9

Chapter 9 Choices

A/N: Quotations marked with *

Harry was aware that he had messed up. Snape was angrier than Harry had ever seen him. As the professor all but threw him into a private room at the back of the Leaky Cauldron's dining room, Harry was searching frantically for what he would say when the man started demanding explanations. The problem was, there weren't any. He had followed Quirrell out of curiosity and what now seemed like a poor sense of self-preservation. Quirrell may not have been about to kill him, but Snape was undoubtedly going to.

"What were you thinking?" Snape hissed angrily, grabbing Harry by the elbow and thrusting him none too gently against the wall as soon as the door slammed closed.

With a fearful swallow, Harry looked up at the man towering over him. He didn't think that Snape would actually hurt him, but he didn't want to give the man reason to rough him up any further. He shook his head frantically, trying to think of something to say to make what he did sound reasonable.

"I'm sorry, Sir! He said he was a professor at Hogwarts, and he wanted to meet me," Harry offered pathetically. It sounded like a weak excuse even to Harry.

"And you will just follow anyone who tells you any story, like a lost puppy?" Snape snarled. "He could have been anyone who meant you harm, Potter!"

"Yes, Sir. But you knew him?" Harry asked meekly. "Is he? What he says he is, I mean? A Hogwarts professor?"

This seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Snape glared at Harry, and he could have sworn that the room's temperature dropped a few more degrees. By way of answering, Snape moved closer to Harry, leaning down so that they were almost nose to nose, and he could see the man's crooked teeth.

"Just because a person is employed at Hogwarts does not make him automatically safe to follow out of a shop into an empty alley," Snape's voice was low and deadly. "If you are told to be somewhere … You. Stay. There. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded furiously. Snape was scaring him. He didn't know who or what Quirrell was, or even if it was Quirrell that was the issue here. Harry knew he had messed up by following a stranger and going where he shouldn't.

Snape held Harry's gaze for a few moments more, then gave him a curt nod that somehow did not make Harry feel better. Then he jerked out his wand, and with a quick movement and a spell that Harry did not hear, a whisp of silver appeared. Snape quickly turned, and Harry could only see a shape to the silver thing, but not what it was. Snape murmured to it, and it vanished.

"What was that?" Harry dared to gasp.

"A messenger," Snape's gaze burned into Harry with displeasure. "I have alerted the Weasleys that I have found you and that you are … unharmed."

There was something about the last word that made Harry doubt he would stay unharmed when Snape was through with him. He gulped. Once again, Harry tried to think of something to say that would make Snape forgive him or serve as an explanation. He could not help but think that this incident had reduced him in the professor's eyes a great deal, and the thought sickened him.

Harry looked down at his feet. He was fighting back tears. Wishing that he had never laid eyes on Professor Quirrell seemed pointless. Harry could think of no way to make it up to Snape either. He was sure that the man would want to have nothing to do with him after this.

"Sir, do you think he was going to hurt me?" Harry asked finally.

Snape turned back to Harry and gave him a look that plainly said it was a stupid question to ask.

"Would you have been able to stop him if he had meant you harm? What would you have done? What was your purpose other than curiosity? If he was, indeed, just a professor seeking to meet an incoming student, even the famous Harry Potter," Snape said these words in a sneer, "why could he not do this in the shop? Why cart you off to an abandoned alley?"

Snape's voice was calm and quiet. His low tone did not make Harry feel any better. The fact that he was not being yelled at actually made things worse.

"Oh."

"Indeed. I would have hoped in the time I spent with you that at some point, I had gotten it through your thick skull that there are individuals who do not have your best interests at heart and, in fact, many who wish to do you harm. Yet at the first chance you get, you go traipsing off with a man you do not know! That this is dangerous is obvious, I should think. Did no one ever teach you not to talk to strangers?"

"Well, yes, Sir, in primary …" Harry sputtered. He stopped when the look of pure loathing Snape directed at him told him that it was likely a rhetorical question.

