FicWad

Alchemical Reactions

Chapter Fourteen

Ouroboros

Dumbledore was furious. And he felt that that was probably the understatement of the century. Not only had Sirius Black been proven innocent and /Pettigrew/, little Peter Pettigrew, been found guilty of his alleged crimes, but Fudge had barely consulted him on this matter! He was the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, for Merlin’s sake! It was his duty—no, his responsibility—to deal with high profile cases such as these. It was severely troubling that the Minister was growing as comfortable as to feel that he no longer had to rely on Dumbledore.

It enraged Dumbledore past reason. There had to be a way to get Fudge back in his pocket. The man was dangerous—not on purpose, of course, but through his lack of action and his severe prejudice against others, he proved that someone needed to keep an eye on him. If not Dumbledore, then who? He was, of course, one of the greatest leaders of the light in the past century and his position in Wizarding Society practically demanded a close relationship with the Minister.

Yes, that was the way to go about. Make it appear as if Dumbledore would begin a slander campaign against Fudge if he ever decided that he didn’t need his help any longer. The man was so afraid of losing his position as Minister that he would do anything.

It didn’t help that the story of the Marauders brought to attention the fact that Harry Potter had yet to be found. That enraged Dumbledore far more, though he had been doing his best for years to scour England for the boy. For the past three years, in fact, he had had his agents going over orphanage records to attempt to find Potter, though he had received no results as of yet. The Potter situation caused his anger to grow exponentially, and Dumbledore threw a random trinket—one that was likely inconsequential—into the wall, panting with rage. He fiddled with a ring on his finger, tempted to also throw that at the wall, but instead picked up another unnecessary belonging and hurled it at the window.

The House-Elves would have quite a bit of cleaning up to do.
________________________________________

Severus Snape was pacing in his office. Harold Flamel—he refused to think of the boy as anything else—would be knocking on his office door in less than an hour to have a discussion with him. Merlin and Morgana! What a mess. This was going to be a conversation for the history books, he knew.

Reaching into the locked cabinet beside his desk, Severus pulled out a bottle of muggle brandy—much nicer than firewhiskey—and poured himself a generous glass. He gulped it down, letting the burning sensation settling in his stomach also settle his mind. What would come of this conversation would come, and there wasn’t much he could do about it other than steer it away from certain areas. He sighed, pouring himself another glass of brandy and took a small sip, taking the time to organize his thoughts as much as he could, though he had been trying for the past several days now.

The turmoil in his mind came down to three things. The first was that he owed James Potter. The second was that he owed Harry Potter and had plenty of vital information to give him. The third was that Harold Flamel was really Harry Potter.

Yes, he had admitted it to himself. Harry Potter was Harold Flamel.

And even though he didn’t like it, he would have to accept it before the boy arrived in his office. He hadn’t been allowing himself to think of it for days now, unable to connect the frightfully intelligent boy with the son of his childhood arrogant and idiotic enemy. And somehow he had to tell him that he was the reason he no longer had parents. This was going to be /brilliant/.

The worst part was that the boy would likely curse him, and Severus knew that he couldn’t stop it. It was his right, after all. He would do the same if he were in Flamel’s—no, Potter’s shoes. Damnit.

Severus just wanted to scream, and that was the truth. Did fate hate him so much as to put him in this situation? What was it about him that caused misfortunate to cling to him like lint?

A knock on his door interrupted him from his brooding. Severus cursed silently, hiding his bottle of brandy away with a swift movement, before striding to the door to open it. He paused for a moment before turning the door handle, surprised that the boy was early.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

It wasn’t who he was expecting to see. Not at all.

“Severus,” Lucius Malfoy said smoothly. “So sorry for barging in like this with no warning.” He didn’t sound apologetic at all as he said it.

Severus could barely contain his annoyance. “Not a problem at all,” he half-growled at Lucius, restraining himself as best as he could. He didn’t move his body from the doorway, not inviting Lucius in.

“Not going to invite me in?” Lucius asked with a raised eyebrow. “How rude of you, Severus.”

“I am expecting a firecall from Dumbledore in the next half an hour,” Severus replied, barely repressing his annoyance as he came up with the quick excuse. “You haven’t asked for permission to enter the school, I presume?”

Lucius simply glared, before calming himself. “I’m a Hogwarts governor. Besides, I’m only here to confirm the rumours. Is it true that the Flamel boy is really here in Hogwarts?”

