AN: Shout out to everyone who reacted to the Sorting result with 'oh, of course, duh.' I'll have you know that I went to do the Sorting Quiz on the new Pottermore site for this Insert, fully expecting Ravenclaw, and was POLEAXED upon recieving Slytherin. First time I've ever gotten Slytherin, and the suddenly receiving it out of nowhere meant scrambling to rewrite lol


Chapter Twelve: In Which, Uh . . . The Plan's Out the Window! We're Doing This Live!


Harry wondered if they looked as aghast as they were feeling. The plan! Their plan! What was this?! Slytherin?! WHAT?!

Harry was supposed to go to Ravenclaw. They would fit in and be a well-liked member; that was a given — Harry understood the culture, the social pecking order, how to gain respect, and how to settle friction amongst others in such a setting. They would go there and be considered a respectable neutral party in the eyes of the rest of the school! They'd be able to make friends with Harry's original set of companions without suspicion while not being seen as a 'rival' by Malfoy and his ilk off the bat! They'd have time to set up groundwork so that Luna could be taken in without being bullied! It wouldn't be suspicious for them to know things beyond what a child of their age would know! They'd have the excuse of being a booky sort for when they'd inevitably get seen researching magic outside of the curriculum! The entire foundation of their plans to survive beyond canon hinged on being sorted into Ravenclaw!

Low-key panicking that people would notice they were panicking, Harry flashed their hair through several colours to keep eyes away from their face. The noise of the Great Hall was already clamorous due to Harry's sorting, but excited screeches and calls erupted when they saw Harry's display of metamorphism as McGonagall took the Sorting Hat from Harry's head.

Thinking quickly, Harry fixed a curved-eye smile on their face at McGonagall as they hopped off the stool. They bobbed in a little curtsy towards the teacher, hair-colour switching a few more times before settling on leaf green, the same as their eyes. Draw the eyes to their hair and their now seemly face, away from the death-grip they had on the book in their arms.

Public front once more in place, Harry trotted off to the Slytherin table. The lining on their outer robe and their tie bled to Slytherin colours as they moved.

A visibly negative response was unacceptable, Harry told themselves as they kept their stride even and loose. It would only bring them trouble if they dared show any discontent with their Sorting. Their new Housemates would resent them if they didn't already, House-rivalry could get provoked, and Snape would no doubt have a resentful spiel for them about how spoiled and arrogant they were.

Oh, gods, Snape. Harry wanted to scream as they sat down amongst the other first-years, pretending that nothing was bothering them, that they didn't see the scepticism and mixed awe directed at them. They had no idea how Snape would react to such a sorting, no idea how he would receive the child of James Potter being under his direct supervision. This wasn't supposed to be even a potential situation for them! Living amongst the children of Death Eaters and other blood-supremacists and having Snape as their Head of House had had no place amongst Harry's speculations!

Harry pretended that they didn't notice the heavy looks fixed on them; they watched the rest of the Sorting with appropriate curiosity and good cheer, clapping and smiling and bopping in place as if they didn't know any better. This play was aided by the girl they'd shared their boat with also being sorted into Slytherin — she turned out to be Sophie Roper. Roper was amongst the forty names Rowling had originally come up with for students in Harry's year; she hadn't been in the story and hadn't actually been assigned a House outside of definitely not being Ravenclaw, so Harry was surprised she was in this AU at all, never mind being sorted as Slytherin. At least there was one person they'd already made some headway into making friends with in this House.

"Here! Here!" Harry called as Roper approached the table. They patted the spot next to them and beamed at the girl. They laughed, "What a coincidence, huh? After Justin went to Hufflepuff, Goldstein went to Ravenclaw, and I got here, I was half-thinking you'd go to Gryffindor, and we'd end up a full set! But I'm glad at least two of us ended up in the same place."

Roper sat down as beckoned, looking even more overwhelmed than before.

"You're Harry Potter?" she asked helplessly, face red. "B-but . . . you said your name wa-was Harrington Vervain."

Not-so-covert looks were sent their way during this interaction.

"Hm? Yes?" said Harry, tilting their head. They tucked a lock of hair behind their ear and gave themselves streaks of lighter green. "Yes, I did! I am Harrington Vervain. Harrington Vervain Potter in full. I know that's a bit of a mouthful, of course, even though I think it sounds really pretty, so I always let people know I'm fine with Harry or whatever else. I'm not fussed about formalities when it comes to being addressed — as long as people are nice is good enough for me. Justin used to call me Vivi all the time, but I guess he's gotten embarrassed saying such a girly nickname out loud, so he mostly just calls me Harry now. Supposed my parents called me Harry, too — they enrolled me with that name after all. I guess that's why every wizard I've met so far knows me as Harry instead of Harrington Vervain."

