Disclaimer: Nope. Nada. Not mine. Harry Potter's not mine.

A shorter chapter, but I'll make it up to you guys next chapter. It is much longer. YES! The newest chapter's coming up next!

Enjoy!

Chapter 9

The atmosphere within the corridor turned from grim to downright dangerous within seconds. Harry narrowed his eyes at the offending Weasley, his emerald eyes darkening with rage. He clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, trying in vain to rein in his mounting temper. His rage was rather surprising to him, especially after years of tolerating Vernon.

"What do you mean by that?" he growled lowly, his calm tone belying the anger within him.

"Exactly what I mean! I mean, everyone knows that Slytherins are slimy gits! All destined to be Death Eater spawns. You would do good to stay away from them, Har," Ron replied derisively, his nose almost pointing up into the air as he flashed a supposed "buddy" grin. Harry merely felt dislike rising up even further for the red head.

"No one gave you the permission to call me anything but my proper name, Weasley," he sneered, "and what made you think that you can make my choices for me?"

Ron's expression was almost of a gaping fish as he heard those words. He blinked confusedly as he spluttered, "B-but, you're the Boy-Who-Lived! Shouldn't you hate those bastards?"

Harry stiffened, the tight control he managed to have over his emotions loosening in an instant. Hermione, who had been watching the exchange with anxiety, wisely took a few steps back.

"Don't," he hissed dangerously, "ever presume you know me, Weasel. And for your information, Draco is more of a person than you can ever hope to be."

"But they killed your parents!" Weasley whined. 'This wasn't how it was supposed to be!' he thought desperately, 'Harry's supposed to be my best friend, and we were supposed to defeat those bloody Slytherins!'

He didn't see the snarl that twisted immediately on Harry's face at his words as a huge wave of suffocating power knocked him backwards and into a wall, and he blacked out.

Harry stood shakily for a moment, smiling slightly at the destruction he had caused. He breathed heavily as he felt the energy within him slip away as he slumped onto the floor, unconscious. He didn't even hear Hermione shrieking his name, nor notice the dark shadow flickering on the other side.

--

"A First Year in my hospital wing on the very first school day. I suppose what they say about one seeing something new everyday is true," a voice tutted disapprovingly as he opened his eyes. The bright light shining into his eyes made him groan in discomfort, and he immediately lifted his arms to shield his eyes. His whole body felt heavy like lead, his head pounding painfully when he tried to sit up.

"Ouch," he hissed, rubbing his temples in hopes of relieving the throb.

"Yes, ouch, Mr. Potter," the same voice he heard addressed him.

Opening his eyes blearily, he noted the white starchy uniform the lady in front of him wore, dimly registering that she probably was a nurse.

Wait…nurse?

"That would teach you not to lose control of your magic. Straining magical reserves isn't comfortable for anyone, especially for the younger children, when magical reserves aren't yet stable. You should be glad that it was only a shock to your system, and that nothing too bad happened," she reprimanded him, a frown on her stern face.

Peering around curiously, he noticed that no one else was in the room. Neatly made beds were situated throughout the room, and sterile atmosphere made him cringe. Noting his inquisitive look, the nurse huffed and said, "This is the hospital wing. I don't know what in the world you did, but it was enough to strain your reserves and land you here."

He nodded half-heartedly, wincing as he recalled what it was that landed him in the hospital wing. He could only remember the confrontation Weasley and he had, and the sudden rush from within him before everything went black. Looking around, he realized that Hermione wasn't there.

"Umm, Madam? May I know where my friend is?" he asked curiously, "Did she leave for the classes already?"

"Call me Poppy, dear," she replied, busy running diagnostic spells over him. He shifted uncomfortably as one of the red lights flashed past his eyes. "Your friend? Ah, Miss Granger? Classes aren't starting in another half an hour's time. No, no, your friend is explaining to the Headmaster as to what had happened."

Harry blanched upon hearing that. He did not need questions. Remembering how devoted Hermione was to authority, his heart sank. As Poppy went to the back of the hospital wing, the door at the other side swung open, and the Headmaster walked in with a jovial smile with Hermione following behind. Seeing Harry sitting up in his bed, she beamed, the worry in her eyes disappearing.

"Mr. Potter, my boy, I'm glad that you seem alright!" Professor Dumbledore started off cheerfully, his blue eyes twinkling.

Harry didn't deign to reply, merely staring at the spot above the Headmaster's head impassively even though his heart was thudding furiously.

