Alternate Reality: Simply Slytherin
Chapter Eight
The next day was Saturday and Harry, along with the other Slytherin first years, drifted down to breakfast, wiping sleep from their eyes. Draco, who Harry had begun to see as the ringleader of his little group, leaded the way and insisted Harry walk in front with him. Harry consented uneasily but once he entered the Great Hall, cast a quick searching glance for Theo.
So caught up in his search he didn't realise they were headed in the opposite direction until he heard an angry voice interrupt his thoughts.
"Think your pretty clever, don't you, Malfoy?"
Harry quickly noted they were standing next to the Gryffindor table and several sets of eyes were trained on their small group.
"Whatever are you talking about, Weasley?" asked Draco, obviously miffed.
"You know what I mean! You challenged me to a duel, and conveniently didn't show up. Instead, Filch shows up and gives us detention!" Ron Weasley hissed.
Draco however waved his hand carelessly, "You must be confused, Weasley." A round faced boy Harry recognised as Neville had received a package and Harry noted that was what had caught Draco's attention.
The package, it turned out, was a Remembrall. Dean Thomas, the tall black first year next to Ron was slightly amused.
"When you hold it tight and it turns red, it means you've forgotten something." Harry caught the streams of words from the Granger girl just as the ball was filled with a scarlet cloud.
Malfoy, obviously interested by the artefact, snatched it from Neville's grasp and inspected it closely. Weasley and Thomas immediately jumped to their feet.
"Give it back, Draco," said Harry quielty. Draco gave him an incredulous stare before arrogantly tossing it in the air before him with a smirk.
"What are you going to do about it?" He asked confidently.
Just then Professor McGonagall swept up behind Harry and demanded to know what was going on.
"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor." Said Longbottom, his voice quavering slightly.
Malfoy almost immediately dropped the object back onto the table. "I was just looking," he said in his defence stalking away scowling.
Harry gave Neville and the Professor an apologetic look before hurrying to take a seat at the Slytherin table.
"Honestly, Dray, do you have to create trouble every single day?"
The Malfoy heir gave Harry a surprised look. "They're Gryffindor's!" He exclaimed as if it explained everything.
But Harry noticed that breakfast continued with less than its usual casualness.
The days passed by quickly and before long it was Friday morning again and the first year Slytherins were talking about their upcoming flying lesson with the Gryffindors.
"It is such a drag first years aren't permitted to have their own brooms," drawled Draco as the breakfast table.
Harry, sitting between Millicent and Theo had heard this complaint many times and secretly wondered if the Malfoy heir would ever tire of his own voice. His hopes were dashed however when he went into a full account of how he had barely managed to evade being hit by a muggle helicopter. But Draco wasn't the only one with such boastful stories. As it turned out many of the first years told of such adventures to anybody that would listen. Harry, who had no such tales to tell, would listen occasionally wondering if they had an ounce of truth at all.
At three fifteen the Slytherin first years marched down the entrance steps onto the grounds and inspected each of the brooms that were set in neat lines. Immediately the students raked through them, picking and choosing the best of the whole lot, distributing them amongst themselves. Amazingly, Harry was still in Draco's good graces despite the recent spats they had been having, and was only slightly surprised when the Malfoy handed him a polished broom silently.
The Gryffindors made their appearance shortly and Harry decided it was best if he stayed as clear away from Weasley as he could.
Their flying instructor, Madam Hooch, arrived and all flying insults quickly died on the lips of both houses. She had short, slightly wild, grey hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.
"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Gryffindors, stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."
Harry took a moment to survey the broomstick Malfoy had presented him with. It was old, but looked in better condition than most the others save Draco's.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom," ordered Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"
"UP!" chorused everyone.
Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but if was one of the few that did. Millie's had simply jumped up feebly before dropping back down, and Blaise's was drooping slightly. The Gryffindor's didn't have much better results. Hermione Granger's had rolled over before stilling once more and Longbottom's had merely twitched. Draco's, like Harry's, had jumped into his hand and he was looking extraordinarily pompous, as usual.
Finally, when everyone had their broom in their hand, Madam Hooch showed them how to properly mount their brooms without sliding off the end. Walking up and down the rows she paused several times to correct their grips. Ron Weasley looked positively gleeful when she told Draco he'd been doing it wrong for years.
