(I get that you guys want to follow my story, but you know it'd be nice if you left a review. Maybe. Pretty please? Anyway, yeah, I do change things around and skip some things, but mostly I'll try to keep things that are concurrent with the plot - the same with the choice-changes.)
CHAPTER THREE: THE SORTING HAT
The door swung open and Harry's eyes boggled behind their cracked glasses. His grip on Draco's sleeve loosened and he crept up as close as he could to the front of the group. A lady, tall with great circular glasses, which put Harry's to shame, stood in the door eyeing them solemnly with hazel-green eyes.
Hagrid bowed causing the students behind him to back away in fear for their lives, "Professor McGonagall, this 'ere is all the first years."
"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take them from here. First years, follow me!" Her tone was not bossy, like Hermione's or Draco's, but it was more a serious voice – one that commanded the respect to follow her orders. She was stern, that much Harry was certain of.
The students hopped to. She turned her back to them, her teacher's robes swishing under her feet. As they walked the eleven year olds took in the sights. The entrance hall was large and awe-inspiring. A few students muttered that, "You could fit a whale in here!" It was indeed large enough to fit a whale, almost two of them side by side. The hall was lit by torches which looked to be just out of the reach of curious fingers. As Harry's gaze climbed the stone walls he eventually was looking directly upwards. The ceiling was so high that the he couldn't even discern the patterns that decorated it.
Draco, who had been quietly following (something he hardly ever did), decided to comment, "Illusions, Potter. The roof's not really that high."
In response, Harry flashed him a grateful grin and continued to look still very much in awe. Draco rolled his eyes mentally and then under his breath he muttered, "I knew he was easily impressed."
Eventually, they came to a marble staircase which led upwards in a spiralling manner. Marble, a notoriously hard stone to carve out of, would've made the job of making it curved unexplainably hard – or so Harry had read in one of the long forgotten books which his uncle had bought, but had "put into storage" after realising that redecorating the house would be too much hard work. The thought of his uncle made Harry scowl.
The mutterings of many voices, something like a group of flies sounded like, made Harry look at a door to their right, just before they reached the stairs. Harry had thought for a moment that they were going to go up them and as such was quite disappointed to find the Professor approaching the loud door.
She reached her hand out to the handle, but paused and turned to face the cohort, "Students, before we enter this hall I shall inform you what is happening. However, before I do that I have to say: welcome to Hogwarts!"
She smiled momentarily, something like a sharp-edged grin which she perhaps did not perform often enough to soften, and then immediately her face returned to its neutral (though hawk-like) expression, "Once inside these doors," she gestured behind herself with a hand that barely showed itself out of her robes, "you will be sorted into your houses. Your house will become your new family. Perhaps, you have made some friends already - do not be worried if you do not end up in the same house. House inter-mingling is very much encouraged as is healthy rivalry. However, you take classes with your houses, you sleep in the same dorm as your houses and you will also spend any and all free time with your houses."
The professor paused to take a breath, letting everything sink in, then she continued after looking almost everyone for just a moment in the eyes, "As you should well know by now, if you had read the necessary reading package supplied to you with your text books, there are four houses. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin," there was loud murmur when she said this house followed by many concerned whispers, which stopped once McGonagall gave them all a steady glance, "Each house is equal in all senses. No one house is favoured. However, at the end of each year there will be an award for the house which acts the most noble. Acting noble or justifiably right will earn you house points – the house with the most points in our last term banquet will, of course, win."
Once again she stopped, letting any muttering die down with her silence and stare. Her voice was considerably less warm as she spoke once again, "It must be noted that with every light end of the spectrum there is a dark end. If you do not act nobly or in a manner befitting a fledgling witch or wizard your house shall lose points. Something, I may add, you will wish to avoid most heartedly, if you wish to retain your good standing among your peers. I hope each of you become assets to your houses, however, if you find yourself without the ability to become an credit, do not fall to the level of becoming a hindrance."
