Author's Notes: I have expanded the average class size of each year to to 200 students, which scales according to my more expanded perception of Britain's magical population.
Logical Potter
Chapter One
The hall was silent for a very long time. And then the far left table roared.
"Potter!"
The Houses were equally old. But Slytherin had the oldest families with the strictest upbringings, so while they clapped and cheered for every new Firstie, they never quite lost their heads. Not like the Gryffindors, who sometimes acted as if the Sorting was a Quidditch match, especially when a Weasley was involved.
Not today though. Today, hats were thrown, fists pumped in the air. The Slytherins roared like lions.
"Well, that was unexpected," Professor Flitwick said mildly. Trelawny looked like she was about to prophecy herself into an early aneurysm.
"Indeed." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled thoughtfully as he watched the small boy walk stiffly toward his new House.
"Potter! Potter! Potter!"
Dumbledore didn't fail to note the defiant edge in the chant, just like he didn't fail the notice the belated but crisp applause from the rest of the Houses. The Hufflepuffs were best at smiling through their puzzlement, while the Ravenclaws chattered excitedly. It was the Gryffindors who were oddly subdued.
"Potter! Potter! Potter!"
Minerva must be disappointed.
Ah well. She'll get over it. Severus however—Severus looked like he'd swallowed one of his potion ingredients.
"Congratulations, Severus," Dumbledore called. "I'm sure he'll be a credit to your House."
"Of course." Still, he refused to meet Dumbledore's eye. It made Dumbledore wonder what did the man see. Lily's son or James' son?
My poor boy.
Harry was stunned. They were cheering his name. Shaking his head. Slapping his shoulder as if he'd done something right.
"Good to have you, Potter!"
"And they say we Slytherins are all Dark—"
"Wait until the Daily Prophet gets a hold of this—
Harry felt good. Until Malfoy started waving like a maniac.
"Harry!"
It was impossible to ignore him. Everyone was watching, and so Harry reluctantly took the offered seat.
"Glad to see you picked the right side after all," Malfoy sniffed. Before Harry could reply, the blond boy began gesturing grandly and talking over the Sorting. "This is Crabbe and Goyle. That's Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass—"
Pansy smiled sharply and tossed her short back bob. Pale, pony-tailed Daphne waved from behind Millicent's bulk. Harry nodded back and did his best not to cringe at Crabbe and Goyle. They were just as big (maybe even bigger) than Dudley.
"And this is, of course, Theodore Nott—"
Nott was a sandy-haired, stocky boy with blue eyes a shade darker than Malfoy's. "Nice to meet you." Nott's hand was baby-soft, although his grip was as firm and respectful as his crisp white collar. Harry had to work hard to swallow both his bewilderment and his instant distrust. Boys like Nott didn't bully boys like Harry, but they didn't shake their hands either.
"Harry—" Malfoy's voice was suddenly swallowed by the sudden applause. It seemed like the Sorting had ended.
Pansy frowned. "Is that—?"
A tall, olive-skinned boy sauntered straight up to their table.
"'Lo Malfoy." The boy's white teeth flashed. Harry could tell this was a boy that girls would find good-looking.
"Zabini," Pansy sneered. "I thought you'll end up in Ravenclaw, like your mother."
Except Pansy perhaps. But Zabini was unfazed. "From what I remember of your mother, she had a fantastic nose. Pity you didn't seem to inherit it."
Nott choked. Daphne swallowed a giggle. Even Malfoy was grudgingly impressed. And so, despite Pansy's protests, somehow, Zabini ended on sitting on Harry's left.
"Blaise Zabini," Zabini offered with his hand and a flick of artful black curls. Far behind him, an old man with an impressive beard rose at the staff's table.
"Harry Potter," Harry responded as firmly as he can. He kept one eye on the taller boy, and the other on Headmaster Dumbledore.
Most powerful wizard in the world, y'know…
"Of course," Zabini replied breezily. Too breezily.
"—Remember, the third corridor is off limits. Now, without further ado—"
Harry blinked, but then there was food, good food on golden platters. It all appeared suddenly, magically.
I could get used to this.
Unfortunately, Harry barely filled his plate when Malfoy jumped him.
"So, Harry," Malfoy asked in between bird-like bites of honeyed ham. "Where have you been all these years? You wouldn't believe the things they wrote in the papers."
"With relatives," Harry answered distractedly. It was hard eating with robes. But everyone else seemed to manage the voluminous sleeves easily, so Harry refused to complain, just like he quietly ignored the stares and whispers. Some of the Ravenclaws were still pointing.
"Were you living on the Continent?"
