Harry shifted minutely but restlessly. He found it hard to steady his gaze on something to ease his nausea, finding it too uncomfortable to actually look at the children. As they, inevitably, started gathering at the base of the high table, Harry finally succumbed to the mindless instinct of covering his face.<br/>Harry's right arm bent at the elbow, thumb supporting his head by the chin, knuckles brushing against his lips as he leaned his weight forward, effectively turning his head slightly towards the left and the center of the table. The gesture wasn't out of the ordinary - if anything, it was so mundane for the gravitas of the sorting, that made him feel disinterested.<br/>Though his gaze was vaguely directed at Malfoy, Harry's eyes only properly regained focus when McGonagall stood up to address the students.<br/>This intuitively made Harry straighten his posture, meaning his face momentarily lifting an inch away his hand. A decade after last having seen McGonagall as acting headmistress, Harry was still taken aback by the commanding nature of her presence. Just as seamlessly as she had made the room go quiet, she had effortlessly cussed Harry out. As quietly as possible, Harry once again let his hand fall to the table.<br/>"Welcome -" she smiled "- to Hogwarts. Welcome to our first years, and to all returning - welcome back."<br/>The way her voice carried across the Great Hall made the hairs on Harry's neck stand. Harry's nerves were on his sleeves, and as McGonagall went on with her reception, Harry wasn't sure he was cut out for this position. Harry felt little sense of familiarity towards the castle, finding that they had grown to be strangers after the Battle; Harry didn't feel like he was included in either of the two groups, McGonagall had welcomed.<br/>"- to which, I urge you to direct your attention to Professor Hagrid," McGonagall was concluding, once Harry yet again regained his hearing. Hagrid, who had replaced McGonagall in the task of sorting the new student body, was beaming. In one hand, he held the sorting hat, a scroll listing the students' names in his other.<br/>"Professor, if you will," McGonagall urged once she had resettled in her seat.<br/>Clearing his throat, Hagrid spoke, clearly despite the heaviness of his accent. "Alderton, Harry!"<br/>Hearing his own name being called out, Harry was struck by such a severe sense of vertigo, he felt like his heart might give out. It had completely knocked the air out of him, as he, in one nauseating heartbeat realized which generation he was facing. Peering up at him were children born in the immediate wake of the war, though most of them were born before it even culminated. As if he had been faced with too-familiar ghost of children he had never met, Harry's vision went foggy. This time, however, Harry found himself unable to look away from the boy being sorted.