Pariahs Payback

Harry Potter, second year Slytherin and Pariah of Hogwarts, softly breathed the password and crept silently up the spiral staircase towards the Headmasters office, hidden under his invisibility cloak. It was a Hogsmead weekend and the school was practically deserted, except for the first and second years and a few teachers. Just minutes ago Harry had spotted Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagal heading out the school gates and down to the town, and, with the added knowledge that Snape was also on Hogsmead duty today, he had taken advantage of the opportunity to exact his revenge on the author of his woes.

At the top of the stairs he gently eased the door open, making sure not to touch anything with his bare skin. He didn't know if Wizards knew about fingerprints but he felt it was better not to risk it. He glanced around warily, but the only living thing in the room was the baby phoenix, now a downy bundle of orange and red fluff, sleeping comfortably in a padded basket on the windowsill. From the walls came a discordant chorus of snores from the sleeping portraits.

Swiftly but silently Harry crossed the room and seized his prey, hastily stuffing it into his Moke-skin bag. Once again making sure his hands were covered Harry quietly replaced his prize with an item of similar appearance. It wouldn't fool a close inspection but it looked similar enough to a casual glance and would hopefully delay discovery of the theft. Turning he once again scanned the room. The portraits and the Phoenix were all still sleeping. Smirking, Harry left as silently as he had come, trotting invisibly down the stairs and and back into the main school.

Still invisible he continued down, down underground, turning away from the Slytherin territory and instead heading into the domain of the Hufflepuffs. He passed the kitchens and the concealed entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, passed the small chambers various Puffs had turned into cozy private meeting rooms and further still, into an area where the torches were unlit and the rooms were empty of anything but dust. This was a part of the cellars that no happy Hufflepuff would ever bother to venture into. Harry lit his wand as he entered the room which he had claimed as his own private refuge. There wasn't much there. Just a battered old armchair, a small desk and a chair he'd 'borrowed' from one of the Hufflepuff rooms that wasn't currently in use.

Here Harry stopped, removed his cloak and reached into his Moke-skin bag. Leaving his prize where it was for now he instead drew out a battered old cauldron he'd purloined from Snapes discard heap during his last detention, and his case of potion supplies. He filled the cauldron with water, set a flame underneath and started preparing ingredients. He always carried his school supplies with him these days. He never left anything of value in his dorm any more. Not after last year. Not since he'd been sorted into Slytherin.

He remembered it like yesterday. The loud yell of 'SLYTHERIN!' echoing around the suddenly silent room, the hat being removed to reveal the hundreds of students gazing at him in bewildered shock, rapidly turning to angry disgust. His new 'friend', Ron Weasley, staring at him like Harry had murdered his puppy, then pointedly looking away. Harry had quietly made his way to the Slytherin table. No one had clapped.

Upon arriving in the Slytherin common room Professor Snape had introduced himself and given a lovely speech about the importance of house unity, and then followed it up by some pointed statements about how 'troublemakers will not be tolerated' and 'there will be no special treatment... no matter how famous you might be' all the while glaring at Harry, making it perfectly clear to everyone in the room who he thought the 'troublemaker demanding special treatment' would be. Both Harry and his new house had received the message loud and clear. Harry Potter was not welcome in Slytherin.

Arriving at the dorm had been just as bad. Malfoy, still angry that Harry had refused to shake his hand on the train, had wasted no time in informing Harry that 'he had better watch his step', with Crabbe and Goyle cracking their knuckles menacingly and the other two boys, Nott and Zabini, standing behind them sneering. It had been an uncomfortable night. As had every night since. The only reason he still slept there is because he knew, from experience, that they would gleefully report him to Snape if he did not.

The next day it had become quickly apparent to him that he would find no support outside Slytherin either. Walking through the corridors he had been tripped and hexed, arriving late to his first class, limping due to a grazed knee and wrenched ankle. He had been sharply reprimanded by Professor McGonagal, who had ignored his limp and deducted points for tardiness. And that was how his year had progressed. Hits and Hexes. Unearned punishments and point deductions. Snape issuing detentions for imagined misdemeanours. When a Troll had somehow got into the school on Halloween, resulting in the death of a first year Gryffindor girl, Malfoy had smirkingly started a rumour that it was Harrys doing and the whole school had accepted it as truth, completely ignoring the fact that Harry had been right there at the feast with the rest of them. After that his position as 'school pariah' had been set in stone. No one talked to him, unless it was to tell him how much they despised him. His hopes for friends and acceptance had been utterly dashed. Hogwarts just as bad as Little Whinging. The only difference was the food.

