Chapter 1
"Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon said from behind his newspaper. Harry sighed, and stood up. He knew what Dudley's answer would be.
To his surprise, Dudley grunted slightly and made his way out the door. Harry blinked. He'd fully expected Dudley to make Harry go do it.
Harry wandered back to the stove, peering in it to see if there were any scraps worth taking. No- there were no salvageable bits left. Pity. He'd not gotten enough to eat.
Dudley waddled back into the kitchen, looking for all the world like a rather fat pigeon, a letter clutched in his pudgy hand. "Look, Mum, the freak's got a letter!"
The teacup that Aunt Petunia had been holding shattered on the floor, and Uncle Vernon nearly ripped his newspaper in half in his sudden rush to put it down. "Give it here, Dudders," Petunia said, a minute tremor in her voice.
Harry, still standing by the stove, looked up in shock. "But– it's mine!" he protested loudly, though he knew that it would ultimately be futile to argue.
As he had suspected, Uncle Vernon's head snapped over to where he was standing, but instead of the brief scolding Harry had expected, the beefy man's face purpled in rage. "Get out, boy!" he yelled. "Out! Out!"
Harry stumbled backwards involuntarily, then glared at his uncle. "It's mine," he insisted angrily. He knew it wouldn't do any good to argue, but it was his! Something actually belonged to him! It wasn't an old castoff from Dudley- whoever had mailed that letter had sent it to Harry Potter. And he wanted it back.
Uncle Vernon stood so quickly that his chair fell over backwards to the ground. Harry, who had been frozen in place by the murderous look in his uncle's eyes, bolted at the sudden noise.
He slowed to a walk once out of sight distance of the house. His fright at his uncle quickly turned into resentment, and a little bit of shame. He should've insisted that his uncle give him the letter. He should've held his ground. He should've... .
Obviously, the mention of the letter had aroused violent feelings in his aunt and uncle. But why would that be the case? No one had ever written him a letter before- mainly because Harry had no one to write him a letter.
He kicked at the sidewalk as he walked, scowling at the ground in thought. He never noticed the tabby cat that watched him disapprovingly from the shelter of a tree branch.
"Vernon!" Petunia hissed as soon as her son had left the room, having lost his fascination with the mysterious post and gone off in search of something more interesting. "It's that letter- what do we do! Look- it's even got where he sleeps! How do they know where he sleeps? Are they following us? Watching us?"
"Ignore it," he advised. "Maybe they'll leave him if they think he isn't a freak like the rest of them."
"But he is a freak!" Petunia said, and winced as her voice cracked. "Surely they'll have more... freakish... ways of tracking such abnormalities- it's how they managed to steal away my sister and convert her into such a heathen!" She paused, then, and her eyes narrowed slightly. "But, Vernon... do we really want him to stay here, with us? Do we really want to have that freak around for the rest of our lives?"
Vernon shuddered. "Of course not!" he blustered, but frowned thoughtfully. "But I don't want him learning any more of that freakishness, either! We swore when we took him in that we'd stamp that freakishness out of him!"
"I..." Petunia trailed off as a new glint appeared in her eyes. "Vernon... I think I have an idea..."
To Whom it May Concern,
We regret to inform you that while Harry Potter will indeed be attending your school in these upcoming years, there are some character flaws of which you may not be aware. He is at times rather ill tempered, and prone to flights of fancy... he is wont to throw rather explosive temper tantrums if he does not get his way... We have found him time and again bullying our own son, Dudley, and threatening him with his magic.
We are sorry that we could not have done a better job of raising Harry, but he is an uncooperative and inconsiderate child... We thought it to be only fair to give you some warning of what you may soon be subjected to.
We hope that you will be able to mold him into a humble and functional member of society in place of the childish, arrogant boy he is. Again, we apologize, but we have done our best and no more can be expected of us.
Sincerely yours,
Vernon and Petunia Dursley
Harry was roused from his sleep by an insistent shaking. He opened his eyes to see the annoyed face of Uncle Vernon hovering before him.
The young boy yelped in alarm and flinched back. Uncle Vernon only glared at him and snapped, "Up with you, boy! It's almost time for breakfast- Petunia's been calling for the past ten minutes!"
Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Uncle Vernon slammed the door to his cupboard, but then sat bolt-upright. Ten minutes- Aunt Petunia would be furious!
He quickly threw on the closest clothes at hand- the dirt-and-food-stained shirt and baggy pants with rips at the knees he had worn the day before, and rushed into the kitchen as soon as he could.
To his surprise, Aunt Petunia had already made breakfast, and she shot him a look that seemed to be half-angry and half-triumphant as he entered the kitchen. Harry started slightly- what cause had she to give him such a look?- but he kept him mouth shut from years of experience.
She wordlessly handed him two pieces of slightly-burnt toast, and turned her back on him as she stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her tea. Whatever had been written in that letter, Harry mused, had been quickly forgotten. Even though he'd run out of the house that day when he'd first gotten it, Aunt Petunia had done nothing but send Uncle Vernon the odd smug glance. She hadn't even scolded him for not washing the dishes.
