The Great Hall was alive with chatter — hundreds of candles floating high above, the golden plates gleaming under their light. Harry had forgotten how loud the place could get after a summer of whispering at Grimmauld Place.

At the staff table, McGonagall was already standing with the worn Sorting Hat in hand, a long line of nervous first-years shifting anxiously in front of her. Their wide eyes darted around the enchanted ceiling, the floating candles, the older students watching with interest.

Harry smiled faintly — he remembered that feeling.

Then, just as Professor McGonagall cleared her throat to begin the Sorting, Dumbledore rose from his seat. The hall quieted instantly.

“Before we begin the Sorting,” Dumbledore said, his voice carrying easily over the rows of students, “I have a special announcement.”

Harry froze. He’d almost forgotten that Kakashi hadn’t officially been sorted last year — not as a competitor.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. “As some of you will remember, last year Hogwarts had the honor of hosting the Quasiwizard Tournament — and among our champions was one who joined us from far beyond our usual magical borders.”

Whispers rippled through the hall.

The headmaster smiled, gesturing toward where Kakashi was standing beside the fearful looking first years. Dumbledore continued delicately, “The Konohagakure champion has chosen to remain with us another year as a student. Please welcome back Kakashi Hatake.”

The applause started quickly. Kakashi had been a favorite, everyone enchanted by his looks and magic. Students from every table craned their necks to see the silver-haired boy rising from his seat.

Kakashi sighed under his breath, walking up to the chair with that same quiet composure he always had, even under a hundred pairs of eyes. He’d traded his usual headband for a simple black cloth tied neatly over his scarred eye, and his uniform hung just a little too casually on him — as though the fabric itself knew he wasn’t meant for something so formal.

Professor McGonagall waited for him by the stool, Sorting Hat in hand. “Mr. Hatake,” she said briskly, though her expression softened for a heartbeat. “It seems Hogwarts has unfinished business with you.”

Kakashi’s visible eye curved slightly. “So it would seem.”

He sat, letting the hat settle over his head. It slipped down nearly to his nose — the hat pausing, clearly puzzled.

For a moment, there was silence. Then a low, incredulous voice murmured right against his ear,
“Oh… well, this is a problem.”

Kakashi blinked. “Not the best thing to hear from a hat.”

“Don’t get smart with me, boy,” the hat grumbled. “I’m trying to make sense of you.”

“Good luck with that.”

The hat made a sound like a disgruntled hum. “Let’s see… bloodline—merlin’s beard! Pure as Salazar’s own, but your ambitions aren’t worth a Sickle. So that’s Slytherin out.”

“Probably for the best,” Kakashi murmured. “I’d clash with all the green.”

“Hmm… clever. Too clever, honestly. I daresay you could outthink everyone in this hall.”

“I doubt that.”

“Don’t interrupt me. I said everyone — and yes, that includes a few professors. But Ravenclaw…” The hat’s brim twitched, as if shaking its head. “No, no. You’d drive them mad. You’d never attend a study group and yet somehow get better marks than everyone else.”

Kakashi’s visible eye curved in amusement. “That does sound like me.”

“Hufflepuff then—wait.” The hat paused, sounding almost alarmed. “No. Absolutely not. You’re loyal, yes — frighteningly so — but you’d terrify half the house before breakfast. Helga’s poor students wouldn’t know whether to invite you to tea or run for their lives.”

“That’s… fair.”

“Which leaves…” the hat sighed dramatically, “Gryffindor. The only place likely brave enough to handle you.”

Kakashi tilted his head under the brim. “Isn’t bravery supposed to mean charging into danger without thinking?”

“Exactly! You’ll fit right in,” the hat said dryly. “Though I suppose I should warn them first…”

There was a long pause, as if the hat were silently bracing itself. Then, with a resigned shout that echoed through the Great Hall—

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The students burst into cheers, and as the hat was lifted from his head, Kakashi muttered just loud enough for the nearby tables to hear, “I think it just insulted me into a house.”

