Summary- Featuring a bratty Harry- Who will do everything possible to reject the author's world.

Chapter- 14

In the middle of the second week, Harry felt he had settled into somewhat of a routine. Breakfasts were always the most sombre affair as the living dead crawled out of their beds, moaning and cursing. The younger they were- sicker their pallor. Slytherins comported themselves far better than the other houses. At least none of them wore waffles for hats like some of those Gryffindors.

Mondays were the most miserable and entertaining times for breakfasts.

And the quietest for Harry. He had taken to early rising – it boded well for everyone's peace.

Especially his.

There were troubling days as well- when the buzzing was the loudest and Harry had to pause between each mouthful of food.

He would have preferred to have foregone this unnecessary task of breathing -

But it was rude to answer with food spitting out of his mouth.

"Your family- they are one of us, aren't they?"

"Nobody could be like you!" titters.

"Riff-raffs get in sometimes- it is not our fault."

"Of course not. So, Silvan- it is fine if you have a dark history or two." Giggles.

"He is one of us. Right, Silvan?"

Harry would nod along, "Sure."

Some day people would be rather thoughtful.

"I don't remember the name Silvan in Wizarding families- though."

"It is not like you can know all of them. Come now."

"Silvan did say he was-

"He wouldn't just lie –

"Of course not. Right, Silvan?"

Harry would take up the solemn contemplation, "Who knows?"

Another time the discussion would be more lively. With thumping hands providing background tunes-

"There is a half-blood there too- right down the end of the table. Just a step up from the filths. How do we know you don't belong right there?"

It was very impolite to point a used spoon towards another, so Harry would only nod towards them to show his sincerity, "You make a very valid point."

After the breakfast, he would stroll down to the library-

To work on his assignments.

It had been the bitterest day when he realized he had to be Hermione-sque, at least in a couple of subjects. That he couldn't just use the school as an inn.

He had spent that day hands on the waist scowling at the cordoned off restricted section.

Men make plans for Gods to laugh.

If Gods did exist, men's arrogance must be a constant stream of entertainment for them.

Well- his Lord wouldn't make laugh at him really- even the grossest of blunders had been forgiven with a sigh.

And this was merely an oversight.

A vexatious oversight.

How smugly had he thought to coast by the Hogwarts years with minimum effort?

It was not that he wanted to spend the adolescent years by commemorating the indulgent life of Ronald Weasley or even the flippant manners of Fred and George Weasley. The former used his brilliant strategic mind to dismantle chess pieces and shorten assignment times.

-which might range from drawing wide margins on the parchment-

Or make the hand-writing as large as possible-

Insert as many spaces as needed (or not) in between words –

Lines –

Paragraphs –

Cram in adjectives such as beautiful, incredible, …-ble to describe potion ingredients –

Describe the classroom experience of a new spell that went –whoosh! And –wham! –

His personal experience of when the mandrake bit his fingers, the number of fingers, and how long he bled – (Ron had explained to the unimpressed Herbology professor Pomona Sprouts that he was contributing to the research society, he should be commended – his logic was solid too, Harry had thought)

Ron made an art out of manipulating submission rules and forcing the professors to amend them repeatedly.

Snape had finally been done with the assignment rules as –

"Mr. Weasley. I don't want a ten-inch essay from you. I want a two hundred words parchment- however long that is- one that could be expected from a textbook, not a gossip rag. For your clarification, that means no irrelevant adjectives, no repetition of context, no digression, no active voice. And. No. Exception." The scowling man of the dungeon had leaned in and whispered, "If you fail, there will be no detention. You will redo it again. Again. And Again. And thanks to your efforts, Mr. Weasley- the new standard of assignment submission is valid for everyone now. We wouldn't want to make it unfair, would we?"

Harry had nothing to say about the words Ron had spat out in anger right at Snape's face and his consequences.

He came out alive anyway.

And then the red-head had enjoyed a brief era of infamy.

Harry had no intention to rouse the professors into that familiar time of sharp vigilance.

He didn't need to.

While he did not care for the several inch long assignments for nine different subjects and spending hours slaving away for them, hours running around the library for them-

He had already done it once before. His recall might not be eloquent, but maintaining an average score would not be a hardship.

He needn't have a D+ graded paper to wipe his mouth after breakfast. It will be A+ at least.