Babbling was good. Babble about nothing in particular with just enough enthusiasm and people wouldn't notice that Harry was just mindlessly filling the air to give themselves more time to regain their bearings.

As the sorting started reaching the last of the first-years, Harry chattered with Roper about this and that — classes and extracurriculars — warming the girl up to them more as they mentally scrambled to slap together something of a plan to deal with this situation they were now in. Bits and pieces of how they might respond to potential interactions flitted through their mind in a loose timeline, branches of events sprouting and growing from the multiple actions Harry could take in order to head off or provoke other people's actions.

Harry really wished they weren't so much of an over-thinker who needed things to go according to a sequence they could predict beforehand lest they dissolve into horrible anxiety. If they were more of going-by-the-seat-of-their-pants sort of person, maybe they wouldn't be on the edge of a panic attack at that moment.

After Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin, McGonagall at last rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

The din of the Hall settled down as Dumbledore got to his feet. He kind of reminded Harry of a stick-bug, all long limbs and such. He also kind of looked like a Van Gogh painting. Unlike McGonagall, he didn't much look like either of his actors — not from where Harry was sitting. He actually looked like a cross between Radagast and Gandalf the White from the Lord of the Rings.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

Mood.

"Thank you!" he concluded, and sat back down.

Everybody clapped and/or cheered — even those currently sitting around Harry.

Food materialised onto the previously empty platters running down the middle of the long table. There were so many rich, fatty foods; roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fried potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, and other sauces. It was like every Dursley dinner times three. Harry surfaced from their puddle of dread just enough to be a little nauseous at the thick, greasy smell of fats wafting across their nose. Merciful heavens, even the vegetable options were stewed to the point of basically being as nutritional as the potatoes.

With their gut churning from nerves, Harry didn't doubt that eating too much of anything would result in everything coming back up again. And yet they could feel their belly rumble with hunger. As if this evening wasn't already a complete fiasco.

Just pretend, just pretend, Harry repeated to themselves in the back of their mind. Tornado sirens and Mudvayne's Dig blared in a loop at their edge of their consciousness, though.

Harry was pretty certain they engaged others sitting nearby in conversation — at least, they vaguely were aware of answering questions and nodding their head and laughing. Voices were coming from all around them. They were pretty sure they asked someone to pass the salad at one point; how else did they end up munching on raw cucumber and lettuce? They must have been doing alright despite everything, because why else would they not sense any active hostility directed their way? Malfoy and his ilk were sitting across the table, and Parkinson was seated to Harry's other side; they must have managed to keep feathers mostly unruffled.

After dessert, Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First-years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's notorious twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table — at the Weasley twins, of course.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Surprisingly, this was what jerked Harry from their numb daze.

Dumbledore's warning had confused and made canon!Harry uneasy, but it only conformed to what the present Harry knew to be true. They had no fear of the unknown because it wasn't unknown to them. Canon!Harry had been troubled by premonitions and imagined scenarios — the present Harry wasn't, they instead were thrown off-kilter because the metaphorical rug that they thought was a carpet had been pulled out from under them and replaced with another.

However (extending the metaphor) that didn't mean the room had changed in layout.

Harry still knew the timeline of events, they still knew the plot reveals, they still knew the personalities and motivations of all the main and secondary characters, they still knew how to avoid the canon pitfalls. A branch of possibilities that they had favoured had been clipped, but Harry still knew the hows and wherefores of everything significant that would take place. Survival to the end of canon was a destination on the other side of the town, and the road Harry wanted to take to get there was blocked off, but Harry still knew the layout of the entire city, down to the side-alleys and footpaths.

It didn't matter where their starting point turned out to be — Harry was perfectly equipped to navigate to their destination no matter what. They'd know shortcuts when they'd see them.

As the dessert disappeared, Harry took a grounding sip of water and glanced over the brim of the goblet at the baby serpents that were now the House Harry needed to establish a place in and work around. Not ideal, not even close, but nowhere near hopeless either. Their plan for making their stances and principles known would still work in this setting, albeit to a reaction from their Housemates likely different from the one they'd been anticipating in Ravenclaw — at least amongst the blood-purists.

