Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

A/N: This is just an idea I wanted to try out.

All it took, to change the entire course of Harry Potter's existence, was a simple decision. A simple decision by Voldemort, made on a half heard prophecy from an unreliable seer.

***

The Boy-Who-Lived moved slowly to the front. Slightly nervous, but excited at the prospect of using a magical hat to determine where he was going to spend the rest of his days at Hogwarts, he sat down on the stool, waiting for the Sorting Hat to be put on his head.

As it descended, all eyes were on him. Some friendly, some not-so-friendly, and many just purely curious. So many decisions hinged on this one moment.

After ten seconds of silence, the brim of the hat ripped open, shouting out "GRYFFINDOR!!"

A roar sounded from a sea of Red and Gold, students rejoicing in the fact that the savior of the Wizarding world had been sorted into their own house. That he was like them. Most of the other students gave polite applause, with a notable lack of enthusiasm from the Slytherin table.

It's safe to say that their Head of House would have had a similar reaction as his students, if not for the fact that his duties required him to show minimal bias. As such, he settled for a polite applause, the look of slight disgust never leaving his face.

The Headmaster, of course, couldn't have been happier.

***

Harry Potter watched Neville Longbottom bounce over to the Gryffindor table, a grin never leaving the pudgy boy's face. It was to be expected, of course, that the son of Frank and Alice would be in the House that had long counted their family among its numbers. It had been a tragedy what had happened to the boy's parents and the boy as well, if Harry was honest with himself, but that didn't change the fact that a spoiled brat was exactly what Neville was.

It was no secret that since the boy had lost his parents and vanquished the Dark Lord, his gram had been waiting on him hand and foot, and when she couldn't, she hired people to do it for her. Being pureblood certainly had its advantages at times, and being old money like they were had allowed for the extravagant lifestyle that the boy had.

He was constantly in the news, going to different parties, meeting a myriad of dignitaries, and signing lots of contracts for product endorsement, all before the age of eleven. Of course, he never did any of this stuff without adult supervision, but the interviews he gave recently pointed to the fact that he was thoroughly enjoying all the attention, if nothing else.

Harry put the boy out of his mind, determined not to allow such a trivial person ruin his day. After all, he had been waiting for this day for a long time. Suddenly, his daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of his name being called. "Harry Potter!"

He made his way up to the stool, Professor McGonagall holding the hat. Most students were watching out of courtesy, but others were whispering to each other, indifferent to where the black haired boy with Killing Curse eyes ended up.

The Potions Professor was certainly interested, however, and paid close attention to what was about to happen. It wasn't everyday that the child of your worst enemy and your greatest love stood before you, taunting you with his looks alone. It was obvious that the boy was going to end up just like his parents, with the obnoxious and dense students that populated the House of Gryffindor.

Harry was startled slightly when the hat spoke into his mind.

'Ah, what a mind you have, my boy. What a mind indeed. The things you could do with the right guidance. I think Slytherin would give the right kind of guidance to put you at the top.'

'I would rather you didn't do that.'

'Oh? And why is that? And it had better be a good reason, otherwise you're going where I tell you, and there will be no discussion about it.'

So Harry told him. And showed him. He knew vaguely how the Sorting Hat worked and understood that the old piece of fabric could see memories, and ideas, and even obscure plans for the future. It didn't take more than ten to fifteen seconds, since it was all just a big picture, but the hat got a chuckle out of it, before saying,

'I see. What better way to hide your true nature than by living it, eh? How very interesting. Very well, it'll have to be "RAVENCLAW!!"

There was polite clapping from the students, with a bit more enthusiasm from the Ravenclaws who, like everyone else, enjoyed adding to their numbers. Severus Snape had a look of shock, but realizing that he was not acting accordingly, quickly had his cold mask back over his face. His eyes, however, kept drilling into the head of Harry Potter, trying to figure out how the son of James Potter had ended up in house of intelligentsia. It would seem that the boy hadn't inherited his father's idiocy. He was determined to keep an eye on this boy, though, because only time would tell the true nature of young Harry Potter.

