Title: Seas of Green

Rating: R

Genre: Mystery, Romance, Alternate Universe, Drama (this one is really hard to peg into a certain "genre")

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: "'No one's been re-sorted in ages," Ron had told him, dismissing the subject blithely.' With the onslaught of the second war on Voldemort, there is a sea of change about to sweep the Wizarding world. In this time of building chaos and confusion, Hogwarts is told to re-instate their policy on re-sorting their students. When Harry is forced into Slytherin House, he is left with more questions than he needs and answers no one can give him. Warning: Eventual SLASH. Boy/boy.

Seas of Green

Chapter One:

Reminisce

Harry rolled over, the silk of the sheets sliding pleasantly over his skin. His eyes took in the opalescent feeling of these covers. The soft snores of his dorm mates were nothing like what he was used to, and somehow that made them incredibly intimidating.

Not even Crabbe and Goyle snored as badly as Ron.

It was time to wake up. No one else was awake. Harry wasn't hungry. He wasn't tired. And he wasn't comfortable in this extremely comfortable bed.

The golden edges of morning were starting to creep in around his consciousness, the early morning sky was just now starting to take on that hazy, dreamlike beauty that he remembered watching from afar. It should be, but Harry knew that it wasn't, and he doubted that anything could be so beautiful as the Gryffindor sunrises.

His clock on the bedside table said Three A.M.

Restless and entirely awake, Harry rolled over again. This bed was too comfortable. He'd never slept in something so comfortable in his life. He'd always thought that beds were supposed to be somewhere between hard and soft; not this strange softness that left you feeling as if you were floating. This wasn't supposed to feel so good, it was supposed to be hard and stiff and something that he'd never want to sleep in again.

That thought brought Harry to several un-satisfactory conclusions about his own traitorous sub-conscious.

"No one's been re-sorted in ages," Ron had told him, dismissing the subject blithely.

Harry shook his head. Ron should go away. But he couldn't, because he was as far as Ron could be right now.

No, that's not true. He wasn't nearly as far as Sirius or his parents. Ron wasn't dead.

Harry remembered with perfect clarity the journey to Hogwarts, wild forest rushing past in a whirlwind of dull greens and browns and Ron had been talking animatedly about Quidditch and who the new captain would be.

As the first years had finished taking their seats, Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat.

"Good evening! Welcome to Hogwarts. Before I can allow you to eat your rather good suppers, I have a few announcements to make.

"To all first years, and those who seem to have forgotten over the years, the forest on the grounds is quite beautiful, but very dangerous. No student is allowed to enter the Forbidden Forest unless they have the permission of a teacher. Furthermore, while the security of Hogwarts has been improved, there is no excuse for any student to allow themselves to be put in any more danger than they absolutely must. Any student found outside their Common Rooms without specific permission from a teacher to be there will be punished harshly.

"I can not plead the importance of these rules in our troubled times enough, and will do my best to insure the safety of all of my students."

Ron groaned loudly next to Harry as Dumbledore's speech seemed to roll on. Hermione shushed him, and Harry swore he could sense a heightened twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he started once again.

"As many of you have undoubtedly read, there will be a re-sorting of the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh years taking place after the meal. This is an old tradition that has been out of Hogwarts practice for many years, but I and the Board of Governors have decided that now would be a good time to re-implant it in our practices. In following years, we will only resort the fourth years, but we must catch up on lost time. I will ask those students who are to be resorted to stay after our feast to complete the ceremony in privacy.

"Thank you, and enjoy your meal."

The clock was not moving fast enough. These hours were starting to drive him mad.

The feast had been almost as unpleasant as the ceremony; people hailing him as their hero as he passed them, shouting out questions about whether or not he wanted anything from them. Harry never really did, but he didn't feel like telling them to go away.

Perhaps things would have been easier if he had. It might not have been such a surprise.

Harry had tried to calm his mind. He did all he could. He imagined a cold night's rain tapping against his bedroom window, a soothing noise that called to him and comforted him, telling him not to think of anything else, that it wasn't needed …

"Potter, Harry."

The rain was a thunderstorm, and he had just been struck by lightning.

Calming his mind again as he strode toward the stool, fighting to remain in control, he thought he saw Ron give him the thumbs-up out of the corner of his eye …

Harry followed McGonagall into the side hall they had waited in as first years. She closed the door, and Harry noticed a small stool was sitting in the middle of it with the Sorting Hat perched precariously upon it.

