Title: In Memory I
Author: Becka
Chapter 4: First Classes
o
The next morning, Harry awoke as the first light of dawn was just beginning to creep out over the horizon. His relatives had drilled punctuality into him, and as a result, he was a very early riser. Still, in the unlikely event that he didn't wake up on time, it was nice to know that Samson was willing to play alarm clock for him.
Harry slipped out of the bed, tossed on a clean set of school robes, and peeked out of the door that connected him to the Slytherin dorms. Finding the hallway empty, he sent out a tiny locator spell to find the common bathrooms.
Once there, it only took him a few moments to efficiently bathe himself, to slip into his school robes, and to run his fingers through his unruly hair. Every day was a battle to try and flatten his bangs down enough to cover his scar.
As he worked, the mirror's surface shimmered a bit. A sleepy voice said, "Quite the early riser, aren't you?" Suddenly, the mirror whistled at him, sounding completely awake, "My, my, my! Are all the first years as cute as you, hun?"
Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"
The mirror tut-tutted. "Deary, you've got to be the sweetest little thing I've seen in _years_."
An uncertain blush stained Harry's cheeks. "Thank you," he said softly, not knowing how to respond.
"You're quite welcome, sweetcheeks," the mirror purred. Swallowing, Harry stuttered another thank you and made a hasty exit.
Once Harry was safely back in his dorm room, he let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps he'd use the Gryffindor bathroom tomorrow.
{Are you all right, my fledge?}
Harry glanced up at the concerned hoots and saw Hedwig comfortably situated on her perch. {It's nothing, beauty. I just...} his reply trailed off as he paused uncertainly.
/Ssskin-brother,/ Samson hissed from the bed, /What'sss wrong?/
Harry couldn't seem to find the right words as he stared at his two familiars. The mirror had made him uncomfortable. How could it call him "cute?" He was a freak.
Then again, the mirror hadn't seen his scars.
Knowing that he couldn't directly lie to Samson or Hedwig, Harry simply shook his head and repeated softly, "It's nothing."
Before they could pry, he opened the sixth lock on his trunk and made his way down to his study. He had an hour to kill before breakfast, and he used the time to begin sorting through his many books. One of the desk drawers contained a metal box with index cards, and as he shelved the books, he carefully penned each title and author onto a card.
He managed to get through fifty of them before Hedwig called down to him, {Breakfast is in ten minutes, fledge!}
Grateful for the reminder, he ascended the staircase, locked his trunk, and hooted a soft thanks to her. As he slipped through the door into the Slytherin dorms, he bumped directly into Draco.
The blonde smiled at him. "Harry! I was worried about you last night. I thought they'd set you up in the Gryffindork dorms." He gestured to the door that Harry had just shut. "That your room, then?"
"It is," Harry replied softly. The pair made their way out of the Slytherin tower, and began their trek through the castle to the Great Hall.
The whispers started up instantaneously.
"There, look."
"Where?"
"Next to the blonde kid, the Slytherin."
"Wearing the glasses?"
"Can you believe?"
"I know! Slytherin and Gryffindor."
"Did you see his scar?"
"So," Draco began, glaring at every student who was staring at Harry, "What did the Headmaster want to talk to you about?"
"He gave me my schedule and laid a few ground rules for dual sortings."
"Oh?" Draco's shoes made soft click-clicks on the stone corridor. In contrast, Harry's footsteps were silent.
Sensing that the blonde wouldn't be satisfied until he was given more information, Harry revealed, "For example, if I lose house points, I lose them for both Gryffindor and Slytherin. And if I have any problems, I can go to either Head of House."
"Ah." Draco nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense, I guess. It's good that you don't have to worry about Quidditch until next year. Imagine what would happen if both house teams wanted you to play!"
They reached the Great Hall and took their seats at the Slytherin table for breakfast. The Bloody Baron silently took the seat to Harry's left. Overall, breakfast was a quiet affair, and almost all of the students were still sleepy-eyed.
Meals were another question on Harry's mind. Dumbledore hadn't specifically mentioned it, but Harry supposed he was allowed to sit at either of his house tables. Covertly, he glanced at the Gryffindors and caught a few of them staring at him with open hostility. Perhaps they were still bitter that he'd chosen to sit with the Slytherin last night?