Things had improved slightly after Christmas morning. He'd woken to find a package at the foot of his bed. In that package had been an invisibility cloak, which had apparently belonged to his father. The person who had returned it had not signed the note, so it would seem that whomever it was did not want to associate with him any more than anyone else did, but the cloak had quickly become a god-send to Harry, allowing him to travel the halls un-noticed and unmolested. His hex-rates had dropped significantly, as had his injuries. But that had been the high point of the year. And it hadn't stopped Malfoy and the other Slytherin kids from sabotaging his belongings. Contaminating his potions supplies, stealing his homework and damaging his clothing. They had even managed to 'accidentally' kill his poor innocent owl, Hedwig. And of course the teachers had all punished him for not turning in his work and his 'slovenly appearance'. No one had cared that his owl was dead, except for Hagrid, who had seemed to believe Snapes insinuations that Harry had killed Hedwig through neglect and now glared at Harry whenever he saw him. Harry had miserably buried Hedwig under a tree on a high promontory overlooking the lake and had been almost glad to go home at the end of the year. At least he wasn't so badly out numbered at Privet Drive.

However things at home had, unbelievably, become even worse than before. The first month hadn't been too bad. He had conveniently forgotten to mention the 'No magic in Summer' rule and had been treated reasonably well, (if being completely ignored counted as 'well'). However, after a visit from a crazy house-elf had tipped off his relatives to his 'lies', he had spent the rest of the Summer locked in his room, not even let out to do chores. Finally, two nights before the start of term, he found that he had lost enough weight that he was able to squirm his way out through the cat-flap in his bedroom door, although he felt there might possibly have been a little accidental magic involved when he suddenly slipped through after getting jammed with his head and one arm through the hole. Regardless, he hadn't wasted any time in grabbing his trunk and making his escape. He had caught the early train to London, spent the day shopping in Diagon Alley, and had slept the night under his invisibility cloak between two bushes in St Pancreas Gardens. He'd bought some breakfast and a packed sandwich and drink for lunch and was waiting on platform nine and three quarters before the train even arrived at the station.

So he had managed to buy his school supplies, replace his clothes and had discovered his moke-skin bag in the luggage shop where he had gone hoping to find a trunk with better locks. The bag had been expensive, but as far as Harry was concerned it was worth every knut. It was bottomless, weightless, and the opening could stretch impossibly wide. Wide enough to fit just about anything he wanted to put in it, even his trunk! The bag hung on a disillusioned cord around his neck and he never took it off. Not even to shower. He kept everything in that bag. All his clothes and school supplies, his homework and books. He still kept his trunk in his dorm, but only as a decoy. It contained Dudleys old clothes, last years uniforms, the already contaminated potions supplies... Malfoy and the other Slytherins had been happily sabotaging and ruining them all year, snickering at him and thinking they were so smart, somehow never noticing that it no longer impacted his work or appearance. He tidied up the mess and repaired things occasionally, to make it look like he was using it and so far the ruse seemed to be working. He was handing in his all his homework now, losing less points and getting higher marks.

Of course his new system did mean that he had to wash his own clothes. Putting them in the bathroom laundry hamper meant that they would be returned folded in a pile on his bed, just begging his dorm mates to have a go at them, but laundry charms hadn't been too hard to master, and he had found the library book 'The Charmed House: Everything a Successful House-Witch needs to know' to be absolutely fascinating. The charms he found in that book seemed much more useful than the ones taught in class. Why would he ever need to make a pineapple tap-dance?

However, despite his new ability to protect his belongings, despite his rarely moving in public without his cloak, this year had rapidly become worse than the last. First, there was Professor Lockhart. Always dragging him up front in class to act out his improbable books, accosting him as he left the Great Hall, the only time he was visible outside classes, and forcing him to have his photo taken by that crazy first year, Colin Creevey and then loudly exclaiming about Harry giving out signed photos, while all the students stared and jeered and took every opportunity to inform him that they wouldn't take his autograph if he paid them! Not to mention Snape's snide comments about his fame going to his head.

"But wait!" The universe said "There's more!"

