He was the first new Ravenclaw, which meant he'd be the first to sit at the empty front of the table. Two older students with prefect badges greeted him warmly.
"Welcome to Ravenclaw!" A girl with long dark hair and a bright smile extended her hand. "I'm Penelope Clearwater, fifth-year prefect."
"Xavier Thorpe," the boy beside her said, shaking James's hand as well. "Also, fifth year. You're James, right? Muggleborn?"
"Yes," James confirmed, sitting down where they indicated.
"Brilliant. We'll help you settle in after the feast. Don't worry, Ravenclaw is the best house. You'll love it here."
James turned his attention back to the sorting, watching as more names were called. His had definitely taken longer than most.
Not dramatically longer, but definitely noticeable.
A few students at the Ravenclaw table whispered about it, but Penelope shushed them.
"Sorting sometimes takes longer for complicated students. It's not a bad thing."
More Ravenclaws joined them. Mandy Brocklehurst took a seat nearby, followed by Terry Boot, then Lisa Turpin, and eventually Padma Patil were among the names he recognised.
Then came a name that made the entire hall go quiet.
"Potter, Harry!"
The whispers started immediately. James watched as a small boy with messy black hair and round glasses walked to the stool, looking nervous as everyone whispered about him.
"The Boy Who Lived"
"Harry Potter"
"Potter"
The hat took longer with Harry than with anyone except James. Nearly half a minute passed before it finally shouted "GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table exploded. They didn't just clap; they roared and cheered. It was the loudest response of the night by far. Harry walked to join them, looking overwhelmed, and was immediately surrounded by his new housemates.
The sorting continued. Ron Weasley to Gryffindor, joining his brothers. Hermione Granger also went to Gryffindor, looking pleased with herself. Neville Longbottom to Gryffindor after what looked like a heated internal debate between him and the hat.
More Ravenclaws joined their table. The prefects' attention shifted to welcoming each new arrival, and James was grateful to fade into the background.
Finally, the last student was sorted. "Zabini, Blaise!" went to Slytherin, and Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment and carried the hat and stool away.
Dumbledore rose from his chair, and silence fell over the Great Hall. He spread his arms wide, his smile benevolent.
"Welcome!" he said, his voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the vast hall. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our feast, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
He sat back down, and the hall erupted in applause and laughter. Several students looked confused.
And then the feast appeared.
One moment, the golden plates were empty, and next, they were piled high with food. Not just full, but overflowing. Roasted chicken, boiled potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, peas, carrots, gravy boats, and dishes James couldn't even identify. The platters were so heavy and so numerous that the tables actually sagged slightly under the weight.
Everyone began filling their plates immediately, conversation exploding along with the food. James loaded his plate with a variety of items and began to eat, trying to look enthusiastic.
The food was... fine. Perfectly cooked, certainly. But bland. Underseasoned. His palate, trained on his mother's spicy cooking, didn't really enjoy the mild British fare. He ate anyway, knowing he needed the energy, but it was far from enjoyable.
Then he made the mistake of trying pumpkin juice.
The taste hit his tongue, and it took every ounce of his adult self-control not to spit it out. It was cloyingly sweet, with a texture that was slightly thick and a flavor that could only be described as aggressively in-your-face autumnal. It was like drinking liquid pumpkin pie, and not in a good way.
He must have made a face because Penelope, sitting across from him, laughed sympathetically.
"Takes a while to get used to," she said. "I'm Muggleborn too. It took me ages to tolerate pumpkin juice. But you don't really have a choice. It's the most common drink in the British Isles, at least in the magical world."
"Wonderful," James muttered, pushing the goblet away.
The other first years around him introduced themselves. Anthony Goldstein, a confident boy with dark curly hair. Michael Corner, who immediately started asking James about the Muggle world. Su Li, a quiet girl who seemed content to observe rather than participate in conversation. Stephen Cornfoot, who spent most of dinner reading a book he'd smuggled to the table.
James answered questions politely but remained reserved. He wasn't looking to make close friends with eleven-year-olds.
The age gap and the difference in maturity are too much.
He'd be friendly, certainly. Helpful, even.
But buddies? No.
The feast continued with desserts appearing as the main courses vanished. Treacle tart, chocolate éclairs, jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly. James selected a simple chocolate éclair and found it at least properly sweet.
Finally, Dumbledore rose again. The hall quieted.
"Just a few more words now that we are all full. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."
His twinkling eyes flicked toward the Gryffindor table, where the Weasley twins were grinning unrepentantly.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."
He paused, and his expression grew more serious.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death."
A nervous laugh rippled through some students, but Dumbledore's face remained grave.
"Now, off to bed!"
The benches scraped as hundreds of students stood. The prefects immediately took charge, calling their first years.