Author's Notes: Had fun coming up with new things...
Pulling the hood of his cloak up, Harry opened the door of the carriage and jumped down onto the flooded gravel driveway. He wasn't in any hurry to rush up the steps since the rain stayed off of him, and he was enjoying the silent hiss and droplets of water spraying him as the intermittent thunder rumbled in the air around him. He carelessly splashed through the water with his Dragon-hide boots. The Slytherins made it up the slick stone stairs. Once inside, he pulled the hood down and looked up with a deep satisfied breath. He'd missed the cavernous, torch-lit Entrance Hall with its magnificent marble staircase. He stopped by Salazar Slytherin's painting and bowed. "Hello, Mr. Slytherin."
"Good evening, Harry Potter," the painting responded in heavily accented English. "Are these your friends?"
Draco gasped behind him. Harry turned with a grin, gesturing towards his roommate. "This is Draco, the thirty-second heir of the Malfoys, and his entourage, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. They're fourth-year Slytherins like me."
Somebody made a small squeak of noise and grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "Are you introducing me too?" came Theodore's delighted voice.
"Theodore Nott," Harry said with a grin. "The only other fourth-year Slytherin boy." He shot an annoyed look at him. Theodore's lips looked curiously swollen, and there was a small bruise forming against his neck. He didn't look as though he'd gotten into a fight. Why was he out of breath?
"I bid you a good evening on this fine day," Salazar Slytherin said.
"Fine?" Draco echoed. "It's raining like the dickens!"
The ancient wizard smiled slowly. "Yes, without the rain our lands would have become deserts by now… Unless you prefer to live as our Middle-Eastern brethren do."
Someone cleared their throat loudly. "Potter…"
"And that is our Head of House, Severus Snape," Harry said, "I've told you about him, haven't I?"
"We've met," Salazar Slytherin said, his expression one of oblique amusement.
"Potter, get in the Great Hall so the Sorting Ceremony may commence," Snape growled as his eyes flashed dangerously. "And might I suggest that you curb your penchant for arrogant posturing…?"
"Yes, sir," Harry said mustering a polite tone. He bowed towards the painting, who nodded, and went up the steps to the Great Hall without another word, the rest of his roommates following and chatting excitedly about the animated portrait behind him.
The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the Start-of-Term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the High Table, the staff sat along one side, facing their pupils. It was nicely warm inside. It appeared that this year the Gryffindors and Slytherins had been placed on opposite sides of the Great Hall. Harry sat at the Slytherin Table on the far right against the windowless wall. Pearly white and translucent, the Bloody Baron was already floating above their table, appearing expectant to know who the newly Sorted Slytherins would be this year. "Good evening," the ghost said to them as they finally sat down at the table.
"Is it?" Harry said, taking off his mud-caked Dragon-hide boots and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."
He was aware that Theodore and Draco were having a heated discussion like they had on the walk to the Quidditch Stadium, but he chose to ignore what they arguing about. "I would have thought you'd be curious about the Sorting since you've never been able to witness one yet," the gaunt-faced Bloody Baron said to him.
"Oh, I'm looking forward to it," Harry agreed, "I only hope it doesn't take too long." He carefully cast a Drying Charm on his boots and soaked socked feet. They instantly dried. The clumped dirt was cleared with a Cleaning Charm
"Hiya, Harry!" A breathless, highly excited voice called from behind him.
Harry blinked. It was Colin Creevey, a third-year Gryffindor to whom Harry was something of a hero. "Hullo, Creevey," Harry said. The boy had always left him feeling worn down.
"It's Colin!" The teen let out an exasperated sigh. "Harry, guess what, guess what? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis is to be Sorted in a few minutes!"
"Er… good for him," Harry said.
"He's really excited!" Creevey said, practically bouncing up and down where he stood, a Muggle camera jostling against his chest. Harry wondered how he had kept the rain off of it. Maybe a slicker? "I just hope he's in Gryffindor!"
"Er—yeah, all right," Harry agreed, "I'd get back to your table before Professor McGonagall scolds you."
"Okay!" The boy said cheerfully and darted back to the other side of the Great Hall.
"Just so long as he's not in Slytherin," Draco said as an aside. "A Muggle-born doesn't deserve a place in our ranks."
"You're worried about his blood purity?" Sally-Anne asked with mirth. Harry noticed that the collar of the shirt beneath her robes oddly went up to her chin and that her lips were slightly reddened. He wondered if she had started staining her lips like he'd seen older teenaged girls do before. "I'd be more concerned about whether this Dennis is like his older brother," she quipped.
When Draco scowled at her, Harry laughed. "So, Daphne, is it common for brothers and sisters to get Sorted into the same House?" On the topic of siblings being Sorted, Harry thought of Daphne's sister, Astoria Greengrass, in Slytherin and the five Weasleys, who'd gone through Gryffindor.