Harry spooned a small portion of eggs onto his plate, nibbling them thoughtfully. He really did need to try to participate in both houses – alternately sharing meals with the Gryffindors and Slytherins, for starters – and yet, he found himself torn.
The soft murmurs of the Slytherins around him were... familiar. Comfortable, even. It was probably because many of them were the children of his shadows. But most of all, the Gryffindors did not have Draco.
With the blonde boy at his side, Harry felt safe. Draco was Lucius' son, and Harry trusted Lucius implicitly. The other boy's very presence was soothing, as if the bond Harry shared with his first Shadow connected him to Draco as well.
Breakfast ended, and Harry and Draco parted ways as they each headed to their first class at Hogwarts.
The whispers followed Harry.
"Defeated You-Know-Who!"
"But he's such a scrawny kid."
"He's got the scar, though."
"Have you seen it?"
It was especially embarrassing when a student would double-back through one of the halls just to get a second look at him. He hoped the novelty of being Harry Potter would wear off soon.
Harry's first class was Double Herbology, with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Thankfully, he'd had the presence of mind to bring his book bag to breakfast. As he made his way to the classroom, he saw Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, and Neville Longbottom ahead of him.
Neville spotted him first, and a wide grin broke out across the plump boy's friendly face. "Harry!" he called out.
"Hello, Neville," Harry replied, and he fell into step beside the three boys. "Gregory. Vincent." He nodded a greeting to each of them.
"Call me Vince," Vincent said. "My full name is too formal, you know?"
"Greg," Gregory seconded. "Same here."
"I couldn't believe you were Harry Potter," Neville piped up, still smiling. "Then again, I guess no one else could, either. Do you get that sort of reaction a lot?"
"No, I don't," Harry responded. "I've lived with Muggles my whole life. They don't know I'm famous."
Gregory blinked, surprised. "So that's why you were so adamant about Muggle-borns on the train."
"Partly," Harry replied softly.
They arrived a moment later, and Harry paused in the doorway, studying the spacious classroom. The windows were open, and at least ten small, round tables were neatly arranged so that no matter where anyone sat, they'd have a clear view of the teacher's desk. Each table had a black container, about the size of a shoebox, at its center.
An older woman, who Harry took to be Professor Sprout, stood by the teacher's desk and waved them in. "Come on, come on. Take a seat, gentlemen."
They did so, and the rest of the students filed in dutifully. The last boy to enter was Ronald Weasley, the redhead Harry had met on the boat. There weren't any free chairs besides the one at the table where Harry, Neville, Vincent, and Gregory sat.
Ron slipped into the seat silently, frowning openly in Harry's direction.
After a short roll call, Professor Sprout cleared her throat and began to speak in a mellifluous voice that carried clearly in the large room. "Welcome to Double Herbology. In this class, you'll be learning about the many varieties of magical herbs and fungi – where they are found, the proper way to handle them, and their uses in the everyday world."
"Today, you are going to begin a two-week assignment to familiarize yourself with the one-hundred most common, and most useful, of these herbs. You will be broken into groups of five and given a box containing packets of unidentified herbs and fungi. Your assignment is to prepare a report listing their names, properties, identifiable features, where they can be found, most common uses, and one uncommon use for each. Though you will work together to identify these herbs, every student is expected to write a separate report. Lastly, you will have this class period to work, but the rest of your assignment completed on your own time. Are there any questions?"
One Hufflepuff raised her hand timidly.
"Yes, Ms. Bones?"
"Will we be allowed to choose our own groups, or are they to be assigned, Professor?"
Professor Sprout smiled. "As you may have noticed, each of the tables you are sitting at has five seats. The students sitting with you will be your partners."
Harry glanced around his table. It would be a pleasure working with the three Hufflepuffs, but Ron was still glaring at him with unconcealed hostility.
"The box on your table contains the herbs you will be working with, and I will be around shortly to help you if you have any questions." Professor Sprout smiled again. "You may begin."
Neville reached forward and pulled the lid off the box, then carefully spread the tiny packets of herbs on the table. A few of them contained the full leaves and berries, and some were small specimens of fungi, but most had been ground to powder and were barely distinguishable.
