Disclaimer:I own nothing. Still. Yay.
A/N: I started this chapter before I was supposed to (I still have 5 exams left. Goddd... one in two days. I should be studying/sleeping.) because all my reviews made me so happy. In particular, I would like to thank Jargon and White Water. These two have been with me from the start and I really wish they'd leave me signed reviews because I'd love to be able to reply to them!! This chapter is dedicated to them, because they really have been my most faithful reviewers. Also thanks to Rock'n'Slash, Magpie Quill, Ellyanah, Warrior Priestess,Befread and IVTwenty (sibling of anyway)- your reviews were loved! On with the show!!
Harry awoke to his glasses poking him in his left ear. It was a strange sensation, not unlike cleaning your ears with a piece of wire instead of a cotton bud. Harry liked it. Upon returning to consciousness, Harry realised that the reason for his state of almost complete dress was due to the fact he had fallen asleep in his clothes.
'Bollocks,'
Harry said loudly, so loudly that he woke up Blaise, who had been
sleeping fitfully in the bed to his right. 'Morning!!!' Harry
bellowed at the unfortunate boy, displaying a surprising amount of
enthusiasm considering he'd just woken up with his glasses in his
ear.
Blaise blinked.
Harry grinned.
Blaise groaned.
Harry
waved.
Blaise rolled over and went back to sleep and Harry frowned
in disappointment. Blaise was so far proving to be very entertaining
and Harry was inclined to think that there would never be a dull
moment around him.
Blaise now sleeping once again, Harry turned back to more pressing concerns, finding his trunk. The Slytherin dormitories consisted of six green four poster beds and three doors. Harry was already aware of one being the door they'd come in through and the other one being the bathroom, so he figured it was highly likely that their trunks were through the third door. They definitely weren't in the bedroom, which was so sparsely furnished Harry felt like a child in the depression era, though one which was considerably better fed, there would be NO rabbit stew for him if he could avoid it.
Pulling himself
out of his disturbing train of though, Harry jumped out of bed and,
adopting a spy-like crouch, slunk towards the third door.
'What
are you doing?' It was Draco. Harry jumped and whirled around in
surprise, pointing an imaginary laser at Draco's immaculately
parted head. The blonde in question, was sitting Indian-style on his
bed, cross-eyed and toes pointed, he looked like a deranged monk.
Harry raised an eyebrow strangely not disturbed by Draco's pose,
'I
think the real question is, what are YOU doing. You look like a
retard.' Draco ignored him, though he did uncross his eyes. Harry
eyed the third door. Then he eyed Draco.
'Draco, are our trunks
behind the third door?' Harry asked. Draco had pretty much
announced himself to be the knower of all things Slytherin, so Harry
thought he was pretty safe asking him.
'Duh. Slytherin house is
not like all the other Plebeian houses. They all keep their
trunks at the foot of the bed,' Draco shook his head sadly, as if
the very idea of keeping his trunk at the foot of his bed caused him
physical pain, 'ours are unpacked and divided into sections behind
that door. It's like one big dressing room!'
Draco smiled
manically at the end of what was meant to be a one-word answer. Harry
blinked, for a moment understanding how Blaise must have felt
approximately two and a quarter minutes ago. Then he remembered that
Draco was socially retarded, and smiled encouragingly back at
him.
'Well done Draco!' Harry said, voice incredibly
patronising, 'you're getting really good at prolonging
conversations. Tomorrow, we'll start you on directing
conversations!'Harry ended his pep talk with a large grin and
double thumbs up, which died as soon as he noticed Draco's
withering glare. Pouting, Harry decided to ignore Draco (he was like
a dog, you had to be really obvious when they had done the wrong
thing) and focused instead of the much more pressing concern: finding
his trunk. Walking towards the third door, Harry ignored whatever
stupid words were now coming out of Draco's mouth and opened the
door, partially closing it behind him as he stepped inside.
