Chapter 4: The Snakes
Harry removed the hat and found himself in the situation that he'd been dreading. Every jaw in the entire hall dropped (except for a sole white-blonde boy) and every gaze morphed into a stare – some curious, some accusing, others disbelieving. Harry ducked his head, trying not to meet anyone's eyes. As he shuffled towards the table decked in green and silver, the hall seemed to finally recover from their shock.
It was Draco who initiated the applause, and soon enough, the table had followed his lead, although it wasn't quite the welcome that others newly Sorted had received. Harry paid it no mind, however; he was simply content with the friend he had in his new House.
He caught Draco's eye and the blonde gestured for Harry to take the empty spot beside him. Harry slid into his seat, receiving quiet words of welcome from the several older Slytherins; and suddenly remembered the piercing black eyes from before. He risked a glance at the staff table and found the pale, greasy-haired professor glaring fixedly at him. Harry flinched and sunk lower into his seat, not quite able to brush off the sense of a burning rage and hatred in those eyes. Harry felt a chill go down his spine and flicked his eyes back down to the sparkling silver plate on the table, oblivious to the boy beside him calling his name.
Harry felt a hand grip his shoulder and he started, discreetly breathing a sigh of relief when he realised that it was only Draco. For a moment, Harry had thought it was the professor. He shuddered again. Draco looked at him oddly, though he didn't press the matter.
"I knew you couldn't stand the thought of going the next seven years without me, Harry."
Slightly unnerved by the attention he was getting from his classmates, Harry merely grunted, not registering that Draco had finally called him by his first name.
"Oh, you don't know them yet, do you?" Draco asked, gesturing to his fellow first-years. "That's Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode."
"Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis – she's half-blood, apparently – and you've already met Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle."
Draco's grey eyes sparkled, almost glowing silver, as Harry took in the information. Then he frowned and scowled in the direction of the Sorting Hat, which a very smug looking Ron Weasley had just pulled off his head. The redhead ran forward into the sea of scarlet and gold, a grin lighting up his face. The applause slowly died away as the second-youngest Weasley slunk into a seat near his twin brothers, rolling his eyes at something they'd said.
"No surprises there." Draco muttered just loud enough for Harry to hear.
The last student to be sorted was Blaise Zabini – a very refined looking black boy – who'd been placed into Slytherin, much to Draco's delight. "Huh, Zabini's here too! We were tutored together, you know? Although, I'd always had him down to be a Ravenclaw," Draco whispered, seeing as the Headmaster had started speaking.
"… Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you." Dumbledore waved his wand with a flourish, bowed and sat down.
"Uh… Draco? Is he… mad?" Harry asked, quite concerned about the aged wizard's mental state.
Draco didn't seem to hear him, for he was absorbed in filling his plate from the platters of piping hot food that had appeared in front of them. Harry gasped at the sight, unable to believe his eyes! Every sort of food he'd ever dreamed of eating was right there, an arm's reach away; baked potatoes, pumpkin pies, carved turkey, roast beef, sausages and mash, peas and corn. The endless variety was making Harry drool. He stabbed blindly at a piece of meat and was just about to put in straight into his mouth when Pansy Parkinson – the first year with curly brown locks and turquoise eyes spoke up.
"Potter! Please be civilised when you eat! We don't need another Crabbe and Goyle. And to answer your question, yes, Dumbledore's quite mad. The most powerful wizard in Britain, but quite mad."
Harry fumbled with his fork and grinned guiltily, trying to control his urge to eat like Dudley did. Harry hastily set the piece of roast beef back onto his plate and cut it into smaller pieces, then stuffed it heartily into his mouth and savoured the juicy, chewy red meat. He'd never tasted something as marvellous as this before, and he was just getting started! Harry's hand flew to other platters, piling food onto his plate. Pansy and Millicent just shot him looks and shook their heads. Theodore snickered and nudged Draco, who had to stifle a laugh.
Then Draco seemed to realise the cold black eyes fixed on the Slytherins, in particular Harry, and nudged him. Harry paused in the middle of eating a particularly delicious pie and turned to Draco with widened eyes, as if to say he was already in what passed off as heaven for the wizarding world.
"One would say you'd never tasted a pie in your entire life," Draco drawled, amused. Harry blushed for the fifth time that day, knowing just how true Draco's words were. "Even Professor Snape seems to have noticed."
Harry glanced at the Head table again and gulped. Professor Snape was staring at Harry, lip curled somewhere between disgust and contempt. All the first-years snickered when Harry looked back at them, Draco most of all. Harry could still feel the cold black gaze on him and decided to say something.
"I think he hates me. Professor Snape, I mean."
Zabini – Blaise laughed. "Don't worry, Harry. Snape does that to everyone. Look – he's doing that to the guy with the purple turban too." He gestured to Quirrell, whom Harry had already met before in the Leaky Cauldron. He felt a phantom flash of pain in his scar as he thought about their odd meeting and clutched at it.
