Chapter 14: The Sorting Hat's Warning
During the start of term feast, the Great Hall of Hogwarts was a spectacle of magic. Thousands of flickering candles floated and danced in the air and torches the size of grown men burned brightly from their metal sconces on the walls. The ceiling above was no mere ceiling, but an illusion of impressive power, showing all who looked at it the very sky it was protecting against. Looking up at it now, Harry could see that night had truly fallen - the stars that he admired during the carriage ride were still there, but the heavens had lost the blue tint of evening and settled into the rich blackness of a late hour.
All around him, the students whispered and bobbed in their seats in anticipation of the new school year. Their uniforms were strange in their smartness - new and clean and without wrinkles or wear. Their faces, too, seemed slightly unfamiliar. Harry could see many of his classmates had changed their hair, their weight, and there were several thin, pitiable moustaches being sported by some of the older boys.
To his right, four seats down at the Gryffindor table, Ron was squashed between Seamus and Dean. Harry glanced at him occasionally, frowning. He felt a mixture of sadness and anger at his friend. Harry knew he cast a long shadow, but it had never been his intention or desire to throw that shade over his friend.
To his immediate left, Hermione nudged him gently with her elbow. He turned to look at her and she gestured to the front of the hall with her eyes.
At the staff table, Headmaster Dumbledore stood up from his chair and hushed the waiting students with a simple hand gesture. His fingers spread slightly and the candles floating above their heads seemed to flare. The hall was silent - it was unusual for the headmaster to speak before the Sorting and people did not know what to expect.
"I would like to welcome you all back to another year at Hogwarts," Dumbledore began. He did not use a Sonorous charm, but his voice was clear and could be heard easily even in the very back of the hall. "As always, this year will be full of learning, challenge, and, hopefully, the pleasure of friendship. As returning students, you know well what lies ahead. For some, it will be exams. For others, perhaps graduation and a looming future. Whatever goals you set for the year, I wish sincerely for you to achieve them. And I urge you - do not allow the trials of the changing times to prevent you from reaching your dreams.
"With the news of Voldemort's return," Dumbledore paused as the hall was filled with gasps and shrieks, "most of you are likely feeling uncertain - uncertain about your future and uncertain about the futures of your friends. But take heed - in times of strife, it is more important than ever for us to hold on to the things most dear to us. Fear only has power if we allow it to steal away our dreams and our hopes. Be vigilant, but… do not forget to live."
This speech was met with silence and the headmaster sat down and gestured for McGonagall to proceed with the Sorting Ceremony. The stern-faced witch placed the ancient Sorting Hat on a stool just in front of the staff table, then strode down the centre aisle of the hall to open the massive, wooden doors and lead the new students inside. Their timid, nervous faces were white in the candlelight.
Harry watched them with avid interest. They seemed so small, so vulnerable - he could hardly believe that he, too, had once looked as they did. Time had passed so quickly.
Hermione leaned over to speak softly in his ear. "They're very young," she said, and Harry understood that her thoughts were mirroring his own.
Ghosts began to stream through the walls to watch the ceremony and many of the new students screamed and tripped at the sight of them. Nearly-Headless Nick swooped up from beneath the Gryffindor table - his head and neck ruff seemed to be growing out from Harry's plate.
"Why hello, Harry! I'm glad to see you look well," he said. "I hope we have a good crop of new students for our house this year."
"Hello, Sir Nicholas," Harry replied. He felt slightly uneasy - he hoped that Nick would not mention Harry's questions about contacting the dead following Sirius's death. For whatever reason, he did not want anyone else to know about his conversation with the ghost the previous year.
But Sir Nicholas did not give any indication that he remembered this event. "I say, we'll need to work extra hard to win the House Cup this year. The head girl and boy are both from Ravenclaw House - the Grey Lady had a rather smug look all summer."
Harry twisted in his seat towards the Ravenclaw table as if he might catch a glimpse of the badges signifying the head students. He scanned their faces briefly before landing on a pair of dark eyes that were staring directly back at his own.