"As a general trend, yes. But you have times where those to be Sorted want to be placed elsewhere, such as the Patil twins. And then there's people like Sirius Black…" Sally-Anne paused with a frown, adjusting her glasses.
"He was in Gryffindor," Harry supplied.
"The entire Black family had been through Slytherin before he was Sorted there," Pansy said. As usual she was sitting across from Harry, flanked on either side by Daphne and Tracey. The ever-reading Bulstrode had chosen to sit across from Goyle. "Kind of like how you were Sorted Slytherin when Potters were often Sorted Gryffindor or, more rarely, Hufflepuff."
Tracey nodded. "Later, Sirius Black was disowned before he became of age for siding with the wrong sort."
"I see…" Harry hoped his being in Slytherin wouldn't cause problems between him and Sirius. He didn't think it would, judging by how his godfather treated him last year. More than anything he wished the trial would finish before the first school term was up. Then Harry could spend Christmas Holiday with his godfather.
He looked up at the staff table. There were quite a few empty seats, since Hagrid was still leading the first years across the lake and Professor McGonagall was likely waiting for them to arrive. There was tiny Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra who had Astronomy expertise. To her other side was the Muggle Studies teacher, and to her left was Professor Vector. Next to the Arithmancy professor was Professor Snape, Potions Master and Harry's least favorite person in Hogwarts. After last year, Harry dislike of the man was matched only by Snape's loathing of him.
On the other side of Snape was Professor Babbling the Study of Ancient Runes teacher, and beside her sat Professor Dumbledore, at the very center of the table. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts. His sweeping silver hair and beard shone in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons.
The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Harry glanced up at the enchanted ceiling, too. Harry had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across is, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.
The Great Hall doors opened and silence fell like a heavy curtain. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the front of the Hall where a three-legged stool sat in front of the headmaster. The first years appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table. They came to a halt, and many of them turned to look at the tables full of students with wide eyes.
They all had various looks of misery or dissatisfaction upon their countenances, except for the smallest boy of the lot, a painfully excited boy with mousy hair who was wrapped in what Harry recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The boy's small face protruded from over the collar of the coat which appeared like a furry black circus tent around his frame. Harry saw him mouth, I fell in the lake!, at someone in Gryffindor and give a double thumbs-up. Harry couldn't help the chortle bubble up from his chest at the boy's antics. He thought he might be Sorted into Hufflepuff if he wasn't in Gryffindor.
Professor McGonagall now placed an extremely old, dirty, and patched wizard's hat on the stool. The first years stared at it, as did everyone else. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth in the silence, and the hat broke into song. Harry learned more about where the founders were from and why they'd made the hat 'While still alive they did divide / Their favorites from the throng, / Yet how to pick the worthy ones / When they were dead and gone?' Harry found himself surprised that it was Godric Gryffindor's idea to create the Sorting Hat. When the hat finally finished, Harry looked thoughtful after hearing its last quatrain... 'Now slip me snug about your ears, / I've never yet been wrong, / I'll have a look inside your mind / And tell where you belong!'
The Great Hall rang with applause when the Sorting Hat finished.
Harry certainly was fitting in better among the Slytherins; something he hadn't thought was possible after being Sorted his first year. It really wasn't so bad being a Viper if a person discounted the constant suspicion against them and the expectation that they were all destined to become villains.
There were several now-graduated Slytherins who certainly didn't fall into that category. Gilbert, for one, had expressed his desire once to Harry about becoming a curse-breaker. Pitts was another; she had desired to become a Healer to those afflicted by curses. And despite Flint's Neanderthal looks, he relied mainly on Quidditch strategies rather than brute strength to win matches, unlike his successor Graham Montague. None of these now-alumni had given off the air of desiring villainy despite their surly, blunt manners.
"Is it normal for the hat to sing a different song at each Sorting?" Harry asked as he clapped politely.
"It has so far," Sally-Anne replied.
At the front of the hall before the staff table, Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment and telling the first years how the Sorting process worked. One by one each first year was Sorted. The first Slytherin was the second in line: Malcolm Baddock. Harry cheered and clapped along with the rest of his table to welcome the overwhelmed-looking first year. There was another name before 'Creevey, Dennis!' had been announced. Perking up, he looked up to see it was the mousy boy, who had worn Hagrid's overcoat and had since returned it. As soon as the Sorting Hat was placed on the small boy's head, the hat announced "SLYTHERIN!"
"No," Draco said. His face looked disgusted by the prospect.
"Oh, yes," Theodore responded, unaffected by Draco's blistering glare. "It's about time we had proud Muggle-borns in our house."
"Proud?" Harry asked.
"It's people like our dear Draco that drive others to pretend they've got ancient magical bloodlines—"
"Dennis! Dennis!"