"Mmm." Harry barely traveled beyond Surrey. The Dursleys didn't take their charity case when they went on tropical getaways.
"He's probably not allowed to tell," Nott drawled. "Can't have the world knowing where the Boy-Who-Lived lives, right?"
"Well, at least tell us who your guardians are," Draco demanded. "Is it one of the German families? Father's been speculating for ages."
Harry took a long sip of pumpkin juice.
"Surely they didn't put you with the Russians!"
"Idiot, he'll be at Durmstrong." Nott rolled his eyes.
Harry hadn't originally planned to hide his origins. But Harry really didn't like the way Malfoy kept pressing him, and it wasn't as if it was the blond boy's business anyway.
"Were you ever in Italy?" Zabini suddenly asked. "Perhaps near Rome? I grew up around there."
"Everyone knows where you grew up," Pansy snapped.
"You should come visit, Parkinson. It'll do wonders for your complexion."
Harry watched, fascinated, as Pansy's face changed to match her boiled carrots.
"Y-you—!"
"Hey Zabini," Nott cut in. "You heard about the Tutshill Tornadoes?"
Zabini snorted. "They still can't get a single win off the Magpies."
"Yeah, but I heard the Magpies might sack their Seeker, so…"
"Seriously?" For the first time in too-long-a-while, Draco turned away from Harry. "Campbell is the best Seeker the Magpies have had since Murray from the '40s."
"I heard it's a matter of purse."
Pansy stabbed her broccoli. "This is way too greasy," she muttered loudly.
Harry ignored her. The broccoli was just fine. He would know after all of Aunt Petunia's Zone diets.
"Boomslang," the prefect ordered.
'Welcome little ones,' hissed the black snake on the portrait.
The Slytherin Common Room was a grand high-ceiling affair in green and silver. It looked like something out of the telly. When Harry mentioned as much, he was met with stares.
"A telly?" Pansy blinked. "What's that?"
"Never mind," Harry said hastily. He eyed the snakes engraved and embroidered from ceiling to carpet. It was kind of creepy, in a very cool way. Harry was sure Dudley had nothing like this at his boarding school.
Malfoy pretended he wasn't impressed.
"Half of the dungeons are underwater, so sometimes you'll see the Giant Squid pass by—"
The prefect was a pale, sharp-chinned thing that could pass as Malfoy's sister. When Nott muttered as much, Malfoy sniffed.
"I think my great Aunt married into the Farleys."
"My cousin married a Farley last year," Pansy chimed in.
"We know, Pansy," Nott drawled. "We were there at the wedding."
Zabini yawned.
The moment the prefect dismissed them, some of the upper years began to drift toward the Firsties.
"If it isn't the Boy-Who-Lived."
"Pucey," Draco inclined his head.
"Malfoy." Pucey nodded and turned toward Harry. "I'm Adrian Pucey. Pleasure to have you aboard. Can't say I'm not surprised to see you here though."
There was a beat when everyone waited for Harry's response. Harry only shrugged.
"See you around." Pucey drifted back toward his couch, where a group of large, hulking boys sat.
"That's the Quidditch team," Draco hissed.
Harry was just happy he had his own bed. Sure, it was a bunk bed, but there were curtains for privacy, and the mattress was softer than Dudley's.
"You better not roll in your sleep, Nott," Malfoy snapped.
Nott jiggled his leg in response. Malfoy had tried to pair with Harry, but Harry had grabbed a bottom bunk and before Malfoy could fully swallow his disapproving-disappointed expression, Zabini had claimed Harry's top bunk.
"I like the height," Zabini had said blandly.
Crabbe and Goyle ended up bunking together. Magically, the bed didn't collapse.
Harry was busy plumping his pillows for the fourth time when he heard a snort.
"What?" Harry asked, a bit too quickly. His hands dropped from the pillow.
"Oh, no, I was just thinking." It was Nott, stretched out on his bed with his shoes still on. "I'm sure someone made a fortune tonight."
"What?" Malfoy asked officiously. Somehow, his hair was still perfect, even in his dragon pajamas.
"I'm sure there was some betting bowl on where The-Boy-Who-Lived got Sorted."
"Who would bet on something like that?" Malfoy scoffed.
Nott laughed softly. He carelessly kicked his shoes off. "If I'd known how things would have turned out, I would have made a bet. I'm sure the odds were something ridiculous like twenty to one."
"When was the last time a Potter was in Slytherin?" Zabini wondered.
"At least eight generations," Malfoy replied.
Harry choked. How did Malfoy even know that? And strangely enough, everyone else seemed to accept it as fact.
Harry wondered but didn't asked.
