Harry is – err… – a bit more obsessed with Quidditch… Blame Oliver. He's the one that decided that he wanted a little brother – and Mrs. Wood was never able to say no to the five-year-old… Damn. We're screwed aren't we?

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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

"Potter, Harry."

The voice rang out in the otherwise silent hall. The silence, however, was short lived, as these bursts of quiet so often are. People began whispering, tilting their heads and swiveling in their seats in order to catch a glimpse of the reclusive boy-who-lived.

Harry felt a surge of unease.

His footsteps seemed to echo in the hall, whispers drowning out whispers, and the sorting hat seemed a million eons away… and he was hungry. That was for sure.

But as he settled down, europhia that he had long ago felt kicked in. This was real.

"Now, where to put you?" The old voice was croaky (Harry couldn't blame the hat for probably barely talking during the year then having to sing a song to an entire school, scream out each house, and talk mentally to each student before being put right back onto the shelf). "Plenty of courage I see… Not a bad mind either… and loyal to a fault…"

Just put me in Gryffindor already, Harry stated subconsciously. He did exactly as he was told to do. Got to go there, or Ollie will kill me.

"Plenty of secrets for one so young…"

Shut your pie hole please, and get on with my sorting.

A small silence descended between the boy and the hat. "Did– did you just insult a century old hat!"

Harry couldn't believe that the hat would sound so…. Incredulous. Oh! Big word! Yes, he told the hat, mentally of course, that's a Gryffindor thing to do, isn't it?

"I– in all my years–"

Never had anyone this impudent? He asked brightly, straightening up. Really? What about Kennilworthy Whisp? He's a quidditch fanatic! Probably all he thinks about! I'd think that he'd be horrible to have a conversation with– well, maybe not for me, but I don't think that Quidditch is your cup of tea, is it? What was he like when–?

"GRYFFINDOR! … you impudent child…"

"Thanks," he said with a grin, fully aware that he was receiving the loudest cheer yet. He heard the hat grumbling about horrible children, and finding a new job, and wasn't in the job description, as he made his way to the end of the table where all the first years seemed to be congregating.

He nodded to the Weasley twins (who just so happened to be screaming "We've got Potter! We've got Potter!" at the top of their lungs). They both grinned back at him rather cheekily.

"Heyya," he said as he slipped into his seat, he offered his hand to the boy beside him, "Harry Potter, pleased to me't cha."

"Seamus Finnegan," he said with a laugh, "nice display up there."

He gestured up at the stand, and Harry was pleased to see the sorting hat giving him an evil glare before continuing on with the sorting.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" He swung his eyes to the bushy-haired girl in front of him. "I think that I've already made an enemy. First day too. Must be a record."

Hermione Granger? sniffed rather awfully at him. "Weren't you the one who decided it would be a good idea to punch that boy in the face on the train?" She eyed him critically, as if she wasn't quite sure what to make of him.

"Well…" he gave her an amused grin. "Yeah, but I'm sure you'll see why soon enough. A right prat he is, just wanted to make my stance known before he got any ideas."

"You're the one who punched Draco Malfoy?" A blond haired girl snapped her compact mirror shut as she glanced up at him with bright eyes. "If you hadn't been my hero already, you certainly would be now, just sayin'."

"Thanks," he said lightly, a small smile gracing his features, he glanced up, the talk settling down once more as Dean Thomas joined their small group at the table. Harry managed to catch a glimpse of Oliver Wood talking excitedly to Alicia Spinnet. He suppressed a snort with difficulty.

He dimly listened to the announcements "Quidditch tryouts… Third floor corridor… Forbidden Forrest…"

"Food," he moaned as plates materialized before them, "thank you Merlin!"

"Is it true that you grew up with muggles?" A red haired boy asked him around his pork chop, several people turned to hear the answer.

Harry felt a surge of annoyance. "Is it true your hair is red?"

"Well," the boy (Ron was it?) said rather cheekily, "It was blue the other day."

"Okay, you got me."

"Got what?" Dean Thomas asked, "Right or wrong?"

"You pick."

"You're not going to answer are you?" Ron said, a bit irritably.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I did live with my Aunt and Uncle," he said truthfully. "Awful people, how bout you?"

"All my families' wizards. Sixth one out of my siblings to go to Hogwarts. Fred and George are up there, same with Percy."

"I'm half and half," Seamus said, his Irish tilt rather prominent, "me dad's a muggle, didn' know me mam was a witch till they married. Bit o' a nasty shock fer 'im."

Harry tuned them out, casually eating the sprouts (disgusting, how'd they get onto his plate?) as he surveyed the room (after he spat out the greens, really? This was a feast; he couldn't be healthy at a feast…). Marcus Flint was, apparently, the Slytherin Captain. He was easy enough to find, just follow the directions – look for the part troll in the green.

Fun.

Harry had to swear, that next time he saw Ollie, he was going to kill 'im for giving him this job. Sure… he said that he wanted to do something… just not scout other teams and spy on them. And what job does he get? Scouting other teams and spying on them.

He really had to hate life sometimes.

"So, no brooms for first years," he said rather upsettingly (of course, if he had a broom, he could be seeker for the house team, and wouldn't have to scout the other teams out – they could always get some other first year to do their dirty work for them). Harry was thinking of revolting. Maybe a good ol' fashioned petition would get Dumbledore's attention… if he could finish a petition within the year. Probably not.

Eh. It was worth a thought.

"You like flying then?" Seamus asked, "Shame that we can't get on the house teams."

Another believer! Maybe that petition would work after all…. Eh, who was he kidding? Too much work for no gain. "I know, there hasn't been a first year player in over a century!"

"Which isn't much," Ron put in, "Quidditch only started 'bout a century ago. Maybe a little more. No set date."

"I should protest."

"You do that."

"–lead the first years to their dorms."

Harry glanced up in surprise. The prefects were getting ready for the first years, he could see another red head (probably Percy Weasley, he looked eerily like Ron) begin leading them back to the common rooms. Not that Harry could complain, after spending the train ride with the Weasley twins, Lee Jordan (and his spider), Oliver, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie (it was times like that, that he was glad he was small, way too many people in one compartment, there had to be a weight limit), but Harry could use some sleep.

Even if he would be rather rudely awaken at four in the morning.

Actually, especially if he was rather rudely awaken at four in the morning.

You really had to hate the Quidditch nuts sometimes.