Ignoring Draco's rather heated ranting about proper bloodlines, Harry looked up to see Colin Creevey bouncing up and down excitedly on the sitting bench at the Gryffindor table.
"See that boy over there?" The Gryffindor bellowed, pointing towards Harry. "The one by the ghost on the other side of the Hall? Know who he is, Dennis?!"
"Mr. Creevey! Sit down!" Professor McGonagall was not pleased to be interrupted mid-announcement of the name of the next child to be Sorted. The grinning Gryffindor sat down, unbothered by how his housemates were whispering and glancing furtively in Dennis' direction.
And the scouting first year was quite suddenly by Harry's side.
"Hello, Creevey," the Bloody Baron said solemnly.
"Hi!" Dennis chirped up at the ghost and then didn't give him a second glance. "My brother's told me all about you, Harry. It's too bad Colin wasn't Sorted here; he's missing out since he can't see you much when you spend loads of time in the Slytherin Dungeons. Will you teach me the Disarming Charm? Colin said you're absolutely the best."
The Sorting continued, and Harry wasn't sure how to respond to the overeager boy beyond 'Er.' and 'Um.'
"I already know a lot about Astronomy; Colin's taught me a bunch! But he said you're the smartest, most loyal Slytherin of the lot and that—"
"Welcome to the Slytherin House, Dennis," Theodore interrupted. Then, Harry's werewolf friend waved his wand, and Dennis' robes were no longer wet. "That ought to be better. So your parents are Muggles?"
"Thanks! And, yeah, but dad's fine with it now that he knows why the oddest things would happen around us." The first year, not to be so easily dissuaded, turned back to Harry. "You'll teach me that spell too, won't you? The others said that Slytherins hate people like me, but I don't really care. Besides, Colin said you wouldn't let any of them hurt me."
"Gravy said that, did he?" Draco's face was pinched as if he were speaking to a pile of horse manure.
"Yeah! Harry Potter's best friends with Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born just like me, and he defends her all the time." Dennis turned his excited brown eyes upon Harry. "Can we be best friends too?"
"Er," Harry said not knowing what to do, while his fellow Slytherins continued to clap each time a new first year joined their table. If he outright rejected Dennis, no doubt Draco would use that as an excuse to make the first year's life at Hogwarts an interminable hell.
"Aw, cute. You've got another fan," Theodore said, winking at Sally-Anne who rolled her eyes at the ceiling.
"Another ickle little Potterhead," Draco mocked.
"Oh shut it," Harry groused.
"I'm not a Potterhead; I'm a Pleasant Pal! Wait a sec!" Dennis dug into his robes and held out his PP's PP badge like a token of honor before pinning it to his robes. "See?"
That sent Harry's roommates into helpless snickering; it would've been unwise to gather Professor McGonagall's ire and so muffled their amusement so as not to disrupt the Sorting Ceremony.
Harry pressed a hand against his face. Why couldn't the small boy have been Sorted into Gryffindor?
"You'd be the very first Slytherin to join that club," Sally-Anne informed the puzzled boy, when the excitement he seemed to expect didn't come.
"Huh. But it's the best of the Potter fan clubs, since not everyone's from the same House, and we're the most active. And George said it makes for great networking opportunities, and they have a band of smugglers too you can join. Sounds exciting don't you think?"
Draco looked towards the small boy with the eyes of someone who hadn't expected to hear those words. "Smuggling…? You?"
Dennis smirked. "Jealous? You'd have to be a Pleasant Pal. Too bad you aren't. Maybe you should join!"
The Malfoy heir continued to blink at the diminutive boy as if he didn't know quite what to do with him.
'Pritchard, Graham!' was the last boy to join the Slytherin table. There were only about ten students left to be Sorted.
"So," Dennis said, "Now that we're best mates—"
"What?" Harry's face crinkled at the first year. He didn't recall agreeing to that.
"I've always wanted to say that you're the best. I wish we were brothers, and I'd be a lot cooler younger brother than Neville Longbottom," gushed the boy, who then hugged Harry. The Boy Who Lived had faced many things; a pushy and persistent fan was not one of them. "And if you want me to do anything at all, it'll be done!"
"Look," Draco said harshly, "You little Chiz-bitten—"
Thankfully, Prefect Sykes appeared before Draco could say something nastier. "Dennis Creevey, all the first years are to eat together," she said, shooting Draco a sharp look. He merely slipped his most charming smile on.
"But, Harry doesn't mind me at all, do you, Harry?" Dennis' eyes widened, taking on a quality of a watery-eyed pup.
"Erm," Harry said, uncomfortable. "Actually—I was hoping to eat with my mates. I haven't seen them all year," he lied, since he had certainly seen some of them during the Quidditch World Cup.