"With the lack of any sense of self-preservation you have, Mr. Potter, you will likely be dead before you even get to Hogwarts. Far be it for me to question your need for adventure or attention-seeking," Snape spat.

"I wasn't! I wasn't doing either!" Harry protested.

"Oh really? What were you doing, then?"

"Well, I don't know. I was being polite, I guess."

"Polite?" Snape scoffed. "Polite is to stay with your guardians, obey the rules and guidelines you have been given, and do as you are told! You were not being polite. You were being an aggravating, attention-seeking brat. Your father was just as arrogant and foolhardy as you are. I do not know why I hoped you would be different. You are obviously just like him."

"My … my father?" Harry looked up at Snape, shocked. "I never knew my father. You know that. I never even knew his name or what he looked like until he met you. How can you say I am like him?"

"Genetics," Snape said dismissively.

The two of them stood there like that, neither saying a word. Snape walked away, looking off into nothing. Harry was watching him while trying to look as though he wasn't. He was hurt by the words Snape hard hurled at him, insults that made no sense to Harry. He had been raised on insults very similar. In his mind, Snape had rescued him from that life. He had begun to see himself as above that. Now, Harry was crawling back into that hole of low self-worth. Even though he was standing only a few feet away in the same room, Snape had abandoned him.

After about ten minutes, the heavy wooden door creaked open, and Arthur Weasley's head peaked in. He must have had a hint of what he was to find based on Snape's message because the expression on his face was wary. He looked from Harry to the professor and cleared his throat when neither moved.

"Severus, we are ready to leave now," he told the wizard, who had not moved. "I'll be taking Harry, then."

Snape gave the barest of nods, and Arthur gestured to Harry. With a sad glance at the professor, Harry walked slowly out of the room. He pondered saying goodbye but wasn't sure if the professor would even hear him. So, he left without a word. Arthur closed the door behind him.

The last month at the Weasley residence passed much the same way as the first few weeks. Harry enjoyed studying easy spells, practicing writing with a quill, and playing Quidditch with Ron, Ginny, and the twins. He had gotten so good at playing seeker that the twins had even talked him into trying out for the team, even though first years were usually not allowed. After finding out that Harry had never had birthday cake, Mrs. Weasley made sure they had a different kind of cake at least once a week.

Before they all knew it, it was September first. Harry was as excited as the rest of the family as they ran around frantically trying to pack, but it was also a sad day for him. While he looked forward to riding the Hogwarts Express with Ron and finding out what House he would be sorted into, he was nervous about meeting the rest of the students and faculty. His few brushes with his fame had left a sour taste in his mouth.

The worst part for Harry was knowing that he would be seeing Professor Snape again in a few hours. He could not help but think that he had bolloxed things up so severely that the professor would want nothing to do with him. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Snape mattered to Harry. He had been Harry's entry into the wizarding world, and he had been a mentor for a short while. Harry still thought of his advice and always valued and wanted it. He had started several letters to the man and burned all of them. He didn't know how to apologize.

The other problem was the Sorting. Harry wasn't sure what would happen. He was terrified that he would be sorted into Slytherin. If he was, he felt that, on the one hand, things might get better between him and the professor. On the other hand, he couldn't imagine being in Professor Snape's house when the man hated him. The vitriol about Harry's father had been repeated in his mind so many times that Harry was beginning to believe it himself. He was wishing he could go back to not even knowing his father's name.

The morning of September first was hectic. They barely made it on time to the train station. Ginny was the only one who hadn't needed to pack. She had been quiet all day and was barely talking to Harry at all. Harry knew he would miss her, and he was also beginning to wonder if she wasn't mad at him for leaving her behind. They had become good friends while he stayed with the Weasleys. There was so much to do, and they were running so late that Harry barely had time to wave to her before he was told to run at the brick wall between platforms nine and ten. His last thought before he did was that he hoped that his owl, Hedwig, did not fall off the trolley.

