Harry is flushed a deep red as he storms out of the castle and down the path through the grounds; Hagrid had sent him a short note earlier asking him down to tea, though the script had been hesitant and slightly crumpled, as if Hagrid had done it and redone it a few times. He doesn't mind, and he's not going to complain about it: "There isn't a wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin." sticks in his mind, but Hagrid invited him nonetheless.

Still though, he goes alone, and when he knocks on Hagrid's door the other man lets him in immediately, an uncertain and cautious expression fading from his overlarge features when he gets a glance at Harry's humiliated one.

"Wha's wrong?" comes the immediate question as he ushers Harry to sit down and begins to make him a cup of tea, and Harry huffs out a noise, holding back the distinct and sudden wish to cry.

"Snape." That's not strictly true – it's not just Snape. Snape had only been the end of it; that morning, Frank Richelieu had said lightly that Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin, tended to favour Slytherin house more than the others, but the fact remained that one oughtn't provoke him all the same.

Severus Snape had not favoured Harry at all. He'd bombarded him with questions as soon as he'd sat down, and Harry hadn't gotten any of them right – he'd only had time to study his new books from the prefects, and hadn't thought to memorize the bloody textbook.

Ron Weasley had snickered at this in Potions, and even Hermione Granger had turned her nose up at him when he'd glanced her way – the Slytherins were mostly weird, with all kinds of social rules Harry just didn't bloody know, so he'd ended up partnered with Neville Longbottom in Potions-

And before all that it had been Draco Malfoy, who had mirthfully crowed that Harry had been raised by Muggles when he quietly asked what wizarding magazines there were, (though Afifa Lanjwani had cuffed him hard upside the head, which had shut him up).

He tells Hagrid all of this in a rapid and messy fashion, rushed and emotional, and Hagrid, to his credit, listens as if Harry hadn't just been sorted into the house "all dark wizards come from".

"Well, yer in Slytherin now, Harry." Hagrid says sagely, with the same tone of someone pointing out that you had chosen to live with several dozen scorpions in your bed.

"Snakes are vicious. Er… How'd yeh get on in yer lessons?" He pushes a cup of tea into Harry's hands, shaking with anxiety or anger or he doesn't know what, but Harry drinks, and it's so sweet he almost smiles. Hagrid's trying, after all.

"They were okay. Hermione was a bit snippy with me."

"The Muggleborn lass, black girl with the curly hair?" Harry nods, and Hagrid gives a quiet hum. He looks like he's carefully considering his next words, and Harry looks up at him, sipping at his tea. "Seems to me she'll think yeh'll be a purist, Harry. Given yer, er, house an' all."

They talk for a while longer – it's only when Harry notices the newspaper clipping, from Vault 713, that Hagrid hurriedly suggests he go up to the castle again – but not before firmly insisting Harry is welcome to visit when he pleases.

At least someone at Hogwarts likes him.

Harry sits, with resolution evident on his features, across from Hermione Granger in the library, meeting her unimpressed gaze with a squared chin. He hangs his bag on the back of his chair, straightens himself up and looks right at her.

"There is no difference, you know," Hermione says in a superior tone, not looking up from the thick, leatherbound volume opened on the table in front of her. Books are stacked all around her, an essay half-completed to her right. "Monkswood and Wolfsbane are the same."

"Also known as aconite," Harry agrees. "I know that now." Granger humphs, and then Harry says, tone biting, "Not everyone has relatives that like their magic, you know. My Aunt and Uncle knew about it but kept me in the dark, then tried to lock me up so I couldn't get my letter." This sort of honesty is blunt and awkward on his tongue, difficult to admit; he's never talked about his relatives to anyone in terms of how they actually are, but he is determined to be friends with Hermione Granger, and she won't talk to him if she thinks of him as some arrogant famous Slytherin.

Hermione Granger is quiet, and she tears her gaze away from her book to stare at him, her lips parting, eyes widened. She hesitates, and then asks, "How do I know you're not lying? George Weasley says Slytherins lie all the time."

"Francois Richelieu says the Weasley twins bully Slytherin kids, and enjoy making chaos. Besides, why would I lie?" Harry demands.

"Because you want to copy my homework." Harry scoffs.

"I don't want to copy your homework! I want to be your friend. You're smart – smarter than any of the other Gryffindors, and you're actually quite nice, when you're not busy being so full of yourself." She looks furious.

"Full of myself!?"

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it then!" Harry says, mimicking the snooty tone she'd used on the train, and she falters, anger fading for a minute. "I just want to be your friend, Hermione. I don't need to copy your homework." She looks at him suspiciously, and he says, "I'll beat you to the top of the class, I bet." She rolls her eyes, looking like she doesn't believe him – Harry doesn't actually believe himself, but it doesn't mean he can't foster the competitive nature of Gryffindors, and she has to be friends with someone.

She doesn't have any other friends in Gryffindor – she was alone all their first day, and even now, two days later, Ron Weasley seems to hate her and no one else seems to like her. Harry wants friends – he's never really had friends before, not for long, and she might be headstrong, but she seemed decent on the train.

Just a bit of a know-it-all, and really, what's wrong with that?

Hermione's face remains stony, and so Harry shrugs, throwing his bag onto the table and beginning to pack up his books again. "Fine. I just thought you could rise above that sort of stupid house bias. Guess I was wrong."

"Wait," she's staring at him, looking him up and down, and then she says, "You make one snobby comment, and we're done."

Harry grins. "I'll leave the snobby comments to you. You've only made six already." She looks angry again, but when he winks, her fury melts into a rueful little grin. She's got buck teeth, he notices, but she's not really ugly or anything: Parkinson seems to be convinced that all the non-Slytherin First Years are ugly, but Harry doesn't really think any of them are.

He sits down, and then, after a short pause, he puts out a hand for her to shake.

"Start over? I'm Harry. Just Harry."

There's a short pause, and then she takes his hand, shaking it with resolution in the movement. She still seems cautious, but he's caught her trust, just for a little bit, and he feels relief flood through him, relief and excitement and delight.

"Okay, Harry. I'm Hermione Granger." Her smile becomes a bit more shy, and Harry suppresses an urge to laugh out loud.

Hermione Granger: Harry's first friend.