"Oh," the first year deflated, looking quite put out as if he recognized Harry's lie for what it was. "I'll stop annoying you. Sorry. I'll see you later then!" He hopped off the bench next to Harry and was escorted by the prefect to the group of first years. He kept sneaking glances over his shoulder in Harry's direction.
Harry let out a relieved sigh. Now he was absolutely famished. His year-mates expressed various degrees of amusement at his situation. He scowled at them.
"Congratulations on acquiring an authentic toebiter," Draco said, dripping sarcasm.
"If I had one, I'd want one just as adorable. Wouldn't you, Sally-Anne?" Theodore pressed his nose against the side of her head.
The brunette swiped him away. "I doubt it. He'd get under foot all the time."
"I certainly would like a manservant to carry my things everywhere," Pansy said distantly. "Too bad Flippy's not allowed at Hogwarts. It doesn't seem fair not to allow one's personal house-elf onto the grounds."
"It's not fair to the rest of us who don't have one," Tracey said.
Draco snorted. "Not to mention that you own three. Hardly fair at all."
A smile came across Pansy's face. "If your family owned a breeding farm, you could have as many as you like."
"Why else do you think his father proposed a marriage contract to your father?" Daphne said with a feral grin.
"You bint," Draco growled, "Stay out—"
"Maybe your father should have forked over the money for a proper Occlumency tutor instead of relying on your mummy-dearest," the natural Legilimens said sweetly. "Poor little dragon…"
"You dare—" The blond hissed out.
Theodore grabbed Draco's right arm before he yanked out his wand.
'Shastri, Bhupen' was the last girl to join the Slytherins, while all three of Daphne's friends looked coolly at Draco.
"Afraid to challenge her to a duel, little dragon?" Tracey said mockingly.
Harry held his breath when Draco tensed and fought to free his arm to no avail. "Unhand me," the blond spat at Theodore.
"Can't do that. Not when I know you'll hex them on the spot."
Meanwhile, the last two names of the Sorting were called. Farther down the table, Prefect Renshaw cast a Drying Charm on the last shivering first year. She thanked him and sat with the others.
Not to be left out, Pansy murmured, "Draco Malfoy the cowardly dragon." Her friends snorted and giggled next to her.
Unable to free himself from Theodore's strong grip, Draco grabbed his empty goblet and it filled. He took a small sip, eyes narrowed at them. "You will regret this."
"Hah! You wouldn't dare."
At that moment, Professor Dumbledore stood up and was smiling at the students, most of whom had silenced, his arms opened wide in welcome. "I have only two words to say to you," he said in his deep voice, which reverberated through the Great Hall, "Tuck in!"
"Hear, hear!" Sally-Anne proclaimed as the dishware magically filled before their eyes. Thinking the impasse was over, Harry stuffed his face eagerly, not caring a bit about blasted manners. While he was Hogwarts, he would eat as sloppily as he wanted without someone giving him buckets!
Quick as lightning, Draco tossed the goblet, contents and all, at the three teenagers. Theodore lunged forward, grabbing the gold goblet by the bottom before it smashed into Daphne's nose.
The golden liquid splashed onto the trio who yelped as soon as it touched their flawless skin. Pansy's nose grew crooked and pug-like and her lips thinned, her rosy cheeks turning pale and her hair streaked with grey; Daphne's cheeks grew fatter and her nose sprouted a field of red sores and acne; and a shiny, jagged scar appeared on Tracey's face from her right cheekbone down her chin and neck as if the skin had been melted. Tracey pulled up her cloak and hunched her shoulders, covering her face.
Draco cackled as if watching Tracey cry was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. "Yaxley wouldn't have thrown that flask of Bundimun Acid on you if you hadn't refused his marriage proposal, you ugly Half-blood bitch."
While Harry gaped at Draco's dumb fearlessness, an enraged Pansy stood up, whipping out her curved violet-blue wand in a practiced motion. "Furnunculus!" she shrieked.
Immediately Draco's triumphant face was covered in crusty, grey boils, swelling his pale skin into layers of bark-like, brittle pimples. With one look at his face, Crabbe burst into laughter. Goyle's eyes were large as they darted between them. Draco touched his face, his upper lip curling with contempt. "You dare? My father—"
Standing, Sally-Anne with a look of intense concentration swung her wand through a complex wand-form over Draco. "Avifors," her voice cut out with uncharacteristic sharpness. There was a flash and a blond nightingale perched on the table where Draco once was. Theodore snapped out a hand to catch the bird before it could fly away. Sally-Anne put her wand away, sitting down to finish eating as the bird squawked its displeasure.
The rain was drumming heavily against the high, dark glass across from Harry, who had remained motionless. He had never felt so repulsed by Draco than he had in that moment.
"Who is responsible for Malfoy's current form?" It was Prefect Dedworth and she looked extremely displeased.
