This is how I envision Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone going down if Harry gets sorted into Slytherin, Ron Hufflepuff, Hermione Ravenclaw. Dumbledore is also a Slytherin, so is Percy Weasley. As I was writing, it seemed as if that was what Rowling had originally written and then changed her mind and put everyone in Gryffindor.

Just for fun! Imagine with me. I'll stick as close to canon as I can.

Nothing differs from the canon version of Philosopher's Stone until we get to Chapter five.

v. 0.002 I'm posting chapter headings to make it easier to find where things fit.

This is my first fanfic. Be nice.

CHAPTER FIVE

"So what is Quidditch?"

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like — like soccer in the Muggle world — everyone follows Quidditch — played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls — sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but —"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Harry gloomily.

"Just 'cause You-Know-Who was a Slytherin doesn't make all of 'em bad,"

"Vol-, sorry —You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

CHAPTER SIX

"Am I?" said Harry, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione.

"Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon." And she left, taking the toadless boy with her.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell — George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"What house are your brothers in?" asked Harry.

"Most of them are in Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin, I'd be stuck with Percy!"

"Isn't that the house Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "But Dumbledore is a Slytherin too."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide.

"Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!" Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon"… , "Nott"… , "Parkinson"… , then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"… , then "Perks, Sally-Anne"… , and then, at last — "Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?" "The Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?" Harry gripped the edges of the stool out of nervousness.

"You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and this house will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that — better be SLYTHERIN!" Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall.

He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Slytherin table.

The hall seemed to be in a bit of shock. The Slytherin table was cheering very loudly. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins booed from the Gryffindor table. Harry tried to sit as far away as possible from Malfoy, which ended with him sitting next to Percy Weasley.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Weasley twins looked at each other with an 'ooh' frozen on their faces. Percy looked mortified. Ron collapsed at the Hufflepuff table as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away. Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

"That does look good," said a ghost who had popped up from under Harry's table, startling him.

He saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He eyed Harry as he cut up his steak, but Harry suddenly felt a little less hungry.

Harry squirmed a little in his seat. "Can't you —?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly nine hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? You may call me the Bloody Baron. I'm the resident Slytherin ghost."

"Si-, uh Baron, may I ask, why are you called 'bloody'?" Harry asked, trying to make conversation.

"You may not!" the ghost replied indignantly and flitted away mumbling something about decency and propriety. Harry was a bit shocked but Percy Weasley seemed not to be phased by the whole exchange.

"He's a bit hot tempered," Percy explained, "and very touchy on the subject of his death. Have you read all your textbooks, Harry?"

"Um, no, not entirely."

"You'd better get on with it, lots to learn for you and you'll be wanting to be first in your class."

Harry looked about at the other Slytherins and felt a bit lonely as Malfoy and his cronies were pointing, whispering and laughing at him. Some other students were staring at him, undoubtedly because of his reputation. He wished Ron had been sorted into Slytherin too. Great, instead of Ron being stuck with Percy, it turned out to be me, Harry thought ruefully. As Percy droned on and on about the best subjects at Hogwarts, Harry saw Ron had already made friends at the Hufflepuff table and Hermione Granger seemed to be happily lecturing away at some Ravenclaw students. The Weasley twins were talking to some new first years and the Gryffindor house ghost. They all seemed to be having fun while Harry was feeling a bit out of sorts.

He looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes — and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What is it?" asked Percy.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look — a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy.

The Slytherin first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down some staircases.

Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They went down more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves — show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Malfoy's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

They were standing far below ground in front of a damp stone wall. "Dolor," Percy said aloud to the wall and Harry heard stone grind against stone as a concealed door slid out of the way, revealing a rectangular doorway that led to the Slytherin common room. "You must keep the location of our common room a secret," Percy was saying as the first years filed into the room past him. No-one was paying much attention to Percy. The room was filled with a pale green light and had squashy armchairs with a fire lit in the herth.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the bottom of another staircase — they were obviously in one of the dungeons — they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep green, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought down. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. The Bloody Baron didn't seem to want to help Harry at all and Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry managed to get on the wrong side of him on his very first morning. Filch found him trying to force his way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe he was lost, was sure he was trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock him in the dungeons when he was rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, no-one had managed to make a difference to their match and Professor McGonagall showed the class how to do it again.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Malfoy asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, everyone wondered if it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron Weasley didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Harry. He finally managed to find his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked Tracey Davis, a girl who usually sat alone, as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Gryffindors," said Tracey. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors us — we'll be able to see if it's true."

"Wish McGonagall would favour us," said Harry. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, and she had given them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Harry borrowed Tracey's quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

More silence followed this little speech. Harry looked over at Tracey Davis who exchanged looks with him with raised eyebrows.

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

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Tracey, who looked as stumped as he was.

Malfoy had a smirk on his face.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything."

Malfoy was grinning openly now.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Malfoy and his cronies were in stitches, now.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly.

Snape, was not pleased. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Slytherin House for your cheek, Potter."

Things didn't improve as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville Longbottom from Gryffindor had somehow managed to melt a cauldron into a twisted blob, and his potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus Finnigan, a sandy-haired Gryffindor. Then he rounded on Harry and Tracey, who had been working next to Neville.

"You — Potter — why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Slytherin."

All the Slytherins groaned. Wasn't Snape supposed to favour them?

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Tracey kicked him behind their cauldron.

"Don't push it," she muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Slytherin in his very first week —why did Snape hate him so much?

