Chapter 2 - The Feast

At the Slytherin table all of the first years were introducing themselves to one another during the feast, all ready making new acquaintances, as they would hardly call one another friends. But so far they all seemed to be ignoring him. Or at least they were until a blond boy who was sitting next to a ghost reached out to shake his hand.

"My name's Draco Malfoy. And you are..."

Harry took the boy's hand.

"Harry Potter."

The boy smirked.

"Of course."

And the first years' interests in Harry suddenly increased. By the end of the feast when Dumbledore stood up Harry had gotten to know all of their names (Millicent Bulstrode, Vincent Crabbe, Edmund Gein, Gregory Goyle, Morag MacDougal, Draco Malfoy, Givene Moon, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini). The meal passed without incident too, apart from when Edmund (or Ed as he insisted on being called) told everyone his name. Then Draco Malfoy started to kick up a bit of trouble.

"Gein? That is not a pureblood name. Are you muggleborn?" they pale boy said, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, so?!" the other boy said defensively. Draco looked disgusted.

"I cannot believe the hat would put a mudblood in Slytherin!"

There were similar noises of outrage from the other first years, well, except Harry. He knew that Slytherin had very few muggleborns in the house itself. In fact, there had only been three others since the house was founded! But that wasn't what was bothering him, nor was it Draco's use of the word mudblood, a very rude term for a muggleborn. No, what was bothering was the boy's surname. He could have sworn he had heard, or at least read it somewhere before.

Growing up at the Dursleys, Harry hadn't had the best childhood, especially if they found him reading 'freak books' as they called them. There was nothing freaky about them though. They were simply books about criminals, mainly serial killers, all of which he had gotten out of the school library (though why they had books of serial killers at a primary school he did not know). One of his favourites has been called 'Born To Be Killers', and now that he thought about it, he was certain that was where he had heard the name Gein. Maybe one of the victims of one of the murder victims was called Gein... No, that didn't sound right. Maybe Gein was one of the officers mentioned in the books as to having solved the case... No, again that didn't sound right, so that only left one answer.

"Uh, Ed? Has your family ever lived in America?" he asked nervously, fearing what the answer would be. He was sure the Gein he was thinking of lived in America before he died. Ed scowled.

"Yes, my dad moved from America to escape the preconceptions about my grandfather. Just because there was one serial killer in my family doesn't mean we all are!"

Harry's eyes widened at that. He was right. The kid was related to a known serial killer. Amazing. The other first years, however didn't seem too amazed.

"So how many people did your grandfather kill?" Theodore Nott said, none of them seemingly bothered about Ed's parentage any longer. Again Ed scowled, unwilling to answer, but he probably realised he wouldn't be getting any piece until he did.

"The police said fifteen," Ed said. "But no one's ever been too sure. Even Grampa wasn't when he was alive."

There was silence for a moment, and it may have been Harry's imagination, but he could have sworn that Malfoy didn't look impressed by the number. Then a little fact came to his mind about the Gein he had read about.

"Is it true that he took gifts of fresh venison to his neighbours' houses, even though he never shot a deer in his life?"

Ed nodded, but one of the slower first years, Vincent Crabbe, had to ask the one question.

"How could he give people venison if he never shot a dear?" the boy grunted, and here a slightly crazed smile came to Ed's face.

"Oh, it wasn't venison. He never gave anyone venison. He gave them fresh human meat. No one was any the wiser though. Until they caught him."

The four girls, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Morag MacDougal and Givene Moon all looked as if they were about to throw up, and several of the other boys had a slight tinge of green to their faces. Harry, however, just grinned. He was about to say something else when Dumbledore stood up, and the entire hall fell silent.

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

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

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

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

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

A couple of people around the hall laughed, though not many. It appeared that a large majority of the school took death threats seriously.

"Now, off to bed you trot!"

He certainly didn't like being treated like he belonged on a farm.

The first years followed a fifth year prefect, Marcus Flint, through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall and down a staircase into a the labyrinth of the dungeons. Harry's legs felt like lead. He was not only tired, but full of food. He was too sleepy to even notice the portraits that were running along; trying to get a look at him, or that twice Flint led them through passages that were hidden by sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They walked down more steps, b this time everyone of the first years yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry wondered just how much further they had to go when Flint stopped in front of a blank wall, and turned to them.

"Avada," Flint hissed at the wall for them all to hear, and the wall slide aside to reveal a low, underground room with rough walls and ceiling, from which were hanging round, greenish lamps from chains. A fire was crackling merrily under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in carved chairs.

Flint directed the four girls through one door to their dormitories and the boys through another. At the end of the corridor they were in after passing six other doors with signs proclaiming which year they were for, they came across one which said 'First year boys'. Inside they found their beds at last: seven four-poster beds with silver sheets and green hangings. Too tired to talk much, apart from the occasional mutter of something that made absolutely no sense, they pulled on their pyjamas and fell into bed, each closing their hangings.

Perhaps he had eaten too much because Harry had a rather strange dream when he fell asleep. He was wearing jumpy Professor Quirrel's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him that he didn't belong in Slytherin, and he was much better suited to Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. Harry told the turban he was perfectly fine where he was; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully - and there was Dudley, laughing his far head off at him as he struggled with it - then Dudley morphed into his even fatter uncle, who bore down on him, smirking. Uncle Vernon chuckled, raised a fist, then - he awoke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over again as soon as he convinced himself that Uncle Vernon wasn't there, and nor was Dudley, and when he awoke the next day the dream was right at the back of his mind.

A/N: Well, there's chapter two, though not much happened, as you can tell. Oh well, I'm only putting this up now because of a review... speaking of which, I'm feel like responding to it.

Virginia Riddle-Malfoy: ::chuckles:: Harry as Tom's equal and partner? Perhaps that will happen. And a Harry/Draco pairing? You'll just have to wait and see, though the friendship is an almost sure thing, even if it will probably be a rough ride for them.