Harry hadn't been expecting that last comment to affect him, but it did. Some of the vague worries about his title as the Boy Who Lived popped back into his head like daisies after the winter snows melted. A shiver dripped lazily down Harry's back and he felt goosebumps form on his arms. He cast a look over to Draco, but found the boy to not be paying much attention, which Harry was grateful for. His worries belonged to himself. Harry did a double-take at Draco, for the first time he hadn't realised the blonde was smirking. Harry wasn't too sure he wanted to know what the other wizard was thinking about. The brunette muffled a sigh at his owns concerns and concentrated back onto the professor.
She was watching the students like a bird of prey. It didn't seem to bother Harry much, which vaguely surprised him. Was he used to stares like that? He shook off the strange familiarity he felt and blinked as the professor disappeared behind the door, but not before remarking, "You'd best smarten yourselves up before entering. You don't want the other professors to see a group of stumbling fledglings."
The cohort immediately broke out into loud chattering. Draco turned to Harry and Harry raised an eyebrow at the expression on Draco's face, "Think something's funny, Malfoy?"
Draco shook his head in entertained amicability, "It's just that McGonagall's a Gryffindor. You wouldn't believe it from her just now. Father said she was almost sorted in Slytherin, but I didn't think she'd be so… well, Slytherin. Those back-handed comments – ingenious."
Harry took this in silently, as he couldn't judge well enough to know if one were Slytherin-ish or even Hufflepuff-ish… (Harry fought back the need to snort at the ridiculous name). For a second, he listened in on the conversations of those around him.
"I want to be in Gryffindor!"
"But I want to be in Gryffindor!"
"Well, you both can't be in Gryffindor... Because I'm going to be!"
The three friends fell into an intent and fiery argument which consisted only of, "No, I am!"
Somewhere off to Harry's right, he heard a small voice mutter, "Ravenclaw doesn't sound so bad…"
"If you're into that kind of stuff, Terry," this was followed by what Harry imagined was a snicker.
To Harry's left, "Hey, hey, Hannah – you should be in Hufflepuff! You always did like the three little pig muggle story."
"I think Hufflepuff is cool!"
"Sure. Hannah huffed and she puffed and then she HufflePuffed so she blew into that House."
A round of laughter was immediate. When they were silent again the sullen voice of Hannah spoke up, "Shut up, Susan! You know that "muggle" story just as well as I do, otherwise you wouldn't be able to talk about it like that!"
No matter how hard Harry listened, it wasn't there. Nowhere could Harry hear anyone talking about Slytherin. He'd read the mandatory package and it didn't sound bad. In fact, out of all the houses Slytherin and Gryffindor were the ones he would've picked, without Draco even entering the equation. Why did no one want to join Slytherin? For a second Hagrid's warning flitted despairingly into his mind, "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-know-who was one. "
Harry's mouth fell open – surely, these choices had nothing to do with the potential of some single person in the house being bad? They couldn't possibly be assuming just because Voldemort was once in Slytherin that everyone else who ended up in Slytherin would be bad as well… Could they? Draco noticed the inner-turmoil of his friend and smirked, "So, you noticed, huh?"
"No one wants to be in Slytherin…"
"No one's talking about wanting to be in Slytherin. Something you need to know about us Slytherins. Our desires are never spoken out loud. We're silent and cunning, if I do say so myself," he looked positively smug, but continued, "Now take a look around… look at the quiet ones. I can bet you at least twelve gold galleons that those ones will end up in Slytherin," Draco jutted his jaw out at the few people who weren't holding conference with others, but were standing silently by themselves – observing.
Harry thought Draco was being ridiculous. Feeling rather confident, he stared intently at the few people and tried to remember the silent people's faces. He then grinned at Draco and held out a hand, "I'll take that bet, Malfoy!"
Draco smirked (Again, Harry thought despairingly) and took Harry's hand to shake it firmly, "You're on, Potter."
The door flung open just as Harry remembered the professor's last piece of advice and he swept a hand up to his hair to neaten it up. He only succeeded in messing it up more. Draco didn't need to do anything. He was still… (Harry smothered a giggle as he thought of Ron's description). Draco was still a tidy as ever. Harry let out a sigh, but as McGonagall appeared in front of them a thought popped into his head.
He glanced over to Draco and asked, "How do they know which house to put us in?"
A smile (Or maybe half-smirk, Harry mentally commented) played at the edges of Draco's mouth, "Oh, you'll find out."