But, which professors would then grant a library pass for him to enter the restricted section?

No, one – that was who.

Harry rubbed at his right-hand ring finger in distress.

He groaned at the thought of his blissful- life of necromantic study flying away on the nimbus 2000 and crashing tight onto the Whomping Willow.

And had let his dejected body slump down onto the fluffy carpet.

At least, it was good that he caught himself at the beginning of the year?

"What are you doing?"

Harry had leapt to his feet, shaking off his hands and feet- looking very suspicious indeed.

Madam Pince was there- glaring down his monocle, looking over the wide blue eyes and slight frame.

She wasn't at all softened.

Irma Pince had never seen this boy in the library before- so had he been obedient until now?

"Are you brewing trouble here, boy?" She looked at the restricted section and felt her misgivings increase- many roused their courage after their initial years. The teenage hormones spread their wings and made them more infuriating.

"I am not! I am definitely- I was just sitting here!" The boy was wiping off his hands on his pants; Madam Pince's sharp eyes tracked it over with prejudice.

There were no food crumbs. Or chocolate stickiness.

Or ink marks.

The boy didn't seem to be carrying anything or hiding anything either. Only dishevelled with the sleeves scrunched up.

"Likely story. I do hope I do not catch you trespass here, boy. But if I do- that will be the greatest of your blessing." Her glasses glinted as she leaned forward, "Do you know why?"

He shook his head, face pale at her hissing words.

"Then you would have survived."

It was not only the boy who retreated apprehensively but also the one who accompanied her. She nodded with satisfaction.

"There are books in there that could make you sleep forever. Or make you speak in rhythm till you die. Or take your eyes, heart, ears, liver, stomach- even your soul. Do you understand?"

Both of them nodded.

Good.

"I understand, Madam. I won't be careless-"

"Yes, they are all priceless books. Any damage and you will pay until your last. I don't care if your soul is gone, as long as the book is intact!"

The boys fell silent in understanding.

It had once so happened that a book swallowed someone's bones apparently and then disappeared!

The matron at the medical wing had refused her to visit the troublemaker even!

She snorted once more and let the boy accompanying her inside the restricted section. Was it necessary for a second-year boy to have a pass this early on academic year?

She looked over the boy judgmentally.

Ah, A Ravenclaw.

Harry stared at the librarian and the other boy.

What did she mean to say- they would pay till the last of their years or last of their breath?!

That boy - he looked far too young. Yet he was clamouring for the library at the start of the term?

Even Hermione hadn't gotten a restricted pass in the first month in any of the years!

Ravenclaws had to be lunatics of sorts.

(Why did that Ravenclaw seem a tad familiar to him?)

And he had to be one of them as well- if he wanted to get into forbidden necromancy books before the Samhain.

So until then, what was he running off to do in the library? Besides the assignments, that is.

He had found a treasure in the poetry section.

A set of an amateur attempt to rhyme that was extolling the virtue of his Lord!

There were plenty of poems in the name of Death- invoking morbid thoughts, tales of lost loved ones, and so on.

He had never seen such hopeless, shameless affliction where the author worshipped Death as if wooing a lady's favour.

Harry had muffled his snickers into his robes throughout that day.

-x-

Harry had to take all the core classes, no exception. For the electives, he had taken (note- Dumbledore) Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

Well. It was not as if Harry had any other option.

Divination was trash- taught by a fraud of a woman. Even for an easy O- Harry had no intention of accompanying that woman in her hobby of inhaling strange fumes. Or squint through watering eyes at tea dregs, glass balls, anyone's palms, feet, or foreheads.

Muggle study was not even an option to be considered in either of his lives- he had enough of them in the short span of life he had spent among the mundane.

Dumbledore had shaken his great white beard at the Care of Magical creatures- apparently, it carried undefined risk. Harry had shrugged- he didn't hold great thirst for that subject.

He was mostly left alone at the core classes- the professors chose to ignore the odd creature sitting at the back.

Mostly. The DADA professor liked to show his favouritism to Harry empathetically.

"Look carefully, Silvan. Ducking and running are your only choices. You should know- which ones you can duck, which one you can't."

"If in doubt- just take it. It won't make any difference to anyone."

"Are you watching, boy?!"

The man was very, very concerned with his education. Harry appreciated the passion, but feared this kind of focused preference will cause others to lose heart.