Severus tensed slightly, grateful for the large robes that hid his wariness as to the topic of the discussion. “Yes, it is,” he replied, inclining his head.

“Draco has told me that he has yet to be sorted,” replied Lucius, staring intently into Severus’s eyes, who made sure to keep his Occlumency barriers at their fullest.

“And what of it?” Severus asked, eyes narrowing.

“I just thought it interesting that a previously unheard of heir of the Flamel family has suddenly resurfaced now, of all times. I’ve been wondering how much he takes after his ancestors…and whether he would be beneficial to our /cause/.”

“That’s certainly not enough to bring you here, Lucius. What do you really want?”

“Information that Draco cannot give me: Dumbledore’s suspicions regarding the Dark Lord.”

“The Dark Lord is dead, Lucius. He has been for nearly thirteen years now.”

“Is he now?” Lucius asked, eyes glinting. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you, Severus.”

“Are you warning me?” Severus asked, smiling mockingly. “You turned tail and ran, if I recall correctly.”

Lucius scowled. “I did /not/. I simply did all I could to be available to our Lord should the need arise—”

“Don’t lie, Lucius. You just made sure you’d still be an upstanding member of society after the Potter boy defeated Him.”

Lucius snarled, his eyes glinting fanatically. “I did not betray our Lord! It doesn’t matter now anyways…he’s returning, Severus. He’s coming back to finish his work!”

Severus raised a sceptical eyebrow, hiding his inward alarm. “You quite sure about that, Lucius? You sounded rather delusional just now. You did, after all, just mention a highly dangerous subject in the middle of a public hallway.”

“No one’s here!” Lucius responded, his face twisting into an ugly visage. Realizing he was getting a little over-enthusiastic, he calmed himself down, smoothing his robes. “I just thought I’d do you a favour, Severus…”

“Oh?” he responded, raising an eyebrow in a passable mockery of Lucius.

“Just don’t forget where your loyalties lie,” Lucius bit out, before turning on heel and leaving.

“Well, that was odd,” Severus muttered to himself, re-entering his office. Just what he needed—a resurrected Dark Lord. Brilliant. And what was with Lucius’s display just now? Something was happening…something he knew he wouldn’t like in the slightest.

He poured himself another glass of brandy, calming himself down as he slowly sipped it. All the while he thanked Merlin that he had a high alcohol tolerance, as it wouldn’t do him much good to be seen drunk—even just a bit tipsy—around a student.

A knock on the door interrupted Severus mid-sip, and he set his glass into the drawer of his desk along with the remainder of the brandy bottle. “Come in,” he called, knowing this time that it would be Flamel.

“Sir,” the boy said with a nod of his head as he entered the office and closed the door behind him.

“Sit down, Flamel,” Severus said, indicating the chair in front of him.

“Not going to call me by my proper last name?” Flamel asked, looking slightly surprised.

“No point in getting used to the name Potter, Flamel. We don’t want anyone to know now, do we? And that’s /sir/.”

“Yes, /sir/,” he replied, rolling his eyes. Severus barely masked his annoyance. “Why am I here then, sir?”

“To talk.”

“Well that was obvious,” Flamel replied. At Severus’s glower, he amended that with “Professor.”

“There are several things you need to know. Things that are vital for you to know because of your role as the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“The role I don’t want, Professor.” Flamel sighed. “And I thought I was here to be reprimanded. Odd, that misconception. What information?”

“Oh, you’ll be reprimanded plenty later. For now, there are things you need to know that very few people can tell you. Most unfortunately, I am one of them. As it is, I’d like to ask you what know of your parents’ murder?” Severus asked instead of answering his question directly. This was going to be difficult.

“Almost everything: They were hiding in Godric’s Hollow under the Fidelius charm; their Secret Keeper was Peter Pettigrew, who betrayed them to Voldemort.” Severus bit back a shudder at the Dark Lord’s name, refusing to show any form of fear in front of the boy. “My father died first and my mother after, presumably attempting to protect me from Voldemort,” Flamel finished, frowning slightly. “Though I don’t suppose anyone’s really told me why Voldemort went after them.”

“That’s part of what I’m about to tell you,” Severus said, activating the silencing wards on his office with a wave of his wand. Flamel flinched briefly as he cast the spell, giving him a strange look. “To keep what’s said here private,” Severus replied to his unasked question. “We don’t want anyone hearing this conversation.

