Alternate Reality: Simply Slytherin
Chapter Six
The next day Harry awoke to the sound of movement nearby and braced himself for Aunt Petunia's whiny voice, a sharp rap on the door and the sounds of a lock unclicking. When none of these events presented themselves, Harry cracked open an eye and stared at his surroundings in a moment of confusion. At the sounds of closing door it all came back to him. He was at Hogwarts!
Flinging open his drapes he tossed aside his warm blankets and took in a deep breath. Noting he was still wearing his clothes from the day before he grimaced and after a quick rummage through his trunk, took out his uniform. Hearing Draco's careless drawl emanating from outside their room Harry made his way to the bathroom stopping short to take in the sight.
The floor was polished marble, a soft rug next to both the shower and bath. Entering the shower he closed his eyes, enjoying the perfect water temperature. Finishing he donned his black slacks and white shirt, returning to the room he now shared with Draco.
Leaving his dirty clothes on his bed, he ran a hand through his messy black hair and left for the commons room. Draco was there; standing with a group of other first years that had been sorted the night before.
"Harold, there you are. I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up!" Draco motioned to the students he was with, "Come over and we'll have introductions."
"Hello, I'm Theodore Nott," said a boy with wavy brown hair, small ears, and a seemingly crooked smile. Harry took his hand, giving his own name to the chuckles of all those assembled.
"I think it's safe to say, Potter, we all know your name. I'm Millicent Bulstrode," said a girl who sat on one of the plush chairs. She had straight black hair and mischievous almond eyes. She smiled shyly and with the small movement Harry noticed a slightly faded scar that might have been a rather horrendus burn at one point in time.
Both Crabbe and Goyle grunted a hello, having previously met. Harry noted that they seemed quite interested in invisible specks of dust that floated right in front of them, giving them a rather glazed, cross-eyed look.
"Blaise Zambini, pleased to meet you, Harry." Came from a calm boy with a small smile and reddish blonde hair. Harry could hear the undertones of a French accent and it gave him a peculiar lisp.
"Pleasure's all mine," he responded on automatic.
"And manners to boot!" A boy with dirty blonde hair and sharp eyes stated with a wild grin.
"Terry's here?" said a girl with dark hair and distinct Scottish accent, looking around in mock confusion. "Can't understand how he got the password…"
"Get serious, Morag," a girl standing on Draco's left commented snidely. "I'm Pansy Parkinson."
"I'm Morag MacDougal." Said the girl, giving Pansy a less than decent look, "And you're serious enough for the both of us, Pansy, thank you very much!"
Pansy sniffed and folded her arms in front of her, looking away with an air of importance.
"And that leaves me! I'm Zachary Macnair." The boy who had commented on his manners shook his hand but they were interrupted by the sounds of near shouting. Harry turned wide eyes to Pansy and Morag who were throwing insults back and forth as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Slime eater."
"Muggle lover."
"Street licker."
"Gryffindor."
"That was low, you fat faced, toad kissing, Weasley second cousin!"
"At least I'm not a pickled faced, Mrs. Norris-back side-kissing, Squib-loving, muggle born!"
"Why, you!" Pansy looked furious, her hands were on her hips and her pale skin was red.
"Breakfast it is then!" announced Millicent, heading toward the tunnel exit. Draco rolled his eyes at his two friends and started for the great hall next.
"Don't mind them, Harold, they're always bickering," he whispered.
Climbing the tunnel into the light of flaming torches the group of aquainted first years came face to face with two prefects, their silver badges glinting in the firelight.
"Hello," began the left one, a short, but well built boy. "We're Slytherin's fifth year prefects, and in charge of you firsties."
"My name is 'Jasmine Macnair', and this is 'Samuel Capulet'. We help direct you to classes, and are here if you need help of any kind." Harry decided that Jasmine was a very lovely girl.
"Now, first of all: a heads up. We've added a password to the tapestry, and we also have Slytherin House Rules."
"Last evening was rather tiresome for you lot, so we decided to save this for this morning before we all went down for breakfast."
The boy's stomach gave a reproachful growl and he looked up sheepishly, "Actually, it was she that decided we do this before breakfast."