But they could work with this. Even if they hadn't already known the text and subtext of these kids, they had a lifetime of experience as [REDACTED] in dealing with people who were motivated primarily by personal benefits and social status.

With all this in mind, Harry let their hair turn to a green so dark that it looked like black save for the sheen in the light.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore, drawing Harry out of their reverie.

No one looked particularly thrilled about this.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Before Harry could recall if this had been in either the books or the films, everyone started bellowing:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy, warty Hogwarts,/ teach us something please,/ whether we be old and bald/ or young with scabby knees./ Our heads could do with filling/ with some interesting stuff,/ for now they're bare and full of air,/ dead flies, and bits of fluff. /So teach us things worth knowing,/ bring back what we've forgot,/ just do your best, we'll do the rest,/ and learn until our brains all rot."

Oh, gods. The lyrics were shit, too. Harry must have repressed the memory.

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one who clapped loudest; everyone else clapped perfunctorily.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Ah! Wait! There was still a part of Harry's previous slew of plans they could still execute at this time!

Harry shot to their feet before the fifth-year prefect could call for the first-years to follow her to the Slytherin dorms. Harry considered raising their hand for a split-second, but immediately discarded the thought in favour of trotting over to the head table — it wasn't like such an action would be noticed when everyone was getting up and moving around. As Harry went, they dug into the pocket they'd put Trevor.

"Excuse me, Professor!" Harry called out, directing the words at the headmaster. They raised the chubby toad before them like an offering as the still seated professors and a number of student in hearing range turned their heads in Harry's direction. "I found this toad on the train; I think it's someone's pet that got lost. Is there a way I might be able to find the owner and return it as soon as possible?"

"A lost pet?" said Dumbledore, smiling pleasantly down at Harry. He did do that rather well; Harry admired such charisma. "Students, one more matter!" he called out before anyone actually left. "A fine toad has been found; it's suspected that said toad had been lost while the owner was still on the Hogwarts Express. Has anyone here lost their toad?"

Sure enough, Neville Longbottom loudly gasped, "Trevor!" from the cluster of Gryffindor first-years and came scurrying over.

Harry beamed at him.

"You named him Trevor?" they asked, bouncing on their toes. "That's so cool! I've been calling him Sir Trevor since I found him!"

It was then that Neville realised who it was that was holding out his precious pet. His jaw dropped and wagged liked a landed goldfish.

"You're a first-year, too, yeah? I saw you got sorted before I did," said Harry, putting the toad into Neville's limp grasp. "I'm glad I found him! You must have been worried. He's a really cute toad!"

Neville, poor dear, sputtered and stammered and facilitated between ghastly pale and bright red. Harry took mercy on him by waving farewell, curtseying at the professors, and returning to the rest of the Slytherin fist-years.

Forge a connection and establish goodwill with Neville — success. Harry was fond of Neville anyway, so this was a matter they'd actually been looking forward to.

Harry got assessing eyes as they bounced back over to Roper's side and hauled their book back into their arms.

"I'm glad I didn't forget," they said as the prefect gathered them and everyone began leaving the Hall again. "It would probably have been a lot harder to find Trevor's owner after tonight."

Now that they were properly aware of their surroundings again, Harry didn't miss Parkinson sending them a 'subtle' disdainful look over her shoulder from where she was walking in font and to the right of them. Geez, Harry hadn't even declared their stances yet and the little punk was already being all holier-than-thou.

"You'd be better off avoiding the useless squib, Potter," said Malfoy self-importantly from beside them. "Heard he only barely managed to show any sign of magic before the letters went out; he's a shame even to that pathetic family of his."

This kid really was a massive brat of the highest grade. Like, even ignoring the amount of casual ableism and condescension drenching his perception, what kind of manner-less good-for-nothing just said such things aloud? Wasn't his father a politician and his mother a socialite? Where was the awareness of keeping a civil tongue in public? Idiot.

Harry allowed themselves to frown, but in a thoughtful way that conveyed none of the disgust or disdain Malfoy's statement deserved.

"Isn't that a little mean?" they asked as the cluster of them followed the prefect through a doorway and down a narrow, spiralling staircase. "He seemed nice; it feels wrong insulting him. Besides, even if he wasn't capable of magic, it's not like that would be his fault. That's not something a person can control, is it?"

As Harry posed this question, they arrived at the bottom of the stairs, which opened up to a long, gloomy stone corridor lined with stone statues of armour.

Malfoy snorted.

