Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.

Reminder: Please review. I know I am rather demanding for an author with not much writing capacity, but I really would like some longer reviews than usual... thanks.
On a positive note, I really want to thank everyone for the large number of reviews for the last chapter, and in particular, AliceInCrazyland15, Hana-Liatris, and Glorilian for their marvellous reviews.
And I also appreciate Dogsby's submission of his opinion. I'd appreciate it even more if Dogsby would tell me how to fix Harry's personality.

Aside from that, feel free to proceed.


"Look who's here… Potter, is it?" Draco Malfoy sneered as soon as Harry got close enough. "Slytherin, eh? I had you taken for a Hufflepuff."

There were a couple other First Years who tittered. Most ignored them. The older students didn't even bat an eyelid in their direction.

Harry watched, unperturbed, as Malfoy crossed his arms smugly across his chest, waiting for a response.

"Well then, I guess your prediction didn't quite work out," Harry said, coolly.

Malfoy scowled in annoyance at Harry's lack of reaction. "No, really, I didn't take you for a Slytherin."

"Me neither," said Harry nonchalantly as the last of the First Years were sorted. "I thought I be a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor."

Almost instantly, nearly one half of the table fell silent at Harry's remark.
Draco sneered disdainfully.

"What?" Harry muttered, feeling his face heating up.

"Lucky us," scorned one of the First Years sitting directly opposite Harry. "We have a lion in our lair."
He said the word as if it had a nasty smell.

"Lion?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Oh, you mean Gryffindor?"

"Scratch that," said the same person. "We have a dumb pussy cat mewing."

"Pardon me?" said Harry, starting to feel offended.

"You're not deaf, are you, Potter?" laughed Malfoy. "Or do you just have chicken feathers up your ears?"

Every First Year sniggered, and many of the older years joined in. It would have sounded merry if it wasn't for the mean undertone and the fun at Harry's expense.

"Neither," said Harry, not knowing how long he would be able to keep his temper under control. "I'm simply ignoring you."

The snickers turned to menacing snarls.

"Here's a warning, little lion, here in our domain, we punish those who do not abide by Slytherin rules with our own methods. Better keep your head down if you want to save your little lion hide."

Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck bristle, but he didn't reply. Instead he lowered his eyes to stare down at his plate as the Slytherins traded triumphant glances.

As much as the tactic ashamed Harry, at least it had gotten the Slytherins off his back for the evening.

He'd come up with a more permanent solution when he could think clearly again.

The Sorting Hat might've thought it was doing Harry a great favour, but it had sent Harry to a literal living hell. He knew he'd never be a Slytherin.

The fact that he had managed to irk a whole House in only a few minutes proved it.

He really was going to tear the old Hat to shreds next time he saw it.


Two hours later, deep into the night, Harry drew the curtains to his four-poster bed in the dormitory and crept under his blankets.

He could still hear the whispers and giggles of the First Year Slytherins as they pranced about the dorm, keen to stay awake.

Draco's voice was loudest of all, boasting of how he would excel all classes and become the youngest seeker in a century… Not that Harry knew what he was talking about; the term 'seeker' was new to him.

Whatever it meant, the other boys protested as noisily as ever. "No way!" they said. "You won't make it."

Harry smiled, mentally seeing Draco's face turn the colour of a beetroot to the tips of his hair.

The Slytherins talked some more, speaking fondly of Professor Snape and Potions, and irritably of Professor McGonagall.

Harry turned over to shut the voices out.

He wondered what Hermione was up to. She'd probably be in bed already, propped against a pillow and reading a book… most likely Hogwarts: A History. Or she could even be in the common room, blabbering excitedly with the other Ravenclaws about common interests.

Harry quickly dismissed the idea. Hermione wasn't the type that made friends easily – she'd more likely be alone than with members of her house on her first night here.
But…he couldn't help but think that she was going to be getting on better with her fellow Housemates than him with his.

Harry couldn't help but worry if she would quickly forget the half friend she had made on the train.

He couldn't help but admit to himself that he was lonely. No, he wasn't alone. He had never slept in a room with so many people before in his life… but he couldn't help feeling lonely.

Harry buried his head in his blankets and fell asleep, the fading echoes of the whispers still on his ear.


"Argh!" Harry yelped, limbs flailing as he hit his head on one of the posts. Harry jerked the curtains ferociously to the side to see a snob of a Malfoy smirking conceitedly, arms crossed.

Malfoy had a couple of First Years behind him, all of them grinning like jackals.

"What the heck do you think you're –?" Harry was cut off in mid-sentence by a brown haired boy.

"We know perfectly well what we've done, little lion," the boy smiled coolly. "I think the question should be why we've done it."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows in a superior manner. "Very witty, Zabini."