As soon as he entered the semi-darkness of the space behind the door, Harry realised three things:
He'd made a terrible mistake
The sorting hat had been maliciously correct
The third door was the door to a cupboard
He uttered a
strangled moan and tried to silently edge towards either his trunk or
the exit. Unfortunately, there was a trunk right in front of him and
Harry tripped and fell with a large thunk. Whether or not this was
the catalyst for the revelation of Harry's whereabouts, or if the
cupboard merely used it as a conversation starter, Harry would to
this day never know.
'Still falling head-over-heels for me I
see.' The cupboard began, voice low and rough in what Harry assumed
was an attempt at being husky, 'Boris did say I'd be seeing you
around. Gosh, you've got to love that mangy old hat; he sure knows
how to keep a cupboard happy.' The cupboard laughed, it was a
high-pitched, strangely disturbing noise which Harry found did not
suit his perception of the cupboard at all. As a matter of fact, he
found it very disturbing.
'L-leave me alone Manfred!' Harry
said, none-too-convincingly. The cupboard preened.
'Oooh, you
know my name sexy! I'm flattered; I assume Boris gave it to you.
It'll give you something to scream while I'm rocking your world
baby!'
This was all too
much for Harry, once again. He squeaked in shocked disgust and
bolted, forgetting the door was partially closed. He hit the heavy
oak door at full-speed and crashed to the ground unconscious almost
at once.
'Ah, what fools love makes us.' The cupboard said
with a wistful sigh. Luckily Harry was unconscious, and therefore
unable to hear the latest update on his relationship status.
Harry awoke
several hours later (or so it seemed, he had in fact, only been
unconscious for thirty-two seconds), to the gentle feeling of a wash
cloth across his head.
'Mmmm,' was all the speech he was able
to manage as the washcloth was pressed slowly to his forehead, 'vats
good,' Harry managed to drawl before struggling to open his
eyes.
'Goyle, put that bloody wash cloth down,' snapped
Draco's voice and Harry, forgetting his concussion, sat bolt
upright.
'Goyle. What?!' The boy in question smirked stupidly,
waving the wash cloth in the air. Harry shuddered, the action causing
memories of his earlier altercation to coming crashing back down on
him, 'IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE!' Harry shrieked suddenly, causing
Draco, Goyle, Blaise and Theo (Crabbe was conspicuously absent) to
jump back in alarm.
'What, what's here?' Draco asked, a look
of alarm spreading across his aristocratic features.
'The
cupboard!' Harry cried despondently, not understanding when all
four boys burst out laughing.
'Oh golly, Potter's scared of a
cupboard,' Blaise jeered, a smirk spreading across his dark face.
'Golly?' Draco intervened quite suddenly, previous joke
forgotten. Blaise blushed.
'I didn't say golly... I said...
jolly... you know, 'oh jolly' I was being SARCASTIC!' Even
Harry joined in the laughter this time, though the bespeckled boy in
question was still shaking slightly at the memory of the cupboard.
Once they'd
calmed down some more Draco turned to Harry, an eyebrow raised
quizzically and Harry was quite sure that Draco's social
retardation was about to rear its ugly head. He was right.
'So,
why are you scared of cupboards?' Harry was silent- pondering how
to explain it in a way in which Draco's social retardation would
not hinder his understanding.
'Well. I guess it's because the
cupboard sexually harasses me and I think that if I was ever to stay
in there too long, it would violate me.' Silence greeted his words.
Blaise looked startled, Goyle blinked and Draco's face was
scrunched up in thought as he tried to figure out what Harry meant by
'violate'. 'Have sex with me, Draco.' Harry said by way of
explanation, but Draco, who we have by this stage established as
being a bit 'different', thought Harry was propositioning him and
turned pale green in shock.
'Wh-what?' Draco's eyeballs
bulged as he stared at Blaise and Goyle, as if looking for
reaffirmation that what he'd just heard was for real.
'Yes
Draco, Harry wants to have sex with you,' Blaise deadpanned, so
obviously that even Goyle managed to understand what was going on.
Once again, Draco proved his immense LACK of social skills and
completely missed the sarcasm which accompanied Blaise's statement.
