See the end for Author's Notes.
Chapter Two
Those next few weeks were the worst of Harry's rather short life. This was a notable accomplishment altogether when it had very little to do with the Dursleys. Upon returning to 4 Privet Drive he had been told in no uncertain terms that no he would not be allowed back in his cupboard and that he'd be given only indoor chores for the rest of the summer- apparently there were people watching the house. (How the Dursleys came to this conclusion he had no idea. Just because someone had written down his cupboard on his first Hogwarts letter didn't mean anything. For one thing, Harry was a monster. It was an easy guess that he'd live in the cupboard rather than under either of the two beds with people sleeping on them- just look at the size of Uncle Vernon and Dudley. He'd be crushed, surely. And besides that, the school was magic. They probably magically wrote the address down for the owl.)
A bit put out Harry had spent his first night in the spare bedroom glaring hard at the pile of broken toys that Dudley had sequestered in there over the years. Why they hadn't just thrown them all out was beyond him but he was sure there was no way he would be allowed to now. Not unless he used magic like that time with that sweater with the baubles that shrunk.
That line of thought had Harry staying up into the early hours of the night with a book held up to the window searching for how exactly did the Ministry of Magic (because apparently they needed a separate ministry) kept track of underage magic and what specifically made it illegal. It was obvious enough that not all types were as he had done a number of strange things growing up that had assuredly been magical in nature.
The trick of it- he discovered the next day after being released from his morning chores of cooking up breakfast and cleaning the kitchen afterward- was the wand. Apparently all wands sold legally (which brought him up on another question: how did one illegally sell a wand?) had something called a Trace placed on them to activate as soon as they left the store. (He was sure there was something more involved but was equally sure he didn't know anywhere near enough about anything to even begin to guess.) But he digresses. The Trace was activated as soon as the underage wizard left the store with their wand. The wandmaker- in this instance Ollivander- then is required to notify the Ministry of which wand went to which child, specifically that name and birthday. Apparently the community was so small that normally it could be something as simple as 'Oak. Unicorn hair. 11 inches. Unyielding. John Smith.' and the Ministry would know exactly which wand has the trace and on what date said Trace was to be removed. (This was another bit of advanced magic he was endlessly curious about.)
All of this for a very obvious answer. If Harry wanted to do magic, he just had to not use the new wand he just bought, easy enough. The only thing was it wasn't as easy as all that. The few times Harry had done anything truly magical he had wished for it very, very hard. And sure the toys were an eyesore but there was a difference between going to school with a shaven head and a tuft of hair to cover his scar versus having a cluttered pile of junk pushed to one side of his new room.
Suffice it to say, the broken toys remained. The thought did have him wondering what type of magic he could get to work and if he could take steps to make it easier such as saying the words of the spells in his book or waving his hand like a wand but not actually use his wand. (The first didn't work at all and the second worked only a little bit but nowhere near what he would have expected. When trying the levitation charm his book barely budged when he performed the movement with his hand. Finally he threw his hands up with a shout of 'Float, damn you!' and the book had shot up and made a dent in the ceiling. He was still scared of the day that the Dursleys discovered that.)
With his reduced chores list and the Dursleys happy to ignore him whenever he slipped away, Harry had managed to read through every single one of his school books and was making his way through a book about his father titled The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord of Great Britain by Tabitha Meliflua. He had chosen this one mainly because it had the words You-Know-Who the least in the first chapter out of the three books Flourish and Blotts had about the monster that sired him. It was within this book that Harry was told that there were several different types of witches and wizards. Outside of the altered name for gender identifying purposes it had never occurred to him that there would be more titles to be learned.
The other titles to be earned were to do with how you were born as magic was passed down through a bloodline. Muggleborns- witches and wizards born of two Muggles- were not an exception. The author stated that they could trace their magic to a thrice removed aunt or uncle. Or some other distant relation like a great-great-grandfather. (Harry got the impression that it wasn't exactly illegal to marry a muggle but it was definitely frowned upon.) One's blood status was determined by their parents. Two muggle parents produced a muggleborn. A magical and a muggle parent produced a half-blood. Two magical parents produced a half blood or a pureblood (although the book wouldn't explain why exactly a family could be half-bloods indefinitely even if both parents were magical).
In addition to their blood status their magic had its own status or 'leaning' that were characteristics of each family and remained through the generations. Light married Light and Dark married Dark. (His mother must have been a Dark witch to catch the attention of the Dark Lord.) Harry's father being given such a title was not only because the monster was terrifying. It was because of his mastery over Dark magic. Which meant that Harry, too, was a Dark wizard. (Ms. Meliflua was rather reticent about what exactly made magic Dark. She had stated that the Ministry maintained a firm anti-Dark stance since his father's reign. A stance that was endorsed by the general public.)