"I am," Pansy answered with uncharacteristic harshness before Sally-Anne could. Sally-Anne's eyes fluttered in surprise. "That arse threw Fawley's Nectar on us!"
"Parkinson, you have detention every evening for the rest of the month, excepting Sundays and Astronomy lessons," the prefect said. She didn't sound like she cared what had started it.
"But that's not fair!" Harry protested on their behalf, "Draco threw that stuff on them to make them look terrible and was absolutely foul to Tracey!"
Ignoring him, the prefect told the affected trio, "Go to the infirmary with Prefect Sykes." A grim-faced Bulstrode left with her friends, all of them surrounding a subdued Tracey, whose scarred face was hidden in the depths of the cowl of her robes. Then the prefect held out a hand for the squirming panicked bird, which Theodore passed to her. The bird immediately began to peck at her gloved hand. "And you, Malfoy, your godfather will see about a proper punishment."
Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with a course of dessert.
Professor Snape had appeared silently beside Dedworth. His long fingers wrapped about his Transfigured godson. He waved a wand over the bird and it slumped in his hand. "Perhaps we'll fit a cage about him until he's gained a healthy respect for the fairer sex," he murmured towards the prefect who grinned. After one look at Crabbe and Goyle, the Slytherin Head of House strolled out of the Great Hall, the bird's light yellow feathers sticking through the fingers of his closed fist. Draco's two lackeys abandoned their desserts and stumbled from their places to catch up.
Theodore frowned at Sally-Anne. "Sal, he'll be out for your blood now. Why'd you go and do something silly like that?"
Sal? Harry thought.
She shrugged, taking another bite of her ice cream. "Let him. I'll wipe the floor with Draco when he underestimates me." She sent a glare at Harry, who startled. "And before you start making an arse out of yourself, at least know what you're talking about."
Harry scowled. "Just say what you mean. No need to beat around the bush."
"Fawley's Nectar, also called Lovelorn Liquor, is a high-nutrient stimulant and also one of the few substances that can wash away enchantments created by potions," she said sounding very put upon.
He blinked, recalling what Draco had said about someone throwing acid on Tracey. "…Oh." So then, the substance had revealed their true faces. How long had they worn pretty, false masks to hide their faces beneath? Other than vanity, Harry didn't understand why anyone would bother to cover up faces that weren't exceedingly hideous to look upon. Daphne and Pansy had looked rather normal to him.
"Do you even know why I'm angry with you?" When Harry frowned, she sighed some of the venom leaving her tone. "I'm angry because you could have ended it before the fight went anywhere. Why didn't you do anything?"
"He surprised me," Harry said lamely. "And what was I supposed to do? It got out of hand quicker than I could react."
Sally-Anne snorted. "While Theo had his hands full, you could've used a Freezing Charm on them and stopped them instantly."
"Why didn't you?"
"I gave you an example of what you could have done so don't you turn this on me. At least, I did something."
Harry swallowed. She was right, of course. Simply telling Draco to stop had never worked before, but Harry was leery about challenging him to a duel now that Snape backed his rotten godson so Harry couldn't exactly make Draco obey him by dueling fiat as he had done in previous years. "Alright. I admit that I botched that. I'll have my wand ready next time."
Sally-Anne's shoulders relaxed. Then she turned her face away and muttered, "To be honest, you wouldn't have to hex him."
He blinked at her. When the young witch drank heavily from her cup instead of clarifying her statement, Theodore said, "I suppose you haven't noticed that you're the only one Draco listens to besides Professor Snape and the prefects."
Harry quashed the denial before it left his lips. Ever since he had pushed Draco out of the way of the hippogriff, the other Slytherin had treated Harry with his harsh brand of friendliness, more authentic than the niceties that Draco had given Harry their first two years at Hogwarts. It was edged with malice and tempered with greed. Instead of ridiculing Harry's knowledge of the Muggle world, Draco had listened and suggested that Harry profit from it. Like Hermione who had been indignant that the Dursleys had escaped justice by the Muggle courts, Draco cared enough about Harry's mistreatment by Muggles to try to prevent others from facing the same fate, albeit by removing magical children from their Muggle families. And, the bloody prat had gotten himself a once-abused house-elf.
Glancing once at Theodore who was murmuring something into Sally-Anne's reddened ear, Harry began to eat his then-untouched treacle pudding. Either Draco was trying his hardest to slip into Harry's good graces or this was the prat's version of genuine friendship. Whichever it was, Harry still would not trust him, especially considering how cruel the prat was to the trio of Slytherin teens who had dared to tease him.
Once the desserts had disappeared, and the last bits had faded from the dishes, leaving them sparkling clean, the headmaster got to his feet once more. The buzz of chatter filling the Great Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.
"So!" Albus Dumbledore said, smiling at them once more. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."
"Wonder what he's going to warn us about this year," Theodore muttered with a stern grimness. "Besides the Tourney, I mean."