And damn him to hell if he didn't have to deal with the little Lion Prince himself, Neville Longbottom. He drank from his cup, glad he had chosen to drink wine with dinner.

***

The pureblood agenda had always been the one that Voldemort promoted and believed in, so despite the fact that Harry Potter was like him in terms of blood heritage, it was Neville Longbottom who was more obviously a threat. He refused to even think that the half-blood could have been the more powerful, despite the fact that he was a half-blood himself.

Unfortunately for the Potters, despite the fact that baby Harry was not chosen for execution, Pettigrew had still given away their location, and during the raid on the Longbottom Estate, which was repaired after the attack, the Lestranges made their way to Godric's Hollow, and tortured and executed the James and Lily, before attempting the same with the infant.

Something went wrong, however, and when Rodolphus Lestrange unleashed the killing curse on the crying child, a blinding pink light shone, making Harry glow, and catching the curse mere millimeters from the boy's chest. In an instant, quickly enough that the Death Eater couldn't move out of the way, the sickly green light slammed back into him, taking his life and sending a shockwave through the room that knocked out his wife and brother. The only mark left on Harry that indicated that anything had been at all wrong, was a small heart-shaped scar, right where his heart would be. In fact, if one didn't look for it, it was easily missed.

The Aurors would later find and arrest the two living Lestranges, and take the dead one to the Department of Mysteries to study the Dark Mark. Despite the need for human magic to make the mark function, the runes and magic from the original spell would continue to linger on the skin of the corpse for as long as they could preserve it.

That means a long, long time.

***

His first night as a Ravenclaw had been quite enjoyable. After being warned about deadly forests and restricted corridors, he and his fellow firsties followed the Ravenclaw prefect up to the tower, winding their way to the top of the staircase, where they knocked with the Eagle, which asked them a question.

"In what year was the Wizengamot founded?" Questions about the Wizarding world were not commonly asked to first years, considering that a couple of the students may not have access to that information yet, being muggleborn, but it served two purposes. One, to let the students get an idea of how the knocker worked, and what kind of questions they would be asked and expected to know the answers to, and two, to let them hear the answer to that question, and gain some knowledge about the world they were now immersed in.

There was a pregnant silence, and the prefect was about to answer, thinking no one knew the correct response, when Harry said, "1172".

That gained him looks of surprise from everyone, including the eagle, which didn't bother holding back its remarks.

"My, my, aren't you well read?" Harry gave a half smile and just shrugged. The eagle continued, "I'll be seeing what I can come up with to stump you, young one." Harry nodded, and they moved on, eager to see the inside of the tower.

***

Harry had spent much of his childhood in the ancestral Potter home, in Northern England. He had been raised mostly by Sirius Black with the help of Remus Lupin. The werewolf's presence had been kept quiet due to his lycanthropy, but he had provided support which was desperately needed at times.

It had been Remus Lupin that had saved Sirius from the fate of years under the torment of the dementors. Upon hearing of the betrayal by Peter Pettigrew, he had run off to find the rat bastard, and get some answers. Fortunately for all parties involved, Remus had found Sirius and calmed him down enough to avoid doing anything hasty.

This in turn led to Albus Dumbledore finding out about the last minute change of Secret Keeper. Peter Pettigrew was now a rat on the run from the law, with a bounty on his head like most other Death Eaters.

After the death of two of his best friends, and the almost death of their child, Sirius had mellowed out severely, and was no longer the wild, party-loving playboy he used to be. Instead, he set a good example for the youngster, teaching him theory on most of the well-known subjects of magic, starting at around age eight. It was a good age since Harry wouldn't be able to perform much of that magic until Hogwarts, but it let him get the foundations so that he would have a head start.

