Chapter 3

"HARRY POTTER!"

McGonagall's cry echoed through the great hall, and immediately, whispers broke out through the hall. Except for one brunette first-year staring impassively from the Gryffindor table.

Harry, who had by now accepted the alias and apparent name, locked eyes with the elderly professor and stepped up to the stool, and shoved it on his head without ceremony.

Oh... Merlin.

Harry sat coolly under the sorting hat, as memories scrambled through his unprotected mind. Again. And again.

A memory brought to surface - fresh blood being spattered against a wall, Vernon beating him over and over again...

Albus told me about this, the hat said slowly, but I didn't realize it was this bad...

For the first time, Harry showed some reaction. Shock ran through his features as he deftly plucked off the hat and threw it onto the ground. A collective murmur rose up around the tables.

Dumbledore stared. Lucius smiled, inside Hermione's head. See, Hermione. He is nothing but a brat and an arrogant attention seeker.

McGonagall raised a hand against the murmurs and quickly strode towards Harry.

"Mr. Potter, please replace the sorting hat immediately to continue the sorting."

Harry shook his head. A small, almost imperceptible movement, yet the whole school caught it.

"Mr. Potter..." McGonagall's voice trailed off.

Harry stared each teacher in the face, feeling pricks in the back of his head.

No. I will keep them safe. His mind. The only thing he could protect from the Dursleys, and he was not going to surrender it to some... enchanted, dusty old hat.

Imperceptibly, Snape at the professor's table gave the slightest flinch of shock. Dumbledore, however, reacted differently.

"Minerva." The aging professor stood, and lifted a hand. McGonagall, surprised, glanced around, and backed away, replacing the sorting hat on it's stool.

The headmaster looked... A sort of hungry stare- into Harry's eyes. Harry starred back.

Then the headmaster began talking.

Sorting... I haven't worked this hard since young Riddle came through fifty years ago... Oh, let's see, no... Hufflepuff? Definitely not... Ravenclaw... you have potential, Harry, but... no. Slytherin? Or Gryffindor?

Harry shuddered. The man? In his mind?

Memories. The mind. The only thing safe from Vernon and Dudley.

I WILL NOT GIVE THEM UP!

The presence remained continuing to blunder around for memories. But it seemed lost, confused.

So, Harry thought. There is a lack of character for you to judge. How... obvious. So you

A ripple of surprise seemed to wash over the man, as another memory resurfaced. Blood splattering across the floor. Vernon's roaring, red face. Harry's pained, apathetic face, as he staggered along the ground.

You have patience. Wisdom...

DO NOT SORT ME! Harry screamed

My best guess would be...

"Slytherin."

Instead of the hat's normal jovial shout, the headmaster's quiet voice echoed through the hall.

Snape shot a frowning glance at Dumbledore, but the rest of the professors simply looked shocked. The students began whispering.

There was a quiet, hesitant, clap from the blonde... Malfoy. Draco. The Slytherin table began applauding softly, but the rest of the student body sat in shocked silence.

Harry threw a short glare at Dumbledore, glanced at the Draco boy, then began walking towards the table.

"Albus. Was that what I thought you were doing?"

They were in one of Hogwart's more private rooms, exclusive only to teachers. the long table, usually for Hogwarts staff meetings, held only Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore. Dumbledore had assembled them specifically after the sorting, and sat them down to a small meal, for 'business should never get in the way of amiability.' However, amiability was the least thing on McGonagall and Snape's mind, and the light snack and forced conversation had done nothing to diffuse the situation.

Minerva had been the first to break the ice.

Dumbledore lightly fiddled with his goblet, turning it to and fro in his fingers.

"The boy's mind is... different."

McGonagall frowned at Dumbledore.

"A Potter. In Slytherin. Sorted by the Headmaster's Legilimency. There will be repercussions, Albus."

Snape lay down his fork. "The question is, Minerva," he said dully, "not whether this incident will be reported - seeing as none of the students would understand how you sorted the Potter boy - but why the his mind is like it is, and why he was sorted into my house.

Dumbledore frowned.

"Your personal feud with James Potter - regrettable that it was - should not be brought into context."

Snape shrugged. "I was not referring to that."

"What I meant to ask," McGonagall said severely, "is why was it necessary in the first place for the sorting to be done in such manner in the first place."

Snape shrugged again. "September 1971."

The date flashed into context in McGonagall's mind.

"1971... The first years of -"

"James Potter," Snape said slowly. "Lily... Evans."

"You will not hold the boy comparable to his parents, Severus," McGonagall said severely. James Potter's sorting had been a nightmare.

A slight smile spread across Dumbledore's face as he recalled the sorting. McGonagall threw a glare at him.

"James, yes." Dumbledore smiled. "It was an... interesting sorting. Especially the confetti and the singing."

Snape scowled and slumped lower in his chair. "But what of the boy?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Yes..." he whispered, the beginnings of anger beginning to smoulder in his eyes. "He is not an attention-seeker like James. He understood what I was doing to him, tried to push me out..."

There was a crash as Snape's chair collapsed to the floor. McGonagall clutched the table.

"Occlumency! At that age!" McGonagall stuttered. Snape made an incoherent gakking noise from under the table.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore resorted Snape to his seat, like a naughty student being forced to obey the rules.

"No," he said. "Not Occlumency. At that age."

"Then," Snape growled, flicking his robe back into place behind him, "What?"

Dumbledore's face was grave.

"I mean," he said slowly, "The boy's mind is... organized. Almost spare."

Snape frowned. "Children's minds are not tidy. They are like breeding grounds for emotion and -"

"This boy is not like that."

McGonagall frowned. "But... how? Could a boy be trained... to hold his emotions in like... a master Occlumens?"

Dumbledore slumped in his chair. "Not... trained. He has been... conditioned."

Snape looked in surprise at Dumbledore, but McGonagall sat, frowning into her plate. "Conditioned..."

Suddenly she jerked her head up in shock and horror. "The Dursleys... they didn't..."

Dumbledore nodded slowly and sadly. "The boy possesses no emotion at all."

To all the people who faithfully followed me for the last few months, huge apology and thanks. I hope to pick up momentum from here again and get updating.

Apologies,

11inchpineandragonheartstring