Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Thank you so much to those who reviewed! Each one means the world :) To reviewer Arabella Lee Smith, my take on Voldemort's sanity is that while JKR wrote him as insane, in my story he's as sane as a psychopath can be as he was never forced out of his body by Harry, which in my mind was the reason for his loss of sanity, instead of the horcruxes.

Anyway, on with the story. Enjoy!

Chapter 4 - Suspicions

Harry jumped as a voice spoke into his mind

"Well, well, well," the hat said snidely. "What do we have here? Harry Potter, the most wanted child of the decade . . ."

Harry directed his thoughts towards the hat. Please don't tell, he asked it urgently.

The hat made a chuckling sound. "Don't worry, young wizard - I never tell others what I find in minds."

Harry relaxed slightly.

"Now, where shall I put you?" the hat mused. "Plenty of courage, I see . . . and a thirst for revenge . . . loyal, certainly. . .and, what's this?" The hat sounded amused. "Practicing your spellwork with your mother's wand? And managing it too, and without her noticing . . . You are a problem."

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Now, Slytherin would help you . . ." The hat suggested,

No! Harry thought urgently. Feeling the hat's surprise, he explained, I don't want to be connected to Voldemort any more than I am already.

"Not Slytherin . . . Are you sure? It would suit you well."

Harry nodded vehemently.

"Very well, then . . . You're certainly loyal enough to your mother for Hufflepuff, but you have far too sharp a tongue . . ." The hat chuckled. "Gryffindor, perhaps? Like your parents?"

Harry hesitated, remembering Ron Weasley's words about being in Gryffindor. He had no wish to deal with the boring redhead more than necessary. No.

The hat made a sound of agreement. "You're too . . . Careful for them, yes. You have a very intriguing mind, very fast . . . Still sure about Slytherin?"

Yes, Harry thought firmly.

"Well, then, if you're sure . . . Better be RAVENCLAW!" The hat shouted the last word out to the hall.

Harry smiled and handed the hat back to McGonagall. The smile disappeared as he realised everyone was staring at him . . . How long had he been there? Surely not more than a minute? He made his way over to the Ravenclaw table, which had slowly began to clap, sitting down next to the boy he remembered being in his boat earlier.

"What took you so long?" the Ravenclaw - Michael Corner, wasn't it? - asked curiously.

Harry shrugged. "How long was I?"

Michael blinked. "You were nearly five minutes."

Oh. Harry grimaced slightly; so much for not drawing attention to himself - now the whole school had noticed him. Smoothing out his expression, he offered his hand. "I'm Harrikon, Konnor for short," he said.

"Michael," the boy replied, shaking Harry's hand.

The rest of the sorting went smoothly. There were a few more Ravenclaws, including a girl with bushy hair who pestered Harry in a bossy tone about why his sorting had taken so long as soon as she sat down. He scowed at her in response, turning back to the sorting.

His had certainly been the longest; most only took a minute, and one person - Draco Malfoy - was sorted as soon as the hat touched his head, into Slytherin. Harry noticed Malfoy give the Dark Lord a respectful nod as he made his way over to his table.

Ron was indeed sorted into Gryffindor, although not as quickly as some. Harry could make out Weasley's lips moving as he sat under the hat, forming the words "Please Gryffindor" repeatedly. Harry wondered what house the hat had considered putting Ron in - certainly not Slytherin or Ravenclaw, though he wouldn't have pegged him for loyalty either. Perhaps Gryffindor was the best house for the brash boy.

The feast began as soon as the sorting ended. Harry ate sparingly; while the food was delicious, he had never had a great appetite.

He took the time to study the people around him. Michael was quiet, but watchful. The girl - Hermione, she said - kept loudly boasting about how she knew this and that, and asking people if they'd read Hogwarts: A History. Harry had to resist the urge to cast a silencing charm on her.

The other Ravenclaw first years were mostly calm, although a boy called Anthony Goldstein seemed determined to engage everyone in conversation at least once. Harry made sure his responses were polite, but his attention was on the other houses.