"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your broom steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle-three-two-"
But Longbottom pushed off before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.
"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Longbottom was rising strait up like cork shot out of a bottle--twelve feet--twenty feet. Harry could see his face devoid of colour as he suddenly lost hold of his broomstick and plummeted towards the green turf.
WHAM-a sharp nasty crack reached their ears before with morbid fascination the whole group crowded around his still, whimpering form. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift sluggishly toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.
Madam Hooch was bending over Longbottom, her face as pinched and white as his.
"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come one, boy-it's all right, up you get."
She turned to the rest of the class.
"No one is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! If you so much as mount those brooms you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on then."
Longbottom, his chubby face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.
No sooner were they out of earshot that Draco started laughing. "Did you see his face? The great lump."
Several Slytherins joined in. Harry, along with Morag and Nott who were not nearly as amused as Draco'circle, stood off to the side watching.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped a pretty little Gryffindor who reminded Harry of a Ravenclaw in their double charms class.
"Sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy. "Never thought you went for fat little cry babies, Parvati."
Malfoy, without warning, darted forward snatching something out of the grass. "Look, it's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."
The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.
Weasley and Thomas pushed their way through the crowd, demanding it. Everyone stopped previous conversations to watch.
Draco smiled nastily, "Not very polite Gryffindors are you?"
"Draco, just give them the Remembrall," said Harry, effectively shutting just about everyone else up.
"What about a game of catch first?" said Draco, mounting his broom and kicking off into the clear blue sky.
Harry, not really knowing any other course of action to take, likewise mounted his broom. After a quick, wary look towards the entrance doors, he was airborne. Up, and up he soared; his robes flared out behind him and the wind whipped against his face, stinging his eyes.
Draco hadn't lied, he could fly well. Hovering level with the top most branches of an oak he called, "Not bad for a beginner, Harold."
"Must you call me that? It sound so…so formal or something." Harry complained, successfully luring Draco into an unrelated topic. "And anyway, I'm not entirely sure that's my full name. At least I hope not." Harry said, looking slightly mortified. "I'm fairly sure it's Henry or something."
"Well what am I supposed to call you?" asked Draco, puzzled.
"'Harry' if you please," said Harry.
"Well…I suppose," said Draco. Harry watched dismayed as Draco looked down at the scarlet ball still clutched in his pale fist. The young Malfoy snapped his head up at the same time the glass ball turned clear again, the scarlet cloud dispersing. "I almost forgot," he said with a smirk.
"Draco, just give it here."
"Standing up for Gryffindor's now are you?" He asked coldly.
"Standing up to prats like Weasel, but what has Longbottom ever done to you?"
"He exists." With that Draco hurled the glinting object through the air and dove for the ground again. Harry, furious and confused, tore after the object.
Leaning into his broom he flattened himself and picked up speed, with care and precision he lunged out a hand to catch the Remembrall and, flipping, came to a stop three feet about the grassy turf. With a sigh of relief that the clear ball was undamaged, he returned to the mixed sounds of the first years. The Gryffindors seemed unable to decide whether to cheer or not. And the Slytherins were giving Draco and Harry odd looks. Finally, feet planted firmly on the ground, Theo stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder.
"Nice catch, Harry."
"Thanks."
Just then the youngest Weasley stalked up glared at him. "Give it here, Potter."
"I don't think so, Weasley. I'd rather give it to someone else."
"That's a boy, Potter. I'll take it." Draco looked amazingly proud of himself for having been the one Harry chose over the Gryffindor.
"No, Draco. How about you, Granger."
Hermione Granger looked slightly surprised at being called into the confrontation. Stepping forward she gave them all a cool gaze, "Yes?"
"That dirty little witch?" Said Draco, his face looking as if he was smelling something particularly unpleasant.
Ignoring this and the dark look he was getting from Draco he held up the object. "Take this to Longbottom." The buck toothed girl took the object into her hand and consented.
Morag was about to open his mouth but a glance behind Harry silenced her. Before he had half turned around a smooth voice said, "Mr. Potter."
Suddenly feeling entirely to weak to stand the first year replied, "Yes, professor?"
