Alternate Reality: Simply Slytherin
Chapter Seven
During lunch Harry listened to the voices of his friends as they argued over their Head of House's attitude towards him. Even Theodore Nott, who normally didn't associate with Draco's clique, added his two cents and pondered over the possibilities.
"I'm telling you, there has to be more to this."
"I agree, there should be a reason."
"But what? How could he turn on one of his own?"
"I'll write to my father, perhaps this has to do with The Marauders."
For several moments no one said anything, clearly having found something to think about. A loud, high-pitched cry caused Harry to look up from his shredded lettuce and gape. Several hundred owls poured through open windows and swooped down to the four tables, some landing on shoulders, others on the table and others just dropped packages, letters, or parchment before flapping away.
Draco pointed out an eagle owl that glided toward their table, carrying a package in it's menacing talons. The goliath bird dropped the package and, after landing, stuck out its leg expectantly, revealing a letter. The platinum haired boy untied the parchment and fed the bird strips of chicken, all the while gloating about what his parents must have bought for him.
The letter was from his father, telling him to uphold the family name and stay out of trouble. The package turned out to be a box of chocolate malt sweets from his mother, bought in Sweden. The card that dropped out of the box was scented with perfume and read almost identical to his fathers'.
Nibbling on an offered candy, Harry noticed a rolled up parchment next to several of his friends. Recognising it as the Daily Prophet he borrowed it from Pansy, who was seemingly to intent on her manicured nails to care much about anything else.
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 of it if you know what's good for
you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.
Harry quietly read the rest of the article, nudging Draco when finished. "Look," he whispered, pointing to the moving picture.
"So?"
"I was there, at Gringotts, that day. With Hagrid the grounds keeper."
"That drunken oaf? What for?"
"He took me to get my school things, but that's not important. We went to this vault!"
Draco peered at the picture, prodding one of the images to move away from the concealed number. Vault seven hundred and thirteen.
"Well, what was in it?"
"Just a grubby little package, nothing spectacular. Hagrid told me not to say anything, but it does seem a bit strange doesn't it?"
"I suppose," Draco skimmed the article. "I must say, Harold, you certainly do get involved in the most interesting of things."
Finishing their lunch, Harry and Draco were on their way out of the Great Hall when professor McGonagall stopped them.
"The Headmaster wishes to see you, Potter. This afternoon would be ideal, as you have no classes. Good day." It wasn't that the Head of Gryffindor was particularly unfair with Slytherins, but she was strictly professional. Harry supposed it was the same with all houses.
Before Hogwarts, Harry would have never believed another boy existed whom he hated more than Dudley Dursley. This was of course, before he met Ron Weasley. Still, the first year Slytherins only had one class with the Gryffindors, and even then Harry was under the watchful eye of the Potions Master, another being who seemed to have something against him. The Gryffindorks, as Draco liked to refer to them as, wouldn't dare try anything under the watchful eye of the Head of Slytherin House. Or at least, they didn't think until they were given their flying lesson notices. Slytherin and Gryffindor-together.
Harry, staring at the notice with disdain, almost forgot his appointment with the Headmaster, as well as his impending detention with professor Snape.
The office itself was easy to find a large gargoyle stood before him and Harry blinked at it stupidly. Professor Quirrel, who passed by several times, cast him curious looks.
"Professor?" Harry watched the shaking man pause and walk over.
"Y-y-yes, P-P-P-Potter?"
"Would you happen to know how to get into the Headmaster's office? He summoned me this afternoon, but I don't know how to get. Eh. To him?"
"Th-there is a p-p-password. It-t-t's 'P-p-peppermint H-h-humbug', I believe."
"Thank you, professor."
Harry turned away to utter the password and watch as the gargoyle jumped to life, springing aside to show a coiling staircase.
Knocking on the door as the very top, Harry heard the audible entrance command and opened the door.
The office was fairly spacious, filled with various silver instruments and hefty books. Bright colours covered the walls. Paintings, banner crests, and even some scrawled drawings from children.
"Ah! My grandchildren's gifts, from when they were young." Turning around from his silent inspection Harry was greeted by the sight of a bent old wizard with a flowing silver beard.
"Professor." He greeted in automatic, recognising the wizard from the welcoming feast.
They both took residence on either sides of the desk and seemed to study each other for a few minutes.
"Congratulations on your sorting into Slytherin, Harry."
Green eyes startled a bit at the familiarity but kept silent. "Thank you, professor. Um. You wanted to see me?"
"I wanted to know how life was going among the Slytherins? Well, I trust."
"I would suppose so, sir. Draco Malfoy has been helping me around, getting to know people."
"Very well. Are you happy, Harry?"
"Yes, sir! Very much so. I, um, am afraid I've gotten into a bit of trouble with my Head of House. He doesn't seem to. Eh. Like me very much." Said Harry sheepishly.