This put Harry in a rather precarious situation. He wanted nothing more than to go out into the world and find the monster that sired him but Harry was upheld as the antithesis to everything his father stood for. The single chapter devoted to the topic of the Dark Lord's demise at his hands was sparse but clear enough in this opinion. It had been a total of three pages- one of which was the fanciful account of how he had been raised in the lap of luxury. (Harry had snorted particularly loudly in that paragraph.) Another page was about his mother and someone named James Potter. Harry assumed the man was his step-father whose name he had been given when his mother remarried. He was a Light wizard, to be sure and a Pureblood. (A status Harry had to read The Sacred Twenty-Eight Families by Cantankerous Nott to understand fully. It had been clear that with Harry being a monster- a creature- he could not be the scion of a Pureblood. The brief moment of hysteria he had about his identity had resolved at that bit of information.)
Why his mother had left his father for a normal wizard was not even mentioned in the book. Harry doubted it would be written anywhere. Such a decision would be personal in nature and Uncle Vernon had often enough complained about women keeping their own counsel. (Although never where Aunt Petunia could hear him.)
What had been clear by the rather sparse description was that no one knew how exactly Harry had gone about destroying his father.
The ending chapters had made another thing very clear: there was to be no mixing of any kind between Light and Dark. The Ministry- and the public- had a firm stance that had resulted in strict regulations over the years. Many Dark spells and practices were against the law. Holidays and potions and magical items. Harry's entire heritage was being eradicated by the Ministry with every passing year. If he hoped to do anything about it he would have to take a firm stance early on just like his father. No middle ground. No neutrality.
No mingling between him and Light witches and wizards. After all, he couldn't be the son of a Dark Lord and take part in such nonsense. Ironically enough it was considered bad form to discuss one's leaning in public. Harry had no idea how he was supposed to determine whether a family was Light-oriented or not but determined that was something for further research as soon as he left for school.
The way Harry figured, the Dark Lord had been a proper monster before he had come along and mucked it all up. Obviously he had other things to take up his time since his supposed downfall. (Namely reviving the empire that Harry had destroyed with his birth.) Which left any form of contact to be made between the two of them solely left up to Harry. How exactly one went about contacting the Dark Lord was all Harry could think about the morning of September 1st. (He had already tried addressing a letter to him but Hedwig had simply looked at him like he was stupid before putting her head under a wing.)
Harry was dropped off at King's Cross thirty minutes early with both his trunk and owl on the trolley. Uncle Vernon had kindly pushed said trolley into the station after loading it. Harry should have known something was up immediately. Uncle Vernon was never nice to Harry and he had been in a good mood all morning. The rotund man left him standing at the brick wall between platforms nine and ten. Harry's stomach plummeted at the man's retreating laughter. There was no sign of the three-quarters part. How was Harry supposed to get on the train to Hogwarts?
Was it all a trick? Was Harry even a wizard? He had thought more than once that he had dreamed up the entire thing. The Dursley's odd behaviour had generally been enough to convince him otherwise though. He stared down at the train ticket he clutched in his hands. Now he wasn't so sure. If the platform was a joke then so was Hogwarts. And if Harry wasn't going to a magical school- wasn't a wizard- then maybe he wasn't the Dark Lord's son either. Maybe the Dark Lord didn't even exist and Harry was just a Freak that all of Privet Drive had been having a lark at for the last month.
Just thinking about how Harry was to return to Privet Drive left a stone lodged in his throat.
It was at that moment that he caught the tail end of a passing conversation. "-don't understand how Muggles can abide by the contraptions. Much easier to floo or fly. If there weren't so many of us, it would be-"
Harry's head shot up. He caught sight of a flash of red hair and black robes. The latter was a little odd but he didn't care much as he hurried after the group. He had read about the statute of secrecy and knew that everything magical was to be kept away from Muggles. (He also knew that attire violations were said to be the most common breaches in the statute but he hadn't understood why until this moment. All anyone had to do to fit in was wear trousers and a jumper. Most Muggles had their own eclectic style anyway and would excuse a bit of eccentricities, but anyone would gawk at an entire family wearing black robes. The father had even donned one of those pointy hats that were part of the school uniform.)
He followed them down the platform but made a point to be several paces behind them so as not to draw attention to his own unusual owl-and-trunk combo. Harry knew they must be heading to Hogwarts- there were at least four or five school age children with him- so he could just find 9 3/4 without having to ask the group blatantly disregarding the statute. Considering the entrance to Diagon Alley he probably should have expected they'd run at a brick wall (and hopefully appear on the other side unharmed).
Harry didn't approach the family but did follow their lead. It was best to avoid interactions- and more important introductions- whenever possible. The memory of the uproar at the Leaky Cauldron was warning enough for him.
