DISCLAIMER :)- I do not own Harry Potter nor will I ever.

Summary: Harry's parents were never killed. Stunned, but never killed. Instead, his brother, Henry Potter, is believed to be the Boy-Who-Lived. Is he really?

A/N: Are you reading this? I just want to let you know...I appreciate it so much that you read this. I love you. You are my inspiration to continue on. Just kidding, all you fuckers never bother reviewing. Please excuse any mistakes made. I'm only in 7th grade.

"Words said."

'Thoughts.'

"Parseltongue or a snake speaking."

Chapter Seven :]

Do you guys want to skip to the sorting as much as I do? Well, if not, too bad. I'm skipping anyway. Thank the Gods that I'm re-reading the series again.

(Skipping Seemingly Unimportant Information)

(They met the ghosts, yadda yadda, now here's Harry being sorted.)

Harry waited nervously for his name to be called. Hermione had been sorted into Ravenclaw, which had been obvious from the start considering her intelligence. Neville had also been sorted. Into Gryffindor. It had certainly surprised quite a few, he didn't exactly strike them to be the courageous type. Although Harry did have a sneaking suspicion that Neville was brave and true. He just needed some encouraging and help.

Harry watched as a girl named, "Perks, Sally-Anne" was sorted and then, at last -

"Potter, Harry!"

He jumped slightly before stepping forward, whispers suddenly broke out like floods of young curiosity and confusion.

"Potter? Harry Potter?"

"Surely she meant Henry Potter, right?"

"The Potters had another son?"

"Yeah, that's Henry Potter's twin,"

"-awfully thin, isn't he?"

Harry rolled his eyes from beneath the Sorting Hat. What ignorance.

Suddenly, a small voice in his ear said, "Hmm, difficult. Quite difficult. Plenty of courage, quite intelligent as well. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting...So, where shall I put you?"

"Anywhere is quite fine with me. Hufflepuff is a very loyal and hardworking house, Slytherin aren't exactly noisy and chaotic, they're cunning too. Ravenclaw are a smart bunch, and Hermione's there, " pondered Harry, "I should at least try and get my parent's approval by being in Gryffindor, so...put me there, please."

"You've seemed to have thought this thoroughly," said the small voice, "you sure you don't want Slytherin? You could be great, you know. It's all in your head, and Slytherin will lead you on to greatness, no doubt about that - no? Well, if you're sure - better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took of the hat before walking towards the Gryffindor table, a bit unsure in his steps.

It was silent at first, before the table clapped a loud, obedient cheer.

Harry sat between Fred and George and across a ghost, to which he guessed was the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpinton. Also known Nearly Headless Nick.

There were now five people to sort; Dean Thomas, Lisa Turpin, Blaise Zabini, Ron Weasley, and his brother.

Henry was sorted first in the group of five, his name being after Harry's. But I'll write that down for last.

Dean to Gryffindor.

Lisa to Ravenclaw.

Blaise to Slytherin.

Ron to Gryffindor.

And now, Henry's.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Silence.

Why Hufflepuff when Henry is neither loyal nor hardworking? Well, he's loyal to himself and hardworking in his plan of making Harry his slave and getting what he wants, the bloody prat. Both are big enough to put him in Hufflepuff.

Henry's jaw dropped in shock. But before long, his face turned red in anger.

"Impossible!" he screamed, "This stupid hat's broken! There is no way that I could ever be sorted into Hufflepuff! I demand a re-do!"

"I'm sorry, my boy, the Sorting Hat is never wrong," said Albus Dumbledore from his place at the High Table. He sat at the center in a large gold chair.

Before Henry could argue, the hat was taken from his head by a miffed professor, who looked quite appalled at such a behavior. He had no choice but to walk over to the Hufflepuff table or sit on the stool like a fool.

Harry had shook his head at his brother. He'd no doubt complain to Mother and Father about this. Demanding that they come and settle this by making everything right again. And by right, in Henry's definition, everything gone his way and sometimes his left hand.

Harry saw another red-haired boy congratulate Ron. Must be another brother.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He stood there with his arms wide open, as if nothing could please him more than knowing and seeing that they were all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

Everyone clapped and cheered, except a foul Henry. Harry, on the other hand, didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he - a bit mad?" he asked one of the twins uncertainly.

He beamed. "Of course! But that's the best part!"

Harry nodded slowly before looking back and seeing the dishes in front of him now filled with food. He had seen such a thing before at one of his mum and dad's parties. There was roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

Harry had never ate much back at the manor. His parents forgetting he was there and setting plates of three. Although he wasn't exactly starved, he certainly didn't eat nearly as much as he should of. He knew he shouldn't, and couldn't, eat much.

It'll be hard for his stomach to get used to such a large palate and forcing it now would just make him throw up.

(Pause)

I'm going to be stopping the story when they start talking about their bloodlines. I'll be skipping the rest. Go read the book. I'm lazy and it's three o'clock. I'm not exactly typing this with a smile on my face, ya know.

If you were not pleased by Harry and Henry's sorting, please review and tell me.

I can make an omake of it at the very end of the chapters where Harry/Henry are in the house of your choosing. Or you could just write your own story.

(Continue)

"That does look good," said Nearly Headless Nick sadly, watching Harry cut his up his steak. "I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years, I don't need to of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de-"

"-Mimsy-Porpinton. Oh, yes, I know you. You're the resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower, am I right?"

Nearly Headless Nick beamed before looking extremely miffed when Ron suddenly said, "I know who you are! My brothers told me about you - you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-" the ghost began stiffly, but Sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

"Like this, " the ghost said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but had not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stun looks at their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back on his neck, coughed, and said, "So - new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Barons become almost unbearable - he's the Slytherin ghost."

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Draco, who looked quite uncomfortable.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded away, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later, the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclair and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding...

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm a half-and-half," began Seamus, yet Harry tuned their conversation out.

He'd much rather spend it talking to Fred, George, and Neville, who sat just beside George.

Never once did he look up to meet the cold stare of one Potions Master.

Nor did he feel the sharp pain of what he'd had gotten if he had met with the gaze of a certain turban professor.

Nope. He was perfectly engrossed in his conversation with his friends.

I'm done. Dry, witted sarcasm is what I would use if it weren't for the hour of which I'm up at.

I'm totally done with life. Excuse me while I perform a splits in the air while leaping through hoops of fires as a pack of hungry, starved lions are chasing after me with just a centimeter distance just to escape and land on a podium because I am just, 'NOPE' right now.

I can't even...what is air...no, I can't believe that no matter how many times I refresh, there's always a new post ready. I know no sleep.

Ten points if you know what site I'm talking about. Meep.