The rest of the children were sorted in good form and quickly. Harry Potter fought to look less interested in the process, managing a slightly vacant stare rather than the rather perceptive, sharp-eyed look that he knew would be normal on his face. Dudley had always hated that look anyway, and Uncle Vernon called it his "Scheming Look" and was likely to take offense. Not that Harry'd generally done anything to warrant offense. Picking up on who was high and who was low, slipping smoothly in between the cracks, Not a word spoken - but every teensy action precisely calculated to work in his favor.* Mostly what he learned was that every kid was quietly scared and none of them were getting sorted to places they would rather not be. Or, at least, this was how they acted. Quietly confident that there must be some rhyme involved. Because it certainly wasn't reason, Harry thought, looking at Smith in Hufflepuff, Goyle in Slytherin, Granger in Gryffindor. Hm. Apparently the Ravenclaws were so quiet this year that he hadn't an opinion about them. Well, that just bore watching, didn't it.
"ZAMBINI!" McGonagall cried.
"Slytherin!" the hat said a short while later.
Harry's gaze narrowed, despite his best efforts, as the Headmaster stood. "A few announcements before we begin. I would like to introduce our new Muggle Studies Professor, Craig Hopkins, and our latest incarnation of the Defense against the Dark Arts professor, Quirinus Quirrel." At this, there was a bout of suppressed clapping, though Harry thought he saw a few people up at the High Table looking a little, shall we say, upset. Still, Harry'd bet a pool table that the stout woman with the warm grin was a Hufflepuff (possibly Head of House). Dumbledore continued, "Our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death. Additionally, you will find a full list of contraband in his office. Please do not remove the contraband from his office, if you do not wish immediate detention." Dumbledore paused, and said firmly, "The Forbidden Forest remains forbidden, and is off limits until the next aeon." He paused, eyes - of all things - twinkling and said, "And a few last words, Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" With a graceful half bow, the starbedazzled robe wearing man said, "Let the feast begin!"
Harry jumped as food appeared on the table, his conditioning setting in immediately, as he looked at Ron Weasley (sitting a few spots down at the table, which made it harder to see). Ron was piling food on his plate as quickly as anything, so Harry followed suit. As he did, he snuck a glance up at the High Table. Instantly, Harry felt his head throb, as he looked into a pair of ... timeless, impenetrable, endless eyes. As black as the void... Harry thought, his head pulsing with pain, before abruptly realizing that those eyes were looking - no, glaring, at him. Quickly, he ducked his head, keeping his eyes glued to his plate (as far as he could, stolen sidealong glances continued to show that he was still being glared at). Harry quickly came to a resolution. He needed to know more about that person. That... teacher? Harry wondered. Certainly, no teacher had ever looked at Harry like that - they seemed to exist in some sort of sublime indifference to anything Dudley ever did to him. During the feast, Harry quietly listened to the conversation around him, which revolved around Quiddich (something Harry hadn't had the funds to pull books on, and resolved to at least grasp the basics before the week was out. So as not to look entirely ignorant).
Harry and the other first years followed Prefect Percy Weasley (as he introduced himself) up to Gryffindor tower. Harry listened closely (while, trying, not to look too interested. Percy seemed the type to like reminders, anyway).
After that, the first years tumbled into the Common Room Proper, and Harry quickly headed over to the pair of loud-mouthed twins. "You lot seemed helpful earlier. Care to answer a question for me?"
The twins looked at him with broad grins, saying, "And what wild and world-changing question has young Harry Potter brought us today? Are you so certain that we'll answer it?"
Harry responded with a nod. "There was a man at the High Table. Looked to be glaring at me the whole time. Who was he?"
The twins smiled, and said, "That'd be Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House. Teaches Potions. Despises Gryffindors."
"Is that why my head hurt when I looked at him?" Harry asked.
"No, he can't make your head hurt by glaring." One twin said.
The other one said with a teasing grin, "It's said he can read mind, though, and the symptoms of that are a headache."
"Well, I was certain you'd answer my questions. But you've answered one I didn't ask, haven't you? Certainly, you're having me on." Harry Potter said, smiling slightly.
"Nah, sir, sir, We'd na do tha," one twin said.
"Besides, it were me da tha said 'e coulda read minds... and he doesn't lie." the other one said. Harry Potter felt a chill run through him. The head of Slytherin House could read minds? That sounded chilling. A person like that might take it as a personal affront if he determined that Harry had deliberately avoided being put in his house. For some reason, Harry Potter was very, very glad that the saturnine man was not going to be in charge of his stay at Hogwarts.
*This considered approach works because he's not making too many actions. It's school, not Voldemort's mansion.
[a/n: Well, Snape's in. And as for why the twins are switching accents? Personal amusement. Up next: further adventures of a Slytherin trying to fit into Gryffindor.
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