When he passed through the magical barrier, he was greeted by the majestic sight of a gleaming red steam engine. He didn't even question why wizards would use a muggle means of transportation to a magical school. The train was fascinating, and he was excited as Ron pulled him into an empty compartment. Before long, the boys had used most of Harry's leftover pocket money to buy all the snacks their hands could hold. With their laps overflowing with chocolate frogs and Bertie Bots Every Flavor Beans, they could forget about Sorting Hats and grumpy professors.

By the time they reached Hogwarts, Harry had acquired two new potential friends and one old potential enemy. Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom had both passed through their compartment. They seemed interested in them without knowing who they were. Draco Malfoy was still interested in Harry for his fame, but immediately dismissive of Ron because of his family's lack of wealth. This made Harry like the boy even less. With his dispute with Snape in the back of his mind, Harry made a move he knew that the professor would disapprove of.

*"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly.*

He knew as soon as he said this that it would go wrong, and it did. He was aware that they were fighting words. Before he knew it, the three boys were almost embroiled in a fistfight before they were even sorted. Harry could only imagine what Snape would say when he heard of this later. Fortunately, Scabbers decided to end the fight by snipping at the finger of one of Malfoy's bookend goons as he tried to nab one of the jellybeans.

When the first years gathered at the head of the steps to await their Sorting, Malfoy scoffed at Weasley. Harry glared at the blond boy. Hermione sent daggers at the two of them. Then they all followed Professor McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress whose name had been on the letter, into the Great Hall.

Harry was not the only one who gasped in wonder when he looked up. He barely heard Hermione tell everyone that the ceiling was enchanted to look like the night sky. His eyes were on the four long rows of students, all dressed in black robes, and the long tables of professors elevated in the front. He gulped when he saw Professor Snape. The man looked just as sour as usual. Next to him was Professor Quirrell.

The Sorting was a blur to Harry. He did hear that Hermione was sorted into Gryffindor and Neville as well. When Draco Malfoy went to Slytherin, Harry felt his heart sink like a stone. The boy swaggered over to the last table. Harry hated to think that Malfoy, whom he was already beginning to despise, would be close to Snape. Harry chanced a glance at the professor, who was staring at him intently.

Before he knew it, it was Harry's turn. A hush befell the Great Hall, but Harry had expected it. He saw that even the professors seemed to be leaning forward in their seats to get a better look at him. Students were craning their necks. Harry tried to approach the stool with as much dignity and grace as he could while he felt like all eyes were on him.

The Hat seemed positively gleeful. Harry hadn't known what to expect from the Hat itself because everyone had made a big secret out of the Sorting process. He hadn't really expected a conversation with a ratty wizard's hat. Maybe he should have. After all, it was a magical hat. It occurred to him that if the Hat was talking to him, he might be able to talk to it. With barely a conscious thought, he begged the Hat for anywhere but Slytherin. He could not stand to be with Malfoy.

The Hat seemed to take a perverse pleasure in telling him that Slytherin would make him great. Harry had no doubt that he had cunning and self-preservation, the qualities that Snape and Malfoy had. He just didn't want to be surrounded by a lot of people like those two wizards. Harry had lived with the Dursleys for ten years. He was tired of just surviving. As far as he was concerned, there were other ways to be great.

"I do not need to be in Slytherin to be great," he told the Hat.

"Is that so?" Sorting Hat cackled.

"Everyone has all of those qualities that you mentioned in your song," Harry insisted. "I want to be in Gryffindor. You can choose where you want to focus. What you want to develop. Someone told me that once."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Could it be that you are just afraid?" Sorting Hat demanded.

"No," Harry told the Hat. "If I was afraid, I wouldn't be a Gryffindor, now would I? I am going to defeat Voldemort. I can't be a Slytherin."

"You are, are you?"

"Yes, I am."

"Very well. If you're sure," the Hat began, getting louder with its last words, so the entire hall could hear, "BETTER BE GRYFFINDOR!"

