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Challenges written at the bottom.
Word Count: 678
What If
"Better be…. SLYTHERIN!"
...
"What do you mean, he's a half-blood?" Draco asked, staring at Harry.
"Do the research," Harry replied with a shrug. "Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Draco shook his head. "You must be wrong, Potter. I don't care if you are a Slytherin, you're just trying to mess with our heads."
Harry looked down at the open book in his lap. "Do the research or don't. I don't particularly care."
…
"Passable," Snape muttered as he walked past Harry's table, barely glancing at the potion in his cauldron.
Harry rolled his eyes. His potion was perfect, and they both knew it was perfect. He'd studied enough to make sure it was perfect; he always did. The lack of social life had given him at least enough time to make sure he was getting the marks he wanted.
Essays were handed back at the end of class, and Harry checked his grade and smiled as he put the essay in his bag.
Another O.
He glanced at his head of house on the way out of the classroom and decided that maybe he was glad he'd been put in Slytherin if only because he shuddered to think what Snape would be like had he been put elsewhere.
…
"You could ask for a resort, you know?" Weasley pointed out, like he did at least once a month when he caught Harry on the way out of a class. "You don't belong with the snakes. You're Harry Potter!"
"I'm aware of who I am," Harry replied in a bored tone, rolling his eyes. "That you think my worth is measured by the tie I wear tells me everything I need to know about the Gryffindor mindset, Weasley."
"What's that supposed to mean, eh?"
"It means exactly what I said," Harry said, walking away. "And if you don't understand it, then like I said, I know what I need to."
…
"Do you mind if I sit with you?"
Harry looked up from his essay to see Granger—a Gryffindor Muggleborn that seemed to spend as much time alone as Harry did—standing by his table, biting her lip nervously.
He waved his hand to a free seat. "Feel free."
She blinked at him, and then sat down, placing her own stack of books at the side of her the same way Harry had with his own.
They worked in a comfortable silence until twenty minutes before curfew, when Madam Pince came over to warn them of the time.
Thanking the librarian softly, Harry began packing up, knowing it wasn't worth it to be caught out after hours.
Granger followed suit, and as they left the library, she asked in a small voice, "Same time tomorrow?"
Harry nodded. "Sure."
…
"How did you know your godfather was innocent, Harry?" Rita Skeeter asked, when the trial was over, and Sirius Black was given a full pardon, a lump sum in compensation, and the Ministry practically falling all over themselves to apologise to a wrongly accused Pureblood head of the family.
"I didn't. I did some research and realised he hadn't had a trial. That seemed odd," Harry replied. "If that's all, I'd like to congratulate him on his freedom."
The following morning, the papers were filled with moving photos of Sirius Black swinging his twelve year old godson around in a circle.
...
"Harry, my boy—"
"I'm not your boy, Headmaster," Harry replied, firmly but politely. "And I have studying to do. I don't believe I'm in trouble for any reason, so would you tell me why I'm here?"
"I asked you here to talk about Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore replied gently, as though trying to soften a deadly blow.
Harry blinked at him. "He's nothing to do with me, Sir."
"I'm afraid he is, Harry. You see—"
"There's a prophecy," Harry said quietly. "That has already been fulfilled, depending on your use of the word 'vanquish.' He's nothing to do with me, and I won't be turned into a weapon to be aimed at will. If that's all, Headmaster, I think I'll be leaving now."
Written For:
Auction: Day 27, Auction 2: What if Harry Potter was sorted into Slytherin?