Not put off by his aloofness, the Headmaster continued, "Miss Granger had been kind enough to inform me of what had happened in the corridors –"

Harry tensed up upon hearing them, prepared to be given a scolding or even worse yet, expulsion. He shivered at that thought, starting to panic when the next words nearly made his jaw drop.

"– and as we do not condone students attacking another, Mr. Weasley would be duly punished for raising his wand against you, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore finished off with a grave look on his face.

Harry nearly felt like gaping at the Headmaster, but caught himself in time. Sensing that a response was needed, he quickly nodded distractedly, focusing on a spot on the headmaster's face. Dumbledore's somber expression swiftly turned to the usual grandfatherly look as he said, "Well, I trust that Poppy will take good care of you, Mr. Potter. Do get some rest, alright?"

Faking a smile, Harry ducked his head and replied, "Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

"No problem, my boy," Dumbledore replied, the twinkle in his blue eyes growing brighter. Harry tucked back the sneer that was threatening to emerge.

When the door shut close with a click, Harry turned to face Hermione, raising an eyebrow as he questioned softly, afraid that Poppy would hear.

"Weasley attacking me? What was that all about?"

Hermione chewed on her lip with a troubled expression, and tugged at her curly hair. Her brown eyes reflected guilt as she whispered in a frazzled tone, "I hope you know that I lied to the Headmaster for you, Harry. The Headmaster! And I lied to him! Gods…"

Reining in the astonishment within him, Harry tried again, "Hermione, what did you tell the Headmaster?"

"I-I told him that Weasley attacked you with a spell, and…and that you tried to defend yourself by raising your wand. Some-somehow or another, your magic had exploded to protect you. It was a half-truth…I didn't dare to lie outright. I think Professor Dumbledore would have known if I had lied completely…" she explained, her voice getting softer and softer, and more uncertain. She paused for a while, conflicting emotions clearly shown on her face as her eyes flitted nervously everywhere.

Despite the slight guilt he felt, he couldn't help but relish the warmth that spread in him. Hermione cared.

"Gods…I lied to the Headmaster. I can't believe I did that," she murmured. All of a sudden, something blazed in her eyes as she glared at Harry, who flinched.

"You better appreciate that effort, Harry Potter! I actually lied to a Professor for you!" she whispered lowly but harshly, her finger prodding painfully into Harry's chest, who was nodding furiously away, eyes wide at her outburst.

"Never, ever, ever have I lied to a teacher! And of something this important! Ooh! You owe me for this, Harry James Potter. You better not get into anymore trouble or I won't vouch for you ever! You stupid, stupid reckless troublemaker! How Draco ever thought you were a Slytherin is beyond me!"

Slumping onto the bed as her energy drained away, she mustered up one last glare as she said, "I want a good Christmas present, you got me?"

And Harry actually thought that only Draco would make such a request. Grinning, he laid back on the bed as he plotted on how to get out of the hospital wing. Granted, he had never been in any hospitals, but he hated it the moment he woke up in it. All white definitely didn't suit him.

A thought suddenly struck him. Poppy hadn't even mentioned about taking a look at his scar or even eyed the location of it.

He liked her.

--

Walking down the corridors towards his office, Dumbledore frowned. The boy had not met his eyes even once.

--

"Mr. Potter!" The screech echoed round the corridors near the hospital wing, making the duo sneaking away grimace.

--

The hushed excitement going on about his arrival had faded after a while, and he had found most of his House mates tolerable if he didn't include those who kept pestering him with "Oh Merlin, Harry you are wonderful!" – which included Ron Weasley and his new gang. The previous clash with him seemed to have not taught him anything, and Harry hated his arrogance for that.

The Gryffindors were a raucous bunch, though, what with their endless parties and scream-fests, and Harry soon found himself shunning most of his housemates in favour of acquainting himself with the quieter and more polite bunch of Ravenclaws. They didn't speak unless needed to, which was perfect for him. Hermione had struck up a friendship, or rather, a knowledge-exchanging system with almost all of the first year Ravenclaws after the first week. It was then that he suspected that she had been into the library for longer than he had noticed.

Classes were actually fun. Herbology was interesting enough. Of course, he had to have cultivated a love for gardening after all the tending of Petunia's flowerbeds. Professor Sprout was warm and friendly, her love for plants clear in her bustling, caring way. He had been partnered with a shy boy called Neville Longbottom, and the professor had been absolutely impressed with how well they worked together. Both Neville and he had formed a strong partnership after their first lesson.