There was an almost tangible difference between each house. Ravenclaw was relatively quiet, while Gryffindor was load and raucous; Slytherin was filled with whispering students, with the odd exception - Draco Malfoy was boasting about his new set of books, his wand and his broomstick to everyone around him - and Hufflepuff had a friendly bubble of laughter around it.

He turned his attention to the staff table. McGonagall was talking to a stout witch next to her - Harry racked his memory for who's description she fit; Lily had told him about the teachers that she'd had, and it seemed sensible that at least a few would be the same. Sprout, perhaps? He asked the second year sitting a few seats up.

"Yes, that's Professor Sprout, she teaches Herbology." The boy then pointed out the other teachers. "The short one's Flitwick, he's our head of house, teaches Charms. You already know McGonagall, she does Transfiguration. Then there's Snape - he teaches Potions, and is technically the Headmaster - Avery, he teaches Dark Arts, and the one on the end is Rivera, she does Defence. All the others are electives, you won't need to know them for another year."

The other first years had been listening in. "What's the difference between Dark Arts and Defence?" Anthony asked.

Harry cocked his head, interested to hear what the second year would say.

"Dark Arts deals with mainly offensive, powerful spells," the boy said, "Defence is more light spells - generally defensive, as the name suggests, and easier than dark spells. Though there's always exceptions - the Patronus charm, for example, which is one of the most difficult spells taught here, is light."

A fair explanation, Harry thought. Lily, while being a light-orientated witch, had taught Harry that it wasn't the spell that was inherently evil, but rather it depended on the caster. The spell she'd created to fix his eyes had been dark in that it had required a sacrifice from an eagle to complete; they'd used an old eagle who would have died anyway, but that didn't change the nature of the spell.

Harry looked over at Voldemort as the food disappeared. The Dark Lord stood up, total silence falling over the hall.

"Most of you will, of course, already know this," Voldemort said, "First-years, you will not. You have already been informed that rule-breaking will lose you house points, but detentions may also be given out. Severe infractions will be brought directly to me," he said darkly. Several students shuddered. "However, there are other ways to gain points; beginning in February, there will be competitions in several subjects, as well as a dueling tournament. The competitions are open to all." He scanned the room, his eyes seeming to rest briefly on each student. "Everyone is expected to take part in at least one event."

That was interesting. Lily had not mentioned any big competitions other than Quidditch to Harry, so this must be a new development.

"There is a list of rules up in each common room, which I expect everyone to read." There was a mutter from the Gryffindor table, and the Dark Lord's eyes flashed. "I do not expect anyone to be talking while I am," he said, his voice silky. A dead silence fell over the hall as everyone froze. Voldemort looked around one more time before saying, "You are dismissed."

Harry stood up with his fellow Ravenclaws. A prefect hurried over. "First-years, follow me," she said loudly. Harry kept step next to Michael as he exited the hall, not daring to look back at the staff table, where he could feel the gaze of a certain Dark Lord digging into the back of his head.

"My name is Amber Colloway," the prefect said. "Our common room is located in Ravenclaw tower, at the west side of Hogwarts." She was leading them up the moving staircases (which Hermione pointed out were in Hogwarts: A History) when a dark figure stepped in front of them.

Harry fought to keep his expression neutral as he surveyed Severus Snape.

Lily had told him about Snape, of course. She hadn't gone into detail, but he'd gathered that they'd been great friends once, and that it was he whom Lily suspected had been the Death Eater who had warned her about keeping Harry a secret.

"May I borrow Mr Evans for a minute," Snape said to Amber. It wasn't a question, despite the phrasing.

"Of course, Headmaster," she said before turning to her charges. "Mr Evans, could you step- Oh, you're there." Harry had already begun to make his way towards Snape. "Follow the Headmaster, Mr Evans. I'm sure he'll lead you to our common room after."

Snape inclined his head before setting a brisk pace. Harry struggled to keep up without running, and was out of breath by the time they reached their destination - halfway up another tower. Glancing out a window, Harry determined it was the southern tower.

Two large stone snakes guarded the door, but on the sight of Snape they moved aside. The Headmaster knocked once.

"Enter."

Harry's heart rate sped up. He recognised that voice. As would many people, he mused silently.

