Author's Notes: The reason why this fic is AU-ish, is because I like to think that the Sorting Hat is a Quantum Field Generator capable of seeing into other universes and making a choice based off of an infinite set of possibilities to the benefit of the child. Only its magical properties can be overturned by the wearer's deliberate choice of substitution. Simply denying oneself does not trigger the Sorting Hat to change its decision.

This chapter was perhaps the most difficult to write of this fic because of the psychology of an abuse victim.

Warning: Violence.

Harry was already dressed in a clean set of black robes and sitting in the common room when the rest of Slytherin woke up. As the sun rose, the large, silver hanging lanterns dimmed and the entire common room took on a greenish hue. Harry wondered if the sunroof panels were tinted and looked up. That wasn't the case. The 'sunroof' was all that was separating Harry from gloomy, green water.

Shocked, he looked across another dark green leather couch facing him and saw that the dark window had given way to more green murk and there was an extremely pointed, scaly face peering at him through it framed by straggly, wormy hair. The figure didn't have legs. Instead, there was a decidedly fish-like tail.

Before he had a chance to react, the screaming clocks went off. It was really a horrendous noise, causing goosebumps to crawl all over Harry's arms. He was grateful that he'd woken up early. When he looked out the window again, the fish-like creature was gone.

At least he'd gotten the chance to see... whatever it was.

Once the shrill screaming had stopped, Harry went back to reading. He was fascinated by the different potions one could brew. The detailed pictures of a cauldron set-up reminded Harry a little of the set-up he'd seen on the front of Chemistry books. Harry had stopped trying to read when he didn't understand any of the examples or recognize any of the names mentioned.

"What're you doing up so bloody early?" Draco groused next to him.

Putting the book away in his schoolbag, Harry smiled when he opted to be polite. "I'm an early riser. Did you have trouble falling asleep?"

"Hardly. I'm used to being served food mid-morning," the pale boy said. Crabbe and Goyle looked equally exhausted. "Why're you wearing those? Why didn't you Freshen up the ones you barely wore yesterday?"

Harry looked down at his unmarked robes. "Why not?"

There came a snort and the blond leaned forward tapping his wand against Harry's tie and robes. As the prefects had done before, the inner hood and tie changed colors and a Slytherin patch appeared on the front. Harry fingered the snake emblem. "What's that called? What you just did, I mean."

Draco blinked at him stupidly and then breathed in a short giggle. "That was a spell of Transfiguration, Potter." He looked to Crabbe and then Goyle. They began to laugh as if Harry had made a joke.

"I didn't say anything funny," he said coldly.

"Obviously, you said that in jest. I simply humored you. Surely, it's impossible that the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't have known that."

Feeling as dumb as he had in Madam Malkin's, Harry kept his mouth shut. He'd learn quickly about the types of magic in this first week of classes. For now, he didn't want someone like Malfoy telling everyone else how stupid Harry was.

Sharp grey eyes looked down at the Potions book in his hands. "Are you bringing your school books to breakfast?" Draco looked disdainfully at the burlap sack that had been fashioned into a school bag, but didn't say anything about its unsightliness.

"Why not? They're my books."

"Potter, there are things you can't learn about in a book," Draco said through a yawn. Harry just then remembered that he was supposed to be using surnames from the Code they'd been told about last night. "Besides, you're a Slytherin, not a Ravenclaw. Don't be so bookish."

"What terrible advice, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape murmured from behind them.

Harry violently startled. Where had the professor popped in from? He straightened his robes to hide the slight shake in his hands, reminded of the pain in his scar and the glare.

"Considering Mr. Potter's considerable disadvantage," and here the professor looked down his hook nose at Malfoy, "A certain amount of bookishness is essential to not fall behind…"

"Good morning, professor," Malfoy said sounding much more drained than before. "Surely you have a pick-me-up I can have…?"

Snape waved a careless hand, waving off the greeting as one would a fly. "Go ask Madam Pomfrey if you have need of a Wideye Potion."

Curiosity piqued, Harry looked at Malfoy.

"He's my godfather," Malfoy whispered loudly with deep pride.

"Oh." Harry didn't know what to say to that. He didn't have one of those.

"Don't sound so disappointed, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape said neutrally. "I never play favorites among my house."

Harry's cynicism showed on his face. After all, it was quite normal for adults to have one or two favorites. Surely Professor Snape would be no different.

Black eyes narrowed slightly and unwaveringly at Harry, like Uncle Vernon often did when he thought Harry was up-to-no-good.

Looking at his roommate, Harry forced himself to look bored instead. Some adults were very sensitive to doubt, and Harry did not want to make a bad impression.

"Potter, a godfather is kind of like an uncle, except not blood-related," Malfoy said matter-of-factly.

"Oh," Harry said, feeling a deep confusion. Vernon Dursley was Harry's not-blood-related uncle… did that make the porky man Harry's godfather? Harry had never thought of that before.