She was acting rather strangely, Harry reflected. She had hardly spoken to him since the letter had arrived. Maybe it was, indeed, a good omen.
He was licking the last of the crumbs off of his fingers when the doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon set his paper down, and turned to Harry. "Get in Dudley's second bedroom now, boy, and don't touch anything!"
Harry was up the stairs in a flash. He heard, vaguely, the sound of the door opening, and Aunt Petunia's voice drifted briefly up the stairs- "Would you care for a spot of tea, Mister Snape?"- before he closed the door.
He flopped down on the old bed in the corner- abandoned when Dudley had complained that is was 'too lumpy'- and rubbed at his foot (he had stubbed his toe on one of Dudley's old broken toys).
Why had he been sent here? Harry had to wonder. Usually, he was confined to his cupboard whenever the Dursleys had company. They usually showed the upstairs of the house to any and all guests...
What if this person wanted to see him? Harry frowned. But why would anyone want to see him? He was nobody...
He sat up suddenly. Maybe the Mister Snape that Aunt Petunia had been talking to was here to take him away! That would explain why he had been sent to this room in particular. He crossed his arms and frowned at his filthy clothing. If he had known that that would be the case, he would have dressed better!
He didn't have time to move before the door was kicked open, and a dark, sullen-looking man stepped in. He cast Harry a cursory glance, and was obviously not impressed. "So this," he drawled, "is the legendary Harry Potter." The man paused, and looked down his long nose at the boy. "How... disappointing."
The man stepped fully into the room, revealing himself to the boy on the bed. He was tall and pale-skinned, with a nose that bore more than a passing resemblance to a vulture's beak. Lank strands of greasy flack hair framed his sallow face. Harry was surprised to see that the man was wearing what appeared to be a strange sort of long black bathrobe.
He didn't get the chance to comment, as the man surveyed the room critically and was obviously displeased with what he found. "I take it these are the results of the 'explosive temper tantrums' you mentioned in the letter?" he asked.
Aunt Petunia nodded shakily. "Yes- and he's changed his school-teachers' hair green whenever he feels they don't treat him well enough. We've tried to correct him of these flaws, but I simply don't know what more to do, Mister Snape!"
Harry flushed red at the lies he was hearing. He opened his mouth to argue, but the man glared at him coldly. Knowing a warning when he saw one, Harry shut his mouth with a nearly-audible click and settled for glaring at his Aunt in mortification.
How dare she tell such lies about him! He fumed silently, uncrossing his arms and clenching his fists at his sides. He had only turned his teacher's hair green when she had purposely favored Dudley over him, but that had been a freakish accident, one of the ones that no one was supposed to know about! And since when had Aunt Petunia tried to 'correct his flaws?'
"What better can you expect of him?" Mister Snape asked, sneering at the boy. "His parents were just as arrogant as he seems to be- I believe it runs in the family. There could not have been hope for him, not from the beginning."
"Lily was changed after she met that Potter boy," Petunia said tearfully. "She used to be so sweet and kind, but then they got married and they acted terribly towards Vernon and myself! I've caught the boy tormenting my own son Dudley from time to time- but I believe I mentioned that in my letter."
Harry was confused- what letter was she talking about? Did this have something to do with the mysterious post that had been addressed to him?- but both Aunt Petunia and this Mister Snape had insulted his parents, and he could not let that pass by unnoticed.
"My parents–" he began hotly, but Mister Snape cut him off once more.
"I can see what you mean," Mister Snape said, "And I believe that there was nothing you could possibly do for the boy. But do not worry- I shall tell the other teachers to watch the boy at Hogwarts. This shocking behavior he has shown will not be tolerated."
"Thank you," Petunia sniffed. "I cannot tell you how much this means to me, or how long and how hard I have struggled to change his attitude in any way. I hope that he will, at your school become the adult he was meant to be instead of the petty child he is."
"It was not your fault," Mister Snape said, his beetle-black eyes glinting with some emotions that Harry could not identify. "He is a disobedient brat, that much I can tell from just meeting him. There was nothing you could do to help him. He will be receiving no special favors at Hogwarts, Mrs. Dursley, I shall make sure of it."
No more. Harry was shocked, and hurt at the suggestions and harsh words that had been exchanged. He blinked back tears at the hurt that he felt. Surely it could not be true- to be judged by a stranger before they even knew him!
"And a credible actor, as well," Mister Snape said. "Had I not been expecting something of the sort, I might think it real, but I can see that he is merely devious. My goodness– what a spiteful, petty child, Mrs Dursley, and through no fault of your own."
"Shall we adjourn downstairs?" Aunt Petunia asked, a sugary-sweet smile pasted upon her face. "I only wanted to give you a taste of what the boy would be like, and I believe that neither of us would rather be in his presence for much longer."
