Chapter Text
Albus Dumbledore was a very capable man. Throughout his life, he had been deemed a genius by many of his peers and colleagues. He internally acknowledged the praise, knowing that it was true. Most of his plans turned out more or less the way he expected them to. He was always organized and presented himself with an air of aged wisdom and experience.
After all, who else but Dumbledore could be known as the most powerful wizard of the last century? Albus, of course, was most famous for his defeat of Gellert Grindelwald, his childhood friend who had eventually let power lead him astray. Who else but Dumbledore would have the sheer intellectual capacity to discover all twelve uses of dragon's blood?
The Headmaster of Hogwarts was a genius, indeed.
Nearly a decade ago, Dumbledore had made the decision to send young Harry Potter off to his muggle relatives, the Dursleys. No one had questioned his decision. Little Harry Potter had been hidden away from the wizarding world. Just as planned.
Albus was not one to question his own decisions. Generally speaking, when he decided upon a course of action, he never looked back.
Dumbledore was a cautious man. He always considered all possible options and their outcomes. Albus treated life like a chess game, the world, his board; the pawns, his people.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts sat at the long, elevated staff table overlooking the Great Hall. His twinkling eyes followed groups of students making their way towards their tables. The volume of the room was high and the general din had a feeling of anticipation and excitement.
The other teachers at the staff table engaged in small talk with one another. Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw and stuttering Professor Quirrell were debating which charms were most effective against blast-ended skrewts. Severus seemed to be scowling off into space, as usual. Professor Sinistra studied the Great Hall’s starry ceiling, which always reflected the weather outdoors.
Dumbledore observed the noisy crowd in front of him from behind his half-moon spectacles. His blue eyes seemed to take in every small detail about each of the students, second through seventh year. Eventually, the children all sat at their house’s table and the loud babble dwindled to a steady murmur.
He wondered what new talent and trouble would present itself in the form of first years. Albus truly was fascinated by the minds of children. The first years always seemed to bring fresh perspectives into the school.
The Headmaster knew that McGonagall would lead the new students into the hall in a few minutes. He adjusted his seat and waited patiently, he placed his hands in front of his chin. Albus had to admit that he was anticipating a certain student this year.
The boy who lived. Albus was certain that Harry Potter was a strange element in his life that he hadn’t anticipated. He sighed.
The doors swung open and the hall turned silent. A few hundred pairs of eyes tracked the procession of nervous looking first years, led by Professor McGonagall down the center walkway.
The group of eleven and twelve year olds looked disgruntled and anxious. A few of the crowd had water dripping off of their plain robes, leading Dumbledore to assume that some of them had fallen into the lake on the way toward the castle.
Albus tried to locate Harry among the group of discombobulated first years, but was unable. The crowd was simply too large for him to make out a single student.
McGonagall held the Sorting Hat in one hand and a parchment in the other. She placed the aged hat onto a four-legged stool and stepped back respectfully. The students in the hall steadily quieted down, waiting for the sorting hat's song. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide and the hat began to sing:
“Oh, you may not think I‘m pretty,
But don’t judge on what you see,
I’ll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There’s nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can’t see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
If you’ve a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You’ll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don’t be afraid!
And don’t get in a flap!
You’re in safe hands (though I have none)
For I’m a Thinking Cap!”
The Headmaster led the applause for the Sorting Hat.
‘A wonderful song, as always.’
McGonagall started calling out names in alphabetical order. The group of first years steadily thinned out until Albus could find the specific student he had been searching for.
Dumbledore hadn't been sure what he was expecting of Harry Potter. He certainly hadn't been anticipating a brooding, quiet child with deadened eyes.
The boy was unmistakably Harry Potter, but was just so… wrong.
Albus Dumbledore had always imagined that the boy would take after his parents. In some ways, he did. At first glance, Harry seemed to be a near-perfect mashup of James and Lily. It was only upon further inspection when some features seemed off.
The first thing that Dumbledore had noticed about the boy were his deadened and broken eyes. Albus had been so taken aback by the color of them, cracked sea glass, that he flinched ever so slightly. The eyes were the same shade as Lily’s but were out of place on the boy’s soft features.
The second thing that struck him as odd was the eleven-year-old’s hair. Dumbledore had assumed that the young boy would take after James in terms of physical appearance, but Harry’s features had surprised him again. Potter’s hair was not jet black and unruly like his father’s, instead it was a dark shade of chocolate brown and lay relatively flat on the boy’s head.
