Authors' Note: A very good question has been brought up by a review: What is the purpose of writing a fic so canon? Well, our purpose, or better yet: our goal, is to re-write the entire Harry Potter series as if Harry had been sorted into Slytherin (a grand task yes, but not completely impossible). Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone sets the stage for the rest of the books, gives the rules and the basis for the series. Therefore, we wanted to incorporate the slightest changes into that story so that the effect of the other stories would be greater. Think of it like this, Harry getting sorted into Slytherin is the equivalent of throwing a snowball down the face of a snowy mountain: at first, the mountainside is entirely unaffected because, well it is only a snowball, but as it rolls and picks up snow and grows and grows, it eventually becomes an avalanche which wipes clean the entire mountain and completely changes the landscape. That is the idea of The Slytherin Tales. The first Tale will be more in sync with Rowling's books than any of the others, but imagine the magnified effects on the stories to come. We have already begun composing the Chamber of Secrets rendition, and it will be almost entirely seperate from Rowling's works because of the small alterations we've made in this tale. Harry can't very well pull the sword out of sorting hat if he's not a Gryffindor, can he?

In a nutshell: It is written like this to show how such a slight change can eventually change the entire series beyond recognition.

Yes, it can be tedious both reading and writing such a fic, but be assured, the parts where it is most like the original are predominant only in the first few chapters and, of course, the last chapter. The meat of this fic is considerably different from the original work, however, we don't blame you if you don't have the patience to read that far. By all means, wait until the sequel is created and read from there. Or don't read at all. ;)

Again, all criticisms are much appreciated, as well as all praises. *humble bow* Please enjoy Chapter 3.

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to Malfoy."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases as Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. There were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry and Draco managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamplike eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Thursday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believe this story. For one thing, when asked how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and that it probably was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. There was so much to learn that even people like Draco didn't have much of a head start.

Friday, Harry and Draco went down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"We have Double Potions today with the Gryffindors," said Draco. "Snape will favor us over them," he continued, smugly.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owner, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry borrowed Draco's quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson was among the worst things that had happened to him this week.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew this to be true.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter."

He glanced up when he said Harry's name. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels. He finished the roll and then began to speak.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Draco exchanged looks. Draco's expression showed that he approved of Professor Snape. Harry could not say the same.

"Potter!" said Snape, suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Draco who avoided his eyes; the Gryffindor girl, Hermione Granger's hand shot up into the air.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Snape's lip curled into a sneer and he ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let us try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was.

"I don't know, sir."

"Clearly."

Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He hadlooked through his books at the Dursley's, but did Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think you should ask her." He pointed at the bouncing Gryffindor girl.

A few people laughed; Harry caught Malvora's eye and she gave him a thumbs up. Snape, did not look incredibly pleased but, at this point, he turned his attention away from Harry.

"Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And I'd like to speak with you after class, Potter."

Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Draco, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Draco had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt another Gryffindor's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing, "Snape spat at Neville's partner.

When potions ended, Harry told Draco he'd be outside in a minute, and he waited glumly for the other students to leave him with Snape. After the door shut behind the last student, Harry stood facing Snape, whose arms were folded and who seemed to be glaring rather cruelly at Harry.

"You are lucky to be in my House, Potter, or you would not have gotten away with your cheek so easily."

Harry looked at the ground.

"Sorry, sir," Harry mumbled, finding the situation extremely unfair.

"I would regret taking points away from my own House, so you would be wise to behave in my classroom, Potter. You might also consider reading the material you purchased for Potions at some point."

Harry almost argued with this, about to point out that he had read the book, but he thought better of it.

"Is that all, sir?" Harry asked, gloomily.

Snape sneered at him, as if about to say something more, but then turned.

"Yes," he drawled, "that is all, Potter."

Harry didn't waste his time leaving.

"What was that all about?" Draco asked later as they ascended from the dungeon.

"Snape says he'll take points away from Slytherin if I'm cheeky again," said Harry.