The brown-haired boy, Blaise Zabini, narrowed his eyes and glared at Draco. "Wittier than you, I suppose."

"Hmm… I suppose so," Malfoy humoured, sarcastically.

Harry glanced bewilderedly between the two boys, his anger momentarily halted. Weren't they in it together? Weren't they on the same side? What was all this arguing?

"Com'on, Malfoy, Blaise…"

Harry turned.

A weedy looking boy was leaning against the wall with a bored look. "Cool it down, you two. You can save your power plays for later. For now… our little lion wants our attention." He nodded towards Harry.

"Gee, thanks," said Harry dryly, "your little make-up tricks are very amusing."

The Slytherins cracked up laughing…

Though no matter how hard Harry struggled to see the humour in the joke, he couldn't.

"I think pink suits you, Potter," said Blaise, the side of his face twitching suspiciously upwards.

"I second that," sneered Malfoy. "You have to actually look in the mirror to see how lovely you look."

"Well, then, Malfoy," Harry hissed angrily, "you better excuse me."

He pushed past Malfoy, who did not resist, and shoved his way out into the bathroom.


In front of the mirror, Harry held back a groan.

There it was, the completed masterpiece of the Slytherins.

He promised himself that he would get the jerks back, come hell or high water.

His hair, which had been the darkest of blacks the last night, had been turned into a repulsive shade of hot pink.

Harry desperately wanted to slam his fist into the mirror and break it into one thousand pieces… if only to get rid of his reflection.

"Well, dear, if you don't mind me commenting so early in the morning, you look mighty dashing," crooned a voice.

Harry whirled around and saw absolutely no one behind him.

"Over here, dear. I'm the mirror."

Harry twisted back. Somehow, the mirror managed to blink fawningly at him behind thick eyelashes.

"You know…" said Harry slowly. "I have pink hair."

"I know, darling! I can see perfectly well," cooed the mirror happily, puckering its lips. "A fine, handsome young lad."

"Thanks," muttered Harry, voiced laced with sarcasm. "Think the other students will like my new hairdo?"

"Absolutely, dear!" gushed the mirror. "A bit of pink flatters your rosy cheeks."

"A bit?"

The mirror sniffed haughtily, "Don't expect me to be flawlessly accurate on such an early morning. Did I mention a bit of purple highlights in your hair would be even better?"

Harry was about to chuck a towel over the mirror and storm off when an idea struck him.

"Hey, mirror –"

"Lady Mirror," the mirror corrected delicately.

"All right… Lady Mirror, do you know of a way I could get rid of this splendid pink hair and save it for later?"

"Well… if you must get rid of it before you go to class –" simpered the mirror, "– which will be a ginormous shame, by the way, you can always ask your House Head if you can borrow a hat… if Professor Snape has one…that is."

"Argh!" Harry grunted in frustration. "You're no help at all."

Somehow, he didn't think Professor Snape would be too amused if he showed up in his office and asked for a hat on any normal day.
And even less if he showed up with pink hair on the first day of school and asked.

"Sweet nibblets! Heavens to Betsy, are you rude! Apologise this instance, you naughty boy!" shrieked the mirror.

"Don't think I will," muttered Harry, snatching one of the dirty towels from the washing bucket and throwing it directly on top of the mirror, covering it fully from head to bottom.

"Come back this instance and uncover me, or I'll never show you your reflection again!" screamed the mirror, voice somewhat muffled.

"I think I will thank you for that," he said.

When Harry made his retreat from the bathroom, the dormitory was empty of people. One hurried glance at the clock told Harry that it was another just another seven minutes before classes started. No wonder Draco had moved aside so gleefully when Harry had entered the bathroom. He must have known how late it was.

Harry seized his Hogwarts uniform and dressed in the time of what had to be a world record. He then reached for the door knob and bolted down the moving staircases towards the Great Hall.

He already knew he'd be way too late for breakfast, but he had to get the list of classes he had for today, and maybe – if he was extremely lucky – he'd be able to bump into Hermione before classes begun.

She would know how to magic away pink hair.

It was with that thought that Harry sprinted through the empty Great Hall.

"Mr Potter?" echoed a stern and disapproving voice. "What is it with your hair?"

Harry came abruptly to a halt.
"Professor McGonagall, good morning," he panted. "Sorry… late. Do you know where the list for my classes is?"

He purposely avoided the question about his hair.

To his surprise, not only did Professor McGonagall not mention it any further but she also paled considerably. "Goodness, Mr Potter. Then you must hurry."
Her voice was tight.

"Yes, Professor," agreed Harry. "It's the first day."

McGonagall whirled around, spectacles perched firmly on her nose, and snapped her fingers together.

A list promptly zoomed through the air with a whistle and landed in her hand.