Jasmine rolled her eyes and continued, "The password is, cylicospirura felineus. It works both on the stone wall, and the tapestry. And Sam will give you the rules."
"Mind you, they're edited seeing as how I'm missing my breakfast!
"Rule number one! We are family, as that Gryffindor lover no doubt told you when you first arrived. But there is more to a family than sharing meals, a commons room, and classes. We are united. As Slytherins we are not seen in the most friendly of light so it is imperative that we stick together. Never let a fellow Slytherin become a target. There is blood, but there is also loyalty. Once you make your ties, to break them is to bring shame to your face.
"Rule number two! Under no circumstances will you place blame, or otherwise cause harm, to a fellow Slytherin. And if at all possible. To pure bloods in general," Samuel smirked, "That is of course, exempting the Weasley clan. If you so desire of course." Samuel added hastily at the look he was getting from Jasmine.
"Rule number three! Never reveal any information to others outside your house. Rule number four, don't judge by family alone. Sure, several of us have death eaters in our line somewhere, but for Merlin's sake, that doesn't make Slytherin a Junior Death Eater Camp." Harry, as well as the other first year Slytherins, noticed with muffled sniggering, that Samuel Capulet had speeded up the run through of the rules and was, by now, talking very fast. "Rule number five, never show weakness to other houses, for obvious reasons. Rule number six, something to do with honor. And, finally, Rule number seven! Do everything in your power to win the House Cup without losing points, of course."
"Well, that about wraps it up…"started Jasmine but a loud hoot from Sam cut her off short.
"Let's eat!"
The famished group of first years cheered and followed them through the maze of corridors, not stopping until they reached the Great Hall.
"Over there, look."
"I can't see him."
"Where?"
"Scoot over."
"Next to the blonde kid."
"The short one with black hair?"
"Wearing the glasses?"
"Can you see it?"
Whispers followed Harry like a hissing fire from the moment he stepped into the Great Hall. Throughout the day people lined up outside classrooms standing on tiptoe to get a good look at him. Others would double back to pass him in the corridors again, staring.
"Great, now I'm a tourist attraction," Harry muttered under his breath. Draco glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and shrugged.
"You defeated the Dark Lord single handedly," he said simply.
"I was what, a year old? Barely even that. I can't even remember it. Watch that step, it vanishes."
The two boys hopped over the tricky step and continued their assent.
"Don't worry, they'll get over you eventually. And if not, I'm sure a few well placed threats would do the trick."
"I'm hoping it won't come to that, Dray, I just wish they'd leave me alone long enough to let me get my bearings on this place. Did you know there are one hundred and forty-two staircases? Then there is that whole business where they like to switch places every other day, hour, or person. That one that leads to the Astronomy tower disappears on Thursdays, and is replaced with one from the Second corridor on the south side. And that's not counting the hidden passageways.
"Then there are the doors! You know I spent ten minutes trying to open a door before I realized it wasn't a door at all, just a wall pretending? Honestly. Then you have to tickle them in the right places, ask politely, or wiggle the doorknob a certain number of times then count to ten and try again. I swear the coats of armor can walk. "
Draco nodded his head. "And the ghosts aren't any help either. I was on my way to transfiguration when the Fat Friar floated right through me. Nasty shocker that. Had to threaten Peeves yesterday to leave me alone. I don't see how the Baron does it."
"At least Filch leaves us alone for the most part," commented Harry.
"I heard, that wizard trash tried to get into the third corridor but was caught by Filch, has detention for a week!"
Harry gave the other boy a disapproving look at the barb but let it go.
Harry was relieved to find that not many people knew anything much about magic, and after surveying the Slytherins, that was saying quite a lot. The Potter child soon learned that Slytherin, although usually clever and sharp (both in smarts and tongue, mind you,) had built quite the reputation. And it wasn't a very good one. His first taste of house rivalry had come from a row Draco and Ron Weasley had in the fifth floor corridor. Draco of course hadn't helped at all. Was, in fact, the one who instigated the fight.
"Well well well, if it isn't Ronald the Weasel."
