Title: In Memory I
Author: Becka
Chapter 3: Subconscious Duality
o
As everyone crowded past the train's exit, Harry heard a booming voice call out, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
Harry spotted the owner of the voice with ease. The man was probably a half-giant by his looks, and he easily towered over the students. He called out again, "Firs' years, follow me! Mind yer step!"
The first-years were herded together, and led down a long forest path. It was slippery and dark, and several of the young students lost their footing. Finally, the narrow path opened onto the edge of a huge lake, and it was during this procession that Harry caught his first look at Hogwarts. Oh, he'd seen pictures of it before in his books, but none of them did the magnificent castle justice.
The castle was perched atop a high mountain on the other side of the lake. With its skyscraping towers and elegant arches, it made a striking picture against the blacking sky behind. Tiny pinholes of light shone through its many windows, illuminating the lake in front of it with an eerie glow. Something about the building called to him, and the wind kicked up, whispering sweet promises of the future.
Harry felt as though he'd come home.
"No more'n four to a boat," the man called out, gesturing to the fleet of boats that bobbed merrily at the edge of the lake.
Quietly, he hooted to Hedwig, {Care to do a bit of exploring while I get sorted?}
{I think I will,} she replied, nipping his ear. It was a gesture he'd become accustomed to, her own way of greeting and goodbye. With a powerful flap of wings, she launched off his shoulder, startling the students around them.
/ I will wait until we get inssside thisss place to explore, I think, / Samson muttered as he snuggled further beneath Harry's robes.
/ Lazy, / Harry whispered affectionately.
/ But warm, / Samson agreed.
Harry found an empty boat and climbed in. After a moment, Draco joined him, still flushed. Neville, the boy whose toad he'd found at the station, followed, and a gangly redhead with freckles filled the final spot.
The redhead stuck his hand out to Neville and grinned, "Ron Weasley. You?"
"N-neville Longbottom," the shy boy stuttered. They shook hands briefly before turning their attentions to Draco and Harry.
"You're the boy who found my toad at the train station!" Neville exclaimed, forgetting his bashfulness momentarily.
Harry nodded. Before he could respond, he noticed Draco's expression out of the corner of his eye; the blonde boy was glaring at Ron with unconcealed hostility.
"Draco Malfoy," he said coolly. "My father told me all about the Weasleys – red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."
Ron's angry flush was plainly visible. "Malfoy, was it? Well, my father's told me all about _you_. He said _your_ family's nothing but a bunch of dark wizards who hide behind their fortune."
Draco sneered. "At least we have money, Weasel."
"That's _Weasley_, you slimy-"
Harry cleared his throat politely, and both boys turned to stare at him. "Excuse me," he said, "but have you ever even _met_ each other before?"
Ron blinked. "Um... no."
"Then why are you basing your opinions off of what other people said and making biased assumptions?"
Draco frowned, clearly torn. On one hand, his father had raised him to be extremely selective about the sort of wizards he associated with. On the other, he'd been taught to revere, respect, and even love the name of Harry Potter.
The red-haired boy flushed again, staring morosely at Harry. The strange boy's voice reminded him of his mother whenever she told him not to judge a book by its cover. But dark wizards were evil! There were no two ways about _that_, and Malfoys were dark wizards, weren't they?
Harry fell silent, studying their reactions. Both Ron and Draco were sullen, and their twin expressions reminded him of Dudley. Dudley wore that same face whenever he'd been denied something that he wanted.
Dudley's face, screwed up in anger, flashed through his mind. The click of his cupboard door opening, and Vernon's frown – "Now Dudley," he'd said, "I know you want to play with Harry, but it's Daddy's turn." Dudley's subsequent scowl – "But, Daddy!" Vernon's glower – "No buts. You can play when I'm through."
Harry had been ten years old.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the unwanted images away. Vernon and Dudley no longer remembered him. It didn't matter.
Beside him, Neville had shifted uncomfortably.
Abruptly, the half-giant's voice boomed out again, "Everybody in? Right then. FORWARD!"
As the boats magically steered themselves, gliding across the opaque surface of the moat, all conversation ceased. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, or perhaps it was the thought of being allowed into such a beautiful building, but the silence only served to heighten the suspense.
The boats docked, and the first years were led into an underground harbor. It only took a few moments for everyone to clamber out into the rocky alcove, and the half-giant herded them up a flight of stone steps and to the entrance of the grand castle. Two huge doors loomed ahead, and after making sure there weren't any stragglers, the tall man reached out his hand and knocked three times on the castle door.