Harry was regarded as something of a miracle. A half-monster babe that had (nearly) destroyed his monster father! And then there was that boy at the robes shop that said people that didn't grow up in the magical world shouldn't even be allowed at Hogwarts. No, it was best to stick to himself until he knew what to expect. He didn't want to make a mistake so soon after he had finally decided to find and help his wayward dad.
Besides, being the son of the Dark Lord he probably wants to avoid any Light families for the time being. He knew a few of them (or at least, the speculated designation based on their stance in the last war) but better to be safe than sorry. It was just his luck that such a person found his way into Harry's compartment soon after the train pulled out of London. "I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley."
Harry bit his tongue to keep from frowning. The Weasley family was always Light. Without exception. "I see," he said and buried his head further into the thome he had pulled out.
The Traditions, Holidays, and Rituals of Olde Magick wasn't a very entertaining read. Harry had owl-ordered a few extra books after finishing the ones he had bought. Most left him with more questions than answers but this one was purported to be a compendium of information. In addition the heft of the book made its mere presence intimidating thus preventing any future attempts at conversation from the other boy.
The same could not be said for the girl who came through looking for a toad an hour later. "Oh! I've heard of Augustus Selwyn. He's rather notable for his treatise on the ancient origins of modern spells. I found the entire thome fascinating."
Harry hadn't actually heard of that specific text but thought it sounded interesting as well. The girl continued on to give him a brief synopsis of the book furthering his own curiosity. He made a note to purchase it later but was more impressed that she knew so much about it and several other topics therein. Perhaps she was a half-blood like him to know so much? (Not that Harry would have known anything at all if the Dursely's had gotten their way.) There were no house colours on her robes so she wasn't a second year.
"Excuse me," Harry interrupted her when she finally took a breath. "But weren't you looking for a toad?"
In the same whirlwind that the bushy-haired girl came in, she left with another rush of words. The door closed behind her with a quiet snick. Harry smiled to himself as he began going over Walpurgis Night. 'I should seek her out for a study group later,' he thought as he started the chapter.
"She was barking, that one. You were right to send her packing. She's almost as bad as Percy, that's one of my brothers. I hope she's in Ravenclaw."
And just like that his good mood was soured. "I thought she was rather charming. I haven't met many who practise the proper traditions and even fewer who enjoy learning from them."
Aunt Petunia would have sniffed with disdain at the lack of manners. Harry was confused at the discrepancy though. His reading had said proper witches and wizards acted a certain way. Reality was showing them to behave differently. Was it the mistake of the witches and wizards he had met up until this point? Or was the information given to him in his book dated? It had been in the 'best-sellers' section, so it couldn't be complete nonsense. It was more likely that only certain people behaved as was proper while others didn't. This could be either because they didn't have the means to know any better or didn't care.
Harry would have only gotten the standard black robe required for school if he hadn't stopped to think. He would be spending a great amount of time in the wizarding world from now on and very few wore black robes. (He had sent Hedwig back to Madam Malkin's the very next day. He had received a parcel a week later with several more robes and some under clothes to wear as well. He wasn't going to wear Dudley's hand-me-downs any longer that was for sure.)
After his defence of the girl, Ronald Weasley had decided that he didn't much want to talk to him anymore. Harry, for his part, was fine with that. His dad wouldn't want him mixing with the sort of people who wanted the monster to stay out of power. The fact that he had gotten away with not introducing himself was even better. It was a social faux pas, but excusable considering his current situation.
By the time that they arrived at Hogwarts the two had fallen into a thick silence. The only interruption had been when an elderly woman had knocked on the door pushing a trolley of sweets to Harry's curiosity. Dudley had been rather aggressive in his enjoyment of his sweets and had taunted Harry with them. (Harry had once snuck a leftover biscuit when doing the dishes and found it to be too stale to enjoy.)
He was a little more cautious when he noticed that none of them were familiar. Chocolate frogs. Cockroach clusters. Acid pops. Fizzing Whizbees. Ice Mice. There was a box labelled Bertie Bot's Every Flavor Beans and seemed to be one of the more tame sorts. Harry got a box of those and a licorice wand. It took three beans to realise that when the box said every flavour, they meant it. The taste of grass was something he was familiar with and did not wish to relive in a sweet. He switched to the licorice wand after that. He immediately noted he did not like licorice. Thus ended his early experiment into wizarding sweets.
It was night outside by the time they arrived. Hagrid collected all the first years, his booming voice cutting through the rabble. Harry greeted his first friend with cheer while Weasley gaped in awe at the man's larger size. (Which was fair. Hagrid was astoundingly large.)
His expression of awe was on everyone's face when they were ferried across a lake and to the school. It was more accurate to call it a castle for that is what it was. Harry had bought Hogwarts, a History but hadn't spent a lot of time going through it. He had figured that since he was living at the school he would have more than enough time to learn. Harry would have to remember to not be so complacent in the future.