"What's the problem now?" Malfoy asked with exasperation. "Don't tell me you don't know what an uncle is?"

Harry exploded. "I should bleeding well know by now since I've been living with one for as long as I can remember! I'm not an idiot!"

Conversation in the common room stopped, and Harry itched not to be the center of attention. He shouldn't have done that. He was normally very invisible at the Dursleys—so long as Harry didn't do anything odd and didn't 'bother' his cousin Dudley.

This was certainly going to test whether Professor Snape's favorite was Draco Malfoy. Uncle Vernon normally punished Harry if he yelled at his cousin. "Sorry, Malfoy," Harry mumbled as he carefully cradled the straps of his schoolbag and looked at the floor.

"Don't apologize. I shouldn't have implied that you were an idiot," Malfoy said simply.

Harry looked at Malfoy, who stared back at him without anger. It was the kind of look one gave to something helplessly pathetic, like a hedgehog born without any spines. Harry's pride was ruffled to have it directed at him. He glared at Malfoy, who just then decided to inspect his fingernails.

The common room was filled with whispering. That was never a good sign. Harry was bound to be in trouble.

"Mr. Potter, might I have a word with you," Professor Snape's cold voice came from his left.

Harry's face grew pinched, but he obediently followed after his Head of House.

Professor Snape tapped Prefect Tellwyenth on the shoulder. "Come with me," Professor Snape told the prefect. The professor glanced at Harry once and then walked down the corridor adjoining the common room.

Harry grew anxious by the moment. He had no idea what constituted as punishment for a school of magic. At the Muggle public school, Harry had written lines, sat in a corner, was sent to the office, or sometimes was sent home. He hoped the latter wouldn't be the chosen method. He'd rather be a Slytherin than plain old Harry Potter the delinquent on Privet Drive.

"Hey, relax, Potter—May I call you Harry?" The prefect asked nicely.

Harry shrugged, clutching the book and schoolbag to his chest.

"You may call me Gilbert," the prefect said.

They went through a large dark-stained door and into an office-type room. Harry looked around at lines of bottles and glass jars filled with ghastly things and a multitude of shelves that very thick books lined. He noticed that there was only the one window behind Professor Snape's desk and that it looked over the craggy shore of a lake. Harry thought this was very peculiar since the office was at the same floor as the underwater common room. His brain was having difficulty sorting that out. There hadn't been any steps to take to enter the room.

The door shut behind him, reminding Harry that he was in trouble for yelling at Malfoy. Beside him, Gilbert murmured something that sounded nonsensical to Harry's ears. "Right then, let's have a seat, Harry."

"Am I in trouble?" Harry asked tightly as he took an entirely too comfortable armchair across from the prefect. He glanced over to see that Professor Snape hadn't moved after taking a journal-sized book from the shelf.

"Not at all. Tempers tend to get frayed in the first week at Hogwarts," Gilbert said reassuringly.

"Then why?" Unthreatened by the prefect, Harry looked at the thoughtful frown on the face of their Head of House. He didn't appear to be angry…

"Professor Snape usually interviews the first years within the first month of school. It's chance that you're the first one," came the prefect's clear, calm response.

What rotten luck, Harry thought. "But he doesn't like me."

Gilbert had a pronounced blink and looked over to Professor Snape who hadn't yet said a word since entering the office. The prefect turned back to Harry with a curious look. "What makes you say that?"

Surprised that someone would want to know why he thought that, Harry realized his reason would only sound silly. "It doesn't matter."

"Harry, you won't get in trouble. I swear you won't."

Harry grew more and more anxious the longer he sat there, and Professor Snape did nothing. "He glared at me," Harry finally told his hands, "At the banquet."

"To my err," Professor Snape said right beside him.

Surprised, Harry jumped in his seat and then glared at Professor Snape before remembering he really ought not to glare when he was already in trouble. He looked away and glanced up again hesitantly.

The professor gave a mildly curious look to him and moved silently to stand next to Gilbert.

"This is going to sound odd, Harry," Gilbert started slowly, "But have you ever been mistreated by your guardians?"

"Mistreated?" Harry parroted. "You mean, beaten? No, though they threaten to all the time." He frowned thoughtfully, "I suppose… my cousin Dudley can get rough…"

"I mean, mistreated like someone might mistreat a house-elf," Gilbert clarified, which didn't clarify anything at all.

"Like a what?"

"It is a magical creature tied to a family and home who serves that family with manual, domestic labor for life or until they are freed," Professor Snape said with some impatience. "Along with physical abuse, mistreatment includes neglecting a house-elf's basic needs and willfully ignoring the house-elf's presence unless it has done something to warrant punishment."

Harry's mouth went dry. He did the job of a house-elf for the Dursleys. "No, they haven't mistreated me," Harry lied with an assured tone and composed demeanor. He always lied about it. The Dursleys would deny anything even if he did tell the truth, and then Harry would be in trouble with them, something he avoided at all costs.

