Notes: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. All characters and subject matter are the property of their creator, JK Rowling, to whom I am most grateful for creating my favorite sandbox to play in.

Chapter 1: The Sorting Ceremony

The doors opened almost immediately and a stern looking woman in emerald green robes and a pointed hat greeted them without a word. It didn't take a genius to tell that she was not someone to be trifled with and Harry resolved to try remembering to keep his snarky comments at bay in her presence. Although he doubted she would try to whack him over the head with a pan like Petunia he still did not wish to test her ire. He still felt trepidation, as if at any moment someone might grab him and drag him back home to the Dursleys, the elaborate prank finally over. He could imagine the sort of smug smile Vernon would have in his too-big ruddy face when he finally slunk back through the door.

Harry swallowed hard. 'No', he reminded himself. 'This is real and I'm really a wizard.' He still didn't want to do anything to get himself in enough trouble to get expelled. What would he do then, anyway? Were there other schools that taught magic, and even if there were would they want a delinquent castaway? He sincerely doubted that. When Professor McGonagall, as he'd learned from Hagrid's introduction of Harry and his group, welcomed them with a small speech about the Houses-their important role as a secondary family to the students, the noble history each boasted, and, of course, a precise description of the evening's events, there was rapturous silence.

None of it sounded too bad to Harry. He glanced at Draco, who seemed to be lounging as he leaned against the stone wall as if none of this was special or new to him, but he was sure it was all a farce. Even children pureblood families (the name for people whose whole family was magical he'd learned) couldn't know , right? He wondered if most of Draco's personality was just a ruse to make himself seem stronger and calmer than he actually was. Harry knew he looked a lot less worried than he felt.

When the time came to begin the ceremony, McGonagall led them all into the Great Hall which was beautiful beyond words. The gasps around him told him he wasn't the only one impressed; thousands of candles floated above them, lighting the vast hall and stars sparkled above them as if the ceiling had been torn off to reveal the night sky. Obviously this could not be the case, but it fascinated Harry, anyway.

"It's charmed to look like the sky outside. The magic is so effective it even shows whether it's sunny or raining or snowing," he heard Hermione explain.

"Wow, that's convenient," Harry replied. "If only it said how warm or cold it was outside." It was more of a joke than anything, but Hermione's gaze leveled with his as if he'd just proposed the most amazing idea.

"That's a brilliant idea, Harry! Our required books only contain a cursory glance into magical theory, but I'm sure there's something in the library that could help. Oh, how amazing would it be to improve spells or-or, even create our own?"

Harry couldn't stop a smile. Although those goals were far loftier than anything he'd ever dreamed of before, her enthusiasm was infectious. He couldn't help but think just that; he'd made it this far into a story he'd never imagined living. Was it so far off to think of doing more than just memorizing things that already were made by someone else?

He felt the knots in his stomach beginning to loosen. Things were going to be alright here after all, of that he was certain now, and as the remaining students filed in behind them Harry allowed his mind to wander. He tried to imagine the sorts of spells he, Harry Potter could make. He considered briefly something that curbed appetites for Dudley or relaxed anxiety for Aunt Petunia and quickly realized he wasn't thinking big enough-and besides, such things likely already existed.

When the doors swung shut behind the last of the First Years he lifted himself from his thoughts and continued his study of the hall. He recognized the family of red heads over at one of four long tables where sat students all wearing red and gold ties and pins. That must be the table the Gryffindors sat at. The table next to them was occupied by students whose ties were black and yellow, across the hall the students at the next table wore ties of silver and blue, and on the opposite side of the hall from the Gryffindors sat another group wearing ties of silver and green.