Cho Chang was looking at him searchingly, and against his will, Harry's eyes drifted down to the breast of her robe - the sight of the gold badge there nearly shocked him cold. He turned back to his own table slowly and found Hermione staring at him.
"Yes, it's Cho," she said quietly. "She gave the prefects our patrol assignments on the train - I wasn't sure if I should tell you. Harry, you don't still have… feelings for her, do you?"
"No," Harry said tensely.
Hermione looked relieved. "Oh, good," she breathed. Harry looked at her strangely and she rushed to explain. "I mean - she's not right for you, Harry. You're much too serious for a silly girl like her."
A loud clearing of a throat interrupted whatever response Harry might have had and they both turned their eyes towards the front of the hall where the Sorting Hat was shaking itself awake. Two small tears near its centre squinted like eyelids and the rip along its brim opened and closed in the pantomime of a mouth. The hat bowed to all four house tables before settling itself facing the Gryffindor table. Harry had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that it was staring right at him. He did not seem alone in this opinion - several students nearby seemed to be glancing back and forth between the hat and Harry.
The rip opened again and the hat began its song:
"Long ago, I was made to think,
Made to sing, and made to blink,
Made to see into your mind,
And made to comment on what I find.
But there's more to me than these simple tricks,
More to the forest than leaves and sticks,
More to this castle than walls of stone,
And more to you than blood and bone.
Do not judge on what first you see,
For you are certain to be deceived,
You must look closer if you want to know,
What is real and what's for show.
But if you find yourself astray,
The tower light will guide your way,
The lamp of time shines ever bright,
Cutting through the darkest night.
So I urge you now, do not ignore,
The ageless voice on distant shore,
Destiny comes for everyone,
Even its most wayward son.
Divisive times will lie ahead,
Lines are drawn and painted red,
Face the night but take this warning,
It's always darkest before the morning..."
When the hat finished, it closed its rip and slumped over, as if the song had taken all of its energy. The Great Hall
was as quiet as it had ever been.
Harry felt like an icy hand had reached inside his chest to wrap cold fingers around his heart. The song had sounded like it was spoken directly to him. The references to tower lights and ageless voices... but that was impossible! Wasn't it?
Hermione's hand seized his forearm - whether it was for her own reassurance or his, he did not know - and he turned to look at her worried face. She stared at him mutely for a moment before scrambling to remove a quill and parchment from her bag and rapidly transcribing what she could remember from the song.
Harry turned to see the faces of his classmates watching him warily, and he shrugged his shoulders towards his ears in a useless attempt at hiding. He glanced towards the staff table to see Dumbledore giving him a significant look - clearly, he remembered Harry's letter detailing his dream with the dying woman in the tower. The headmaster nodded at him once, but did not seem particularly concerned and turned his palm up in the direction of Professor McGonagall.
"Students will step forward when I call their names and place the hat on their head," McGonagall instructed loudly, interrupting the anxious whispering that had begun to buzz around the hall. "Alpin, Gremina!"
A thin, fair-haired little girl climbed onto the stool and was promptly sorted into Hufflepuff.
"Does this look right?" Hermione asked Harry under her breath. "Did I get everything? I think I messed up some of the middle lines!"
Harry glanced towards her parchment to see Hermione's transcription of the song. He dully pointed out a few corrections - the song had seemingly imprinted itself on his mind like a hot, iron brand - and then tried to shake off his ill feeling to watch the remainder of the sorting.
Several new students joined them at the Gryffindor table but Harry could neither recall their names nor their faces. He clapped to maintain the appearance of paying attention, but try as he might, his mind kept drifting back to the song.
Soon enough, all the students had been placed into houses and a feast of the most luscious foods imaginable appeared on their table. The dark atmosphere seemed to dissipate and people began to pile their plates high, laughing as they ate.
Harry dutifully served himself some roasted potatoes, but he settled for pushing them around listlessly with his fork. His appetite had all but disappeared.
"Don't fret about it, Harry," Hermione urged quietly, serving him a juicy piece of roast. "We'll figure out what the song means later. We'll do it together - you'll see! Now you should eat something."
Harry felt somewhat cheered by her camaraderie and took a bite of the roast. "I see you're not restarting your hunger fast," he commented neutrally as he looked at her plate piled with chicken and vegetables.
