Hey, look, it's another chapter. Woo. Oh, and it's almost three thousand words, yay.
Chapter Two
When Harry flung back the silver-and-green hangings of his bed—and when his glasses were in place, so that his vision wasn't blurred—he saw that Draco stood on the side of his bed closest to Harry. He was fully dressed, despite it being only six-thirty, and showed no visible traces of being tired. He was straightening his tie, staring into the mirror on the wall.
Harry, on the other hand, showed very visible signs of exhaustion. He'd barely gotten only sleep the night before, for he had laid awake in his bed, thinking about what might have happened had he been placed in Gryffindor. He stumbled to the bathroom, earning smirks from Draco and Blaise Zabini both.
Both boys infuriated Harry, he thought as he tried (and, of course, failed) to flatten out his hair. After Harry's little "conversation" with Draco, the blonde had started up a conversation with Blaise about "blood purity," whatever that was. Harry, despite his confusion, hadn't asked what that was. The few times he had voiced his questions about the Wizarding world, he had received condescending smirks but no answers.
Harry turned the sink on, and ducked his head under the faucet. Only decent amounts of water poured onto his head seemed to keep Harry's hair flat; and, even then, it rarely lasted for a long time. When he exited the bathroom, Draco shot him yet another infuriating smirk, silently bragging about how effortlessly his hair lay flat.
Harry ignored him. He didn't want to spend too much time with Draco and Blaise, for fear that their behavior would rub off on him. Greg and Vince were moderately tolerable, as they rarely spoke and, for the most part, remained expressionless. Harry wanted to escape the Slytherins and repair his friendship with Ron, but he thought that it would be unlikely. Ron showed a strong dislike for Slytherins before they had even arrived at Hogwarts. He was unsure as to how heightened Ron's dislike would be, now that they were in the castle, and House prejudices seemed to be almost enforced.
The moment that Harry exited the Slytherin common room, shutting the door behind him so that it blended with the wall, whispers followed him constantly. Many were of shock that the Boy-Who-Lived, of all people, had been Sorted into Slytherin. A few were of pure amazement, and, dare he think, awe, that the Boy-Who-Lived had finally arrived at Hogwarts.
Harry found it difficult to ignore the constant whispers, so he distracted himself by pulling his course schedule out of the pocket of his robes. The first class, before break, was a double-period Potions classes with the Gryffindors. Draco had smirked at him when he knew that Harry had read that part, and Harry had glared at him before moving on. He was certain that Draco would mock him and tease him for wishing to repair his friendship with Ron, despite inter-House friendships, as he had heard, being very rare. Even in the Slytherin common room, the students seemed to stick with Housemates of their year. There were a few exceptions, such as a third and fourth year who Harry thought were nearly inseparable, but that was about it. Inter-year friendships were rare enough; inter-House friendships seemed to be almost unheard of.
He had reached the Great Hall by then, having memorized the rather short path between the Slytherin common room and the Great Hall the night before. His eyes scanned the Gryffindor table. Ron hadn't arrived yet. Harry was only awake because he was used to waking early, having been forced to since he was seven and knew how to cook. Well, cook for the Dursleys, at least, and Dudley. And most of what Dudley ate was fast food and candy, so Harry didn't have to do much cooking for his cousin. Ron hadn't lived in the same conditions, and classes didn't start until nine o'clock, so it made sense that he wasn't awake yet.
Breakfast had only started thirty minutes ago, so Harry still had time. The first years had been told, by the prefects, that Professor Snape, the Potions Master, was a harsh teacher. He was also Head of Slytherin, and supposedly favored the Slytherins, which the Prefect had announced rather smugly. But Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, and something told him that Snape would dislike him, so he had decided to look through Magical Draughts and Potions before Potions class began. As he wolfed down a couple of waffles, quickly read through his textbook, stopping at interesting-looking paragraphs or words that he didn't recognize. If Snape asked him any questions, Harry decided by around seven thirty, then Harry was mildly prepared. If Snape asked for details, then he would be in trouble, but Harry thought that he could manage basic answers.
Ron entered the Great Hall, then, engaging in conversation with Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas. Harry looked his way hopefully, but Ron just turned his head and talked more loudly.