This was a new experience, a new world. Harry was already at a disadvantage to other children who had always known about magic. There was sure to be a lot of nuances to the culture he would need to know if he wanted to find his father: that is, find him without alerting the Ministry.
For one he had to discover what truly happened that night his father disappeared and hoepfully where the monster had been all this time. Most importantly he would have to convince him to take custody of Harry away from the Dursleys.
(Harry had put a lot of research into that particular topic. He knew that it was impossible for a magical parent to not receive custody over their own magical child. Especially if it was against non-magical guardians. The Ministry held the opinion that only magical guardians could raise magical children. Muggleborns were the grey area no one wanted to meddle in even under the most dire circumstances. No one except for his father, of course.)
"Harry Potter!"
Harry's head jerked up and out of his thoughts. By the look on the woman's stern face she had called him more than once. ( His brain reminded him that her name was Professor McGonogall, the Deputy Headmistress.) He walked forward, being sure not to rush but to move with purpose. Aunt Petunia detested running but Uncle Vernon hated to be kept waiting. "Yes ma'am?"
Her lips pursed and she gestured to the stool with the hand that held an old leathery hat. Harry blinked at her a couple of times and she let out a sharp breath. "Please sit down."
He moved to comply. (Again with enough alacrity to not cause impatience but cautious enough to not be rushing.) When the old hat rested on his head it fell down over his eyes, obscuring the entire room. After only a moment, Harry heard a voice in his head. He assumed it belonged to the hat; it must be a magical hat, after all.
"Oh. Difficult, very difficult. You've got quite a mix in this head of yours. A bit of bravery, not a bad mind, unerringly loyal and there's this drive in you. Not quite ambition, but a need to prove yourself. Or rather avarice. Now that's interesting indeed..."
Harry shut his eyes and thought really hard. 'Please sort me in a good house.'
"Make no mistake, Mr. Potter, they're all magnificent houses. Each will cultivate you into a skilled wizard. But... I think Slytherin might be the one for you... It is that thirst of yours..."
"Hagrid says that Slytherin is the house the Dark Lord came from," Harry whispered to the hat.
He didn't want the stern-looking Professor McGonagall to hear him asking after his father. The general consensus seemed to discourage all talk of the Dark Lord. In fact it was outright forbidden in some aspects. Why else would the entire country refer to him with those silly monikers? Harry had understood the concept without difficulty. The Durselys treated Harry much the same way.
"That he was. Slytherin has a way of helping one's such as yourself and the Dark Lord on your way to greatness."
And there was that word again. Ollivander said his father had done terrible, but great things. He would be one step closer to the father the Dursley's had spurned all his childhood. If it was Harry's only chance of leaving Privet Drive, he was going to seize this opportunity with both hands.
"Slytherin. I want to go to Slytherin."
The Sorting Hat was silent for a few seconds. Like Harry had surprised it. "You are a very interesting sort, young man. I look forward to seeing what you become in SLYTHERIN!"
The last word echoed through the entire Great Hall. The hat had announced his sorting. Harry blinked in surprise the next moment. The hat had been taken off his head so suddenly his glasses were askew. He blinked at the shift from darkness to light as he fixed his glasses. A thousand candles was nothing to sneeze at, he thought as he stumbled from the stool.
The blond boy from the robe's shop was already seated at the table and had a rather mean looking smile on his face. He clapped with gusto at his seat. Harry made it a point to sit at the furthest end of the table away from his other housemates. (And not only to avoid the smirking blond although that was a plus.) Rather it was because he knew that being placed into their house didn't mean they were going to treat him well. The Dursley's had taught him that well enough.
Harry glanced up at Hagrid as the sorting continued. He felt much better when he received a wave from the man. The groundskeeper had a fascination with dangerous creatures. He had told Harry that he would love to own a dragon when they had first met. (Later expounding that such an act was illegal.) Such a fascination meant that he didn't so much as flinch away from a monster like Harry. Although the same was not true in regards to Harry's father. When Harry grew up, he was likely to garner the same reaction from him.
The last boy sorted- Zabini, Blaise- sat down next to Harry. As the sorting concluded it had become obvious that Harry wouldn't be able to sit by himself. He was fine with that knowing it was unavoidable.
The headmaster stood and with a few nonsensical words announced the start of the feast. Before that moment it hadn't occurred to Harry just how much food there would be. The older students had mentioned the Welcome Feast when disembarking from the train. He had expected a lot of food but his expectations paled in the face of reality. There were sandwiches, sausages, and rolls. Stewed carrots, roasted potatoes, and beef wellington. There were three different kinds of roasted birds and at least seven kinds of pudding. Harry could have sworn he saw a roasted boar on the Gryffindor table- with an apple in its mouth and everything!
"Aren't you gonna eat?"