A roar went up through the hall, which Harry felt was mostly from the Gryffindor table. They were obviously pleased to get Harry Potter. The twins stood up and gave each other a high five and then took a bow as if taking credit for Harry's Sorting. Harry stood up and faced the staff table. In the middle of the table, Headmaster Dumbledore toasted him with a golden goblet. Harry smiled and walked off toward his new House. Just before he arrived, he was mobbed by happy Gryffindors, led by Fred and George Weasley slapping him on the back. Embarrassed, Harry hurriedly sat down so the Sorting could continue.

Harry waited excitedly for Ron's Sorting. He was reasonably confident that Ron would be a Gryffindor since apparently, his entire extended family had been. He was not disappointed. Ron was one of the last to be sorted, and the Hat was not long on his head. Fred, George, Percy, and Harry all cheered this time. Ron trotted over to sit next to Harry, looking relieved.

The feast was incredible. Harry had never seen so many courses, or so many rich foods, in one place. He enjoyed listening to the chatter as the students got to know each other or catch up from not seeing each other over the holidays. Harry met a few other first years and even a ghost named Nearly Headless Nick. His beheading had apparently been botched, and he had never lived it down, figuratively, of course.

Despite his best efforts to avoid looking at the staff table, Harry did glance up at Snape once or twice. The man seemed as dour as usual. Harry realized he had never found out what Quirrell was supposed to teach. He asked Percy and was informed that it was Defense Against the Dark Arts. That sounded like an important class to Harry, and he doubted that Quirrell was up for it. The mumbly professor certainly could not stand up to Snape.

"Cursed."

"What?" Harry hadn't caught the conversation that resulted from his question, musing on Snape and Quirrell.

"I said the position has been cursed for years. That's probably why Dumbledore won't give it to Snape. He wants to keep him around."

"Why?" Ron mumbled into his mashed potatoes.

"What do you mean, cursed?" Harry asked.

"No one ever lasts longer than a year," Percy explained. "Quirrell used to teach Muggle Studies."

"Muggle Studies?" Harry was horrified at both the title and Quirrell's change in assignment. "Hang on. Why does Snape want to teach Defense?"

"He fancies the dark arts. Everyone knows that" Percy shrugged.

"He does not!" Harry retorted defensively.

Percy gave Harry a surprised look and just shook his head. "It's just a rumor."

Harry was about to say that Percy should not spread rumors when the dinner foods disappeared, and pudding appeared. This sufficiently distracted most people that Harry decided to drop it for now. He had already figured Percy for the type that did not change his mind easily. Harry looked back up at Quirrell and suddenly felt like he had a terrible, piercing headache. He lifted his fingers to his forehead and massaged gently.

"Something wrong, Harry?" Ron asked.

"No, I'm all right."

Pushing his treacle tart away, Harry looked up at the staff table to notice a fleeting look pass over Snape's face. He thought it might have been a concern, but it was too quick to tell. Snape glared at Quirrell, and then everyone's attention went to Dumbledore as he stood up to make the start of term announcements. Harry couldn't help but think that the headmaster was luring students into the third corridor by suggesting that it was forbidden to anyone that wasn't interested in a painful death. He could see Fred and George's eyes gleaming with interest.

Ignoring the strange announcements, Harry looked around. Most of the students seemed to have eaten themselves into a docile stupor. It had been a long day of packing and traveling and stressful for the first years. Harry was ready to find his dormitory and go to sleep. Ever since Snape had shown up on the Dursleys' doorstep, he had been looking forward to being here with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

While he had in no way known what to expect from Hogwarts or the wizarding world in general, Harry had always had the sense that it could never be worse than what he had left. He also knew that since his parents were wizards and he was a wizard, this was where he belonged. Coming to Hogwarts was like coming home to a home he had never known. Still, his reception during the Sorting had been all that Snape had warned. It was nerve-wracking to know that he was famous. Everyone was watching Harry Potter. They all thought they knew him. They all thought they owned him. He had to prove to them that he would be Harry Potter his own way, not the Harry Potter they had renowned for ten years.

Snape had told him he had to watch his step and find allies, make choices, and be wary of the motives of the individuals he encountered. Even amongst the Weasleys, he had learned that motives differed. They all expected something different from him. Fred and George wanted him to win at Quidditch. Ron valued his fame and wanted to be his friend. Percy was wary of his fame but sought to capitalize on it nonetheless.