"As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all those below third year. In addition, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has added to the list of objects forbidden inside the castle this year, it now includes Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises of some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check to see if they have contraband items."
Harry didn't miss the wide grins on the Weasley twins' faces as they high-fived one another when the headmaster began to list the banned items.
"Furthermore, due to a persistent, unwanted intruder last year, an additional measure to Hogwarts' Security Linkages has been added."
Murmuring from the students, especially the prefects, increased.
He raised his hands for their silence. "Every House now has a contingent of no less than twenty Opalescent Lionsnakes. Professor Sprout certifies that they are free of disease or ailments. These snakes are for your protection from unwanted presences or express danger to your persons. They will not attack a student unless threatened first…" Professor Dumbledore peered over his spectacles at the silent students. "I strongly recommend you do not harass them… Their bites are lethal as are their stingers and their featherless quills have a paralyzing effect that lasts for many days at the very least."
The Hufflepuffs immediately began to scream, not in fear, but with elation. Harry saw that many of them were jumping up from their benches hugging one another happily. Harry was perplexed at their reaction. The Ravenclaws looked unwell as they shot suspicious glares at the Slytherins, while the Gryffindors mostly looked bewildered. Poor Neville was looking rather peaky…
Sally-Anne shuddered. "Those Badgers are entirely too excited."
"When do you ever get the chance to live among Lionsnakes?" Theodore countered, placing a hand on her shoulder. "They'll keep most other Dark Creatures out too. We won't have to worry about lethifolds sneaking in and suffocating us in our sleep."
Harry gave Theodore a puzzled look.
"It happens more frequently than people admit," he said matter-of-factly. When Harry frowned at him, Theodore said, "It's my boggart, you know?"
Harry blinked, remembering the darkness that seeped and clung to Theodore's legs, sucking him into the floor. So that had been a lethifold.
"You didn't know?" Sally-Anne said. "What have you been doing with the book Theo gave you for your birthday last year?"
"It has well over two hundred thousand entries in it. Most experts don't even know everything in it," Theodore said brightly.
"But you do." Sally-Anne smiled. "It's too bad that you won't be able to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts once you've graduated. I think you'd be good at it."
"Yeah, too bad about that," the werewolf said distantly as he looked at Sally-Anne and she at him.
Bright blue fireworks popped and crackled from the end of the headmaster's wand. Harry looked up as the Great Hall silenced around them.
"Thank you," Professor Dumbledore said as the corners of his mouth twitched. "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
"WHAT?!" Several students from other tables exclaimed unhappily. Others seemed too shocked to speak.
The headmaster went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year. It will take up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure you will enjoy this event immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"
But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder inside the Great Hall and the enchanted ceiling let out several bright flashes of light.
A great spiral of energy shot out from someone's wand from the doorway beside the staff table. The enchanted ceiling went silent, and a wizard, shrouded in a black traveling cloak, was seen tucking his wand away. His right eye was very strange and bulbous, and he was leaning upon a long staff. Every head in the Great Hall had swiveled toward the stranger.
"Look who the dogs brought in," Theodore muttered under his breath. "It's Mad-Eye Moody."
Harry glanced at him. "Who?"
"Ex-Auror. Word on the streets has him facing off a couple of Bewitched Muggle trashbins almost a week ago. But he's retired now. He must owe Dumbledore a favor to come work here."
"Auror?" Both of Neville's parents and his father had been one, but he didn't know exactly what the work entailed.
"I knew I forgot to do something…" Theodore said brushing his chin.
"What?"
"The petition for the Wizard Studies class."
"But you said you already—oh, you git, you're having me on, aren't you?"
Theodore winked. "You're too easy."
Sally-Anne said, "Professor Dumbledore told us it was a good idea. I expect that it won't be offered until next year since it'll take time to develop a curriculum for it and get it through the school governors."
"To answer your question, Harry, an Auror is a Dark Wizard catcher. Nearly half of Azkaban is filled because of Mad-Eye Moody. One benefit is that we shouldn't have to worry about him this year. He's a… good guy," Theodore said. His lips twisted with displeasure. So… Theodore didn't much care for Moody.
"Ah…" Harry said. The fact that their new DADA professor was excellent at catching Dark Wizards and was friends with Professor Dumbledore also lowered the chances of Voldemort replacing Moody with his own Polyjuiced servant.
A dull clank echoed through the Great Hall on his every other step. Professor Moody reached the end of the High Table, turned left, and limped heavily toward Professor Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning brought the wizard's features into sharp relief. His face was much more grotesque than Tracey's disfigurement. Every inch of his face seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash and a large chunk of the nose was missing. The bulbous eye was electric blue and was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, rolling this way and that, quite independent of Moody's normal, dark beady left eye. At one point, the magical eye rolled to the back of his head, and all Harry could see was a completely white back of it. The stranger stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Professor Dumbledore shook it.