“I knew your parents when I was in school,” he began, not really wanting to tell the boy but knowing he deserved to know. Flamel nodded, not looking surprised in the slightest. Severus supposed that he had been talking with Lupin and Black and repressed a snarl at the thought. “James Potter and I…” Severus struggled, “Didn’t exactly get along very well. We were something akin to the rivalry you see between Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley.”

“I hadn’t noticed any disagreements between the two of them,” Flamel commented.

“Most of them don’t happen too often in public,” Severus commented. “Fewer witnesses, I suppose,” he grimaced. Flamel nodded.

“There was one major difference between our altercations and the ones that occur between Malfoy and Weasley: James had friends with him. I did not.” Severus hated what he was saying even more with every passing minute, though he did his best not to let it show. “If you’ve noticed much of the interactions between Slytherins and Gryffindors in your few weeks here, you’ve probably noticed the extremely antagonistic attitudes they have towards each other. In my day, it was much worse. The Dark Lord was on the rise then, not merely shoved into the past and history books like it is for today’s generation. Everyone knew that the Dark Lord had once been a Slytherin and that many of his supporters or soon-to-be supporters would be Slytherins; as such we were almost universally hated. If their House loyalties and thoughts of blood-purity didn’t turn a Slytherin towards the Dark Lord, it was the complete and utter ostracization from the rest of the school that did.”

Flamel’s eyes looked at him sharply with this statement. Severus nodded, “Yes,” hating to admit it. He raised the left sleeve of his robe, displaying his Dark Mark in front of Flamel, trying not to flinch under his accusing gaze. He could have sworn that Flamel’s eyes were suddenly brighter than usual, but that moment past. He appeared to be waiting for an explanation.

“I was very, very foolish. I thought I knew what was best for me and the world. And I thought that the Dark Lord had the right of it. It did not take me long to learn that the Dark Lord was in the wrong. Long in comparison to many of the other Death Eaters, that is. Two years after entering his service I went to Dumbledore and begged for his forgiveness. He asked for me to spy for him in return for protection from Ministry accusations. I took a post at the school, using the excuse that I was spying on Dumbledore to appease the Dark Lord. It was both lucky and unfortunate that I realized the error of my ways before a particular incident occurred.

“It was only a couple of weeks after I’d switched sides. I was in the Hog’s Head—a bar down in Hogsmeade—scoping out some of the local sentiments of the general populace. At the time, Dumbledore was interviewing a prospective teacher of the Divination post. I was unfortunate enough to overhear portions of a potentially damaging prophecy before Dumbledore realized that I had been listening. Just in case there had been anyone listening in on the prophecy as well, he gave me an altered prophecy to report to the Dark Lord, who wouldn’t doubt me as I had been a faithful follower for years.”

“Naturally, I reported to the Dark Lord that I had overheard a prophecy that provided a danger to him, though I did tell him it was only part of it. The false prophecy that the Dark Lord heard went as follows: ‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…’”

Flamel’s eyebrows were raised, quite surprised. “But that could have meant anyone,” he said, almost accusingly.

“The Dark Lord’s mind was quite paranoid…he believed it to be a magical child in Britain and since the magical community here is so small, he naturally had two choices,” Severus explained.

“Neville or me.”

“Yes,” Severus nodded.

“So the ‘saviour’ in the false prophecy could be Neville?” Flamel asked skeptically. “Not that he isn’t capable…just…”

“Always quick to defend a friend,” Severus noted with a touch of a sneer, but his heart wasn’t quite in it. Flamel’s expression didn’t change, so Severus simply sighed and continued.

“The real prophecy could have been either of you as well—the beginnings were quite similar. However, both of the prophecies—true and false—make a distinction which has led us to believe that it is indeed you, that the Wizarding World has labeled you correctly. Dumbledore even concocted the continuation of the false prophecy, for continuity’s sake. He finished it with these words: ‘And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.’

“Obviously, not a very clear prophecy, but one that would hopefully befuddle the Dark Lord enough. The real prophecy was quite convoluted too.” Seeing Flamel’s almost impatient look—the first time he had seen such an expression on his face—he almost chuckled. “I’ll tell you the real one afterwards. I’m not done yet.” Flamel simply nodded in response.

“Unfortunately, the false prophecy had far reaching consequences we could have never predicted.” Severus thought differently, of course. He believed that chances are it had been engineered to occur the way it had through Dumbledore, but he did not tell Flamel this. Some things were better left unsaid in a building that Dumbledore controlled. “The small part of it that I had fed to the Dark Lord seemed to lead him to believe that he had to eliminate either you or Longbottom. He chose to eliminate you first.”