History of Magic was… boring. Harry had spent the whole lesson reading his book that he had bought from Flourish and Blotts.

The more surprising lessons were Charms, Transfiguration and Defence against Dark Arts.

"Anyone knows what we're going to do with the feather in front of you today?" Professor Flitwick chirped, his face peering at his students expectantly.

Looking at the feather, Harry frowned slightly. This scene felt a little familiar…

"Yes, the young lady over there?"

Shooting a glance beside him, his suspicions were confirmed. Hermione was opening her mouth to answer the question.

"Levitation charm, sir."

"That's correct, what's your name, young miss?"

"Hermione Granger," she replied promptly, her face slightly flushed with pride.

The professor glanced at the piece of paper lying on his desk, before exclaiming cheerfully, "Five points to Gryffindor! Now, the incantation of this spell is Wingardium Leviosa, and the wand movement is very simple. Swish, and flick! Try this, all of you!"

Harry picked up his wand, but instead of joining the rest of his classmates in the simultaneous action of the swish and flick, he turned his attention to the feather in front of him. With a calm countenance, he flicked his wand naturally, murmuring, "Wingardium Leviosa."

He wasn't surprised when the feather began to float its way up. It had felt right, for some reason, and the pride and satisfaction in performing that piece of magic rushed through him.

He was rather oblivious to the jealous stares of his classmates, and the professor's awed, "Marvelous, marvelous!"

It was rather strange, but similar stuff happened in his Transfiguration and Defence lessons. It was as though his wand and hand moved on its own, his magic reacting in response.

Professor McGonagall had taken it in stride, complimenting him and awarded him with the House points, but the Defence professor had looked rather doubtful. Harry nearly scowled in remembrance of the suspicion that he was 'rewarded' with after he had performed his first Defence spell perfectly on the first try. He would have sneered and insulted the Professor if not for the fact that Hermione distracted him with questions on how he managed to do it.

He would have appreciated his innate ability to learn spells easily and efficiently if it hadn't brought about problems. Problems of more adoration in fact. He was getting quite sick of coy smiles from girls and even some boys as he walked down the corridors. The flirting that had started from around the second day was even more irritating; he couldn't even eat his breakfast in peace. His "talents" in studies had brought few girls and boys requesting for "tuition". He wasn't as stupid not to know how such tuition sessions would end. He was only eleven!

Despite such annoyances, he was actually happy. Happy to be finally accepted, and happy to finally accept someplace as his home. His first week in Hogwarts had been wonderful.

What he had been rather anxious for, actually, was the Potions lesson on Friday. It would pretty much show what Draco's stance would be, and it would be rather interesting to see how Professor Snape taught. He had heard many rumours about his teaching that he couldn't wait to confirm…

--

"Hermione, here." He gestured at the bench that was five rows away from the teacher's desk. Predictably, Hermione gave a shake of head and pointed to the empty first row. Frowning, Harry pulled her to sit down, earning a quiet protest from the girl. He had just made himself comfortable on the stiff benches when the door was flung open with a loud bang.

Almost all of the students jumped at the sound, most of their heads swiveling around to look at the cloaked man wearing an expression that radiated menace standing at the doorway. His disgruntled expression morphed into something akin to dislike when he saw the curious and rather afraid faces. His dark eyes glared from beneath the greasy strands of black hair, his sallow face pinched in an almost sneer. Darkness simply emanated from him in rolling waves, his black robes billowing, his heels clicking dangerously as he stalked his way to the front.

He was positively the epitome of the spawn from hell.

With a smooth, precise spin right after he reached his desk, he gave his 'audience' a sweeping glower, his dark eyes burning with distaste as he surveyed his students. Harry noticed that the Slytherins were smart enough to lower their gazes, promptly doing so himself. Many Gryffindors flinched when his gaze stopped on them, though there was a brave, but stupid boy who dared to glare back. He was quickly reduced to soft whimpers when the glower turned into something much more poisonous.

Observing him from his seat that he had admittedly chosen for safety, Harry's only thought was, 'No wonder he's called an overgrown bat.'

