Welcome to Slytherin
The great hall exploded with whispers, scattered with cheers and voices raised in protest. Harry strode firmly toward the green-draped table, though before he'd traversed half the distance he began to worry he'd chosen wrongly. What if he wasn't clever enough? What if his unformed ambitions were too weak-willed and he couldn't prove himself worthy?
Worse still, what if his fellow students noticed how unworthy he was? He wanted to honour his ancestors' memory, from whom he had inherited their greatest gift, but what if he only brought shame to them instead?
He knew he was worthless, he shouldn't have imagined otherwise. Why had he let himself get swept along in this farce? Everyone expecting so much from him. Well, they'd see the truth soon enough. He struggled to hold back frustrated tears. That would not make a good first impression.
And yet. . .?
As he neared the table, the students in green-trimmed robes rose to greet him, smiles and eagerness on every face. He was surrounded immediately, friendly greetings exchanged and names offered so rapidly he knew he'd remember none of them. Offers of favours, promises of assistance should he ever need it, requests for protection or power or alliances or future exchange of mutual benefit, everything he could possibly have imagined wanting was offered for trade in a rush and a babble that left him stunned and completely overwhelmed.
He should nod politely, say he'd consider it, and extricate himself.
But instead, faced with so much eagerness and cheer, he felt suddenly trapped. Surrounded, he felt the instinct to duck and flee so strongly that it took all his effort to remain standing, panic threatening to overwhelm him.
It was even worse than his imagined fate as a hufflepuff. He opened his mouth, breathing hard, unable to speak or even think clearly, when someone slapped a hand down on the table. It was a quiet sound, almost lost in the babble, but Harry caught it and focused on the motion.
A girl, pug-faced and scowling, was glaring at the cluster surrounding him.
"I believe," she said in a clear carrying voice, "that Mr. Potter would prefer some privacy and personal space at present."
This dissuaded only the younger Slytherins, the elder students ignored the girl completely. But Harry seized on her as a focus. Pushing away the panic and immobility, he took a step toward her and then, encouraged by how the others fell away at his movement, strode quickly around the end of the table and came to sit beside her.
He sank into the seat beside her with a relieved sigh, as the others could now only approach him a few at a time and she was glaring about at them haughtily in a way which clearly discouraged all but the most determined.
"Thanks," Harry said quietly.
"You owe me one now, don't you?" she asked, smiling up at him from behind her eyelashes.
"I can't promise anything at the moment," Harry said, thinking of Quirrell's advice to be sure he knew exactly what he was agreeing to and thinking through the possible future of that choice. "But I am grateful."
"Good enough for now," she said, then twisted in her seat to offer him her hand. "I'm Pansy."
"Harry," Harry replied, taking the offered hand. "Though, everyone already knows that."
"Of course we do," she said, then held up a hand as the next student's name was called. A similar hush came across the whole room, most students pausing to look at the front of the hall.
"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the Sorting Hat, and the blue-draped table broke into applause as the boy replaced the hat and hurried to join his new classmates.
Pansy made a quick notation on her parchment, scribbles which bore only the faintest resemblance to proper words.
"What's that?" Harry asked. Appearing involved in a conversation could distract the other well-wishers and those desperate to curry his favour, and hopefully prevent them from interrupting.
"I'm cataloging the students," she replied as though this were a natural sort of thing to do. "So far, I only know those in our year," she said, pointing to a group of names in four columns. "And a few of my own acquaintance of course," she added. "I'm planning to ask the other girls who they know, and should have a thorough overview of the school's students by the end of the year."
"Why?" Harry asked. "That sounds like a lot of work."
Her eyes seemed to glitter in the candlelight. "It will be worth it," she declared firmly, then paused to write the next name, another Ravenclaw.
Harry hesitated. "Why, though? What is the point?"
"Knowledge is power, and understanding is the foundation of negotiation," she whispered. "For instance. How many people noticed than you didn't want to be the center of attention? Twelve. How many chose to act on that understanding? One. And how many other Slytherins have the chance to carry on an actual conversation with you?"