Severus could see Flamel’s dawning comprehension by the tension in his face. Again, that light entered his eyes…perhaps the lighting in his office? It had faded as quickly as it had come. He continued, despite Flamel’s obvious discomfort. “Of course, both families were under a lot of protection, but what we didn’t know was that the Dark Lord had an inside man. It was pure luck on the Wizarding World’s part that you were able to vanquish the Dark Lord. No one knows how you did it, even to this day. I believe that you’re actually a subject studied quite intensely in the Department of Mysteries.”

Flamel raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t say anything. Severus gave him a few minutes to absorb it, giving him a chance to speak.

“How much do you trust Dumbledore, professor?” he asked, and it was possibly the last question Severus expected from his mouth. Nicholas Flamel and Dumbledore had once been on good terms, after all.

“That depends on why you want to know,” Severus dodged. He was either asking the question through loyalty to Dumbledore or through distrust of him. He couldn’t tell. “I’m grateful he saved me from the fate of being a Death Eater in the Ministry’s hands. And I’m grateful for the position as a teacher, no matter how much I hate the first years,” Severus said, gauging his response to his words. At Flamel’s narrowing eyes, he added, “But I am quite wary of his actions and motives in many cases.”

“That was quite indirect,” Flamel commented. His eyes were guarded.

“It was. It’s best not to speak of these things too loudly or too often in the castle. It is his domain, after all. However, here’s a point for you to ponder: Dumbledore doesn’t know who you are, or at least not from me.”

“Very true,” Flamel responded. He hesitated, before pronouncing resolutely, “I don’t trust him. He may have been great once, but whatever greatness he currently has is being used for his own gains and manipulations; nothing else.”

Severus nodded. “My sentiments exactly. I will perhaps relate to you some of my theories another time, as this is not the place for it.”

“Understood,” Flamel said in agreement. “Now, what was the real prophecy?” he asked, quite impatiently.

Severus sighed, suppressing an uncharacteristic grin at Flamel’s impatience. “With a bit more subterfuge I was able to gain the full prophecy from Dumbledore’s pensieve several years ago,” he reached into a different desk drawer than the one carrying his bottle of brandy and pulled out a pensieve. He drew a silvery strand of thought from his temple, the action taking little to no effort through years of use and practice. He was about to deposit it in the pensieve, but a word from Flamel stopped him.

He quickly returned the thought to his head. “What?” he asked sharply.

“There’s some strange magic surrounding it,” Flamel said, staring intently at the pensieve.

“You can see magic?” Severus asked sceptically, though considering how much else he had seen the boy do; he shouldn’t have been so surprised.

“Yes,” Flamel replied, absorbed in his task of analyzing the magic around the pensieve. “It’s been tampered with,” he declared.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Are you quite certain?”

“Yes,” he replied confidently. “I know a tampered pensieve when I see one, trust me.”

Trust you? Severus thought mockingly in his thoughts. /Do I have any other choice but to? /He did not echo those sentiments, however, as he observed the boy sitting in front of him.

“How can you tell?” he asked curiously. “I can accept that you can see magic, but to differentiate between the thousands—millions, even—of spells that exist…”

“Nicholas enjoyed testing me,” Flamel said with a half smile. “He made it into a game of sorts.”

“I see,” Severus nodded, accepting that answer. He wasn’t quite sure he believed it. “I take it you know how to remove the magic around it?”

“I’m afraid not, professor,” he replied, frowning. “A pensieve is far too delicate for me to try.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to hear it second hand, then,” Severus replied shrugging. He wasn’t sure if the boy was merely too eager to wait to hear the prophecy or actually couldn’t fix the problem.

“The prophecy is significantly longer than the false one, though it begins much the same:

‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,
Sooner than ever hoped.
Born to parents that have thrice defied him,
He will be the bane of the Dark Lord,
Born as the seventh month dies.
And the Dark Lord shall mark him in mind, body, and soul as an equal.
The Ouroboros awakens once more
One is the dragon and one is the snake
Who is who is only determined by the victor of the timeless battle.
One is all and all are one
Who is the one and who are the many?
Death must be delivered and only at the hand of the other
For they will live for eternity if one does not erase the other.’”

Flamel looked slightly astonished. “Could I have that in writing please?” he asked weakly.

“No,” Severus replied more sharply than intended. “It would be too easy for it to fall into the wrong hands. It holds the secret to immortality in there, at least for you and the Dark Lord.”