No one else seemed to notice, to Harry's relief. They would have thought he was crazy, clutching at his scar like that in the middle of dinner for no apparent reason.
"And why would he hate you, anyway?" Draco continued, "If he hated anyone, it would've been your father. Mother says they were quite the enemies when they were in school."
"They were?" Harry asked, intrigued, and then Harry remembered what the Hat had told him. "By the way, Draco, did the Hat let you choose?"
All the first-years looked to Draco, curious, as he placed his fork down, eyes becoming cold.
"No. Malfoys have always been Slytherins, and I'm no different."
Harry shrugged, wondering at the change of behaviour, when the desserts appeared. Harry was stunned once more: jelly, treacle tarts, chocolate fudge, cheese cake, apple pie – it was all there. He helped himself to dessert, and at last, when he felt like he could no longer eat, the food vanished and Dumbledore got to his feet.
Harry eyed the wizard warily. He was getting tired and all he wanted to do was to retreat to bed, not have to listen to nonsensical rambling.
"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First-years should note that the Forbidden Forest is indeed forbidden, and I think a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table.
"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that students are not permitted to use magic in the corridors between classes. Quidditch tryouts will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their House team should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did. "He can't be serious," he muttered and Pansy smirked, giving him an 'I told you so' look.
"And now, before we go, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore cried. Harry noticed that the staff members' faces were fixed into broad smiles, all except for the Slytherin Head of House, who was frowning deeply. Dumbledore flicked his wand and a golden ribbon that emerged from the tip folded itself into words.
"Everyone pick their favourite tune and off we go!"
The hall burst into chaos as the entire school bellowed the words. Gryffindor, of course, 'sang' the loudest. Harry grimaced and had to stop himself from covering his ears. Pansy, Millicent, Daphne, Tracey, Theodore, Draco and Blaise didn't look bothered by the horrible cacophony. It seemed like only he, along with a few other older Slytherins, didn't enjoy this 'music' in the least.
Everyone finished the song at different times. Eventually, only the Weasley twins were left singing to a slow funeral march. Dumbledore himself conducted the last few lines of the song and was one of the few who clapped the loudest when they finished.
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here. And now, bedtime! Off you trot!"
…
The Slytherin prefects led the rest of the house through the chattering crowds and out of the Great Hall. They walked down the grand marble staircase and down more stairs that led to the dungeons. They turned left and right, walked through passageway after passageway, and came to a stop in front of an ordinary looking wall with a carved stone column in front of it. Harry tried to brand the directions to this place into his mind, but he didn't think it worked. Yet.
"Past this wall is the Slytherin Common Room. The password is Asphodel. I trust you will not divulge this information to any other house. We also encourage you not to invite a member of any other House, especially not Gryffindor, into our Common Room."
As the prefect spoke the words, the wall slid to the side, opening for the group of students gathered in the dim hallway. The first-years stepped inside eagerly, wanting to catch a glimpse of the Common Room that would be theirs for the rest of their Hogwarts education.
The common room was elliptical and there were windows that looked out upon the lake. The room was lit only by flickering sconces and candles that lined the tables and rough-hewn stone walls, giving off a cosy green light. There were stone steps that led to the main area which was furnished with green armchairs. A fire was crackling steadily under a mantelpiece with the inscription 'Your only limit is your own.' Green and grey beanbags were scattered around the room. Elaborately carved high-back chairs surrounded the tables that were placed wisely in the brightest areas of the room. Bookshelves filled with row upon row of books lined the walls. Two corridors, one on the left and another on the right of the room, branched out from the main area.
"Dormitories are down those corridors. Boys on the right and girls on the left. I don't think I have to tell you that boys are not allowed in girls dorms, and vice versa."
The first-year boys and girls bid each other their good nights and headed off to their corridors. Harry, Draco, Theo and Blaise walked to the end of the corridor and found themselves outside a room marked with a plaque that read: 'First Years'. Harry pushed open the door and the other boys followed him into the dormitory. Harry took in the room around him and nodded to himself, happy with the furnishings and layout.
Six four-poster beds with green and silver curtains were set up, clearing out a circular space in the middle of the room. To one side, there was a bathroom that positively gleamed. Each boy had a chair and desk of his own, and their uniforms and scarves were neatly folded and lay on their beds. At the foot of each bed was a school trunk. Harry hurriedly went to find his for his eyes could no longer stay open. Stifling their yawns, the boys pulled out their pyjamas (Harry's was tattered and old; no surprise there) and climbed into their own beds without bothering to brush their teeth.
"Good night," Harry addressed the room, and they returned it.
Harry smiled, reminiscing about the day he had had. All in all, it was much better than he had imagined. He lay there and finally, the darkness claimed him. Harry slept soundly all night; he didn't even stir.