The messy-haired boy had been a sponge, soaking up everything he was taught, and reading everything he could get his hands on. By the time he was ten, Harry had to be convinced to wait until Hogwarts to learn anymore of the major subjects, because it would be no good if he got too far ahead in theory that he confused himself when learning the basics. It had been a bit of a struggle, but Harry had managed to convince Sirius and Remus to allow him to continue with his Arithmancy studies. It was his favorite subject, and he had decided that at 9 that he would love to be a Spell maker. That, of course, took an understanding of Arithmancy and Runes and magic in general that was far beyond him at the moment, but under the guidance of the Hogwarts staff, everyone in the house was sure that he could be great.

***

The common room was vast and open, students mingling around and getting to know each other and sharing stories of summer adventures. The prefect showed them the various couches and bookshelves, which Harry eyed with interest, before leading them to the dorms and showing them where they would be sleeping. Each student would have their own room, which would be theirs for the remainder of their time at Hogwarts, because Ravenclaws valued privacy immensely. Harry was showed his room, and left to get comfortable. His trunk was at the foot of his bed, and his belongings were laid out neatly on his bed. Obviously the work of the elves.

He set about loading his closet with his clothes. It was a somewhat large closet, and there was more than enough room to hold all his clothes and any other belongings he wanted to put in there. It would have come as no surprise if there was an expansion charm on it. He put all his books, which were quite numerous for a first year, ranging from Herbology to Arithmancy, fiction and non-fiction, big and small, on the book shelf opposite his bed. There was a wide window with curtains that looked out over the grounds. He could see the forbidden forest and Hagrid's hut.

It was already a bit late, and he was tired so rather than bother with going down stairs and dealing with people, he grabbed The Sarumanian Spellman, a fiction book about a great Spell maker who loses everything he has to the evil ruler, and must travel the world gathering followers to help him overthrow the tyrant.

***

His first class was Transfiguration, and the Ravenclaws had it with Hufflepuff. It was a very calm class, since the two houses had nowhere near the level of enmity between each other that Gryffindor and Slytherin had. Truth be told, any combination of houses aside from that one produced an amiable experience, but the complete bafflement of all of the staff, Albus Dumbledore refused to not pair the two rival houses for lessons.

The first lesson was how to turn a matchstick into a needle, and Harry had set about it with enthusiasm. He was the first to finish, and gained 10 points for Ravenclaw, but it certainly hadn't been a quick occurrence, which disappointed Harry a bit. He should have known better and somewhere in the back of his mind he did, but he had thought it would be easy with all his knowledge of theory. Seeing his disconcerted look, and recognizing in the face of many Ravenclaw students before him, the professor addressed the class while they all continued to work.

"Some of you are undoubtedly feeling frustrated by the lack of progress." Her eyes swept over the struggling youngsters. "I know many of your, Ravenclaws especially, have studied the necessary theory for this and then some. But what you must realize that the physical act of performing magic is far different than the mental understanding of what it does." Everyone in the class, Hufflepuffs as well, were now listening closely. "While it is much more helpful to have a full understanding of what is happening in the mechanics of the spell that you are attempting to perform, it takes time for your cores to become accustomed to casting any spells at all. And later, when you are well practiced, new spells will give you trouble, because your body and magic is incorporating the feeling of that particular spell, into your being. It's a bit more complicated than that, and I'm sure some of you will be doing research later, but that is the gist of why you can't perform magic the second you grab your wand." She snapped her fingers. "That is another reason. Your wand is not yet an extension of yourself, but when it is, everything becomes much easier."

***

Potions class was much less enjoyable than Transfiguration, due in large part to the overbearing and angry presence of one Severus Snape. His demeanor made it apparent that the man was rarely happy with anything, and certainly didn't enjoy teaching students. The first part of the class was spent delivering an eloquent speech about the art of making potions. While the man wasn't pleasant, it couldn't be said that he didn't truly love being a Potions Master.

