Y/n sat among the staff, fingers wrapped around a goblet of pumpkin juice she hadn't touched. Her gaze fixed on the cluster of small, nervous figures huddled near the staff table.

Professor McGonagall stood before them, a scroll of names in her hands and the worn Sorting Hat perched on a stool beside her.

There, at the back of the line. Messy black hair. A smudge of dirt on his cheek. Glasses perched crookedly on a face so familiar it made her chest ache.

The boy who lived. Lily's son. James's son.

Harry.

Harry shuffled forward, pale and small, his hands clenched at his sides.