Replay

Replay

by Raye Johnsen

[email protected]

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyright J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Warner Bros. and associated parties, of which I am not one. This is a not for profit fanfiction for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter Four: Too High, Too Fast, Too Far

    Before Harry knew it, the little boats had made landfall at the cold beach of pebbles in the cave under the castle. He scrambled out, his eleven-year-old feet landing ankle-deep in the chilly water of the shallow lake-edge. It was still warm enough that the cool was quite pleasant, although the sensation of walking in wet shoes wasn't quite so much fun as he remembered.

    He wasn't the only one with damp toes -- over half the other children were cheerfully squelching their way up the beach to the back of the cave. As he passed the high-tide mark, however, he felt a surge of magic and the water vanished as thoroughly from his shoes as though it had never left the lake.

    "Oi! You there! Is this your toad?" Hagrid called out from behind him. Harry turned to see Hagrid holding something up, and Neville rushing back towards him. "Trevor!" he called out blissfully.

    "He really likes that toad, doesn't he?" Harry heard Ron say, in a bemused tone, from his left.

    "Yes, he does," Hermione added from his right. "He could've left Trevor with Hedwig, to be brought up to the castle with everything else."

    Neville had caught back up with them, and heard the tail-end of Hermione's comment. "I -- hff -- couldn't -- hff -- do *that*," he puffed. "He's *my* toad!"

    Harry shrugged, and turned to head up the beach again, hearing the other three fall in behind him. Yet again, he had fallen into a leadership position. /But this time,/ he thought savagely, /*this* time, I won't fail them./

    They passed through the tunnel to the grassy lawn beside the castle, and then Professor McGonagall opened the door. Harry was astonished at how *young* she looked -- as if she were no more than forty. By his seventh year, the Head of Gryffindor House was completely grey and looked every one of her sixty-eight years.

    "Thank you, Hagrid," she stated. "I will take them from here."

    As Professor McGonagall launched into her spiel on the various Houses and their history, Harry glanced over the other thirty-nine First years. Draco Malfoy had managed to ensconce himself among the other four boys who would make up his Slytherin housemates: Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Zambini. He let his eyes linger upon a knot of Hufflepuffs: Macmillan, Abbott and Bones. Standing beside them was the slim figure of Terry Boot, who would come to watch Hermione with curious eyes, intrigued by the eagle chick among the lion cubs. Harry swallowed hastily. Terry had never done anything but look at Hermione; he had fallen to a Death Eater in the beginning of Seventh Year.

    "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school," Professor McGonagall said, winding up her speech. "I suggest you smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly." With that, she turned and left.

    Harry turned to Hermione. "Is my face clean?" he demanded.

    "Yes," she replied. "You too, Neville, but you've got to straighten your cloak. Ron, you've got dirt on your nose, just wait and I'll... bother! Do any of you have a hankie?"

    "Here," Neville said, producing one.

    "Thanks," she replied, spitting on it and wiping the now-damp cloth across Ron's face.

    "Urgh! Urgh! Yuk! Catch me anywhere near *you*!" the redheaded boy yelled.

    "Oh, don't be a baby," Hermione replied briskly. "Or did you *want* to be in front of the school with a dirty face?"

    "Do you know how they Sort us?" Harry asked, before matters could devolve futher.

    "No," Hermione said.

    "Fred and George said something about a magical test," Ron said worriedly. "Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

    "I'll probably fail it then," Neville said. "I mean, everyone *thought* I was a Squib...."

    "Of course you won't," Harry said confidently. "You got your letter, didn't you?"

    Then several people behind them screamed. Harry turned to see a group of the ghosts of Hogwarts floating across the room. The ghosts would declare it was simply coincidental, but all four of the House Ghosts were there, and they all were pointedly ignoring the First Years in that way one does when one is actually taking very close notice indeed.

    After that initial assessment, Harry dismissed them from his mind. Right now, the ghosts of Hogwarts were the last thing he was worried about. He was about to enter the same room as two competent Legimens -- Professors Dumbledore and Snape -- and he could not let either suspect he was not the innocent eleven-year-old he pretended to be. Professor Snape, fortunately, would take the least notice he possibly could of James Potter's son, but could he count on such luck around Dumbledore? The old wizard had taken such care to see to it that Harry was raised in an environment which would leave him pliant to the first kind hand raised to him, and then seen to it that that hand was his own. In fashioning Harry to be a tool against Voldemort, he had let Harry experience sadness, cruelty and indifference. For a moment, Harry felt rage sweeping through his veins, burning out his blood. Then he felt it die. Dumbledore had done what he felt was necessary, and if Harry did not feel the means justified by the ends, that was neither here nor there.

    The point was that he was here, he was back, and he was aware of what he was doing - and that it might not be best for *his* interests should Dumbledore become aware that his obedient Secret Weapon was not quite so obedient.

    He did not notice the House Ghosts' glances lingering on him.

    At this point Professor McGonagall returned. "Move along now," she said sharply, but whether to the ghosts or the children was not clear. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start. Now, form a line and follow me."

    Harry shuffled into line behind Neville and before Ron, and followed the rest of his yeargroup into the Great Hall. The Sorting Hat was sitting there on its stool, looking old, battered and dirty. Harry idly wondered if anybody had ever tried to cast a /Scourgify/ on it. Harry watched, as the Hat began to sing.

    "Oh, I may not be pretty, but don't judge by what you see..."

    He felt rather than saw Hermione begin to shift beyond Neville, caught in an agony of indecision as the descriptions of the Houses began.

    "... For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

    The entire Hall burst into applause, and Ron murmured to Harry, "So we've just got to try on the Hat! I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

    Harry smiled. "Yeah, could be worse," he muttered back.