Vincent frowned. "How are we supposed to tell the difference?" he asked, holding up two packets of fine, red powder that were identical.
Harry extended his hand, and Vincent relinquished the packets. He opened one of them and sniffed the contents. "Raktachandan," he said quietly. He repeated the process with the other packet and continued, "Madder Root."
The other boys stared at him. "How do you know that?" Gregory finally asked.
Harry shrugged, uncomfortable at the attention, and took a moment to reseal the packages.
Suddenly Ron sneered, "Too good to share with the rest of us, are you?"
Gregory and Neville blinked at the angry redhead, and Vince opened his mouth to say something, but Harry softly cut in, "No. Raktachandan has a very faint, very acrid smell, and if you look at the powder closely, you can see darker red specks mixed in there as well. Madder Root powder is much finer, and smells like mint and oranges. I know because I've studied."
Ron's sneer faltered a little before he growled, "Probably got all sorts of books on it, don't you? Raised in the lap of luxury 'cause you're a bloody hero."
Harry didn't bother to respond as he pulled out his tattered copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, a blank sheet of parchment, and a quill and ink. He deftly sketched small diagrams of the two herbs.
The three Hufflepuffs were shooting Ron angry looks, but the redhead continued heatedly, "Bet you've had people tellin' you how wonderful you were your whole life. Bet you live off that sort of attention." He seemed incensed that Harry was ignoring him.
"Why do you hate me so much?" Harry finally said softly.
"You're a bloody _Slytherin_," Ron shot back.
"I'm part Gryffindor," Harry pointed out logically.
"Just 'cause you could fool the Sorting Hat into thinking that you're a Gryffindor doesn't mean I have to accept you, git."
"No," Harry mused softly before turning back to his work, "I don't suppose you do."
"Do you boys need any help?" Professor Sprout asked as she walked over to their table.
"No," Vincent said, staring back and forth between Ron and Harry. "I think everything's pretty much clear."
The rest of the class went pretty much the same. Vincent, Greg, and Neville discussed what various herbs might be, Harry offered suggestions that were usually correct – though he did intentionally screw up a few times – and Ron sneered no matter what was said, alternately commenting on Harry's so-called privileged life or insulting him because he "obviously wasn't as perfect as everyone thought he was."
At the end of the class period, Harry quietly packed up his things. Greg and Vince nominated Neville to carry the box with all the packets, and Ron was shoving his things into his backpack haphazardly.
Ignoring Ron hadn't been difficult – his relatives had said much worse to him – but it left him feeling empty. He wondered if all the dually sorted students had to overcome such biased hostility. Finally he decided it was probably only the case for someone who was unfortunate enough to get sorted into both Gryffindor and Slytherin.
"Hey, Harry," Gregory said hesitantly.
Harry glanced up from his book bag, surprised; usually Vincent was the more vocal of the two boys. Finally he answered, "Yes?"
"Would you, ah, tell Dray hello from me and Vince? Maybe get his free-periods for us, too, 'cause we'd really like to hang out with him sometimes, and not just during the weekends, y'know?" Greg was staring at his feet, and Harry wondered why the question seemed to embarrass the other boy so much.
Perhaps it was the school prejudice – associating with Slytherins and all that. Maybe Gregory felt they couldn't approach Draco directly because he was Slytherin. Harry, on the other hand, was half Gryffindor and acceptably safe. And yet, to have to go through someone else just to get in touch with a friend must be embarrassing.
"Sure," Harry replied, watching the relief play out across the other boy's face. "Are you free on Wednesday at 3:30?" At Greg's eager nod, he continued, "Why don't we get together to work on the Herbology project then, and I can tell you."
"Thanks, Harry."
As all of the students left the room, Neville reached out a hand and pulled Harry aside. He whispered, "I'm really sorry about all that."
Harry blinked. "About all what?"
The boy blushed furiously. "I'm sorry that I didn't stick up for you when Ron was being such a prat."
"Don't worry about it, Neville," Harry responded gently, while in his mind he wondered why _anyone_ would feel bad about not sticking up for him. "It doesn't bother me. Will you be joining me and Greg on Wednesday?"
"Sure!" Neville replied, obviously relieved that Harry didn't blame him.