"I'm not giving up on house elves," she retorted sharply, her hackles rising. "I'll just find a more effective way of protesting. And I don't care if you or Ron thinks it's silly!"
"I don't think it's silly," Harry argued, frowning.
Hermione's face softened and she took a bite of broccoli. "Well- good. I would really like your help, Harry. This is important to me."
Harry felt a twinge of guilt. He speared a potato with his fork and nodded. "Okay," he said.
"Okay?" Hermione asked, surprised. "That's it?"
"If it's important to you, I'll help," he clarified. "I don't think it's right, either - how house elves are treated. But sometimes..." he hesitated, as if unsure he should continue, "Sometimes I think you're going about it the wrong way, is all."
"What do you mean, 'the wrong way'?" Hermione asked, clearly stung.
Harry hurried to continue, not wanting to upset her. "What I mean is - like the name? Spew-"
"It's not spew, it's S.P.E.W.!" she nearly shouted. This was a familiar argument over the years and it obviously pushed the wrong buttons for her.
Harry placed his hand over the one she had fisted beside her plate in an effort to calm her down. His fingers closed over her small fist easily. "Wait - just listen," he asked gently. "I know it's S.P.E.W., but most witches and wizards already think the idea is a bit out there. Giving it a name with an acronym that spells 'spew' only gives those people an easy way to dismiss what you're saying. They can just make fun of the name instead of having to counter what you're arguing. That's all I meant."
He watched her warily as she worried her lip. Slowly, she seemed to relax and Harry let out a relieved breath. "Maybe you're right," she sighed at last.
Neither of them mentioned house elves again for the rest of the feast, but Hermione seemed lost in thought as she ate quietly. Several of his classmates started to attempt to include Harry in their conversations and he was grateful for their effort. He was still feeling off-kilter after the Sorting Hat's song and he knew most of his responses were short and clipped, but no one seemed bothered by it. In fact, rather than looking offended, Parvati smiled at him strangely nearly the entire meal. Harry tried not to think about why she might be doing this.
When all the plates were clean and their glasses empty, the remainders of the food disappeared from the tables with the same rush of magic that had made them appear. The students turned in their seats to look up at the staff table as Headmaster Dumbledore rose from his chair once more.
"I would like to take this opportunity to welcome our new students to Hogwarts!" he announced. "In the next seven years, I hope you'll find your minds broadened and your hearts filled with both small joys and great ones. Now, for all of our students, new and old - I have a few start-of-term notices to provide you with.
"First, I would like to reiterate than any decrees passed during the previous term are no longer applicable. It's of particular note that groups do not require permission to form or to meet - they are, in fact, encouraged to do so.
"Mr. Filch, our caretaker, wishes to inform all students that a list of banned items has been posted on the door to his office. Please refer to it if you do not desire to see any of your Dungbombs or Whirling Frosties confiscated.
"I must stress the importance of this - the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits to all students. This is for your own safety. The forest has become increasingly dangerous as of late. To enter it is to place your neck willingly in the guillotine.
"Quidditch tryouts will begin on the second Tuesday of the month. Please contact Madame Hooch if you wish to tryout for your house team.
"And finally, I would like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher - Allesia Ferrote," Dumbledore said, gesturing at a sturdy-looking woman seated inconspicuously at the end of the staff table. Harry craned his neck to get a better look at her and he noticed many of his classmates doing the same. She seemed innocuous enough, if not a little stern, but Harry would hold his opinion until he was certain she was not evil, incompetent, or growing dark lords out of the back of her skull.
"I'm sure all of you would like to join me in wishing her the best of luck in her new position," the headmaster concluded. "Now - let us end our festivities with the singing of our school song. You may choose to sing it to any tune you desire."
The headmaster's wand appeared in his hand and with a gentle flick, a long, golden ribbon shot out the end and fluttered into the air above him. The ribbon twisted and contorted until it formed words in fine script, spelling out the lyrics to the song.