McGonagall glanced at it sharply, and if it was even possible, her face paled even whiter a shade. "First day of school…classes…detention…Carrow…" muttered the Gryffindor Head. She shook her head briefly as if to clear it.

"Here," she said, wrapping Harry's hand tightly around the list. "Hurry, Mr Potter! You have a class on the Dark Arts first thing in the morning!"

There was a sort of urgency to her voice that made Harry wonder why she was so keen for him to learn the Dark Arts.

"Thanks, Professor," he shouted as he took off towards the Dark Arts classroom. He didn't look back.

Perhaps it was to his fortune that there was a map of the directions to the different classrooms on the list for the First Years.
Otherwise, there was no doubt in Harry's mind, that he would have gotten utterly, hopelessly lost.

As it was, he dashed through the corridors so fast that he managed to catch Hermione just outside the Dark Arts classroom.

Harry was aware that he drew glances as he tossed his head back and yelled, "Hermione!"

The shout had drawn even more glances.

It was all thanks to his pink hair, thought Harry bitterly.

Hermione turned around, eyes searching.

"Hermione, over here!"

He gripped her arm as they ducked into an empty corridor.

"Honestly, Harry, no shouting in corridors –!" squealed Hermione as she was dragged behind Harry into the seclusion. She ducked, barely managing to avoid a painful collision with a hanging painting. "Harry, what on earth is…" she suddenly stopped and took one long look at Harry. "What on earth happened to your hair?!"

Harry sighed deeply and closed his eyes. "Blame the Slytherins. Their idea of a welcoming gift."

"Oh, Harry!"

He flushed as Hermione flung herself at him and enveloped him in a bear huge. He was immediately treated to a mouthful of bushy brown hair.

"Hermione…" he gasped, attempting to untangle himself from her arms. He felt extremely awkward.
"Com'on, 'Mione. Class is about to start."

"Eeep! You're right. We're going to be late if you don't hurry!" Hermione all but yelped. She looked at her wristwatch. "Three minutes till class starts!"

Harry spluttered in protest as he was towed bodily by Hermione towards the classroom.

"No, wait!" he insisted. "Stop!"

Finally, eventually, Hermione stopped in her tracks. "What?" she demanded, seemingly angry at Harry for making them slow down.

"My hair," gestured Harry helplessly. "Think you could fix it?"

Hermione's expression, which had been as hard as McGonagall's a few moments before, softened. "Harry, I'm sorry, I forgot 'bout your hair. Here, I know a spell. It'll only take a few seconds… And Harry?"

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Remind me to teach you a few spells you could use to take revenge."


"Heavens, I can't believe we made it!" Hermione puffed as she plopped herself down on a seat at the front of the classroom.

"Sure," said Harry, taking the spare seat beside her. "You said it would only take a while."

"Well," said Hermione in a bossy voice, "I made a slight miscalculation. Would you like me to reverse the spell?"

"Not enough time," he muttered hurriedly. "The Professor will be here soon."

"I daresay there's enough time," came a voice that had familiarised itself in Harry's mind. "Snakes, I say we re-do the spell. That lovely pink, princess-y hair, all gone!"

"Go stuff yourself, Malfoy," snarled Harry viciously.

"No need to be rude, little lion," said Blaise Zabini, grinning good-naturedly. "Why so aggressive?"

"Leave him alone," insisted Hermione, starting to grow red.

"This is my battle," Harry immediately told her. "I can deal with this."

"Aww, that is so cute. Little lion wants to fight his own battles."

Harry didn't see who said that.

"Harry!" Hermione snapped. "What does it matter? These no-good idiots are bullies. The entire House is ganging up on you – and all you say is that you want to fight your own battles?"

A pounding headache was invading his head. As good intentioned as Hermione was, she was causing a scene.
And the last thing Harry wanted was humiliation in front of even more people. Already, he could see Ravenclaws sitting near the back of the class staring at them.
Not to mention the Slytherins would consider him even more of a weakling than they already did.

"Hey, Mudblood! Watch your filthy mouth. You saw the Dark Lord at the Feast last night; you really think he'll tolerate your sass?"

"Oh, just shut up!" Harry shouted, angrier at the threat directed at Hermione than the foul word.

"Ouch. That hurts," wailed Draco with a superior expression. "The things you say break my heart." Then, he changed his tone. "I think you should learn some manners."

"Come on, Harry! I'm taking you to the Headmistress. She'll deal with this. My word, an entire House against one person. Speaking about injustice," exclaimed Hermione.

The grins that suddenly snapped onto the Slytherins' faces told Harry that it would not be a good idea. Nothing that made them happy was good.

"Go ahead, Mudblood," spat Draco. "See if we care. Let me warn you though, you may just find this time that you've bitten off more than you can chew."