He hoped that the others were impartial and that everyone should be equally ignored.

Potions class was an oddity as usual. Harry had thought the professor Horace Slughorn would treat him like a clay pot- considering he had no use to him- what with the minor issue of being 'as good as a squib' and all.

But apparently, the man had been won over by his honeyed words at the first class.

Harry had much debated over whether it was something he wanted or not-

The potions classroom was in the dark and damp corridor he was used to. The warm welcome of "Come on in." – not quite.

Never mind that Horace Slughorn had taught the last two years of his Hogwarts life. The smarting tone of

Severus Snape fit the dungeons more.

The rotund man had nodded at him familiarly, Harry replied with a closed-lip smile.

His partner of the class had looked quiet- whose gaze every so often skittered back to him.

"You joined Hogwarts quite late, un?"

Professor Slughorn boomed from the front of the class, " Well. Let us see how many of you haven't left your potions lessons back at your home! We will be making a burn salve today. Whoever fails will be demoted back to second-year potions class!" He laughed boisterously at the horror-stricken face of his students.

"Can he do that?" His classmate whispered to him. The next moment, she remembered this person was a new student and couldn't possibly...

"He wouldn't," Harry said confidently.

"Un?"

"The professor is too gentle." And naive.

The man was flamboyant in words and action. But at heart- well, he could be gentle at best and weak at worst- depending on the person speaking.

Th

is was the man who gave away the secrets of darkest arts to a teen Voldemort for a jar of crystallized pine-apples and equally crystallized sweet words. The upshot of which had led to a Dark Lord's road to immortality.

In all honesty, the rise of Voldemort was a foregone conclusion. Even so, whoever divulged Secrets of Darkest Arts so comfortably to a boy barely in his magical maturity?! – Slowly boiled frog in the honeyed water or not.

This was the man who returned to Hogwarts on Dumbledore's and Harry's transparent play of nostalgia- knowing very well that proximity to these two would only increase the Dark Lord's ire.

Cunning and Ambitious- with a touch of greed.

Also foolish and brave- this head of the house of his.

"Just for that, you will be getting an assignment on the first day. Can't be having my reputation run like that!"

The voice sounded awfully close to him.

Bother. The man had overheard them.

The class groaned out loud. The ones who hadn't figured out the reason for this torture were helped out by the others.

Harry didn't note the sudden increase in the room's temperature and the sharp stabs in his direction.

He was looking at the professor's red ear lobes.

His own face turned down. It was a good thing that this face didn't blush too easily- otherwise, he would be embarrassed from that alone.

Or, it just might be the lack of blood in general too.

Professor Slughorn cleared his throat and addressed him, "Silvan. I want your hand in the stirring rod each time, alright?"

Harry understood the pointed look. The professor wanted to make sure he could do potions.

While a squib was capable of making potions, Harry was thankful in a way that the professor wasn't making any presumption.

Well. It could stand to reason that potion-making was a volatile process after all. The professor dared not be brave.

The professor looked at him and thought him indecisive.

"Don't worry. I will be right beside you." Harry shook his head- away from the spider wave of thoughts.

"No need to worry, professor. I have made potions before."

The professor looked equally suspicious and interested.

"You have? Which ones?"

Harry's mouth opened.

And closed as suddenly.

Potion purifying dark ritual ground.

Blood potions during necromancy practice.

Potion for raising inferi.

Which one could he safely add to his public repertoire of potion-making?

"Nutrient potions." He choked out,

"Ah." The professor nodded understandingly, "You started making your own... after?"

Harry gave an odd jerk that could have been a shake or a nod.

Nutrients for potions ingredients.

But sure, let's just make him seem more pitiful.

Harry could neither accept this misunderstanding nor think how he could clear it up without leading himself to a trap.

The professor understood they were veering into a sensitive situation and took a step back tactfully.

"Well, let's get started then? You have half an hour to complete your potion. What are you dawdling for?"

There was a sudden increase in seats scraping against the floor and cauldrons banging.

The girl whispered to him with all the impression that they didn't want to talk but were far too curious.

"So you and professor Slughorn know each other?"

Well. Harry did know this person. Somewhat. A future version that made him understand this present one better.

"He gave a non-committal shrug." Not really."

The girl gave him a look of disbelief.

They didn't talk for the rest of the class.