Harry felt his heart give out a horrible jolt. Whatever that expression on Draco's face meant – it couldn't be a good thing. Oh, well, Harry thought, It can't be something horrible. There's no way they'd allow that at a school. Even though this isn't a normal school… Doubt began to cloud Harry's mind and he wondered if Draco were right when he had told Harry that Hogwarts wasn't Harry's place to be free.
It was horrible feeling – that the thing he had waited for, for so long might not be real. If it wasn't… Harry wasn't sure what he'd do. Maybe he'd do what Draco had suggested and keep searching… but he was so tired of searching and waiting that surely he'd give up and –
"Come along now," Professor McGonagall snapped at the students in a sharp voice, "The Sorting is going to start."
"Form a line," she said as the students fell silent and began to approach her, "And follow me."
Just as they did when they had followed Hagrid moments before, but which had felt like each second was an eternity, they got into single file. Harry felt his legs fall into a rubbery like state, in which he found it hard to take a straight step. He found a solution to this wobbly walk to be following Draco's steps exactly. Draco, of course, had ended up in front of Harry refusing to be left behind like he had been before. Hermione seemed to be, once again, the only one willing to be near either Harry or Draco. Curiously, the person behind Hermione was Ron and he was giving both Harry and Draco a rather deadly stare, possibly thinking of ways to embarrass them. Only Hermione seemed aware of it.
The doors swung open and Harry gulped his nervousness.
He blinked as the difference in lighting in the room caused his surroundings to be faded considerably. As he became accustomed to the low-light he felt his mouth slowly, but surely drop open. The silence of the rest of the cohort was obviously awe-inspired.
The only word which Harry could think of which aptly described any of the Great Hall was, "Awesome."
Though not as beautiful as floating in the sky it had its own eerie elegance. The only light came from the hundreds of dancing flames on the tip of lit wicks and candles which hung in the air, suspended only by something that could be explained with the arcane. In the centre of the room were four long tables adorned with many shiny, metallic platters and plates. At the front of the hall, far from Harry, there as another long table – sitting perpendicular to the other four and sitting at it were adults. Harry assumed they were the other professors. To avoid their stares, which somehow all seemed to be on him and him alone, Harry looked up.
The ceiling itself was the lake; stars and the darkness that only the absence of light could ever produce naturally. Hermione had been staring at it too and she whispered into Harry's ear, "It's bewitched to look like the night sky. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."
Harry didn't doubt it, after what Draco had told him in the entrance hall. It seemed like everything here needed to have illusions to make it better. The more "bewitching" that took place the less Harry was genuinely impressed, apart from the anticipation in his heart which made him want to see more of the things that perhaps one day he would be able to do. Draco was silent again, but he was calmly and rather coolly taking in his surroundings. Ron's mouth was, inelegantly, wide open with his jaw just about scraping the ground as he trudged forth.
In the very front McGonagall was placing a four legged stool. Harry wondered absently about what was happening, but he was concentrating too hard to be bothered to actual conjure up any logical answer. Draco let out a breath of silent impatience; I wish they'd stop making such a spectacle of this. It's not like its important or anything. Besides, I know which house I'm going to be in.
Hermione, however, was busy taking mental notes of everything; she might be quizzed on this!
On top the seemingly pointless stool she placed a rather… less than desirable pointed hat. Harry wondered why if everything had illusions this hat, which was frayed, dirty and falling apart, didn't. It must be something important. Maybe that was the way they discerned things, Harry thought, The more important end of the spectrum didn't need to have illusions – it should be respected the way it is naturally… He glanced at Draco to check his expression, but as always the Malfoy's trait of being unreadable spoiled Harry's plan.
As the stool and hat sat in the centre of the room, everyone's attention was upon it. Harry realised it might be a trick. Like the Kansas City Shuffle – while you look left, they fall right. So, he glanced around just to be sure. Nothing else seemed to be occurring so, Harry trained his eyes back onto the stool. Why was everyone so gosh-darned silent? Harry asked himself.
Then the hat began to twitch. By itself. Then the part where the brim was ripped open into what looked almost exactly like a mouth.