Professor Snape had continually glared at Harry, but when he looked at the Professor closely, he could see a look of confusion and apprehension mixed in as well. Suddenly, Snape's attention was on him fully. "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry looked at him for a moment, completely baffled. Not by the question, no he knew the answer to that. He was confused as to why this man would be asking a first year such a question on the first day. This shouldn't have been covered until at least semester. He looked at Snape with a dull expression, trying to convey what he was thinking without getting in trouble. "A powerful sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death. Sir."

Snape's eyes narrowed, clearly believing Harry's answer to be a fluke. He tried again. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane, Potter?"

Harry wasn't sure what this guy's problem was, but he answered anyways. He had time later to figure out what was up the professor's ass. "There is no difference, professor; they are the same plant, also known as aconite."

Snape raise an eyebrow, before saying, "Well, it seems you didn't inherit your father's distinct lack of brains." None of the students in the class laughed at the insult.

"No, sir, apparently not." Snape wasn't done, however, and made one last ditch effort at making the boy fail his little quiz.

"And where, Potter, would you get a bezoar if I asked you to get one for me?" sneered the Potions Master, angry that the son of his greatest tormenter was getting these answers correct.

Harry had grown tired of this stupid little game, and decided to switch it up a little bit. "In the supply cabinet, I would imagine, sir. After all, this is a potions classroom."

There were some giggles from the other students, but they were immediately silenced by the searing glare of Professor Snape. "Twenty Points from Ravenclaw, Potter and a detention with me tonight!" He bore down on Harry, looming over him. Harry was unimpressed and merely glanced upward at the man standing over him. "I should have known it was too good to be true. Spoiled rotten and given the idea that you can say whatever you want and get away with it." His voice dropped and it was a harsh whisper as he bent closer to Harry's ear to make emphasize his point. "You'll find that life is not anywhere as easy as you seem to think it is, and I will disabuse you of your misconceptions soon enough. Be here at 7 for your detention." He stood up and strode back to his desk, but before he got there, Harry said one thing.

"Stomach of a goat, sir."

Snape's step faltered for a moment, but he regained his composure and set about completing the class.

***

The next couple of months passed by in a bit of a blur. He had learned to keep his head down in Potions, considering he didn't want to bring any sort of attention to himself, no matter who it was. Professor Snape had, at first, tried to goad him into responding the way he had in the first class, but when he continued to fail, he opted to ignore the boy, which is what Harry preferred.

The rest of his classes progressed nicely, keeping good grades, but allowing a few other students to stay higher than him in the class standings. Anything he could do to avoid bringing attention to himself would be a positive step in the long run. He kept doing independent studies in Arithmancy and Runes, because he wouldn't be able to take those classes until third year. It was slow going without a teacher, so he could only do so much.

He had run into one problem, and that had been with flying lessons. Out on the grounds, with Madam Hooch presiding over the lesson, he had been floating around slowly, when of his classmates had lost control of their broom and ended up flying too high. One hundred and fifty feet above the earth high. Unable to heed Madam Hooch's calls for her to come down, the poor girl had panicked and managed to dislodge herself from the broom, heading for the ground, and what would likely be her death, had Harry not intervened. He had been thirty feet from the Slytherin girl, not a short distance, with the instructor too far away to do anything to help. Zooming down to the girl in mid-fall from his height of eighty feet, he managed to grab the back of her robes twenty feet from the ground, but her weight had been too much to handle, and he was dragged out of the sky with her, both of them hitting the ground with a hard thud. He had woken up in the Hospital Wing, informed that the girl had survived thanks to his efforts, but had ended up with two broken legs.

Not a bad trade for being alive.

Professor Flitwick, at the insistence of Madam Hooch, had offered Harry the Seeker's spot on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Their starting seeker had left last year, and the boy's speed and agility on a broom, had convinced the flying instructor that he was perfect for the spot. She wasn't really showing House preference, per se, but she did love a great match, and he would raise the level of competition a notch with his skill.