Professor Snape's face grew pinched with fury, his beady black eyes narrowing at Harry. Harry fidgeted in expectation, but the professor didn't say a word.

With a sympathetic expression, Gilbert sighed in disappointment. "Harry, you're a sloppy liar."

Harry's lips twitched into a confused frown as he tried to keep his face blank. The prefect was bluffing.

"Oh, your expression, tone, and body language are trained well-enough," Gilbert said with approval, which was rather strange to Harry. He was very sure lying was a bad thing warranting punishment, even if one happened to be telling the truth and no one believed it.

"I suppose..." Gilbert said quietly, "That since Muggles can't detect magic—let alone one's aura—you never bothered to learn to mask it."

A shudder rippled through Harry's leg. He bounced it agitatedly. "I thought we had to eat breakfast with everyone else," he said quietly. He had never been in this sort of situation before.

"We can summon food here," Gilbert assured him. "Are you hungry?"

The amount of anxiety Harry was feeling wouldn't allow him to avoid a stomachache. The way they were treating him was very queer. Were they setting him up to admit to lying so they could punish him? That made sense. It was an obvious trick and it wouldn't work on him. "I had a snack."

A book slammed against the large desk in the office, and Harry didn't seem able to stop the little gasp he let out.

Professor Snape's hand was perched on top of the book. "One more lie, Mr. Potter, and you will have detention with me for the next two weeks. Now," Professor Snape's tone was dark with a promise that Harry was all too familiar with. Harry would regret dearly if he disobeyed the coming command. "Describe their mistreatment. In detail."

Recalling the prefects' warnings of avoiding Professor Snape's ire, Harry balled up his sweaty fists and stared at his white knuckles in silence.

"Everything you say will be held in the strictest confidence, Harry. The Dursleys won't know you told us anything," Gilbert said soothingly.

A very tense silence followed. Could he… could he trust Gilbert's promise? There were so many times Harry had allowed hope to fester inside of him, and each time that feeling was taken from him. He'd decided the last time that he wouldn't try to fight his home situation by telling others about it. Yet, again the hope rose, like a beacon of safety in his fear. He didn't know why the feeling bothered to show. He hardly thought there would be any change. The words of his aunt and uncle would be taken for truth and Harry would be branded a liar. That was how the world worked. That was how it always worked.

"I… I didn't mean to suggest any wrongdoing on their parts," Harry said hesitantly. "And even if you wanted to do something, there aren't any laws against being ignored."

"It depends on the magnitude," Gilbert said. He reached a hand forward and slowly dropped it onto Harry's right fist as if Harry might jerk back. "You have my word that we'll believe whatever you share with us."

"Because I can't… because you can tell when I… when I lie?"

Gilbert nodded and squeezed Harry's hand and then pulled it away.

This would be the last time, the absolute last time that Harry would trust a stranger. "It's my place, my job, to do the housework. Uncle Vernon makes sure I worked for room and board… and I always did these odd things, like shrink clothes I hated or grow out my hair when it was too short and get punished for it." When Gilbert said nothing, Harry continued. "It wasn't until Hagrid showed up that I found out that all the…" Harry tightened his fists. His heart hammered in his chest. "That the odd things I'd do was magic." He took a breath. Harry knew he was babbling, but he couldn't just come out and say that sometimes the Dursleys didn't give him meals, that for most of his life he spent his time locked in a broom cupboard with no windows. "They knew what it really was, that magic existed. Uncle Vernon said that they'd spent the last ten years trying to stamp out my magic."

"How do you mean?" came Gilbert's aghast voice.

"I don't know exactly. They lied about how my mum and dad died and where I got my scar, and I was punished a lot but it never seemed to help me do odd things less."

"Accidental magic occurs when you feel most distraught," Gilbert stated. "Punishment only makes the outburst worse."

Harry nodded, thinking that made sense. This was the first time anybody believed him. He wondered if he might be dreaming.

"What about schooling? Your relatives at least sent you to school?"

Harry flushed. "Of course they sent me to school. They didn't want any authorities to snoop around the house and ask questions about me. School was okay as long as I didn't make better marks than Dudley and wasn't sent home for doing something… odd." His fingers flexed open and gripped his robes tightly. He ventured a look at other two wizards in the room.

Gilbert looked up at Professor Snape, who merely flicked his black eyes at the prefect before re-affixing them on Harry's face. Unnerved by their undivided attention, Harry looked down again.

"What did your guardians do when you performed accidental magic?" asked Professor Snape.

Harry had to bite his tongue to stop the lie that formed in his mind. He was already forewarned against lying. Memories of darkness and hopelessness tugged at him. Harry forcefully reminded himself that Uncle Vernon never whipped or beat him and that at least the prefect seemed sympathetic to Harry.

"Uncle Vernon yelled a lot and pushed me around. He locked me in a cupboard under the stairs, and when I asked for food Aunt Petunia wouldn't give me anything. If it was the weekend, they'd forget about me for a day or two until they needed something done." When Harry finished, he breathed out. It was as if a shameful burden he'd been forced to carry was lifted from him.