Harry sighed. He decided that he would try to talk to Ron after classes were over, and tell him that he wasn't Slytherin, and that the Hat had made a mistake, and that he wanted to be a Gryffindor, and that he still wanted to be Ron's friend, and that he wanted to spend as little time as possible around people like Draco and Blaise, and that—
We'll have a conversation this afternoon, Harry mentally promised Ron. I don't want him to hold prejudices against me. All the other Slytherins—especially Draco—might be slimy snakes, but I'm not. And I won't become one, either.
Draco and Blaise, flanked by Greg and Vince, entered the Great Hall, then. Ron made a disgusted face at them, and Draco seemed like he was going to argue and insult Ron when Professor McGonagall swept between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, and stepped in front of the boys.
"Is there a problem, boys?" Harry distantly heard her ask.
Draco shook his head, said something, and looked expectantly at Ron. Ron shook his head, too, and lowered his chin to his throat. Harry watched with sympathy as Ron made his way to the Gryffindor table, Dean and Neville following him.
Draco and the other first year Slytherin boys sat at the Slytherin table near Harry. Harry mentally sighed, wishing that they'd sit somewhere else. Maybe if they did, then Ron wouldn't think that he wanted to be in Slytherin when he really didn't, not in the slightest. Draco seemed to read that thought from Harry's mind, and smirked.
"Missing Weasley, Potter?"
"I thought you were calling me Harry, now," Harry said dryly.
"You didn't answer my question, Harry. No one ignores a Malfoy."
Harry rolled his eyes and ignored that comment. "Ron's my first friend that I thought that I would get to see on a regular basis, so yes, Draco, I'm sort of missing him."
Draco and Blaise exchanged smirks at this, Draco even chuckling slightly.
"Listen, Potter," said Blaise. "You're a Slytherin, now. Weasley's a Gryffindor. And Slytherins don't hang around with Gryffindors or Mudbloods or blood-traitors or anyone who's unworthy of our attention."
"I'm not Slytherin, Zabini," argued Harry. "The Hat made a mistake."
"No one who's chosen for Slytherin is ever 'not a Slytherin,'" Blaise retaliated. "Slytherins are the worthy students, and if you're not Slytherin, then you're not worthy. And if you're not worthy, that the Hat wouldn't have declared you a Slytherin. Accept it, Potter. You're a Slytherin, and you always will be. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin. And people like Weasley are unworthy of your attention."
"Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin," repeated Ron from the next table, the Gryffindor table. Harry closed his eyes. The table arrangements were going to cause a lot of problems in the next seven years, Harry knew. "And once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. Of course, I don't really see the difference between the two. Slytherin, Death Eater...same thing." Ron shrugged innocently, and glanced at Seamus Finnigan, who nodded in agreement.
Harry met Ron's gaze. "I don't want to be in Slytherin, Ron," he said.
"Oh, of course, you don't," said Ron dryly. "If you didn't want to be in Slytherin, Potter—" Harry inwardly flinched from Ron's use of his surname, "—then you would have told the Hat not to put you there, wouldn't you? I told it to put me in Gryffindor, and it listened to me."
"I did tell it, or at least I tried—"
"That hat would have made you a Gryffindor anyway, Weasley," Draco sneered. "You and the rest of your blood-traitor family."
"Oh, you shut your mouth, Malfoy. I'm twice the wizard you'll ever be and you know it. You and your family and your blood elitism is just a load of rubbish. And you, Potter," Ron added, pointing an accusing finger at Harry, "you betrayed me. I finally found myself a friend, and then you ran off to Slytherin to become a servant of You-Know-Who."
"You-Know-Who killed my parents, Ron. Why would I go over to his side?"
"Because you're a Slytherin, that's why! They're all the same: they're Sorted, they become evil, and then they all go and join You-Know-Who and his merry band of Death Eaters. For all I know, you'll ignore the fact that he killed your parents, and together you'll work to destroy the world, Wizarding and Muggle!"
"I'm not going to become a servant of You-Know-Who, Ron," said Harry calmly.
"Yes, you will, because you're a Slytherin. You all turn Dark at some point." And he turned back around in his seat, aggressively eating his pancakes.
Harry sighed, Draco smirked, Blaise sneered.
"Gee, am I excited to have Potions with him," Draco mocked sarcastically. Blaise chuckled.
Harry gazed sadly at the back of Ron's head, placing Magical Draughts and Potions back into his bag. At eight forty-five, Harry stood up and exited the Great Hall, not wishing to be late for Potions. The other Slytherins arrived eventually, and then the Gryffindors. When Ron entered, he glared sharply at Harry before leading Dean to a desk at the other side of the classroom.