"I would be most happy," the man said, brushing imaginary dust off the front of his strange bathrobe.
No more! Harry screamed internally. Still blinking back tears, he jumped to his feet. "It's not true– I didn't– I'm not like that–"
But the adults had kept going, seemingly united in their apparent hate of all things Harry Potter. He heard the door slam shut, the sound echoed through the room.
Harry gritted his teeth together in impotent rage, but could not help but feel as if something had been stolen from him. Surely they would not take him now, not after Aunt Petunia had woven a web of lies so thick and strong?
And even if he did go to this school- Hogwarts, if he remembered clearly enough what the odd Mister Snape had said- they would all be poisoned against him. They would be likely to judge against him as Mister Snape had, because if Mister Snape was a representative of the school as Harry thought he was, would they not more readily believe their colleague's words?
He moved over to the window, feeling his righteous anger sweep away as cold abandonment replaced it. The sky was grey and cloudy, and the air was strangely cold for such a summer's day. Harry sighed explosively.
Now that they had gone, he had time to reflect over their words, but he felt himself loathe to think more on what Mister Snape had said on his parents. But– surely Mister Snape would have had to have known them in order to know what they were like! Harry straightened up, then slumped as he remembered exactly what Mister Snape had said of them.
His parents could not be that bad. They couldn't! Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were only jealous, because his parents were twice the people that his Aunt and Uncle could ever be. But to have the testimony of another person who had never before met his Aunt agree...
Harry felt his beliefs shatter. His parents had loved him, and each other– hadn't they? They weren't that awful, they weren't! It was all some mistake.
Yes, that was it, he thought. It was a mistake- Mister Snape would be back tomorrow, and he would take him away, and he would make Aunt Petunia stop telling her horrible lies...
Harry stumbled over to the bed and was asleep within seconds.
Albus,
The boy is a menace. He is as arrogant as his father was. He is sullen, bullies his cousin, wears rags to make a statement, and is as cunning as a snake. He is devious, Albus, so devious that I almost thought he was not, in fact, acting.
You might not want to expose the boy to the public just yet. You do not want the wizarding world's expectations of the 'Boy-Who-Lived' to be crushed, now do you? I would suggest having Minerva buy him his school things, and buying his wand when the term begins, because there will be less people around.
Albus, I realize that you may not want to believe this. Please trust me to know my job, this time around.
Yours,
Severus Snape
Mister Snape was not back the next day, nor the next, and Harry quickly gave up hope of ever seeing again. After the lies that Aunt Petunia had told him, there was no way that he would be accepted into that school.
He found it odd that Uncle Vernon seemed mellower than usual, and that Aunt Petunia had not stopped shooting him triumphant stares, but Dudley had been acting no different than normal, and such concerns were quickly driven to the back of his brain.
He did not even think it odd that Aunt Petunia received an enormous package in the mail, or that she stowed it in Dudley's second bedroom with strict orders not to go near it. It was none of Harry's business, and he had long ago learned to respect that.
It was late into August that Aunt Petunia dragged him into the kitchen and into a chair. Harry had not struggled much- it never worked, and he would most likely need that energy later. On the table was the odd package.
Uncle Vernon was out golfing with his colleagues, and Dudley was out with Piers Polkiss, most likely beating up some poor little child. Aunt Petunia and he were alone in the house, and Harry felt inexplicably nervous.
Aunt Petunia gestured towards the package. "These are your school supplies," she snapped at him curtly, almost as if to say the words would leave a foul taste in her mouth. "You'll be leaving in two weeks. Don't ask me any questions, and get that– thing– into the cupboard before someone notices it!"
She stalked out of the room, but paused in the hallway to call, "I'm going to Mrs Figg's house for tea– so don't you dare bother me!"
Harry waited until he had heard the front door slam shut before he turned his gaze to the package. It was a rather inconspicuous-looking box apart from its size, wrapped in serviceable brown paper that had quite obviously been torn open- presumably by Aunt Petunia- and hastily taped closed once more.
It was the first time that he could recall being sent something in the post– and even now, Aunt Petunia had opened it before he could even look at it. Harry quashed the mild stirring of resentment in the pit of his stomach– it would do him no good.
He ripped open the paper and threw it to the side, excitement taking the place of resentment. He would be going to Pigwarts! Surely, this would be much better than going to Stonewall High, where Dudley had said the teachers were ten-foot monsters.
Then again, Harry had long before learned not to listen to what Dudley told him. More often than not, it was said to scare him.
Harry stared at the odd-looking trunk on the table. What sort of school was this, that it would send its students a trunk?
He opened it cautiously, frowning at the contents. There were piles of what looked like clothes, and stacks of books and other piles of what looked like completely random things. Harry glanced incredulously at what seemed to be a bird feather. Where exactly was this school, anyway?
He reached out to take the book on top of the pile, but snatched his hand back before he had touched it. If he made a mess in the kitchen, Aunt Petunia would be mad. No- worse than mad, she'd be furious.