The students all began to sing, each with their own rhythm and cadence. Beside him, Hermione was loudly singing to the tune of an old muggle song Harry recognised, and he changed his own version to sing along with her. They shared a companionable look and both found it difficult to keep from laughing. When they finished, Harry found himself immensely cheered from his earlier dark mood. No wonder Dumbledore insisted on this yearly ritual.
"Ah, lovely! Music is a gift that I never tire of," the headmaster declared after everyone had finished. "Now then - prefects will please escort the first years to their dormitories. Goodnight to you all!"
As the students began to stand and prefects began to call out the names of their houses, Harry climbed to his feet and looked down at Hermione as she finished replacing her quill and parchment in her bag. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said.
She smiled at him and stood up, shaking her head. "No, Harry - only the fifth year prefects have to lead the first years. We can walk up together."
Harry returned her smile, feeling somewhat relieved and turned to glance at Ron, only to find that the redhead had already left them behind. Harry frowned and shifted his weight while Hermione looked on sadly. "He'll come around," she repeated as they began to follow the other students out to the Grand Staircase.
They hiked up the first set of stairs quietly and paused at the landing to wait for the next staircase to move into place. Above them, similar staircases were changing and turning to a melody of grinding stone.
"So what do you reckon?" Harry asked while they waited. "Think our new Defense teacher will be any good?"
"I can't say I've ever heard of her before," Hermione admitted, "but she must be an improvement over that horrid Umbridge woman."
The staircase settled into the correct position and Harry and Hermione began to climb.
"Well, that's not exactly a high standard to live up to," Harry mused. "Snape would be a vast improvement. Even Moody was much better, and he tried to kill me."
"I suppose," Hermione agreed reluctantly. "But it's more important than ever that we have a good teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts. If she doesn't instruct us adequately, we'll just have to reform the D.A."
Harry's eyes darkened a bit and he looked down at his boots as they continued trudging up the many staircases to the seventh floor. After the debacle at the Ministry, he was no longer sure he wanted the D.A. to exist anymore. Harry wasn't keen on giving his classmates and friends the idea that they ought to be following him - not when it seemed fated that Voldemort and he would remain on the same path until one or the other was dead.
Hermione did not seem to notice his wandering thoughts and began to chatter excitedly about filling out their class timetables in the morning at breakfast. He listened with half an ear before they arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady. She looked down at them from her frame imperiously before asking for the password. Hermione drew herself up straight and announced, "Fortis unus".
The Fat Lady tipped her head and the portrait swung aside, revealing the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione had to duck her head and shoulders and Harry nearly had to bend over double to slip through the passage now. They shared a look when they made it to the other side, both remembering passing through with no trouble in their first years here.
The Gryffindor common room was packed with loitering students chatting animatedly about the upcoming term. A few stopped what they were doing to stare when Harry came through the door, but Hermione tugged him along behind her before he could dwell on it. They stopped at the base of the stairs to the girl's dormitory and Hermione adjusted her bookbag on her shoulder.
"We'll go over the hat's song again, later," she promised. "You should get some sleep, Harry. It's important to start the school year well rested."
Harry wished her goodnight and then left her to trudge up the stairs to his own dormitory. The room for the sixth year boys seemed identical to the one he had shared in fifth year, and all his things were neatly stacked beside the bed nearest the window.
Neville was already wearing a long, cotton sleep cap and climbing into his own bed. He smiled at Harry before wishing him a cheerful goodnight and pulling the hangings closed.
Seamus and Dean were nowhere to be found, but Ron was sitting on his trunk, tugging off his shoes gloomily. When he saw Harry, his eyes flickered for a moment before he stood up and turned his back to him, pretending to be fussing with his bed clothes.
Harry was never one to ignore a problem when he could tackle it head on, so he strode across the room and grabbed a fist-full of Ron's sleep shirt, tugging his shoulder back so he would be facing him.
"Don't do this again, Ron," he said quietly.
Ron's eyes widened a bit at both the rough treatment and the reminder of the debacle that was fourth year before dropping down to look at the floor. He seemed lost for words for a moment before he looked back up at Harry.