The prefect had a stricken look on his face, while Professor Snape appeared unaffected.

"They didn't forget me often, and the cupboard was my room. When they were out of the house, I was watched by an elderly neighbor," Harry reassured Gilbert. "And you shouldn't worry about that anyway. Because of the Hogwarts letters, Uncle Vernon moved me to Dudley's second bedroom—well, not that I got to stay there very long when the letters came flooding in during breakfast a few days later…" Harry remembered what happened with a bright grin. "Uncle Vernon wouldn't let me open any of the Hogwarts letters and so they kept sending loads and loads of them and then Uncle Vernon took us to an island in the middle of nowhere. I didn't care about the cold and the chill because I'd never been on an overnight trip before. I was excited even if I had to sleep on the floor, and that's when Hagrid found me. Well, not on the floor. I wasn't sure who was beating down the door so I hid myself. Anyway, he's the one who told me I was a wizard and took me shopping in Diagon Alley and gave Hedwig to me—that's my snowy white owl—as a birthday present. I've never had a proper birthday present before. Usually I get one of Dudley's torn or broken hand-me-downs… if they hadn't forgotten about the date." Gilbert's face had grown progressively more distressed. Harry wasn't sure why. "So, really, this whole magic thing is brilliant if it means I get to spend my time here. Everyone can do odd things like me."

"Professor?" The prefect said with a strange voice.

"Mr. Potter, you won't be going home for the Christmas holiday," their Head of House said smoothly.

Harry perked up. "I can stay at Hogwarts, sir?"

Professor Snape nodded with the barest trace of amusement. "We'll resume your interview this evening."

Harry's heart fell. "What else is there to talk about?"

Gilbert answered, "All that's left are general questions and aptitude tests. In our first year at Hogwarts, Professor Snape assigns extra work in areas that we need a bit of help in."

"Is it hard?" Harry was surprised that he was curious enough to ask. Normally he avoided needless school assignments.

"No, not right away at least. Personally, my geography and history knowledge were severely lacking when I first arrived at Hogwarts. That is no longer the case now that I've educated myself." Gilbert stood and offered a hand to Harry.

Standing up, Harry had never been offered a hand so patient before. He looked at it and then at Gilbert and then took it.

Gilbert grinned as they shook and then released Harry's hand. "You're a Slytherin, Harry. Trust that you're safe here with your brothers and sisters."

Harry was worried once again. "Y-you won't tell anyone, will you?"

"As he has stated earlier, everything you have told us will remain a secret, Mr. Potter." The professor's coal-black eyes appeared emotionless as he spoke.

Harry inferred that the man could be simply hiding his emotions. "Thank you, sir."

"This way, Harry." After muttering something else under his breath, Gilbert led Harry through the door and headed towards the stairwell where the dormitory was. "I'll be right back. I have to grab my books." The prefect ran up the stairs and within a few moments was back down. "Off to breakfast then!"

Outside the common room and down the main corridor there were a lot of stairs. Harry was thankful that he was in shape already.

Gilbert waved at other Slytherins who were returning from breakfast to collect their school books from their rooms.

The prefect navigated Harry through Hogwarts in silence, every now and then a student from a different house would point and say, "There. Look! Did you see his scar?"

Following Gilbert's lead, Harry ignored them. Soon they were in the Great Hall.

"Gill!"

"Wait a second," a smiling Gilbert told prefect Gemma Farley. "You alright from here?" He asked Harry.

Harry nodded. He took a seat at the long table beside Draco Malfoy.

"I saved you some pasties," Malfoy offered. "The dunderheads next to me kept trying to eat it."

Crabbe and Goyle elbowed each other and chuckled.

"Thanks, Malfoy." Very quickly both of Harry's hands were occupied. One shoveled food into his mouth and the other brought a goblet of pumpkin juice to his lips.

Malfoy smiled him. "I'd complain about how similar your manners are to a Gryffindork, but the first bell is about to sound."

After taking a long drink, Harry said, "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not if you were raised by Muggles."

Harry looked at him coldly.

"It was a joke, Potter."

"It wasn't a very funny one."

A distant bell tolled.

"We have Herbology first, which isn't so bad to get to." Malfoy picked up an expensive-looking schoolbag holding his blank scrolls, quills, and books for that day. "Hurry now. We'll lose House points if we're tardy."

Harry abandoned the crumb-riddled plate and slung his burlap schoolbag over his shoulder. Crabbe and Goyle moved on either side of Harry and Malfoy and they exited the Great Hall.

As they walked together, Harry noticed that other students would stare as they passed, whispering.

"Didn't I just see those two…?" Harry murmured as two black-haired girls walked past him.

"They probably doubled back around to get another look at you, the famous Harry Potter."

Harry felt bewildered. He'd never been popular at school before.

"For celebrities like us, it's to be expected. The novelty will wear off soon I'm sure," Malfoy quipped.