"Well, no — I suppose they can't help being rubbish," he said. "Doesn't mean we should wallow amongst the filth, though."

If he wasn't talking about the innate worth of another living being, Harry might have given him credit for the almost witty way he phrased it.

Harry didn't respond any further, and that was fine because the lot of them were already approaching the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

"The password changes every fortnight," said the prefect guiding them, stepping up to a blank expanse of wall. "It will be listed on the noticeboard within for every change. This cycle's password is 'ambitiosus.'"

The wall appeared to disintegrate open, as if a fast-acting acid had been thrown at it. The stone melted away in a circle, revealing the room beyond.

The prefect entered casually while the first-years followed, some more wary than others.

The common room was quite dungeon-like — as to be expected since they were in the dungeons. It was long and low with rough stone walls and ceiling; round greenish lamps hanging down on chains. Harry knew it extended partway under the lake, and that was what gave the light a green tinge. Around the room were lots of low-backed black and dark green button-tufted, leather sofas; skulls; and dark wood cupboards. One of the wooden tables had a Wizard's Chess set on it. It was decorated with tapestries featuring the adventures of famous medieval alumni. It had quite a grand atmosphere, but also quite a cold one.

A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several older students were silhouetted around it in carved chairs.

The first-years were led over to where the other prefects were waiting at aforementioned mantelpiece surrounded by chairs. The leader of the group was a tall girl with sandy ringlets drawn back in a ponytail — she was the one that stepped forward to address their House's newest recruits.

"Congratulations!" she said, crossing her arms. "We welcome you to Slytherin. I'm Gemma Farley, one of this year's seventh-year prefects. There are a few things you should know about Slytherin – and a few you should forget.

"Firstly, let's dispel a few myths. You most likely have heard rumours about Slytherin house — that we're all into the Dark Arts, and will only talk to you if your great-grandfather was a famous wizard, and rubbish like that. Well, I'm not denying that we've produced our share of Dark wizards, but so have the other three houses — they just don't like admitting it. And yes, we have traditionally tended to take students who come from long lines of witches and wizards, but nowadays you'll find plenty of people in Slytherin house who have at least one muggle parent."

Oh, dear. Harry had been half-expecting some sort of introductory speech — it was a tried and true trope at this point, and the Pottermore site had included one after the sorting quiz — but this was not at all what Harry had expected from Slytherin. Granted, they didn't think it would be full-on cliché bullshit reminiscent of 2008 fanfiction, but . . . Harry wasn't sure if an open disowning of the purebloods-only stereotype was a great thing to announce for this year's group.

By the strange turn of chance (or rather Rowling's not-so-thoughtful system of House-designation), four of this crop of boys were the sons of Inner Circle Death Eaters, one was at least a purist, and the girls that canonically flocked with Parkinson were likely all purists, too. Harry couldn't say for certain for the two boys that went unnamed nor Sophie Roper and Lily Moon, but it wouldn't surprise Harry if those four went with the flow at the very least as to not have any trouble with their age-mates. This year's crop of Slytherins definitely wouldn't have wanted to hear the purebloods-only stereotype was largely false these days.

Case in point: Malfoy and Parkinson now both wore expressions of discontent.

"But that's enough about what we're not," Fawley said, carrying on, "Let's talk about what we are , which is objectively the strongest house in this school. We play to win, because we care about the honour and traditions of Slytherin. They respect we earn from our fellow students might be tinged with fear, because of our Dark reputation, but you know what? It can be fun, having a reputation for walking on the wild side. Chuck out a few hints that you've got access to a whole library of curses, and see whether anyone feels like nicking your pencil case."

Really not going to say anything against actively perpetuating the purist stereotype, Prefect? If she wasn't just paying lip-service to the defamation of it, she should have made it perfectly clear it wasn't going to be tolerated. What was this girl thinking? Saying it like this . . . wasn't this encouraging them to live up to the bad reputation? Wasn't this just blowing off a serious issue as simply an annoying character quirk?

Bigotry and racism weren't matters like talking too loudly and chewing with one's mouth full, Farley! The more this woman went on, the more irritated Harry became.

"But it's wrong to say we're all bad people by default. For instance, Slytherins look after our own — which is much more than you can say for Ravenclaw. Apart from being the biggest bunch of swots you ever met, Ravenclaws are famous for clambering over each other to get good marks, whereas Slytherins are brothers. The corridors of Hogwarts can throw up surprises for the unwary, and you'll be glad you've got the serpents on your side as you move around the school. As far as we're concerned, once you've become a snake, you're one of ours — one of the elite.