Fred Weasley hollered, “Perfect fit, then!”

And as Kakashi returned to his seat beside Harry — who was laughing outright now — the hat could be heard mumbling faintly to itself, “Merlin help us all…”

---

The chatter that followed the Sorting was loud and warm — plates clinking, laughter rising, the golden light of the Great Hall washing over hundreds of smiling faces.

Harry leaned toward Kakashi, whispering something about how normal things almost felt again — right up until Dumbledore rose from his seat.

The hall quieted instantly.

“Before we begin our feast,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling beneath his half-moon glasses, “I have several announcements to make. The first, I am pleased to introduce a new addition to our staff — the Ministry has appointed a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”

Kakashi’s eyebrow rose slightly. Ministry appointed? That sounds… fun.

Dumbledore gestured to his left. “Please welcome Professor Dolores Umbridge.”

Polite applause scattered through the hall — and then the woman stood.

A short, round figure in pink. Every shade of pink imaginable. Her cardigan looked like it had been attacked by a family of bubblegum fairies, and the bow on her chest could have doubled as a small parachute.

Harry grimaced. Hermione whispered, “Oh no,” while Ron muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “She looks like a toad in a doily.”

Kakashi just stared. “…She’s dangerous.”

Harry blinked at him. “What? She’s—she’s pink.”

“Exactly.”

Then Umbridge cleared her throat — a sharp, chirpy “Hem, hem!” — and the sound alone made half the students wince.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” she began in her sugary, cloying tone. “It is so lovely to be here at dear Hogwarts, where we shall work together to preserve the true, pure traditions of magical education…”

Kakashi’s visible eye narrowed. ‘Pure’?

She went on, smiling too widely. “Because certain… unorthodox practices have been allowed to flourish unchecked, and certain… foreign influences”—her gaze, disturbingly, drifted toward Kakashi—“have made their way into our halls, it is my duty to ensure order, discipline, and proper values are restored!”

Harry’s hand clenched beneath the table.

Kakashi noticed. “You know her?” he murmured.

Harry’s jaw tightened. “She was at my hearing. Works directly for Fudge. Voted to expel me.”

Kakashi leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “Ah. A politician.”

Harry snorted under his breath despite himself.

Umbridge beamed, finishing with a delicate clap of her hands. “Now, let us all tuck in!”

The food appeared in a flash — but the air felt heavier than before, as though the entire hall sensed that something unpleasant had just slithered in.

And at the Gryffindor table, Kakashi calmly picked up his fork, muttering under his breath, “She’s worse than Danzo.”

---

The warmth of the Gryffindor common room was a welcome change from the chill of the castle corridors. The fire crackled softly, casting flickers of gold across the room, and the chatter of first-years filled the air as Ron and Hermione tried—mostly in vain—to get them organized and upstairs.

Kakashi walked beside Harry, hands in his pockets, his movements easy despite the stiffness that sometimes caught in his poisoned arm. Harry looked distracted, shoulders hunched slightly as though the weight of something unseen pressed there.

“Rough night?” Kakashi asked quietly.

Harry shrugged, eyes fixed on the floor. “Just… feels weird, I guess. Ron and Hermione are prefects, and I’m—well, me. I thought maybe Dumbledore…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Kakashi glanced at him sidelong, his visible eye curving in quiet amusement. “Ah, the curse of wanting responsibility until you realize what it actually means.”

Harry frowned, but Kakashi continued, his voice light, teasing. “Trust me, Potter. You didn’t miss much. Being in charge just means you get blamed when everyone else messes up.”

That earned a faint smile, which was progress.

“Besides,” Kakashi added, nudging him with his elbow, “if you were a prefect, you’d never have time for Quidditch. And then how would the team survive without its golden seeker?”

Harry huffed a laugh despite himself. “Guess you’re right. They’d probably make Ron captain just to spite me.”