Harry sensed an undercurrent of magic as the doors swung open, and a regal, black-haired woman stood proudly on the other side. Her hazel eyes narrowed as she perused the newest editions to the school.
The half-giant greeted her, "Professor McGonagall."
"Hagrid," she replied politely, then added, "The Headmaster wishes to speak with you before the feast. I believe it's rather urgent." She turned her attention to the group. "First years, follow me."
The group was quickly led through the entrance hall, following the clicking of Professor McGonagall's pointed shoes. A doorway to the right tore Harry's attention away from the magic he sensed – the strands that linked the brightly lit torches, the portraits that smiled and waved at him – and he heard a cacophony of voices.
Harry realized the entire school was already there, and that only the first years were being led separately. Perhaps it had something to do with being sorted. Actually, he mused, that was probably the case – they wouldn't be able to join their housemates until they knew what house they were in.
Professor McGonagall showed the group into a small, empty chamber, and Harry was pushed up against Draco and Neville.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," the witch said, and her voice carried clearly in the tiny room. In a business-like manner, she continued, "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats, you'll be sorted into your houses."
As she continued, Harry tuned her out. He'd already read more about the sorting process and the houses of Hogwarts than she was revealing. He used his time to examine his fellow first years. The journey had been too dark to get a good look at anyone besides Draco, Ron, and Neville.
There was a girl in the far corner with bushy brown hair who was listening with rapt attention to the professor. She held herself with a sort of quiet dignity, which was what attracted Harry's attention to begin with, and he made a note to talk with her, no matter what house she was sorted into.
There were also several students who bore a striking resemblance to several of his Shadows – the pretty girl with fair blonde hair who was a dead-ringer for Genevieve Parkinson, and the slender, dark-haired boy whose eyes reminded him of Zabini.
As Professor McGonagall finished her practiced speech, she graced them all with a smile. "I will return shortly. Take a moment to straighten yourselves up."
The instant she left, Harry heard several of the students near the back wall scream. He glanced at them curiously, then felt a smile tug his lips as he caught his first look at the famed ghosts of Hogwarts. Lucius and his Shadows had filled his head with stories about the transparent terror known as Peeves.
Most of the ghosts passed through the room without a care for the first years, chatting amiably among themselves. One ghost, however, paused in front of Harry.
Harry met two gaunt eyes curiously, noting the sunken look to the ghost's face, and the regal robes stained with silver blood. He bowed politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Baron."
The Bloody Baron continued to stare at him, almost as though he was searching for something. Both Draco and Neville inched away from him, and the dark-haired boy looked slightly green. The rest of the students were too busy gawking at the other ghosts to notice.
After another moment, the Baron reached out and brought his hand up, the tips of his fingers almost brushing against Harry's forehead. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine, and his scar ached, but he didn't look away.
"One of mine, perhaps?" the ghost said softly. "Only violence calls to me boy, and yet... you call to me."
Harry inclined his head in admission.
"We will speak later, boy. I will... look forward to it." The Baron's mouth twisted into the parody of a smile. His transparent hand dropped away from Harry's forehead, and he turned to follow the other ghosts into the Great Hall.
Draco leaned over and hissed, "What was that about?"
Harry shrugged, his mind playing over the one-sided conversation in his head. He only had a moment before Professor McGonagall entered the tiny room again and called out, "Form a line, and follow me."
The first years shuffled into a line, and as they entered the Great Hall, Harry immediately looked up. Of all the things he'd read about Hogwarts, the enchanted ceiling was what he wanted to see the most. It did not disappoint him.
Vast, black sky stretched out above them all, and tiny pinheads of light peppered the ceiling. For a moment, Harry lost himself; the feeling was the same as riding a broom. The glorious freedom was tangible.
Professor McGonagall placed a stool in front of the line of first years, and gently situated a pointy, tattered hat on its surface. There was a moment of silence, and then the brim of the hat opened widely, took a deep breath of air, and began to sing:
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be."
The hat's voice was low, but decidedly pleasant, and Harry found himself smiling a little. As the song gave testament to the strengths of the four houses, he found himself wondering which house would be his home for the next seven years.
As the hat finished its song, the whole hall applauded loudly.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward again, unrolling a long sheet of parchment. "When I call out your names," she said, "you will sit on the stool and put on the hat to be sorted." She paused, glancing at the parchment, and called out, "Abbott, Hannah!"