Soon, they were outside, crossing Hogwarts' immense lawn to the greenhouse.

The plump, dumpy Herbology professor turned to greet the Slytherins warmly. There were numerous odd-looking plants from leaf to root laid out on the greenhouse tables with whatever types of seeds each had, if any. Every one of them had a card propped up with a large letter.

Without calling roll, Professor Sprout immediately began the lesson, instructing each student to carefully match the name of the plant to the correct specimen. "You may work together to figure it out or use the One Thousand Magical Plans and Fungi reference text! Once you are done, turn in your scrolls and be on your way. Any questions? No? I'll be in the storeroom should anyone need me."

It was an introduction to the classification system Herbologists used. Reminded of Biology lessons, Harry immediately stepped up to a rubbery purple plant with white hairs all over it and curled leaves. Its roots were bulbous and it had a sharp acrid smell to it. Harry flipped the book open to a chart of characteristics.

"Wiseman's Sage," Draco answered contemptuously. Harry shot him an annoyed look and opened his book to the page about it. The illustration shifted in an invisible breeze and looked less wilted than the dead counterpart on the table. Harry began to read aloud.

"If the leaves of the Wiseman's Sage are eaten, it provides a temporary Pepper-Up remedy. The roots are a highly prized ingredient when harvested on a new moon and dried appropriately. Furthermore—"

"Potter, read on your own time. I'd like to get done with this lesson."

Harry closed the book, following Malfoy, and was likewise followed by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy easily listed off each of the plants laid out and pointed out their basic characteristics.

On their final plant, the blond looked back at Harry. "If we'd done it your way, we'd be here for the rest of the period."

"Oh, shove it, Malfoy. Some of us don't have Professor Snape as a godfather," brown-haired Pansy Parkinson sniped.

"Potter, may I look at your scroll?" Millicent Bulstrode asked politely. Her large size and stature were completely at odds with her manners.

"As long as you turn mine in when you're done with it," Harry handed it to her and she carefully unrolled it marking the remaining three plants she had missed. Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass were on either side of Millicent also taking down notes.

"What class do we have after this?" Harry asked at large while Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy continued to argue. Crabbe and Goyle were poking at the plants queued up along the walls, laughing at one another as the carnivorous ones snapped at their fingers. Theodore Nott was inspecting a plant that looked somewhat like a cactus.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," a lavender-bespectacled girl who was slightly taller than Harry answered. "Did you not get your schedule from Prefect Grimmet?"

"No. I must have missed him." Harry frowned. "I'm sorry. I seem to have forgotten your name."

"Sally-Anne Perks," she said quietly behind a fringe of light brown hair.

Being neither pretty or of solid frame, brown-eyed Sally-Anne didn't look like the rest of the Slytherin girls either, but Harry had little room to point fingers, since he was the shortest and smallest among the Slytherin boys.

"It's quite alright that you didn't see me. I'm practically invisible to most people," she said with a small smile.

"Oh, that sounds terrible," he said with a commiserating tone.

Her smile widened, revealing slightly crooked teeth.

"Come on, Potter." Draco gave Sally-Anne a patronizing look and then turned on his heel. "Crabbe! Goyle! Let's go!"

Soon they had passed over the Hogwarts lawns and back into the castle's cool exterior.

"You shouldn't associate yourself with Perks' type," Malfoy said loftily.

"Why not?"

"She's a Mudblood."

The term sounded foul to Harry's ears. He stared at Malfoy.

"There's not a drop of wizard blood in her. It's obscene for her to be in this house with her dirty blood."

"You mean she's a Muggle-born witch, don't you?" Harry said coldly.

"Can you believe it? A pure-blood deserved to be a Slytherin more than that filthy, little Mudblood. She'll sully Salazar Slytherin's good name!"

Angry, Harry grabbed the front of Malfoy's robes. "Stop badmouthing her! She didn't do anything to you!"

Malfoy sneered. "Oh, that's right. Your mother was a Mudblood too, wasn't she?"

"Don't call my mum that!"

When Malfoy smirked nastily, "I'll call a Half-Breed when I see one, savior of the Wizarding World or not."

Numerous memories of being teased and chased and struck by Dudley and his gang was reflected in everything Draco Malfoy was. Malfoy didn't care who was hurt so long as he was better than anyone else.

All the anger and stress of being Sorted wrong broke something in Harry. He lost his temper. His fist swung, and Malfoy went down with a cry. Harry followed after him with a wordless shout.

Crabbe grabbed Harry by his robes before he could hit Malfoy again and lifted him up as he flailed. Harry didn't like the grin on the larger boy's face. It reminded him far too much of Dudley before he did something nasty to Harry. Harry dropped his schoolbag from his shoulders, knowing that the odds were not in his favor.

Goyle converged on Harry, but Harry kicked Crabbe in the side and he was dropped. Crabbe howled. Harry flung himself at the taller Slytherin, his fists wailing. Goyle tried to land a hit and failed when Harry saw it coming. Harry bowled into his knees, and Goyle toppled over, bowling Crabbe into the ground.

