By Blasphemy Maker
Chapter Two
The golden doors of Hogwarts School glinted in the distance as all the first years and their keeper glided gently across the lake.
Harry Potter, whose hair was once again elegantly twisted into twin ruby braids, his matching circlet reflecting against the golden doors, recoiled.
He was sitting beside Draco, opposite of two other first years, in a boat of wood and vinyl.
He thought of the vinyl records at the bottom of his self-engraved trunk and grinned, exposing his sharp white teeth, disturbing the anonymous others apposing him.
The female, bushy hair slightly glossed, flinched at the sight of him, making Harry giggle. The male simply gave him a disgusted look. Draco took one of Harry's small, pallid hands in his own.
"Vinyl?" He asked quietly, bending his platinum blond head, newly streaked with midnight blue.
"Vinyl." Harry confirmed, shacking his carroty-pink streaked red braids.
Harry reached up and clutched a lock of Draco pretty new hair. He squealed slightly.
"My sweet little non-conformist."
"Pissing off daddy in 12 easy steps. Did you just squeal?"
"No." He said slowly and unconvincingly. "Have you ever identified your father as daddy to his face?"
"No."
"Are you two purebloods or muggle borns? You look like purebloods but remind me of a couple of muggles who live down the street where I live."
Harry stilled, but answered her proudly.
"Half blood, muggle raised. How about you Draconis."
Draco sneered in his direction. "Ewe, I'm pure, get it off me, GET IT OFF ME!"
The first year's keeper, a fairly large, gruff looking man appeared alarmed.
"You firs' years have'n trouble?"
"TO PURE!" Draco shrieked. "TO PURE!"
Harry made a sickly sound as they finally reached shore. Whilst exiting the boat, Harry reached a cupped hand into the lake, feeding the lake water into his mouth. His boat mates had frozen, staring at him.
"Tastes like piss." Harry muttered, glaring at them. Draco rolled his eyes, offering Harry his arm.
Harry and Draco skipped their way towards what Harry was inadvertently calling 'The Golden Gates of Hell' where they pilfer your freedom and corrupt your lingering senses. But really Harry was grateful, for he no longer had to glance at the Dursleys, hear their taunting, or feel their hands upon him for many, many months, possibly never again if he were to become luck filled all of a sudden.
Draco sneezed.
"What?" Harry asked, glancing up expectantly.
"I think I'm allergic to mudbloods." He said sardonically.
Harry glared at him leaning in closer. Then he spoke again.
"That was mean." He said humored, motioning toward the well-versed muggleborns who stood in a circle to the right of them. Expressions of there faces as if they had been freshly slapped where they stood.
"Pardon." Draco said to them peevishly, as if recently reprimanded.
They all stood in the entrance hall in small clusters, Harry leaning against Draco's chest, his waste long wine- and- orangey- pink colored braids pulled over his shoulders. Draco held onto them in an attempt at closeness that he could not feel with anyone else, and they both exhaled contently.
The large black doors inside the entrance hall arbitrarily stirred and in walked a well-aged woman, shiny grey hair pulled up into an simple knot, voice stern, posture screaming refined, nothing less.
She spoke her own name, Professor McGonagall, of Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, house points and rule breaking, dress codes and cool temperament, straightened herself, and then proceeded to lead the way through the closed doors that open at her will.
Harry entered the great hall, and proceeded to grow very faint.
HumansHis mind screamed. Draco pulled him closer as they strode ahead, rubbing circles on his wrists and humming a sick little tune.
'O you may not think I'm pretty...'
Is all that Draco heard of the sorting hats song before his own sickly tune was blaring at the back of his mind. He drank as much of it in as he could before it stopped, Harry squeezed his hand and whispered to him that he needed to be stereotyped now.
Draco kept that in mind whilst he steadily walked up to the platform where the sorting hat was placed. He was supposed to be a stereotype, it was written in the ground, in cement, in the sand.