A tiny girl with pigtails stumbled forward, awkwardly picking up the hat. She pulled it on, and its brim fell over her eyes as she sat down. After a moment, the hat shouted out, "HUFFLEPUFF!"
The students at the table on the far right cheered loudly and clapped. The girl placed the hat back on the stool and joined her table, blushing fiercely.
Professor McGonagall wasted no time. "Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF," the hat cried the moment it touched Susan's head.
And so it went. Professor McGonagall called out name after name, and the students stepped up and tried on the hat. Whatever house they were sorted into cheered loudly.
"Boot, Terry," was sorted into Ravenclaw. "Brown, Lavender," was sent to Gryffindor. "Bulstrode, Millicent," became a Slytherin. "Finnigan, Seamus," was another Gryffindor.
It was fascinating to watch, Harry thought absently. Sometimes the hat would cry out a name only seconds after the student put it on, and sometimes it would pause and sit silently for a minute or two.
"Granger, Hermione!" Professor McGonagall called out. The girl with the bushy hair Harry had been studying earlier stepped up and placed the hat on her head.
"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted.
Neville Longbottom was placed into Hufflepuff. He handed the hat to Draco Malfoy, and the minute it touched the blonde boy's head, it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"
That came as no surprise to Harry. Lucius Malfoy was the epitome of Slytherin, and it was only right his son would have picked up some of those qualities. Oddly enough, both Vincent and Gregory had been sorted into Hufflepuff, so Draco didn't have anyone he knew to sit next to as he took his place at the Slytherin table.
"Parkinson, Pansy!"
Harry's suspicions were confirmed as the girl who resembled his shadow stepped forward. She was sorted into Ravenclaw, and she shyly slipped into the seat next to Hermione.
"Patil," and "Patil," the twins, were alternately placed into Slytherin and Gryffindor, and "Perkins, Sally-Anne," also became a Gryffindor.
Professor McGonagall called out, "Potter, Harry!"
The hall became strangely silent, and Harry heard several students whispering.
"Did she say _Potter_?"
"You don't suppose she means _the_ Harry Potter."
Harry ignored the stir his name caused, picking up the Sorting Hat and slipping it onto his head as he gingerly sat on the stood.
"Well, well," a tiny voice whispered in his ear. "Whatever shall I do with you? Plenty of courage, it seems, and yet it's tempered with ruthless cunning. Not malevolent, mind you, but ruthless nonetheless. Brilliant mind – talent to spare! – and yet, you don't seem to think it matters. A do-what-you-must attitude, is it? Quite interesting."
The voice paused and whispered, "I suppose we have to start at the beginning, then."
It felt as though a feather was flitting through his head, dusting off his memories. When the hat came to Vernon and Dudley, it paused. The voice was almost sad as it said, "Terrible relatives, you've got. But they couldn't break you, could they? And your revenge wasn't really revenge at all, was it? For all that they've done to you, you gave them exactly what they wanted..."
"You'd do well in any house, really. Unerring loyalty for the Hufflepuffs. Bravery and daring beyond fault for the Gryffindors. A mind any witch or wizard would envy for the Ravenclaws. And the cunning and strength of character to hide it all for the Slytherins."
"Wherever you put me will be fine," Harry thought quietly.
The hat laughed softly. "It isn't often I get a wizard who isn't ashamed of Hufflepuff. You will do great things, I think, and now the hall is waiting. You will change this world, Mr. Potter, and I'll be the first to see you on your way."
The hat took a deep breath and shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry's fingers curled around the brim of the hat, but before he could pull it off, it took another breath and cried, "SLYTHERIN!"
Harry paused. Gryffindor _and_ Slytherin? That was quite an unusual combination, and he couldn't ever remember reading about someone who'd been sorted into _two_ houses. He pulled the hat off of his head and met the stunned silence of the Great Hall.
Professor McGonagall was staring at him, narrow eyes scrutinizing his tiny form. Many of the other teachers wore similar expressions, and most of the students' jaws were flapping comically.
An elderly wizard stood at the front of the hall, and Harry immediately recognized him as Albus Dumbledore. His robes were dark blue, and his long, white beard trailed down the front of them. As he raised his hand, the hall fell silent.