"Ah yes, Severus isn't much of a sociable person. But he is a good man, I believe, under all that sarcasm." The Headmaster was quite jovial and Harry had the sneaking suspicion that he was the one behind having baskets of candies at each table no matter the meal or time of day.
A scarlet bird to his right was preening his feathers, distracting Harry. Beady black eyes regarded him for a moment before he gave a sort of trill and went back to preening its feathers.
"Headmaster? What is that?"
"That is Fawkes, a phoenix that has been my familiar for many years."
"A phoenix? Aren't they supposed to be rare? How did you come across one, if I'm not being to bold, Headmaster?"
"I acquired him several years ago, not to long before you were born. I am sure that he is immensely happy that he wasn't caught on a burning day. He is usually so very testy when people watch him become born."
"Born, sir? How can-?"
The old wizard's eye twinkled and he chuckled. "A phoenix, Harry, is a very remarkable creature. Its tears are used for healing powers, and it can be reborn through ashes."
Harry wasn't sure he understood but nodded his head anyway. Something occurred to Harry quite suddenly and he cleared his throat uneasily. "Professor, when Professor McGonagall came to my house several weeks ago she mentioned something that I only just now remembered."
By now, both individuals had found a place at the large mahogany desk. Or perhaps it was oak; Harry had never been any good at recognizing the different types of wood.
"Lemon Drop?" A tin can was offered from a wrinkled hand and Harry refused the sweets. It might have been his imagination but Harry was almost certain he saw a fleeting look of disappointment cross those twinkling blue eyes but it was gone before he had a chance to look again.
"She told me that 'the headmaster had better explain', when I asked about my parent's deaths. I learned they had been…blown up. People call me the 'boy-who-lived' and Hagrid mentioned something about me defeating a dark lord when I was with my parents?"
The headmaster sat back in his chair, sucking on one of the bittersweet candies with a thoughtful expression on his face. "I must admit, Harry, that was my reason for summoning you. I suppose the only place to start would be the beginning." Harry had the insane urge to roll his eyes and say something snide. He bit the inside of his cheek instead. It wouldn't do to have a detention two days in a row.
"In our world, Harry, there are two types of magic. There is Light and Dark. Likewise there are two types of wizards and witches. Just as there are muggles. Can you tell me, Harry, what types these are?"
"Good and bad?" Harry tried to keep the obviousness out of his voice, he really did.
"Yes, Harry." The wizened form shifted in his seat to watch the shadows play on the wall. Harry noted he seemed to have drifted into a story mode and relaxed in his chair to listen.
"There was a wizard, Voldemort, who wanted to purify the magical world. He, as well as his supporters, believed that muggles, half bloods, and muggle borns, were unacceptable. He believed that they should be put in their place. It was his belief that the magical blood of wizards should not be diluted."
"Like Hitler?"
"I suppose. As Hitler wanted to purify the German people, so did Voldemort with the wizard. But Voldemort almost seceded."
"So did Hitler." Harry pointed out.
"But what was Hitler's downfall?"
"The war, I suppose. With the combined forces of all the armies, he couldn't have possibly won."
"You see that is where we have a difference. Voldemort's downfall did not come from a full-fledged war. It came, Harry, from you. Do you know why they call you the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"No, sir." Said Harry upon further reflection.
"Love, Harry."
"Sir?" Harry swore the old codger could illuminate the great hall with the way his eyes were sparkling.
"Your mother died, trying to save your life. Because of her death, Voldemort couldn't kill you. His curse rebounded onto himself, and you were left with a scar. Up until his downfall, anyone he went after ultimately met his or her demise at his wand. But you escaped that fate, Harry, and that is why they call you the Boy-Who-Lived."
"Hagrid said he wasn't really gone, Voldemort I mean."
"I don't suppose he is, Harry. A wraith perhaps, but still in existence if one could dare to call it life."
"Will he ever come back?"
"Perhaps, Harry, perhaps. One has only thoughts to entertain these days."
Harry thought about the Gringotts break in and what Dumbledore now had in his possession at the school.
"I do believe it almost time for dinner, and then you have an appointment with professor Snape, do you not?"
Harry mumbled an affirmative, wondering if he could get the Headmaster to counter act the detention.
"One must always learn to take the consequences that come with ones actions." Said Dumbledore, answering his unspoken question.
"Yes, sir." He mumbled. It wasn't as if he had actually done anything. Existed perhaps?
"Run along then, Draco will wonder what I've done with you."
"Yes, sir."
Back in the dungeons Harry sat before the fire watching Morag and Theodore play several games of exploding snap, stopping to each play a game of wizard's chess with Millicent. Blaise came up from the boy's dormitories to watch them for a while before going to look for a book in the library.