'Harry... look, I know I might have given you the wrong idea last night. But I'm an eleven year old boy. I'm not even thinking about those kinds of things; let alone what my sexual preference is.' To say that Draco was surprised when the whole room erupted into laughter would be an understatement. To say that it took him a little while to figure out he'd totally misunderstood the whole situation would be an even bigger understatement. By the time Harry had convinced Goyle to bring his trunk outside and he'd gotten changed, and the five boys (we must remember that Theo was also there as well) had made it down to breakfast, a scowl had broken out on Draco's face and he was trying not to blush.
Breakfast was a
subdued affair next to the 'excitement' of that morning. Draco
was sulking- glowering at anyone who so much as asked him to pass the
butter. Harry was still in shock after his morning altercation (a
terrible way to start the day if you asked him), Blaise sat there
sniggering, Goyle was still fingering the wash cloth he'd used to
wake Harry up, Theo was, well- Theo and Crabbe was still AWOL. The
only notable happening was the arrival of their timetables.
'Double
Potions with Gryffindors?' Draco was jolted out of his sulk by this
clearly amusing piece of news.
'Eh?' was Harry's response,
and Draco hastened to fill him in.
'Snape hates
Gryffindors. Everyone knows this. He'll favour us and deduct
millions of points from them, it'll be GREAT!' Harry stared at
Draco, unsure how to react. This had surpassed even his own levels of
social retardation.
'So let me get this straight,' Harry said
slowly, maintaining eye contact with Draco. (You must always reaffirm
that YOU are talking to THEM.) 'You want the entirety of Gryffindor
House to hate you?' Draco nodded happily, as if this fact should
have been obvious. Harry stared, coughed lightly and turned back to
his breakfast.
'But Harry, Slytherins and Gryffindors ALWAYS
hate each other. It's tradition.' Harry, not sure he was
particularly enjoying the particular vein this conversation was
following, decided to abandon it before things got too weird.
Luckily, Harry Potter always had a way to get out of awkward
conversations. Some might call it a gift, but Harry preferred to call
it pure skill.
'BLAISE!' he
cried loudly, and the boy in question looked up at him, a slightly
apprehensive look marring his otherwise saccharine features. Harry
grinned broadly, and Blaise felt the four Danish pastries he'd just
eaten sink a little lower in his gut.
'Yes?' he finally
responded after Harry had stared at him for a good four minutes-
maniacal grin still firmly in place.
'Oh Blaise,' Harry
sighed, eyes glazing over, a wistful look skating across his
face.
'Oh shit.'
'Oh BL-aise.'
'No
Harry.'
'Blaaaaaaaaaaaise.'
'Ok seriously Harry, what
the HELL.'
'Bla-a-a-a-aise.'
'You are such an idiot.'
Harry chose to ruin this riveting conversation by bursting into
tears. The whole of Slytherin table stared; Draco included (his
previous conversation having been forgotten). Blaise looked
uncomfortable, and as usual completely unsure of how to handle Harry.
'Blaise, why must you scorn me so,' Harry sobbed between
tears. His glasses had fogged up and so he looked like he had some
strange milky eye disease. 'I was going to make you my queen. We
were going to ride in a limousine.'
Now, if Harry had
stopped speaking after the first sentence, thing might have been
alright. Blaise was pretty easy-going as far as things went and most
probably would have just apologised and gone back to eating his fifth
Danish pastry. But Harry had said the one thing that every eleven
year old boy hates. He had called Blaise a queen- and in doing so
insinuated that he was a girl. Blaise saw red. This could be because
he was staring at the Gryffindor banner. Whatever the reason, it
fuelled his anger. (No wonder Gryffindors are so bloody volatile-
they should be surrounded by SOOTHING colours.)
'Harry. You've
crossed the line.' Harry had no time to wonder what Blaise meant
with that cryptic phrase, because the boy in question had leapt from
his seat and crash-tackled Harry to the ground.
A potentially
brutal scene was averted with the arrival of Crabbe.
