise."
"Ah!" Harry shoved the sleeve of his jumper up. "My Portkey; it's set to bring me to the entrance hall if I'm attacked… which I was."
"You carry a personal portkey with you?" Dumbledore questioned. That seemed to intrigue him more than anything else had so far.
The boy opened his mouth to explain but thought better of it. He didn't think he could provide an adequate reason for having a portkey without giving too much away. After all that he had been through, Harry knew enough to know that he should not tamper with the past. Dumbledore waited patiently for him to decide what to say, but his mouth turned down slightly when Harry did speak.
"Sorry, Professor, but I think it best if I not answer any more questions."
He glanced up at the Headmaster. When his eyes met the old man's, thoughts came to his mind of Remus giving him the cuff and explaining how it worked. Strangely, Harry had not been the one to summon these thoughts. He had been thinking of his friends, not the portkey. His eyes widened in realisation and he forced a barrier around his thoughts, as thick and impenetrable as the physical walls of Hogwarts.
"Don't do that," he said, his voice shaking with the twin efforts of erecting a mental barrier and of keeping the anger from coming through his voice. "You made it a point that I learn Occlumency, sir. I know when someone is poking around my head."
"An old man's mistake, Mr Potter," he said by way of an apology. Harry could see the questions glittering in his eyes, and, if he was capable of Legilimency, he might have considered looking to see just what the old man was thinking about him. "You are how old, Mr Potter?"
"Sixteen, sir."
"And your friend?" he gestured to the bed across the ward. Harry hadn't noticed anyone else, but now that the man stood aside he could see the familiar shock of mousy brown curls.
"Hermione!" he jumped from the bed and ran across to her side. "Why didn't you tell me she was here?"
"I presumed you knew," he said, again without apology. "You travelled via portkey; I thought that you brought her with you."
"It activated because I was attacked," Harry repeated, unable to keep the anger from his voice this time. This was not the same Dumbledore who kept secrets from him, who hid the prophecy and helped set the stage for Sirius's death, Harry reminded himself. But the way he continued to make presumptions and not apologise for his mistakes was starting to wear on Harry's already strained nerves.
"Harry?" Hermione groaned as she opened her eyes. Whatever potion Madam Pomfrey had given her wasn't as effective as she would have liked; her head was clearly killing her. "What happened?"
"It's difficult to say…" Harry said and glanced up at Dumbledore.
"Oh, Professor," she looked up. "You have to speak with Slytherin's Head of House. We were attacked on the train. Mal—"
"Hermione!" Harry interrupted her Prefect report. "We have a problem."
Seeing his worried face, her eyes narrowed automatically. She knew she ought to be concerned, but her head ached and she couldn't help but think that just once she would like to have a normal school year. "What sort of problem?"
"Time travel," he said apologetically.
"What?" she shrieked, her voice painful to even her own ears. "How?"
"I was hoping you'd know," Harry said and dropped onto the bed beside her. "Did you hear what hexes everyone was throwing?"
She shook her head. "There were too many at once, I couldn't make out any of them. Besides, Mal—he probably went out of his way to find a spell I wouldn't know and would have difficulty countering."
"Fat chance of that," Harry smiled.
The Headmaster cleared his throat to remind them of his presence.
"Oh, wait! I'm so thick!" Hermione said, her voice hopeful. "We could just use a Time-Turner and travel back where we belong. They've a range of about twenty-five years… are we very far behind?" She looked expectantly between Harry and Dumbledore.
Harry didn't even bother asking how she knew which direction they'd travelled in time. She was smarter than him and probably recognised the difference in the Headmaster much quicker than he had. "Twenty years back."
"Well, that's not so bad. That's well within the available range of a Time-Turner –" She stopped, eyes wide. "Oh, no!"
"Whatever is the matter, my dear?" Dumbledore asked gently, far more gently than he had addressed Harry.
"If it's 1976, then Time-Turners were only invented last year. They probably haven't even managed one that could take us five years." She kicked her feet, taking her frustration out on the bed and blankets, and gave an annoyed growl. Her hissy fit stopped abruptly and she stared wide-eyed at Harry. "Oh, Harry, your parents are here!"
