Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Chapter 11
"Pettigrew!" Harry shouted in surprise. Several heads turned in Peter Pettigrew's direction as the man froze, about to enter the Great Hall through a side door. Peter's eyes landed on Harry, and he broke out into a smile.
"Is that little Harry?" said Peter, approaching the group of first-years. "Blimey, I hadn't realized you were starting school this year! Surely you remember your Uncle Peter?"
"Erm...yes, of course," Harry said awkwardly. He took in Peter's appearance, dressed in a simple brown uniform, and realized that he must be the Hogwarts caretaker instead of Filch. Why had his parents not mentioned this earlier…?
"My oh my, it's been years since I last saw you!" Peter sighed wistfully. "You look so much like James...but with Lily's eyes...do tell them I said hello, won't you?"
"Sure," Harry nodded stiltedly. Peter gave him a small nod and awkward little bow before turning and entering the Hall, leaving them alone again.
"Making friends with the janitor, are we, Potter?" sneered Draco Malfoy, eliciting a few laughs from the other students.
"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry muttered. He was a bit shaken by the encounter, still remembering what a monster Wormtail had been in his past life. Was he still on good terms with the Potters in this timeline? Did he have no cause to betray them to Voldemort when they weren't being targeted by the Dark Lord? It would be difficult to separate his past feelings from the truth, but by all appearances, 'Uncle Peter' seemed to be far less of a threat in this timeline.
McGonagall came to collect the first-years soon after, and they filed into the Great Hall, marveling at the glorious space and enchanted ceiling. Harry eyed the older students, noticing their hushed whispers – not at him as before, but at Neville, who strode confidently at the head of the group behind McGonagall.
The first-years spread out at the head of the Hall as McGonagall set out a wooden stool and held the Sorting Hat aloft.
"When I call your name, come forward and sit," the professor instructed them. She looked down at the scroll in her hands and began to read off the names: "Abbott, Hannah."
The first few Sortings went just as Harry remembered them. Hannah and Susan went to Hufflepuff; Lavender and Seamus went to Gryffindor; Terry, Michael and Anthony went to Ravenclaw; Crabbe and Goyle went to Slytherin.
Harry was starting to tune things out until "Granger, Hermione!" was called. Hermione nervously sat atop the stool as the Sorting Hat deliberated over her, the seconds trickling away into minutes: a near-Hatstall.
Students began nervously muttering to one another at the prolonged Sorting, but Harry just patiently waited for the lion's den to inevitably claim Hermione.
Which is why he was shocked to hear the Hat declare, "RAVENCLAW!"
The blue-and-bronze-clad students cheered their approval as Hermione happily skipped off to her new House. Nobody seemed perturbed by the result – "Makes sense," Ron muttered under his breath to Neville, earning a chuckle – but Harry felt as though he'd just witnessed a significant departure from reality.
It wasn't long after that until "Longbottom, Neville!" was called, and the Hall erupted in whispered gossip as the boy nervously stepped forward and took his seat. Harry recalled Neville's first Sorting to be a long affair, as Neville had desperately fought with the Hat to go to Hufflepuff.
He wondered if perhaps fate would shift again, and Neville would get his desired placement this time.
And once again, Harry was shocked when the Hat quickly declared, "SLYTHERIN!" Three of the House tables gasped in shock, while the students in green-and-silver roared in triumph for claiming the Boy Who Lived.
Harry glanced up at the High Table to gauge the staff's reaction. Dumbledore merely watched on impassively, while Hagrid looked troubled and Snape merely sneered at the passing Longbottom on his way to his new House.
Malfoy quickly joined Neville at the Slytherin table, and Harry's stomach churned a little watching Draco sit beside the boy and sling a welcoming arm around his shoulders. Harry hoped that Neville would fare alright in the snake pit, knowing most of the boys in his year had Death Eater parents.
Neville looked shell-shocked by all the attention, but relaxed infinitesimally as Draco continued to chatter away happily beside him.
Hopefully the dynamic would remain friendly for as long as possible…
Harry was so busy watching Neville that he nearly missed it when "Potter, Harry!" was called. Ron nudged Harry to get his attention so that he could take his seat on the stool.
There was no audible reaction to his name from the students, or even the High Table – his sudden lack of fame would take some getting used to, but he wouldn't complain. McGonagall placed the Hat atop his head, and he waited patiently for it to speak to him.
Oho, but you are not what you seem to be at all, are you, young man? said the Hat.
No, not exactly, Harry admitted. But I'm not here to cause any trouble.
Oh, I don't think you could avoid trouble if you tried, Mr. Potter, the Hat pointed out sagely. No, it seems to find you one way or another.
Either way, I'd like to keep my head down, Harry reasoned. I'll take Gryffindor if you like, or maybe Slytherin this time around, like you always wanted.
I can see in your mind that I considered you for Slytherin the first time, the hat mused, but for the life of me, I cannot see why. You haven't a trace of Salazar's cunning or ambition. And while it is noble of you to seek protection for your friend, I cannot make character judgments based on such wishes.
So the Hat did see through his bald-faced attempt to go to Slytherin just to keep an eye on Neville. But did he truly not belong in the House after all? Was Tom Riddle's soul fragment really the only tie he had to the House?
As for Gryffindor, the Hat continued, I can see that its values failed you the first time around. Your nobility and bravery manifested as reckless disregard for your own safety, leading to your demise. A pity, but such is the foolhardy nature of Godric's more zealous descendants.
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