The door opened and Snape pushed Harry inside. He glanced around; it was an office, large and with round walls lined with bookshelves. A fire was lit in the hearth next to the door, and placed close to the wall opposite was a desk, behind which sat the Dark Lord.

Harry very nearly let out a gasp as the scar on his head tugged. It wasn't much, but there was a definite feeling that his scar wanted him to get closer to Voldemort. Harry kept his face impassive even as the Dark Lord lifted his gaze to him, causing his scar to react even further, the tugging intensifying while feeling almost pleasant; Harry had to strain not to lean closer.

Time to put my acting skills to the test.

"Leave, Severus," Voldemort ordered. Snape bowed slightly before leaving.

"What is your name?" the man asked softly.

Harry blinked, taken off-guard by his calm, inviting tone. Pay attention. "Konor - I mean Harrikon Evans, sir," he said, stumbling over his words slightly to give the impression of nervousness.

Voldemort's red gaze did not leave Harry. "Tell me, Mr Evans," he aid, his voice still soft, "Why were you not sent a Hogwarts letter?"

Harry blinked, forcefully keeping his shoulders relaxed. "I applied -"

"Yes, I know," Voldemort cut him off, and Harry forced back a wince as his scar twinged painfully. "That wasn't what I asked."

"Oh! Sorry, sir-"

"You address me as 'my Lord', boy, did your parents never teach you that?"

Harry cast his eyes to the ground. His scar was positively throbbing now."My father was a muggle," he mumbled, as if he were ashamed.

"And your mother? Did she not go to Hogwarts?" he pressed, though his tone was sympathetic. False, of course.

"No, my Lord. She was not powerful enough." Again, Harry mumbled the words, keeping up the pretense of being an ashamed son who was dumbstruck by the Lord's attention. "Is that why I never got my letter?"

Voldemort studied him. "No. A letter is sent to every magical child in Britain."

"So it got lost?" Harry injected a bit of arrogance into his tone, as if he was certain his theory had been right all along.

"It seems so." Voldemort turned to the papers on his desk. His scar calming as soon as the man's gaze was averted, Harry hesitated as if unsure about the dismissal before shuffling backwards and turning around, walking quickly as if eager to be out of the Dark Lord's presence. In truth, Harry was quite enjoying the act.

"Oh, and Mr Evans?" Voldemort said. Harry stopped. "What was the name of your mother again?"

"Ellie Evans, sir - my lord," Harry replied quickly, adding a note of slight surprise and pride that Voldemort would be interested in his life.

"Very well. You may go."

Harry left, shutting the door behind him gently. The snakes instantly slithered across it in an X shape, barricading the entrance. Harry headed back towards Ravenclaw tower.

Once out of sight of any portraits, Harry allowed a smirk to cross his face. He'd done it! Lied directly to Voldemort's face! Mum will be proud.

The smile faded slightly as Harry went over the events. Why had Voldemort summoned him? Was it just because he'd applied instead of just returning a letter? Obviously the letter had not been lost, as it had never existed in the first place - the letter Harry had received was addressed to Harry Potter, and as he clearly could not have sent a reply to that he'd applied as Harrikon, saying his (non-existent) letter must have been lost.

Yes. Voldemort must have summoned him out of curiosity over the letter; Harry had no doubt that if he'd been suspected of being Harry Potter the Dark Lord would have torn through his mind to find the answer - or tried to, anyway. Harry had been practicing Occlumency from a young age as part of protecting his identity, and he'd gotten quite good - better than Lily at any rate.

But what was the thing with his scar? It had hurt over the years, and occasionally had given off odd sensations, but Harry had always dismissed them; they'd been nowhere near as strong as today's.

Harry hesitated as he came to the bottom of Ravenclaw tower. Which way did he go now? Up? Through a door?

A portrait of a middle-aged woman hanging on the wall asked in a kind tone, "Lost, dear?"

Harry nodded, pasting an embarrassed expression onto his face - for all he knew, the portrait was reporting directly to Voldemort. "Do you know how to get to the Ravenclaw common room?" he asked meekly.

