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Author: Ash Story: Harry Potter and the Year of the One Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 29 Words: 204,652
Harry looked around the Great Hall. It wasn’t just Ron and Hermione who looked sobered and frightened by the Sorting Hat’s speech. A lot of them were staring over at the Gryffindors who had just been laughing at Ginny’s remark, obviously wondering what could possibly be funny. Probably, most of them had come here trying to forget the state of the world out there; trying to forget that Tom was building an army, starting a war. They had thought Hogwarts was going to shield them. And it would, but not so that they could hide from responsibility. That wasn’t going to work. The Hat had just called for action, of which Harry definitely approved, and in which he was already mightily entrenched. “They look terrified, poor things,” Ginny was looking back up at the front, where the first years stood, pale and wide-eyed, several clutching at the others. A few were looking around the hall as if to say, “Is the Hat supposed to say that?” The faculty looked a bit shaken as well, evidenced by the long silence; even Dumbledore was sober. “They’ll be fine as soon as they get Sorted,” Hermione said in return, her voice also full of empathy. “Unless they’re in Slytherin,” Ron growled. “Aye,” Seamus spoke up, “there’ll be no living with those wankers this year. Not if they do what they said they were going to on the Express.” Harry cut his eyes over at Ron, who nodded that he would fill him in later. Seamus didn’t notice. “Looks like Malfoy made it after all. Wonder why he wasn’t on the train?” Though, of course, many of them could have answered Seamus’ question, no one did. Harry looked over at the end of the Slytherin table, where Malfoy sat at least a seat away from his other house mates. Was that his choice, or were the Slytherins against him now, Harry wondered curiously. He had reckoned they would still bow and scrape to Malfoy out of habit if nothing else. But the blond looked comfortable in his exile, if that’s what it was. He was watching the first years with narrowed eyes. Thus it was with a marked stillness that the Sorting began. “Appleby, Hazel,” was the first name to be called out by Professor McGonagall. A tiny girl with shining blond hair scurried forth into the quiet, climbing the few stairs to the stool on which sat the Sorting Hat. She had been so lost among the flock of first years that Harry hadn’t even seen her. Hazel stopped at the stool, turned and paused, McGonagall standing back with the Hat now raised and ready. But Hazel didn’t sit. She was twisting her fingers in front of her, biting at her bottom lip nervously. Harry wondered if the words of the Sorting Hat were running through the first year’s mind. They must have been, because she remained standing and the tension grew. Harry shot a covert glance at Ginny, who was holding her breath, then looked back to the front. If Hazel sat, she would be committing herself to Hogwarts and to the action called for by the Hat. Harry understood her hesitancy. Just as Professor McGonagall made a move to step towards Hazel, the girl sat. The entire room seemed to shift with a sigh of relief. The Hat was placed on Hazel’s head and she closed her eyes tight. “HUFFLEPUFF!” the Hat shouted, and the Hufflepuff table erupted in wild applause, as if making up for the intense silence two seconds before. The Sorting after that went more easily. Each student was called forth, showing their nervousness in various ways, and after the proclamation, was sent to their house tables with relieved smiles. Harry figured he shouldn’t have been surprised when the tall girl with spiky hair was announced midway as Violet Hooch. She took the stairs firmly and sat down on the stool with a loud plunk. The hat yelled out immediately, “GRYFFINDOR!” Violet’s face lit up with a wide grin and she pumped the air once with her fist. She headed for their table, greeted by the ecstatic cheers and whistles of her new house. “I didn’t know Madame Hooch had a daughter,” Ginny said. “Did anybody else?” Everyone shook their heads. “Might be a niece or something,” Hermione suggested. “Hope she tries out for the Quidditch team,” Ron said, craning his head to see where she sat at the front of the table. “She’s a first year, Ron,” Hermione reminded him. “Doesn’t matter if she’s good,” Ron said promptly, looking over at Harry. “Right, Harry?” Harry nodded, glad to see everyone talking more normally now. His disquiet grew again as the next three students went Slytherin. Was it his imagination or was Slytherin getting more than their fair share of first years? The serious looks being exchanged between his housemates told him that they were wondering the same thing. Ginny was staring at the Slytherin table. “Twitchtie, Unelda” was called out amid the quiet buzz of voices. “Why are they even here?” Ginny hissed to no one in particular. “One guess,” Ron