He closed the trunk once more, and attempted to lift one end of it. It was heavy, but not nearly as heavy as he had expected. It was, however, much too heavy for him to lift, so Harry settled for half-dragging it all the way to his cupboard.
There wasn't much room inside anymore, and Harry reckoned he'd be sleeping on top of the trunk for the two weeks until he was leaving, but that was okay by Harry's reckoning. He would be leaving Privet Drive!
Maybe the people at this school would be kind. Maybe he would have his own bed there... Maybe they would see how he was being treated, and save him from the Dursleys...
Yes, the people would have him. They had to. Surely they wouldn't leave him here, where he was so mistreated...
Harry smiled. Yes, of course! And he would soon be free.
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry knew it had been two weeks later by the series of marks he'd drawn in the dust in the corner of the cupboard. He was woken up early- just how early, he wasn't sure, because he had no way of telling time, and he wasn't about to ask one of his relatives.
He pulled on his clothes- jeans and a baggy t-shirt, because he wasn't about to walk into a train station filled with normal people while wearing his wizard's robes.
He was a wizard. Harry wasn't quite sure if this was true, but what other explanation was there? The time he'd grown back his hair after Aunt Petunia had cut it horribly short, not to mention the infamous snake incident...
He'd stayed up late some nights reading the books he'd been given, and carefully examining all of the queer-looking instruments in his trunk. There were so many interesting things in this new world... It was utterly amazing! He hadn't gotten to read much, though, because it had been dark in his cupboard, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had said that they didn't want any of "that freakishness" out where any decent person could see it.
It seemed a great while later that Uncle Vernon yanked open the door to the cupboard and dragged Harry into the kitchen, where Aunt Petunia was waiting to give him a lecture.
"Don't you dare tell anyone about us," she spat venomously. "You'll have to return for the summers, and if we get any letters from your kind, you won't be going back next year, do you understand?"
Harry nodded mutely.
Two hours later, his trunk had been stowed in the trunk of Uncle Vernon's car, and Harry was well on his was to freedom. He let his head rest against the cool glass of the window, and began to dream about how wonderful his life would be from now on...
If he told everyone about the Dursleys, contrary to Aunt Petunia's warnings, then he wouldn't have to go back! So her threats were completely unfounded... Harry entertained himself with thoughts of magic for the rest of the trip.
All too soon, Uncle Vernon had pulled the door open, causing the distracted boy to half-fall out of the car as his support was removed. It was half-past ten, and they were at King's Cross Station, Harry noted with interest. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry's big, heavy trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station.
Harry thought this was unusually kind until Uncle Vernon turned to him with a nasty grin on his face, and handed Harry a small ticket. "There you go, boy. Platform nine — platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"
Harry glanced down at the ticket, then back at the two stations. Platform Nine and Three Quarters? "Where–"
"Not my problem boy– have a good term!" Uncle Vernon left with an even nastier smile, and Harry could see his uncle laughing as the car drove away.
Now what was he going to do? Harry wondered. He had no idea of what to do, or even of how he was supposed to act around these wizard people. He pushed his cart over to platform nine, and then platform ten, but he was no evidence of wizards.
With a gusty sigh, Harry parked his cart against the wall between the two stations, and leaned back. He might as well wait fo–
And then he had fallen through the wall, and was staring at a whole other world. Harry had enough presence of mind to grab his cart and pull that through as well. The wall felt vaguely like some sort of syrupy substance, but he shook the feeling off. There was no use in asking how it had happened.
This was magic.
A crimson steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked around himself with wonder. This must be platform Nine and Three Quarters.
There were people everywhere, talking to each other and to adults- Harry noticed owls in cages on some students' trunks, and cats twining about students' feet. He wondered, briefly, whether he'd be allowed to have a pet too, but brushed it off. Mister Snape had said that he wouldn't be receiving any "special favors," and he wasn't sure if this would count.
Harry turned away, and began to search for an empty compartment. There was one near the end of the train, and he stowed his trunk in a corner, though not before he'd dropped it on his feet several times each. He pulled out a book, and settled back to do some reading before he got to school.
The magical world was as baffling as it was fascinating. There were so many different things he didn't know about, and he didn't know if anyone would be willing to tell him. He couldn't wait to see Hogwarts!
"Hello?" A voice said.
Harry looked up to see an older girl standing in front of him. He brushed his unruly hair out of his eyes in order to take a batter look at her- and was surprised to hear her gasp in shock.
"You're– you're Harry Potter!" she whispered reverently. "Oh my god! You're Harry Potter- I've met Harry Potter! Ooh, I can't wait until Penny hears about this!"
And the girl rushed out of the compartment. Harry blinked in surprise. "Well, it was nice to meet you too," he told the empty air in front of him.
The train began to move, and Harry settled back once more facing the window. The door banged open once more- it was a gangly red-haired boy. "Anyone sitting there?" he asked, indicating the seat next to Harry. "Everywhere else is full."