"Because you know what Salazar Slytherin looked for in his chosen students? The seeds of greatness. You've been chosen by this house because you've got the potential to be great, in the true sense of the word. All right, you might see a couple of people hanging around the common room whom you might not think are destined for anything special. Well, keep that to yourself. If the Sorting Hat put them in here, there's something great about them, and don't you forget it.

"And talking of people who aren't destined for greatness, I haven't mentioned the Gryffindors. Now, a lot of people say that Slytherins and Gryffindors represent two sides of the same coin. Personally, I think Gryffindors are nothing more than wannabe Slytherins. Mind you, some people say that Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor prized the same kinds of students, so perhaps we are more similar than we like to think. But that doesn't mean that we cosy up with Gryffindors. They like beating us only slightly less than we like beating them."

Any respect Harry might have had for Farley had died the moment she called their House elite. That dead respect was then beaten, the corpse desecrated.

These are kids puffed up on their own hype, Harry told themselves. They just want to say cool, self-aggrandising words about themselves and diss their rivals. Even the smartest of them weren't going to be thinking about the thought-process and underlying message they'd convey when boasting in front of their peers; not by default.

It was still difficult as all hell for Harry to just stand there and swallow this self-destructive drivel, though. This little speech was doing nothing to steer the junior Death Eaters away from their path. Granted, it wasn't really meant to, but considering the history of the House, the political environment of the recent past as well as the current present, and just plain common sense, Farley would have done everyone a favour if she had said anything at all to actually discourage blood-descrimination. As it was, she'd basically reinforced to them that they were the superior ones and that anyone who disagreed did so because they were below them.

"As Forrester should have already told you, the password to the common room changes every fortnight. Keep an eye on the noticeboard. Never bring anyone from another house into our common room or tell them our password. No outsider has entered it for more than seven centuries.

"Well, I think that's all for now," Farley said at last, tapping her bottom lip. "I'm sure you'll like our dormitories. We sleep in ancient four-posters with green silk hangings, and bedspreads embroidered with silver thread. You'll sleep well; it's very soothing, listening to the lake water lapping against the windows at night."

'Welcoming' speech, concluded, the first-years were then directed to the dorms.

As they began making for the stairs that led down to their sleeping quarters, one of the other prefects called out, "Oh, hang on — Potter, a moment!"

Harry stopped at the unexpected call. They gave the prefect a curious look as he approached them.

"The house-elves had some trouble putting your luggage where it should go," he said, looking annoyed and a bit embarrassed. "Said they weren't sure if you're a boy or a girl, so. . . ."

The unspoken question was evident.

Harry was . . . they were actually rather entertained that this was an issue at all. Entertained and chagrined. Never since that time when they were barely more than a toddler did anyone other than themselves think them to be anything other than the girl they appeared to be. They hadn't thought that the school's house-elves of all people would pick up that it wasn't exactly the case.

The house-elves weren't wrong, of course, but seeing as the only dormitory options available to Harry were either male or female, and Harry was used to rooming with women over men, and they'd heard horror stories about how smelly boy's dorms could get. . . .

Harry gave a show of looking down at their clothing, swishing their skirt side to side, and pursing their lips in a moue. Then they looked up at the prefect and quirked their mouth in a companionable way.

"Suppose my name can go one way or another," they said agreeably. "But I'm no boy."

Good on him that he didn't just assume based on face-value, though.

"Names usually don't cause them any problems," the prefect muttered, bemused. "Well, whatever. Anyway, now that's cleared up, just go on in, and they'll deliver your belongings in a bit."

Harry nodded and turned to continue as they'd originally been going. They blinked to see that the rest of the first-years were still standing around as well, having apparently been listening in.

Harry smiled and tilted their head as they got to the door leading to the dorms the others were waiting for them at.

"What's up?" they asked.

"What's that about?" asked Parkinson suspiciously. Harry didn't know what she had to be suspicious about, though.

"Just a little mix-up with the luggage placement, wasn't it?"

"Why would there be a mix-up?" she demanded. "Since when is there ever a question of where a student should be placed to sleep?"

Harry blinked slowly at the bizarrely aggressive girl, piqued; they hated being asked questions that they couldn't tell were rhetorical or not. Was it a sincere inquiry? Was it a passive-aggression accusation? It was damned difficult for them to tell.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know," they said in a slow, deliberate manner. "I'm not sure why you think I would know either. I'm also not sure why this seems to be bothering you so much."