“Now that would be entertaining.”

They stepped through the portrait hole together, greeted instantly by the sight of a few older Gryffindors lounging near the fire. The moment Kakashi entered, several heads turned — the silver-haired shinobi in Hogwarts robes was still something of an oddity.

But to Harry’s surprise, Kakashi didn’t seem fazed at all. He gave a small nod to the room, as though he’d done this his whole life.

For the first time, he wasn’t just a guest or a visiting champion.

Kakashi Hatake was officially a Gryffindor.

And as the firelight danced across his face, Harry thought that maybe — just maybe — this year wouldn’t be so bad after all.

That is—until Harry was proven wrong.

It happened literally as they entered the common room, when Seamus Finnigan’s voice rose over the hum of conversation. The room quieted as he spoke, tone sharp with disbelief.

“My mum didn’t want me to come back this year,” Seamus was saying, arms folded stubbornly. “She says it’s not safe—not with him back.”

Harry straightened. “He is back,” he said, voice tight.

Seamus’s brows knit together. “You’re saying that because Dumbledore told you to! The Prophet says he’s gone barmy, and you’re just—”

“I was there!” Harry snapped, the words cutting through the air like a whip. “I saw him come back! I saw—”

“Harry.” Ron’s voice broke in, low but firm. “Leave it.”

But Seamus wasn’t done. “Yeah? Funny, how no one else did! Maybe you’re just looking for attention—”

That was it. Harry was on his feet before he even realized it, anger burning white-hot in his chest. “You think I want this? You think I want everyone staring at me like I’m mad? He killed Cedric, and he would’ve killed me too!”

“Harry!” Ron’s voice was sharper now, and he grabbed Harry’s arm before the argument could turn physical. The tension in the room was a living thing, coiled and silent.

Kakashi, who’d been leaning against the back wall near the fire, straightened slowly. His voice, when it came, was quiet — but it carried.

“I was there too.”

Every head turned.

Kakashi’s single grey eye reflected the firelight as he looked around the room — at Seamus, at Harry, at every stunned Gryffindor watching.

“I saw the Dark Lord return with my own eyes. I fought through that graveyard. I saw what he did to the boy who didn’t make it out.”

No one spoke. The crackle of the fire filled the silence.

Kakashi let the words hang there for a moment before he pushed off the wall, his tone softening just slightly. “You don’t have to believe Harry. But if you don’t believe me either… then you’re calling both of us liars. And I don’t take kindly to that.”

Seamus looked away, face pale.

Harry’s anger slowly faded, replaced by a hollow sort of gratitude.

Kakashi gave him a faint nod before heading toward the staircase, pausing only to add, “Get some rest, all of you. There’ll be enough fighting soon without starting it in our own house.”

Harry frowned, still standing near the fireplace. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice low so it wouldn’t carry through the tense common room.

Kakashi half-turned, one hand already tucked in his pocket, the other adjusting the black cloth tied over his left eye. “I have to meet with Professor Snape,” he said simply. “He’s got something I need.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Snape? At this hour?”

Kakashi’s eye curved in that familiar, lazy smile — the kind that said don’t worry about it, but definitely worry about it. “He brewed a new round of that antibiotic potion for me,” he explained. “The one that keeps the poison from acting up. Besides, he still has my wand. And apparently, I’m not a real student without a proper class schedule.”

Harry grimaced. “You’re meeting Snape alone?”

“Don’t worry,” Kakashi said, his tone dry as ever. “I’m sure I’ll survive the experience. He doesn’t bite.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Much,” Kakashi added, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Harry managed a weak laugh. It was small, but it eased something tight in his chest. “Alright. Just—don’t let him talk you into joining Slytherin while you’re down there.”

Kakashi gave a quiet chuckle and raised two fingers in a casual salute. “No promises.”

With that, he slipped out of the common room, his footsteps silent against the stone floor. The portrait swung shut behind him with a soft thud.