"Ge'roff!" Crabbe yelled in panic, while Goyle grunted as Harry channeled his anger through his fists. A particularly hard slap to Harry's head knocked him away.

"Petrphtcus—" Malfoy's nasal yell was muffled through his bloodied nose. "Totalas!"

As Harry rolled off of Goyle, something red sparked out of Malfoy's wand and Harry ducked behind the hulking first years.

Crabbe cried out when he was struck and sprouted grey and blue boils. Harry stared at Crabbe in horror as no part of his pale skin was left untouched. Crabbe made a small whimpering noise.

"Shite!" Malfoy cursed.

Goyle grabbed Harry by the front of his robes and lifted him up. Harry glared at him unafraid.

"You twit! Put him down!" Malfoy said, favoring his nose.

Harry was set down fairly quickly.

Goyle hovered uncertainly over Crabbe after Malfoy stood up and kept his wand trained on Harry. "That," Malfoy's voice was stuffy and nasal, "was completely uncalled for, Potter. You know the Code."

"And so do you! What happened to courteousness regardless of bloodline? You broke the Code before I did!" Harry shot back.

Malfoy appeared startled by the pronouncement.

"Sally-Anne Perks is a Slytherin. As such, she's owed your respect! We Slytherins are supposed to be like family," Harry finished firmly.

"Hmph," Malfoy said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "I blame those Muggles for your savagery," He jeered, wiping the remaining blood off his swollen lip. A little more dribbled from his mottled, misshaped nose. "Crabbe, Goyle. We're going to the infirmary." Without another glance towards Harry, he tilted his head back haughtily, pinching his nose, and walked away with the two limping large boys, leaving Harry alone in the corridor.

Harry glared at the back of Malfoy's platinum blond hair, wishing he'd stayed behind with the untalkative Slytherin loner, Theodore Nott.

When Harry reached down to pick up his schoolbag, he winced. His hands were awfully sore and his wrists ached. Harry looked at his swollen knuckles which were an angry sort of red. How was he going to hide that Professor Snape or the prefects? Harry suddenly feared reprisal from Malfoy. Even if Harry could hide his hands, Malfoy would tell their Head of House what he'd done. Harry thought he should have run away from the three boys. They didn't look like they could catch him.

At the sound of a yelp, Harry startled and turned.

The corridor was empty save for silent sets of armors, which alternated between holding swords and pikes.

Harry suddenly realized that he had no idea where he was. There was movement out of the corner of his eye. A dusty, grey moggy with yellow eyes stared at him.

Harry blinked. The cat was hanging in the air, body twisted as if it'd fallen and was trying to place feet on the ground.

"Are you alright there?"

It growled loudly at Harry when he walked towards it. He stopped. A good thing he did too. Harry belatedly noticed that the little stones on the ground were in some sort of pattern.

He crouched by the circle, inspecting it. Harry ran through his options. He didn't know any spells that might let the cat down, but he didn't trust that he could put his hands through the magic-whatever-it-was either.

Harry looked around. Spotting a set of armor next to him, Harry slipped the sword out of the armor's grip and almost dropped it due to his sore knuckles. It weighed nearly as much as a small boulder in Harry's opinion. He dragged it back to the pebbles and stones. Two-handed, he made quite a clatter dragging the sword across the floor at the stones. The dull blade scattered the pattern, sliding out of Harry's hands with a large CLANK, and the mysterious cat landed gracefully on its feet.

It flicked its ears at Harry and then fluffed up. "Mreow," the cat said.

"I hope you weren't there long," Harry told it, "That looked uncomfortable."

"What was that noise?!" screeched a scrawny man with greasy grey strings of hair falling down his head. He looked unwashed and his clothes were stained and dirty.

Bruised hands at his sides concealed behind his robes, Harry blinked at the adult not recognizing him.

"Well, well if it isn't Harry Potter," the man said looking down at the mess in the hall and then reached down to pet the cat. "Mrs. Norris, there you are. Some nasty student set you in a trap again, is it?"

The cat let out a crabby meow.

The man turned a baleful eye on Harry. "It was you who broke her out of the ruddy Runic Octagon?"

"Er, yes… Who're you?" Harry asked politely.

"The name's Argus Filch, Caretaker of Hogwarts. Reckon you paid naught attention to me last night."

Harry could hear the cat's rumbly purr from where he stood. "Er, sorry."

A crooning Mr. Filch again reached to pet Mrs. Norris, who quite enjoyed the attention.

Harry fidgeted, worried that he might be late to his next class. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but do you know the way to Professor Quirrell's classroom?"

Mr. Filch smiled a nasty smile. "I know all the shortcuts in this ruddy place as does Mrs. Norris." The caretaker looked towards his feet. "Lead the way, my sweet."