At five to three he left the castle and made his way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked he heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang —back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let Harry in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerself at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Harry and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked. "Thanks" Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke his teeth, but Harry pretended to be enjoying them as he told Hagrid all about his first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry was delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her — Filch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should he?"

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet his eyes when he said that.

"Have yer made any friends yet?" Hagrid asked.

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While he told Hagrid about the Weasleys he'd met on the train and Tracey Davis, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry walked back to the castle for dinner, his pockets weighed down with rock cakes he'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?

CHAPTER NINE

Harry had really been hoping to make closer friends at Hogwarts but so far he had been disappointed. The closest friends he had in his house so far were Tracey Davis, who was a bit of an outcast herself and Percy Weasley. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle bullied anyone who dared try making friends with Harry, and the older students were more interested to know if Harry was going to be an incredibly powerful wizard like You-Know-Who or Dumbledore. Harry didn't know how to answer, and anyway, the students seemed to lose interest in him after a while when he didn't perform any amazing magical acts, but seemed rather ordinary instead. Tracey Davis was a nice enough girl, but Harry wished that Ron had been sorted into Slytherin with him. He had a feeling they would have been best friends.

On the other hand, Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy. He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else. Or at least, he had until he spotted a notice pinned up in the Slytherin common room that made him groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday — and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together. "Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," said Tracey reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Theodore Nott told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Pollox Avery had already had a big argument with Casius Greengrass, who shared their dormitory with Harry, about soccer. Avery couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Harry had caught Avery prodding Casius' poster of West Ham soccer team, trying to make the players move.

Tracey had never been on a broomstick in her life, because her mother had never let her near one. Her dad was a wizard and her mum a muggle. She was the only person who's parents weren't both wizards who was in Slytherin. That was a big reason she was a sort of an outcast.

Hermione Granger, the girl from the train, was almost as nervous about flying as Tracey was. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book — not that she hadn't tried, apparently. At breakfast on Thursday she talked so loudly about flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages that they could hear her all the way from the Ravenclaw table. Tracey was secretly hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help her hang on to her broomstick later, but everybody else was very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the dining hall table.

A barn owl brought Neville Longbottom (the Gryffindor boy who had lost his toad), a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed everyone a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things — this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red — oh…" His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, "… you've forgotten something…"

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Harry jumped to his feet and saw that Ron had done the same at the Hufflepuff table. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Tracey, and the other Slytherins hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Gryffindors were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. Harry had heard Percy Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Tracey Davis' had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry was delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

Harry grabbed his broom.

"No!" shouted Tracey. "Madam Hooch told us not to move — you'll get us all into trouble."

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor Snape was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.

"Never — in all my time at Hogwarts —"

Professor Snape's eyes flashed furiously, "— how dare you —"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor —"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil —"

"But Malfoy —"

"That's enough, Mr. Potter, follow me, now."

Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as he left, walking numbly in Snape's wake as he strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor Snape was sweeping along without even looking at him; he had to jog to keep up. Now he'd done it. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on the doorstep?

Snape stopped outside a classroom. He opened the door and poked his head inside.

"Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, may I borrow Mr. Flint for a moment?"

Mr. Flint? thought Harry, bewildered; was Mr. Flint a cane Snape was going to use on him?

But Mr. Flint turned out to be a person, a burly sixth-year boy who came out of Flitwick's class looking confused.

"Follow me, you two," said Professor Snape, and they marched on up the corridor, Flint smirking at Harry.

"In here." Snape pointed them into a classroom that was empty except for Peeves, who was busy writing rude words on the blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" he barked. Peeves threw the chalk into a bin, which clanged loudly, and he swooped out cursing. Snape slammed the door behind him and turned to face the two boys.

"Potter, this is Marcus Flint. Mr. Flint — I've found you a Seeker."

Flint's expression changed from puzzlement to delight. "Are you serious, Professor?"

"Yes," Snape looked Harry up and down. "I should rightly expel him, but it seems he may be good for something, after all."

Harry didn't have a clue what was going on, but he didn't seem to be being expelled, and some of the feeling started coming back to his legs.

"He caught that thing in his hand after about a three-foot dive," Snape told Flint. "Almost decently."

Flint was now smiling wickedly.

"Ever even seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he asked with a snide expression.

"Mr. Flint here is the captain of the Slytherin team," Snape explained.

"I'll speak to the Headmaster and see if we make an exception to the first-year rule. Dismissed, Flint,"

Flint left the room and Harry was left alone with Snape.

"I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about expelling you." he said in a menacing tone.

In the dining hall, Ron came over to Harry during desert, bringing a large plate of pie with him.

"Harry! Half the school's heard about what happened with Malfoy! Well done, mate! Wish I was there to see it,"

"It was nothing really," Harry replied.

"Nothing? I heard you dove about fifty feet before catching Neville's rememberall!"

"That was incredibly irresponsible, Harry," Hermione Granger had been listening from the Ravenclaw table. "You could have broken your neck!"

"He wouldn't have," Ron glared at Hermione.

Harry told Ron about Snape's strange behaviour in not expelling him, but rather putting him on the Slytherin quidditch team.

"Seeker?" Ron said. "But first years never — you must be the youngest house player in about —"

" — a century," chimed in Hermione. "It's all in Quidditch through the Ages if you two would care to read."

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

"I start training next week," said Harry.

Just then Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle also sauntered over to Harry.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"Excuse me." They both looked up. It was Hermione Granger.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying —"

"Bet you could," Ron muttered.

"— and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Slytherin if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.

"Good-bye," said Ron.