chapter seven- humilia lepus foramen - down the rabbit hole

After stepping off the train, Harry merged with the crowd, sticking to the section filled with the shortest people. For the first years, it seemed, there was an alternate route to the Great Hall.

Harry zoned out for most of the ride, not really paying attention to the people in the boat with him, and hoping he wouldn't again be disturbed.

He realized belatedly that that Malfoy boy had been the first person his age he'd held a conversation with since he was seven. The last child he'd spoken that long to, had been Bell.

The groundskeeper, a burly man who was as tall as every first year combined, handed them off to the Deputy Headmistress. Harry recognized her name from the acceptance letter, Minerva McGonagall. She had a rather unnerving gaze, that Harry irrationally connected to Ollivander's.

They were led like a closely huddled flock of penguins into the Hall. There were lanterns floating like stars under the ceiling, which showed a darkening sky. Four long tables were decorated with their own perspective House colors.

At the front of the room, on a rise, was a shorter table for the professors, which had a podium standing just before it. Who Harry assumed to be Headmaster Dumbledore, was standing straight and firm behind the wood. Next to him was room for McGonagall and a small, rickety stool. Upon the stool was an ancient and worn hat.

The Deputy Headmistress explained the Housing system, and revealed Hogwart's best kept tradition, the Sorting Hat. Then she began to call them down one at a time.

"Malfoy, Draco." Was the most recent name which happened to be refreshed in his memory. He vaguely recalled some others, but from a long time ago. Anyway, it was the individual that mattered, not the lineage.

"Slytherin." The hat didn't take long for the blonde, probably because conditioned children weren't much up for debating.

It was a while before the name everyone went quiet for was called. To be honest, Harry had almost forgotten about him.

"Potter-Evans, Bellerophon." Even though there wasn't a breath to be heard, nobody could quite catch what the hat was saying. From the faces of everyone in red though, it seemed they all had their expectations.

Harry thought Bell wasn't subtle enough to be a Slytherin, had none of the traits–ambition, cunning, loyalty–so that was out. He couldn't be sure how much the boy had changed, but he'd never been one to rely on logic before emotion, meaning he probably wouldn't be a Raven.

Hufflepuff was for the hard-working which, for a person who been favorited and coddled since the age of seven, and maybe even before then, wouldn't work out well.

So, by process of elimination,

"Gryffindor."

There was a good mix of students splitting among the Houses, though more seemed to be getting into Gryffindor than others. Harry rolled his eyes. There would be several non-Lion Lions in his year group, seeking Bell's approval.

Finally it was,

"Wyres, Hadrian." There was a loud ripple of talking as he made his way forward, people recognizing his given name and features. Then, it went silent again as he took his seat. He shifted, feeling the eyes of many upon him, a few of those sets belonging to the Potters.

He hadn't really looked, but he knew James Potter worked at Hogwart's as the assistant Coach and Muggle Studies professor. The man had retired from his Auror position after Lily died.

Hello there, Mr. Wyres. Greeted the Hat, apparently inside his mind. Harry responded back in kind, waiting for his designation.

You are not like your brother at all. He was a Gryffindor no doubt, blunt and stubborn. Harry snorted.

Thanks. The Hat acknowledged him, continuing.

You seem to have traits from all the Houses, a healthy amount of passion and loyalty to those who treat you well...you'd be an excellent Hufflepuff. As for Ravenclaw...

I like knowledge and reading, but I haven't gotten anywhere on just logic. Finished Harry.

That's right. You'd make a powerful Gryffindor, though you seem to be hesitant on that one. Maybe your history with your brother would get in the way?

Yes, I rather think it would. Harry wasn't sure he'd be willing to be thrown back into sharing a room with his brother.

You're able to use your cunning in just the right ways, to weasel out of anything. And your true goal is to find acceptance. One everyone seeks, but is no easy ambition. That objective ability you possess would be well-used in the snake pit...it's your decision, Slytherin or Hufflepuff?

Maybe Harry could show people that Slytherins were misunderstood. Not all of them were evil, because evil wasn't a trait. He'd always thought Acry would've been a Slytherin if he attended Hogwart's. Also he might've secretly wanted to get a little revenge on James Potter.

