The Golden Slytherin

A/N: A few changes, a few plot differences, some similar scenes, most different scenes, from the actual book. My first Harry Potter fanfiction so give it a break. You may point out anything that is off from the book, not regarding plot.

My father once suggested mildly that Potter was a dark wizard and that was how she escaped the clutches of the Dark Lord. I must have to dismiss my father, though commonly Father is right; he must have been solemnly mistakened. Potter…a dark wizard…? Sticking up for Weasley, a penniless blood traitor and for Granger—that filthy mudblood. I suppose it won't be long till Potter goes to stupid Gryffindor and joins Crooked-Nosed-Dumbledore's Legion of Favorites-That-Must-Be-Gryffindor Club. Dumbledore's stupidly biased. Just because all the actual good wizards happen to be in Slytherin… And he's a filthy mudblood lover and empathizes for them.

"See him—yes, him right there! —that's Draco-Draco Malfoy! I hear his family is so famous that it evens compares to how popular Harriet Potter is! The Girl-Who-Lived. Anyway, my family's fortune is less than half of his! And we're not poor either!" I hear a first year (I suppose I should call her something rather than first year as I am one, too. No matter) jumpy girl say in a low voice of which she thought others (especially me) could not hear. I don't feel angered for her stupid back-talking as once in a while hearing some well-deserved praise to the Malfoy Manor and I is not bad. As well as that it boosted my morale, and no sooner before I blink, my morale is lowered. Potter…famous? I neatly press my robes down. It doesn't have a tie…yet, but I know I'm getting green for Slytherin, my father and his grand ancestors before him have…and so shall I.

"Abbott, Hannah!" Professor McGonagall shouts. Abbott's pink-faced with pigtails shaded blonde, and she carries a nervous expression.

No doubt a non-Slytherin.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouts the hat in a crackly way after the hat is placed on Abbott's head for a few seconds. She smiles brightly and runs off to the Hufflepuff table.

It didn't matter much about the rest. Stupid Gryffindors here, few no-good Ravenclaws, and some hopeless Hufflepuffs. However, Crabbe, Goyle, and some girl—Millicent Bulstrode became Slytherin. Predictable.

"Malfoy, Draco!" McGonagall finally exclaims. About time. Never had I liked her much. Some stupid servant to Dumbledore.

I swing up and swagger up to the chair and sit down. I hardly feel a brush from the old, rusty hat before it squirms, "SLYTHERIN!" I smirk and hold my chin higher than normal as I sat between Crabbe and Goyle. A few more names were called before a long pause was sounded. I hadn't pay attention to the rest until I did hear nothing but whispered gossips. I jerk my head toward the person with the hat on.

Potter.

Oh bother. The hat's taking its sweet time placing her in Gryffindor. The hat waits several minutes as it lays on Potter's long black hair, the color of midnight and of ravens. She closes her eyes and concentrates. Finally, the hat bites out words.

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouts, proud and steady.

I'm surprised, flabbergasted. Had I not long ago envisioned myself picking on what I thought was a stupid Gryffindor? Potter walks steadily, eyes hollow and still, to the Slytherin table. She picks a seat at the far edge, across from me, determined to stay away. Nothing but curiosity reigns in everyone as a few more students are housed. Soon after the Housing is done, food appears on the table and Dumbledore announces we can begin eating.

"You sure you're not a dark wizard, Potter?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, "how's it to feel to actually be in a worth-it table, huh?"

"Quit it, Malfoy!" Potter snaps, not in the mood to argue.

"Oh no! You're going to jinx me!" I smirk, "I'm so sorry, Potter."

"I said quit it!" Her anger is burning and bashing. Her emerald eyes are like snake eyes, full of malice; maybe she was made for Slytherin.

"Mind you, I'd recommend you don't go making enemies with the wrong people," I say.

She doesn't respond. She looks at the luxurious food in front of her and starts eating.

"Don't look so surprised at food, Potter," I say to her quite simply, "'Less you're as poor as your Weasel friend. That's be befitting for their stature…"

"Shut it, Malfoy!" Potter says angrily, "Ron's better than you…by a million."