Then it spoke, "I'll have you all know I was having quite a good time sleeping! Youngsters these days, no respect…" it then trailed off into mutterings.
The whole entire hall broke out in laughter. Well, everyone except the first years, who were almost entirely, freaked out… just a little. Harry watched the hat in fascination. He had been right. A talking hat obviously deserved not to be bewitched and as such his theory was still sound. Harry wondered what the hat would do.
"You've got to try it on. It can read minds, Potter. It'll put you in the house you belong in," Draco whispered back to Harry.
Harry felt like he was trapped between two know-it-alls. Both Hermione and Draco knew so much about magic, even though Hermione was muggle born. Harry was a half-blood and he knew less then her. For a second, thoughts about his supposed triumph against Voldemort played in his mind. If Harry didn't know magic, how was it possible that he defeated one of the strongest wizards that ever lived?
If there were a house for someone who didn't feel like he could fill the shoes he'd be given then it would've been perfect for him. Harry let out a sigh as McGonagall pulled a parchment that looked to extremely long from her sleeves. Harry had no idea how it had fit in there, but then he realised what a ridiculous thought it was. He was in a magic school for god's sakes. Anything was possible!
"When I call your name you will sit on the stool and put the hat on to be sorted," She stopped to let everyone hear her voice project through the halls, "Abbot, Hannah!"
It was the girl who'd been teased about being in Hufflepuff. She sat meekly on the chair and placed the hat on which almost completely encapsulated her face. It was good thing too, for when the hat screamed out, "HUFFLEPUFF!" no one saw her cheeks turn red with embarrassment.
One of the tables cheered and she sat with them.
"Bones, Susan!" Shouted McGonagall.
It was the girl who'd been teasing poor Hannah.
Almost as soon as the hat went on it boomed, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
Harry found himself smirking at the irony.
"Boot, Terry!" went the Professor.
It was the boy who said Ravenclaw wouldn't be a bad house.
"RAVENCLAW!"
It seemed ones own desire for their won personal house didn't matter. It may have a small effect, judging by Terry's house, but it didn't do much for you. It was your personality or mind-set which affected the choice. Harry raised a questioning eyebrow as other names went through. No one had ended up in either Gryffindor or Slytherin yet. The young wizard grinned, I was right. They are the best houses. Exclusives, only.
One of the three who'd been fighting about who'd end up Gryffindor actually ended up in Gryffindor. The other two ended up somewhere Harry wasn't sure of. A "Bulstrode, Millicent" was the first to go to Slytherin. Harry recalled her face. She had been one of the silent ones. He felt a shadow of premonition hit him. He'd been a fool. Draco was going to win the bet. He let out a sigh. The Slytherin table didn't even cheer; they accepted her with cool nods.
Eventually, it came to people that Harry knew personally.
"Granger, Hermione!"
She appeared to be a little bit over eager and as such the hat exclaimed that she'd touched it inappropriately when she slammed it on her head. Her face was red when the hat called out, "GRYFFINDOR!"
She walked off just as quickly.
Draco swaggered on when his name was called, his vain face smiling. The hat barely even touched his head before his wish was granted, "SLYTHERIN!"
Draco walked off, looking very pleased with himself. Once again the table did not cheer. It seemed to be against their personalities. Harry watched as Draco sat next to two larger looking boys. Draco, however, paid them no mind and was now staring and waiting, presumably for Harry to join him. Harry tried to smile in reassurance, but he wasn't completely sure either. If desire had next to nothing to do with the way the hat selected he wasn't sure he possessed any of the traits that Slytherins usually had.
Harry's concern mounted with every name that went past, for it was always drawing forever closer to his own. Every time the tables got a new addition they all clapped, except Slytherin and the sounds were beginning to grate on Harry's nerves. He felt himself break out into a nervous sweat. Abruptly, all too soon, the P's were being called. And then… finally, it was, "Potter, Harry!"
Harry walked, his legs feeling like some combination between lead and rubbery - heavy, but unable to take a straight step. Like snakes, a hissing soon filled the Great Hall as the name Harry Potter reverberated on everyone's lips. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. Then he lowered himself onto the stool and placed the hat upon his head. Harry closed his eyes, trying to ignore everything except the hat.