Internally, Harry had cursed himself for showing his ability with a broom and drawing the eyes of the staff so soon, but he also realized he couldn't have just let her drop to her death without at least trying. Doing that would haunt him. He had settled for promising the professor that he would try out next year, fair and square against the new seeker. It was the best he could do for now. The most that would happen was that people would talk about the heroic act a little bit, maybe mention his offer to be on the team, and then forget about it. That's what he wanted.

A number of Slytherins had nodded appreciatively to him in the halls or during meals, thankful that he had stuck his neck out for one of their own. During some of these times, it made him wonder what it would have been like if he had listened to the Sorting Hat's advice, but that was useless speculation. It had only been a month so far, and there was plenty of time to make his current situation into something highly beneficial.

Figuring that it was best to start early, he had attempted to make friends, and been successful. It didn't take much work to join in conversations and help some of the other Ravenclaws with their homework when they asked. During their study sessions, a few of his housemates had picked up on the fact that he had a level of intelligence that was not reflected in his class standing, and had actually confronted him about it, curious to know why.

His response had given them something to contemplate. "I could flaunt my intelligence, and draw attention to myself, allowing people to bog me down with constant requests for help in their studies, or I could continue as I am and achieve more, unbidden by unimportant matters." That had raised an eyebrow or two, and given the other students an idea as to what kind of person Harry Potter was.

He had also noticed that the Boy-Who-Lived was gaining plenty of attention, but not in a good way. He was in the habit of mouthing off to the professors, believing he was untouchable. Professors Snape and McGonagall had moved quickly and harshly to disabuse him of that notion. Longbottom, spending most of September and some of October in detention, had become a valuable asset in the fight against grime.

It was the end of October, during the Halloween Feast, when Harry Potter had his first taste of how truly exciting life at Hogwarts might actually end up being. Enjoying a piece of pumpkin pie, Harry was discussing the latest Herbology essay with Padma Patil, debating about the benefits of using a repotting spell over doing it manually. Harry's position was that the magic of the spell might interact adversely with the natural magic of the plant, causing a disruption in the organisms system that would lead to its death.

Padma, on the other hand, was adamant that the creators of the spell had taken that into account when making the spell and that the plants would only be harmed if the person tried to manhandle the plant and ended up breaking a stem. No matter how many times Harry tried to convince her to see his point of view, she refused, too stubbornly in fact. That sort of self-assurance would be harmful to her in the long run. The green-eyed boy, knowing that a Spell maker could not actually account for the ambient and natural magic of a living thing, since it differed for each one, was secure in the knowledge of his correctness. Knowing that it was pointless to try and change her mind, he said, "We'll just have to wait and see what Sprout says."

Taking this as an admittance of defeat, Padma had a smug grin and went back to enjoying her ice cream. Harry, though, knowing he was right, didn't mind her attitude. She would see. His fork was half-way back to his mouth with some pie, when the doors to the Great Hall slammed open and in rushed Quirrell, panting and huffing and puffing, spitting out, "There's a troll in the dungeons. Just thought you should know," before collapsing.

This had students panicking and teachers on alert immediately.

Professor Dumbledore's voice rang out over the Great Hall, "Prefects! Please escort your students back to your houses, where you will remain for the evening. Slytherin House, please remain here until this problem is taken care of." With that, he left out the side door, followed by the other teachers, some of whom would be helping with students, while others would be tackling this troll.

On the way out of the Great Hall, Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom rushed past him, but not fast enough, as he heard Neville tell the redhead, "I know you don't like her, but if she's down there, and she gets killed, it'll be our fault! We have to go find her." And with that, they peeled away from the back of the group, heading down a side corridor.