"Why," Dumbledore said, twirling the tip of his beard absently around his finger, "there hasn't been a dual sorting since my days at Hogwarts. I suppose we shall handle it as they did then. In light of Mr. Potter's... curious housing, accommodations will be made after the feast."
The old wizard smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Take a seat with one of your houses, Mr. Potter, and let the sorting continue."
Harry blinked, his eyes flickering between the two tables. Both the Gryffindors and Slytherins were silent as they stared at him, daring him to make the choice.
Finally, Draco called out, "You coming, Harry?"
With a relieved nod, Harry slipped into the seat next to Draco. All at once, his fellow Slytherins were clapping, introducing themselves and reaching out of shake his hand. To his left, the Gryffindors were sullenly silent.
"Thomas, Dean!" Professor McGonagall said.
Draco leaned over and whispered softly in Harry's ear, "Father said you'd change the world. I don't believe he knew you'd start so soon."
"Imagine," Harry replied. "Gryffindor and Slytherin."
"Indeed," the blonde boy said. "Well, at least you're half-Slytherin. Something has to balance out being a Gryffindork."
"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.
"Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw, and "Weasley, Ron," the redhead from the boat, became a Gryffindor. Last, "Zabini, Blaise," was sorted into Slytherin.
Blaise slipped into the seat next to Harry, grinning madly. He stuck his hand out to Harry immediately. "Pleasure to finally meet you."
Harry shook Blaise's hand politely, noting that the only similarity between the energetic young boy and his stoic shadow really were the dark, brown eyes.
Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again, and beamed happily at the students. "Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
He glanced at Harry, the twinkle in his eyes darkening marginally, then he looked back to the rest of the hall as he bowed. "Thank you!"
As Dumbledore sat down, the hall erupted in applause. Harry glanced at the rest of the Slytherins, the only table who wasn't clapping madly, and sighed. From what Lucius had told him about the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the man played the fool marvelously. And yet, the older Malfoy had cautioned him to be wary; Albus Dumbledore was not a man to be taken lightly.
Harry sensed an undercurrent of magic, and the plates in front of him were suddenly overflowing with all sorts of food. He put a little onto his plate, picking at it as he tried to decipher the enchantment on the plates.
"Aren't you going to eat more than that?" Draco asked around a mouthful of chicken.
"I'm not very hungry," Harry replied. It wasn't exactly a lie; Harry knew that if he ate more than the small portion he was accustomed to, his stomach wouldn't be able to handle it. Having lived off what his relatives fed him, and the candy his shadows gave him, his stomach couldn't deal with the rich foods on the table.
Harry felt a chill go down his spine, and he glanced up to see the Bloody Baron staring down at him. He scooted over, putting enough distance between himself and Blaise for the Baron to sit comfortably. His leg brushed up against Draco's, but the blonde didn't pull away to make more room.
The Baron sat swiftly, staring down the first years one-by-one. Even some of the older students dropped their eyes under his stoic gaze.
Harry, for his part, was content to sit beside the ghost and quietly eat his meal.
Most of the Slytherins seemed to want to get a better look at Harry, but with the frightening visage of the Bloody Baron sitting next to him, they hesitated. Only Draco, who sat directly on his left, was able to talk to him without fear.
"You gave me a bit of a start on the train, you know," the blonde boy said, licking some sauce from his fingers. "Me, Greg, and Vince were all wondering if you were really coming to Hogwarts this year."
"Didn't your father tell you?" Harry asked curiously.
Draco grinned. "I thought he was just having me on, you know? I mean, with everything he's told me about you, having you enter Hogwarts the same year as me seemed too good to be true."
Harry used his fork to push the food on his plate around a bit. It would be nice, he mused, to have someone to fill the silence for him. Draco was doing an amiable job of it, skipping from subject to subject as the feast commenced.
"I can't believe that Greg and Vince got sorted into Hufflepuff!" Draco said suddenly. "I suppose it makes sense though. Vince is loyal to a fault, and Greg would follow him to the end of the world. Still, I wonder what their fathers will say..."
Harry glanced towards the Hufflepuff table, and noted that the two boys were sitting close together. They seemed to be in a friendly discussion with Neville, who was blushing furiously.
"I imagine their fathers will be proud," Harry said, so softly that Draco had to lean in closer to hear him.
"Really?" Draco blinked, straining to look at where his two childhood friends were sitting. "Why's that?"
Harry leaned over and murmured softly into Draco's ear, "Because they're two Slytherins in Hufflepuff who will be instrumental in recruiting the rest of the house to our cause."