"Odd," Draco said, "it's unlike him to pick on Slytherins. What did you do, trip him down the stairs or something?"

"I didn't do anything!" Harry cried.

"Relax," Draco laughed, "you were probably just unlucky today. He likes me well enough," he stated, "he's bound to warm up to you, too."

Harry wasn't so sure, but didn't argue.

"I'm going to Hagrid's at three," he said.

"Why on earth would you want to see that beast of a man?" Draco gasped, sounding revolted.

Harry crossed his arms indignantly.

"Hagrid's a friend. I was going to invite you to come along, but if you'd rather play Wizard Chess with Crabbe and Goyle, that's fine." This was a very ironic thing to say, as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were not clever enough to play Wizard Chess. They were much better at games like, "trip the Gryffindor" or "beat each other senseless."

Draco thought about this for a moment.

"Father says that Hagrid was expelled from Hogwarts and I shouldn't be around him. There are also rumors that he's a half-giant. It can't be safe to be alone with a creature like that."

Harry had had enough of this argument and turned on his heels.

"I don't care what he is, he's my friend." He began to stride away in a huff.

"Wait a minute, Potter!" Draco called, running to catch up. "I'll go with you to the mongrel's house just this once. Only because I want to see what the attraction is."

"I don't care whether you come or not, but if you say another word about Hagrid. . ."

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

Draco muttered something incomprehensible and Harry knocked on the door. There was a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Draco leapt at least five feet back from the door. Then Hagrid's voice ran out, saying, "Back, Fang – back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

"I am not going in there with that… that thing," Draco hissed.

"Hagrid, maybe you should put – er, Fang, outside while we come inside," Harry offered.

"What?" Hagrid said as he held the door open with one hand and a great boarhound's collar with the other. "Fang's harmless. Come on now, can't hold 'im forever!"

With some convincing from Harry, Draco finally followed him inside. There was only one room. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open faire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Draco and started licking his ears.

"GET THIS MUTT AWAY FROM ME!" Draco howled, attempting to get away. Hagrid was right, Fang was clearly harmless, but this wasn't Draco's concern. He was more worried about Fang ripping his robes or contaminating him than anything else.

"This is Draco," Harry told Hagrid, who had thrown a steak to the other side of the room for Fang to get occupied with.

"A Malfoy, eh?" said Hagrid, while boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate. "Forgot yeh got sorted into Slytherin, Harry." He said this with a tinge of disappointment, as though he had expected Harry to get sorted elsewhere.

"Where were my parents sorted, Hagrid?" Harry asked.

"Yer parents were Gryffindors, both of 'em. S'pose House isn't all that matters though. That's what Dumbledore always says, anyway."

Harry wondered again if he'd made the right choice when he picked his House. Finding out that his parents were in Gryffindor wasn't easy. He felt somehow like he was betraying them.

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke Harry's teeth, but he pretended to be enjoying them – Draco refused to touch anything in Hagrid's hut, including the rock cakes – as they told Hagrid about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes. Better there than near Draco, he supposed.

Harry and Draco were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her."

"Sounds like Pansy," Draco commented under his breath. Harry laughed. Draco stood still by the door the whole time they were in Hagrid's hut, but he eventually stopped nervously watching Fang and began to regard Hagrid with judging eyes.

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students, after which Draco proudly declared that Snape was favorable to him, which received him annoyed looks from both Harry and Hagrid.

"But Snape doesn't pick on Slytherins," Harry protested. "He must really hate me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that.

"How's yer parents?" Hagrid asked Draco. "Haven't heard much about Lucius Malfoy in a while. Didn' like 'im much when he went to Hogwarts."

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Draco eagerly boasted about all of his father's recent accomplishments, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at

Gringotts on 31 July, widely believe to be the

work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing

had been taken. The vault that was searched had in

fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so

keep your noses out if you know what's good

for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this after-

noon.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry and Draco walked back to the castle for dinner, Harry thought that none of the lessons so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected the package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape he didn't want to tell Harry?