“I know, I know,” Flamel said. “Could you please repeat it more slowly?”

“Of course,” Severus replied, inclining in head then doing as asked.

“Ouroboros…” Flamel muttered after the second recitation of the prophecy. “I recognize that word.”

“It is an old mythological symbol,” Severus supplied. “A reptile with its tail in its mouth, a never-ending circle.”

Flamel nodded. “I remember now. Could that have anything to do with the reference of the dragon and the snake?”

“Perhaps,” Severus mused. He had thought it over, of course, but it never hurt to see a prophecy in new light. “Unfortunately, the most infuriating thing about prophecies is that they tend to be unclear until they have already been fulfilled. Most unfortunately, they are almost inescapable. Many prophecies, however, have been misinterpreted to bring about more doom than they possess or vice versa. However, it has been theorized that there is the possibility that the prophecy augments itself according to the actions taken by those mentioned within the prophecy. More often than not it is best to avoid doing anything to attempt to alter a prophecy as it tends to make things much worse. Consider the story of Oedipus as an example.”

Flamel nodded, looking thoughtful. “I’ll keep it hidden in my memory so thoroughly that even I will not be able to access it on a daily basis. It’s not good to dwell on these things, or so I’ve been taught,” he sighed. He then made to rise out of his chair.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Severus smirked. “You have yet to be reprimanded for your actions the other night. Not to mention I have one last piece of vital information to give you.”

Flamel groaned audibly, but sat back down in the chair. “Information first, please?”

Severus smirked. “Just this once,” he said, his face growing serious. “Lucius Malfoy paid me a visit just before you arrived at my office. He seemed quite interested in you and quite eager to warn me to watch my step. He appeared to believe that the Dark Lord would be returning to life soon.”

Flamel nodded, his face intent and serious. “I’ll be careful, sir.”

“Good,” Severus nodded sharply. “Now, for your actions I have quite a fitting punishment for you.”

“What’s that, sir?” Flamel asked. Severus could see he was holding back expletives.

“Lessons in strategy and tactics.”

“What?” Flamel responded, astounded. Severus felt quite smug at startling the confidence right out of the boy.

“Lessons. Your performed fairly well, considering the pressure you were under, but you could have dealt with it better. And you didn’t perform any security spells whatsoever upon myself and the others until over a day after the incident. It was quite foolish on your part, and you will be quite lucky if one of them hasn’t already told someone else.”

Flamel glowered at him, amusing Severus to no end. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not at all.”

“Brilliant,” Flamel muttered. “Now can I go, sir?”

“You may call me Severus in private,” Severus told him, wincing a bit as he did so, but he knew that it was a good idea in the long run. “And yes, you may go Flamel.”

“Call me Harry,” the boy responded impudently, half way out the door.

Severus rolled his eyes at his response and shooed him out the door. He badly wanted to finish that thrice damned glass of brandy.
________________________________________

The leaving feast quickly approached as spring faded into summer and the end of the school year drew nearer. Harry was quite happy that the summer was approaching and he could be out of the confines of Hogwarts, as he found the school to be far too restricting and eagerly awaited a summer on his own, doing what he wished. He also did happen to want to see his exam results, though he figured they wouldn’t appear for some time yet.

The leaving feast found Harry sitting at Gryffindor table once more, though he felt it would have been much more amusing to sit at the staff table again. According to the Weasley twins, the feast was taking much longer than usual to actually appear on their plates, which was rather odd as Dumbledore didn’t do too many speeches at the end of the year.

Apparently, this closing feast would be different.

Dumbledore rose from his chair, spreading his arms wide and beaming at the students before him. “First off, let me offer my congratulations to Ravenclaw for their success in winning the House Cup this year!” he exclaimed and changed the banners hanging over the tables to the Ravenclaw emblem. “Also to Slytherin for winning the Quidditch Cup for the fourth year in a row!” Applause went around the Great Hall, just as much for the winners as for the food that most anticipated.

“There has been a slight change in the feast this year. As you all know, the start of the year feast has always been reserved for the first years, to welcome them to our school,” Dumbledore began. Confused mumblings would have broken out if Dumbledore hadn’t been held in as much awe as he was. As it was, Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach at his words. “And we would not wish to take that away from them. So, to add to this year’s end of term feast, Harold Flamel will be sorted so that he may sit in his proper place in September.”