As it turned out, Harry's conversations with Gregory and Neville delayed his visit to the library. He barely had enough time to make it to the Great Hall for lunch. The whispers were with him every step.
He slipped into his usual spot next to Draco. Blaise slid into the seat next to him, and Harry said quietly, "You might want to move."
Blaise blinked. "'Scuse me?"
"I said, 'you might want to move.'" Harry reached out and took a slice of warm bread from one of the baskets on the table.
"Why's that?" Blaise's tone touched on defensive.
"Because you're sitting in his seat." Harry glanced up at the ghost who was standing behind the young Slytherin. The Bloody Baron glowered darkly.
"Eh." Blaise quickly scooted away from Harry. As the ghost took his seat, Blaise stuttered, "T-terribly sorry, your, ah, Bloodiness."
To his right, Draco snickered softly.
"So," Draco began, heaping roast beef and mashed tubers onto his plate, "How'd your first class go?"
"Fine, thank you." Harry quietly related his assignment, being paired with the three Hufflepuffs and Ron, and how Greg had asked Harry to get Draco's free periods.
"Yeah?" Draco smiled. "I've got a free period on Tuesday and Thursday after breakfast. But everybody's free after dinner unless they've got detention. Tell him to meet me in the Library after dinner on Wednesday."
Harry nodded. Around them, the other first years were talking about their next class, Magical Theory. Apparently, Professor Binns had been a teacher at Hogwarts more than one hundred years ago. When he'd died, his ghost had begged to be kept on.
After lunch ended, Harry and Draco made their way to the tiny classroom that was used by Professor Binns. Wordlessly, they sat at one of the joint desks.
Professor Binns wasted no time. After the rest of the Slytherin first years entered, he drew himself up. "Welcome to Magical Theory. Don't let the name misguide you – this class is a combination of both Theory and History. Until a few years ago, History of Magic was a separate class, but as the two are so related, it was decided to combine them."
"Now," he said, a smile crossing his slightly transparent face, "most of you will want to jump right into the actual practice of spells, but first, you must learn to understand them. This is where the history bit comes in. I will give you a key piece of advice, though. Pronunciation is _everything_. Many of you won't fully understand, and so, a demonstration!"
"May I have two volunteers?"
No one raised their hand. Harry hadn't expected anyone to. Being Slytherin meant that it was both foolish and dangerous to volunteer for something blindly.
Apparently Professor Binns had been expecting that, because he didn't comment on it. Instead he glanced at a list on his desk and called out, "Mr. Zabini and Ms. Bulstrode, come to the front of the classroom, please."
The two students grudgingly stood and shuffled to the front of the room.
Professor Binns pointed his ghostly wand at Blaise and murmured, "Epotus."
Harry blinked. He didn't think that ghosts could do magic. He filed the thought away for later reference as the professor said, "Now, Mr. Zabini, if you could tell the class what happened."
Blaise shrugged. "I.. um... swallowed?"
"Quite right." Professor Binns smiled again. "The Epotus spell was designed by a mediwitch who needed something to aid her in getting unconscious patients to swallow medicine. Now, Ms. Bulstrode."
The ghost pointed his wand at her and said, "Epotus."
Millicent seemed dazed, and a goofy grin flitted across her face.
After a moment, Professor Binns said, "Finite Incantatum. Ms. Bulstrode, how did you feel?"
"Er." The young Slytherin fidgeted. "I felt really lightheaded, and um..."
The professor laughed. "Please, don't be shy. I believe what Ms. Bulstrode is trying to tell the class is that she felt drunk. That particular spell was designed by a wizard who adored being tipsy, but detested the taste of alcohol. As you can see, the spells are virtually identical. The key difference is in which vowel is emphasized, if any are emphasized at all."
Harry analyzed the two spells in his head. It made sense, he supposed. Thanks to his Latin lessons with Lucius, he remembered that "epotus" could mean "drink" or "swallow." And Harry had noticed that during the first incantation, the professor had emphasized the "o," while in the second, he'd stressed the "u."
"You may take your seat," the ghost told Millicent. "Mr. Zabini, there is a pile of handouts on my desk. If you would distribute them among your classmates, please?"
Blaise nodded and handed out the parchments.