And his vision went dark.

"Hello, Potter. It seems you haven't been doing as well as expected in Gryffindor."

Clouds. Thunder. Rain. Peace.

"Clever, clever, very clever. You are hoping that I will see your bravery, but your cunning is more apparent by the second. You should have, from the beginning, been in – SLYTHERIN!"

Harry opened his eyes as he realized that it actually was raining. The rain was lashing the upper floors. It was hard to hear the thunder from the dungeons.

Not many things were beautiful these days. He couldn't even enjoy a thunderstorm as he once had.

There was a cough from the other bed.

Malfoy? Was he awake too?

The boy gave a short dreamish noise and rolled over, falling back to sleep with the weight of someone who's had too much mulled wine.

Harry exhaled, not having realized he was holding his breath.

Malfoy could be a real prat, and now that Harry had to live with him, it was much more important not to get on his bad side.

Harry rolled over.

After a while, he checked the clock again.

3:45 am.

It was bloody ridiculous.

The showers didn't leave much to imagination.

Everything in the Slytherin rooms was entirely too … sleek. Harry had expected the baths to be smaller versions of the Prefect Bathrooms.

They were just a few showers lined up in rows. There was one large bath, but it only had two taps; one for water, the other for foam. The bath looked much too ominous for his very first day in Slytherin; he opted for one of the larger shower stalls. The idea of being joined by Crabbe or Goyle was traumatizing without having to actually go through it.

"Potter! When do you wash? Morning or evening?"

Harry had blinked and responded slowly.

"Whenever I feel like it. I'm awake so early and late that it doesn't really matter anyway."

Malfoy had glared at him, rolled his eyes, and gone back to conversation.

Harry turned on the water.

He resented that his life was pretty much going to be controlled by Draco Malfoy until the end of his seventh year. He turned on the tap.

Pain ran over his face. His back. His legs. His chest.

The water was boiling!

It had never been able to get this hot in the Gryffindor tower; it was too far away from the boilers.

Harry had never thought about Hogwarts' plumbing system since his second year. He wondered if the Slytherins had worked it out that they were showering with a Muggle invention. Probably not.

He hadn't been in Slytherin for a day before he realized that the House Elves must be absolutely overworked. The wardrobes were twice the size of those found in Gryffindor, the furnishings much newer looking. The beds were huge, with seven pillows (four large, three decorative), and had a giant turned headboard, filled with ornate carvings. The wood must have been ebony, or reproduced ebony, for they were blacker than he had ever seen a bed before and had a very rich purplish brown undertone. The bedding was so huge it could have fit two of him.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to do with all the space.

The Slytherins also had an extra common room for fifth years up – apparently for those who wished to study quietly with friends. Harry hadn't seen anyone there yet.

Zabini had been the one forced to show Harry his way around the rooms.

He angrily pointed important things out to him, obviously wishing it to be over.

At the end of the hall of boy's dorms there was a spiral staircase that went up to the upperclassmen's dorms. Zabini explained this curtly to Harry, who wanted nothing more than to draw the curtains of his four-poster and lose himself there.

"At the end of the hall is the upperclassman's Common Room; it's mostly used for study groups. It's for fifth years up. Don't go in there if you're going to be loud."

Harry nodded.

"This is our dorm. Your trunk's already in." Blaise opened the door to a dormitory that was very much like Harry's old one had been, but without the warmth.

The beds seemed to be constructed from ebony rather than mahogany, and the hangings were a dark, deep green that Harry had to admit was very rich. The comforter matched, but his pillows were an assortment of greens, silvers, and black. The sheets were black silk.

"Bathrooms off to the side; you're the closest bed to them. Draco's bed is next to yours, make sure you don't bother him."

Keep quiet, head down, mind your own business.

This is how he would survive.

The dorm was freezing as Harry scrambled back into his pyjamas to look for a uniform he could wear.

He changed quickly, cursing all the while, wishing his hair and skin would have dried rather than crystallized. He saw Malfoy turn over and blearily open his eyes.

"Be quiet, will you?"

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

"Idiot," Malfoy snarled, and rolled over again, pushing a pillow against his ear.

Harry quickly tied his tie, remembering the discussion he had overheard last night. None of the Slytherins were too keen on the new Muggle addition to their uniforms. Grey trousers, black work shoes, a starch white shirt, grey sweater-vest and tie in house colors. Harry doubted that any of them really knew how to tie a tie.