Harry turned to see the blond boy who had sat to his right was frowning down at his plate. He followed the boy's gaze to see he had put a slice of one of the several pies and some mash on his plate so far. Deciding that dessert was in order he reached for the tray of tarts in front of him and added that as well. (It was his first day of magical school after all. With that thought still in his head, he grabbed a second. He hoped there was more than enough for him to get two. "Cheers," he mumbled to the Zabini boy when he passed him a jug of some sort of juice.
Harry was happy to find that everything was delicious. He wondered how long it had taken Professor McGonagall to cook all the food. She did seem like the more likely culprit than the Headmaster. The other professors must have helped too. Harry could only imagine how long it would have taken him to cook such an amount of food by himself. He was sure the castle's kitchen was three times the size of the Dursely's but the task was no less daunting. Aunt Petunia normally made him cook by himself unless it was a dessert dish. He wasn't often allowed anywhere near sweets even during their preparation.
Thinking on it further Harry supposed that the other students had helped her finish up. They had gone a different direction and had already been present. The trek across the lake had taken quite a bit of time as well. "How was your summer Harry?"
Harry's bright green gaze fixed to the blond again. He scrunched up his nose in confusion. The bloke's hair was straw-colored while the boy from the Madam Malkin's had silvery locks. Strange that a hair colour could be so different on two different people but that was neither here nor there. What bothered Harry was that the other boy had called him by his first name. All the books on proper etiquette insisted that first names were only used in two instances. To show the utmost disrespect or a fond regard. Seeing as Harry didn't even know this boy, he hoped he was oblivious to such customs and not actively trying to be rude.
Harry hadn't done anything to him to justify such actions if he were. Then again, that had never stopped the Dursleys... "I didn't give you permission to use my name," he pointed out, hoping for the best.
Zabini, who sat to his left, started laughing as if Harry had told a very good joke. "Careful there, Nott. Potter's old-fashioned he is."
Nott must have been the blond bloke. He bared his teeth to Zabini in a feral parody of a smile but didn't bother replying.
Seeing as everything had resolved itself, Harry returned to his plate. The food was delicious, though a bit too much. He ate smaller portions at the Dursleys- Uncle Vernon and Dudley needed it more than him. But that didn't mean that Harry was stupid. He knew it was likely that he would be hungry later and sequestered dinner rolls and a slice of ham away in his robes. (The tart he had eaten earlier had been a favourite of many and hadn't lasted past the first twenty minutes of dinner.) He felt a little bad for using the nice dinner napkin but figured there were more than enough to spare.
The Headmaster chose that moment to call an end to the meal. The second speech he gave was much more sensible than the first. He warned students away from the Forbidden Forest and a specific section of the third floor corridor. This took up most of the time, which was to say it took about fifteen seconds. Harry thought the man should have done better than this. Especially after the mention of death for trespassers. He went on to highlight the restriction for spells within the corridor. This Harry found odd as it was a magical school. This particular notice lasted about ten seconds.
When he released them for the night, Harry had a rather poor opinion of the old Headmaster. After reading about the man's defeat of a different Dark Lord he had expected much from him. Admittedly, Grindelwald had been completely human but it was still a notable achievement.
Harry's musings ceased when an older girl in Slytherin robes walked up to their end of the table. "Listen up, first years! I'm Prefect Helena Dodderidge and I'll be showing you the way to the common room. Gather around me and we'll wait for the mass of bodies to clear out a bit."
She had a rather roguish smile that made her look more like a pirate captain than a prefect. This was offset by the loose brown ringlets she adorned. They made her appear softer than the smile would otherwise suggest. "Can't believe anyone would make you a prefect," Nott grumbled as he stood up from the table.
The smile sharpened around the edges. Prefect Dodderidge had heard him. (Harry thought it was rather stupid to say anything mean when someone was around to hear it. Especially if they were older than you. That was a lesson Harry had learned quickly in regards to Uncle Vernon.)
"Ow! You stabbed me with those talons you call nails, you crone."
Harry smiled to see the prefect wrap an arm around Nott's shoulders.
"Hush," she brushed Nott's complaint aside with little concern. "It was a love tap, cousin. You hardly even bled."
Ah so they were cousins, then? And it appeared that it was acceptable to nick someone with your claws and fangs to show affection like the thought...
Harry frowned down at his own hands. Prefect Dodderidge's nails were much longer than his own. While hers were a bit terrifying his own were ragged and chewed to the kwik. Maybe she was also part monster?
Harry made a promise to himself that he would stop biting his nails that very moment. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to bite them off anyway. He thought that a monster's nails should be much stronger than a normal person's nails. (But by the same strand so should his teeth so it actually probably worked out rather well.)
He wondered if the Nott family had any monster blood in their line or if they liked to appear as such? "This looks clear enough. Don't want any of the other houses following us down into the dungeons."