His professors were not as friendly as Slughorn in the other classes. Harry would have preferred being ignored on equal footing with his other classmates; he had no desire of being an ...outstanding student. (In any manner of sense)

He didn't believe he was wrong about the pursed lips and steely gazes.

He laid the entire blame on the fact that these people couldn't torture him as well as they did the other students.

They couldn't ask him to do practical assignments; they couldn't make him do the same thing again and again.

Harry smirked and brought out his semi-finished parchment of the self-assigned task of creating a ritual.

He ignored his restless observer.

Benjamin Mason stole a quick glance at his classmate. He needn't worry about being caught - the newest addition to Slytherin, and the third year in Hogwarts, Hadrien Silvan didn't pay any attention to whoever chose to sit by him in the classes.

There would be none of McGonagall's steely gaze or Doyer's roars.

Generally, Silvan sat alone except for the classes with Hufflepuff, and the numbers were evened out.

But Troch had side-eyed him at the beginning of the class, so Mason had reluctantly chosen to sit by Silvan.

But Silvan never even spared him a glance, instead doodled on the parchment with elbows on the desk and cheeks resting on knuckles.

Benjamin hid the sneer that was threatening to break out.

There was nothing about the attire that would prompt a complaint- but the boy managed to look a buttoned-up robe look slovenly with his attitude.

Mason could understand why everyone was so concerned about him. A newcomer who was going to drag the Slytherin propriety through hippogriff dung.

But it wasn't manners that had him on as fidgety as if he was perched on a dragon's claw.

Troch looked at him again.

"Hey, Silvan."

Blue eyes fluttered up at him and down against a hum left the other.

Silvan looked as delicate as holly bloom on the winter-pale and slight everywhere, thinner than him.

But a glance of those bright blue-and Mason didn't understand why the back of his throat was parched.

"Aren't you going to practice your Wingardium Laviosa?"

That wasn't what he was supposed to ask. Inexplicably Mason was flustered. His eyes had then fallen on the dark wand that was discarded in favour of a parchment.

"I did."

But –

"The professor isn't going to like it if you are idling."

The boy shrugged," He knows,"

Mason bit his lips, but it was only a review class for the first year spells-

"You seem to be getting by well enough."

Even though this was supposed to be your first time in here.

He hadn't even tripped in the tricky stair.

"Mn."

"Professor Dumbledore must have shown you around before, huh? After all, you are not a first-year. That would be nice of him to make sure you didn't have trouble going to classes.

Really." Mason gave a short laugh, "I remember my first year. The prefects ferried us back and forth the first couple of days. Rhodes- that was the prefect never bothered to warn the traps and tricks. Like the time when Rosier got trapped in the suit of armour because he couldn't spy the password first enough, or that time when the side-railing disappeared under my hands. I was hanging from the second floor by one hand. We all had a fabulous time – everyone laughing and enjoying- well, Rhodes more than anyone else. It was nice of him to take care of us -

But, I suppose you don't need that, do you?"

Silvan hadn't lifted his head throughout the tirade- not until the sentence.

Now, the eyes blue eyes looked at him straight, appeared to be looking into him. His quill tapped softly. The boy kept his tilted inquisitively.

Benjamin's heart was starting to pound.

He should have understood the meaning, right?

What would he say now?

It wouldn't be easy surviving in the Slytherin. Headmaster's pet or not (Troch had been the one to call him that, Benjamin had protested at that time, but seeing this unconcerned visage of this boy, his heart spat out that phrase)

Unexpectedly the boy smiled.

"If you say so." And returned to his doodling. Mason took a deep breath.

Well.

It was a good thing he was the one to approach. Troch couldn't have held in his temper.

Eddy made an odd nod at him at the end of the class- Benjamin Mason obediently went to his side.

"What did he say?"

"He didn't seem to care."

Troch gave a short bark of a laugh," Hah! Is he going to walk through the house just like that? Nameless and faceless- still he is this wilful?"

"What do we do now?"

Troch opened his mouth- but snapped shut when the answer came behind his shoulder.

"Did you even find out who he is? Or spent the entire time puffing yourself?"

Both Troch and Mason stiffened.

Troch in jealousy- Mason in complete fear.

"I … I did try. But Silvan was not very forthcoming."