Harry threw on his clothes for the day and decided to get an early start on his project. He hadn't had access to a library as expansive as Hogwarts' all summer and had been mulling his plan over without even knowing whether it was possible or not. His book bag was heavy across his shoulders, the Invisibility Cloak stifling over its weight as he made his way down to the library in the middle of the night.

When he arrived at the heavy doors, he found them locked and performed a quick Alohomora charm.

There weren't too many students who would already be keen on studying.

But Harry knew that he needed to be. If things were going to work this year, he had to educate himself, and fast. If what he thought he could do would work, he needed to know everything he about it.

He searched the library by wandlight; looking for the section he needed.

Mind magic, mind magic …

It was buried far at the back and on the second landings. Apparently it wasn't a subject that most Hogwarts students delved into. The books were coated with dust. Harry grabbed the first book he could find, sat at the nearest table, and read.

Harry didn't notice he was late for breakfast until Madame Pince came into the library.

She didn't notice the faint brush of invisible material as he walked past her.

Before Harry reached the Great Hall, he grabbed at his cloak and stuffed it into his bookbag. He'd have to make an appearance there eventually; avoiding it would only make things harder.

Ron wasn't happy at all. Harry hoped that he didn't have to share classes with him.

When Harry returned from the hall, he treaded over to Ron and Hermione wearily, shock evident on his face.

"Harry, glad to have you back. Seamus and I were just arguing about-" Ron's voice trailed off in Harry's ears. Ron's mouth was still moving, but Harry couldn't hear what it was saying. Hermione was looking at him with worry on her face.

"Harry? Are you okay?"

Harry looked up at her, and she gasped slightly. His tie had turned itself green with silver accents, and Ron narrowed his eyes. Harry laughed, trying to hide his hysteric panic.

"Why do you ask?"

Harry's voice cracked mid-sentence. Hermione's concerned look deepened. Harry could see the pleas forming behind her eyes, the 'whys' and 'how did this happens' …

"I've been resorted into Slytherin."

Her brow furrowed, and her grip on his arm tightened slightly. He looked at his feet, fearing Ron's reaction, fearing hers, and when he looked up, Ron was being called to the Sorting himself.

He doubted he would ever forget that final look on Ron's face. There was confusion, and betrayal, and a number of other emotions he never wanted to see there again. Hermione didn't let go of his arm.

The Hall was noisy and boisterous, far more so than any morning he remembered.

A slight hush came over the Gryffindor table when Harry settled at the very end of the Slytherin table, his head down.

Harry tried not to notice that his old house was staring at him.

Snape was already distributing new schedules to the younger classmen, who sneered at having to take classes they didn't want or thanked him curtly. He would be moving on to the sixth years next. Harry had worked out his schedule last night.

Transfiguration was first for Harry. Great. He really didn't want to deal with this first thing in the morning … the Gryffindors would be angry, he just knew it.

Transfigurations, Defense, lunch, a free period afterwards, and then Languages with Professor Vector. He wondered if Hermione would be in the class as well.

Snape was speaking with Pansy Parkinson. She seemed fairly excited at his suggestions.

"You'll be sleeping with the other sixth year boys; luckily we have room left in their dormitory," Snape sneered the word "luckily", as if it was not lucky at all. And it really wasn't. "The password is Serpentine, which should be easy enough for anyone to remember."

"Perhaps we should set up his schedule now, to allow Potter tomorrow to get used to his new settings," McGonagall told Snape briskly. Harry privately thanked her.

"Very well." Snape drew out a blank timetable and McGonagall magicked his OWL results to him. Harry felt his spirits fall even lower when Snape read over them.

"You've received top marks in Defense, would you like that to be your focus?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded, looking anywhere but at Snape's face.

Sounds of scribbling; Snape had just put him into Defense.

"What sort of Defense are you looking for?" McGonagall added helpfully, throwing a reproachful look at Snape.

"Certainly not an Auror, you don't have the potions capabilities or the grades, and-"

"With Professor Slughorn teaching advanced potions, yes he does," McGonagall snapped.

"I was thinking of Education," Harry mumbled.

Snape's eyebrows raised.

"Education?" He clarified, his tones getting menacingly quiet.

"Or curse breaking. But being an auror still has its appeal."

Harry hated the blood rushing to his face. Passionately hated it.

"You'll need to be in top form in academics; all of the jobs you're looking at require top notch education. I know you'll need to take our Languages crash course. I daresay that Professor Vector will have room. History of Magic as well … Binns isn't particularly picky about who he accepts into his sixth year. You could always contest your abysmal OWL History score. Should we automatically sign you up for all the classes you passed into?"