"You didn't wait for me!" Malfoy wailed.
Harry wasn't missing breakfast for anyone. Least of all, Malfoy, who looked perfect except for the scowl.
"You're like a girl," Nott grunted. "I don't think even Pansy takes so long in the bathroom."
"Just because I dress appropriate to my station—"
By some magic, their schedules materialized next to their breakfast dishes. As Harry read the schedule, he unthinkingly pushed his hair back.
Someone gasped. Harry looked up. Everyone was staring at his forehead. One of the third years was even pointing.
Harry matted his hair over his scar.
Nott cleared his throat loudly. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, eh? I don't know what's worse: Herbology or the 'puffs."
"The Hufflepuffs, for sure," Malfoy said. "They're dumber than Kneazles."
"But that's what makes them fun," Zabini drawled.
"At least we have Charms with the Ravenclaws," Nott sighed.
Zabini shook his head. "Whereupon we'll quiver in awe of their superior knowledge."
"Speak for yourself," Pansy sneered, again. She wasn't ugly, but the sneer made her look like a pug.
Even Malfoy ignored her. "We have Transfiguration with the Gryffindors." Malfoy's voice dripped with distaste. "At least we get Potions with them too."
"Snape always plays favorites," Nott said, answering Daphne's questioning look.
"It's only fair," Millicent's voice was softer, prettier than Harry expected. "Everyone favors their own House, just like everyone hates Slytherins. Snape's a bit prickly, but at least he looks out for his own."
"Harry Potter. Our very own…celebrity."
Uh oh.
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry hunched his shoulders. "I don't know."
Snape swept closer. His black eyes burned against his drawn cheeks. "Where can the bezoar root be found?"
"I don't know."
"Hm." Snape didn't say more. He didn't have to. For once, the Gryffindors and the Slytherins wore twin looks of confusion.
"What did you do?" Malfoy whispered as they diced dried lizard.
"Nothing," Harry hissed back. Despite everything, his hand was sure and quick. Oily and intimidating Snape may be, he had nothing on Uncle Vernon's morning moods and morning breath. Besides, potion making was kind of like cooking. For once, Harry was grateful for robe's long sleeves. It protected his arm whenever the burbling cauldron spat and hissed.
Malfoy has a bad habit of scraping the bottom of the cauldron with his stirrer. Nevertheless, Snape pronounced their potion perfect and awarded them ten points, staring pointedly at Malfoy all the while. Malfoy preened. Harry was just thankful Snape wasn't giving him the beady side-eye.
But just when he thought he escaped Potions, Weasley caught him.
"Harry," Weasley called awkwardly.
"Hey," Harry replied, equally awkward. They hadn't spoken much on the train. In fact, Harry had been downright ticked with Weasley's nosiness. But the guy was alright in a red, freckly way, and the Gryffindors seemed friendly enough, if not a little hesitant.
"Harry." It was Malfoy. Behind him, around fifty Slytherins stood, watching, filling the dungeon hallway. Pansy looked down her upturned nose, while Nott and Daphne had arched eyebrows. Zabini was yawning.
Malfoy's eyes glittered. His mouth twisted to say something. He was going to tear Weasley a new one, Harry realized.
Harry grabbed Malfoy's arm. "Let's go."
Malfoy allowed himself to be pulled away. "Blood traitor," he muttered.
"I don't see why you even bother," Nott said with hooded eyes. He wasn't speaking to Harry.
"I'm hungry," Daphne whined.
By the time it occurred to Harry to look back, the Gryffindors have already turned around. It was impossible to read Weasley's emotion from the line of his patched robe.
"Harry!"
"Coming."
Harry had never liked gardening, but the green house was more humid than hot, and the plant in his hands purred like a cat without smelling like one.
"Ten points to Slytherin and Hufflepuff!" Professor Spout announced with a smile almost as wide as her hips. Harry supposed it was only fair that for every Snape there was a Sprout.
"Well done, Harry," Malfoy said loudly.
Harry couldn't resist a pleased smile.
His lab partner squeaked. "T-Thank you."
"What for?"
"You did all the w-work—" whispered Susan Bones. She was a chubby Hufflepuff with long brown braids and a voice so weak Harry had to strain to hear.
"It's fine."
Susan didn't speak again for the rest of the class, not until everyone began bustling about with their book bags.
"Um, H-harry—?"
"What." Susan flinched. Harry almost regretted his own sharp voice.
"I just—um—can I get an autograph?"
Nott guffawed. Zabini smirked. Malfoy looked disgusted.
"Seriously?" Pansy said scathingly. Daphne giggled.