Alright, conceded the Hat, "Slytherin," it is.

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"You don't belong here." Said one Draco Malfoy. Maybe the blonde was jealous because the tie brought out the color of his eyes.

"This House, or this school?" Draco narrowed his gaze, flanked by two others Harry thought were named Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

"Slytherin. It's a house of pride, not for those who've been disowned."

"I thought only Lions have prides, but maybe there was a little trouble with your sorting?" Malfoy scowled, ducking into the Common Room so they could catch the welcoming speech.

The room had book shelves lining a majority of the left side, breaking for doors that most-likely led to the dorms. On the right was an enormous window with water on the other side. Harry inferred, from the fact that they'd descended to get here, that they were under the lake.

The back wall had a nice fireplace and a Mantel with a plaque hanging above it. The plaque seemed unfinished, with names listed in two even columns, one for each year since Hogwart's was founded. The Slytherin Prefect, Gemma Fawley, gestured to that very same plaque.

"Look closely my dear hatchlings, this is our history. Every King and Queen is listed on here. One of you will earn your place there seventh year." Nobody asked what she meant by King and Queen. It sounded like a secret, Slytherin tradition.

"Girls are in through the closest door, boys in the other. There's no wards against gender, but intrude at your own risk." She gestured to the two entrances by the shelf, walking back over to the corner next to the fireplace. She reached forward and pulled one of the torches forward. She smirked at the looks of shock.

"Through here is the real Common Room. Anything Slytherin specific happens here." The prefect led them in. Harry gaped.

There were several chairs and desks, bookshelves with less-than-legal looking contents, and a large space probably meant for duels. There was another room branching off to the side which smelled like Potions. Fawley though, didn't seem finished.

"One more thing before you get your rooms...every Slytherin has to pass a little test." Impossibly, her grin turned more sinister.

"Who wants to volunteer?" Harry watched all his fellow snakes carefully. For the girls, there was Pansy Parkinson, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode, and Daphenne Greengrass. The boys consisted of himself, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Theodore Nott, and Blaise Zabini.

"I'll do it." It was Davis, a witch with an auburn bob and hazel eyes. Her glasses sat crooked on her nose, but her chest was puffed out in a way that showed she didn't care. Fawley slipped out a wand from nowhere, grin pulling into a frightening baring of teeth.

"Crucio." Harry's eyes widened and everyone but Malfoy took a step back. It was clear he'd been the only one informed of this sick tradition. Harry hid his dishevel by pasting on a stone mask he'd developed for the purpose of dissuading his torturers. A song rang in his head.

Crucio for you,

Crucio for me...

He shook it off, standing rod still. Davis screamed in surprise, then deep, slow suffering that died long after the spell had been cast. Harry's vision started to blur as the shriek went on and on, merging with memories of the past.

Crucio for him,

Crucio for her...

Davis finally stopped, but Fawley had only just begun. One at a time, she plucked her victim from the crowd. Some of them suppressed a few seconds of screaming, but others were reduced to writhing masses on the floor. Flashes of memory obstructed his view.

Bodies with limbs bent all the wrong ways. Chains. Blood. Death. Pain.

"Potter, why don't you go next?" Fawley snapped him from his thoughts. He blinked it away and crept forward. He barely had time to fully notice that she'd used the wrong surname, probably on purpose.

"It's Wyres." He corrected hollowly. His mask was already in place. Fawley drew back her arm, and the curls in her hair bounced, making his eyes go blank.

Belletrix.

Avada Kedavra, your mother is gone...

...the Dark Lord has fallen...

Avada Kedavra, Susie is lead...

...you are dead.

"Crucio." Harry let his eyelid twitch for half a second, let the pain spasm through his nerves as it had many times before, let the picture of Bellatrix make him empty.

He clenched his wand tighter to his wrist, and did not scream.

Fawley must've thought her spell went wrong because she charged it again, with greater power. It wasn't even half of what the real Belletrix could do, but it still hurt. Harry mashed his teeth together.

When Fawley pulled back, she was frowning. Harry glanced at the curls, and the disappointment, and wondered if she was actually related to his long-time torturer.

"Now that, was impressive." Harry would've smiled, except he was too busy trying not to sing under his breath.

Crucio for you,

Crucio for me...