Why was Parkinson even approaching them? From what Harry remembered from dinner, it had mainly been Malfoy and Davis that had engaged Harry in conversation, with some Zabini as well. And the first two of the aforementioned three seemed rather eager to ingratiate themselves. So what was Parkinson's malfunction?

"So it just so happens that the year the great One-Who-Lived comes to Hogwarts is the year there's confusion about where a student should sleep? Just a coincidence?" Parkinson was talking loudly and had drawn multiple eyes at this point.

The common room wasn't crowded, but it was filled with more students than what it likely would be on any other normal evening. Start-of-Term bustle and all that. Though basically every eye was on them watching the minor drama, not one looked like they were considering coming to resolve things — not even the prefects. Were they waiting to see who would come out on top so they could get a handle on the pecking order? Perhaps they wanted to see how the One-Who-Lived would fare in direction confrontation?

This was exactly why Harry had been so aghast when the Hat said Slytherin. Harry hated this mafia-like bullshit. Farley had spouted rubbish about brotherhood, and yet there they were standing around when just a word or two would end the stupid issue. Oh, sure — Harry knew they were just looking out after their own interests, but did they really need to calculate over the petty matters of two eleven-year-olds?

Annoyance compounding, Harry told Parkinson flatly that they had no idea what she was trying to get at.

"I'm not sure why you would want to blame me for it either," they added. "Why you think it's something that deserves blame being put on anyone at all. It's just an odd minor matter, isn't it?"

"Is it? Is that so?" Parkinson shot back, arms crossed.

At this point, Harry was well and truly irritated.

"Parkinson, if you're trying to make a point about something here, can you just come out and say it?" they allowed impatience into their tone. "I can't speak for the others, but the intricate subtleties of your brilliant mind are far beyond what I can divine out for myself from these questions that seem to be leading nowhere."

Parkinson glared the most ineffective and weak glare Harry had ever seen. Harry had received nastier looks from the fish they cooked for dinner.

"Why is there a question of what dorms you should be placed in?" she gritted out.

Harry inhaled through their nose.

"I . . . don't . . . know," Harry ground out. And they truly didn't; they knew there had been metamorphmagi who attended Hogwarts before them — Nymphadora Tonks for one — and there must have been other non-cis students before them as well. Statistics and all that. "Now are we done here?"

"Why do you keep avoiding the question?! If you're a girl, why didn't the elves just send your things to the girls' dorm right away?!"

Harry smiled unpleasantly.

"Ah, I see. You've been trying to be clever and imply things with a vague line of questioning that only barely connects with what you're trying to say. Well, since we're giving questions for questions instead of just answering anything straight — if I was a boy, then why didn't the elves just send my belongings to the boys' dorm? Why would there be a hiccough at all?"

Harry was a little disappointed that this apparently stumped the girl.

"Now." Harry glanced at the door to dorms in a very pointed way. "Are we done here?"

"Ugh! Don't you talk to me like that, Potter!" Parkinson snapped, stomping her foot.

Literally what was wrong with this kid? Why this weird aggression out of nowhere?

"Is there a dose of medication you missed out on today?" Harry asked, rolling their eyes. "I actually don't care. Just get out of my way, I want to go to sleep."

Saying so, Harry edged around the group. The boys and a few girls save Parkinson's lackeys obligingly stepped out of the way so that Harry could pass. However, before Harry could do more than take two steps down the hall of the girls' section, someone grabbed the back of their robe and yanked.

"I'm not done with you!" Parkinson shrilled, Bulstrode and Greengrass behind her. "Jumped-up half-blood! Who said you could walk away?!"

The boys peered down from the top of the landing. The entrance to the stairs down to the Slytherin girls' hallway was similarly enchanted as the Gryffindor's girls' stairs.

Harry's hair fluffed like an offended cat in their outrage at the cheek of the brat. They elbowed the girl off of them and whirled on her in a temper.

"I don't know what barn you were born in nor what pack of wild beasts raised you, but here in decent society we don't paw at others like a filthy stray begging for scraps!" Harry's mouth moved in rapid-fire, voice heated and two steps from shouting. "I've no idea what your problem is, but I'm sure the word for it is long and difficult to pronounce. Piss off! Leave me alone!"

"I'm not sleeping in the same room as some freak that no one can tell is a boy or a girl!" Parkinson shouted, fists balled at her side.