said, shooting another look in Harry’s direction. Harry ignored him and looked up front see one of the three nearly identical brown-haired girls at the front. She turned rigidly and took a seat on the stool, completely pale beneath the short fringe of hair on her forehead. As soon as the hat was placed on her head, it proclaimed, “SLYTHERIN!” Looking relieved, she headed to her look-a-likes, getting a high five from both on her way to the table. “Twitchtie, Uprima,” called out Professor McGonagall next, seeming to lean heavier on her cane as the Sorting went on. Another brown-haired girl, with delicate features identical to the last, took the stool. She, however, had no fringe, but all her hair was pulled back from her forehead and tied neatly at the back. The hat sat on her head for a long time and Harry found himself trying to commit the differences between the Twitchties to memory, sensing that it might be important. Finally, the hat shouted “RAVENCLAW!” Harry watched the smug look on Uprima’s face curiously. As she headed over to the lightly applauding Ravenclaw table, she gave the last Twitchtie girl a high-five as well. Then the hall grew quiet as “Twitchtie, Uzimay” took to the platform. It was like seeing the same girl up there for the third time, only Uzimay had short brown hair tucked behind her ears and no fringe. She sat on the stool with clenched fists and eyes closed, as though the Sorting Hat might hurt her. Harry gave Hermione a questioning glance, but his friend was watching the proceedings with a keen eye. When he looked back at Uzimay, she was still frozen in place, but her pale face had started to turn red. Uzimay was trying to talk the hat out of something. The silence faltered a bit as the Sorting Hat deliberated past a minute. Uzimay had started whispering something. Ron was groaning about his empty stomach when the Hat finally sang out, “SLYTHERIN!” Uzimay’s eyes shot open and she jumped up off the stool, ripping the Hat off and tossing it at Professor McGonagall. Her face was stormy, like she’d rather hex somebody than give them a high five. “That’s a relief,” Ginny said in a low voice. “Why?” Harry asked. Ginny leaned in over the table, and Hermione, Ron and Harry copied her. “The Twitchties are all dark wizards; I heard Mum and Dad talking. If they’ve sent their girls here instead of Durmstrang, it’s not for the education.” Harry frowned, and Ron and Hermione gave each other dark looks. “I wonder which house she wanted to be in,” Ron mused as he scruffed at his hair, leaving it mussed. Harry smiled faintly. It always reminded him of his father to see Ron doing that. “Isn’t it obvious,” Hermione whispered, nodding her head at where Uzimay was sitting, staring blankly at Harry. “I only wonder why.” Harry watched as Uzimay exchanged glances with her sister sitting across the Slytherin table from her, and with the other at the Ravenclaw table. All three of them turned to look at Harry, one after the other. He could read nothing from their expressions, but their stares oppressed him. He shifted in his seat. “Don’t worry, Harry,” Ginny whispered, “We’ll keep an eye on them.” Harry shook his head. “No, Ginny,” he whispered. “Just—” he couldn’t find words to say what he knew he shouldn’t and just gave up, looking away again. And then it hit him, maybe the Twitchties were some of the ones who had threatened Charlie-Harry. He could probably ask Charlie; he probably should. Later. Ginny was sitting rigid in her chair now, and Harry turned to the front with a sigh. There was only one more student to sort, the thin boy with messy, blond hair. He looked frozen by the silence, awaiting his name. “Wafting, Tobias,” McGonagall called out finally, and this time, Harry thought he saw a tiny smile on her face. Tobias gave a start when his name was called and then stepped up to the stool. He turned and faced the crowd, blanching a bit at the sight. He grabbed the stool tightly as the Hat went on his head. “GRYFFINDOR!” it called out right away. Tobias smiled and shot up from the stool, almost running for the table cheering the loudest. Harry watched him with a smile, liking the first year already. He had the feeling that Tobias might be Muggleborn, and was glad he’d be in Gryffindor where he wouldn’t be subjected to pureblood hysteria. Dumbledore raised his hands to speak. “Well, that was, as I like to say, a Sorting worthy of the setting. Now we shall move on to the surprise section of the—oh, but I’m getting ahead of myself again. You are all certainly hungry?” Dumbledore smiled and Harry guessed that his slips of the tongue were purposefully done to whet the students’ appetite for what was coming after dinner. Something Dumbledore was going to enjoy, surely. “Before we eat, I have only a short speech to give.” He waved away the groans of the hungry students. “It is more like a poem than a speech, I fear. It is thus: "Eating rather than working repairs the hungry boy “There. Just a random thought or two. Now, let’s