Harry was intrigued. He knew that there was no way that those two would be able to handle a fully grown troll. To be honest, neither would he, but he wanted to see this. He didn't know it now, and would never admit to it later, but Harry had a bit of a saving people thing and in the back of his head, he was keeping open the option of saving the girl himself. But for now, he was really just interested in seeing a troll, and was planning on letting teachers handle it.

Making sure no one was looking he ducked into an alcove and draped himself in his father's Invisibility Cloak. Sirius had given it to him as an 11th birthday present, and told him to carry it at all times. Despite the man's own maturing, he had wanted Harry to have it available in case the chance to wreak havoc should present itself. He wasn't much of a prankster, but his godfather was a man he respected and looked up to, so he did as he was asked.

And now he was glad for it. Slipping out from his hiding spot, he followed the two boys who had just ducked around corner. He managed to catch up with them, but stayed far enough back that they wouldn't hear his feet stomping along behind them. They made it to the bathroom that someone had reported Hermione to be hiding in, and dread washed over them, Harry included. There was a girl in there, and the sounds from behind that door told them all that so was the troll. The sound of grunts and shattering porcelain grew louder as Neville wrenched the door open.

The troll stopped and just stared at them, and the Boy-Who-Lived sprinted over to Hermione, who was hiding under the farthest sink. The troll swung at Neville's moving form, but missed and crushed another with his massive club. Ron tried to distract the beast with a rock from the floor, throwing it at the troll's face. Big mistake. It swatted at Ron with its free hand, sending the boy into the wall and knocking him unconscious. Angry at his friend's defeat, Neville shot a Jelly-Legs curse at the lumbering oaf, hoping to slow it down, but failed miserably, and was slammed with the club, sending him into a stall, battered and bloody, and desperately in need of medical attention.

Harry hadn't moved from the doorway, watching the action with awe, but as he saw the troll move towards Hermione, and raise its club, he knew he had to do something. Thinking for something, anything, his mind came up with something. Just before the club descended, he pointed his wand and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club stayed suspended in the air, hanging over the troll's head, as if waiting for some hidden signal. The troll, searching for its club, looked up, and Harry released the spell, bringing the heavy hunk of wood down on the trolls face, sending it tumbling to the floor with a floor shaking thud. Hermione was staring at Harry, and he got scared for a minute, before he realized that she couldn't see him. He would rather not have gotten involved, but as long as she didn't see his face, everything was okay. She was pointing at where he was standing.

"Who's there!?" Harry didn't say anything but he heard the rushed footsteps of the teachers coming his way, so he ducked out of the door, allowing it to close, prompting Hermione to yell, "Wait! I just want to know who saved me!" He turned and sprinted as quietly as he could down the hall past the professors. He could still hear her yelling, but the teachers were there now and set about dealing with everything.

Harry moved as quickly as he could to get back to Ravenclaw Tower, hoping that they hadn't had time to notice he was missing. And if they had, he'd have to come up with an excuse. Getting lost would work, but it was weak. It was likely the only thing that would work though. He'd just have to say that he lost track of everyone in the confusion. He took off his invisibility cloak as he approached the stairwell leading to the tower, and then answered the question to get in. As he stepped into the room, people turned to him and breathed a sigh of relief. He was immediately swamped with "Where have you been?" and "Are you alright?"

He crossed his fingers and told them how he had gotten lost. All the while he was thinking in his head that if the rest of the year was this exciting, he was going to love Hogwarts.

A/N: Alright. So I just wanted to try a different type of Harry. A quiet, more sneaky one. And a smart one. As you can see, this is a Boy-Who-Lived Neville, but Harry was still saved by his mother, and the death of Rodolphus will certainly give him enemies in the form of Bellatrix and Rabastan, but that will be much later. I'm hoping this will have original ideas. The first and maybe second years will be quicker than the others, simply because the timeline doesn't vary until the third year, since Sirius is free. It will not be my main focus. My other story will. And with school and work, updates on both will be a bit slower. But I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think. Thanks! Bye.