Dark eyes looked over them in silence," It didn't seem as if he could. You didn't give him time to breathe,"

Mason reddened. "I –

Eddy interrupted, "I am doing this. You didn't want to be bothered with it before. Why do you care now? We can take care of this ourselves."

The boy laughed softly, "It didn't seem worth my time. I had thought such a small task, hm, it should have been easily done by you. I might have over-shot my expectation of you."

Eddy gritted his teeth but didn't give up, "What will Jugson say when he knows you didn't follow his words? We just need.."

Dark eyes blinked uncaringly at the blatant threat, "Go on then. Tell him. Jugson might even be in the mood for entertainment."

And left as quietly as he had appeared.

"That condescending bastard of a –

"Eddy!" Benjamin looked around in fear of being overheard.

"Does he think just because he has his house standing behind him- he is all that now? Him and that stuttering fool! They are taking the piss out of us- I know it! We will show them- and Jugson-" Eddy panted when his mouth started to run out of sheer frustration.

"So...so then –"

"It was a fluke. We will try again. He can't even be bothered with the task, ha! Let's see how Jugson feels about that!"

Mason waited for a beat before whispering softly.

"The others are already gone."

Troch cursed before they hurried for the DADA class as well.

Harry had a couple of sticky notes dogging his steps. Odd pieces at that.

And they never seemed happy with him.

Sometimes at breakfast, they would be gone by the time he roused his head from breakfast.

And then would be devastated he managed to stride into the class in time.

Harry hadn't even seen two of his dorm mates as of yet: it had already been a week,

Did he care?

No.

He will in time. Or he won't.

When he had been the boy-who-lived- it had been the mob falling all over themselves, sometimes hateful, sometimes adoring.

Harry had always been a solitary creature- not by choice at first.

(Then solitude had gradually become a part of him.)

Besides Ron and Hermione- who had dragged him by the ear into friendship- he had only had an amiable but distant sort of relationship with the rest.

It had been easier to connect with adults- than the children. Well- even the adults had a propensity of being swayed with whichever direction the gossip blew.

Now he was an adult himself.

…bar a few unfortunate times or two.

So how could he connect to children anymore with the façade of a child? Especially when their antics and motivations were easily discerned from their pitiful attempts?

If Harry were more amused, he might even call their desperate struggles cute.

All of it was just more of a nuisance.

Trying to drag him down out of envy.

Forcing him to fall into the quagmire of power.

The entire Slytherin was a maze of power-play.

The dogs play with the cats.

The cats toy with the rats.

The rat will try finding himself some bugs to prove his superiority.

Anyone that enters the maze would seek the skirt of someone more powerful- safer that way, comfortable that way,

The averagely talented would not take more than a week to fall into the mould- such is the power of peer pressure.

The games themselves were petty things- it was the egos being trampled and bloated that made the most noise.

It might change. The little boys of today might grow. Alliances were mandatory for them. After all, no matter their conniving games, it was at this time of relative innocent that they might find their niche of people sharing similar affinity.

A fancy way of saying the powerful would group together, the followers would find their seat where the hand-downs might be the most lucrative.

For a man who found it wee taxing to initiate friendships until they had a troll or poison for dinner-

Alliances were out of his shell of comfort,

It was all… he mused as he slid down a ladder in the section for ancient runes... A matter of ideology.

The Slytherin wouldn't understand him,

He wouldn't care to be one of the steps on that ladder,

Harry would go through Hogwarts by his lone self.

Like Luna –well, she made friends in her fourth year with them, but she had been alone in her house.

Or like Neville –sans the timidity.

It was the same as when he saw Teddy and his friends play around his legs, they would create themselves an elaborate game, and any adult would need only two minutes to look down and understand- but of course, they would leave the children to their fun.

What it all boiled down to- unlike his peers, he spent most of his time outside of the dorm.

If it was not the library- he had found a nice little nook that looked over the central courtyard. Unlike the library, that place had space to breathe and stretch his legs.

Harry walked down the winding stairs- humming and jumping every other step.

He had this thing down pat.

A/N- The start of valentine week seen nicely with the start of my exam. First exam of the new year. :DD X((
Which is why my posting was delayed by a day. Anyway- I had fun writing this chapter. Something I love about the British- is their way of understating things. I am not English- in any form or manner. The only thing I can do is edit the spellings - XD.
The stage is set. The characters will be entering next. Ahh! I am so excited to share it all with you!
Toodles, until later!