dig in.” As the food appeared on the table, Harry found himself more interested in Dumbledore’s words than the dishes. Ron elbowed him to reach something and Harry leaned out of the way. Whatever Dumbledore’s meaning had been, it was as clear as mud to Harry. He’d have to ask Hermione. Later. For now, he just wanted to eat and think and listen. The subject of conversation during dinner was the Sorting Hat’s song nearly all the way through, and it was interesting to hear what the others thought about it. They all thought Harry to be the one who needing protecting, despite his protests. When Ron started to vehemently proclaim that Harry did need protecting, Harry changed the subject, with Ginny’s help. Ron was getting far too close to giving away the Prophecy and Harry didn’t want that. He was still debating whether to even tell Neville, Ginny and Luna about it, much less anyone else. They moved on to debating the meaning of the Slytherins following “one who’s worthy.” Several said that would be Dumbledore, then others said Harry and they were back to discussing his part in the war again. Harry focused on the food again. It was delicious as always, though a few things seemed to be missing. There was no bread pudding this year, or steak and kidney pie, both of which he typically ate. Harry noticed this with a bad feeling. He was growing paranoid; he knew it. Long before Ron was satisfied, Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet again. “Now that we are all satiated—well, except the obvious few,” and here Harry and Hermione elbowed Ron between them, still tearing at a pie, “I shall get on with the more important things.” “Mo’ impo’pent van eating?” Ron mumbled through his food. Hermione reached across Harry to thwack him on the arm. “This year, we have the privilege of marking the deeds of a very special student here at Hogwarts, one who usually refuses any sort of recognition, yet continues year after year to distinguish himself.” Harry saw several smiling faces turned his way, and his stomach turned to ice. Surely not . . . “But this time, his heroics have not gone unnoticed by those who are able to reward it with public recognition. This time, his fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters was held in a more public arena, and it is the public who wishes to recognize him for his bravery, his skill and his leadership qualities. Of course, I am speaking of Harry Potter.” Applause rang out in the hall, loud after the gasp at Tom’s name, along with a few excited shouts of agreement. More heads turned his way and Harry hunched over in his seat, wishing for all the world that he’d skipped this feast like he had last year’s End-of-Term Feast. He should have known. “Harry, would you come forward, please?” Nope, Harry thought firmly. He was not going to parade up to the front of the room like some preening peacock. He was fine just where he was—thank you. Until, that is, Ron got a hold of the back of his robes and hefted him to his feet. Harry found himself standing unsteadily before he could knock Ron’s hands away. He glared at his ex-best friend with a gaze that clearly said, “Traitor.” Ron quailed before the glare. “Sorry, mate, but I’m under orders,” he said loud enough to be heard over the applause, which had grown slowly. “Very good, Mr. Weasley. Harry, come forward, if you would.” Harry reluctantly moved toward the front, his feet leaden, trying to convince himself that if he could best Lucius Malfoy in a duel—and he had done that—then he could surely walk in front of the whole school. But thinking of Lucius was not conducive to peace of mind and Harry found himself getting queasy. He tuned in to Dumbledore’s words. “. . .the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Mr. Fudge desperately wanted to be here to deliver the award himself, but was unable to persuade the Powers-That-Be at Hogwarts—which would be myself and Professor McGonagall—to allow him on the premises.” Harry shot Dumbledore a swift glance and saw the twinkling gleam in the Professor’s eyes. He’d enjoyed that. “Mr. Fudge was most emphatic, insisting that Mr. Potter needed a ceremony to mark the courage that upheld him when criticism rained on him from all quarters before the Wizarding World acknowledged Voldemort’s return.” And, here, of course, was the expected gasp from the students (and a jerk from Snape at the corner of the Teacher’s Table, Harry noticed.) “Cornelius also mentioned Mr. Potter’s leadership qualities and skill in managing to escape from the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself at the battle at the Ministry of Magic, which I mentioned to you last year in passing.” Harry was shaking his head now, only a few steps away from joining Professor Dumbledore at the dais. He hadn’t been alone at the battle; they had all helped each other! And, of course, had it not been for Dumbledore’s intervention, Harry would have been hit with the killing curse by Tom as he stood there, too stunned to