Harry's head snapped up. "The dungeons?"
Isn't that where they locked up monsters? Did they decide they didn't want to teach him after all and it was best to lock him away before his father found out? The Dursley's had put a latch onto his cupboard door when he was younger.
"Don't worry," Dodderidge called back as she manhandled Nott towards the doorway. "It's not as creepy as it sounds."
The grin she sent back wasn't offering any comfort. Nor did it convince Harry he wasn't about to be trapped in the bowels of a Scottish castle. True to her word, it wasn't as creepy as Harry thought.
It was much much creepier.
He spent the entire night glancing around his new room. The window that looked out at the Black Lake had him paranoid to be sure. The earlier meeting with his new head of house had his eyes drawing to the doorway as well. With the mermaid he had glimpsed earlier and Professor Snape's dour visage he was restless. It took him a long time to fall asleep.
Harry awoke in pitch blackness to the sound of swearing coming from somewhere to the right of him. "Can someone get the torches? What's the use of a ruddy house elf if they can't keep a fire going?"
It took him a moment to remember where he was. Not in his cupboard- or the spare bedroom upstairs he now had.
He was at Hogwarts.
He was going to learn magic.
He was going to find his father.
With a smile on his face Harry hurried to get dressed. He was still a tad unsure how to don his new clothes. A tunic appeared the same as a normal shirt but bigger. Then the grey trousers had several tiny buttons instead of a zipper. The vest he knew to don last (per Madam Malkin). The colour of the vest and trousers matched with the sole exception of an embroidered leaf in the top. Harry followed the lead of Crabbe on how to dress. The bigger boy donned a similar attire and tucked his tunic in his trousers before he buttoned up the vest. Harry followed suit.
By the time they were all down in the common room , Harry thought he looked like a proper heir. (Malfoy took the longest in the bathroom and still looked tired when he finally joined them.) Prefect Dodderidge had been waiting for them, her brown ringlets pulled up into an up-do. It was a fancier version of Professor McGonogall's tartan bun and much prettier for it. After she gave them all a quick once over (and fixed Tracey Davis' robe) she escorted them to breakfast.
Harry was thankful to find that breakfast wasn't as fancy as dinner. He doubted he could eat so much for every single meal, especially with three meals a day already provided. He grabbed a couple links of sausage, some eggs, and a slice of toast. (Harry didn't think he would be able to finish even that much. But for the sake of habit he did slip two slices of wrapped toast in his bag. Such an access to plentiful food did not mean it would always be available for him. It was best not to become too complacent with this new luxury.)
"Your schedule, Mister Potter."
Harry looked up to see a sheet of parchment outheld. Professor Snape stood above him with his black gaze narrowed and analysed. He grabbed the schedule and the man continued further down the table. Harry wondered about the necessity of handing out individual schedules to first years. As far as he could tell, they would have the exact same classes. First years weren't even allowed to join clubs during the first term unless given express permissions from their head of house. Besides, the Prefects would be showing them to their classes. No one else seemed to share his opinion. Crabbe, Malfoy, and Goyle looked over their own respective schedules as if they searched for a deviation.
A quick glance at his own showed that Potions was the first class they had after breakfast. Harry had never felt more pleased that he had read a book before in his life. He hadn't gone through and taken notes but he had read through the first handful of chapters at least three times by this point. He was never very good in school but he had tried to memorise the more unusual tidbits from the textbook. He hoped it would be enough to keep him away from his head of house's ire.
(For the sake of being thorough, he took out his potion book again.)
Thirty minutes later Prefect Dodderidge came down to the end of the table to gather them all. Harry finished his goblet of milk and wiped his hands down at her smile. "Good morning Potter," she greeted with a smile.
"Good morning Prefect Dodderidge," he returned.
Her smile remained fixated but somehow appeared to be less pleasant in the next second. To all the world she might have looked pleased for the first day of classes but her eyes had sharpened. She pitched her voice lower and Harry realised that he only heard her next words because he was so close. "I'm not sure if you've noticed or not but the Headmaster has been staring at you all morning."
Harry resisted the urge to look up at the head table. He had noticed. But the barmy old Headmaster seemed harmless enough... if one disregarded he had defeated a Dark Lord that had terrorized all of Eastern Europe fifty years ago. "I have. But he hasn't approached me so I thought I'd leave it be for now."
The prefect nodded but set something down on the table in front of him. "Just in case. I'm not sure how good your occlumency shields are but by the looks of it you don't have any. Wear this until you've learned how to occlude your mind."
It was a necklace of some sort with odd designs etched into the pendant. "Is this a runic necklace?" he asked in awe.