Obediently, Harry followed the trotting cat, whose tail was standing up as if it were a banner to lead a charge into battle. He learned a great many secret passageways and doors as they zigzagged in almost a straight path through Hogwarts. At one point they passed the door to the Great Hall where the meals were served.

Finally, Mrs. Norris sat down in front of door in a long hallway with sets of armor on either side.

"Here we are. Professor Quirrell's classroom," Filch said.

"Thank you, Mrs. Norris, Mr. Filch." The cat rubbed itself across Harry's legs. His experience with Mrs. Figgs' cats—the neighbor of the Dursleys who lived across the street from them—told Harry that this was a very good thing.

"If I catch you wandering the halls after curfew, don't think I won't tell your Head of House. Professor Snape punishes his little vipers well and good in the old way." With another mostly toothless sneer, Argus Filch walked away muttering to himself about lost first years interrupting his important work.

Because he'd arrived too early, Harry hung out in the hallway for some time, bored. He inspected the tall sets of armor and statues around him and then enjoyed the view through the vaulted windows across from them. He could never stay bored in a place with breathtaking views like this...

A bell tolled in the distance and suddenly the classroom door opened flooding the corridor with first year Hufflepuffs. A pale girl with blonde pigtails squeaked when she almost ran into Harry and her friend whispered loudly, "Hannah! You almost ran into the Boy-Who-Lived!"

The rest stared as well, but left quickly down the hallway. "Did you see his scar?" Many of them whispered to each other. Quite suddenly, Harry missed the company of another Slytherin. And then he thought he should probably figure out what he was going to tell the others when they arrived. He looked back out at the distant mountains, wondering if he might one day visit them.

"H-Harry P-Potter. Welcome. I didn't e-expect to see you so-so soon. C-come in," Professor Quirrell gestured to his classroom. When Harry followed after the professor into the room, it stank mostly of garlic and some unmentionable foulness that Harry couldn't pinpoint.

Something about the man set Harry on edge that hadn't been there when they first met in the Leaky Cauldron. Perhaps it was the way he kept washing his hands together, looking at him expectantly.

"So, Sl-Slytherin, e-eh? A g-good h-house for s-strong wizards."

"You mean, Dark Wizards."

"Th-the strongest ge-generally are," Professor Quirrell agreed. "And th-the b-best defense a-against the D-Dark Arts en-entails i-its study."

Harry was skeptical of this, but he was saved answering when the Slytherin girls and Nott opened the door.

"Where's Malfoy?" Parkinson's high-pitched voice asked.

"He went to the infirmary. Crabbe and Goyle went along with him," Harry answered truthfully, since his 'aura' apparently told people when he lied. However, Harry didn't say why Malfoy or the rest had needed to go. Again, Harry worried that he might get in trouble when the school Healer told Snape about his godson's bloody nose. Harry had a feeling that mentioning that he'd started the fight in defense of his dead mother's honor wouldn't pardon his behavior.

"Oh? And left you all alone? Is he daft?"

"Professor Quirrell kept me company. Didn't you Professor?"

"Y-yes, P-potter." Flustered at having to be put on the spot, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher stammered even worse than usual.

Harry took a seat, and blue-eyed Theodore Nott sat next to him.

The other boy leaned close to him. "Did you hex them or something?" Nott whispered.

"No. What makes you say that?" Harry gave him a look.

Nott's steel blue eyes looked at something around Harry and then he nodded. "You had a row with them then." His classmate looked specifically at Harry's swollen hands, and Harry hastily shoved them under the desk.

Not long after, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle reappeared looking as good as new, and the class started.

The lesson turned into a bit of joke. The Professor gave no demonstrations and hardly seemed prepared to teach them anything. He told the class stories, mainly, but even those were dubious. He wouldn't give them enough details about defeating the vampire in Romania or the zombie in Africa.

After they were dismissed as soon as the bell tolled, Draco complained loudly down the corridor. "What a load of tosh! I'd hoped he'd teach us new curses. I wanted to try them out on the Gryffindorks after our Double Potions Class on Friday."

"Quit complaining, Malfoy. We're all disappointed," Parkinson said. Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass, her two cohorts, agreed. Bulstrode was behind them reading as they walked.

"You can ask the upperclassmen for some tips," Perks offered quietly.

"Right, they duel later this week, don't they?" Nott grinned.

Harry wondered what a magic duel would look like…

"Y'know, I'm glad that class is over," Goyle said tiredly. "I'm hungry."

Crabbe grunted in agreement.

Harry silently agreed with the two. Then an idea struck him. "I know a shortcut to the Great Hall," Harry said to Nott.

"You? Since when?" Malfoy's expression was rich with incredulity.

"This way," Harry said, not letting Malfoy's jibe bother him. He retraced his steps through numerous musty passageways, until they were all stepping out of a portrait right outside the Great Hall.

"Blimey, Potter," Nott breathed out. "That was amazing. Someone tell you or give you a map?"