The blonde boy leaned back, his expression thoughtful, and Harry turned his attention to listening to the rest of Slytherin talk about the professors and their classes. One name in particular caught his attention – Professor Snape.
Casually, Harry glanced at the High Table where all the teachers were chatting amongst themselves. His eyes came to rest on a pale, dark-haired man who was talking to a teacher with a curious turban wrapped around his head, and Harry knew the dark-haired man was undoubtedly Severus Snape.
His first Shadow had told him all about the current potions professor at Hogwarts. Beyond the general information, Lucius and Snape had been lovers when they were in school. They'd joined Voldemort together, and as Lucius grew closer to the Dark Lord, he and Snape had grown further apart. Snape had deserted the Death Eaters and found refuge with Dumbledore, and his desertion had planted the seeds of dissension in many of Voldemort's followers.
It was rather funny, or so Harry thought. Snape was the first Death Eater to desert, and yet, he was the only person who still bore the Dark Mark. Even from across the hall, Harry could sense the blackness that lingered under the sleeve of Snape's robe.
Harry had been expecting this, but what caught his attention was the way the energy from the Dark Mark was acting. He could literally _see_ the dark energy being subtly pulled towards the professor wearing the turban, and the dark energy already around the turbaned man's head was palpable. Pain lanced through the scar on his forehead.
"Draco?" Harry said softly, never taking his eyes off the pair of teachers. "Who's that man Professor Snape is talking to?"
The blonde glanced over to the Head Table curiously. "Him? I'm pretty sure that's the new D.A.D.A teacher, Professor Quirrell. My father mentioned him."
"Curious," Harry replied. As far as he knew, the only person who could affect the Dark Marks energy was Voldemort himself. And it was definitely strange that the darkness only seemed to hover around Quirrell's head, rather than encompassing his entire body.
Suddenly Snape paused in his conversation with Quirrell, his gaze flickering up to meet Harry's eyes directly. The older man frowned, dislike and confusion written plainly across his face.
A tiny smile quirked the corner of Harry's mouth, and he politely acknowledged the potions professor with a nod.
Snape's dark eyes scrutinized him for a moment, and it was the older man who looked away first.
"You okay, Harry?" Draco's voice broke through Harry's reverie.
"I'm fine. Thank you," Harry replied, touching his fingers to his forehead. He wasn't surprised when they came away wet with blood. He quickly wiped his hand on his robes.
Samson stirred around his neck and hissed quietly, / Ssskin-brother, you bleed! /
Harry reached his hand to his shoulder and stroked the snake's head. He couldn't speak, not with so many people around, but his silent reassurance was enough to calm Samson.
/We will ssspeak later of thisss, / Samson said, tightening marginally around Harry's neck.
As the feast drew to an end, the plates in front of the students were empty once again. Dumbledore stood in his place at the High Table, and his voice carried clearly throughout the hall. "I have a few announcements to make," he said with a smile. "All first years should be aware that the Forbidden Forest on the school's grounds is, indeed, forbidden to students. Mr. Filch has asked that I remind you that no magic is allowed between classes in the corridors, and Madam Hooch has scheduled Quidditch tryouts in two weeks' time."
The elderly wizard's voice deepened marginally. "Everyone but the first years should already be aware of all this. However, just starting this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." Dumbledore brightened, "With that out of the way, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"
As the students around him launched into the song, Harry noticed Professor McGonagall weaving through the tables. The Sorting Hat rested gingerly on one of her hands.
The older woman halted next to him and said softly, "The Headmaster would like to see you. Please come with me."
Harry nodded, then glanced at Draco. "Later," he said softly.
Draco smiled in response, and Harry followed Professor McGonagall out of the Great Hall.
The older woman was silent as she led him through the winding halls of Hogwarts. They stopped in front of a large, stone gargoyle, and she muttered softly, "Toffee Crunch."
The gargoyle moved aside, revealing a stone staircase, and Harry blinked. The password to what was undoubtedly the Headmaster's office was a Muggle candy? He supposed it made sense. Any student who was attempting to break into the office would never even think of trying Muggle words.
The pair walked up the long, narrow flight of steps, and entered a cozy office, cluttered with all manner of knickknacks, both wizarding and Muggle. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on one of the shelves, and gestured to a padded chair.
"Have a seat, Mr. Potter," she said primly. "The Headmaster will be up to see you shortly."