He had read about such things and had a brief understanding of how difficult they were to make. It appeared to take considerable control over one's magic to make enchanted items of any kind and the more complex the magic the more precise the spell craft must be. He hadn't delved into the subject in depth. Harry could only imagine how much effort would go into creating the necklace he now held in his hand. He put on the necklace and traded a smile with the fifth year student.
(He promised himself that during his first break from classes he was sure to look into the craft in more detail. And find out what an occlumency shield was.)
Prefect Dodderidge raised her voice to reach further down the table. "We have about fifteen minutes until the first bell. I'll show you the way to the potions classroom now. Professor Snape will not tolerate tardiness, even on the first day."
She waved them towards the corridor after grabbing an apple and stowing it away inside her robe. Harry followed her example. It was always a good idea to have fruit handy. That was just good sense.
"We escort the first week of classes so you don't get lost. Hogwarts may look massive on the outside but it's worse inside. There are trick stairs, moving staircases, and changing classrooms. The charms classroom the first years use is in the closed corridor so you won't have to worry about it with Flitwick. Professor McGonogall's door, on the other hand, likes to move up and down the hallway."
Harry couldn't help his excited smile as he followed Prefect Dodderidge. The castle sounded amazing and bursting at the seams with magic. He hoped to explore more once he got his bearings. She continued to prattle on as they wound themselves further into the dungeons. It was a maze of epic proportions down here and Harry was sure if he hadn't been with someone he would have gotten lost. (It would be useful to put maps here like at the zoo. With a 'you are here' sticker and everything.)
"The professor is the youngest person to receive a potions mastery in three centuries. He's considered a prodigy amongst the community," Draco added his own two-pence.
Crabbe and Goyle pushed their way through the other first years to join them and the blond continued. "My father says that my own skills are as refined as his when he was our age."
"Then your father is mistaken," snapped Nott behind him.
Between one step and the next both Crabbe and Goyle turned on the bloke. Draco did not bother to even acknowledge him. "It's a shame that we have to have Potions with the Gryffindors," Malfoy continued without concern. "They're bound to smoke us out of the dungeons in the first half hour. Weasley might even set his cauldron on fire."
Harry frowned and turned his head to glance back at Nott who was being crowded to one side of the corridor. "Malfoy," Harry said. "It's not a crime to speak ill of someone. Only rude to do so in front of their family."
Draco sniffed with disdain and lifted his chin. "Yes, you're right. It's not Nott's fault that he has the manners of a street urchin. Crabbe! Goyle! Hurry up. I want to get the best seat."
Harry's frown deepened into a scowl. "That's not what I said," he grumbled to himself. (Not that anyone was listening.)
He was coming to the realisation that Draco Malfoy was a bit of an idiot. Not cruel in the way Dudley had been- cruel because he could be. Rather the blond was cruel out of obliviousness. He was too stupid to realise that no one else bought into his own sense of self-importance.
It was a good thing that Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be much more easy-going than Malfoy. Harry didn't much care for the blond but he knew he had to be polite somehow. He didn't want to say something to bollocks up their new friendship. At least Malfoy didn't beat up anyone he bullied (even if he did send Crabbe and Goyle to scare them).
"This is you lot here," Prefect Dodderidge gave them a sharp smile that made her hazel eyes narrow. "Don't be too concerned when the professor is a bit late. He and Professor McGonogall have an ongoing bet for 'Most Dramatic Entrance' for the first years. He'll come barging in a minute or two late with an awe-inspiring speech prepared."
With that she waved in farewell and strutted down the hallway. She passed a small huddle of Gryffindors that had appeared from around the corner. "Come on then," Draco called as he pushed his way into the indicated doorway.
All Harry's initial observations about the space were completely based in his senses. The smell was sharp and almost palatable but the far corners were hidden in a swath of shadows. The scents reminded Harry of a mixture between the garden during early spring in some facets. But it also was reminiscent of the dumpster behind his primary school in how it was thick in his mouth. He wrinkled his nose and tried not to breathe deeply as he followed the bright strands of Draco's hair. It was darker in the classroom than the dungeons outside. This was due to the gross lack of torches lining the walls in here. There were windows at the front of the classroom that bordered a large chalkboard. They seemed to produce all the light that filtered into the rest of the room. It might have even been effective if it hadn't been raining all morning. The overcast day outside allowed very little sunlight to filter in.
Despite the strong smells and the barely lit room Harry was able to make his way to a desk with very little problem. It was only a small concession on his part that he ended up sitting next to Malfoy. He didn't want to risk tripping over his own feet or worse, a classmate, in his attempt to sit elsewhere. (Besides, the brightness of Malfoy's hair was as good as a beacon in the dark room. Harry was sure it was the only thing that allowed him to reach his seat without incident.)
The rest of their classmates trickled in with much less alacrity. The Gryffindors segregated themselves to the complete other side of the classroom. There was a boisterous conversation from them as they sat down. (The sole exception appeared to be Hermione Granger who was reading at her own seat.) His own house maintained conversation at the volume of a quiet murmur in contrast. (Harry wondered if this was intentional or not on their part.)