Before long supper breezed by and Harry was making his way to the Potions Classroom.
Professor Snape was at his desk, head bent over a paper that had several red marks on it. His shoulder length black hair was slightly unkempt, hanging in his face slightly like a veil.
"Professor? I'm here for my detention, sir."
"Very well," said Snape, not looking up from his grading. "Clean those cauldrons over there, thoroughly, if you would. And no magic, Potter, you seem to be the type accustomed to muggle activities. Primitive though they may be." Harry briefly wondered what he could possibly mean by that but only gave a curt nod and headed in the direction of the collection of pewter cauldrons.
As Harry scrubbed the mess away from the cauldrons he vaguely wondered how the Slytherin Head of House could have known of his daily torture at the Dursleys. But, as he cleared away the mess of what he recognised as Seamus Finnigan's cauldron, he guessed that the professor was just making a barb for being raised by muggles. Harry felt an overwhelming dislike for the person who was responsible for that. How could he be kept from such vital information? But…how did Snape know he was raised by muggles? Harry pondered over this before he decided that once he was in his Head's good graces once again (if ever, mind you) he would ask him. Until then, he would file away the information.
Several hours since his arrival had passed by without much thought until, as Harry finished the last of the cauldrons Snape strode toward him, inspecting his handiwork as he came.
Harry had actually done quite well at scrubbing each cauldron clean, which surprised the professor, though he didn't show it of course. He had expected the boy to slack off and be more concerned at his hand's welfare than anything else. But as he inspected each cauldron carefully, he noted how they were all expertly polished.
Harry watched with trepidation as his Potions Professor neared, peering into each cauldron as he passed. Suddenly he looked up and met green eyes on black and Harry winced, expecting the same sharp pain he had experienced before.
After a moment of debate, the professor seemed unable to come up with some way of criticising and turned away to return to his desk. "You may go," said Snape with an irritated jerk of his head toward the door.
"Thank you, sir." Harry scampered out of the dank dungeon room and easily manoeuvred his way through the draughty corridors to find his commons room.
"How did it go, Harry?" asked Theodore when he stepped into the warn firelight.
"Wasn't to bad, I cleaned out the cauldrons from our potions class this morning. I think that Gryffindor, Finnigan is going to need another cauldron though." He paused and shrugged his shoulders; preoccupied with the thought of why the Potion Master's glare hadn't effected him as much as before.
Filing away the thought for later inspection he glanced around the room and sighed tiredly. "Where's everyone else?"
Nott smirked, jabbing his thumb towards the boy's dormitories. "Draco and Weasley had another row and Draco challenged him to a Wizard's Duel."
"A what?"
"A wizards duel, honestly Harry, it's depressing to think about how much you don't know. Anyway, two wizards duel each other to the death. Usually over broken trust, family, land, and things like that. Draco is a bit of a prat and volunteered you as his second. Oh sorry, forgot again. A second is someone who takes the place of the dueler in the event of his death." At Harry's stricken look he cracked a smile. "Oh, honestly Harry. You know better than that. We're eleven for Merlin's sake, the worst we could do is give someone a mild nosebleed. And that's with the killing curse alone."
"Oh." But he still looked doubtful though.
"You needn't worry though, Draco's not dumb enough to actually duel in Hogwarts. Not with the portraits and ghosts about anyway. Dumbledore has probably got loads of wards all over the place."
"But if he challenged Weasley to a duel, then why isn't he carrying through with it?"
"He isn't stupid, a little dense at times, but he's a Malfoy through and through. It's a trick, not one of his more brilliant ideas, but what can you expect? Malfoy's aren't renowned for cleverness. He told peeves, the Bloody Baron, and Filch that Gryffindor firsties were probably going to be out and about tonight."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, plopping down on the sofa across from Theodore. "Well that's a bit of a relief. I don't think I'd want to upset the professor anymore than I already have."
"Don't worry, Harry, the professor will come around eventually. As long as you prove you're Slytherin it'll all work out."
Harry shrugged and watched the flames dance merrily in the hearth. He looked up quite suddenly with a curious expression on his face, "Why do you call me Harry? Everyone else says 'Harold'."
Theodore shrugged, "Full names aren't much fun unless you're using them for intimidation. By the way, you can call me 'Theo' if you like."
"All right."
The two fell into a companionable silence broken only by the sounds of the crackling fire and other students milling about quietly.
Soon enough it was time for the two first year Slytherins to head off to their respective dorm rooms. Harry lingered outside the door for a moment, not sure about his friendship with Draco. He seemed so arrogant and proud that Harry was often reminded of Dudley. Shaking away all thoughts he slipped quietly into the room to see that Draco was asleep, yawning he slipped of his school robes, and into the four poster bed. Drawing the curtain closed his last thoughts were of how he could transfigure his hand-me-downs into pyjamas.