At his words McGonagall took out a three legged stool and a ragged hat. Harry was pissed off at the lack of warning, more so that his placement in a House would mean that he would have less freedom to move around the school.

“Mr. Flamel, if you would come up here please?” McGonagall asked, indicating the dais that had been raised magically for this purpose alone.

Harry sighed out loud and began his march towards the stool. Behind him, he could hear the twins taking bets in Gryffindor and the neighbouring Hufflepuff table and barely restrained rolling his eyes at the two. Instead, he found himself sitting in the chair and the ragged hat forced on his head.

“Hmm…” he heard a tiny voice in his head. Surprised, Harry nearly forced the foreign entity out of his head, but found himself unable to.

“I am forbidden to reveal any of what I learn in another’s mind, Mr. Potter,” the Hat told him. “Not even to the Headmaster you detest so much.” It hummed, an odd sounding thing in Harry’s mind. “For good reasons too, apparently…” Harry found himself growing angry with the inanimate object, though he was careful to keep the expression from his face. “Not to worry, Mr. Potter…no one else knows, not yet at least,” the Hat chuckled. Harry found himself resenting its good humour.

“Dumbledore,” the Hat called out suddenly, and Harry was aware that the whole hall could hear him. “I can’t sort this boy!”

“Why ever not, Mr. Hat?” Harry could hear the hall chuckling at the Sorting Hat’s name and found himself smiling too.

The Hat ignored their amusement. “He’s far too advanced for his age. There’s nowhere to put him!”

“He’s been home-schooled up until now. Are you telling me there is nothing more that Hogwarts can offer him?”

“No, not at all…just that he would be misplaced if placed in fourth year in the fall. If that’s the case, though, I shall also place him in the correct year for each subject, as I have done in the past. I suggest that you have the students start the feast—this may take a while.”

“But…” Dumbledore began, shocked.

“No buts, Dumbledore. This is the way it was done back in my day…”

Dumbledore and the rest of the staff appeared surprised, but Dumbledore gave his consent and the feast began.

“Do I have no say in this at all?” Harry complained out loud.

“Nope,” the Hat replied cheerfully in his mind.

Harry then thought towards the Hat instead: I suppose all those exams they had me take were useless then, he commented.

“Indeed they were,” the Hat told him in his mind.

To professor McGonagall he added out loud, “Could you please get me parchment and a quill? I shall mark down each subject as I cover them in his mind.” McGonagall nodded, slightly dumbstruck, but conjured the items as asked. “Thank you, my dear,” the Hat replied. Somehow he got the two objects to hover in front of Harry, and the quill was already in front of it prepared to write.

“You’re quite advanced in many subjects,” he told Harry privately. “Quite understandable you resent being here.”

Harry didn’t really think anything back and just let the Hat rummage. There wasn’t much else he could do but wait patiently.

“Hmm…let’s see. Ah-ha! A journeyman’s in Alchemy? I’m quite impressed, Mr. Potter! You’ll definitely become a teaching assistant in quite a few subjects…”

“Lovely,” Harry commented dryly. “Can we just get on with it?”

The Hat chuckled. “Of course, of course.”

The quill began scratching on the parchment, pausing every second or so. Harry, who could actually see it, was quite surprised at the Hat’s evaluation. Apparently, he was advanced enough to be a teaching assistant in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Ancient Runes. He had been placed in seventh year Arithmancy and Charms, sixth year Transfiguration, and fifth year for Herbology and History of Magic. The only two classes he had with his peers were Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures, and Divination had been completely and utterly vetoed as a subject he should take. Though Harry resented that choice being made for him, he knew that he would have left the class anyways.

The whole process took at least twenty minutes, in which he knew he was the subject of much contemplation. /This is just brilliant, /he thought at the Hat.

“It is, isn’t it?” the Hat replied happily. “I know I’m quite entertained.” Harry merely rolled his eyes in response.

When the Hat was finally done, he floated the parchment over to Dumbledore who raised an eyebrow in surprise but nodded in agreement. He rose from his seat, calling the great hall to silence momentarily as he began to speak. “I’m quite sorry to have interrupted your meal,” he said, twinkling his eyes at the students. “But I believe that Mr. Flamel is ready to be sorted.”

Harry simply rolled his eyes at the theatrics. The Hat mentally snickered at him before straightening himself and opening his brim wide to announce Harry’s House.

I really do have no say in this either, do I?

“Nope,” the Hat thought in response, before announcing where he was to spend the next four years.

“Slytherin!”