Harry looked at the empty seat beside him. Hermione had stood up and was advancing with a sort of steel determination towards the door.

By now, everyone, every single person, was gaping at the unfolding drama.

"Wha – wait!" Harry called.

He leaped forward and hauled Hermione forcefully back into her seat.
"Don't. At least not yet," he said.

"Listen to your friend, Hermione Granger. That would be the wise thing to do."

It was a feminine voice. A voice that Harry didn't recognise from the jeering. He turned slightly and saw a girl with startlingly bright amber eyes and brown waves. She didn't sound particularly spiteful, and even sent him a shy smile.

He had the feeling he had seen her somewhere before.

"Astoria, you're ruining the fun," whined Draco.

It was odd, Harry thought, the Slytherins talked to one another as if they'd known each other for a long time, not simply a few hours.

"Draco, don't," persisted Astoria. "This is your favourite class, remember? You should already know a lot; Lucius is a great teacher. Do some revision. Let them do theirs."
She nodded at Harry and Hermione.

"Fine," Draco gave in, sounding extremely sulky.

Harry marvelled at how a mere girl could make the Slytherin shut up. That was when he remembered. This was the girl he had seen at the Welcoming Feast with the other Fifth Year.

"Astoria Greengrass, right?" he asked.

"Yes. Pleasure."

Harry smiled discreetly as Malfoy gave a final huff and turned back to his work. The other Slytherins followed his example and left Harry and Hermione alone.

"I better revise too. Professor Carrow isn't particularly understanding if you fail a test," Astoria said.

Once again, the Slytherin girl spoke, weirdly, as if she knew the Professor personally. But she couldn't have. Lessons had never taken place before, let alone tests.
But she might be related to, or at least, a friend of the pretty fifth-year. That was probably how she knew. The fifth-year must have told her.

Carrow…
Carrow was the Headmistress, not a Professor.
Harry wondered about what was going on.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when Hermione nudged him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm marvellous," Harry answered, wryly.

He then glanced around the room, noticing the strange pattern of the seating.
All the Ravenclaws were packed like sardines at the very back half of the room while the Slytherins hoarded the front. It was all very strange.

Hermione had chosen to come to the front instead of sitting with her House-mates. Perhaps she had done it for him, but she could always have taken him with her to the Raevnclaws. Yes, Harry decided, she definitely should have done that.

"Why on earth did we not go and sit at the back?" Harry whispered, keen not to draw attention to himself again.

"Because this is the front," replied Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Gee, thanks a million for stating the obvious, 'Mione."

"No, I meant that sitting at the front means it's easier to pay attention to the lesson. No details missed out."

"Great, just great."

Just then, the door slammed open with a massive BANG!

Harry was mildly surprised the windows didn't shatter into a thousand pieces.

In stepped the Headmistress wrapped from head to toe in black. Despite the gloomy feel she instantly brought to the classroom, Harry thought she'd have to work on it for at least a few years if she wanted to become as intimidating as Snape.

In quick strides, she walked over to the front of the class.
Not bothering to even touch the chalk, she brandished her wand and waved it in front of the black board.

'DARK ARTS' it read.

The Headmistress cleared her throat: 'hem, hem.'

The Slytherins shot to attention, eyes glistening wickedly. Harry was starting to have a bad feeling about this lesson.
He now had no doubt Headmistress Carrow was somehow linked with Lord Voldemort. All the evidence pointed towards that one answer.

"Good morning, class." Carrow didn't even wait for the class to greet her back. "We have to get down to business fairly quickly, today. First of all, I'd like to pronounce to you all that my position as Headmistress is perfectly stable and I am not about to be reduced down to the rank of a common Professor."

Harry would have laughed forcefully at the joke if it wasn't for the serious look on Carrow's face. Now, he didn't know whether he should laugh.

"But, I disdain the dull job of filling in unnecessary paperwork, negotiating with the ministry on educational values, spreading good reputation about Hogwarts School using the media, and all the rest. I wanted to teach. Of course, Professor Lestrange, a woman not quite suited to be a qualified teacher, is your muggle studies instructor. I… and ah…another very important wizard made both subjects: Dark Arts and muggle studies compulsory for all students."

Harry thought he might have an idea of who that very important wizard was.

"First rule of a Professor: never speak ill of a colleague." Harry suddenly felt the soft breath of Hermione Granger on his neck. She sounded irritated.

Carrow continued, "Anyway, as Headmistress and Professor, I expect thorough respect from you. As students, children, you listen and obey. Our first lesson today on the Dark Arts begins now!"


Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.

I realise both Harry and Hermione are immensely out of character - but I was working at night on this - so I hope you'll excuse me.

Reminder: Review! The next chapter will probably be up in a few days.