even try to defend himself. “After all the reasons that Cornelius listed, I simply had to agree. There is no one more deserving than Harry Potter of the awarding of the Order of Merlin, second class.” Harry froze with one foot on the top stair and jerked his head up to look at the Headmaster. “Now,” Dumbledore continued, his arms raised to the students, “I am sure that Harry will tell you he was not alone that night at the Ministry, and that others helped him. He would be the first to protest that luck was his friend on that night and on several other occasions when he has been in danger. But, this award is not given for solitary deeds of courage, as spectacular as those may have been. It simply recognizes the choices he has made, to stay true to his beliefs, to stay loyal in his friendships, and to fight when evil begins to erode away the lives we have built and hope to build in the future. Those that have helped him along the way celebrate with him, in support of him, knowing that they have contributed to his cause and share this award with him.” The applause began again, and Harry couldn’t help but sneak another glance over at Snape. He didn’t look like he was sharing that award with Harry, though he’d helped Harry escape death many times. No, he looked livid, almost shaking with anger, just as Harry expected. “Harry, come here,” Dumbledore said quietly, reaching out a hand to him. Harry took a deep breath and then stepped up on the dais, but the sick feeling in his stomach was only growing. Dumbledore motioned for silence, then put one hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry,” and his voice was so quiet that it felt as if the rest of the room didn’t exist. “Sirius would want you to have this. If you cannot accept this for yourself, accept it on his behalf. He never got the recognition he deserved.” As Harry looked up, tears sprang into his eyes, blurring the kindness of the wizened face from view. His chest got tight and his breathing went shallow as a scroll was tucked in his hand and a medal was laid around his neck. Sirius did deserve to be recognized and so few knew it. Harry swallowed, torn. “Say a few words, Harry,” the Headmaster whispered to him. “They are listening to you now, more so than they ever have before.” Then Dumbledore stepped back, leaving Harry on the dais that overlooked the Great Hall at Hogwarts, alone. Immediately, the students began clapping again. Harry turned to look out over the crowd of students and balked. How could he speak to all of them? What would he say? His stomach clenched and then he saw a figure in the back that made it all worse. The dark green robes and red curls gave away Rita Skeeter even though her face was bent over a parchment. Just then, she looked up at Harry. She looked surprised to see him staring at her, but she gained her composure and winked. Harry was taken aback. Why had Dumbledore allowed her in, when he hadn’t allowed Fudge? She held up her quill and indicated to him as if ready to take dictation. And as Harry looked back to Dumbledore, he realized that’s exactly what she was prepared to do. Dumbledore nodded encouragingly. Harry looked out over the crowd again, even more reluctant to speak now that he knew his words would be put in print. What if Rita put a spin on them? Or what if he said something imbecilic? He’d never hear the end of it. Then his eyes jerked to the Hufflepuff table, where Susan Bones had jumped to her feet, grinning and clapping loudly. She yelled something he couldn’t understand, but it made the ends of his mouth turn up to see her enthusiasm. Across the row at the Ravenclaw table, Cho copied her, clapping and standing with a far more solemn look on her face. But then she smiled as she saw Harry watching. Justin Finch-Fletchly exploded from his place, yelling and whooping and bringing several more Hufflepuffs to their feet as well. Harry’s friends at the Gryffindor table were already up and cheering so enthusiastically that Harry was embarrassed. He was glad to see that Hermione and Ginny had lost the worried looks they’d sported at first. Ron was pounding on the table. Then a few more Ravenclaws stood and clapped with smiles, Padma Patil, Luna Lovegood and the new Twitchtie girl—Uprima, Harry thought—among them. The Slytherin table was another story. The younger years were half-clapping, looking guiltily away from the older years. Only the other Twitchtie girls applauded without apology, though their faces gave nothing away. The sixth and seventh years refused to clap at all, Malfoy among them. He was sitting back languidly, resting one elbow on the table, his glittering eyes watching Harry. As their eyes met, Malfoy smirked and inclined his head, lifting his hand as if to say, “Go ahead; give it your best shot.” Something about his smug look, as if he knew Harry would fail, boiled Harry’s blood. His fists clenched, crushing the scroll in his grip. And then, suddenly, Harry knew exactly what he wanted to say. With one curt