"Look, mate - I know it's it not your fault," he began haltingly. "I do know that. I'm not mad at you. It's just…"
But whatever it was 'just', Ron did not say, and instead trailed off with a sigh. Harry stared at him for a moment before releasing his grip and pacing over to his trunk. He changed for bed quickly and then slid under his own covers.
"Goodnight, Ron," he muttered, before pulling the hangings on his own bed closed and settling down for bed.
~: --------------------------- :~
The next morning, Ron joined Harry and Hermione at breakfast. When he sat down opposite them, he had a sheepish look on
his face and his ears and cheeks were deeply red. Hermione shot Harry a knowing, triumphant look as Ron wordlessly
began to dish himself a massive helping of eggs. Harry took a bite out of his sausage and shrugged.
Nothing was said about Ron's earlier behaviour, and the morning's breakfast was enjoyed in companionable silence like hundreds before it. Their classmates chatted and laughed all around them, filling the Great Hall with warm voices. Listening to this swell of sound, Harry began to hope that this year might be better than the last one.
"Gryffindors!" Professor McGonagall called from the head of the table. Conversation died immediately. "I'll now be handing out the sign-up forms for your lessons. I expect them in my office by no later than noon today. Please remember to only sign up for lessons that you have met the pre-requisites for. If you sign up for lessons that you are not qualified to take, you will not be allowed to attend and you will not be allowed to sign up for alternate lessons for that hour. This can have severe consequences for those of you who are intending to pursue careers that require a certain number of N.E.W.T. courses."
She began to walk down the aisle, handing out official-looking sheets of parchment to each student. Harry noticed that Hermione was nearly bouncing in her seat in excitement. Filling out her timetable had always been one of her favourite activities.
When McGonagall reached Harry, Ron, and Hermione, she paused and her stern features seemed to soften a bit. She handed them each a sign-up form before turning to Harry. "Mr. Potter, I have an important matter I wish to discuss with you privately. Please come to my office directly after you've finished breakfast. And bring your timetable with you. You can fill it out while you're there."
Harry looked at her a bit warily and she tutted at him impatiently. "You're not in trouble, so wipe that look off your face. And do be punctual - I have a lot of matters to attend to today."
With that pronouncement, Professor McGonagall bustled off, handing out the last of the sign-up forms to their remaining classmates. Harry turned back to his sausages and poked one with his fork.
"Wonder what that was about?" Ron asked, turning back to his nearly finished meal.
"No idea," Harry admitted. Whatever it was, he hoped it wasn't bad news. He continued poking his sausage absently for a few minutes before Ron eyed it with a plaintive look.
"Are you gonna eat that?" he asked.
Harry took one last gulp of his pumpkin juice before sliding his plate towards Ron and climbing to his feet. "I'm going to go see what she wants," he said. He had only taken a few steps towards the door when the Great Hall was suddenly filled with the unmistakable sound of a great many owls fluttering inside. Harry paused and watched as the day's post was delivered until he caught a familiar flash of brilliant white amid the browns and greys. Hedwig arched down from near the ceiling with her wings spread and talons lifted. Harry dutifully held out his forearm for her to land on.
She hooted at him in greeting before gripping him firmly with her talons, securing herself to his arm. Harry stroked her feathers with his free hand.
"I think it's adorable that Hedwig visits you even when you don't have any post," Hermione remarked, turning in her seat to watch them.
"I never have post at Hogwarts," Harry pointed out. "I'd never see her if she waited for someone to write me."
Hedwig clicked her beak and swiveled her head to stare at him with her brilliant, amber eyes. Harry moved back over to the table and glanced down at Hermione. "Would you mind-"
"Of course not, Harry," Hermione interrupted, understanding immediately what he wanted. She cleared a spot on the table for Hedwig to land and broke off a small piece of her toast. "I'll keep her company while you're gone. She can have some of my breakfast."
Harry smiled at her gratefully. "Thank you," he said. He stroked his owl one last time before lowering his forearm to the table, allowing Hedwig to step off. She hopped a few steps before puffing her feathers and swiveling her head towards Hermione's toast. "I'll see you both later."
"Bye, mate," Ron called after him.