Susan visibly wilted. "Never mind—"
"It's fine," Harry said hastily. His handwriting was really quite ugly, especially when he used a still-unfamiliar quill, but even so, the girl positively glowed.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Susan ran, stopping only when she disappeared into a gaggle of Hufflepuff girls. The gaggle exploded into giggles.
"Quite the celebrity, eh, Potter?" Nott purred.
"Shut up."
"You couldn't tell her aunt was an Auror from looking at her," Daphne frowned. "Between Bones and a mouse, I'll bet on the mouse."
"Some people like that kind of woman," Zabini said with a lazy smile. "Nice, meek. Willing. Is that your type, Potter?"
"Shut up."
For once, Pansy laughed with Zabini.
Malfoy was annoying, but Zabini was mean. It was just as well Zabini preferred baiting Pansy over others. Harry made a private note to avoid the boy, right next to the note about studying extra hard for Potions.
The problem was, Zabini was inescapable.
There were other Slytherins Firsties. But anytime Harry so much as walked a step away, Malfoy was there, hovering. If it wasn't Malfoy, it was Pansy or Nott. Only Daphne talked with the other Firsties. In fact, she was giggling quietly with Tracey Davis. Something about a fortune-telling spell.
"I can't believe we have homework already," Nott complained.
They were sitting in the Common Room. Most of the Firsties sat at the back, furthest from the roaring fire, but somehow Malfoy had gotten them a seat next to the staircases, amongst the Third Years. A couple of Third Years had stared hard in the beginning, but then they were stared harder by another group of Third Years, and even Harry could tell that the former were not the latter.
Harry realized with a jolt that he had become one of those boys.
"Knut for your thoughts?" Zabini asked. He was leaning over the desk, cat-eyes bright and interested.
"Nothing." Harry buried his head in his Potions book.
"If you get a one, it's marriage, if you get a two, it's just a crush-" the rest of Daphne's words disappeared into giggles.
When Harry finally looked up, Zabini was sitting on the floor, his fingers twirled around a giggling Second Year's hair.
"Harry?" Malfoy gestured at his chess set.
Harry shook his head. He only knew the rules, and from peeking at some of Malfoy's games with Nott, he knew he was only going to get crushed.
"Exploding Snap?"
Harry hesitated. But the Potions textbook.
"I'm fine."
Malfoy opened his mouth, visibly thought about it, and then shrugged.
"Oi, Pansy. Millicent," Malfoy called as Nott shuffled the cards.
Millicent didn't wail when the cards exploded, but she did jerk back so hard, her hands almost slapped Pansy.
"Be careful, you oaf!"
"Sorry," Millicent mumbled.
"Mcgonagall's strict. The only one more hardcore than her is Vector," warned the third years.
Despite the warning, the second day started off well enough. Transfiguration began with a cat transforming into a woman. True, it was a wrinkled woman with a most intimidating stern expression, but still. Harry was dead impressed.
"I want to do that," he breathed. Unfortunately, Pansy had sharp ears.
"It's dreadfully hard to become an Animagi," she began. Malfoy shot her a look. "But I'm sure you can do it," Pansy hastily said.
"Animagi?"
"What Mcgonagall just did. Honestly, Harry, how can you not know that?"
"I'm sure Harry can do anything he wants." Nott said smoothly. Harry thought he heard Zabini snort, but when he turned his head, Zabini was studiously pulling his tie half-off.
"You have to understand the properties of a match and a needle." Professor Mcgonagall's voice rang clear and clipped, effectively hushing all whispers. "You have to envision those properties changing. It's not simple spell-work, like Charms."
Malfoy managed to make his matchstick silver. Daphne got hers pointy enough to stick into the table.
"Urgot's balls," Nott cursed. Next to him, Zabini waved his wand about in hilariously large gestures.
Harry has used matches, and he has used needles. It wasn't hard envisioning how either felt in his hands.
Think wood. Scratchy, breakable. Think of the waxy surface, and the red flammable end. Think of metal, thin, cold.
It took Harry several tries. The matchstick turned silver, then thin. It became pointy on the fourth try, but it took three more waves before he can make the eye of the needle.
Still, he finished first.
"Professor, Harry's done it!" Pansy crowed.
"Well done, Harry," Malfoy reached over to clap his shoulder. Harry instinctively leaned away. Malfoy's hand ended up clipping the desk.
There was an awkward moment. Nott's wide eyes didn't help matters. Luckily, Professor Mcgonagall arrived, prompt. She took her time inspecting the needle. "Seems like you have a talent for Transfiguration, Mr. Potter. Ten points to Slytherin."