She paused meaningfully, glanced back and forth along the table. "Only me. Understanding and knowledge need to be applied, subtly or forcefully as the situation requires."
Harry frowned slightly. "Are you admitting to manipulating me into talking with you?" he asked.
"You catch on quickly," she said. "But no, I'm only pointing out that the proper application of knowledge can open all sorts of opportunities that would be closed to those with less understanding of their fellows. Draco Malfoy has been watching you with that peculiarly possessive expression ever since the hat called your name."
Harry glanced involuntarily toward where the Malfoy heir sat, halfway down the table, surrounded by his friends Vincent and Gregory, talking with another new Slytherin boy.
"He, by the way," Pansy added in a lower voice, "was one of those who understood your desire but hesitated to act. He likely would have made a move soon, if I had not beaten him to it. Waiting to make you more desperate, more grateful. He doesn't understand you quite as well as I."
"You don't make a very strong case for yourself as an ally," Harry said.
She raised her eyebrows, the expression stretching her face in a less than attractive way. "Don't I? I thought it was very convincing, myself."
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat called out, and 'Sibazaki, Reiko' came to join the table. The first new Slytherin since Harry himself.
Pansy noted down her name, then stood long enough to smile and introduce herself to the newcomer. Reiko tugged at her sleeve nervously, but was quickly folded into a group of girls who seemed to be in awe of her deep black hair.
Pansy glanced toward the group, watching for a long moment, then began scribbling notes in the margins beside the column of 'Slytherin' names. Harry couldn't read any of it, though he could make out a few letters here and there. It must be some kind of shorthand.
"How could I ever trust you weren't manipulating me?" Harry asked.
"Because I know that you're more valuable as an ally than anyone else I could possibly approach," Pansy said at once. "Truthfully, were you in another house, I would be even now sitting at Draco's side. Understanding and power, Harry. But, I think, you need me more than he would. And as you are more valuable to me than he is, I am more valuable to you than any other girl would be."
Harry sighed. "I have only your word on that."
"Then give it a try," Pansy said, gesturing at the rest of the table. While most were either talking to each other or watching the Sorting, Harry saw a surprising number whose attention remained fixed on him.
"I'll just go chat with Draco, shall I?" Pansy asked, moving as though to roll up her parchment and stand.
"No," Harry said quickly, almost reflexively. "Don't go."
She smiled at him, leaned closer to him. "I won't leave you, Harry," she said. "If you want, I'll stay as long as you need me."
Harry knew he should be getting second opinions. Knew he should be politely refusing to make any commitments. Knew that she was probably an expert manipulator, and she'd only confided what she had in him to make him believe in her offer.
But she had come to him offering help, and more than merely offering she had proven herself. She had chosen him, even over Draco Malfoy.
In that moment, without any intentional decision, Harry found himself categorizing Pansy as a friend and ally.
"I would like you to stay," he said.
"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat, and Pansy wrote another name.
Harry fell silent, observing. Pansy continued to record the results of the Sorting and also kept a sharp eye on developments at the table, taking notes all the while. The few times other Slytherins worked up their courage to approach him, she intercepted them sharply and redirected them to 'come back another time, Mr. Potter has much more important things to contemplate at present.'
Harry wasn't sure that was an entirely accurate description of his mental processes, but it was good enough to keep them from swarming him and that meant it wasn't something he would argue against.
As he finally relaxed from the unexpected tension of his greeting, he realized that he still hadn't looked for Professor Quirrell. Glancing up to the head table, he caught his mentor's eye and smiled, gave a little wave. Quirrell, wearing a purple turban this time, smiled back with a deep nod of acknowledgment. His robes on this occasion were much more elegant than before and gave him a somewhat exotic appearance.
Harry's attention wandered across the staff table, trying to match the appearances to the names and descriptions from Quirrell's letters. Binns, the ghost, was the easiest to recognize. He floated somewhat distractedly, patting at his pockets and looking confused. Flitwick should be obvious as well, if Harry could find him. . . ah, there, beside a stern-looking witch who may have been Madame Pince or Madame Pomfrey, or Madam Hooch, for that matter.