Harry only smiled, and Nott surprisingly didn't pester him about it. Harry doubted any of them would have released an errant cat stuck in a magical trap. Well, Harry amended, maybe Perks or Bulstrode would have. They seemed the type.

They walked into the Great Hall which was already filling with students.

"Tomorrow morning we have History of Magic. Professor Binns is going to bore us to death," Pansy Parkinson said.

The Slytherins laughed around her. Harry didn't get it, and he didn't remember Draco pointing the teacher out the previous night.

"Professor Binns is a ghost," Perks said next to him. "Rumor has it one day he fell asleep in the staffroom and got up to go teach a class, but left his earthly body behind."

"Oh," Harry said taking a seat next to her at the Slytherin long table. Prefect Samantha Pitts took the other side of Harry. What he'd thought was a grey and silver scarf was actually a small, flat snake with shimmering scales.

"Hello, Harry," Pitts greeted cheerfully. Her brown eyes were more hazel as they glinted dangerously at him. Though he'd known her for less than a day, her jolliness immediately set Harry on edge.

"Hullo." He looked at the snake uncertainly.

"Well, go on then. You don't have to wait for my permission to speak to Quinn."

Harry brought his eyes closer to the snake, who blinked and raised its head at him. "Hullo, Quinn," he whispered. "What kind of snake are you? You're very pretty."

His fellow Slytherins fell silent around him, whispering quietly as they watched him.

"Thanksss. I'm a Polychromatic Sssaw-Ridge."

"What's a Polychromatic Saw-Ridge, Prefect Pitts?"

"Do you expect me to believe that you were speaking Parseltongue?" She sounded disgusted. "Anybody could have made up those noises."

Harry blinked. The snake had spoken a lispy version of the Queen's English to him.

"Harry doesn't know anything about Magical Creatures, Sam," Prefect Gilbert across from Harry said in his defense.

"This is outrageous! You really think a Half-Blood can be a Parselmouth?"

"Ask me a question that only Quinn would know the answer to," Harry said defiantly.

The prefect narrowed her eyes. "Who gave him to me?"

Harry met the snake's curious gaze and relayed the question. His eyes flashed when the snake answered. It had been a trick question! "Nobody did. You stole his egg from a nest you found and hatched him yourself when you were only seven."

A hand clapped his shoulder. Theodore Nott was smirking ear to ear. "This just proves that Potter has a link to Salazar Slytherin himself. No wonder he was able to defeat the Dark Lord when he was a baby."

"Voldemort just had a rash of bad luck. There's nothing special about me," Harry insisted.

Every last one of them flinched, though it was the barest amount among the older students. Harry looked at them curiously.

"You're certainly irreverent. Not even seventh-year Slytherins dare to utter his name," Gilbert quipped.

Harry snorted, "It just seems silly to call him 'You-Know-Who' or the 'Dark Lord'." He looked uncertainly at Nott, who grinned unashamedly back.

"I'm sure you can ask one of the professors why no one calls the Dark Lord by his name since they lived through it," Prefect Pitts said lightly.

The food appeared distracting Harry from the conversation. Right as he began to shovel the food into his mouth, Harry remembered Malfoy's earlier comment about his manners and forced himself to take smaller bites. He was surprised that Malfoy hadn't threatened him yet, but then Harry noticed that Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had not chosen to sit as close to Harry as they did earlier.

"Y'know, I'm not really Muggle-born," Sally-Anne Perks whispered very quietly to Harry, while the others conversed loudly enough to have their voices carry in a large hall packed with other children. "That's what Malfoy told you, right? That's why you had a row with him." Nott must have told her.

"Why would it matter if you were?" It didn't make any sense to Harry.

Her face grew pink at his comment. "My parents are actually Squibs who've learned to live among Muggles. They were disinherited, you see."

Harry had just taken a large bite of an apple, and he shot her a questioning look.

"A Squib is someone who is born to a wizarding family and doesn't possess any magic of their own. My mum and dad were so proud when I did my first little bit of accidental magic. I turned a bike I'd gotten on my sixth birthday from black to pink right in front of my Muggle friends."

"So you're a pure-blood?"

Perks nodded shyly. "Sometimes the magic skips a generation. That's why most wizarding families are small. The more children you have, the more likely you'll get a Squib. It's why so many pure-bloods are jealous of the Weasleys. There's not a Squib among them."

Harry thought that was very interesting.

"Anyway," Perks continued, "I don't mind that you're only half-pure. My mum told me that if Muggle-borns weren't around, magical folk would have died out a long time ago or all been born Squibs by now. And I heard that Lily Evans, your mum, had been a brilliant witch at Charms, even better than the pure-bloods in her year."

Harry smiled. It'd been the first time anyone had said anything nice about his mother. His chest ached. He wondered what his mum had looked like.

"Are you okay?" Perks asked curiously.

"The roast beef isn't settling like it should," Harry said quickly. It was partly the truth. He'd eaten too much again.

Another bell tolled, and the Slytherins parted ways by year.