Harry stood there for a moment, staring after him. The tension from the argument still hummed faintly in the air, but the fire’s warmth and Kakashi’s calm had dulled it.

Ron gave him a nudge toward the stairs. “Come on, mate. Best do what he said.”

Harry nodded and finally climbed up toward the dormitory, exhaustion settling heavy in his limbs.

As he crawled into bed, he thought about Kakashi’s words — I was there too.
It helped, somehow. To know he wasn’t the only one who remembered that night.

---

Kakashi knocked once on the heavy wooden door before pushing it open at Snape’s curt, “Enter.”

The familiar scent of herbs, parchment, and something faintly metallic met him as he stepped inside. The dungeon classroom was dark except for the light of a few floating candles and the green glow of simmering cauldrons.

“Ah,” Snape said without looking up from his workbench, quill scratching against parchment. “The poison survivor himself.”

Kakashi’s visible eye creased slightly. “You make it sound impressive.”

“It is impressive,” Snape replied dryly, setting his quill aside. “Few people survive contact with something so complex. Fewer still remain… functional.”

He gestured to a chair beside his desk. “Sit. Let’s make this quick.”

Kakashi did as told, unbothered by Snape’s sharp tone. The man was all edges and shadows, but tonight, there was something almost… respectful beneath it.

Snape reached for a small vial filled with a faintly blue liquid and handed it over. “Antibiotic potion. This dose should last you a week.”

Kakashi turned the vial in his hand, studying the color. “You adjusted the formula?”

Snape’s eyebrow twitched. “You’ll find I’m capable of more than lecturing dunderheads about cauldron thickness."

“Efficient,” Kakashi said, swallowing the bitter potion. “I can see why Minerva warned me not to irritate you.”

Snape’s expression didn’t change, but there was the faintest flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. “Wise advice.”

Then, without another word, Snape produced a small, stoppered vial and a silver needle. “Your blood. I’ll need a fresh sample each week to measure how the poison reacts to the new compounds I’m developing.”

Kakashi rolled up his sleeve and offered his arm without protest. “You’ve done this before,” he remarked casually as Snape drew the sample with precision.

“I’ve done everything before,” Snape replied coolly, stoppering the vial. “And this particular challenge intrigues me. You’re a walking mystery of incompatible magics. Chakra, you call it?”

Kakashi nodded once. “Something like that.”

Snape hummed, clearly filing the information away. “Fascinating. Dangerous. My favorite combination.”

Setting the blood aside, he reached into a drawer and withdrew something wrapped in deep violet cloth. “And this,” he said, unwrapping it carefully, “is yours.”

Kakashi’s gaze softened as he saw his wand — slender and pale, carved from white sakura wood. It gleamed faintly in the candlelight, as if alive.

“The core,” Snape added almost grudgingly, “is a single hair from a Thestral’s mane. Difficult to work with. But highly attuned to those who’ve seen death.”

Kakashi took the wand reverently, fingers brushing the polished handle. “Fitting,” he murmured.

“If your symptoms are to increase or develop, you are to find me immediately."

“Understood,” Kakashi said, slipping the wand back into its case with care.

Snape studied him a long moment. “You’re remarkably obedient for someone so irritatingly competent.”

“Old habit,” Kakashi replied. “He never showed it here, but Minato had a bigger temper than yours when we first met.”

That earned him a brief, sharp snort — the closest Snape came to laughter.

“Get out,” the professor said finally, turning back to his desk. “Before I remember why I don’t like visitors.”

Kakashi rose, gave a faint nod of acknowledgment, and headed for the door.

As he left, Snape’s voice followed him, softer but still cutting through the air:
“Try not to die before next week, Hatake. I’m not fond of wasted effort.”

Kakashi’s eye curved in a smile. “No promises, Professor.”

And with that, he vanished into the dungeon’s shadows — the faint scent of sakura wood and potion smoke lingering behind him.