"Do you know the teachers?" Harry asked, leaning toward Pansy.
"Hmm. . . that one on the end with black hair, beside the turban guy, is Professor Snape. He's the potions master and our head of house. The short woman with flowers in her hair is Professor Sprout, and I think she's in charge of Hufflepuff." Pansy fell silent a moment, scribbled down another name as the Gryffindor table cheered.
"The one with the turban is Professor Quirrell," Harry said, proud to have something to contribute. "He'll be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts."
"Quirrell?" Pansy scoffed. "The old muggle studies teacher? He's going to be teaching defence? Oh, we are so going to fail this year."
"Why?" Harry asked, feeling immediately defencive. "What do you have against Quirrell?"
"He's a muggle-loving Ravenclaw, for one thing. And just look at him, he can't be much more than twenty-five. I guess Hogwarts is getting desperate."
Harry found he didn't quite like Pansy as much as he had a few minutes before. "He's very knowledgeable," he said defiantly.
Pansy shrugged. "He's a Ravenclaw, of course he'll seem clever. Just wait until we're stuck in one of his classes."
"You'll see," Harry said confidently. "He's brilliant."
Pansy didn't appear convinced, but then "Zabini, Blaise," joined their table as the Sorting ceremony came to its end.
"Now, before we begin our fine feast, I should like to say a few words," said the headmaster, standing up.
Harry watched him with an odd sense of disconnect. Part of him thought that he oughtn't be so openly staring, though he couldn't be sure why, and Harry had to resist the strange instinct to look away and very much not meet the man's eyes. The larger and stronger part of him thought that the headmaster was positively sparkling with magic and power and the kindly nature that tends to emanate from certain types of older people.
For a brief moment, Harry was aware of a struggle within him. A certainty that this man could not be trusted warred with the absolute surety that Dumbledore was only and would only ever work for Harry's ultimate good.
Then the strange sensation passed, leaving him merely confused as the headmaster spoke in a carrying voice.
"Beryl, squeak, hodgepodge, arbitrary. Thank you."
Harry looked down at his plate, not enlightened in the least. And the moment he turned away from the headmaster the veil in his mind parted, allowing his true and full understanding to flood him.
For some reason, still unknown to him, the headmaster had forced Harry to live with his hateful muggle family instead of placing him with a wizard family who might have actually cared about him. For some reason, the headmaster had chosen to deny anyone the ability to so much as visit Harry.
Watcher. Adversary.
He knew he couldn't keep that knowledge always, but for a moment he held the veil open so he could remind himself of his true purposes here. Power. Strength.
Ambition. Truth.
Unfortunately, the conclusion of the Sorting and the headmaster's speech also seemed to be unspoken code for 'Harry's had enough time to himself, let's go ask him questions now!' among the Slytherins at the table.
Though Pansy did her best to run interference, there were just too many people and she could only guard the one direction, and there were voices babbling over each other and people leaning across the table. . .
How had he really defeated 'you-know-who'? Where had he been the past ten years? How did he manage to end up in Slytherin? Was this a trick of Dumbledore's? Did he want to be friends? Could they get his autograph? What was his favourite quidditch team? Did he know any secret magic he could share? Did he need a bodyguard? Did he really have a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt? What had it felt like to survive the Killing Curse?
Harry instinctively shrank down in his seat, feeling trapped, wanting to hide. He couldn't flee, couldn't make them leave. He had to answer something, anything, just to satisfy them.
He stood up slowly, the strain of not showing his fear enough to occupy his full attention.
"I wanted to be placed in Slytherin," he said, his voice somehow calm. "It wasn't a trick, no plan of anyone else's. Just. . . what I wanted."
He ducked his head and resumed his seat, and this time Pansy was able to fend them off more successfully. Discussing his revelation took precedence over pressing for more, and as the food appeared their attention was again diverted.
Still, they came. Not in a crowd now, individually, but with hardly a pause between them.