"My, my, my. You are a difficult one. Very difficult. Plenty of courage and quite an ideal of what is true, I see. Hmmm, not a bad mind either. Oh and my goodness, what a thirst to prove yourself. Interesting, now, where should I put you?"
Harry bit his lip and figured he might as well try, Slytherin, please. Slytherin, please.
"Slytherin, hey?" said the voice, "Are you sure? I could put you into Gryffindor. It could make you great, you know, it's all here in your head and I'm sure Gryffindor will help you on your way to greatness. You're brave enough and you've quite a heavy thought of chivalry in your head. Hmmm, but if I dig a little bit deeper…" there was a shocked silence, followed by the hat being promptly impressed, "My, my, my. Hiding that from me. Well, I'll have to put you into Slytherin now. What a pity. SLYTHERIN!"
Harry let out the breath of air he didn't know he had been holding and felt a great weight lift off his shoulders. What happened next was outrageous and unexpected. In the silence that the decision had gained a single person from the Slytherin table began to clap. And then slowly the thunder began to build to the rest of the table. Until, finally the whole table was cheering out an uproar. It was unheard of. The Slytherin house never cheered. Beneath the Slytherin chaos Harry Potter heard words muttered.
"The Next Dark Lord."
It felt like a punch to his stomach and Harry found himself feeling rather faint. He walked slowly to his table and was greeted by Draco smiling, "Well, this is going to cause quite a scandal. The Boy Who Lived in Slytherin."
Harry fell into the seat beside Draco and dug his face into the palms of his hands. He hadn't been expecting this… Maybe Slytherin was the wrong choice. But Draco was his only friend, how could he live in a house where he didn't have any friends? If he hadn't had conversed with Draco in Madam Malkin's Robes he wouldn't have ended up here…
As he glanced up to look into the shark-skin eyes of Draco a smile slowly grew on his face. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He didn't have any other friends yet. And Draco already knew Harry's greatest desire. The smile on Harry's face was radiant and many of the Slytherins on the table – even the older years found themselves enraptured. Harry radiated warmth. Like the sun.
Draco scowled at the others, still possessive about the smile being only for friends, but he let it go. His father had been right. Harry was going to be the Next Dark Lord. And, by all the magic in the world, Draco would make him fulfil his destiny. Not only because his father thought that encouraging Harry would let Voldemort rise again, but because Draco thought Harry had the potential to be something.
When Draco came back from his thoughts he noticed Harry was staring at the professors' table. The young wizard obviously only knew three of the people sitting there; Hagrid, McGonagall and Quirrell. Draco decided to make Harry a little less naïve, "The middle one is our Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. He favours Gryffindor. Only Slytherin knows that though. Everyone will tell you otherwise."
Harry curiously gazed at the old man in the centre. Harry had to admit the man didn't look impressive, but there was atmosphere about him which screamed power. Harry watched, disinterested as the other students were sorted into houses. After Slytherins impressive outburst the other cheering seemed to pale in comparison and the other houses were looking dejected, which the Slytherins obviously delighted in. When finally, "Zabini, Blaise" was placed into Slytherin McGonagall rolled up her parchment, placed it back into her sleeve and walked to her own chair at the professors' table.
As Harry's gaze trailed Blaise back to their table his eyes fell upon the golden platters in front of him. He didn't feel very hungry. Perhaps, because his usual meal times had come and passed.
Headmaster Dumbledore got to his feet and beamed at his students, a large foolish smile on his face. Harry did not think much of him. He seemed… perhaps like an old man who had just secretly stolen a chocolate from a shop and was enjoying talking to the shop owner, while eating the chocolate, the shop owner unaware of the theft. Why Harry thought of that particular situation he wasn't sure.
"Welcome," he said, "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin out banquet I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
And then he bowed and sat. For some reason, or another everyone clapped. Gryffindor clapped chaotically, Ravenclaw clapped as each individual saw fit, Hufflepuff clapped cheerfully and Slytherin clapped as softly as they could – some not even making any noises. It was clear who found their Headmaster's speech amusing and who did not. Harry wasn't entertained – not the slightest bit.
"Is he crazy?" Asked Harry, his voice low in a conspirational whisper.