"By a million what? A million Galleons. Oh, but, Potter, Weasley hasn't any Galleons!" I laugh snottily with both Crabbe and Goyle chortling.

Potter fumed red. "I despise you."

"Just so you know, Potter; Weasley may not be as fond of you as now you are a Slytherin. Try friendship with another house and so truth: break it."

"You've said garbage about many things, so why should I believe you, 'cause you're rich and popular?" She sounds hoarse.

"No, it's because it's true," I say quietly.

Potter Point of View

"…because it's true." Yeah, right. Whatever out that boy's mouth is garbage. And I'm stuck in Slytherin. I begged that stupid hat to not, but it did it anyway despite my protests. Suppose it's not as bad as the Dursley's, but Hagrid and Ron didn't like Slytherin…and neither did I.

"Hey, Ron," I call out to Ron as he talks to his elder red-headed brother, "Oi!"

Ron turns and faces me with a blank expression. "Harriet. What do you want?"

"Well," I start, "I reckon we've got a few classes together. Wanna meet me?"

"Mind you, you're a Slytherin," Ron says nonchalantly, turns his head, and walks toward the Gryffindor Common Room.

For some unknown reason, a breeze flows by me and the room feels much colder.

I sleep coldly after settling in next by a girl named Pansy Parkinson who seems very rude. I was still reminded of what Ron said. If I couldn't even be Ron's friend, how was I going to make any friends. Ron had seemed so friendly on the Hogwarts Express Train with his signature red hair and his goofy grin. "Mind you, you're a Slytherin," he had said like there was no care in the world. The six words hang around and echo in my brain as a nightmare. Malfoy had been right. It was true that there was no good relation between all four houses.

I wake up with a start. The pained feeling in my stomach did not leave me over the night. I sigh and grab my glasses off the small counter. The sun was peaking behind the horizon and I realize that I needed to get to breakfast soon. I get in my school robes (with the green Slytherin tie) and rush down to the Dining Hall. This time I pick a seat on the far of left of the Slytherin table. I sigh and shrink back in my seat and eat silently, savoring the rich flavor of fresh bread. Thankfully, no noise from Malfoy, though he did cast me a few smirks, and a boy from Slytherin did glower at me sullenly.

The ravishing food soon ended, and it was time for class to begin…unluckily.

Malfoy Point of View

Herbology with Ravenclaw. My first subject on my schedule. Wasn't that simply entrancing. Herbology? Herbology? Father had said it was a useless subject, said he'd rather go elsewhere than Herbology. He had mocked it, teased of it, laughed at it, done everything is his power to do so. I could understand clearly that it was not a good subject. No matter, it had to be done. I drag myself off the table of foods and silence Crabbe and Goyle from giggling at a stupid joke that a fellow Slytherin had made. I sigh as I know I need to go to Herbology.

"Crabbe, Goyle, follow, it's almost 9:30, want to be late?" I ask them fiercely as if it's an order.

"N-No," Goyle says instantly, "l-let's g-go, Crabbe."

"Great," I say in a voice that shows that it most certainly is not great. "Follow me, then."

"Where?" Crabbe asks stupidly.

"Where else, dolt?" I ask him, "don't be a git, Crabbe, the greenhouse behind this stupid excuse of a school."

Crabbe nods his head and doesn't respond. Goyle mutters, "Yeah, yeah…"

I motion for both of them to come, "Done eating, Goyle; you better."

He nods his head, and I roll my eyes, "Let us go then."

I walk hurriedly and quickly with both empty heads following behind me. I turn to the edge of Hogwarts and outside towards the greenhouse.

It smells like mud and some stupid plants.

Half of the class is there already, not including Potter. One by one piles of students come into the greenhouse and notice the floating plants and sniffle at the muddy smell. I realize that the Ravenclaws were proper and prim with their copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore. And the Slytherins looked slightly less, but equally important-looking.

"I shall call attendance," Professor Sprout says loudly. Lists of names go by, long and short, complex and simplistic. She calls my name, and I give a simple, "Present."
"Potter." No Potter. "Potter!" None.