Curiously, Harry glanced at the handout. It was a list of simple spells, all of which he recognized. Lumos, Nox, Wingardium Leviosa, and Finite Incantatum, to name a few.
Professor Binns asked, "Just by looking at these incantations, can anyone tell me how they're supposed to be pronounced?"
Harry could have, but as he glanced around, he saw that his fellow Slytherins were frowning at the parchments as if trying to decipher the spells. He remained silent.
"As you can see," the ghost continued, "the words themselves tell you nothing. Which is why you _must_ memorize the nuances of each spell to cast them properly."
The rest of the class period was spent familiarizing themselves with the proper pronunciation of the list of spells. Professor Binns gave them their assignment as they headed out the door – to research the first ten spells on the list and give the history of why they were created, and by whom.
"Well," Draco drawled, "I suppose that could have been worse. I'd heard that Binns was a bit of a bore, but he doesn't seem so bad."
"Hm," Harry replied noncommittally.
The blonde pulled out his schedule and frowned. "Bleh. Double Transfigurations with the Gryffindorks next. No offense, Harry."
"None taken."
As they made their ways through the halls, Draco said abruptly, "I still can't believe you're part Gryffindor, you know. I mean, they're a bunch of rash, close-minded prats. From what you told me about the Weasel, they won't even accept you, and you're one of them!"
Harry had to agree with that. Even though Ron had been the only one to vocalize his dislike, he'd caught other Gryffindors glowering at him in the halls. It was funny to think that Gryffindors were supposed to be loyal to one another, and Slytherins were supposed to be back-stabbing snakes. Slytherin was the house that had welcomed him with open arms, and Gryffindor was the house that wanted nothing to do with him.
A bit of a problem, Harry mused. He had to gain support from all of the Houses.
As the pair entered the Transfiguration classroom, Harry noticed a lovely tabby sitting primly on the desk. The flow of magic ingrained in the cat was the same as Peter had when he was in his animagus form. It seemed that Professor McGonagall was an animagus as well, but none of the students seemed to realize this as they took their seats and continued chatting.
Gryffindors sat in the desks to the left, and Slytherins took the ones to the right.
A few minutes into class, one of the Gryffindors, a dark-skinned boy – Harry thought his name was Dean – said loudly, "Is class canceled or something? Where's the professor?"
The cat leapt off the desk, transforming midair, and Professor McGonagall's shoes clicked on the floor as she gracefully landed.
Dean's face was pale, but a deep red blush slowly infused his cheeks.
With a disapproving glance at the poor Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall began, "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
She paused, fixing each of them with her piercing gaze, and continued, "I'm Professor McGonagall, as most of you already know, and I will be teaching you the fine art of Transfiguration. Transfiguration isn't a spell. Spells can be cast by anyone who has the capacity to memorize them; Transfiguration, however, entails the ability to focus your mind and draw upon your inner magic. Think of it as shaping."
Everyone around him had pulled out a sheet of parchment and was furiously scribbling her words.
"One must create the image of what you want in your mind, and shape that image through your focus. The greater the change to what you are shaping, the more difficult it is. For example, today you will attempt to transfigure a match into a needle. The size and shape are similar, but you must focus on the coloring. To transfigure, say, a quill into a scroll is more difficult and requires more energy because of the magnitude of the change."
With a wave of her hand, she changed her desk into a small, pink pig. The rest of the class boggled, but Harry wasn't too impressed. He'd had plenty of practice at changing inanimate objects into creatures.
"As you may have already learned, 'Finite Incantatum' will end most spells. Not so with transfiguration. To return an object to its original form, you must release the magical ties that bind it. It's a bit tricky, especially if you don't know what the transfigured object was originally, but what you must remember is that transfigured objects _want_ to return to their original states. Any questions?"
Absently, she waved her hand again, and the pig became her desk once more.
Harry hesitantly raised his hand. When she called on him, he asked, "Professor, is there any way to anchor the transfiguration so that it can't be removed?"
"Excellent question. To answer, presently there is not. Transfiguration Masters throughout the ages have been working on theories, but none have succeeded."
Harry wondered why anchoring spells was so easy for him if it was allegedly impossible. He supposed it tied into his ability to perform wandless magic.