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, Beware!"
And who did the student body unanimously decide the Heir of Slytherin was? Pariah Potter of course! Since Halloween, anytime he dared to show his face he'd been targeted. As well as the usual mild hexes and shoving it seemed that someone had decided to really try to kill him. He'd had to dodge falling masonry and been tripped down stairs. At the last quiddich match someone had bewitched a bludger to attack him. Harry had been in the Library, enjoying the peace and quiet and lack of hissed insults, when it had left the pitch, smashed through the Library window, and attempted to pound him into mush. It had broken his arm and smashed several bookcases before Madam Pince had rushed over and destroyed it, although he'd got the distinct impression she was more concerned with protecting the books than the boy. Madam Pomphrey had fixed his arm easily enough, but Snape had given him a detention for 'the pathetic attempt to gain some attention' that night at dinner, so of course the students all now believed he'd deliberately done it to himself 'in an attempt to divert suspicion'. Harry just couldn't win.

Even the teachers appeared to lend some credence to the prevailing belief that he was the Heir of Slytherin. Harry had been summoned to Headmaster Dumbledores office just three days ago, immediately after Justin Finch-Fletchley and the Gryffindor Ghost had been petrified, for a 'chat'. It was the first time he'd ever spoken to the venerable Headmaster and he hadn't really enjoyed the experience. First the Phoenix had burst into flame, scaring poor Harry half to death, and then Dumbledore had offered him tea and lemon drops and asked Harry if there was anything he wanted to share with him, staring at him solemnly over his half-moon spectacles. Harry had been tempted to mention the creepy voice he'd heard not long before Justin had been found, but decided against it and replied in the negative. And then he had seen it. Sitting on a high shelf in a shadowy corner. The root cause of all his problems. And in that moment, as Dumbledore had nattered away assuring him that 'Help would always be found at Hogwarts' Harry had come up with a cunning plan.

He added the second last ingredient to the cauldron, stirred twice anti-clockwise and then reached into his moke-skin bag and drew out his prisoner.

"Bee in your bonnet Potter?" enquired the sorting hat.

"You could put it that way, I guess." Harry replied calmly.

"I suppose you want to know why I sorted you as I did? That's what everyone wants to know... wait where are we?"

"No, it doesn't really matter anymore." Harry answered "What's done is done. You put me in Slytherin even though I begged and pleaded with you to put me somewhere, anywhere else. You ignored my fears and placed me in the most hated house in Hogwarts, and now I'm stuck there. Even if you suddenly decided to change your mind and re-sort me into Gryffindor right now, it wouldn't make any difference. They'd still see me as a 'Slimy Slytherin'. They'd still call me a traitor to my name. A murderer. An evil dark lord in training. They'd still hate me. My fate was sealed the moment you ignored what I wanted and declared to the world that their precious Boy-Who-Lived was a Slytherin. You told me that I would make friends. That Slytherin was my true home and that I would find a family there. That it would 'help me on my way to greatness'. You lied to me. Slytherin has given me nothing but pain, revilement and isolation. But it's too late to change that now." he continued evenly, ignoring the hat's second question.

"Then why am I here? What do you want?" The hat queried, a faint note of worry entering its voice.

Harry picked up the final ingredient and the hat, took several steps back and deftly flicked the single jobberknoll quill into the cauldron.

"Revenge." he snarled, and flung the Sorting Hat into the now seething mixture.

It screamed.

Seconds later the cauldron disintegrated and the toxic liquid frothed onto the floor, bubbling frantically and eating into the stone. Harry watched gleefully as the last fragments of the hat dissolved and then, once he was certain it was completely destroyed, he stepped forward carefully and scattered several handfuls of desiccated toad skin over the caustic foam. He waited two minutes as the acid yellow bubbles slowly subsided into a dull olive green sludge, then cast 'evanesco' to get rid of the remaining mess.

It was amazing what you could learn in potions, if you paid attention. He'd been introduced to this one two weeks ago when Malfoy had sabotaged Longbottom and Weasley's Potion halfway through the class. Turning, as Snape had angrily informed them, a simple Deflating Draught into a level five toxin capable of dissolving just about anything it came into contact with. Harry had watched, fascinated, as the teacher had efficiently neutralised the mess and had made a note of the incident. Taking care to phrase his notes to appear as a simple caution of 'what not to do'.