He began speaking in a silky, downright dangerous voice, his eyes narrowing threateningly, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began, his voice soft, but cutting. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry felt almost enthralled at the dark aura seeping from the Professor. It pulled at his magic, played with it. Unlike the brighter, lighter magic of the rest of the school, the dark magic emanating from the Professor toyed with his own, making him feel alive. It wasn't that he disliked the bright, happy magic; in fact it was rather interesting to work with it, but the darker, more mysterious power that only Professor Snape seemed to have called to him. He wondered if he was being strange.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Professor Snape asked. His expression suddenly turned neutral when he stared at him.

Ransacking his mind for a moment, he smiled when he got the answer. It had been right at the end of the Potions textbook – the only one besides from Defense against Dark Arts that he had read.

"Draught of Living Death, sir."

Professor Snape sneered slightly, though surprise flashed in his eyes.

"Where would you look if I ask you to find me a bezoar?"

"Stomach of a goat, sir," he answered firmly, sure of the answer. It had been right at the first few pages.

"Difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" the Professor all but snapped.

"None, sir. They also go by the name of aconite."

The Professor paused for a while, staring at him with an odd looking expression. After a long, fear-filled silence, the professor finally spoke slowly, the hard disdain returning back into his cold, dark eyes. "Well? Why aren't the rest of you writing that down?"

Harry smirked at the sudden noise of the rustling of parchment and clinking of stationary, his mind dancing in victory. Harry: one, Snape: zero. He might be awed by the Professor's magic, and might had been interested in knowing more about the man, but it hadn't mean that he liked him well enough to be chummy with him. Plus, he figured that he might as well have someone to snap and be nasty at him to keep him at his toes. It wouldn't do to let Dudley have one over him any time soon.

Throughout the rest of the lesson, he kept tucking back the smirk that fought to emerge as the Professor all but breathed down all of their necks as they weighed, crushed and cut their materials. 'Intimidation tactics to see who could adapt and survive,' Harry mused, 'Let's see if Darwin's theory would work in this class.'

An explosion rocked the class right near the end of the lesson, and Harry almost felt pity for poor Neville, who was stuttering and trembling in fear in front of the livid Professor. Almost.

Weaklings couldn't hope to survive in the first place.

"Bloody Snape," he muttered, a glower on his face as he stepped out of the classroom. He hadn't thought that Neville's mistake would result in Gryffindor losing twenty points. Hermione nudged him for his language, and pulled him along for the next class.

A haughty voice called out his name just as he was about to turn around the corner. Turning around, he was suddenly glad to meet the familiar smirkish-smile on the pale, pointed face.

"Harry," Draco greeted, a little wary, but warm all the same.

Letting out a big smile, Harry greeted back. Hermione lurked behind him, wearing a rather nervous expression.

"I don't think I've introduced you to my minions," Draco commented, waving his hands vaguely at the people standing slightly behind him. It was only then that he noticed the group of people standing behind him. He snorted quietly at the term of 'endearment' Draco used.

The two heavy-weight bodyguards were the first he noticed, and also the first he recognized. They towered over everyone in the group, their bodies well-muscled and huge. Both wore dumb-looking expressions, their faces blank, almost uncomprehending as they stared at him. It was only the flash of intelligence in both their eyes that gave their game away. The next he noticed was the only girl in their group. She was an absolute beauty, her blonde hair falling in waves, framing her delicate heart shaped face. She stood tall and proud, her eyes sharp and alert.

She was also the one who snapped back at Draco for his words.

"Minions? Draco dear, one would think that you are the minion. My minion," she retorted, lips twirling up in a slight smirk as her eyelashes fluttered.

Raising an eyebrow, Draco bestowed the girl an incredulous look. "Yours? I would have you know that –"

The last boy in the group, a thin, fragile looking boy, spoke up irritably then, his soft voice sharp. "If you guys quarrel one more time, I'm going to sell the both of you to the giants and you can be their minions for all I care."

Harry stifled his laughter at that, while Hermione giggled.

The whole group shifted easily after that, almost comfortable in each other's company as they trouped down the corridors. It was clear as anything that the Slytherins tended to ignore Hermione, but they made the effort, which pleased him.

Everyone that passed them was rather amazed by the group. It had to be the first time that Gryffindors willingly acquainted themselves with Slytherins.

--

The wind that blew was harsh and cold, and for a moment, he was glad that he couldn't feel such trivialities. Speeding up just a little, he tried to ignore the dread that was welling within him. He would make it in time for Halloween.

Revised: 1/1/10

REVIEW!!! Love ya if you leave a review XD. Old readers, the chapter you've been waiting for is coming!!!

- Myxa