True to Prefect Dodderidge's claims Professor Snape came storming in in a whirl of black robes. The effect made him appear like a living shadow. He went through roll call and then started an introduction to the arts of potion making. Harry had heard from upper years how no-nonsense the man was and immediately took out his quill. The professor didn't mention anything without reason, others had warned. He took careful notes on what he believed to be important points of his speech. "Bottle fame... brew glory..." Harry whispered under his breath as he scratched into the parchment.
"Mister Potter."
Harry glanced up from his notes eager to excel in his head of houses' class. The smells were rather strong, but nothing he wouldn't get used to with time. With the promise of such fantastic rewards Harry doubted he would care for much longer. He wondered if stoppering death could be brewed after the event that might cause one's own death. Like something to bring someone back from near-death, like Harry's father. "Yes Master Snape?"
He watched as whatever forward momentum the man had built up staggered and he came to a brief halt.
Was Harry wrong to address him by his professional title? His textbook had said it was proper to address someone with mastery of a subject as such. Especially while receiving instruction from them. Perhaps his head of house preferred the more informal 'professor' title?
"What... what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry tried to think (and ignored Hermione Granger's hand shooting straight up in the air a few tables to his left). He knew from his reading that wormwood as a base augmented anything and everything added to it. But an infusion wasn't the same as a base. Rather it was like a concentrated... something or other. "...it would be extracted through boiling it, I think... You wouldn't get a very concentrated version just by soaking up cut bits..." Harry thought out loud. "And asphodel is... a sleep aid when brewed in a tea..." He knew that much from gardening. "So a sleeping potion? A strong one too, like a draught. I don't think sleeping potions can be elixirs..."
He looked up at the Professor. "A sleeping draught, Mast-Professor."
The man stood frozen like a statue. Harry felt his face flush and he ducked his head away from the narrowed gaze of his head of house. "I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I do not know the exact name."
Silence met his admission. Harry had begun to accept his fate of losing the man's regard during the first day of classes. It might appear too fast for the common student but Harry was known to exceed expectations in the worst of ways. The professor's voice cleared away such maudlin thoughts. "It is called the Draught of the Living Death..."
Harry immediately wrote down the name to look for later. He was sure that something about that particular potion was sure to be on their test. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Harry glanced up from his notes to see the professor's eyes still trained on him. Oh. He'd have to keep answering until he got one right, then. "That's the goat hairball from chapter three. It cures certain types of poisons."
The potions master arched an eyebrow and Harry flushed. He realised that he had once again not answered the actual question. "Goats make it... so they throw it up? Like a cat?"
By the flurry of arm-waving in his periphery, Harry had fallen short. Again. It was obvious he would have to be more careful about his readings in the future. Skimming the book was not enough.
"It is found in the stomach of a goat. It is not the same as a cat's hairball and resembles a stone in appearance."
Harry flushed in embarrassment and quickly jotted down the correction. He looked back up to the professor almost immediately, waiting for his next try. He was sure that if he didn't get this question right he would lose house points. (He had heard that Professor Snape never took points from his own house. But Harry was sure it couldn't really be impossible if it was because of him. He had such luck anyway.)
Professor Snape stared at him for a few seconds in silence. The sound of snickering came from the Gryffindor side of the room. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Harry shot the man a quick smile of gratitude. This was an easier question, most likely picked for his benefit. "Nothing, sir. It's the same flower. It's also called aconitum."
They were very pretty blue-purple flowers that grew in the shade of Privet Drive. "They're poisonous in great quantities, but shouldn't be if brewed with care. Actually it might be a counter to the sleeping draught you mentioned earlier."
The professor remained silent for a few seconds before he nodded his head once and turned to head to his desk. "As you say. The wide-eye potion is what you seek."
Harry added it to his notes. Professor Snape continued in this manner for the next twenty minutes. He was met with various levels of success and failures. He even called on Miss Granger once, but cut her off when she was two minutes in and no closer to finishing. (Harry couldn't help but notice that the man made a point not to look in her direction afterwards.)
Slytherin house received three points by the end of the class period and Gryffindor ended up with a negative one. (Seamus Finnigan made a rather slanderous comment about the function of amortentia.) All in all, it was a good start to magical school.
A/N: Guys, why didn't anyone tell me how clunky and confusing this chapter was initially? (I mean a reviewer did, but only one? I wrote this thing and even I was completely turned around trying to make heads or tails of that mess.)
Anywho, the chapter has been moderately edited for ease of reading and a few things were added but nothing much changed. Feel free to leave a review (or PM me if you're interested) and I'll continue working on the rest of this story as the inspiration hits.
Updated: Nov 2022