Professor McGonagall situated herself in another padded chair, then curiously studied him. After a moment of silence, she said, "I'm Head of Gryffindor House, so you'll be half my responsibility."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied quietly.
"Very polite, aren't you? Your Slytherin Head of House is Professor Snape. I suspect Albus will bring him along as well." Professor McGonagall shook her head. "A dual sorting. Well, I suppose I should have expected as much from James Potter's son."
Harry was saved from having to reply as Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape appeared at the top of the stairwell. Dumbledore was smiling, and Snape wore a sour expression.
"Hello, Harry," the elderly wizard said as he made his way to the chair behind the desk. Professor Snape slipped into a chair next to Professor McGonagall.
"Headmaster," Harry replied respectfully.
"My, my," Dumbledore began, his eyes sparkling. "Dual sortings are quite rare, my boy. But occasionally there is a witch or a wizard who exemplifies the traits of two houses in equal proportions – usually Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, or Ravenclaw and Slytherin. There was only ever one other student who was sorted into Gryffindor and Slytherin."
The old man pulled out a sheet of parchment from his robes and handed it to Harry. Harry studied it, surprised to see it was a class schedule. He tucked it into the sleeve of his robe.
"That," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand, "is your schedule. You've classes with both Gryffindor and Slytherin. Any points given to you or taken from you will affect both your houses, and if you have any problems, you can report to either of your Heads of House." At this he glanced pointedly at the two professors.
"You've already met Professor McGonagall, and this is Professor Snape."
Snape glowered at him, an aristocratic sneer curving his mouth. His voice housed nothing but scorn. "Mr. Potter," he acknowledged.
Harry had dealt with scorn from his relatives his entire life. He'd learned to ignore it, because their scorn couldn't hurt him. They had belts and boiling water for that, after all.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor," Harry said softly. A fleeting expression of surprise met his words before Snape's face rescinded to a calculating stare.
"The only order of business left then," Dumbledore said with a smile, "is your room. As you have every right to both the Slytherin and the Gryffindor towers, you will be using a special bedroom." The wizened wizard stood, gesturing for Harry to follow him.
"Albus...?" Professor McGonagall said softly.
Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, yes. Minerva, Severus, I'm sure you both have duties to attend. Please, don't let us keep you."
Harry was impressed. The Headmaster had given a clear dismissal, but its delivery showed nothing but concern that he was wasting the two professors' time. Briefly, Harry wondered if Dumbledore had been a Slytherin.
Both Snape and McGonagall nodded politely to the Headmaster and left.
"Now then," Dumbledore said, guiding Harry through the cluttered shelves to the left. They passed through an entrance that led to a small room. Doors of all shapes and sizes lined every wall, and Harry watched as the Headmaster pulled out a ring of keys. He unlocked an old, wooden door and walked through. Harry followed.
The room it led to was about the size of Dudley's bedroom. The walls were a dark, velvety green, trimmed with silver. The carpet was plush crimson, and the sheets that covered the queen-sized mahogany bed were a similar color. The comforter at the bed's foot, however, was emerald, and the pillows at its head were silver and gold.
There were three doors in the room: the one they'd just come through, and one to either side of it. The door to the left looked to be made of cherry wood, and the one on the right was a darker shade of brown. Besides the bed, which was against the right-side wall, there was a tall mahogany armoire, and a desk. There was also a window, and Harry could see it overlooked the Forbidden Forest.
"This will be your room, Harry," the Headmaster said softly. "The doors alternately lead to the Gryffindor and Slytherin dorms, and they are charmed so that no one but you may use them. In the event that a Slytherin student opens the door that leads to Gryffindor, they will see nothing but a small closet. The same goes for any curious Gryffindors."
"How is that possible, sir?" Harry asked. "The Gryffindor and Slytherin towers are at opposite ends of the school."
Dumbledore waggled a finger at him. "My dear boy, this castle was created with magic. Anything is possible." The elderly wizard grinned, "Though I would recommend that you try not to entertain Gryffindors and Slytherins here at the same time. It would raise far too many questions."
"Yes, sir," Harry responded dutifully. The thought hadn't even occurred to him, to be honest. Having a way into the towers of the two rival houses would be extremely useful, and Lucius had always taught him to keep his advantages secret.
"As I said," the Headmaster continued, "both doors are charmed. Only you can open them, and in the event that you're not in your rooms, no one will be able to gain admittance. The third door will connect you directly to my office. I do ask you not to abuse the privilege, or I'll have to keep it locked, but if you ever need me, you are welcome there."