And now girls who had already entered their rooms for the night poked their head out at the noise. Mutters of discontent and calls of, "What's going on?" came from further down the hall.

"Feel free to sleep on the floor in the hall, then," said Harry, tapping their fingers against the cover of their book. "Or maybe out in the common room."

"You go sleep on the floor!" Parkinson shot back. "That's where filthy half-bloods belong anyway! Never mind perverts who try to sleep in the girls' dorm when they obviously aren't a girl!"

Alright, that was it.

Very purposefully, Harry whipped their book out with two hands and swatted Parkinson into the wall like a fly. Her goons shrieked in alarm, but Harry kicked the two off their feet before they could retaliate. Jaw clenched, they all but stomped back up the stairs to the common room.

The boys parted for her, varying looks of shocked and impressed on their faces.

Harry went up to where the still-loitering prefects were sitting and said, "Sorry to impose, but I request an escort to the headmaster's office. I want to report Parkinson for sexual harassment."

More than one person gasped aloud at Harry's words.

Harry had thought to play nice at least for the time being. They'd had their plans tossed into a food-processor and thrown into the sea, but they had tried to be cordial and agreeable. The were willing to judge individuals for their own merits; they'd been willing to get along provided no one crossed any bottom lines. But here they all were proving that Harry had been very right thinking Slytherin was the last place they wanted to be.

Harry hated the vulture-like culture cultivated here! If they thought Harry was just going to let themselves be bullied — and by lame tertiary antagonists at that — they were dreaming! And they had a slap to the face ready to wake them up!

"WHAT?!" Parkinson shrieked, coming back out as well, spitting furious. "What rubbish are you spewing?! You think just because you're the One-Who-Lived you can say outrageous lies and get away with it?!"

"I'm thinking anyone who shows the amount of unnatural interest you have in another person's reproductive organs and has shamelessly laid hands on others ought to accept that they're perverts of the highest order," Harry scorned. "Why are you so fixated on what's going on between my legs? Only eleven years old and already like this? Disgusting!"

They turned back to the prefects and looked at Farley directly.

"An escort, if you please. I just don't feel safe with Parkinson around. I'm going to ask the headmaster for the use of his Floo — I'm going to contact DMLE and have them bring up charges!"

By this point the willing bystanders were wide-eyed and a little panicked.

Cowards. Everybody's a big, bad Dark Wizard until someone calls the Aurors.

"Here, Potter, aren't you overreacting?" said the male prefect who'd informed them about the rooming concern initially. "Parkinson's being stupid, but this—"

"Why not just talk to our Head of House?" said a different prefect, a dark-skinned girl with her hair in a long braid. "No need to go to the headmaster, never mind the DMLE! It isn't as serious as all that!"

"Oh, I'm sure," said Harry, eyes flinty. "Why else would all of you just stand around like carrion fowl and let her act like a maniac?"

"YOU—!"

"However," Harry continued, raising their voice and cutting off Parkinson's bellow, "I'm not one to forgive purposeful attacks against me even if they're on minor matters. Sets a poor precedence, you know. And perhaps the law enforcement office as well as her parents knowing she's been pestering others about the private parts of their body will teach her better for the future. Won't do her reputation any favours, but these are the sacrifices we must make to grow as people."

"POTTER, YOU CRAZY BINT!" Parkinson shrieked, rushing at Harry with her claws out. "I'LL KILL YOU!"

Harry dropped their precious eruditionary to catch Parkinson by her wrists and fling her away.

"I recommend you try cocaine, heroin, crystal meth, and LSD before you try me, bitch," Harry hissed, hands going to their hips "You touch me without permission again, and I'll snap your fucking fingers off, shove them through your nasty eyes, and—!"

"Alright, alright!" Farley said at long last, clapping her hands twice sharply. "There's been enough of this! Break it up, you two! Don't make me assign detentions on the first night!"

Harry sniffed at the prefect's pathetic show of . . . whatever it was she thought she was achieving by stepping in so late in the debacle. They picked up their book again and watched over the edge of it with contempt as Bulstrode and Greengrass held Parkinson back.

"Can someone take me to the Headmaster's office now?" asked Harry. "Or does that have to wait until the morning?"

"Alright, Potter, enough of that as well," Farley said severely.

"You really think threatening me with the DMLE is going to scare me anyway?" Parkinson jeered. "My parents have the best lawyers available! You try getting me on some rubbish charges, and I'll just get you back with even worse!"