His eyes grew to unprecedented roundness. It was 1976. How had he not made the connection sooner? The possibility of meeting his parents, of talking to them made his heart swell even as it made his stomach churn. And Sirius was alive. He felt like there was a balloon filling his chest.
"We should stay away from them," Hermione said. "We can't risk interfering with events. Just being here is dangerous."
"You are quite sensible, Miss…" Dumbledore waited for her to fill in her name.
She frowned as she considered whether he ought to know it. "Granger," she finally replied. "I'm Muggle-born, so there's little chance of my name being dangerous information."
"Miss Granger, excellent," he nodded. "Well, now that you are both awake, it is time to be sorted."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sorted, Miss Granger. You are each wearing Hogwarts robes – Gryffindor, I see – so you are familiar with the process."
"You can't be serious, Professor," Harry said. "We know too much. We can't stay here."
He looked into the boy's eyes and let the twinkle die to show the gravity of his words. "The danger posed by you is far less within these walls than without. The Dark wizards out in the world would use your knowledge to rewrite all that will happen, changing the course of this struggle in their favour. I cannot have that." Harry was amazed at how forthcoming the Headmaster was being. "So you will be sorted and you will remain until a solution can be found."
"And if we can't find one?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with his worry.
"Let us remain hopeful, shall we?" He blinked and the twinkle was back in full force.
"Why get sorted, Professor?" Hermione asked as she stood, brushing away Harry's anxious hands as he readied himself to catch her. "We're Gryffindors. Unless you want us to get re-sorted into a house where we won't cause trouble."
The old man chuckled. "The Sorting Hat doesn't work in such obvious ways, I'm afraid. Personal preference can only sway it so far," he paused to open the door for them. "If you don't possess the requisite traits, it would never agree to place you in the house of your asking."
Harry preferred not to respond. The Sorting Hat wanted him to go to Slytherin. What if he couldn't talk the Hat out of it a second time? And hadn't the Hat wanted Hermione to go into Ravenclaw? What if they ended up separated? The questions and possibilities, none of them pleasant, continued to pile atop one another as he followed Dumbledore through the dark corridors. The castle looked no different, yet he felt it suddenly alien and dangerous. It wasn't his Hogwarts. This was his parents' Hogwarts, Sirius's Hogwarts. One slip of the tongue and the entire future might change.
"Here we are," the man said, breaking Harry from his disturbed thoughts. "Ladies first." He placed the tattered hat on Hermione's head and they waited for the announcement. Hermione's brow was knit and her mouth turned down in a frown as if she were arguing with it.
"Gryffindor!" the Hat shouted, though not quite as loudly as it would have in the Great Hall.
"Mr Potter," he placed the Hat on Harry's head.
"Hmm, another one!" the Sorting Hat spoke in his head. "Well, let's have a look then."
'Can't you just put me in Gryffindor?' Harry asked in his head.
"That's not how it works and you know it," the Hat insisted, a bit annoyed at being questioned. "Not a bad mind, though you're a bit lazy, I see. Courageous. Too courageous for your own good. You could do with a bit more cunning, I think; balance out the blind, stupid bravery, but let's call you a...
"Gryffindor!"
"Thank goodness," Hermione let out a sigh of relief and hugged him in congratulations.
"Excellent," Dumbledore smiled and levitated the Hat back to its place on the high shelf. "Now that that has been sorted, your background needs sorting. We must be clear on your story before joining the students in the dormitory and classes; they will ask you many questions and your lies cannot show."
Hermione bit at her lip. She was never a very good liar, but Harry thought he saw a way around her deficiencies. All they had to do was weave his sad background into hers and she would have very little to lie about.
"Pleased to meet you, I'm Harry Granger. I was orphaned as an infant and raised by a Muggle family in Oxfordshire. We moved to South Africa a few years ago, but I'm very happy to be back in England."
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Granger," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the boy and he shook his hand. "What happened to your birth parents?"
"It's too painful to discuss," Harry shook his head.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Where did you go to school?"
"At the local primary until my sister, Hermione and I learned we had magic," he grinned. "Then it was Saint Brutus's School of Magic in Johannesburg."
"Ooh, I do actually know quite a bit about African shamanistic magic! I read a fascinating book all about it over the summer," Hermione glowed with the excitement of being able to put her knowledge to use in conversation.