Then there was Snape. Snape had told him that although he was offering guidance and advice, Harry should be just as wary of him as anyone else he came in contact with him. Snape had also warned him about Dumbledore, a supposedly benevolent presence in his life. One thing was for sure—it was only Harry's first day at Hogwarts, and things were already very complicated. He had spurned Malfoy, chosen to align himself with Gryffindor, and therefore Dumbledore, and he was already wary of both Quirrell and Snape.

Harry followed his House prefects into Gryffindor Tower, which was homey and full of cushy armchairs but decorated with a little too much red and gold for Harry's taste. He shared a room with four other boys, including Ron and Neville. Most of them were good-natured enough, and he got only a few stares for being the Harry Potter on the way up to his room. The four-poster bed was comfortable and surrounded by a curtain for privacy. Like everything else in the land of wizards, it looked very old. Harry pulled back the duvet and fell into bed as soon as he changed into his gold pajamas, feeling a pang of loss for Snape having picked them out for him. He was asleep almost instantly.

Harry's first week at Hogwarts went by in a blur of moving staircases and desperate races from class to class. He found that not only were there ghosts at Hogwarts, there were also talking suits of armor, way too many cats, a grumpy caretaker named Filch, and a nuisance of a poltergeist. All of these made getting to class on time challenging, to say the least.

That was not the reason Harry was dreading Friday morning, however. He finally had Double Potions with Snape, the class he had once looked forward to. Harry had spent every minute of his free time reading the Potions text, the Standard Book of Spells, andthetwo other beginning Potions manuals Snape had purchased for him in preparation. He wanted Snape to be proud of him so that he could somehow make up for the mess he had made up of things. His stomach was still a bundle of nerves when they entered Snape's classroom, which was in the dungeons.

Of course, Snape's classroom was in the dungeons. Harry imagined that Snape probably would like nothing better than to string him up by his thumbs, so they were already appropriately placed. The room was dark and dreary, full of creepy animal parts picked in glass jars. Harry was just grateful that at least it smelled better than the apothecary. The long, high tables had stools for students, and Snape was nowhere to be seen. Harry and Ron entered and sat down. Desperate to make a good impression, Harry got out his parchment notebook and a quill, ready to take notes.

The classroom door opened with a bang so loud that Harry jumped and almost fell off the stool. It was hardly comfortable, and Harry was beginning to wonder if that was the point. Snape strolled into the room in a whoosh of black robes and sneered at his first years. This class was Gryffindor and Slytherin, and Harry could see Malfoy watching Snape with rapt attention. He was sure that the blond boy had nothing to fear. He had been interacting with Snape all week, and his interactions were all probably positive.

Snape marched to the front of the class and took up a parchment to ground out the roll call as if he would rather be anywhere else. When he got to Harry's name, he spat it out with such enmity that Harry's stomach churned. The professor glared down at Harry with eyes as black as coals.

*"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity."*

Harry swallowed. He was not sure how to respond. Snape already knew how he would feel about this, but he also knew that there was nothing he could say. If Snape was going to call him out as arrogant in front of the class, he could do nothing about it. Harry listened to Draco and his Slytherin goons snickering and tried to ignore it as Snape continued with the roll and then launched into a speech about the subtle science and exact art of Potion-making. Harry wrote down Snape's speech word for word, trying so hard to focus on what the professor was saying that he barely noticed that the man was towering over him with an all-too-familiar glower.

*"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"*

Harry glared up at Snape. He had a vague recollection of seeing asphodel mentioned in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. He looked pleadingly up at Snape and then down at his notes. They had not been given summer homework. Snape had not suggested anything specific for him to read. He had not been able to memorize all of the books that Snape had given him. Did he expect Harry to have done so? Had Harry disappointed Snape once again? He noticed that Hermione Granger had her hand in the air. Obviously, she had managed to do it. Harry's heart sank.