"Parkinson—" Farley began with a scowl.

"With what?" Harry scoffed. "What are you going to report me for? The crime of existing? The crime of not letting you push me around? Ooh, better get them to lock me away! I might even go minding my own business next!"

"You filthy—!"

"Girls! I said enough!" Farley exclaimed.

"If you could get her stop bothering me with her nonsense, I'd be happy to let the matter drop," said Harry, looking at Farley expectantly.

"Need others to fight your battles for you, huh?" Parkinson jeered. "This is the powerful Harry Potter, huh?"

"I don't know what you think this is, Parkinson, but you being an annoying twat is not something I need to meet you at dawn and duel to the death about."

"BASTARD CHILD OF A DIRTY MUDBL—!"

"THREE WEEKS OF DETENTION!" Farley roared, eyes blazing. "You will not being going around using slurs! Enough is enough, Parkinson! If you cause any more trouble tonight, I'll hex you blind myself! Now, you better get your skinny arse to bed as soon as possible, because I will be taking you to see Professor Snape about all this in the morning!"

"But—!"

"Go! Or I'll take a leaf out of Potter's book and march you to the headmaster instead!"

Parkinson stamped her feet again and again in a great temper. However, the snarl on Farley's face and the threat of Snape cowed her enough that she finally turned tail and left without another word.

The common room was quiet after that.

The bystanders looked somewhat shell-shocked.

Harry hummed and swished their skirt from side to side, weighing their current options. They cast Tempus to check the time.

It wasn't even eight yet.

Theoretically, Harry should go to the first-year girls' room so that the house-elves could prepare a bed for Harry and send Harry's belonging over. In reality, literally everything Harry owned was in their document bag, and they'd shoved that into one of their massive pockets after they'd put their uniform on; there was no need for Harry to follow behind Parkinson to the dorms at all.

Harry looked around to the room for a place to sit. Their eyes alighted on an empty chaise next to a modest bookshelf. Upon the centre row of the bookshelf was a line of skulls acting as decoration.

Anticipation sparking in them, Harry trotted over, ignoring the wary eyes still on them.

They inspected the display. The skulls were real! Or at the very least very convincing replicas!

Harry dropped their book on the chaise and picked up a skull from the middle of the line with glee. So hefty! So comfortable in their arms! Harry hauled it over to the perfects who were still looking like they were reeling from the scene from before.

"Are these to remain in the common room? Or are they like tissues and can be taken by anyone?" Harry asked.

Farley looked at them with dull, weary eyes.

". . . what?"

"Are the skulls like furniture or may anyone take them as they please?" Harry asked patiently. "If it's not possible to just take them, could I compensate for the lack?"

"You want a skull?"

"Yes, ma'am." Harry was willing to speak respectfully for it, too. They really had no idea how to find one for sale otherwise.

The look on Farley's face said that she really didn't want to ask, and yet she asked, "Why?"

"I have a personal project I've been wanting to do for a while now that involves slicing open the brain cavity of a skull. You can imagine it's been rather difficult to get around to do it without a skull to work with."

Farley looked like she deeply regretted becoming a prefect.

"Just take it."

Harry beamed at her before bouncing back over to their book and chaise. They settled into their seat with relish, resting the skull on their lap and propping the book open between the skull and their book. Flicking to where they'd left off on the train, Harry decided this evening hadn't ended up a total wash after all.


AN: If it's quite alright with everybody, I don't want to hear anything about the sudden long hiatus except, "Hey! It's good to see you're still doing alright!" The gist of it is I originally intended to take a tiny break (like, just a week or two) but then I got sick, I got physically better, I got smacked by a REALLY bad bout of the sads, and then my hard drive with EVERYTHING I hadn't posted yet but was working on as well as YEARS of personal projects was infected with ransomware that I couldn't even begin to afford to pay to beg the hacker to have mercy. So I've been at a loss on what to do to even begin to get myself on track again.

On the fic-writing front, I've been hollowed out, mentally and emotionally. I pre-write so many dialogues and monologues that require so much research and planning and rewriting, and now it's all gone. All gone for all the fics I was being active with and those I was planning to start updating again. I don't know how to begin to explain how gutted I've been feeling; I poured my heart out in so much of those, and now it's all gone.

ALSO: My schedule for updating is once again fucked. (Big surprise, huh?) If you want to help me update more quickly and to read advanced chapter updates, hit up my tumblr High-Pot-In-Noose and click on the 2nd link in my bio.