"Quite, but he's one of the best wizards to ever live," Draco admitted darkly.
"Is that the only reason he's our Headmaster?" Harry questioned, a crinkle in his brow.
"Most likely. Potatoes?" Draco replied, conversationally.
Harry frowned and stared dully at the plate of food that Draco was pointing at. For a second nothing computed in Harry's mind, but then suddenly everything buzzed. Harry hadn't seen so much food in his life. The platters were literally flowing with food. And every single piece looked better than even Aunt Petunia's finest. Even though Harry wasn't particularly hungry he found himself stacking his own plate with numerous different dishes. Roast beef, pork chops, Caesar salad, bacon, steak, boiled potatoes, fries, carrots, various fruits and to top it all off he poured a good wallop of onion gravy over the savoury part of his meal. Harry dug in with a vigour he didn't know he had, savouring every little taste.
Everything tasted better than the thing before it. When the deserts came out he found himself unable to fit in a bite more, but still somehow managed to eat a treacle tart. After he did he felt absolutely bloated. He promised himself he would never eat another morsel of food more. But then he saw a delicious looking pudding and… succumbed. Poor Harry felt like he would explode. No more! – He told himself.
Finally talk on the table actually started as the Slytherins began to… warm up, isn't precisely the correct term to use, but perhaps began to become acquainted would suit better. Talk, of course, was a double layer – from what Harry could tell. They were only talking of their families, but it was as if that was only the cover for something more meaningful.
Harry sat quiet and listened.
"My father says the meetings have begun again. He'll be talking to your parents soon, Crabbe. Also, if you didn't know this - there's the potential of a new head in our parents' social group. Can you believe that? Do any of you know of who it could be? Because I'd like to know, it'll matter to us too." It was Goyle who was speaking. Harry didn't expect the boy to know this double-speak language, but perhaps he had under-estimated him.
Draco smirked, "Of course, I know. But my father doesn't want to share. He said the new organiser might make the group a little angry. Might do stuff a bit differently. Anyway, what about your mother, Goyle? Is she going to be joining the social festivities soon?"
Goyle turned pale and muttered under his breath, "I don't know. She's always had her own mind. Dad just can't convince her to sign the contract."
Crabbe sighed, "I can't wait until we're offered a part in their social group. But that's going to take forever!"
Draco smirked, "So you would think."
Harry frowned. He had no idea what they were talking about. He knew there was a conversation behind the conversation, but he couldn't be sure. He began to grow bored and annoyed with his limited understanding. So his eyes trailed the professor's tables. There was Hagrid, drinking – Harry imagined he could drink a whole barrel of wine and not be drunk, considering his body size. Then there was Professor McGonagall enjoying a piece of cheese cake. Dumbledore seemed to be quite enraptured with getting a jelly bean on the end of his fork, but it kept skipping out from the pressure he applied to it. Quirrell was eating cheese, quite daintily, Harry had to admit.
Just behind him, from the angle Harry was sitting at, was a professor that Harry didn't know. From what Harry could see of him skating around the edge of Quirrell's turban - a hooked nose, black hair and sharp glaring eyes, he wasn't a teacher you'd want to mess with.
It happened quite suddenly. Quirrell turned his head and Harry caught full gaze of the black-haired man's face. And then his scar began burning. It was like someone stabbing him in the head, hot and searing. And as Harry shot a hand up to touch it he caught his glasses, causing his vision to obscure. When he lost focus the pain went away. Draco, who had noticed, raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Harry replied, once again figuring to keep his own concerns to himself.
Though the pain was gone, he couldn't help but feel something horrid curling in the pit of his stomach when he thought about looking at the teacher again. Harry looked over to Draco, "Who's that teacher next to Professor Quirrel?"
"That's Snape. He teaches Potions. Father informs me he is a wonderful teacher. And one I can trust."
Harry wondered why if Draco could trust him, why couldn't Harry himself? He didn't want to look at Snape again, lest the pain hit him. It wouldn't be worth the risk to worry anyone else.
As Harry contemplated the pain the food abruptly disappeared and Dumbledore stood up to make one more announcement, "I have a few start of term notices to give you. First years should note that the Forbidden Forrest is, well, forbidden. A few of our older pupils should note that as well."