Beyond the redheads who were all, as Draco had said, Weasleys, Harry did not recognize anyone. He guessed that was one advantage the purebloods had; he wondered how many of the other First Years knew each other already, perhaps from primary school or day care and how many older siblings were already seated at one of the long House tables. At the head of the hall on a raised part of the hall was another table that overlooked the whole hall; that must have been the staff table. He recognized Hagrid who waved jovially, and Dumbledore from the chocolate frog card he'd unwrapped on the train ride in, and then Quirrel, the man he'd met while shopping for his school supplies at Diagon Alley. Although he was painfully anxious, stuttering and wringing his hands, during their first meeting, he seemed particularly distressed now as he spoke to another professor, one with long, lank, dark hair and pale, foreboding features. He too looked like someone not to cross, and maybe that's just what Quirrell had done.

Suddenly the man was looking up across the hall-at him?- and surprise jolted him at the same time as a pain in his forehead, right in his scar. He gasped sharply and clapped his hand to his head. Not many people seemed to notice-just Hermione from his understanding, who looked shocked.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her concern touching. He couldn't remember anyone else caring about his well being; even the pleasant Mrs. Figg was too busy doting on or talking about her cats to notice much about him.

"I-yeah, don't worry. It's gone now, it just surprised me, that's all."
Hermione seemed skeptical, but she also didn't look like she was itching to run and grab McGonagall anymore which was good. If the Weasleys' reaction to discovering his identity was any indication of how the rest of the students would react to it he wanted to stay anonymous and unnoticed for as long as possible. When he glanced back up at the staff table the dark haired man was talking to the man on his other side, a rather short, wispy-haired man. The pain in his scar did not return.

At the high table Severus was doing everything he could to avoid looking down at the main part of the hall. It was as if on cue, summoned by his trepidation, that the doors to the Great Hall swung open and Minerva strode in, leading another batch of nervous-looking First Years two-by-two into the Hall for their Sorting Ceremony. He did not want to seek the boy out; he could imagine what he'd look like, a smirk plastered on his face and that awful, messy hair. He had heard, after Rubeus returned from escorting him around Diagon Alley to purchase school supplies (yet another luxury given to no other student and yet somehow afforded for him), how much he looked like his father except for the eyes-his mother's they were. Lily's. It pained him to think of the idea of a part of his best friend being trapped in the body of his worst enemy, and even more so the thought that it was he who was designated to be his protector.

It was not so difficult to a promise to make in all honesty; the things he had done had led Lily to her death and there was nothing he could ever do to make up for that fully, but doing his best to protect her son, as she had done, would be the least he could do to try. At least it was something, return her back to the life she deserved though it did not. One of the most important elements to his goal was, in his mind, a proper foundation in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The more Harry Potter could do to defend himself against the kind of magic the Dark Lord excelled in the easier he would make Severus' job. And yet year after year Albus insisted on hiring only the most incompetent people possible.

Despite his carefully polished resumé, filled to the brim with shining qualifications, being added to the pile of prospects for the job each summer Severus was always passed over for another dunderhead. He recalled the professor from the '85-'86 school year merely had the students writing out of the book, line by line, information passed onto him by his exasperated students. He was beyond fury at Dumbledore's incompetence in hiring. None of them had even stayed longer than a year-some had even left before the school year was out! And yet here Severus sat, potions professor once again, sitting next to yet another disappointment. Quirinus Quirrell seemed more a squirrel than a man, nervous and frightened, who likely knew as much about defending himself from the dark arts as a blind man did about painting landscapes. Even if he could memorize the text there was no evident ability to put that knowledge into practice.

Although he had many claims of defeating zombies and vampires and other dark creatures on his resumé, when Severus probed further he could only sputter incoherently and quickly changed the subject. He hardly believed this wasn't obvious at the point of his hiring, and if it wasn't then Dumbledore was more of a fool than he'd thought. 'Right, Albus,' he thought, 'this is precisely who the boy needs to prepare him to face the Dark Lord in the future.'