After half an hour of jotting horribly complicated notes, everyone was given a match. As the students around him struggled, Harry held up his hand and imagined the tip of the match with a hole through it. The other end became pointed, and the wood and sulphur became solid silver. For some reason, he found that it was easiest for him to transfigure things into silver.
Belatedly, he remembered not to anchor the spell. It was a bit difficult, because he'd become to accustomed to doing so.
Draco, who'd been watching him, breathed, "Merlin!"
The whole process had taken Harry a few seconds to complete.
Wide, silver blue eyes met his own, and Harry shrugged self-consciously. His shadows had often praised his abilities as a child, but they'd never made a huge deal out of them.
Professor McGonagall made her way over to where Draco and Harry sat. Staring at the needle, she graced Harry with a small, pleased smile. "Well, Mr. Potter, I do believe you are a natural. Five points to, er," she paused, "Gryffindor and Slytherin."
Both houses seemed pleased that he'd earned them points, but glared at each other when they realized that neither House had been placed ahead. The Gryffindors then turned their gazes on Harry, glowering as if he was the one at fault.
Extremely uncomfortable at the attention, Harry was horrified to feel his face turning red. "Thank you, Professor," he muttered, and slunk down his seat.
When the class ended, Harry was the only one who'd managed to complete the task. Professor McGonagall said primly, "Your assignment is to continue practicing transfiguring the match into a needle. Mr. Potter, as you've already succeeded, you will attempt to transfigure the needle back into a match."
As Draco and Harry made their way to the Great Hall for dinner, several Slytherins approached them and asked Harry to help them out with the assignment. Harry immediately agreed, more than happy to assist one of his houses.
Several of the Gryffindors looked as though they wanted to ask for Harry's help, but the sneer fixed on Ron's face was enough to keep them at bay.
"We don't need that bloody Slytherin's help," Harry overhead Ron mutter to Dean.
"Isn't he a Gryffindor, too, though?" one of the other students asked timidly.
Harry didn't hear Ron's response because Draco grabbed his hand and dragged him away. The other boy's touch was a bit of a shock to his system, and he resisted the urge to shy away from the contact. Draco was Lucius' son, he repeated to himself. Draco could be trusted.
As they walked to the Great Hall, the whispers started again.
"Did you hear?"
"Yeah! Transfigured a match into a needle like it was nothing."
"Took me a week to do that."
"Yeah, me too. But c'mon-"
"Yeah, he's Harry Potter."
Dinner was a blur, and Harry was completely aware of the stares of the students from the other tables. He'd decided to sit with the Slytherins again, simply because out of his two houses, they were the only ones who didn't treat him like he was an exhibit.
"Harry!" Draco said about halfway through dinner, "Is that _all_ you're going to eat?"
Harry glanced down at his plate where he'd absently been pushing a bit of chicken around. Truthfully, he hadn't taken even taken a bite, but he wasn't very hungry. Breakfast and lunch had been more than he'd ever eaten in a day, and even though it had been several hours, he still felt bloated.
Glancing into Draco's silver-blue eyes, he tried to smile a little. "All the attention's ruined my appetite, I think."
Draco nodded. "I know what you mean. Whenever father has a family reunion at the Manor, I can't eat anything either. It feels like the whole family's watching me." The blonde glanced around, glowering silently at some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who were staring at Harry. "But then, everyone _is_ watching you."
As the meal ended, Draco grabbed his hand roughly – Harry suppressed a flinch – and dragged him out of the Great Hall. They made it back to the Slytherin dorms in record time, and Draco addressed the regal-looking portrait of a wizard who bore a striking resemblance to Professor Snape. "Pure-bloods," he said softly.
When they were safely inside the Slytherin common room, Draco turned a stunning smile at Harry. "Ha!" he said, looking pleased with himself. "We made it back without one bloody whisper!"
Harry felt a natural smile curve his lips. Draco was Lucius' son, all right. And he protected Harry, just as Harry's first Shadow always had. "Thank you," he said softly.
"Don't mention it," the blonde replied easily. "I mean, we haven't even been here a _day_ and the other students have already pissed me off with all the whispers and the staring. I can't even imagine how you must feel."
"Say," Draco continued, fixing Harry with a piercing look, "D'you think I could, um, see your owl again? She was really beautiful."