"Please …" Harry began, so softly that only Snape could hear. Then, louder. "I don't know, Sir."

*Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything."*

Harry barely listened while Snape fired questions at him, asking him where he would find a bezoar and the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane. Hermione's hand remained in the air throughout it all, but Snape seemed intent only on humiliating Harry. The Slytherins had moved beyond snickering to laughing hysterically. Hermione stood up and waved her hand in the air. Harry had had enough. He had not been bullied by the Dursleys for ten years just to come to Hogwarts to be bullied by Snape.

*"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though. Why don't you try her?"*

You could have heard a pin drop. The Slytherins were aware that Harry's backchat was over the line, and even they were silent. Harry dropped his eyes and then looked up at Snape to see that the professor was just as livid as expected. He spat the answer to the questions he had asked Harry at the class, demanding they copy them down, and then took ten points for Harry's cheek.

Things did not get any better. Snape seemed to expect the first years to brew a point on their first day of class. He snapped his wand at the board with the instructions for a boil cure. He then flitted around the classroom like an overgrown bat, barking corrections and reprimands at the Gryffindor side of the room while praising the Slytherin side, particularly Malfoy. This goaded Harry particularly, but he made sure not to make eye contact with Snape.

Unfortunately, Neville Longbottom did not seem to be able to lay low. He managed to fill the classroom with green smoke halfway through the lesson. Snape had Seamus Finnigan take Neville to the hospital wing and then took more points from Harry for not warning Neville to add the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire. Harry had not been working with Neville and hadn't even seen what Neville had been doing. They both knew that punishing Harry for Neville's mistake was utterly unfair.

Harry glared at Snape, and Snape glared back, daring Harry to say something. Harry knew that talking back now would not end well for anyone. He looked up at Ron, who was slowly shaking his head. Harry sighed and looked back at his cauldron, leaving Snape to stalk off with a smirk of satisfaction. Harry groaned and wondered when Ron had become the voice of reason. Things had only gone from bad to worse with Snape.

When class was over, Harry quickly bottled his potion in the crystal vial that Snape had recommended, watching Hermione do the same. She gave him a small smile. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was. They had not talked much since school started, but she had seen him with Snape in Diagon Alley, and she had obviously been trying to take the attention off of him in class today. Harry was grateful for it, even though it had backfired. Harry realized that he had only himself to thank for that. When he brought the vial up to Snape, Harry waited until he was the last one in the room. Ron clearly saw what he was doing and made a motion that he would wait outside.

Hesitantly, Harry walked up to the desk at the front of the classroom where Snape was sitting, harshly grading essays with a red quill. Harry could tell that he was still angry by the furious speed of his writing and the scornful look on his face. As he approached, it occurred to him that the expression 'playing with fire' was apt here, as Harry would just as soon go up to an angry dragon as try to talk to Snape. Still, he felt that he needed to, as things were getting worse between the two of them.

"Excuse me, Sir," Harry began hesitantly.

Snape didn't even look up. He continued writing as if Harry wasn't even there. Harry almost lost his nerve. Still, he had chosen Gryffindor for a reason. He might as well begin acting like it.

"Excuse me, Sir," Harry repeated, a little louder than before.

"Put it there, Potter," Snape snarled, pointing to the pile of first-year potion vials. "Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"Yes, Sir. I know where it goes," Harry placed the vial down next to the others. "I just wanted to say." Harry stopped, deciding not to wait for Snape to look up. I wanted to apologize, Sir. For being rude. Today. Also, for disobeying you the other day."

Harry stood there, with his head down, waiting for Snape to move, or at least acknowledge him in some way. Snape continued writing. Harry continued standing.

After a few minutes, Snape placed the quill down and glared at Harry. "Still here, Potter?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Why?"

"I just wanted to tell you, Sir, that I did open a book. I read the books you gave me. I am sorry I didn't remember all of the questions you asked me."

With that, Harry turned and left.

*Taken from Rowling, J.K.. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (p. 116, 146-7). Pottermore Publishing. Kindle Edition.