It was then that he felt eyes on him, and for a brief second, he wondered how long he'd been stared at without realizing it. Against his better judgment he followed the sensation down the line of new students until his eyes locked on with a pair of green ones (green, yes, but not Lily's as people had been saying) set into a face that looked far too much like James Potter than he liked (they'd gotten that part right at least). While Lily's had danced with happiness and excitement during their Sorting Ceremony-only becoming sad for a short moment when she was Sorted into Gryffindor and inevitably away from him, the young Potter's looked different, almost critical, as if he were taking apart every piece of the hall, scrutinizing it, and then moving on to another.

Their eyes met for only the briefest second before the boy looked away, clapping his hand to his forehead as if he'd just remembered something he couldn't think of earlier. It was a bizarre sequence of events, but he thought nothing more of it, turning instead to Filius who at least could carry on an intelligent conversation. When the ceremony began their conversation halted, but it had been like a cool drink of water for his mind after talking with Quirrell no matter how short the conversation was. He clapped politely as students were one by one sorted into their Houses, although there was a bit more enthusiasm in his applause when new Slytherins joined.

It was no surprise that his former mentor and friend's only son, Draco, was sorted immediately into his House. The hat hadn't even touched his head before shouting the word out-an occurrence not uncommon with long family lines. No doubt Potter and Weasley would both be dropped into Gryffindor just as quickly.

Harry shuffled up the line slowly as the students ahead went up to the hat and then to their new House tables. Hermione was sorted into Ravenclaw-and rightfully so, from their short conversations. Neville Longbottom ended up in Gryffindor, and although it seemed like a bit of a strange placement to Harry, he supposed the hat knew better than them. He tried to hold back laughter when the boy forgot to take the hat off and had to jog it back up to the dias, but he still had to hide a giggle behind his hand. He wasn't bad; certainly not mean like Draco was capable of being, but he was a bit of a mess, there was no doubt there.

Then again, Harry wasn't feeling too put together himself. His stomach tied itself into knots the closer the list of names came to his being called. What if none of the Houses fit him? He didn't feel particularly clever-he was nothing next to Hermione- he'd never considered himself hard-working or cunning and he felt about as unbrave as he ever had been thinking about all of these things. He could just imagine sitting there with the old hat sitting silently on his head for ages before McGonagall took it off and told him there must have been some kind of misunderstanding and that he should head home.

By the time Perks, Sally-Anne was sitting down on the stool he felt sure he was going to throw up.

Things didn't improve much when his own name was called.

Instantly there were whispers throughout the hall, coming in like a tide. Some of them he heard as he walked past-''Harry Potter?' - 'the Harry Potter?' - and it reminded him far too much of the wizards and witches at the Leaky Cauldron. Didn't anybody know he hadn't actually done anything at all? By the time the hat dropped over his eyes and obscured the other students' stares he was starting to feel a bit frustrated.

"Hmm..." he heard a voice in his head-or on it, most likely, say. "Well, this is interesting...most interesting indeed."
'I...what's interesting?' he thought tentatively, not sure that he wanted to talk out loud if the hat might not be either.

"Well, you're one of the first to step up to the stool at all angry."
Harry considered this. 'I mean, I'm not what they think I am. And it's getting aggravating.'

"Ah, yes, I see... they think you're a hero-that you've defeated the darkest wizard of an age singlehandedly-but it is not so?"

Harry didn't like the feeling on his mind being read at all, but he relented to the hat's summation nonetheless.

"And now, then...where does that leave you, Mr. Potter? There's plenty of courage here, of course, and you've a good mind... a thirst to prove yourself as well... but where to put you?" The hat seemed to leave that thought hanging like it was waiting for his input.

'e shifted slightly on the hard stool. 'I don't want people to assume they know who I am. I don't want to be The Boy Who Lived, I want to be Harry. Just Harry.'