Professor Snape stood a hare's breath away from him and was giving him his most loathing glare. "What did you think you were doing, Mr. Potter? Did not Madam Hooch give you strict instructions to keep both feet, firmly planted on the ground?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied meekly.
"Did she not say you would be expelled if you were caught within the air?" Harry thought the professor looked entirely too happy.
"Faster than I could say 'Quidditch', sir." The Potions master gave him a very nasty smile.
"Is that so, Mr. Potter? Very well. Follow me." Harry, who had turned quite pale, could feel his breakfast churning in his stomach with mixed emotions as he slowly fell into step behind him.
He was going to be expelled. That was it, he was going back to the Dursleys. What would they think? What would they do if he suddenly showed up on their doorstep? Would they even let him back in? There was nothing for it. He had to run away as soon as he got on the train home. He couldn't go back. He wouldn't!
They rounded a corner and Harry could see the entrance to the Headmaster's office just ahead of him. This was it. He could feel himself lose his bearings as he trudged on. Snape, who looked as if Christmas had just come early, whispered the password and led the way up the winding staircase that appeared.
"Why good afternoon, Severus. And young Harry as well. Splendid! Lemon drop anyone?"
Both Slytherins refused and Dumbledore, after popping one into his mouth, put the tin can away and leaned back into his chair, looking at the pair expectantly.
"Well let's not dally all day then, take a seat."
Harry, feeling the fingers of doom pulling at him, obediently took a seat.
"Albus, this boy was out flying this afternoon," began Snape.
"Well that's completely natural, Severus, I do believe today is young Mr. Potter's first flying lesson." Harry gulped as he watched the ancient man run his gnarled fingers through his beard.
"Madam Hooch had instructed them not to take to the air while she escorted Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. She met me halfway there and told me to watch her class in her absence. What should I see when I arrive, but Mr. Potter here, doing aerial acrobatics to the delight of his house mates and Gryffindor first years! I am compelled to point out that Madam Hooch did threaten them with expulsion. The boy deserves no less."
The Headmaster had somehow tangled his fingers in his sliver white beard and was now trying to undo the mess. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Harry might have laughed. Dumbledore, seemingly have given up on his tangled fingers, peered through is half moon spectacles and smiled faintly at Harry.
"Severus? Shouldn't you be watching the first years?" Harry noted the old wizard's eyes were back to twinkling madly again.
"But, Albus, as his Head of House…" The professor began but Dumbledore headed him off.
"You are obligated to stay, but I do believe the classes for flying today were Gryffindor and Slytherin, were they not?"
Professor Snape seemed to pale and with a soft click the door shut behind him.
"Now, Harry," began the old headmaster. "Why don't you tell me what happened."
"W-well, we were all standing around waiting for Madam Hooch to come back. Er. Well you see several people were commenting about how er, dumb Longbottom was for doing such a silly thing. Er. Well, Draco, he found Longbottom's Remembrall and was looking at it and a couple Gryffindors wanted it back. But they asked really rudely and Draco well he uh." Harry stopped talking; realising that he was breaking a very important rule of Slytherins. Slytherins stuck together, they didn't tell on each other. With a mental shrug he sighed. He was going to be expelled anyway, what did it matter?
"Draco was going to put the Remembrall into a tree but I thought that was going to far. I chased him and almost got him to come back but he saw the ball had turned red and he remembered why he had taken to the air in the first place. We argued and he threw it. I went after it and when I landed, I gave it to Granger. Then Snape showed up, and here I am. When do I leave, sir?"
"Professor Snape." Dumbledore chided gently. "And what do you mean leave? Are you planning on leaving us?"
"But, Madam Hooch said we would get expelled if we went flying."
"Nonsense, what were her exact words?"
"Er, 'you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.''"
"Well, I certainly didn't hear any term of 'expulsion' in that phrase, did you?"
"No, sir, but-"
The headmaster smiled cheerily. "Well then, that settles the matter. I hope that in the future you take more care to follow the rules. They are for your own safety, you know. Well, run along now."
"Yes, sir!" Harry couldn't have left the Headmaster's tower sooner. Within minutes he was in the dungeons and reclining on a chair before the common room fire.