gesture, he quieted the room. In sudden silence, the students sat back down, most looking at him eagerly. He began in a steady voice that carried to the back of the room. “When I first got on the Hogwarts Express six years ago, I didn’t know anybody except Hagrid.” Harry looked back over his shoulder to his large, happily crying friend and smiled before turning back. “I met a few people on the train that day—Ron, Hermione. Oh, and I saw Malfoy again. I guess I’d met him already, too—pity that.” Laughs reverberated around the room and the Slytherins scowled. Malfoy looked unperturbed. “And as I met more people over the first few weeks, it became clear to me that most people thought of me as the ‘Boy-Who-Lived,’ even though I didn’t know exactly who that was. People knew more about me and my parents than I did. “There were some who thought I wanted attention—craved it, actually,” and Harry paused to slide a not-so-covert look at Snape, “who had it in from me from the first moment I walked in the door because I was a celebrity for no good reason.” Harry looked back over to the students as they murmured at that. “Now, I don’t mean that getting rid of Tom, uh—Voldemort, the first time around wasn’t a big deal. It was. It’s just that I don’t even remember it, or understand it, so having it attributed to me, as though I was responsible, well—I’m just not comfortable with that, I guess.” “Since then, I’ve had a lot of chances to prove myself, and somehow I’ve managed to come out on the winning side of things. But people are right when they say it’s been luck, the protection of others and – sometimes – quite mystifying circumstances that have gotten me this far. I know Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna and Ginny have all risked their lives for me,” he added, gesturing to them, “and Ron and Hermione more than once. Others have done the same.” He paused, mentally thanking Snape and the Order members he couldn’t mention. “I have been reckless. I’ve even been foolish. And I’ve paid for that. So have others.” He paused again. His throat had gotten achy and his chest so tight that he had to take a deep breath to get enough air. “But it all stops here.” He took another long moment to collect himself, willing the quavering note out of his voice, pressing his lips together. Then he looked back up. “You heard what the Sorting Hat sang. Things are going to be different this year. So, those of you who’ve been on my side, who want to fight Voldemort,” he again ignored the gasps, “and his cracked team of Death Eaters, prepare yourselves. I need you to watch my back.” He let his eyes drift over the three tables of his supporters, meeting eyes whenever he could. “I need you to look out for signs of trouble, to tell someone if a student or teacher is acting strangely or threatening you in any way. If we all refuse to ignore the changes, however subtle they may be, and work together, then evil cannot gain a foothold. And there will be no need for threatening hats.” Harry half-smiled and looked over at the Sorting Hat. A few people laughed and Harry heard Dumbledore chuckle behind him appreciatively. Then he shifted and eyed the crowd, wondering who among them – beyond the obvious – would be the betrayers this year; the ones who would work with Tom, who had threatened Charlie and would actively seek to harm Ginny and all of Harry’s friends? When he spoke again, it was in a deadly, still voice. “And for those of you who have chosen the wrong side, who are plotting my downfall and scheming away in dark corners like pathetic little rats, aching for your own glory—watch your backs. You’re not going to stop me from doing what I have to do. You’re wasting your time and gaining yourself an enemy you do not want. “You may know that I’ve been cursed by the Avada Kedarva before, but also by the Imperius and the Cruciatus more times than I can count; I’ve been Kissed by a Dementor; been bitten, beaten, bloodlet, betrayed, choked, drugged, poisoned, possessed, slashed and basically—tortured. You think you can do better than that? Want to add something on to the list? Don’t bother. Take a good look—I’m still here. My advice to you is to stay out of my way and let me do what I have to do.” His words ended in a venomous whisper and that hissed like Parseltongue through the hall. He had shocked himself, but the righteous anger he felt sustained him as he walked from the platform. Then he stopped before the reached the floor. “Oh—and the only way I’ll accept this award is on behalf of my godfather Sirius Black, who was innocent of all the charges lodged against him years ago and who lost his life in saving mine at the Ministry of Magic in June, and also on behalf of the other members of the Order of the Phoenix and the D.A. who helped me. Thanks.” And then he walked down the long hall to his seat, among a few scattered claps and murmurs. To him, the silence sounded better than the applause had.
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