Yes. It was amazing what you could learn in potions, he decided, finishing his clean-up and leaving the room with a jaunty skip to his invisible steps.

/!\/!\/!\/!\/!\/!\/!\

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Head Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the International Confederation of Wizards, signed the parchment in front of him, denying Harry Potters requested elective classes of Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures. The boy needed to understand and respect the power of divination in order to understand his future role, and Hagrid had refused to have the boy in his class, muttering something about owls. Apparently he felt that dear Harry was unsuited to working with animals, so Albus had placed the boy in Muggle studies instead. After all, it was important for The Boy Who Lived to demonstrate to the public that he appreciates and accepts Muggles and their culture. It would give the impression of open mindedness and tolerance. Harry would have no use for runes in his future role.

Albus placed the parchment in his 'out tray' and leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. It seemed that all was ready for the coming school year. Hopefully it would be better than the last one. It had been the second year running where a student had died. Poor little Ginevra Weasley had vanished from the school, and her Mother had contacted Minerva wailing that their clock said that the girl was in 'mortal peril'. Soon afterwards chaos had erupted as a monstrously large Basilisk had run rampant through the school, apparently under the control of a dark haired teenage boy. Luckily the students had already been confined to their common rooms, so there had only been one casualty, poor young Gilderoy Lockhart. Soon after that the newly released Hagrid, who had returned to the school barely minutes before, had spotted the giant snake and had miraculously pulled a Rooster out from one of his pockets and caused it to crow. As the Basilisk had thrashed in its death-throes one of its fangs had grazed the boy who had been controlling it and he had subsequently exploded in a shower of sparks. With no sign of the Weasley girl poor Molly and Arthur had reluctantly gone home, only to immediately return, with Molly hysterically declaring that the clock now said the girl was dead! The elves had searched the school from top to bottom twice over, but had been unable to find her body. Such a terrible tragedy!

Of course the school rumour-mill had exploded with all kinds of fanciful theories. Why he had even heard some over imaginative Hufflepuffs declaring that the 'dark haired boy' had been Harry Potter in disguise! Such nonsense. Of course, the poor boy was a Slytherin, but he seemed be getting along reasonably well despite that slight set-back. He was wisely refraining from associating with his house mates more than he had to, and Dumbledore had often seen students from other houses approaching Harry and speaking to the boy. Why he'd even seen him receive some playful shoves from his many friends as they passed in the corridors. Ah, the innocent boisterousness of youth! No, there was nothing to worry about there.

Albus relaxed into his chair and looked over at the Sorting Hat, sitting on its shelf.

"Well Dobbin, another school year is fast approaching. Do you have your song all worked out? I think something on the importance of supporting each other in the face of tragedy would be appropriate this year, don't you?"

There was no reply.

"Dobbin, did you hear me?"

Still no reply.

Concerned, Albus stood up, walked over and picked up the hat. "Dobbin?" He carried it back into the light and was horrified to discover that instead of the sorting Hat he held a normal, old, un-enchanted moth-eaten witches hat. Eyes wide he stared around the room. "Dobbin! Where are you?" But there was no answer.

/!\/!\/!\/!\/!\/!\/!\

Twenty four hours later Albus had to admit defeat. He'd searched his office from one side to the other, he'd had the house elves comb the school, he'd used every kind of summoning spell he could think of, he'd even asked Fawkes to help, but Dobbin had not been found. The Sorting Hat, last relic of the Founders, had vanished without a trace.

This left Albus in a terrible position. He didn't dare tell the Governors of this latest disaster, not after everything that had happened recently. He'd managed to avoid censure over the basilisk disaster by reminding them that they had kicked him out of the school and had thereby prevented him from preventing it. But this... they would surely blame him for this.

Well, there was nothing for it. He'd just have to make another one. He was a dab hand at enchanting, if he did say so himself. And for all the hype about the founders they had probably been quite young when they had made the hat. He knew it had been made before Slytherin was kicked out. Why with his superior skills and advanced knowledge his hat would probably be even better than the original!