He remembered burning it into his brain as he sat down, pulling the hat down over his eyes.
He could hear it blaring at the back of his mind. Especially when the hat called out Gryffindor at the top of it's lungs, and Draco smiled, a fevered smile mind you, but still a smile.
He looked up at the head table, catching the mouthed words of his godfather: 'Your father is going to be so pissed.' and the thumbs up sign that was flashed in an attempt to be encouraging.
He then peered at Harry with apprehensive eyes. Harry grinned at him, mouthing: 'Your father is going to be so pissed!' Excitedly, practically jumping up and down. Draco rolled his eyes warmly and proceeded to trek towards his new house table.
Harry, who at the moment was still in a slight euphoria of Draco raging against the machine that happened to be his father, didn't notice when his name was called out, but snapped back to reality as people began to speculate.
"That's Harry Potter?""Sick!"
"Savior?"
"Murderer?"
"That kid is completely mad!"
"What the fuck?" Harry said harshly, growing severely uncomfortable.
He stood rigidly, swiftly making his way towards the sorting hat.
He sat down; blocking all of there biased faces out as he pulled the large, frayed hat over his eyes.
'Place me where I am meant to go.' Hethought ruefully.
'Are you sure you wouldn't rather be placed with your best friend, in his already established house?' The hat contrived.
'Am I destined for Gryffindor?' Harry asked petulantly.'No.' it said, most definitely.
'Then…' Harry said agitated, being cut off quickly."Slytherin." The hat announced aloud.
The great hall went silent. Anonymous people began to boo, but Draco clapped. People sneered.
"Sit on it." Harry snarled, silencing all except for Draco.
From behind him, he could hear someone snorting.
Harry turned around and caught the eye of Draco's godfather, potions master and professor, Severus Snape.
"Slytherin." Snape said darkly, nodding his head towards Harry.
"Professor." Harry nodded back, breathing hotly. He walked slowly and steadily past all of the students, whom still remained silent. He walked up to a desolate spot at the Slytherin house table and sat down, raising his goblet to Draco across the hall from him, and the sorting proceeded on.
Harry sat, eating nothing, staring down all those surrounding him.
Beside him sat a boy, mud brown curly hair lank, charcoal eyes glinting as he sketched away on pristine white sketchbook paper with a quill.
He diverted his eyes back Draco, where they had been previously.
Draco's pale purple and mercury eyes stared at him imploringly. Draco appeared lonesome.
Harry turned to the little drawing boy.
"May I borrow a piece of your paper and your quill for a par-second?"
The boy nodded dismally, handing Harry the paper and making him smile slightly.
'Speak' is what Harry wrote on the paper, holding it up for Draco to see.Draco sighed, but smiled back at Harry, turning his attention to a sandy haired boy who looked glumly back at him.
"I'm Harry." Harry said bluntly, handing the boy back his quill. "Hi."
"I'm Theodore Nott." The boy whispered in monotone. "I hate politics and conservatives, like sugar and the color green, and love your skin." He finished frankly. Harry's smile broadened.
"I like you, Theodore."
Across the Great hall sat a stocky boy, sandy brown hair neck length, blue eyes showing signs of desolation, writing with a black ink pen in a journal, pondering whether he should speak to anyone.
Draco Malfoy, who sat beside the boy, gazed longingly at Harry Potter, blond and blue hair looking oddly wilted.
Draco watched as Harry looked at him with a strange glint in his eye, turned to a fellow Slytherin, and scribbled on something borrowed from the boy.
Harry held the paper up high enough for him to see.
'Speak'.
Draco sighed, but smiled up at Harry. He appreciated encouragement.
Draco turned towards the boy beside him who was practically oozing melancholy, staring momentarily at the sign.
"Malice or Mirth?" The boy asked quietly.
Draco looked at him strikingly.
"Malice." He said harshly. Neville smiled.
"I'm Neville." He said, offering his hand.
"Draco Malfoy."