Still smiling, Harry nodded.
They made their way to Harry's room, and Draco let out a low whistle. "Geez. Think Dumbledore overdid it with the dual-sorting house pride?" He stared openly at the odd mix of red, green, silver, and gold.
"A little," Harry admitted softly.
{You look tired, my fledge,} Hedwig hooted softly from her perch near the window. {You've brought the sun-kissed child with you, then?}
Draco turned his eyes to the ebony owl. His gaze was transfixed. "Do you think she'd let me pet her?"
{You may tell the boy that I'd like the top of my head stroked,} Hedwig deemed Draco worthy with a hint of the superiority Harry had seen at the Owlery.
"I think she'd let you stroke her head," Harry told Draco lightly.
Draco did so, gently running the tips of his fingers along her soft feathers. From the bed, Samson hissed sleepily, / Bloody pompous owl. /
{Lazy serpent,} Hedwig hooted as she leaned into Draco's touch.
"What was that?" Draco asked, looking around the room.
"My snake, Samson," Harry said, wondering how much to reveal to the other Slytherin.
"Where is he? What is he? A python? A cobra?" There was barely concealed excitement in the other boy's voice.
"A garden snake," Harry responded as he laid his arm on the bed. Samson immediately coiled around Harry's wrist.
"He's..." Draco blinked, eyeing the small serpent. "He's sort of cute, actually."
Samson hissed indignantly, / I am not cute, wretch. I am noble, a fine ssspecimen of ssserpentsss everywhere. /
After a moment of consideration, Harry decided to extend a little trust to Draco. He murmured softly to Samson, / Be nice. I'm sure he didn't mean to offend you. /
/ Jussst tell him not to call me cute, / Samson huffed. In that moment, Harry thought Samson went beyond cute and breached adorable. He'd never seen the little snake so out of sorts.
Draco gaped at him, "You're a _Parselmouth_?"
Harry nodded.
"But... but..." Draco stuttered, "There hasn't been a Parselmouth since you defeated You-Know-Who!" Suddenly, the blonde grinned, "That's bloody brilliant! What did he say?"
"He asked you not to call him cute," Harry replied, relieved that Draco accepted his ability in stride. The two boys spent the rest of the night talking with Samson, and Harry graciously acted as a translator between the snake and Draco. Neither of them noticed the sun sink into the horizon.
They fell asleep together, laid out across Harry's bed, and nothing could have felt more natural.
o
Harry awoke to the strange sensation of being snuggled against another body. An image of Dudley pressed up against him flashed through his mind and he froze. He remembered that he was at Hogwarts, and he glanced at his companion's fair hair, willing himself to relax.
Carefully, so as not to disturb Draco, he slipped from the bed, grabbing a clean set of robes from his armoire, and made his way to the Slytherin bathrooms. After all, he mused to himself, it would be rather strange if Draco saw him walk out of what would appear to be a closet.
He bathed swiftly, and as he stepped out of the shower, the mirror exclaimed, "Sweetcheeks!"
Harry froze. Rotely, he pulled his robe over his head, his gaze fixed on the floor. The mirror's voice whispered, "Sweet Merlin, hun, did you get the model of the broom that ran you over?"
"Please," Harry requested softly, "Would you... not tell anyone?" He didn't think the mirror was in the habit of sharing conversations, but it was better to be safe.
"Sure, hun. You have my word." The mirror's voice was soft. "Hey, I still think you're the loveliest boy in the whole dorm, you know. Mind you, there's a blonde who's quite the looker, but you're gorgeous."
Harry bit his lip as he ran his hands through his hair, flattening his bangs over his scar. "How can you say that?"
"I'm not just talking about your body, deary. I'm talking about the whole package."
There was something in the mirror's voice that disturbed him. Something about the knowing softness of the tone, and he quickly fled the room. Behind him, the mirror called out, "See you tomorrow, sweetcheeks!"
Harry left the dorms and made his way out to the field where his flying lessons would take place. He grabbed one of the school brooms, only knowing that he needed to do something, anything, to get rid of the horrid feeling in his stomach.
Flying always helps, he repeated in his head. Flying makes everything else go away.
So he mounted the rickety broom, and he soared.