Albus was unnerved as he took into account the boy’s other strange features. Harry Potter was neither short nor scrawny. The lightning bolt scar on the boy’s forehead had seemingly faded quite a bit since Dumbledore had seen him last. The Headmaster found Harry’s demeanor very unsettling. Albus found himself glancing away from the child again and again. He felt… almost intimidated by the boy’s presence.
Albus’s reverie was cut short by McGonagall calling out a name from her parchment list, which created a deafening silence.
“Potter, Harry.”
The boy parted from the now small huddle of first years and made his way up to the sorting hat. McGonagall smiled reassuringly at Harry while murmurs of, “the Harry Potter?” could be heard all across the Great Hall. Some of the teachers even leaned over the head table slightly, an attempt to get a closer look at the boy who lived.
Harry’s expression was almost unreadable, but Dumbledore thought that he might have seen a flicker of annoyance in the boy’s green eyes. Harry sat on the stool and McGonagall placed the old sorting hat on the brunette’s strangely well-kempt hair.
The hall quieted down again, each house table waited with bated breath, most likely crossing their fingers under their tables in hopes of getting Harry Potter to be sorted into their house.
Dumbledore was curious as well. Before Albus’s glimpse of Harry a few minutes earlier, the Headmaster had been positive that the boy who lived would end up in Gryffindor. Now, he wasn’t so sure. The Sorting Hat was taking longer than usual choosing a house for Harry Potter.
The hat flinched a few times and made some ‘hmmm’ noises, but other than that, the sorting seemed to be quite ordinary. Harry had closed his eyes while waiting for the sorting to finish.
The other students were becoming restless and bored. The sorting had already taken a full six minutes.
Finally, the hat said, “Gryffindor,” with much less enthusiasm than usual.
The table decorated with red and gold roared like lions and cheered loudly.
The Weasley twins were shouting, “We got Potter! We got Potter!”
The boy with the faded lightning scar walked over to the least populated section of the Gryffindor table and sat, ignoring all of the curious looks he received.
The entire house of red and gold seemed to shift towards the previously empty section of the table. They peered at Potter with pointed gazes.
The sorting continued and the group of first years dwindled down to a single student. After Zabini Blaise was made a Slytherin, the hat was whisked away. It was time for Albus’s opening speech.
Dumbledore got to his feet. He adjusted the sleeves of his extravagant robes and beamed at the students. The Headmaster opened his arms towards the hall in a welcoming way, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see all of his students there, in front of him.
“Welcome!” he said, voice ringing across the now quiet hall.
“Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”
Dumbledore smiled and mentally commended himself on his inspiring speech. He sat back down. All of the students and teachers clapped and cheered.
The Headmaster clasped his hands together, and a banquet appeared on the grand tables. Everyone in the Great Hall filled their plates with delicious food and dug in.
The desserts came and went, and Dumbledore got to his feet again to make his beginning of year announcements. The hall fell respectfully silent when he stood.
“Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.”
Dumbledore let himself make brief eye contact with all of the new students.
“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”
Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes shifted in the direction of the red headed Weasley twins. He cleared his throat and continued.
“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.”
Dumbledore always enjoyed watching the students play Quidditch. It was such a fascinating game to observe.
“Finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”
A few of the first years laughed, then seemed to realize that their Headmaster was not being sarcastic. A few blushed and shrunk down, trying unsuccessfully to camouflage themselves into the crowd of their classmates.
“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” Dumbledore announced with enthusiasm.
‘The school song is a truly wonderful bonding tool.’
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, and a magic golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself into lyrics.
“Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!”
“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now they’re bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we’ve forgot,
Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.”
After the song was sung, Dumbledore watched the students, young and old, file out of the Great Hall. He frowned with concern as he watched the boy who lived follow his prefect towards the Gryffindor common rooms.
‘Harry Potter does not look like the savior of the wizarding world, far from it. That boy’s broken eyes tell tales that no soul, living or dead, would ever want to hear.’
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Eren glared at the boy he had come to know as Ronald Weasel on the train ride earlier.
‘This kid won’t shut up. It’s like he thinks Harry Potter is his savior or something.’
Eren turned away from the redhead and studied his other future classmates. He wondered what sorts of topics he could learn at magic school. He clenched his fists when the annoying weasel tapped him on the shoulder.
“Harry? Harry! The sorting’s about to start!”
‘I’m gonna kill this kid if he keeps this up. We’re not friends. I don’t know why he thinks we are. It makes me want to fight him.'