As if magic, the door of the greenhouse opens to reveal a student with long messy black hair which was much messier than usual, green eyes that looked dazed and tired, and books dropping on the floor. I nearly fall on the ground laughing. Instead, I merely snicker.

"I'm sorry, Professor Sprout."

"It is fine, it is your first day," Professor Sprout says kindly (almost too kindly), "And…you…yes, you, Mr. Malfoy, if you'd bother to stop snickering down there, I would like you to help Ms. Potter with her books."

"Ugh," I moan quietly, "…why me?"

"What is it you wanted to share to the class, Mr. Malfoy?" she asks, looking very pleased.

"Nothing," I murmur as I reluctantly move towards Potter to help with her textbooks.

"I don't need your help," she says angrily. I realize this is my chance, I'd thought it'd been bad for me. Maybe, it'd been bad for her.

"Oh, but Ms. Potter," I say in a non-sincere voice, "Professor Sprout kindly suggested I'd help you with your books as you cannot handle it yourself." I smirk a bit.

"Of course, I can!" she says defiantly, trying to raise her voice without calling attention.

"No, you cannot, you need help… I'd be extremely happy if you'd let me," I say in an almost sarcastic way."

"Yes, I can!" she shouts.

"No, you cannot!" I say, equally loud.

I shove next to her and try to grab her books. She looks angrily and moves away. By now, Sprout is motioning at us, "STOP! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS MADNESS!"

Potter doesn't care, and nor do I. "GIVE!" I yell.

"NO!" she yells back. I trample her and began trying to get her books which she holds tightly to her chest. I began ripping the books away from her hands and she beats furiously, but I know it's useless, some skinny little girl like Potter attempt to do anything? Fat chance.

"Ow!" she screams, her hand has landed on a piece of shard glass, she's bleeding.

"CALL THE MEDICS!" Sprout yells to a nearby student. "THAT'S NO ORDINARY GLASS."

Students line up trying to stop Potter and I from fighting. Again…another fat chance.

"Protego Maxima!" I yell, a wispy shield etches along the students and Potter and I. There voices are muffled and I know they cannot hear ours. "Impressive…" I hear a Ravenclaw say, though his or her voice is very much muffled.

"It's just you and me, Potter," I say, uncontrollably, "Give me the book."

Potter doesn't respond for a few seconds. For a second, I feel bad, perhaps she is…dead? I shake those feelings out. I did not think so.

"No." She says it firm and steady like she's on her feet, ready to fight, but she's not. "No."

"Are you this God darn arrogant, Potter?" I ask, "Just give me the darn book."

I reach out and signal out for it. "Accio Potter's book!"

To my surprise, nothing happens. Father had taught me this spell, I had mastered it. Why didn't the book move to me? Instead a black gas flows towards my wand. It's floating. I step a few feet away and touch my Shield Charm that isn't fading yet. I move as far as I could away. The black gas hurtles into my wand and out again, the gas makes its way to Potter's semi-opened eyes and seeps through them and back out, the gas goes around the shield I had made and cracks it. Never had that ever happened. My shield was supposed to be practically unbreakable.

Potter opens her eyes. They were not emerald green, they were forest green. Like a mixture of black and green. She looks at me maliciously.

"Has hope forbade the pain, or has darkness dared thwart it?" she asks in a voice that is not her own. I blink. Silently, she falls back again. I look at my hands. Was I really there when that happened? I want to say no, but I look around and see there were Ravenclaw and Slytherin eyewitnesses.

"What. Just. Happened?" I ask Sprout.

"Your work, Malfoy," Sprout says, "Not mine."

I look at unconscious Potter and finally I peak at the book that I uncontrollably, desperately wanted so badly. It's a leather-bound book that's old and crippled. I scan inside. Nothing but blank pages. I really wanted this? The back had nothing but scars and three simple words. Proper nouns, I believe.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

A/N: Yes, yes, I know the diary doesn't show up till Book 2. Sorry, but I'm bringing it in. I plan on making the whole series in this AU (alternate universe) if I can. And I haven't finished Deathly Hallows yet, so please no spoilers or criticism about stuff that is wrong about it. Thanks.