"Who are you?" Spat the red head, his friends on their guard.
Draco smirked, "Oh look, the vermin has bite." Crabbe and Goyle chuckled stupidly. "I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." Ron and his friends snorted. "Think my name's funny do you? Notice I needn't have asked yours. Trademarks of the Weasel clan. Red hair, hand me down robes," Draco smirked. "And enough siblings to-"
"Draco," warned Harry from behind. Draco gave him a sidelong glance and shrugged, making to turn away. Ron Weasley gave him a sneer.
"Better run back to your master Malfoy, he's calling you. Watch you don't step out of line. I thought Malfoy's had more self-respect than that. Oh wait. They never had any in the first place." Harry's eyes flashed dangerously but Draco looked murderous.
"Must be one of the side effects of inbreeding," observed the now bold, yet incredibly dense Weasley. "How else do expect them to keep 'pure' bloodlines?" The students with him snickered, except one boy in the back who just shot everyone nervous glances. Harry narrowed his gaze. Perhaps Neville Longbottom wasn't such an idiot.
Draco, having had enough of the red heads taunting drew out his wand with a sharp jerk.
"Draco, don't!" Instinctively Harry grabbed his wand arm and pulled it back gently but firmly. "It's not worth it, Dray," said Harry under his breath so only Draco could hear him.
"Quit your hissing, snakes! If you want a fight, come and get it." Harry whipped around and stalked right up toward the daft boy who refused to shut his mouth.
The red head, startled at meeting the blazing inferno within Harry's green eyes took an involuntary step back and gulped.
"Not so brave when faced with the actual thing, are you?" said Harry darkly.
Ronald Weasley looked confused but easily backed away and with a look that clearly presented his distaste, left.
Draco sheathed his wand and scowled at the retreating forms. Cocking his head at Harry, his brow furrowed and he growled, "Why did you stop me? I could have silenced that moronic piece of filth with a flick of my wand."
"And received detention as well." Harry glanced over Draco's left shoulder and back again as if looking at a speck of dust.
Draco turned sharply to watch the retreating shadow of professor Quirrell, turban looking oddly magnified with the dancing torches.
"How did you-?"
"Garlic, the fourth years were complaining that the Defense class room smells strongly of garlic. They say Quirrell stuffs his turban with it to prevent vampires from coming after him. You were all so severely distracted, nobody noticed."
"Except you."
"I hate garlic with a passion. Chalk it up to a delicate nose, whatever you like. But look out next time." Harry shrugged his shoulders and continued down the hallway, wondering if they were all late for transfiguration.
By the end of the week Harry had learned many things about the Hogwarts professors. First of all, they were all entirely different from each other.
Harry had been right on his first assessment of professor McGonagall. She was strict and tolerated no foolishness of any kind, but she was an excellent teacher all the same. The first day she lectured them on what to expect then easily turned her desk into a pig and back again. The Ravenclaws had been on the edge of their seats, but they were terribly disappointed when their lesson consisted of note taking and changing a match into a needle.
Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who stood on a pile of books or, at his desk, sat on a pile of pillows. He had a fluffy beard and bushy eyebrows that gave him a comical look, which was magnified by his rather excitable voice. At the start of their first class he took a roll call, but when he came to Harry's name he gave a little squeak and toppled off his perch and out of sight.
Professor Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts class was a bit of a joke. As Harry had claimed, the air was thick with garlic and seemed to follow their professor even more strongly. Several students explained he was warding off a vampire he had gotten into a row with in Romania. The turban, Quirrell explained, was a gift from an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie. Harry highly doubted this but, like most other Slytherins, kept his thoughts to himself.
Both boys soon found their way around the school with the help of Salazar's painting and backtracking galore, and by Friday they found themselves in the Great Hall earlier than usual. They hadn't even got lost once.
"Look out today, Harold, we have double potions with Professor Snape." Millicent Bulstrode took a seat across from Harry, handing him a copy of their daily schedule.
"Just be careful what you say, in fact, don't say anything at all unless he asks you a question." Said Draco, spooning sugar onto his porridge.