None of the Slytherins dared say a word, not until she was standing at the bushy-haired Gryffindor's table and safely out of earshot.
"Prodigy Potter," Nott teased with a clear laugh.
"Harry is the Boy-Who-Lived. He can do no wrong," Zabini sang.
Even Malfoy snorted at that. He had a half-smile, which meant Harry was fine. Harry let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding.
Unfortunately, Harry's good run came crashing to a halt in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He spent the entire class digging his forehead into the palm of his hand. It didn't help that the classroom was made of stone walls with only archer holes for windows, and Quirrell smelled strongly of garlic.
"I don't care if he's staked an entire coven of vampires. Professor Quirrell is weird—"
"It's that turban. Those things haven't been fashionable since Sorceress Ashe…"
"It's that smell."
Harry swallowed the urge to vomit as a particularly bad migraine hits him. He stumbled, or would have, if someone hadn't grabbed his arm.
"Steady."
Harry turned and met cat amber eyes. It was Zabini. "I'm fine." Harry shook him off. Zabini instantly stepped back, but Malfoy noticed anyway.
"You alright, Harry?"
"I'm fine. Tired," Harry gasped. His head hurt so much, his vision blurred.
Pansy frowned. "You're looking really pale. Maybe you should go to the Infirmary."
"I'm fine." Harry swerved to avoid Pansy's hand. He almost tripped over his own robe. What was he going to say anyway? That an eleven-year-old scar hurt?
"Harry, I think you really should go lie down—" This time it was Daphne who reached for him.
"I'm fine—"
Pansy slapped Daphne's hand away.
"Just leave him be!"
Usually, Daphne would have let it go. But today, unexpectedly, she bristled. "What is your problem?"
Despite his headache, even Harry couldn't resist peeking at the ensuing cat fight. That hair-pulling looked like it hurt.
Thankfully, they were discovered by a prefect rather than a professor. It took only three Stinging Hexes from Gemma Farley to make the girls untangle themselves.
"Greengrass, Parkinson, I'm disappointed in you. You're all acting like halfblooded." Despite her words, Farley healed the girls' scratches with an Episky. "If you're going to fight, do it in private, where no one can see you."
"Bitch," Pansy muttered when she was sure Farley was out of earshot.
"I dare you to say that to her face," Zabini said sweetly.
Harry massaged his forehead again.
That night, Daphne sat with the other First Years at the front of the Common Room.
"I hope you feel better soon," Pansy said dolefully.
"Relax, Potter's fine. Besides we have Flying Class tomorrow."
"I won't miss it for the world," Harry promised absentmindedly. He thought Mcgonagall was difficult to understand, but the Transfiguration textbook was much, much more worse. What did evanescent mean?
"Parkinson, shut up. We're trying to start an essay here," Nott snapped. More like Harry was starting, while Nott doodled.
Pansy turned toward Malfoy, but he was talking to a Fourth Year.
"Is that the latest Daily Prophet? Do you mind?" Malfoy already had his hand extended.
"Sure thing." The Fourth Year tossed the newspaper.
"Did you know Gringotts got robbed?"
"Almost. Apparently nothing was stolen."
"How can you be sure?"
"My father is the regional manager at Gringotts!"
"Ew, goblins."
"That was the day I went to get my robes," Malfoy noted. Which was the same day Harry got his robes. Which meant that was also the same day Hagrid had gone to Gringotts to pick up a package.
"What's wrong Harry?" Pansy waved a hand in his face, careful not to touch him.
"Nothing."
Pansy bit her lip. Hesitated. "You know, Harry…"
Harry grunted. Transient states? The textbook didn't even read like English.
"You're not what I expected."
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Harry looked up from his book. At first, Pansy met his gaze steadily enough. But then she looked away, hid behind a sweep of black hair, and Harry just didn't know what to say.
"How's your headache?"
"Fine."
"You sure you don't want a Chocolate Frog?"
"I'm good."
Despite his words, Pansy opened her book bag and took out a small, familiar package. "I'll leave it here, okay?"
Harry cleared his throat but kept his eyes on his book. "Thanks."
"Hey," Pansy said loudly. She turned back toward Malfoy. "I wonder what kind of dragons they have at Gringotts."
"Probably Chinese Fireballs," Malfoy replied. "They're the easiest to control. Dragons are always an iffy thing though. Personally, I would use a cerberus—"
"Those things are disgusting!"
"They're far easier to control," Nott added. "Easier to feed too."
Harry quietly scratched 'cerberus' into the margin of his notes, right under 'evanescent'.
Disclaimer: Not mine. But do tell me if you enjoyed it.