"Well, I'm afraid the chance for that happening passed you by long ago. Nevertheless, I believe you'll do best in - SLYTHERIN!" That last word rang out through the Great Hall for all to hear. The hall was stunned silent for a second before a spattering of confused applause sounded throughout. As Harry stepped away from the stool and towards his new House table, he couldn't help but wonder just what else they'd expected of him before he'd ever walked through the doors. The only person in his new House that he knew was Draco and he was surrounded by other students, so he settled into a spot that was cleared out by an older student.

He let out a small sigh of relief as most of the attention in the hall shifted back to the Sorting Ceremony. "Octavius Nott, I'm one of the House Prefects," the boy who'd cleared a place for him said, sticking out his hand. Harry shook gladly. "Harry. Thanks for the spot."

Octavius laughed. "Oh, don't worry about it. We're like family here. Our Head of House Professor Snape is very particular about that. It's tough here for us, everyone else assumes we're all terrible people, so we have to stick together."
"Oh. Which one is Professor Snape?" he asked, feeling stupid.

"Not a worry. He's the one there with the long, black hair."
"Oh, sitting next to Quirrell?"

Octavius seemed shocked and even a little offended that Harry knew Quirrell but not Snape and Harry quickly added, "I met Quirrell at Diagon Alley when I bought all of my school supplies."

"Ah. Yeah, I think Quirrell is gonna be another dud. We've gotten a new Defense professor every single year and each one is worse than the last. I don't know how they do it, honestly..."

Harry's brow furrowed. What was the point of hiring people that didn't do a good job-especially a new one each year? Was it that difficult to find people good at teaching the subject?

"Professor Snape's interested in the job, and he'd do really well if his skill with Potions is any indicator, but then we'd need someone to take his place teaching Potions which would be difficult. I don't think anyone knows the subject as well as him."
"So what you're saying is I'd better try really hard not to mess up in Potions?"

Octavius laughed again. "Yeah, that's about right. But don't worry; as long as you're not a complete dunderhead and blow up your cauldron he won't get angry with you."

Harry didn't imagine it would be difficult to avoid blowing up his cauldron, but he bit his lip all the same. Seven years at Hogwarts would be incredibly difficult if he made his Head of House angry all the time. Nott, Theodore joined them in Slytherin and Harry immediately shifted to one side so he could sit next to his brother, who laughed.
"Oh, no, please, don't make me sit next to my little brother. I get enough of him at home." Harry laughed too; he couldn't imagine sitting next to Dudley either, though he didn't imagine the Nott brothers had the same kind of relationship that he and Dudley had. Ron Weasley from the train was sent to Hufflepuff and seemed a little surprised about this turn of events. Harry caught sight of his older brothers, Fred and George, laughing and the older one, Percy, chiding them.

When the last student, Zabini, Blaise, was sorted into Slytherin too he came and sat down on Harry's other side. He didn't ogle Harry the way Ron and many of the other students had or fawn over him like his sister, nor did he seem to need to befriend Harry like Draco did. He just greeted him with a nod. "Blaise Zabini."

"Harry...Potter." It felt strange to bring their family names into each meeting; it had never been that way back at Muggle schools, but here everyone seemed to care about who you were related to. He wondered just how deeply their obsession with magical lineage ran for this to be considered normal.

"You were raised by Muggles, right? Bet this is all a little weird then."

"Uh-a little, I guess. I like it, though, it's better than the Dursleys."

Blaise made a face. "Eyuch, they even sound Muggle."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, they're really Muggle. They hate magic." He avoided going further into the topic, though Vernon's voice ('stamp the magic out of him') drifted through his mind uninvited. "It was weird, though, how much it seemed to freak people out that I was sorted into Slytherin?"

"Well, usually people get sorted into the House their parents were in, so everyone expected you to be put in Gryffindor," Octavius offered. "Even Professor Snape seemed surprised and nothing surprises him."

Harry made a thoughtful noise but didn't say anything. Dumbledore, the Headmaster, rose from his seat and approached a lectern that replaced the stool while Harry, Blaise, and Octavius chatted. He greeted them and Harry's stomach grumbled in protest; did they have to listen to a speech too before dinner? When the Headmaster's few words ended up being only 'nitwit, blubber, oddment, and tweak' he was both shocked and relieved.