'Where
have you been?!' Draco demanded of his faithful lackey as Crabbe
grabbed Blaise by the scruff of his neck and peered at him intently.
'You were in my dream,' Crabbe said softly, ignoring Draco in
favour of staring at Blaise obsessively. Blaise shivered and tried
not to notice that the hand Crabbe had grabbed him with was now
caressing his neck.
'Ok seriously dude, what the hell are you
doing?' Blaise demanded, and Crabbe hurriedly withdrew his
hand.
'You're just so...beautiful...' Crabbe whispered, and
awed note evident in his soft tones. At this, Harry couldn't hold
it in any longer; he exploded into laughter, shortly followed by most
of the Great Hall, who had gathered around once the fight had broken
out. Blaise flushed bright red, wrenched himself out of Crabbe's
grip, boxed Harry in the face and sprinted from the hall. Harry
watched him go, still laughing despite the blood steadily dripping
from his nose.
'Harry.' Draco was scowling heavily, Harry,
for the life of him, couldn't figure out why, 'we're going to
the hospital wing.' Without waiting for an answer, Draco pulled
Harry towards the door.
Draco and Harry
were five minutes late to potions.
'What a way to start of our
first ever class, aye Drake?' Harry commented airily, grinning at
the pale-faced blonde beside him.
'What did you just call me?'
Draco asked, eyes narrowed.
'Drake!' Harry said with a grin,
skipping into the classroom.
Snape scowled as Harry and Draco slipped into his classroom- LATE. He'd been afraid something like this would happen, though it was disheartening that it had occurred so soon. When Harry Bloody Potter had been sorted into Slytherin house, Snape had forgotten to swallow his water. Professor Sinastra had had to perform mouth-to-mouth on him and it had been most embarrassing. Luckily, Snape had fallen off his chair BEHIND the staff table, so only Professor Flitwick had really seen what was going on. All jokes (and chokes) aside: Harry Potter, son of total arch-nemesis was totally in his house. Now, Snape fully wasn't a valley girl or anything, but even he knew this was totally out of logical jurisdiction.
In case you are
confused by Snape's moral/ethical/mental/metaphysical dilemma allow
me- your for the most part omnipresent narrator- remind you that
Snape, as head of Slytherin house is expected to protect and assist
his valuable little serpents. This in mind, Snape's current issue
lay in how best to treat the Potter in question. Yes, he hated him,
but yes, he was a Slytherin and as such Snape had a duty of care not
to treat the boy like shit. Look, there was no doubt, Snape was in a
pickle. Should he abuse Potter? Perhaps deduct some points, time was
running out- already Harry was halfway across the room. Snape
couldn't resist any longer, he had to speak.
'Potter, Malfoy,
so kind of you to join us.'
The two boys
froze in their tracks, both turning to look at Snape. Draco's face
wore a priceless look of shock, while Harry was infuriatingly
smiling.
'Sorry Professor S- just had to pop to the hospital
wing.' Harry offered another smile, this one obviously in parody of
an apologetic look, before pulling Draco over to a table. If Snape
hadn't been nearly apocalyptic with rage, he may have noticed the
murderous looks a pair of Indian twins gave Harry, or the way a
wranga at the front was quite aggressively shaking his fist. Even
Hermione had one eyebrow raised, though they may have been due to
Harry patting her on the head as he walked past.
Had he noticed this, Snape may have reached the conclusion that a number of people appeared not to like Harry Potter at present. This would probably have done nothing to remove murderous feelings destroying Snape like Hurricane Katrina and New Orleans. Professor S?! What the HELL. No one in the Snape's teaching experience had EVER called him Professor S. Snape was so angry that he strode right up to the board and started writing on it, clean forgetting all about his intimidating speech and very difficult random questioning. Of course, when he did remember to do this, it was far too late for it to have any effect. This only made him more angry. All in all, not a good day for Severus Snape.
Meanwhile, Harry
had been cheerfully aware of the Patil twins glares and Ron's
gansta fist-waving. He'd blown them all kisses and sat down at a
table with Draco and two girls, giving Hermione a friendly head pat
on the way past – she was just like a friendly golden retriever.