"Go ahead," said Harry, and the boy took a seat.
"Ron Weasley," the boy said, and held out his hand.
Harry shook his hand. "Harry Potter."
"No, really?" Ron gasped. "Have you really got– you know–"
He gestured towards Harry's forehead. Harry swept his bangs back once more, and Ron leaned forward and gawked at the strangely shaped mark.
"D'you– d'you remember anything?" Ron asked eagerly.
Harry shook his head. "Not a thing."
"Wow," Ron said. "I've wanted to meet you for ages, you know?"
"You have?" Harry asked politely. He personally couldn't imagine why anyone would want to meet him.
"Of course!" Ron exclaimed. "Everyone's heard of Harry Potter, of course! And the way you defeated You-Know-Who... Are you sure you don't remember everything?"
"Nothing," said Harry truthfully.
Silence reigned for a time, as Ron watched as farms and fields full of cows and sheep sped past the window. Harry had turned back to his book, but found himself unable to concentrate. Who exactly was this You-Know-Who person that he had supposedly defeated? He briefly considered asking Ron- but Harry had been told all of his life not to ask questions, and he wasn't about to start now, no matter how curious he was.
A smiling woman pushed a trolley though the compartment door at about half-past twelve, and beamed at the two of them. "Anything off the cart, dears?"
Harry shook his head mutely, ashamed of not having any wizard money to spend, and out of the corner of his eye watched Ron do the same. The trolley continued, and Harry suddenly remembered that he'd not had breakfast this morning– he'd been too excited.
He tried to ignore the pain in his stomach, concentrating instead on the words in his book. He noted idly that Ron had brought sandwiches, and felt a vague sense of jealously build up in his stomach.
Twice a boy came into the compartment, looking for a toad, and both times Harry and Ron told him that they'd not seen any. "Probably a Hufflepuff, that one" Ron said condescendingly. "Bit of a duffer, isn't he?"
Harry nodded absently.
"All my brothers are Gryffindors," Ron continued blithely. "I hope I'm one too– I guess Ravenclaw wouldn't be that bad, but imagine if I was in Slytherin!" Ron gave a rather theatrical shudder. "That was You-Know-Who's house, after all- but I bet you already know that. After all, you're Harry Potter."
An awkward silence descended, and Harry found himself turning pages loudly in a futile attempt to relieve the resounding quiet.
He was almost relieved when the door banged open once more, but it wasn't the toadless boy again this time. Three boys entered– a blonde, pale-looking boy flanked by two other boys.
"Is it true?" The blonde boy asked. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment."
"Yes," said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Their positions on either side of the pale boy made them look like bodyguards.
"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, as he noticed where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
Ron snorted slightly, and Draco Malfoy turned to look at him.
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."
He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it. "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks," he said coolly.
Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys, and it'll rub off on you."
Both Harry and Ron stood up.
"Say that again," Ron challenged, his face as red as his hair.
But Draco Malfoy only turned to Harry and sneered. "I'll be watching you," he threatened, and then the three interlopers swept out of the compartment.
"What was that all about?" Ron asked Harry, but Harry didn't have the heart to tell Ron that he didn't have any idea, either.
"Hmm. Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes– and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"
Not Slytherin, not Slytherin!
"Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You would be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness– no doubt about it, you belong in
SLYTHERIN!"
Harry had always known that his Aunt Petunia hated him. True, she had never starved him or beat him, but she had forced him to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs. And then she had ruined his every chance at happiness, and it seemed that Hogwarts had not escaped her machinations.
The Slytherins had gone to their common room, located in an area of the castle that Harry presumed was the dungeons. It was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several high-backed chairs were situated around it.
The older years filed up the stairs, but all of the first-years hung back in the common room. Not a half a minute later, Snape himself swept into the room, looking for all the world like a great overgrown bat.
The lecture the Slytherins had received was mostly along the lines of the lectures Harry had heard from Aunt Petunia for all of his life- behave well, and don't make a fool of yourself because then you'll make us look bad.
What Harry hadn't expected were the piercing glares his Head of House was sending his way. The other first years had apparently picked up on the man's obvious malice towards Harry, because they edged away from him slightly in an attempt to keep the man's wrath off of themselves.
It seemed that the upper-years had picked up on it as well, or they had their own personal grudges against Harry, because he found himself shunned and ignored the next day. He got to breakfast late- he'd lost his way twice, and no one seemed willing to help him to the Great Hall.
Snape was already there, handing out schedules, and he sneered at Harry before dropping his schedule in his cup of juice deliberately. "The Headmaster would like to see you in his office after breakfast on Friday, Potter," he said, and continued on.
Harry did his best to rescue his schedule from the thick orange-colored juice, and partially succeeded. If worst came to worst, he thought glumly, he could always follow the other first-years– surely they would know where to go.