Harry walked down the hall, ignoring several students who glanced up from their newly-delivered copies of the Daily Prophet to peer at him. He halted when he came to the end of the Gryffindor table and saw a second year he didn't recognise reading avidly from her own copy. The front of the newspaper was held up perfectly for Harry's perusal, and he was dismayed to see his own face scowling back at him.
Beneath a headline reading, 'REBEL - Harry Potter snubs Minister for Magic!', a wizarding photograph of the moment Harry had been asked to join the Minister on the stage took up the majority of the front page. Harry was somewhat startled by his own appearance in the photo - he had a dark expression and looked older than he perhaps thought he should.
Harry frowned and quickly left the hall before anyone worked up the nerve to bother him about the article. He made his way up shifting staircases and down long halls filled with suits of armour before arriving in front of the wooden door that led to McGonagall's office. He knocked once and was promptly invited inside.
Professor McGonagall's office was small and not particularly impressive. It was sparsely furnished with only a dark wood desk, a small cabinet, and two chairs. Both the walls and the floor were bare. Clearly, she had chosen this room for the single luxury it did possess - behind her desk was a large, roman window that offered a beautiful view across the grounds to the Quidditch pitch. The room was high enough that she would likely be able to watch the teams play and practice, even if the distance might make it difficult to see what was going on.
"Do sit down, Mr. Potter," McGonagall instructed, looking at Harry above her spectacles. She gestured to the wood chair in front of the desk and set down the parchment she had been reading. "I trust that you are well?"
"Yes, thank you," Harry replied. He lifted his bag from his shoulder and set it on the ground before seating himself. He had to work to keep from fidgeting - he had no idea what Professor McGonagall wanted to see him for.
He was startled by a sudden, suctioning noise and a piece of parchment appearing on top of the wooden tray on the corner of her desk. Another parchment and then another followed it, both preceded by the strange sound.
McGonagall noticed his curious expression. "They're the sign-up forms for your lessons. The tray is connected to the box outside my office," she explained. "You did bring yours, I presume?"
Harry nodded and dug it out of his bag, holding it up for her to see. She took it from him and laid it out on her desk. "Good," she continued. "We'll fill it out later. I've brought you here this morning because I intend for you to captain the Gryffindor Quidditch team this season."
Harry's eyebrows shot towards his hairline. Of all the things he had been expecting to hear, that had not been one of them. "Quidditch captain?" he asked incredulously. "But I didn't even play last year…?"
Professor McGonagall's face darkened and she pursed her lips. "Yes, well - your… ban is no longer in effect. With your reinstatement, you're the logical choice for captain. I wish to keep the Quidditch Cup in Gryffindor House, Mr. Potter. I hope that you feel as strongly about this as I do."
Harry did not profess himself to be as much of a Quidditch nut as McGonagall herself was, but he certainly took pride in his house's victories. "Of course I want Gryffindor to win…"
McGonagall nodded curtly. "Then you accept?"
Harry sat back in his chair. He could not help but feel a small rush of pride at his selection. "I- yes. All right."
"Good. Then we have much to discuss in preparation for the upcoming season.
As captain, you will have many duties and responsibilities. You must schedule team practices, oversee try-outs, prepare
our match strategies, and enforce team discipline," she informed. "Additionally, the Gryffindor house
Quidditch team has several important traditions that we have enjoyed for many long years. For example, the captain
always lights the lamps in the team prep room on the day of every Gryffindor match - and only on match days. Only
wandlight or daylight is used during practices or other team meetings. The Gryffindor captain will wear his or her
captain's badge on their robes at all times - except on match days. On those days, you will remove your
badge, signifying that you are part of a team, and no more important than any other member. Finally, a more recent
tradition began some seventy years ago with Montgomery Gullsnap - the Gryffindor captain from that time. He cut a strap
of leather from a quaffle that was used during Gryffindor's championship season that year and tied it around his
arm. When his final game at the school was played, he passed it on to the next captain, and she wore it around hers. So
it has continued through the years - even your father wore it. I trust you will continue this tradition?"
