I've put answers to some of the questions in my profile, if you want to take a look. For others, I can only say that you'll need to wait until further along in the story to get answers.
...Though this chapter should show that Harry's not going to be the victim of the Gryffindors or buddy-buddy with all the Slytherins all the time.
Chapter Five: The Lion and the SerpentHarry hesitated for a long moment, and considered pulling open the silver-and-green hangings of the bed next to his, just to be sure that Draco was still asleep.
Then a long snore reassured him. Harry smiled as he tiptoed out of the room, past Greg and Vince deep in sleep, and Blaise's empty bed. The other Slytherin boy rose early every morning, and it seemed that Saturday was no exception.
It was definitely an exception for Draco, though, which was the precise reason Harry had chosen to sneak out now. Once he was in the common room, he actually broke into a jog. No one was in there this early in the morning, except a seventh-year who had fallen asleep in a chair with a book on his lap. He opened an eye as Harry hurried past, then snorted and shut it again, not deigning to talk to someone whose head barely reached his chest.
Harry slipped out the door and shut it carefully behind him. Once it was closed, it blended with the join of the stone wall and was hard to see. Harry shook his head. The Slytherins were incredibly paranoid, to think that none of the other Houses should be sure of exactly where they lived.
Of course, he might say the same thing about the Gryffindors. Gryffindor prefects were always watching to be sure that no one else—though especially no Slytherins—followed the younger years back to the Tower. Gryffindors traveled in clumps of their own year-mates much as did everyone else in the school; Harry had been at Hogwarts only a week, and already he knew that inter-House friendships were rare. And of course he didn't know the Gryffindor password.
None of that was going to matter.
He drew his wand, cypress with a dragon heartstring core, and laid it across his palm. "Point Me Connor Potter," he commanded, throwing all his will forward. Their father insisted that this was not a hard spell, but it had drained Harry the few times he attempted it in the past. Of course, that was with a practice wind; perhaps it would work better with the real thing.
It seemed to. The wand spun across his palm, then halted, pointing forward. Harry smiled and began walking the dungeon corridor.
Up staircase after staircase he went, the wand sometimes vibrating but always showing him at once where he needed to turn. Harry ducked Peeves, who didn't seem to notice him; dodged past grumbling, half-awake portraits; and waited patiently while a moving staircase tried to decide where to dump him. Each time afterwards, he moved on, eyes fixed on the wand as it shifted. At last the wand led him to a portrait of a snoozing woman dressed in pink, vibrated once, and fell still.
Harry nodded and sat down outside the portrait. The woman snorted once or twice and woke when he'd been there for ten minutes.
"Who are you, dear?" she asked, peering at him. If she noticed the Slytherin crest on his robes, she didn't seem inclined to comment, for which Harry was grateful.
"My name's Harry Potter," he said quietly. "I'm Connor's brother. Would it be possible for me to go in and see him?"
"Certainly, dear, if you have the password."
Harry shook his head. "I'll wait out here for him, then," he said, and leaned on the wall. Connor had never been an early riser even on Saturdays when they didn't have an exhausting week of classes behind them. Harry doubted that would be different here. Connor would have to come out to go to breakfast in the Great Hall sooner or later, and then he and Harry would talk.
"Suit yourself," said the woman, with a shrug, and began humming to herself while she examined her nails. Now and then she darted him a glance. Harry focused on his breathing. He'd gotten quite good at being still for hours when he was home, practicing for the time when he might be following Connor on a dangerous mission into the heart of enemy territory. After he'd been quiet for ten minutes, the portrait seemed to forget all about him, and the people who came in and out of the portrait—none of whom were Connor—never even looked at Harry.
And then, surprise of surprises, Connor came walking up the corridor from the direction of the Great Hall, Ron at his side. Harry swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat. Has he changed that much already? How am I ever going to keep up with him?
Ron was in the middle of a joke when Connor held a hand up to stop him. Harry critically studied his posture, then nodded. It would do. Their mother had been after Connor for years to sit up straighter and express himself with the grace that a proper leader of the wizarding world should have. Some of her lessons had apparently rubbed off.
Then his twin's eyes caught his, quiet and intense, and Harry could think of nothing else.
"Harry," Connor said, his eyes shadowed and his voice just this side of formal. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought we could talk," said Harry, unfolding from the wall. He saw Ron's face flush, but the other boy was standing behind Connor's right shoulder, where Connor couldn't see him. "Please, Connor. I know that I haven't acted like your brother should this week, but there are things I need to clear up."
Connor chewed his lip for a moment, watching him. Harry stared back. He was struck with how young his brother looked, and used that to reassure himself that nothing had changed. Connor was still an innocent child, and his innocence was still Harry's to protect and cherish.
"Alright," Connor said suddenly. "Come on in, then." He moved towards the portrait of the woman in pink and said something, too low for Harry to hear. She nodded, and the portrait swung outward, revealing a round entrance beyond.
That seemed to wake Ron from his stupor. "Connor!" he objected. "You can't mean to invite him inside."
Connor turned around and glared. Harry ducked his head to cover a smile, sensing it wouldn't be diplomatic right now. "And why not?"