"Ah, my dear old friend. Thanks for coming."
"Stupid ceiling," Moody spat out, looking up at the enchanted sky. After dropping the headmaster's hand, the awkward and twitchy man stood off to the side, giving the students a look of profound suspicion. Moody popped open a flask and drank some of its contents. The adult then shook his head as if to clear it. It probably wasn't pumpkin juice.
"Let me introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody," Professor Dumbledore said sunnily into the silence.
It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but only Hagrid and the headmaster clapped. The sound echoed dismally into the cavernous Great Hall.
"Looks like the wizards and witches he brought in didn't come willingly…" Harry muttered with a dark expression as the new professor continued scanning the Great Hall, particularly the Slytherin Table as if a Death Eater might leap out at him.
"How do you mean?" Sally-Anne gave him a puzzled look. "I mean, of course they wouldn't come willingly. It's Azkaban. No witch or wizard alive would go willingly."
Besides Hagrid, Harry mentally amended. "I mean that they must have fought him with everything they had. Dark Magic maims and disfigures you for life, if you survive. You can see he's had his fair share of tough fights," he responded. Instead of looking at Professor Moody, his friends both looked at the scar on Harry's forehead, as if the topic had reminded them of the very Dark magic that had touched Harry as a baby. He took his goblet and had a large swig of juice waiting for them to stop looking.
The smattering of turgid applause finally died. Professor Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Their headmaster cleared his throat. "As I was saying," he said smiling at the sea of students before him, most of whom were gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "We are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for half a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
"You're JOKING!" One of the Weasley twins exclaimed loudly.
The tension that had filled the Great Hall ever since Moody arrived suddenly broke, and nearly everyone laughed.
Professor Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively, "I am not, Mr. Weasley. Though, now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all entered a bar…"
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat very loudly.
"Er… Where was I? Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."
Harry thought this 'event' sounded entirely too dangerous for him, especially since Voldemort seemed to want him involved somehow. Since he had learned as much as he wanted from Draco about it—one of most interest was the use of a powerful magical artifact bewitched by Rowena Raveclaw herself to draw the names of the three contenders—Harry completely tuned out the headmaster's inordinately long description. He looked around noticing that everyone seemed rather focused on Professor Dumbledore's words. Harry glanced at the Bloody Baron who did not look very amused or excited to hear about the Triwizard Tournament.
"Bloody Baron, is something wrong?" Harry whispered.
The solemn ghost floated closer to him. "Someone always dies during the Triwizard Tournament, no matter the precautions set in place. It's foolish to think that this time will be any different."
Harry made a sympathetic noise as he heard the headmaster drone on and on about this special event which apparently would win a special contender a thousand Galleons and eternal glory and such things that Harry didn't care about at all. "Oh?"
"Nearly four centuries ago, an eleven year old Slytherin perished in quite a grisly manner when her name came out of the Goblet of Fire… Ever since, no Slytherin has attempted the challenge in respectful memory of her." The ghost's slow voice was clearly unhappy to be remembering that very moment, which was why Harry didn't ask him for details about the girl.
"And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning." Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands. "Bedtime! Chop, chop!"
Adding to a great scraping and banging, Harry and his fellow Slytherins—excluding a couple prefects and the first years—got to their feet and swarmed towards the double doors of the Great Hall with the rest of the students. Around him, sixth- and seventh-year Slytherins were discussing the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. They were asking one another if they were going to enter into it as they entered the Entrance Hall. The general consensus was that it was an insane idea to do so due to the illustrious history of a third of the participants dying in their attempt. Harry waved at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin in the Entrance Hall and headed down the stairs to the dungeons.
Someone ahead of Harry told the Thin Lady the password, and she swung open for the rest of them to gain entrance. Straight ahead was a fire cheerily burning; Harry went down the steps into the warm common room where the rest of the Slytherins stood. Harry had missed this last year since he'd been forced to sleep in the infirmary after the first dementor attack. He lined up behind the third years as they waited for Professor Snape to appear. Appearing back to their normally enchanted selves, Pansy, Tracey, and Daphne, followed by Bulstrode, hurried down the steps from the portrait-hole to join the three fourth-years already lined up behind the third years. Pike Lestrange waved once with a shy grin to Harry, who smiled and nodded. Then the Slytherin Head of House appeared, the remaining trio of fourth years trailing behind him.
A scowling Draco chose to stand on the opposite side of their line as far from the girls as possible. Goyle stood next to Harry, sending a grimace to him. Harry wondered how they'd be punished.
Then there came the usual welcome-to-the-viper's-nest and responsibility-as-role-models spiel. Harry was glad that he'd missed last year's lecture. At least the Sorting Hat and Professor Dumbledore knew how easily bored people were by bloody monotony. "And Potter, do us all the favor and do not attempt to defeat the precautions put in place for the Triwizard Tournament."