"Yeah, he's a bit of a strange one. Used to be Gryffindor's Head of House, so he favors them strongly. Be careful around him," Octavius warned and Harry nodded, not wanting to make any mistakes just after he'd started school. Dumbledore didn't seem so bad, but Harry also knew the sting of being outside of a teacher's favored group. He hoped he didn't have to find out one way or the other if Octavius was correct.

More importantly, hundreds of dishes and bowls filled with food appeared on each and every one of the empty tables. Just about every space that hadn't originally held a place setting now had something that smelled delicious and looked amazing. Harry quickly forgot about Dumbledore as he joined the other students in filling up his plate with a little bit of everything, eating himself painfully full quickly. It appeared he wasn't the only one who did this, though shortly after he finished eating Draco approached his spot at the table, this time alone, his two goonies, Crabbe and Goyle, still stuffing their faces further down the table.

Harry swung around on the bench, not sure what he expected from Malfoy after their mixed interactions, but not wanting to be rude, either. Octavius had just gotten done telling him how important it was that they treat each other like family in Slytherin and he may as well try to do that.
"So you're in Slytherin, huh?" Draco asked, sounding curious and maybe a little impressed, not hostile like it was when he'd spoken to Ron earlier. "Guess you figured out where you belonged after all."

His tone and words were a bit confusing for Harry, but he just shrugged and then nodded. "yeah, I guess I did."

"Well, I'd be happy to help you figure things out. You know, since it's all new to you." Draco sounded different, humble almost, at least compared to how he'd spoken on the train.

"Thanks, I'd like that," Harry said. Draco gave a small smile and walked back to his seat, leaving Harry questioning just who he'd been talking to on the train and at Madam Malkin's.

"It can be like that sometimes," Octavius said, watching Harry's confused look. "Most of these kids have family's with big reputations to uphold and they act totally differently in public than they do with each other. And Draco comes from a very powerful family and he's the only heir, so he has big shoes to fill." Harry nodded mutely. For the first time he felt he could relate to Draco; he knew all too much about having big expectations. He wondered if either of them would be able to shake them off.

As the rest of the students and staff finished their dinners the serving platters full of food disappeared and were replaced shortly thereafter with desserts, at least one hundred different kinds. Suddenly Harry didn't feel quite so full anymore and tucked into a plate of treacle tart and ice cream. When the meal was finally over he felt like his gut was going to pop the button off of his trousers. It was at this point in the night that Dumbledore had waited to give his full speech at, and Harry was glad for it. He caught most of it; the forest was forbidden to go into, there was no magic allowed in the corridors between classes, Quidditch sign-ups would be starting soon (whatever Quidditch was), and they should all avoid going down the right-hand side of the third-floor corridor if they didn't want to die a most painful death.

Harry blinked. "Wait-what-was he serious just then?"

"Probably," Octavius replied. "He's a bit odd, but I don't think he'd lie to us-not the whole student body, anyway," he added. His reservations about Dumbledore were as clear as Hagrid's had been about Harry's new house when they'd spoken last. Hagrid! He wondered if his new friend would be upset with him for becoming a Slytherin, and quickly looked up to the staff table where Hagrid took up the whole end of one side of it. When they caught each other's eyes, Hagrid waved merrily again and Harry felt as though an invisible vice had released his heart. He smiled and waved back, happy for now that it seemed he hadn't lost his friendship. By the time Harry and the rest of the first years were being escorted out of the hall by their Prefects he was starting to feel more at home. There would be more speeches, from the Prefects and then Professor Snape himself, both going over various rules and expectations. He wondered if the other Houses had the same routine or if these additional rules and expectations were special to Slytherin House. Harry had never taken well to rules in the past, but if they made sense he supposed he'd try to follow them.