Smiling delightedly at the prospect of an interesting challenge, Albus rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

Two days later Dumbledore examined his new sorting hat. It looked exactly like the old one of course. He had considered making it a nice cheerful purple with an iridescent rainbow hatband, but had regretfully decided that if he did that people would probably realise it was a different hat. However he was quite proud of the enchantments. He had imbued the hat with excellent legilimantic abilities to enable it to examine the entirety of each childs personality and sort them into the correct house. The duplicitous, power-hungry, amoral, sneaky back-stabbers who were loyal only to themselves would, of course, go to Slytherin. Those who valued books and knowledge over friends and family would be sorted into Ravenclaw. All the cowardly, ineffective duffers with no real potential would take comfort in each other in their true home of Hufflepuff whilst the children who had the potential to be brave when they needed to be, who were loving and loyal to their friends and family and were willing to stand up for what they believed in, would, naturally, be placed in Gryffindor.

Albus smiled and, as one final test, placed the Hat on his head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" yelled the hat.

Yes! It worked perfectly!

No one would ever know

/!\/!\/!\/!\/!\/!\/!\

Third year had begun and a slightly depressed Harry Potter was sitting at the Slytherin table, waiting for the food to arrive. He was rather unhappy to be back at Hogwarts. The last three weeks had been the best of his life! He had been staying at the Leaky Cauldron, with free access to Diagon alley, and had enjoyed every minute of it. Old Tom had been very kind, making sure he ate three meals a day and keeping a friendly eye on him. Florean Foretescue had sat and spoken to him, helped him with his homework, introduced him to other customers and given him free ice-cream! No one had ever been that nice to him before! For three weeks he had experienced unprecedented freedom. No one had insulted him or told him he deserved to die. No one had hexed him or tried to hurt him. It had been... peaceful. Relaxing even. He missed it already.

But September had unfortunately arrived. Tom had kindly sent one of his staff to escort Harry to Kings Cross. He had boarded in plenty of time and found an almost empty compartment occupied by a sleeping man he assumed was the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. And the first student to see him had greeted with a violently whispered "How can you show your face here after what you did, you murderer! I hope Sirius Black finds you and tortures you to death!"

Charming.

And then the Dementors had boarded the train. And Harry had passed out. And now Malfoy was doing dying swan impressions every time Harry glanced his way.

Oh yes. It was so nice to be back at jolly old Hogwarts.

Harry stiffened in shock as Professor McGonagal entered the Great Hall and placed a hat on a stool. No! It couldn't be!

He glared at his floppy nemesis while the new first years filed into the Great Hall. He sullenly blanked his expression as it sang an inappropriately jaunty ditty about the importance of supporting each other in the face of tragedy. He was flooded with miserable resignation as "Ainslow, Cara" was summoned to have her doom declared to the masses.

GRYFFINDOR!

Lucky brat.

"Arrow, Jason"

GRYFFINDOR!

Sigh.

"Borden, Savannah"

GRYFFINDOR!

What?

"Bridgeworth, Gareth"

GRYFFINDOR

The Hell?

The other students began to stir restlessly as student after student was sorted into the same house. McGonagals voice was starting to shake with nerves.

"Koriendar, Augustus"

GRYFFINDOR!

Faint murmurs of protest were starting to be heard. Snape, Sprout and Flitwick were looking angry, but trying to hide it. The Griffindors were all shuffling up along the benches in an attempt to make room for the unexpected influx.

"Pennerick, Portia"

GRYFFINDOR!

Dumbledore was sitting in his chair, steadily growing paler, but doing his best to look unperturbed.

"Turpin, Leila"

GRIFFINDOR!

The students from the other houses were starting to yell in outrage. The Gryffindors were packed so close together they were practically sitting on each other laps.

"Veranis, Merrick"

GRYFFINDOR!

Harry rested his chin on his hands and tried to hide his grin.

"Yorrick, Tiberius"

GRYFFINDOR!

The three house heads had given up trying to hide their anger and were yelling at Dumbledore, who was doing his best to calm them down.

"Zebaccus, Antony"

GRYFFINDOR!

Absolute chaos!

Every single new student had been sorted into Gryffindor.

Harry buried his head in his hands and tried not to laugh too loudly.

"I bet this is all Potters fault!"

...

... sigh.

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Authors Note - Just a little plot bunny that popped into my head and made a nest. I've often thought that, if firsties were really sorted by the criteria Ron (and most other Gryffindors) seem to think are used in the sorting, all of the students would be Gryffindors. They're only 11 after all.

Miserable Harry was really just a device to get rid of the hat, but he got away from me and kind of took over the story. In fact I have his whole life story written down in my story notes, so if this gets enough interest there may be a sequel one day...