"Just go up the stairs. There'll be a door with an bronze eagle knocker - knock, then answer the riddle. Someone inside will be able to guide you to your dormitory," the portrait instructed.

"Thanks." Harry went up the stairs; there was indeed an eagle knocker. He lifted it once, and his eyes widened slightly as the knocker opened its metal eyes and beak.

"If you have me, you want to share me. If you share me, you haven't got me. What am I?" the knocker asked in a melodious tone.

Harry bit his lip in thought. What do you lose when you share? It can't be a material object, as then if you share it you would still have it . . .he grinned as the answer came upon him. "A secret," he said confidently. Appropriate, given the circumstances.

"Insightful," the knocker praised, the door opening.

The common room was larger than Harry had expected, with lots of comfy chairs and desks scattered around in small clusters. It was nearly empty, though the prefect from earlier - Amber something? - strode over as soon as she saw him.

"I thought you'd gotten lost - what did Headmaster Snape want?" she inquired.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing, really - he just spoke to me about my Hogwarts letter - it arrived a bit late, so he wanted to make sure I'd had time to get all my supplies."

Amber nodded. "Your dormitory is the third up on the left, you won't miss it, your name as well as the names of your roommates is printed on the front. Have a good night, Mr Evans."

"Konor," Harry said with a smile.

Amber nodded, her face relaxing into something slightly friendlier. "Konor then. Goodnight." She went back to her little desk by the fire.

Harry headed towards his dormitory, pausing to read the plaque on the front. He was sharing with Michael, Anthony and someone called Timothy Morris. Pushing the door open, he found the candles out, though he could make out the shapes of four beds with a desk and wardrobe next to each of them.

"Lumos," he whispered, pleased when it worked; with the decree on the use of underaged magic, he hadn't been able to practice with his own wand at home.

He lit the candles on the desk next to his bed - easily found by his trunk by the foot, as well as the fact that all the other beds had the hangings drawn shut - and after changing into his pyjamas, he took out some parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink, and proceeded to write a short letter to Lily.

Dear Mum,

Hogwarts is brilliant! We had to go up to the castle by boats - there's a massive lake between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, you see - and it's just so good! Magic everywhere.

I've been sorted into Ravenclaw, which is the house of intelligence. I'm sharing a dorm with three other boys, all of which seem quite nice, and quiet.

Mum - I was summoned to our Lord's office! He asked me about my letter, or lack of it, an said that we must have been right, it got lost, as a letter is sent out to every single magical child.

He also asked about you. I said you didn't go to Hogwarts, but it didn't seem to matter to him.

Anyway, I need to sleep - apparently I can send this via school owl as I don't have one, so I'll send it in the morning.

Missing you already,

Love,

Konor

Obviously there was too high a risk of his owl being intercepted to say what he truly thought about things - as the letter stood it would only reinforce the impression of a nervous and moderately intelligent student who idolized the Dark Lord - but Lily would know what he meant to say: his sorting and how Voldemort had not seemed suspicious. Unfortunately, Harry couldn't think of a way to tell her about his scar without running the risk of raising suspicions if his letter was read by someone else.

Harry folded the letter up, laving it on his bedside table as he climbed into bed, drawing the hangings around him.

Sleep came easy, his exhausted dreams full of spells and candles.

Voldemort paced his office.

There was something wrong - or right - he couldn't tell. But his sixth sense had been screaming at him to investigate as soon as the first years had walked into the Great Hall.

He'd thought, perhaps, that he was subconsciously sensing power from one of the students, but none of them had given off the slightest whiff of magical power beyond the base level expected of any witch or wizard.

He'd even summoned the Evans boy in case it was mystery of the missing letter that was nagging at him, but there had been nothing remotely out of the ordinary - the boy seemed like a typical young Ravenclaw, convinced in his own genius, though Voldemort had not got the impression the boy was overly intelligent. Quite the opposite, though perhaps he'd just been star-struck from meeting him.

The Dark Lord sighed. He's keep an eye on the first years, certainly, but for now . . . He had work to do at the ministry.

Voldemort turned and, manipulating the wards around his rooms, Disapparated silently.

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