However, his relief was short lived. The next day word spread like wildfire that he had ratted out on Draco and the other Slytherin first years. Dumbledore had seen fit to reprimand the Malfoy and his close knit group of friends. The first day wasn't too bad. The second day was comparably worse. By the end of the week all of Slytherin had shunned him. The only people who spoke with him were Morag and Theo, but even they spoke stiffly and were quite distant. Blaise though, seemed quite amused by the whole thing and if he could be found, he would speak civilly with Harry. Though that in itself was a peculiarity as Blaise rarely spoke with anyone.
Finally giving up, Harry spent his time in the library and sat by himself in classes. Draco had actually kicked him out of their shared dormitory room. The insults had been biting but Harry was used to them, the only difference was the setting and whom they came from. Taking his trunk he had found an empty room and moved in. It was infinitely less furnished than his previous room, but it at the same time better than his room at the Dursley's.
The room was relatively small, with a single four-poster bed in the corner near an enchanted window. The furnishings were much the same, the comforter, rugs, and nights stand. One thing was different; Harry was pleased to find a small suitably sized desk near the window.
But where he found solace in the confines of his room, he found anything but in Potions. Professor Snape noticed his abandonment and with the deepest loathing he took every opportunity to humiliate, and destroy him. And with the first potion lesson since the flying lesson, Harry's fate was sealed.
"Mr. Potter! Would you care to tell me what potion you are making that would require powdered cat's claw?" Snape's voice cold and quiet broke through Harry's already shattered defences and he mumbled a reply. "What was that, Potter?"
"Cat's nap, a sedative created in the fourteenth century, sir."
"I don't recall seeing 'cat's claw' on the requirements list, Potter." With a flick of his wand Harry's potion was gone. "I believe that's yet another zero you have earned in my grade book," he said softly.
The thing that hurt the most was that 'Cat's Claw' was the most required ingredient in the potion.
The Slytherins smirked and leered at him as their Head of House moved on to criticise the Gryffindors. When class was over he was pushed and shoved in the hallways. The students in other houses either didn't care or were to afraid to go against one of the most powerful houses of the four, whatever the reason, Harry was left to his own protection. He was an open target for Ron Weasley and his own band of bullies. The older students of Slytherin had taken their Head of House's behaviour as means to go about their own way of terrorising the lonely boy-who-lived.
He no longer ate at breakfast, lunch or dinner. Instead he either showed up incredibly early or just before the food disappeared to eat discreetly on the way to class. His grades, save Potion's, improved and he found his visits to the library becoming more and more frequent. Things genuinly seemed to be settling themselves into a routine. But before long the second flying lesson was scheduled on the Slytherin notice board.
If there was anything he wanted to escape it would have been his second flying lesson. This one too was scheduled on a Friday afternoon after double Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws. The setting was almost exactly of the traitorous day the week before. The day was perfect, and after they retrieved their broomsticks, Madam Hooch was there to guide them through different manoeuvres. The Slytherins though, particularly Draco's group, would come up behind him and with a swat of his hand, send his broomstick in a whirlwind of circles. Crabbe and Goyle would take turns to sneak up from underneath him and take hold of his handle, sending him and his old broomstick flying through the air with the leverage.
Before long Harry found himself two months into the term and the Halloween feast fast approaching. Harry was still at odds with the school at large but wasn't one to give up. The mudblood Hermione was the only one who seemed to not mind him in the least. Their daily hours spent in the library was a mutual truce forged for a few hours of peace from their daily war.
WHAM. Messy black hair connected with the stone wall with a dull thud and poignant crack. Harry lay on the floor of the fifth floor corridor in a slight daze, blood was trickling from the back of his head and he winced as he looked up to catch sight of his attacker. He narrowed his eyes to clear the fuzziness around a distinct form walking away briskly. Black robes were slightly billowing with the force of each step and Harry stared at them in confusion. Snape?
Splendid, Harry thought, his vision clouding. He was going to be late for Transfiguration and as he was currently in one of the more unknown parts of the castle. How long would it take someone to find him once they discovered he was missing? His last thought of who the one in black robes had been. It couldn't have been the professor, could it? His own Head of House? Impossible. Right? Falling into unconsciousness, Harry was barely aware of approaching footsteps.