"My brother told me that Snape always likes to start the first lesson with questions, make sure everyone read through their books. He told me if I skimmed the chapters for things, all should be well." Blaise Zambini buttered a piece of toast and nibbled on the crust while deep in thought. "I was just reading about aconite when I fell asleep."
"Isn't that a bane of some sort?" queried Morag MacDougal, glancing up from her kippers.
"Yes, Wolfsbane actually." A new voice joined the conversation and Harry looked up to see the youngest Nott brother take a seat, looking uncertainly at a bowl of chocolate frogs. "I think it's also called monkhood, monkshood, or something along those lines…"
"Don't worry, Harold, Snape sticks up for his house, I'm sure it'll be all right." Pansy Parkinson, sitting across from Draco gave him a wink but Harry could still detect the minuscule twitch of her mouth. Looking around he inwardly sighed. None of the first year Slytherins where completely sure of what was going to happen, but nobody looked hopeful.
"Don't go out of line, and for Merlin's sake, don't give him reason to hate you."
"In other words, don't breathe?" Harry glanced uneasily at the Head Table relieved when he wasn't greeted with coal black eyes. Harry had an idea of how he should act. He had lived almost his whole life like that hadn't he? It would be easy for him; just pretend he didn't exist, because in their eyes, he didn't deserve to be. Silent? He would be silent all right, silent as the grave, that's what almost eleven years had drilled into him.
"Harold!" Slightly clouded green eyes met grey.
"Hm?"
"I've been trying to get your attention for the past couple minutes!"
Harry glanced around and cleared his throat quietly, "Sorry, I was thinking about something. What were you saying?"
"See, Harold, if you do things like that in professor Snape's class, you'll be done for it. It's not very Slytherin to space out like that. We're supposed to be alert, and ready. If I had been professor Snape, well, he wouldn't have been very happy." Draco gave him a piercing gaze before going back to his porridge.
Harry's head reeled and he suddenly didn't feel so hungry. Not very Slytherin. Not Slytherin. The green eyed boy looked at his piece of toast and pushed it away. Who was he kidding? He couldn't belong in a place like this. Not him, he was just a freak.
Soon enough the first year Slytherins were trooping down the dungeons without a second thought and maneuvering their way towards the Potions classroom. Reaching the open doors Harry noted that the Gryffindors were already seated and chattering quietly, almost to the point of silently mouthing the words. Harry wondered if they were even breathing.
"You didn't tell me it was with the Gryffindors!" He hissed at Millicent who just shrugged.
"Didn't seem important at the time, remember what we told you! Don't step out of line." She made a barely perceptible glance toward the front of the room and for the first time Harry noted the presence of the dreaded professor Snape.
Taking their places in the front, as the Gryffindors had taken all available space in the back, they took out parchment and quills, chattering away about just about anything. Unlike the rest of Hogwarts' classrooms, the Potions room didn't have desks, not counting the one at the front of the room. Instead there were rows of stands with a cauldron on top. Each stone 'table' had two wooden four legged stools. The bell rang and Harry wondered what spell they used, not seeing any bell or speaker of any kind.
At a dark look from the professor the room quieted and he took a piece of parchment from his desk and began role call. As professor Flitwick had done, Professor Snape paused at Harry's name and his soulless eyes flickered up.
"Ah, of course. Harry Potter," he said softly, "Our new-celebrity."
Harry glanced over his shoulder at a sniggering red head and glared. Turning back around he noted Snape had caught the exchange. Roll call continued until Snape cast aside the parchment and folded his arms and glared around the room with malevolence.
"There will be no foolish wand waving in my class, and as such I hardly expect any of you to recognize Potion making for the exact art form it is. You are here to learn the sciences of potion making, and as thick as your skulls undoubtedly are, I must be your professor.
"While many of you shall prove to be abysmal, there are a select few that hold the predisposition. For those few, I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death." There he paused and his eyes seemed to rest on Draco, but as if distracted, he looked at Harry and sneered.
"Though I doubt many of you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…"
Silence seemed to reign for eternity - like professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. Whether it was by fear or respect was still debatable.