He gave the twin Weasley's a quick glance, but he then continued, "I've been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used in between classes in the corridors. Also, Quidditch trials will be held on the second-week. Anyone wishing to play should contact Madam Hooch. And last but not least, I must warn you all to stay off the third floor, unless you wish to die a sudden and painful death."
Harry found himself unable to breath. This school was dangerous!
Dumbledore didn't have much to say after that except, "And now, bedtime! Off you trot."
The Slytherin first years followed their prefect out of the Great Hall and up the languishly carved marble staircase. Harry felt like sprinting up. He was ready to be amazed again. Draco was grumbling about Harry's apparent lack of any need to rest. When they got to the portraits, Harry stopped dead in his tracks, causing Draco to run into his back. The blonde scowled at him, "What is it now?"
Harry couldn't contain the excitement in his voice, "The portraits move!"
"Of course they move. Any decent wizard enchants their portraits," Draco said with a roll of his eyes.
Harry was so naïve sometimes. And, Draco thought about all the things that he would one day have to do, it may not be a bad thing…
The spiral stair case eventually split out into different paths and other staircases which also led to different paths. Harry became confused trying to follow a single path with his eyes. It felt like forever when they finally arrived at their dorm, but Harry didn't mind one bit. He'd eaten so much food that he felt like he had enough energy to go for a few more days without resting. The "door" was a portrait with a sharp looking man, "Password?"
"Sic itur ad astra," The prefect uttered, the words slipping off his tongue with obvious ease.
"Correct," the man muttered, apparently disappointed and the portrait swung open.
The pupils stepped through and found themselves in the Slytherin common room. It was, obviously, decorated in green and white. Its furniture looked quite modern and sharp. There was a vague sense of… cleanliness about the room which wiped it clear of personality. If anything, the character of the room was somehow… brooding, but the thoughtful kind which made one think it was more of a plotting room than anything else.
The prefect directed the girls to their half of the dorms and the boys to theirs. Going up even more stairs, which Harry was grateful for, for they seemingly took away his last bit of energy. Finally, they found their beds. Oddly enough Harry's bed was next to Draco's, which Harry was adamantly happy about. Their beds were four posts which were decorated with heavy blankets, of course, the colour green, but this green seem more… warmer. Like grass growing. Harry commented about it to Draco who snorted at him. Turning their backs on each other, the stripped and changed into their pyjamas.
Harry said goodnight to Draco to which Draco snorted at again, but said his goodnights as well. Then they fell into their own beds. Harry wasn't that exhausted, but he knew he should probably sleep. So, Harry closed his eyes and before he drifted off to the land of nod he wished fervently that this would be the place he dreamed of. Where he could be free.
So far, it had been, but he was cautious ever since Draco had warned him.
Long after Harry had fallen asleep, Draco was still awake. Even though his eye lids dragged themselves down, almost forcing him to sleep he knew he could not. There was still too much to think about. Besides, if he was going to shape Harry into a good… well, not good, better Dark Lord than Voldemort had been then it was going to take a lot of effort.
Draco rolled around and before he closed his eyes he looked briefly at Harry who was deep asleep. For a second, Draco wondered what it would've been like if they hadn't become friends. After a second contemplation he realised he had no idea. Maybe they would've turned out to hate each other. Perhaps, rivals even. He smirked to himself and closed his eyes. As if that would've ever happened. Slowly, the smirk turned into a smile and then faded from his face and he also fell sleep.
Harry dreamt. It made no sense.
Something laughed at him. It was so dark; he couldn't even see his own hand. But he saw Snape, who was screaming. He saw Draco, who was crying. His scar burned with fire, but made no light. There were two Harry's, but only one of them moved. And then suddenly everything swirled together and disappeared into a drain.
Harry started awake, his heart beating a mile a minute, sweat heavy on his body and his mouth unexplainably dry. He tried to make sense of it all, but as soon as he realised that he had dreamt of Draco crying he instantly dismissed it. Harry smiled to himself as he drifted off once again, Draco crying? Yeah, the day pigs fly.
The next day when he woke up all he could remember was his dream of pigs with wings.