"Cole Spencer, pleased to meet you Harry. And I'd always be available if you need someone to talk to." An older boy, maybe third year. Pansy made a note on her parchment.
"I don't agree with everything you've done, Potter, but you've certainly managed to pique my interest. I'll be watching." A much older boy, who didn't give his name, and acted as though everyone already knew it. Pansy made a note on her parchment.
"If you're intending to curry favour with the remaining noble families, you're not going about it very well." This from a younger girl, probably second year, who gave a derisive sniff and looked down at Pansy with obvious distaste. "You can't go by old books, you know; Parkinson hasn't been much use to anyone, these days."
"She's of use to me," Harry said firmly.
The girl shrugged dismissively and left, but she wasn't the only one to look at Pansy as though she were something disgusting and far beneath Harry's status. A handful of girls looked up to Pansy, but the vast majority looked down on her and anyone who associated with her.
Finally the other Slytherins slowed their approach, becoming absorbed either in eating or talking to those more willing to converse freely, leaving Harry and Pansy more or less to themselves.
"Youngest Weasley boy is in our year," Pansy said, waving her spoon to indicate the Gryffindor table. "I heard his father tried to introduce some bludger-brained new legislation about muggles last month, thankfully it was shot down promptly. Those blood-traitors have always been too concerned with maintaining their reputation as entirely the wrong sort. Defending muggles, can you imagine?"
Harry shook his head, holding his fork a little more aggressively than strictly necessary. "Muggles don't need or deserve anything from us," he said, glancing toward the red-headed Gryffindor. "He was in my compartment on the train, wouldn't stop talking."
Pansy flipped her hair out of her face and leaned even closer to Harry. "That shouldn't be a problem from now on. You won't have to associate with his type any longer."
Harry nodded, grateful, and helped himself to more potatoes. He thought he could get used to life here in the castle very, very easily.
Toward the end of the meal, Pansy checked that they weren't being closely observed and leaned over almost nervously to whisper in his ear, "I don't mind, if you don't want to be seen with me. I understand your need to maintain your image."
She hesitated, then passed her paper over to Harry. "I can make another one. You should have it. It'll be essential for you in these first days to make a good impression."
"No," Harry said, pushing the paper back to her. She looked hurt, so he hurried to explain. "I'm not going to send you away or something like that. You were the only one to stand up for me. You can make another one for me, with your original as reference. It'll be easier that way, right?"
She smiled at him, an almost unnatural-looking expression which didn't do much for her pug-like face, but Harry grinned back freely. People would judge him for associating with her, but secretly envy her for being able to get close to him.
He didn't care if the Parkinson family were the least popular wizards in Slytherin. Harry would not abandon the first person his age to care about him. Even if she only wanted to talk to him because of his fame, she had taken the extra effort to understand what he'd wanted, not just tried to shove her way into his life like all the others.
It was his first time making a friend, knowing that Dudley wouldn't ever be able to force them apart. For once, even if only by an exaggerated reputation, Harry could be an asset to a relationship rather than a detriment.
Harry smiled. Understanding as power. Perhaps their ambitions could align, him and Pansy.
He found that he genuinely hoped they could.
Author's Note: I am still working to tidy up the earlier chapters with my wonderful beta, but as this is my first time doing a proper edit/rewrite of anything I find it is taking rather longer than I'd at first anticipated. I don't want to hold up this project indefinitely, so update chapters will be released as-is moving forward, and beta'd and updated eventually. {And, quite honestly, I suspect that will make the story better in the long run, my having more experience and distance while editing.}
In the meantime, I'm aiming for thrice-monthly updates. Currently (tentatively) scheduled for the 3rd, 14th, and 25th of each month beginning in March. However, as these chapters are longer than any of my other projects, this may prove unsustainable. We shall see.
I'll be posting an interlude section within the next few days, outside of the regular update schedule, which contains a list of students as utilized in this series since I'll be expanding upon them to some degree throughout the series. (This same student roster will be used in any other HP projects I write unless otherwise stated.)
Thank you for your patience, and thank you all for reading!