When Snape himself swooped into the Potions classroom, largely resembling an overgrown bat, in his long black cloak, Harry had to admit that he was an intimidating teacher. He immediately began class by taking attendance. He stopped when he reached Harry's name.
"Harry Potter," he said. "Our new...celebrity."
Next to Vince at the desk in front of Harry, Blaise hid a chuckle into the palm of his hand. Harry glanced at Draco; he was smirking, as usual. Harry wasn't surprised; it seemed to be Draco's default expression. Harry would simply try to not let it bother him.
When Snape finished roll call, he immediately turned on Harry again. Attempting an unafraid appearance, Harry gazed right up at Snape.
"Mr. Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry, having seen the words in Magical Draughts and Potions, and not recognized them, thought that he could manage a basic answer. "The Draught of Living Death, sir."
Snape had most likely been expecting Harry to not know, and to embarrass himself in front of the class. But he showed no sign of surprise. Then, he asked, "Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"
Harry was unsure. He knew that he had read the odd word in his textbook, but it had been an hour and a half ago, and he was fuzzy on the details. He tried not to let his uncertainty creep into his voice, though, as he answered, "In the stomach of a goat, sir."
Harry was relieved when Snape made no move to correct him.
"Mr. Potter, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Harry hesitated, and dared not hope he'd impressed Snape. "They're the same plant, sir," he answered, refraining from making it a question. Then Snape would embarrass him for his uncertainty, he was sure of it.
Snape nodded curtly. "Five points to Slytherin for displaying some actual study skills."
Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and glanced over at the Gryffindor side of the room. During Snape's series of questions, Hermione Granger's hand seemed to have taken a life of its own, creeping slowly into the air; Snape ignored her, and turned on Ron.
"And you, Mr. Weasley, what are the ingredients of a Boil Cure potion?"
Ron tightened his jaw and gestured to Hermione, whose hand had been thrust into the air. "I think Hermione knows, why don't you ask her?"
A few students chuckled lightly, but Snape showed no traces of amusement. "I asked you, Mr. Weasley."
"I don't know," Ron said through gritted teeth. Harry sympathized. He didn't know either (he didn't know a lot of things, about the Wizarding world, but that didn't matter at this point). Out of everyone in the class, it seemed that only Hermione did.
Snape sneered. "Five points from Gryffindor for displaying a severe lack of study skills."
Ron flushed. From next to Harry, Draco smirked and hid a chuckle. Harry glared at him, and Draco's smirk grew.
Harry didn't listen to Snape's following speech, and he didn't worry about getting too many steps wrong. He had grown accustomed to following long and complex directions from his childhood—if you would really call it that—with the Dursleys.
With a single wave of his wand, ingredients and instructions for the potion that they were brewing in class—the Cure for Boils potion that Snape had asked Ron about—appeared on the chalkboard. Harry had no trouble following them. In fact, he took control of the brewing part, leaving an annoyed Draco to retrieve the ingredients. Harry followed the directions carefully, rereading each step twice before he took action. His and Draco's potion was as close to perfect as it could get, Harry decided, when Snape called time. He then swooped around the classroom, making comments about each student pair's potion. Hermione and Neville would have had a perfect potion, were it not for the fact that Neville had made several mistakes while brewing it. Hermione had desperately tried to reverse the mistakes, but the potion had turned an ugly, murky brown color, instead of the required blue.
When Snape arrived at Harry and Draco's table, he nodded shortly. "Well done, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy," he said, and though his tone betrayed no emotion, Harry could tell that he was impressed. Harry swelled with pride. "Five points to Slytherin."
"It was all me, Professor," Draco lied. "I did the brewing, Harry here fetched the ingredients."
"Do not lie to me, Mr. Malfoy," hissed Snape. Harry vaguely wondered how he knew that Draco was lying. "That's one point you've lost from Slytherin."
Snape moved on to Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass's potion, leaving Draco seemingly astonished that Snape had deducted a point from Slytherin.
Harry smiled innocently at Draco; Draco seethed with anger. Harry had earned ten points in total, today—no, nine, since Draco had lost a point for lying to Snape—and he was proud of himself. And he had impressed Snape with his near-perfect potion. It was only the first day, as well; he would improve over time.
And, for a moment, in his feeling of swelling pride—it was just for a moment—Harry forgot all about his problems with Ron and Slytherin and Draco.