McGonagall glanced at his OWLs.

"He won't need Care of Magical Creatures or divination. But with Slughorn teaching Potions this year, I'm sure he could make it in his class." McGonagall glared at Snape as she told him this, and Snape scribbled Harry into Slughorn's Potions class. "That leaves him open for an Independent Study in Defense or Languages. Which would you prefer, Potter?"

"Uhm …. Defense, if you don't mind."

"Good choice. You'll need it. I would also suggest spending extra time with your languages; reviewing Runes wouldn't be too bad of an idea, though there isn't room in that class. I'm sure Professor Vector could give you some study sheets. You'll have to set up your I.S. this week, or it won't go through. Show it to Professor Snape once you have all your plans ready, and you'll be squared away for the rest of the year." McGonagall stepped away from the desk briskly. "I must go speak with my Gryffindors now, if you don't mind. Good night."

"Thank you, McGonagall," Snape dismissed her, and Harry was left alone with him.

"Follow me, I must make a speech to the rest of the Slytherins, but first I order you not to push the line. Not one Slytherin will put up with you this year, and you are in a very dangerous situation. Do you agree?"

Harry agreed.

The Transfigurations classroom was halfway across the school and up several flights of stairs. If he wanted to get there early, he'd have to leave now.

Somehow, he wasn't buzzing with anticipation like he usually was on the first day of school. Normally he, Ron, and Hermione would be thinking about what they'd end up studying in the next year, and how they'd manage to survive Potions. This time around, Harry didn't have to worry about Potions and Hermione wasn't going on about their new classes.

"Harry!"

Hermione?

Harry turned slowly on his heel, to make sure this wasn't a joke.

"You … are talking to me?"

"Of course I'm talking to you," She walked towards him, rolling her eyes. "What's your first class?"

Harry, startled she had even taken the chance to talk to him, snapped himself out of his daze.

"Transfigurations."

"Oh, that's what we've got."

Harry caught the note of anxiety in her voice.

"Good I found you, then, I guess I just thought I'd better warn you. Ron's not happy, and neither is Seamus. You know how they can be, and they're being even worse than usual." Her voice sounded strange to Harry, choked up and frustrated. He'd never heard her talk like this.

She looked down the hall, her eyes fuzzing over, and Harry heard some other Gryffindors coming.

"I've got to go; I'm still your friend, don't worry about me. Just … I don't know, keep your head down and I'll try to talk Ron into being supportive. I don't know how much I'll be able to do, though."

"Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione gave him a quick hug and ran off, and Harry had to remind himself that he should wait to follow her for a bit.

He could hear Dean and Seamus laughing about something ahead, and wondered what it was about.

Potter's left the Hall.

Draco couldn't say he wasn't grateful. He hadn't thought he'd be able to handle him for more than fifteen minutes. Perhaps not even that long.

Pansy was primping herself next to him. No matter what she does, she always looks like a cow.

"Draco, what class do you have first?" Blaise asked him from the other side of Pansy.

"Transfigurations, as always. You?"

"The same."

He looked back down at his breakfast, plucking at the eggs. They were disgustingly dry.

"I never would have guessed it; you're quite rotten in the subject," Draco sneered.

Blaise smirked at him; it was certainly common knowledge that he'd done something awful to that OWL judge.

Draco smirked back. It wasn't unexpected.

"I suppose we'll have to deal with Potter then, too. All Gryffindors get a free ride into Transfigurations."

Pansy simpered in her seat; she obviously had not been able to make it. McGonagall was always particularly hard on her.

"You look absolutely fabulous today, Draco, if you don't mind me saying so," she says, leaning closer to him.

"Why, thank you, but don't you think it's a bit early in the year to be starting in on this, Parkinson? We haven't even gone to our first class."

She batted her eyelashes. It isn't appealing in the slightest.

I must have been mad to ever have fallen for her. Draco grimaces at the thought. Twice.

Harry reached the classroom in more than enough time; McGonagall had opened the door and Harry filed in silently behind her.

Choosing a spot at the back, Harry took his bag off his shoulder and put it to the side of his chair.

Every once in a while, a student would look back at him as they filed into the room, but he busied himself with leafing through his Transfiguration Book. He hadn't read through it enough, and he needed something to make himself occupied. Perhaps no one would bother him if he were thoroughly uninteresting.

