A Very Harry Situation

September First found Harry Potter sitting at the Gryffindor table with his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, waiting impatiently for the Sorting to start. He hadn't been at a Sorting since his first year, and he didn't think he'd missed out on anything – really, what was the point in sitting through one every year? They have to have the feast at the end of it, he reflected, or else no one would ever bother to show up.

"Hurry up already," Harry mumbled under his breath. Ron's stomach grumbled loudly in agreement and just as Hermione was leaning over to chastise him, the door swung open to admit Professor McGonagall and the firsties.

As he was busy dreaming about the wonders of the food at Hogwarts, Harry missed the hat's song but he was suddenly startled out of that comfortable dream when he heard McGonagall call out:

"-, Harry."

"Huh?" Harry's head shot up in bewilderment as a little boy with short brown hair approached the stool and McGonagall placed the hat upon his head.

"Shh!" Hermione said from somewhere over on his left.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" called the Sorting Hat.

The little boy made his way over to his table, and McGonagall continued.

"Anderson, Harry."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Arnold, Harold."

This is getting weird, Harry thought. The boy was sorted into Slytherin. Several more, non-Harry names were called, and Harry managed to convince himself that he had just been imagining it; if Snape ever found out; he would never let him live it down. He could just hear it now "You're as self-centered as your father was…"

And then it came:

"Dirk, Harriet."

"Nah, can't be," Harry mumbled.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the Hat.

In quick succession, "Hotter, Parry," "Jackobson, Harry," "Klein, Harry," "Klum, Harrold," "Luft, Harold," and "Luft, Hariette," were sorted into the various houses (most, oddly enough, were sorted into Slytherin.) The names were going by in a blur, and Harry could feel his head spinning. It was getting harder and harder to deny this, whatever it was.

It wasn't, however, until after "Pinkerson, Jamie," (a muggleborn, from the way she was staring at everything around her with a dumbfounded expression) was sorted into Ravenclaw that things took a turn for the surreal…well, more surreal than they had been thus far.

There seemed to be an exceptionally long pause before McGonagall cleared her throat and read off the next name on her list.

"Potter, Harry."

A shocked silence fell over the hall as a tall eleven-year-old made his way over to the stool.

"WHAT?!" Harry Potter…the older one, that is, screamed, shoving himself away from the Gryffindor table and standing up, an expression of confusion all over his face. A loud babble erupted from among the tables.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall's chilly voice rang out, silencing the worst of the commotion. "Kindly take your seat and restrain yourself, or else remove yourself from the hall and see me in my office after the sorting."

Harry could feel his knees softening, and he slumped back onto the bench, his eyes never leaving his head of house.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall turned, her voice softened only minutely as she turned to the young boy who stood frozen in place, several feet away. "Please take your place on the stool so that we may continue with the sorting."

A wave of whispers spread across the hall as the hat descended onto his head.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Another, louder commotion, and a pale, bewildered young man took his place at the Hufflepuff table beside "-, Harry," whose last name Harry had missed at the beginning of the sorting.

Harry risked a glance around the hall, to find most of it staring right back at him, or looking at the little boy who was trying to hide behind "-, Harry," and his other neighbour, "Clawson, Donatella," a pureblood with some relatives with rather…questionable alliances.

Both Harry Potters (and almost everyone else in the hall as well) missed the rest of the sorting. As "Zizzy, Mooncalf," (the poor sod) was sorted into Gryffindor, a bewildered Harry Potter met an equally bewildered, and somewhat angry Harry Potter's eyes for a moment, which sent a shiver down his – the younger's – spine.

Dumbledore stood up and said some nonsensical phrase, breaking the moment as heaps of food appeared on the tables.

The feast, like the sorting, passed in a blur for our hero Harry Potter, although the other one got along well enough with his housemates, as they got into an in-depth discussion about ghosts, moving paintings, telephones, and the glorious muggle invention called the "internet." After they were dismissed, McGonagall directed the Harry Potter from her house to meet her in her office as she walked over to Professor Sprout for a quick word.

Incensed, Harry Potter stormed the halls, ignoring everyone who called out to him. When McGonagall finally arrived at her office with Sprout and the other Harry Potter, Harry Potter waited only until everyone had stepped inside of her office before he blew up.

"WHAT THE HELL, WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP JOKE IS THIS?"

"Language, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed.

"Really now, let's all sit calmly and discuss this maturely," Sprout said.

"Who put you up to this kid?" Harry Potter demanded of…Harry Potter.

The younger Harry Potter cowered behind his new head of house and the elder Harry Potter quickly found himself bound and gagged in one of his head of house's special chairs for her more uncooperative visitors.

"Now, Mr. Potter," McGonagall spoke soothingly to the younger boy. "There seems to have been a bit of a misunderstanding here. It might help if you told us a bit about yourself."

The boy gazed at her, looking for all the world like a shell-shocked victim. Sprout pushed him gently into a waiting armchair and passed him a chocolate bar.

"Lad, could you tell us how you got your name?"

Harry Potter looked warily at the other Harry Potter before directing his words to Sprout.

"Well, me mam always said they named me after me granda," he began. "'e was a great man, 'e was. Fought all those nasty Nazis in the war, ye see. Medals for bravery an' everythin'!"

"Ah, I see," said Sprout.

"Are there any other wizards in your family?" McGonagall asked.

"Nae, mum, I be th' first." Harry Potter responded quietly.

"Well there you have it, Mr. Potter," McGonagall stated, all business once more. "Mr. Potter simply has the same name as you by coincidence. It is, after all, a fairly common name, as you no doubt have guessed. Couple that with the fact that he is a muggleborn, and nothing more need be said. I do believe you owe this young man an apology."

Ignoring her suggest, Harry Potter glared at his head of house.

"And the others?" he demanded. "The Harrys, the Harietts, and the Harolds? What about them?"

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall sighed. "Has it never occurred to you that you are a celebrity in our world?" That Mr. Potter nodded mutely.

"Well, there you have it, people sometimes name their children after celebrities – in both the wizarding and the muggle worlds. It is not an uncommon occurrence."

The Harry Potters sat there gaping at her.

"But 36 of them? In one year?" The older one managed to gasp out.

"41, actually," Sprout broke in. "You must have missed the ones that came after Mr. Potter here."

"Bloody hell," the younger Harry muttered. "You people are insane."

The others stared at the other Harry Potter as he started giggling madly.

"Ooh, Snape must be loving this!"

The End