He squinted at the paper. Was that... Transfiguration? Well, that was what it appeared to be, at least. The room number was too blurred to tell, though. Harry watched as Malfoy walked in through the doors, paused, sneered at Harry, and then took a seat as far away as possible. Crabbe and Goyle came in a step behind and immediately sat on either side of the blond boy.
Harry poked at his food with his fork, all the while keeping an eye on Malfoy. The blond came from a magical family- surely he would be able to make his way through the school. He did not know the other first years so well. Most of them did their best to keep away from him, anyway.
Malfoy stood, abruptly, and motioned to Crabbe and Goyle. Harry waited until five seconds after they had left the Great Hall, and then rushed out after them. He didn't want Malfoy to know that he was following him– people took offense to that, as he had learned the hard way.
Transfiguration, as Harry soon learned, would be harder than he had expected. He hadn't thought that doing magic would be easy– nothing in his life had ever been easy– but he hadn't thought it would be very hard, either.
Professor McGonagall gave the class a stern talking-to in their first lesson. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. The class of Slytherins didn't seem to be all that impressed. From the whispers Harry could hear, magic was commonplace in their homes. Such a display was, while not quite ordinary, at least expected on their first day of class.
He soon realized that they would not be changing furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a complicated notes, Professor McGonagall came around and gave everyone but Harry a match, and instructed to turn it into a needle.
"Potter," she said to Harry, "The Headmaster has told me of your... special circumstances. He told me to inform you that you will be receiving your wand on Friday. Because you cannot perform magic without a wand, you may instead read up on the theory."
She then dropped a heavy-looking book upon his desk, and left to check up on the other students' progress.
This was not just an isolated occurrence. It seemed that all of his teachers had been told of his "special circumstances." Professor Flitwick, who taught charms, had seemed disappointed at this, but Harry could not see why. Even in Astronomy, where they studied the midnight skies, the teacher informed him that he would not be receiving any special treatment, and that just because he didn't have a wand didn't mean that he could just slack off.
By the time Friday came around, Harry was heartily sick of theory. He had watched his classmates perform magic, and he was quite eager to be able to finally be able to participate in his classes.
He hurriedly ate two pieces of toast, and rushed out of the Great Hall, before he realized that he had no idea where the Headmaster's office was, or where the Headmaster could be found.
"This," he moaned, "is not my day."
The ugly caretaker sneered at the boy he was dragging into the office. "So what can I do with him, Headmaster? Breaking the rules, he was– claimed he was looking for your office, so I figured I'd show himexactly where it was."
Harry caught the dislike in his tone, and fixed his gaze sullenly on the floor. It wasn't his fault that no one had been willing to show him the way.
"I'm sorry, Argus, but I had indeed asked Mister Potter to meet me in my office after breakfast. I believe he might indeed have been lost. He does not yet know his way around the castle."
The caretaker bared his teeth in anger, and put Harry in mind of the unpleasant-looking cat he had seen prowling by the man's side. "Fine," he spat with ill-grace, and stormed out.
Harry looked up in wonder at the one person who seemed willing to standup for him. Perhaps his luck was improving at last!
"Are you ready then, my boy?" the Headmaster asked, a twinkle in his eye. "There's a pot of Floo powder in the pot over the mantel– ah, but I can see from your confusion that you have never used the Floo Network before, now have you? No matter, then– just watch and do as I do."
Harry watched, bemused, as the Headmaster took a pinch of greenish powder from a pot and threw it into the fireplace. What was he–
Then the flames turned green, and the Headmaster walked into the fire and shouted "Diagon Alley!" Harry stood, frozen in spot, for another minute, before he rushed to copy the Headmaster's actions.
He tumbled through what felt like miles and miles of sooty fire-places, until he at last fell face-forward into the middle of a busy store.
The Headmaster waited for Harry to dust himself off before they headed out. "You may have noticed," the Headmaster said quietly, "that all of your classmates have already gotten their wands. Normally you too would have purchased yours along with your school supplies, but Professor Snape decided that it would be best for you not to be revealed to the wizarding world so soon."
"Why?" Harry asked, a little hurt.
"Why, due to the infamy of which I am sure your Aunt has told you." the Headmaster said, "the wizarding world might have reacted rather... explosively to your presence here. Nothing adverse has happened so far, but I felt it wise to take precautions. You can never be overprepared, don't you agree?"
In reality, Aunt Petunia had told Harry nothing of the sort, but he nodded along with the Headmaster's words, not wanting to appear ignorant in front of such an acclaimed man.
"Ah!" said the Headmaster, as they stopped in front of a shop bearing peeling gold letters over the door that proclaimed it to be Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.
The inside of the shop was tiny, and completely bare apart from a single spindly chair upon which the Headmaster motioned for Harry to be seated. "Mr. Ollivander will be here shortly, Harry– I have business to attend in the Alley. I will return."