    McGonagall fixed them both with a glare as she strode out to the middle of the opened space. She was holding the roll and announced, "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted. Abbot, Hannah!"

    Quiet, cheerful Hannah stumbled out of the line to be named a Hufflepuff, and the Sorting was under way. Harry paid little attention until McGonagall called out, "Granger, Hermione!"

    /Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw,/ Harry mentally urged. /You should've been there from the beginning. Go there. Be safe. Please. Please, Ravenclaw, please..../

    "GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat decreed, and Harry hissed out through his teeth.

    "You okay, mate?" Ron asked.

    "Fine," Harry muttered. "Who's next?"

    "Me," Neville muttered, and wobbled out onto the stool.

    The Hat sat on his head, silent for thirty full seconds. Harry didn't know what to wish for - that Neville joined him again in Gryffindor and the battle against Voldemort, or that he vanished into the warm, welcoming and above all *safe* cellars of Hufflepuff.

    "GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat announced, and yet again Neville forgot to take it off before heading to his new House table. Harry saw Hermione grin and budge up to make room for him as he returned the Hat to the stool. He frowned. That was new.

    He didn't notice Dumbledore also frowning, up at the head table.

    Malfoy was Sorted Slytherin, of course, and he certainly seemed pleased with himself for it. /As if,/ Harry thought sourly, /*he* had anything to do with it./

    Finally, McGonagall called out, "Potter, Harry!" and Harry walked forward to take his seat on the stool.

    "Well now," the dry, felt voice of the Hat said into his mind, "what have we here? A *second* Sorting?"

    Harry mentally shrugged. He'd long since given up trying to keep the temporal dimensions straight. /Well, all you have to do is yell out 'Gryffindor', right?/

    "Not necessarily," the Hat replied. "People do change, you know... oh, there's a lot of anger here... and the Dark Arts too, you could do very well in Slytherin...."

    Slytherin. Oddly enough, that thought had never crossed his mind. Yes, he'd *like* to be in Slytherin, alone in a dormitory with Malfoy, Nott, Zambini, Goyle and Crabbe... it'd be *fun* to smother the Junior Death Eaters' Club in their sleep....

    "... but you don't appear to have the necessary guile," the Hat added hurriedly.

    /Spoilsport,/ Harry thought at the Hat.

    "Your talent is strong, strong indeed," the Hat continued. "Still, as Slytherin is not for you, once more it shall be GRYFFINDOR!"

    Hermione and Neville led the round of cheers and clapping that greeted Harry's Sorting. He sat down in the space they made between them, and waited for Ron to be Sorted Gryffindor.

    "You okay, Harry?" Neville asked.

    "Hmmm... just got a letter to write after the Feast," Harry said quickly. A letter was a good excuse, right?

    "Yeah, I've got to write to Gran and tell her I Sorted Gryffindor," Neville said excitedly. "Dunno how she'll take it, though... Dad was a Hufflepuff. They say he was one of the best Aurors they ever had."

    "I'm sorry," Harry said. It seemed like it was the only thing he could say.

    At this point, Ron was Sorted Gryffindor, and any response Neville might have made was swallowed up by cheering.

*****

    "Here's some parchment, Harry," Neville said, in the tower dormitory after the feast. At Harry's blank look, he explained, "For your letter. So you don't have to go through your trunk for yours."

    "Oh. Yeah. Thanks," Harry said, taking the parchment.

    "I'd lend you a quill," Neville added, "but I've only got the one, and, well, I'm using it."

    "'Sokay," Harry replied. "I'm not writing to a traditionalist." He dug a biro out of his jeans' pocket and bit the end thoughtfully. Who could he write to? He'd die before writing to the Dursleys. Sirius was, at this stage, still in Azkaban. That left... yes, of *course*.

    Quickly, he began to write.

Dear Mr. Lupin,

    I'm not sure if you remember me. My name is Harry Potter, and I am told that you were one of my father's dearest friends.

    I have just begun attending Hogwarts (a Gryffindor, as I am told you and my father were) and I would like to meet and get to know my honorary uncle again.

    Please send a reply back with my owl, Hedwig.

        Yours sincerely,

            Harry Potter.

    Harry quickly folded the spare sheet of parchment and, after a moment's thought, the biro into the letter and stuffed it into a parchment envelope, scrawling 'Remus Lupin' across the front. "Finished!" he announced.

    "Me too," Neville said. "Let's go up to the Owlery and send them off."

    Neville dropped his into the big letterbox just outside the Owlery, but as Harry intended to use his own owl, he had to venture into the Owlery proper.

    It stank. Harry had forgotten how bad owls smelled, when Hedwig was living with Mrs Figg and not him.

    There was owl guano all over the floor, which was understandable if uncomfortably gooey. Dead mice and rat bodies also littered the floor. Two barn owls were standing on the edge of a nesting box and *glaring* at him. He could feel their eyes burning into his side.

    Fortunately, at this point Hedwig swooped down to take his letter.

    "Take this to Remus Lupin," Harry told her. "Deliver it straight away, then wait for his reply, okay? I'll give you double owl treats when you get back."

    She hooted affirmatively at him and took off, spiralling away into the night sky.

    "I hope this works," Harry muttered to himself.

*****

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

We are never told what House(s) Neville's parents were in. A number of fanfic authors have assumed that they were Gryffindor, as Neville is Gryffindor and many wizarding families gravitate to the same House (the Weasleys in Gryffindor, the Malfoys in Slytherin, etc). However, we are shown that families can have members in different Houses (the Patil twins, Sirius and Regulus Black, etc.) Thus, Frank and Alice Longbottom need not have been Gryffindors.