He could feel the glares, the sneers; the jeers were plain to anyone who listened, but he would not look up. He knew who they were, why they were glaring, but didn't want to admit it. Not yet. Not now.

So, instead, he buried his eyes in his book to be sure they couldn't see his sadness.

What was he thinking? There was no sadness to see.

Denial is bliss.

His thoughts were interrupted when Malfoy and Zabini showed up, closest to being late as they could while receiving nothing but a reproachful glance from McGonagall. Normally points would have been taken. This time, they weren't.

"Well, congratulations to you all for passing your OWL. This year, preparation for the NEWTs will take place above all, and it will not be easy, and it will not be fun, but the rewards are surely worth it."

"To any of you who have an empty class period or are wishing to take an Independent Study in Transfigurations, I am more than happy to act as supervisory professor. I highly suggest the Independent Study if you plan to go on to University or straight into the Ministry of Magic. In both cases it is important to show dedication to your choice of study. For those of you with jobs already set up for after graduation, you may want to leave the idea for now. Sometimes it is best to pace oneself." She moved through the class, glancing at students every once in a while.

"However, should you wish to explore the idea, I offer my services. All study plans are due to Professor Dumbledore by the end of next week with a professor's signature."

McGonagall looked around the room and gave the smallest of smiles to Hermione.

"Now, we will be studying very advanced forms of transfiguration this year, including several very vital clues to the art of the Metamorphmagus. Next year, we will be studying in depth what it takes to become an Animagus. But for now, we should start on a good foot with some much-needed review …"

Harry grabbed a quill and started to take notes; perhaps Advanced Transfigurations wouldn't be as dull as he had thought.

Harry's Charms class was interesting; Flitwick had decided now was a good time to introduce them to do wordless incantations. Most people were having problems with this, but Harry wondered if it was simply a question of needing to do it, or lack of confidence. He'd have to do some more reading in the book on Occlumency and Meditation that he'd found. He had a feeling the two were linked.

He wondered if this was how Hermione thought.

Lunch was a slight fiasco, but he'd managed to ignore Ron and the rest of the disapproving Gryffindors, and soon he ended up in the library with a blank sheet of parchment in front of him. Harry had a feeling that the free period he had after lunch was meant to be used for his Independant Study; he had one every day after lunch except for Wednesdays, when he had a speech class instead. Why he'd been forced to take that, he had no idea. Probably something to do with his wish to go into education.

This part of the library was eerily quiet. No one really seemed all that interested in visiting it so early in the year. But Harry knew that he had to get his IS sorted out. If he didn't do it now, it was highly unlikely that he ever would.

Harry dipped his quill into his ink and held it over the page.

He started to write, not really knowing what he was doing.

It has to be Defense, but what kind of defense?

Perhaps … tying into curse-breaking … Celtic magic? Or Egyptian? Or African?

Celtic magic sounds more interesting.

Celtic magic? It was a start.

Follow your instincts.

Madame Pince was reading a novel behind her desk.

"Excuse me, is there any way I could get hold of some books on multicultural magic?"

The librarian looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, eyeing him up. He rarely asked her for anything.

"That section is on the second floor."

She got up, winced, and took hold of Harry's arm. Two flights of stairs up, and all the way around to the very back of the library.

"Look all you want."

Harry nodded his thanks, smiling at her, and she left him to his own devices.

The first book he pulled out was written entirely in what looked like German. The second was an interesting blend of wizarding theology and ancient spellwork. Harry sat down and opened the book to the introduction.

The ancient art of Celtic magic is not very simple, nor is it entirely complex. It is simply in the way that modern-day society views magic that makes learning a less traditional form more difficult …

Harry stilled in his chair, eyes widening as he read on.

He spent the rest of the afternoon cozily lounging in the library, his every breath hanging on each turn of the page as he swept from new idea to new idea to new idea.

The autumn air turned cold as he read, leaves starting to shrivel and brown, but he was miles away from all of that. A chill breeze rattled the window behind him. His regret that he hadn't told Ron and Hermione about his first sorting, his fears of life in Slytherin, and his anticipation of the challenging year ahead seemed to blow away with the summer; trepidation made much less real than what he was reading.

Harry didn't realize what he'd done until he had drank half his cup of tea.

The rather large window had been giving him light, but daylight was well past gone, and it must have been around seven.

Strange; strange, but gratifying.

Harry wondered what Hermione would think of him. A small smile spread across his face.