Professor McGonagall reached into her desk and removed a long, dark cord of leather. It was worn, but did not appear frayed or in poor condition. He vaguely recalled seeing it from time to time wrapped around Angelina Johnson's robe sleeve, but he had no idea it signified her captaincy.
McGonagall handed the cord to Harry from across her desk and he took it somewhat hesitantly. It was strange to think that his father had once worn this. Sometimes he felt so disconnected from James Potter that it was hard to believe they had ever existed in the same universe.
Harry turned the leather cord over in his hands and mulled over what Professor McGonagall had said. He'd had no idea that being the Gryffindor captain was so involved. He suddenly had a better appreciation for why Oliver Wood had been so uptight.
McGonagall seemed to sense his certainty wavering and she offered him a surprisingly kind look. "You'll do well, Potter. I haven't chosen you on a whim."
"I'll do the best I can," he said at last. McGonagall seemed pleased by this answer and nodded curtly.
"I've prepared some documents that should help you as you assume your new duties," she stated. "There are some strategies and plays that I'm particularly fond of, along with a list of students I've seen potential in. Do try to make sure these students attend the tryouts, if possible."
Harry took the stack of parchments and glanced over the diagrams and descriptions of complicated Quidditch moves and a few accounts of spectacular plays from famous matches. He took note of the names on the list of potential recruits and was surprised by how few there were.
McGonagall smiled grimly. "Yes, not many, is there? Our house hasn't had many stellar flyers since your sorting. You'll have your work cut out for you with our lot of beaters, too."
Harry remembered their struggles with Kirke and Sloper from the previous year and nodded. Perhaps they had improved over the summer, but there was no way to tell until tryouts.
For the next hour, Harry and Professor McGonagall went over strategies and some of the more obscure rules of Quidditch - most of which Harry had never heard of. He thought it should have been obvious that poisoning the opposing captain with a draught of nightshade before a Quidditch match was illegal, but apparently it needed to be spelt out over three paragraphs in 'The Standard Rules of Quidditch, Annotated Volume XXXVII'.
As the time passed, the pile of parchments that had appeared in McGonagall's tray grew rapidly. When she noticed him eyeing it, McGonagall glanced at the clock and pursed her lips.
"Well, it seems it would be best for us to continue this at another time," she announced. "Let's go over your lessons timetable. Have you given any thought to which courses you want to take? I'm assuming you still desire to be an Auror…"
"Yes," Harry replied at once.
Professor McGonagall's quill flew over his sign-up form as Harry looked on patiently. "Then you'll need Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts as your core lessons. You'll need at least five N.E.W.T.s with a grade of 'Exceeds Expectations' or better to be accepted into the Auror Programme. I would recommend that you take two more lessons to ensure this. You've met the requirements for both Advanced Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology, and Divination, Muggle Studies, and History of Magic have no prerequisites, so you may choose from any of those, if you so desire."
"I want to do Care of Magical Creatures," Harry stated. "And… Divination."
McGonagall's eyebrows rose behind her spectacles and Harry knew that the Transfiguration Professor had little respect for Trelawney's babble. She said nothing, though, and marked it down on his form. Harry was glad for it - he did not know how to explain to her that he wanted to keep an eye on the Divination Professor just in case she were ever to deliver a real prophecy again. He was not looking forward to two more years of Trelawney's nonsense, but he could not risk missing it if she were to divine something useful.
"Very well. Here is a copy of your timetable, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall announced, "and a booklist for the lessons you've signed up for. If you've not purchased your texts during the summer, you will need to send an owl order for them - students are expected to have their required books by the beginning of next week."
"I already have them," Harry replied. He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Well, most of them. I don't have a Divination textbook yet."
"Do see to getting one, then," McGonagall said, reaching into her desk. She removed a small, gold badge depicting a stylized medieval lion rearing on its hind legs. She held it out for Harry to take. "This is your captain's badge. I expect to see it on your robes at all times, except-"
"Except on match days," Harry finished. He clipped the badge to the front of his black robes, taking care not to prick himself. "I won't forget."
McGonagall nodded. She gestured to the door before reaching for the pile of parchments in her tray. "Good day
to you, then, Mr. Potter. I will see you in Transfiguration on Wednesday."