"He's a Slytherin!"
"He's my brother," Connor corrected, and then gestured at Harry. "Besides, you're never going to beat me into the common room," he added brightly, and then disappeared through the hole while Ron was still spluttering protests and Harry was still moving towards him.
The ball of tension in the middle of Harry's stomach dissolved. He smiled at Ron, who scowled at him but followed him into the common room, where Connor cast himself down in a chair before the fire and declared, "I win!"
Harry looked around. The common room was furious with color, bright and warm with golds and reds. Chairs and couches stood everywhere, wider than the ones in the Slytherin common room, as if students should feel free to sit close together here. Harry's heart warmed and sank simultaneously. He was glad that Connor had a place like this, a place that felt like home. At the same time, his week-old resentment towards the Sorting Hat had woken up. He should be here, too, where he could smile at Connor's jokes and watch his back and play Exploding Snap with people like Ron Weasley. Harry still didn't know why the Hat had placed him in Slytherin. He wondered if he would ever find out.
Well, I can at least do this, he realized, when he turned back around and realized that Connor and Ron were both waiting for him to take a seat. I can make sure that I'm invited back.
"Sit down, Harry," said Connor. "And then tell us about Slytherin. Is it true that they make you eat snakes for breakfast every day for a month?" He sounded revolted and fascinated at the same time.
Harry smiled and sat down in a chair that all but embraced him. Resisting the urge to squirm until he was even more comfortable, he said, "No. But it's true that everyone smirks all the time. I haven't figured out why, yet."
Connor laughed. Harry bathed in the sound. I miss this. I wish I was right by his side every moment. But making a fuss would just call attention to myself. Time to mend the bridges.
Ron gave him the perfect opportunity by bursting in with, "But the Hat put you in Slytherin. It must be for a reason."
Connor stopped laughing and stared at Harry. His eyes blazed with that inner fire that Harry knew would make him a great leader someday, when he was able to live out a normal childhood and then lay it down and step into an extraordinary adulthood. "Yes, Harry," he said. "I want to know why."
"I've thought about it," Harry admitted quietly. "I've only thought of two reasons, though, and only one of them is good."
"You can tell me about both of them," said Connor, and reached over the chairs to grasp his hand. "I promise. Whatever it is, whatever reason you've imagined, I know that my brother can't be evil."
Harry closed his eyes. "Well, one is that I might be able to spy on the children of families who used to be in the Death Eaters. I could listen to them talk to their parents, find out what they think about Voldemort, and give you information that you can use in the war."
He opened his eyes to find Connor touching his scar, the way he did whenever someone said Voldemort's name. Harry wondered if it hurt. He wanted to ask Connor if it had bled since they came here, but Ron was interrupting.
"And what's the other reason?"
Harry licked his lips. This was the part he didn't want to speak aloud. But Connor was there, waiting, his eyes open and luminous. Harry reminded himself of the words Connor had just spoken. I know that my brother can't be evil.
"Maybe I really am a Slytherin," he whispered. "Maybe somehow everyone missed it—Mum, Dad, Sirius, everyone—"
He couldn't talk after that, because Connor had swept him up in a reassuring hug. Harry laid his head on his brother's shoulder and hung on. He was supposed to be the one who reassured and comforted most of the time, but sometimes, it was all right if Connor was. Harry knew his place, and if his brother needed someone to be strong for, as well as someone to protect him so well that he didn't even notice it happening, then Harry could do that, too.
"You're not a Slytherin," Connor whispered to him. "I think there's a third possibility: the Hat made a mistake, that's all. It's old. Maybe it starts forgetting things the way that Frederick the Frumpy did."
Harry smiled, remembering the portrait of the old wizard who had hung on the wall of their parents' bedroom. First he'd forgotten the names of everyone in the house, calling Harry by his grandfather's name and Sirius by his mother's. Then he'd started wandering around from portrait to portrait dressed only in his bathrobe. Then he became convinced he was still in the war against Grindelwald, and their parents had to give the portrait up. The mental image of the Sorting Hat losing its place in the song cheered Harry up immensely.
I can't be evil. Connor says I can't be, so I'm not.
"I'm never going to give you up like our parents did Frederick," said Connor, stepping away from him and staring firmly into Harry's eyes. "I know that Headmaster Dumbledore probably wouldn't consent to letting you be in Gryffindor, but we can still be friends, and play together, and of course we'll spend Christmas together." He nodded firmly, then smiled. It was a cheeky smile, the kind that Harry remembered Connor giving just before he attempted to play some practical joke on Sirius that would always backfire. "And if someone tries to convince you that you're in Slytherin, then you can just tell them that you're only there because of a mistake. Let them wonder about it ."
Harry let out a small relieved sigh, feeling better than he had ever imagined he could when he first came to the portrait hole. "Thank you, Connor," he said. "I knew that you'd comfort me, but it's so much better hearing you say it."
"I suppose I can accept that," said Ron, though he didn't look completely convinced. "You really wish you were in Gryffindor, Harry?"