Harry nodded. The Headmaster had _definitely_ been a Slytherin. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your unknown wildcards closest of all, he thought to himself.
"I believe that is all," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Good luck with your classes tomorrow, Harry, and goodnight."
"Goodnight, Headmaster," Harry replied.
The older wizard slipped through the middle door and closed it softly behind him.
/ That man worriesss me, / Samson hissed softly.
/ Why's that? /
/ He knowsss, / Samson replied cryptically. Harry did not press the issue, and Samson spoke no more.
Harry checked the flow of magic around the room, and discovered that besides the charmed doors, there was also a silencing spell in place. Without a thought, he added a barrier that would shield any magic he used, anchoring it firmly.
He pulled out the tiny trunk from his pocket and enlarged it, then placed it at the foot of his bed. He repeated the process for his two brooms, and concealed both inside of the armoire. His Hogwarts letter had said first years weren't allowed to have their own brooms, but he didn't have any other place to keep them.
He unpacked the rest of his school robes, murmuring a soft spell to remove the wrinkles, and hung them in the armoire. He lined his schoolbooks on the desktop, and placed a few blank scrolls, a thick sheaf of parchment, several quills, and two bottles of plain, black ink into the drawers.
Surveying the room, Harry realized he'd forgotten something. He pulled out a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans – after initially developing a fondness for them, he always carried a package of them in his robes – and transfigured what appeared to be a vomit-flavored bean into a perch for Hedwig. He placed the perch next to the window, and gingerly opened it.
The blast of cool air to his face was wonderful, and he realized that beyond having access to both the Slytherin and Gryffindor towers, as well as Dumbledore's office, he also had a clear means of escape, just in case. In the event that he needed a way out, he could either use his broom or become his feathered animagus form and fly to freedom.
Curiously, Harry pulled out his class schedule and studied it, wondering when Dumbledore had had the opportunity to draw it up. Was it possible the Headmaster had known he would be sorted into two houses?
Sighing, he flopped down onto the bed. Samson squeaked in protest, then slithered away from Harry's neck and buried himself in the comforter.
/ What classsses do you have, ssskin-brother? / came the sleepy hiss.
/ Well, / Harry responded, / I've got Double Herbology and Transfiguration on Mondays and Fridays: Herbology with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and Transfiguration with Gryffindor and Slytherin. Magical Theory with Slytherin on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I've also got Midnight Astronomy on Wednesday with the Gryffindors. /
/ Sssounds like a fair balance, / Samson said. / What elssse? /
Harry's eyes scrutinized the schedule. / Flying lessons and Charms on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Flying with the Gryffindors, and Charms with the Slytherins. And I've got Double Potions on those days too, with Gryffindor _and_ Slytherin. /
/ Sssoundsss complicated... /
/ Very, / Harry replied, nibbling on his lower lip. / Other then that, I've got Double Defense against the Dark Arts with Slytherin and Ravenclaw on Wednesdays. /
/ Tomorrow isss Monday, yesss? / Samson said suddenly.
/ It is. Which means Herbology in the morning, and Magical Theory and Transfiguration in the evening. /
/ Which meansss, / Samson replied, sounding amused, / That you need to sssleep, ssskin-brother. /
/ Will you wake me at dawn? / Harry requested softly.
/ Asss you wish. /
With a hiss of thanks, Harry sent out a tiny thread of power and dimmed the torch in the corner. He pulled his school robe off, and folded it neatly at the foot of his bed. His scars were barely visible in the pale moonlight that filtered through the window, and he stared at his arms for a moment.
The thin criss-cross of white stripes were from when he'd tried to protect his face from his uncle's belt, and there were still ugly black and purple bruises, which overlaid the older brown and yellow ones.
It had been almost a month since he'd been with the Dursleys, but it seemed that the years of abuse weren't going to fade so easily from his flesh. Frowning, he made a note to always be bathed and dressed before either of his houses – he really didn't want anyone to see what a freak he was. Using the communal bathrooms would be a pain, but he had little choice.
With a soft sigh, he slipped beneath his covers. Tomorrow would be his first day of classes, and yet the thought didn't excite him in the least. He did have half an hour between Herbology and lunch, though. As he drifted off into a fitful slumber full of nightmares – memories – he decided to use the time to acquaint himself with his only reason for being at Hogwarts – the Library.
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