A tinkling bell rang somewhere as the door opened and shut behind the Headmaster. Harry sighed softy and looked around. There were thousands upon thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling, and the very dust and silence seemed somehow magical.
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped, and quickly got up off of the spindly chair.
An old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
"Hello," Harry said awkwardly.
"Ah, yes," said the man. "Harry Potter– but I thought I'd be seeing you sooner. The Hogwarts term has already begun, and you do not yet have your wand."
"They deemed it unnecessary for me to be 'revealed to the wizarding world so soon'," Harry said, a trifle bitterly.
They should not have kept him from his birthright, he thought with a touch of resentment. The wizarding world might not have been ready to see him yet, because of this fame- or infamy, as the Headmaster had put it- that he apparently had, but those who knew of him should have disguised him, or something, so that he could have seen magic before! Surely, there would have been a way to get him in unnoticed.
"Hold strong," the wandmaker advised slowly. "There are dark times ahead, and I fear–"
The door that slammed open cut off whatever Mr Ollivander was about to say next. The Headmaster stood framed in the doorway, blue eyes twinkling. "I trust that I am not interrupting anything?" he asked, a trifle coldly, and the look he sent to Mr Ollivander was one of warning.
"No, not at all," said Mr Ollivander mistily. "Ah, Albus Dumbledore. I remember you- thirteen and a half inches, phoenix feather core– but that was your first wand, was it not?"
The Headmaster nodded. "Yes, but it is young Harry's time to receive his own, not for him to hear what his ancestors have received before him." The headmaster seemed relieved, and it made Harry wonder.
"Of course," Mr Ollivander said, and pulled down a box. He withdrew a wand, and Harry took it almost reverently. "Try this– Beechwood and dragon heartstring."
Harry waved the wand, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try–"
Harry tried, but he had barely raised the wand when it too was snatched from him.
"No, no– here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair.
"Perhaps," the Headmaster interrupted Mr Ollivander as he searched the shelves, "Perhaps you might try a more... special wand."
Mr Ollivander looked up sharply at the Headmaster, and then recognition and resentment dawned in his eyes. "Of course," he said sharply, and reached up to pull a box from near the top of the shelf. "I wonder– yes, why not– unusual combination– holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
Harry took the wand, and felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, and brought it swishing down through the dusty air, and a stream of silver and dark purple sparks shot from the end like fireworks. Harry found himself grinning broadly. He turned to the Headmaster in exaltation, but found Professor Dumbledore watching him with a small frown that disappeared so fast Harry wondered if he'd been imagining it.
"Curious," Mr Ollivander said as he put Harry's wand back in its box and wrapped it in brown paper. "Curious... curious..."
"What's curious?" Harry began to ask, but the Headmaster interrupted him half-way through his question.
"How many Galleons is it, Mr Ollivander?" the Headmaster asked politely.
"Seven," the elderly man said, and busied himself putting away the spare wands, still muttering. "Curious... curious..."
Harry didn't want to leave, not until he had found out what the wandmaker had meant, but he hadn't any choice as the Headmaster all but dragged him back onto the noisy street, and back to the fireplace that they had Flooed from.
Harry stood outside of the door, shivering slightly but uncertain whether or not to go in. He really, really didn't want to interrupt Mister– no, Professor Snape in the middle of a lesson, seeing how the man had acted around him before, but he had no choice.
The Headmaster had sent him off immediately, and hadn't answered any of the questions Harry had asked him. And then he had gotten lost once more on his way to the dungeons. He resolved to himself to find a map of Hogwarts as soon as possible.
Harry steeled himself, and knocked cautiously on the door. "Enter," Snape's voice barked. Harry winced– that was not a very welcoming voice– and stepped in.
"Potter," the Potions master sneered. "Find yourself a partner. The directions are on the board."
Harry stood still for a moment at the man's blatant dislike for Harry, but came inside quickly and shut the door. He looked around the class, but there was only one person without a partner. He took the seat quickly, not wanting to antagonize the Potions Master further.
The dark-haired boy he'd been partnered with squeaked in fear at he sat down. Harry looked at the boy in shock. Why on earth would the boy be scared of him? Before he could think on the incident, something squishy impacted with the back of his head. Harry looked down at the eye of newt that now lay on the floor, and then back at the redhead seated behind him.
Ron scowled. "What're you playing at, Potter?"
Harry blinked at Ron. "What?" That certainly hadn't been what he had expected.
"What're you playing at? Getting sorted into Slytherin, for one! I shouldn't even be talking to you– you're one of them, now."
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, baffled. "What's wrong with Slytherin?"
"You're all a bunch of slimy snakes, that's what! Bill and Charlie and Fred and George warned me about you all– said to stay away from the Slytherins if I didn't like being hexed!" Ron paused, glanced around the room in apparent worry, and lowered his voice once more. "You heard what the Sorting Hat said, didn't you? That Slytherins are cunning, and clever– I heard there wasn't a Slytherin born that didn't go dark."