He snorted. "Why would I? It sounds like a death trap, sir."
The Slytherins around Harry sniggered quietly. He shot them a perplexed look.
"That being said," their Head of House said nastily, "If I find out that any of you has placed Potter's name into the running, your life will be as unpleasant and unbearable as possible for your remaining time at Hogwarts. Furthermore," and here Snape looked at the fifth years and older, "I will use such an action as grounds for immediate expulsion."
Not one of them laughed. Harry begrudgingly respected the wizard for attempting to make this year at Hogwarts a bit safer. Not that it ever worked before, but he had to give the adult credit for persistence.
"Now, as for these purported Lionsnakes, I have seen neither scale nor fang. However, bear in mind the headmaster's warnings. I have not yet collected enough Lionsnake components to prepare an antidote for neither its venom nor paralysis agents. Do not bait them."
Professor Snape's fingers flicked to the wall to their right. "Furthermore, the most ancient wizard and great Founder of our House has requested that his painting be placed here within the common room. On your own time you may converse with Salazar Slytherin; however, do not pester him needlessly or I shall know. I have barrels of potions components to prepare this year and I'd be delighted to assign one to each of you..." Snape smiled unpleasantly down his nose, his beady black eyes looking directly at each of them.
The stately portrait of a very tall and wide bookcase also held within it the bald-headed Founder Harry had only just addressed in the Entrance Hall. Salazar Slytherin bowed slightly in greeting to them, and every one of Harry's housemates bowed deeply. Excited chattering sprang up around them.
"Silence," Snape snapped. "Your youngest siblings will arrive any moment."
Professor Snape worked with predictable efficiency; Once the timid first years were marched in, he repeated to the first years what he'd told Harry and his year-mates their first year, subtracting the bit about the Quidditch Cup and adding a bit about not emulating the Boy-Who-Lived. Ignoring the pointed look from their Head of House, Dennis was squirming in place with excitement as he kept looking hopefully at Harry. As soon as Snape dumped the work of explaining the House rules to the prefects, Harry and the other Slytherins rushed to the dormitory stairwells. Crabbe and Goyle pushed the others away to make room for Draco, who looked unaffected by his short time Transfigured as a bird.
On the fourth landing, Harry entered through the black door with the snake-shaped door knocker. Someone had already charmed the lanterns to hold a cheery, orange flame before Harry could get to them. Five four-poster beds with deep emerald hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Crabbe and Goyle were already under their bed covers. For once, Draco wasn't very chatty for their first night back.
Harry changed into the Slytherin night robes he'd gotten for his birthday and crawled into bed. Theodore cast a quick 'Nox' and the lights went out. Someone had placed warming pans between the mattresses. It was extremely comfortable, lying there in bed and listening to the thunder rumbling from beyond the window beside his bed.
"I think I might've put my name in, if we were allowed," Theodore told the darkness.
"You're allowed to think that because you're insane," Draco said.
"Insanely good at dealing with Dark Creatures, you mean," Theodore said with an amused tone.
"Would you all shush?" Harry was in no mood for their banter. "I want to get some rest before classes tomorrow."
The room instantly silenced. Harry rolled over and covered his head with a pillow. He had no desire whatsoever to put his name in the running for the Triwizard Tourney. Even so, even with all the precautions that the Ministry, the headmaster, and Snape had put into place, Harry's gut feeling knew that somehow he'd get ensnared into Voldemort's plot. Someone would betray him and offer his name as a contender…
He fell asleep and dreamed of the Goblet of Fire choosing him as a Hogwarts Champion…
He was standing on the grounds in front of Hogwarts castle, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were applauding and screaming because he'd just won the Tournament. Ginny's face stood out particularly clearly in the blurred crowd, her face glowing with admiration…
Except a bald, crimson-eyed, noseless Voldemort in black silken robes was standing beside her, clapping slowly, his lips drawn into a feral grin, staring down at her as if he might memorize her features…
Harry shouted a warning, but his voice was lost in the cheering crowd. Jumping off the stage, Harry tried to push through the crowd; his wand was comforting in his tight palm. Harry shouted again, feeling dizzy in the press of the screaming crowd.
"Avada Kedavra!" There was a green light and the crowd parted only for Ginny to fall forward, eyes open and unseeing, just as dead as Harry's mother—
Waking suddenly, Harry saw that his roommates were breathing deeply in their sleep. As the fog of sleep pulled away, Harry realized he was sitting upright in his bed.
Suffice it to say, even after he laid back onto his pillow he did not manage to fall asleep again. The flickering lightning punctuated the darkness, creating sinister shadows along the walls. Harry knew he would have to stay far away from Ginevra Weasley that year on the slim chance that his nightmare was actually a dream of prophecy.