“Ah, Harry, my boy,” Albus greeted Potter, as Severus escorted the boy into the Headmaster’s office the following afternoon. The Sorting Hat winked at the boy from its regular shelf, and Fawkes chirruped a greeting, although Potter didn’t appear to notice either of them. The sword he’d been carting was lying front and centre on Albus’ desk, cleaned of all the dirt and blood, and polished so brightly that Severus wondered Albus could see anything else around it.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Potter replied, but he sounded a bit hesitant. Considering how much his life had been disrupted the last time he’d been called here, Severus couldn’t blame him.

Well, not completely, anyway.

“It seems you had quite the exciting time yesterday,” Albus started, and Severus barely restrained a snort as he took the chair he hadn’t been offered. Exciting – that’s one way of putting it! Potter was apparently in agreement, as he just smiled weakly and sank into the offered chair, refusing both tea and lemon drop. “I’m sure your friends will be glad to see you’re back safe and sound.”

Potter’s eyes dropped to his lap, as he murmured a “Yes, sir.”

“Although, despite the holidays beginning in a few days, I do suggest you don’t stay up too late discussing things,” the Headmaster continued.

Potter’s head shot up again. “Sir?” he asked, puzzled. “We couldn’t be out too late anyway because of curfew . . .”

Albus smiled, delighted with himself. Severus winced at the twinkle in his eyes, which almost rivalled the sword’s glow. “Why, my boy, have you not noticed your House crest?” he asked, indicating the boy’s robes. Potter looked down again, and gasped.

“B-but, s-sir,” he stammered, pulling his robe away to get a better look at the Gryffindor crest, as if determining whether his eyes were playing tricks on him. “H-how can I be in Gryffindor again? Hermione said I had to make things up to Justin, and then do something worthy of a Gryffindor—”

This time, Severus couldn’t stop himself. He snorted, loudly and disdainfully. “Really, Potter,” he drawled. “What else would you call inserting yourself into the middle of a full blown battle with nothing more than a sword, which you don’t know how to use, brought to you by a piece of haberdashery?”

Potter shot him a quick sideways glance, then went back to gaping at his crest. “Um,” was all he said.

Albus nudged the sword closer to Potter. “Perhaps you should take a closer look at this, my boy,” he suggested. “At the hilt, in particular.”

Slowly, Potter stretched out a hand and drew the sword towards himself. He stared at the hilt, then down at his House crest, then back at the hilt. “That’s the Gryffindor crest,” he said. The boy’s thumb rubbed over where Severus knew the sword had the initials ‘GG’ imprinted on it. “This is Gryffindor’s sword?” Potter asked, hesitantly.

“Indeed it is, Harry!” exclaimed Albus, beaming. “Only a true Gryffindor could have called it, so therefore, you have automatically been moved back to your rightful House.”

“I—” Potter’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “Thank you, sir,” he settled on, finally, gingerly putting the sword back onto the desk.

Albus waved a hand, dismissively. “Nothing to do with me, my boy,” he said. “It was always in you; you were Sorted into Gryffindor, after all.”

Perhaps it was Severus’ imagination, but Potter seemed to slide a sideways glance at the Sorting Hat at those words, and the Hat screwed up its brim in a way that – if you were inclined that way – looked as if it were smirking.

Obviously the pain potions hadn’t completely left his system yet.

“Now, I believe your friends are currently in the Great Hall, diligently working on their homework,” Albus said. That was too much to even rate a snort – Severus probably would have burst a blood vessel if he’d tried to convey all of his disdain for that comment – so instead he settled for just shaking his head.

“Er, if you say so, sir,” said Potter, his tone not disguising his amusement. He bounced to his feet and scurried for the door, barely stopping to say again, “Thank you, professors,” before disappearing down the spiral staircase.

Albus shuffled some papers on his desk, and Severus finally realised that the glow hadn’t all been coming from Gryffindor’s Sword. Albus had a mirror hidden underneath the paperwork. Subtly craning his neck, Severus could see it was showing the interior of the Great Hall, specifically the section that contained the youngest male Weasley and the bushy-haired know-it-all.

“Look, Severus,” Albus said, tilting the mirror so he could see it properly. Apparently he hadn’t been subtle enough. “Is there anything better than a happy child?”

“Yes, a quiet, obedient one,” snapped Severus, but even he recognised that it lacked his usual bite.

Albus just laughed at him. Severus sank back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He wasn’t sulking, he told himself. In the mirror, they could see Potter enter the Great Hall and make his way over to sit with his friends. They both glanced up, and then leapt to their feet to throw their arms around him – in Granger’s case – and slap him on the back – in Weasley’s.

After a couple of minutes of discussion, Granger suddenly gasped, one hand going to her mouth and the other pointing at Potter’s chest. Weasley goggled at it for a moment, and then they both descended on Potter again, laughing and cheering.

“Isn’t that wonderful,” Albus sniffed. Severus shot him a sceptical look. If the Headmaster was going to start crying, he would be out of there like a shot. Then he remembered what Albus had called him there for, and smirked.

“Let’s see if they’re so happy after dinner,” he said, his eyes glinting at Albus. Albus suddenly looked worried. “Especially when you announce that for the rest of the year, I’ll be the acting Head of Gryffindor.”