"But–" Harry started,, then stopped and thought a bit. "But you met me earlier, didn't you? You seemed to like me well enough then, why does what house I am change anything?"
It certainly made no sense from Harry's point of view. He didn't like Ron any less now that they were in different houses. He'd be willing to call the redhead his friend– hadn't he stood up to Malfoy for him?
He said as much to Ron, and the redhead scowled even more fiercely. "Trying to get on my good side, so you could backstab be as soon as possible is more like it!" he hissed. "You didn't change Potter– the Sorting Hat only showed me how you really are!"
Harry drew back, insulted, and turned to the potion that he was supposed to be making. From the instructions on the board, he could see that it was meant to be a simple potion to cure boils. It certainly looked easy enough, like cooking one of Aunt Petunia's dinners...
"What's the next step?" he asked the boy next to him. The boy raised a pale and shaking hand to point at the board. Harry frowned. That wasn't going to help! He picked up a dried nettle and fingered it meditatively.
"Have you crushed the snake fangs yet?" he asked the boy again, but he got no answer.
Then the potion bubbled, hissed, and the cauldron melted into a twisted blob. Clouds of acid green smoke filled the air. Ron gave a half-shout of "Potter!" and danced out of the way of the still-hissing potion that was making its way across the all-Gryffindor half of the potions classroom. The potion burned holes in people's shoes as it passed.
"One point from Gryffindor," Snape said coolly from his desk, not even bothering to look up.
Harry dropped the dried nettle back onto the desk as if he'd been stung, and tried to ignore Ron's furious glare. He seemed to have incurred the combined wrath of the Gryffindor half of the room, while the Slytherins, who'd had ample time to get onto their stools before the potion made its way towards them, looked positively gleeful. Harry sighed and buried his head in his hands
.
Harry slumped in one of the uncomfortable high-backed chairs in the Common Room. His chair was close enough to the fire to catch its glow, but far enough away from all the other chairs. No one particularly wanted to be around him at the moment, branded by Snape's disdain as he was.
The school didn't trust him, that much was certain. None of his teachers liked him, besides maybe Quirrel, but that wasn't saying much at all.
Professor McGonagall was fair, at least, but she kept sending him mournful little glances whenever she saw him. Professor Flitwick had squeaked in fear the first time he read Harry's name off of the attendance list. Professor Sprout and the rest of the teachers did their best to avoid him, and Professor Snape quite obviously hated Harry's guts.
Harry wished for a moment that he knew whatever Aunt Petunia had told the school. It must have been bad, whatever it was, to make people avoid him like this–
"Potter."
Harry looked up at the icy drawl and into the sneering face of Draco Malfoy. "Yes?" he asked warily.
"We have noticed lately," said Malfoy, gesturing at Crabbe and Goyle, whom Harry hadn't even realized were there, "that you seem to be having some difficulties settling into Slytherin House, and we have decided to offer you a truce."
Harry watched them for a moment, considering. They had insulted Ron that day on the train– but Ron was no longer speaking to him, was he? Harry nodded slowly, still on guard. "What kind of truce?"
"My father is on the board of governors," Malfoy said haughtily. "And he will do whatever I ask of him. You would have nothing to fear from Snape, if you had me to protect you."
"I'm not so sure I need protection," said Harry, but he could see Malfoy's point all too clearly. The blond had power, he could see that, and he would share in that power if he was on Malfoy's side.
Malfoy sniffed at him. "Don't be a fool, Potter. You have no one to protect you, a fool could see it. You don't even know any spells! The Slytherins will respect me. I can protect you from them."
Harry hadn't really noticed any overt hostility among his Housemates, but looking back he could recall several hate-filled glances... there were obviously some things he didn't know about. And Malfoy could protect him from that.
"Alright," he said finally. "Truce." He held out a hand, and Malfoy shook it firmly.
"Truce."
"So," Harry said, sizing Malfoy up. "Friends?"
Malfoy laughed, a high-pitched sound that Harry thought did not in the least become the image of cold superiority that the blond projected. "Friends?" he asked, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "No, you rejected my offer of friendship while on the train. You can be another bodyguard of sorts."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, a feeling of dread settling around him. "What are you talking about?"
"It's simple," Malfoy said, clearly enjoying the turn of conversation. "I protect you from Slytherin House and Snape, and you protect me from anyone who wants to do me harm. Is that so difficult to understand?"
"No," Harry said, and swallowed nervously. Just what exactly had he just gotten himself into?
"Good," said Malfoy. "Now follow me- behind, and a bit to the right, with Crabbe and Goyle behind you. Yes, that's right. Now, come. I wish to go to the library."
Father,
Your plan has worked. Potter agreed instantly. I await your instruction.
Your son,
Draco Malfoy
Author's Notes: Chapter 2 should be out sometime around Christmas, and Chapter 3 will take quite a bit longer. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Beta-read by the wise and beautiful Tris-WannaBe, who is no longer my Beta but deserves your praise anyway.