'Aloha!' Harry said to the two girls.
'Hi Harry,' they
chorused. Harry looked expectantly at Draco before remembering he was
socially retarded and deciding he'd have to take matters into his
own hands.
'Sorry, Draco's socially retarded and so is
obviously not going to introduce you two. I spose you both know I'm
Harry Potter.' The girls laughed, and Draco scowled.
'I'm
Daphne Greengrass,' said a pretty blonde one, 'and this is Tracey
Davis,' she added- pointing a finger and the dimpled brunette on
her right.
'Cool! Dimples!' Harry said excitedly, poking
Tracey's cheek. Both girls looked surprised, but recovered quickly,
giggling nervously. Draco chose this moment to intervene,
'Don't
mind Harry, he lived in a cupboard his whole life- doesn't know how
to interact with people.' He shot Harry a superior look. Harry did
not notice it.
At the mention of
the word cupboard, Harry had gone white. The events of the morning
were replaying themselves through his head on some sort of endless
loop. Snape, who had been hovering bat-like in the shadows, seized on
this apparent phobia, swooping down on the group abruptly.
'Your
talking has put you all behind. Potter, go to the supply cupboard and
fetch the ingredients' for the potion.' When Harry looked about
to argue, Snape smiled nastily, 'that isn't a question Potter-
it's an order.' Pain face in place, Harry got up and stalked off
to the other end of the room.
Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit.
Cupboards. Bad. Scary. Monosyllabic thoughts. This was a brief
synopsis of Harry's thoughts as he made his way towards to supply
cupboard. Luckily this potion was simple and all they needed was
Beetles eyes, Aconite and some Boomslang skin. Surely he could sneak
in, grab the ingredients and then get the hell out. The cupboard door
loomed ahead and Harry's palms began to sweat. He opened the door
and stepped inside, glancing around at the dingy interior. First year
ingredients were always nearest the door and Harry had successfully
snagged the Aconite and Beetles eyes before it happened.
'If
you're looking for Boomslang skin, you're going to have to
penetrate... deeper,' moaned a familiar voice, and Harry, despite
having expected something of the sort jumped and almost dropped his
Aconite.
Trying to ignore
the voice, Harry walked further into the cupboard, spying the
Boomslang skin sitting on a shelf.
'Oh yeah. Touch it.' Harry
jumped and squawked loudly. 'Ah! So THAT'S your sex noise?!'
The cupboard exclaimed in pleasure before braying like a donkey.
'That's MY one baby, up for it?'Harry screamed in pure terror,
grabbed a handful of Boomslang skin and bolted, pausing only to make
sure the door was open before sprinting back into the classroom.
He arrived in a
mix of sweat and pure terror, to the combined amusement of Draco,
Daphne and Tracey.
'Something the matter Harry?' Daphne
inquired politely, her amused smirk somewhat ruining her concern.
'Just a cupboard that wants to shag me,' Harry panted,
dumping the ingredients on the table and taking his seat. Daphne and
Tracey stared. Draco, who had heard it all before simply scowled
before muttering,
'Is this where you ask someone to have sex
with you?' Harry laughed, feeling much better now the cupboard was
safely over the other side of the room. Daphne was tugging at his
sleeve, demanding a better explanation, while Tracey looked
intrigued. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry looked around for Snape
and, finding him somewhat occupied with a pale-faced boy who seemed
to have melted his cauldron, settled back into his chair.
'Alright,
I'll tell you. But it's kind of a long story. It all started the
day before my eleventh birthday...'
A/N: Well there's that chapter out. It's a nice long one- but golly gosh it was hard to write. On the plus side- I only have one more exam left, which makes me happy!!!! Please review, I do so love them. And I need some ideas for chapters. Imagine a slightly insane Harry – not totally insane, so no using dairy products as communication devices, but slightly insane. Now tell me what you think he'd do at Hogwarts! If it's superbly on topic, then I'll definitely use AND CREDIT your brilliance. If not, then we'll both just have a good laugh!