Harry decided to take it as a sign of progress that he'd earned "Harry" and not "Slytherin." He turned to face Ron and nodded. "With all my heart," he said. "It's the House our parents were in, and our godfathers, and now my brother." He glanced at Connor and received a punch on the shoulder in return, as though Connor objected to coming at the end of the list, though he was grinning. Harry returned his gaze to Ron. "It's the place I belong," he finished. "I'm not going to let Slytherin House transform me into something I'm not. I promise."
"Why're you friends with bloody Malfoy, then?" Ron demanded. "If what you say is true, then you should want to ignore the lot of them, and that prat the most!"
Harry sighed softly. "He's decided that he wants to be my friend," he admitted. "And it's easier to respond to him than ignore him all the time. Besides, his father was a Death Eater. I still might be able to spy on Draco and get information about Lucius Malfoy through him."
Ron just shook his head, but appeared slightly more at ease in Harry's company than before. "Well, just don't invite him along the next time you come back," he muttered, and ran up the stairs.
The next time you come back. Harry concealed the small flame of joy that lit inside him until he turned towards Connor, and saw it confirmed in his eyes and grin. Then he let himself smile.
"I'll make sure that you get all the same chances I do," Connor promised, as they went to the portal. "Ron'll get over his distrust eventually, and then we can go around together. His brothers are the best practical jokers I've ever seen. They've promised to show me all the secret passages. I'll come and get you when we explore them."
Harry nodded. He had to go back to the dungeon again, and he wouldn't ask his brother for the Gryffindor password—there was too much chance he might accidentally reveal it to someone from Slytherin—but he felt more at ease than he had been since term started. "Bye, Connor."
Connor smiled at him as he left through the portrait hole. "Bye, Harry."
Harry could still see the smile when he reached the Great Hall.
Draco narrowed his eyes as he watched Harry come into the Great Hall and make a beeline for the Slytherin table. He was already feeling out of sorts, since he'd awakened to find Harry gone and Vince and Greg utterly no help as to where he'd gone. Then he met a sixth-year who said he'd seen Harry walking upstairs.
Upstairs probably meant Gryffindor Tower, Draco thought. And Harry's Gryffindor prat of a brother.
Draco knew it meant it when Harry sat down next to him and actually gave him a smile that Draco didn't have to drag out of him. Unfortunately, that just made the foul mood he was in worse.
"Where have you been?" he whispered, as Harry heaped his plate. "I wanted to go to the library."
Harry paused to blatantly stare at him. "Before breakfast?"
Well, Draco conceded to himself, that was a bit stupid. "To breakfast, then," he said. "Tell me where you were."
"Visiting Connor," said Harry, the prat, who had the audacity to look as if everything were right with the world, with small bluebirds singing in the corners of the room. He took a large bite of his breakfast, not seeming to care that he'd put Draco off his appetite entirely. Draco had finished eating already, of course, but that wasn't the point.
"Why do you want to visit him?" Draco asked, unable to keep a whine from creeping out in his voice. "You're in Slytherin, and he's in Gryffindor."
Harry paused for a long moment, then turned sideways on the bench to face Draco. His face had gone entirely serious, and when Draco peeked out around his shield, he could feel Harry's power, focused down to a shimmering arrowhead pointing at him. He winced and repaired his shield.
"Draco," Harry said softly, "I'm not ungrateful for everything you've done for me. You've tried to make me feel welcome in Slytherin, and—and, well, with some of the politics behind the Boy-Who-Lived, that can't be easy."
Draco stayed quiet. He wasn't about to turn free praise down. Besides, Harry couldn't feel his own power, and didn't know that he was, or was supposed to be, Draco's release from boredom.
"But there's one thing you've got to understand," Harry went on, leaning closer. His messy black hair fell over his forehead, entirely covering his scar and shading his green eyes. "No matter what happens to us in school, no matter what House I'm in or Connor's in, no matter what classes we take, my first loyalty is always going to be to my brother. I've made up with him. I've even made up with Ron Weasley—"
"I didn't know the Weasleys mattered to you," Draco snapped, furious and hurt.
"Anyone who's my brother's friend matters to me," said Harry calmly. "And I still think I should have been in Gryffindor. So. I appreciate everything you've tried to do for me, but I don't want to leave you under any false impressions. I can't be your friend, not wholly and completely. My first responsibility is always being Connor's brother." He paused, then shrugged, something in his eyes that was not quite regret. "I'm sorry if that hurts you."
He turned away and started eating again, leaving Draco to stare at the side of his head. But Draco's own emotions weren't anger or hurt or frustration so much as shock.
He thinks he should have been in Gryffindor? Not feeling his own power is one thing, but—Great Merlin! Is he blind
He must be, Draco thought, and his eyes narrowed into slits as he changed his plans slightly. Harry wasn't going to be just a prize to be won, or a release from boredom. He was a Slytherin who was going to be made to acknowledge that he was a Slytherin.
If I can win that victory, Draco thought, it won't matter what the Gryffindor Hero does or says. I'll still have gotten him back. And then Harry will be more fun than ever, once he knows the truth about himself.
Pleased with his own reasoning, Draco waited patiently for Harry to finish breakfast.