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry's stomach clenched as he stumbled over every possible answer. He was sure he had read this somewhere, his potions text book? He looked at it uncertainly; ignoring a girl on his far right who had risen her hand to it fullest length.
'Asphodel root contains a component that acts as a heavy sleeping herb…' At that line of thought Harry's mind immediately jumped to a memory of Wednesday's morning Herbology class. Professor Spout, a rather squat, dumpy little witch, had been explaining the dangerous combination of different plants. And suddenly it was as clear as a blue sky in April.
"Draught of Living Death, sir?"
The tall man sneered, "Are you asking me, or telling me?"
"Telling, sir."
"And tell me Mr. Potter, what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"
"They are the same thing, sir," Harry's voice was slightly tinged with relief that it had been discussed at the table during breakfast. The glaring black eyes bore into Harry's skull and in retaliation he refused to blink or look away.
"And where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"
Harry's memory flew back to his time spent at the Dursley's when he would stay up, late into the night reading from his textbooks. "In the belly of a simple animal, such as a goat."
"Well?" asked Snape, glancing around snidely, "Why aren't you all writing this down?"
Snape's eyes, not losing their intensity, flickered toward the back of the room. "Weasley, what name does Monkshood and Wolfsbane share?"
All the Slytherins, as a unit, seemed to breathe. Several gave Harry a wink and relieved grin. He had passed.
"I…I uh, I mean…er…" Ronald Weasley stuttered, taken off guard by the question.
"Oh the linguistic mastery of Gryffindors," said Snape, folding his arms, and looking pointedly at the first year red head. Several Slytherins chortled, grateful for the attention taken away from the newest member of their ranks.
"I don't know, sir," his blue eyes caught sight of Granger who was nearly standing; her hand raised to it's fullest length. He suddenly sneered. "But I do believe she has something to say on the matter. Though she always does. Never the less, why don't you try her?" Several of the Gryffindors snickered and Harry could have sworn the professor was about to hex the lot of them. Hermione had put her hand down quietly, her cheeks flushed.
"Three points to Slytherin, Mr. Potter, for having the sense to open your text book this summer. Clearly fame isn't everything when it comes to studying." Amongst the sounds of scratching quills Snape spoke again, "And a point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Mr. Weasley. Perhaps if you didn't have such old books, you would be able to read the print clearly."
Weasley's ears turned as scarlet as his house colour, but ducked his head low under the guise of writing notes.
Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Professor Snape put them each into pairs and set them to mixing a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around the room in his long black robes, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Draco, whom he seemed to favor. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy and Blaise had stewed their horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. The boy named Neville had somehow managed to melt Finnigan's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their 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 was drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, cried out in agony as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.
"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 face.
"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus Finnigan. Then he rounded on Harry and Theodore who had been the closest to Neville. They're potion was finished and a sample had already been taken to the front of the room and placed in the special holder for first year Slytherin/Gryffindor classes.
"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 two points you've lost for Slytherin."
"But, sir, I-"
"A detention then? Stay after class, Potter."
Harry stared at his Head of House as he stalked away, a strange burning in his stomach making him feel slightly ill. Helping Millicent and Pansy with the rest of their potion he muttered something foul under his breath. While Millie, as she had told Harry to call her, put the finishing touches on the potion, he finished putting away his ingredients and sat down. A sharp movement in the corner of his eyes caused him to turn his head and watch Draco give the back of his godfather's head a displeased look. Both boys knew the point deduction and detention were completely unorthodox, but neither knew what to do or say.
As the Gryffindors swiftly departed, the Slytherin first years took their time, packing their things up and meandering out the door as slowly as possible. Harry, meanwhile, had approached the menacing Potions Master, standing off to the side of the desk, completely ignored.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Detention, Potter, after dinner, eight o' clock, here."
Harry nodded, grabbed his things, and headed for the door.
"Oh, and Mr. Potter?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Five points for foul language in my class. You may go."
Edited and returned: Once.
Reason: His name is Theodore not Patrick (Nott).
Courtousy of J.K. Rowling's Official Web site at [url] [/url]