In those moments, it didn't occur to him that Draco would wake up alone in bed and wonder where Harry was. He didn't know that the blonde would stumble over to Hedwig, stroking her soft feathers, and whisper to himself, "Stupid, stupid, stupid."
It didn't matter that he would miss breakfast. He didn't know that the entire hall would stare at his empty seat, or that the Bloody Baron would demand to know where his dark prodigy was. He wouldn't see Draco angrily shoving a bit of porridge around on his plate, snapping at anyone who dared to voice the question on everyone's mind. He wouldn't be witness to the concern on Albus Dumbledore's face, or the sneer of Severus Snape's lips.
Nothing mattered at all when the wind whispered in his ears as he soared seventy feet above the school. The sun shining on his face blinded him, but he didn't need to see. It was enough that he could feel.
Some time later, Harry descended, locking the school broom back into its cabinet. He felt much better, and he even managed a smile as the Gryffindors shuffled out onto the grounds for their first flying lessons.
A moment later, Madam Hooch joined them, distributing a wobbly broom to each student. Of all the Hogwarts teachers he'd see so far, Madam Hooch was the most striking, with her short, silver hair and her sharp, yellow eyes.
"Well," she said in a voice that was like steel, "Mount up!"
Most of the students were hesitant, and Harry wondered why.
"Hands over your brooms," Madam Hooch barked. "And say, 'up!'"
There was an instant chorus of voices as every Gryffindor quickly repeated, "Up!"
Harry's broom smacked into his hand, as did Ron's. After a few more tries, all of the students' brooms were hovering a few feet off the ground. They mounted, and Madam Hooch said, "All right, then. On the count of three, everyone kick off. One. Two."
A round-faced pigtailed girl Harry remembered from the Sorting Feast – Sally-Ann Perkins – let out an undignified squeal, and her broom rose sharply in the air. Madam Hooch vainly tried to coach her down, but when the girl reached fifty feet, she tottered to the side and fell.
There was a sickening crunch as she hit the ground, one that Harry had heard several times before. His time at the hands of Vernon Dursley had given him one thing – Harry could tell what was broken just by the unique crack each bone made.
"Broken wrist," Harry muttered softly.
To his left, Dean Thomas gave him an odd look.
A moment later, Madam Hooch stood from Sally-Anne's side and announced, "Broken wrist. I've got to take her to the infirmary. If anyone messes about while I'm gone, there'll be hell to pay."
Madam Hooch levitated the crying girl off the ground, and the two of them disappeared through one of the entrances.
"How'd you know that?" Dean asked suspiciously, eyeing Harry.
"I, ah," Harry swallowed, "I've had my wrist broken before."
"Oh," came the reply. Suddenly, Dean said, "That's a pretty cool ring."
Harry glanced at the small silver serpent that adorned his finger, his first gift. Lucius had cast a spell on it so that it adjusted to fit his finger as he grew.
"Thank you," Harry replied.
"Can I see it?" Dean asked.
Wordlessly, Harry removed the ring from his finger. Dean examined it a moment, impressed. "That's real silver, isn't it?" The dark-skinned boy moved to return the ring when another hand swiftly intercepted it.
"A serpent, huh?" Ron asked, casually tossing the ring up and down in his hand. "So, what, that's your true colors then?"
"Give it back," Harry said softly.
"Nah," Ron replied, "I don't think so. I thought I told you yesterday that it doesn't matter how much you pretend. You're not a Gryffindor and you'll never be one, so why don't you just stay with the Slytherins where you belong!"
"Give it back," Harry repeated.
Ron hopped up onto his broom and kicked off. Harry followed him, and it didn't even take him a moment to catch up to the redhead.
The other students were tiny dots below them as Harry pulled his broom alongside Ron's. Harry tried again, "Give me my ring back."
Apparently surprised that Harry could keep up with him so effortlessly, Ron faltered. His face hardened and he snarled, "Go get it yourself!" He threw the small, silver ring with all of his strength.
Harry whipped around, narrowed eyes barely able to distinguish the ring as it fell. He leaned into a dive, never letting his sight waver. He ignored the cries of the students, ignored the older teacher who was making her way out onto the pitch. Completely focused, he reached out his hand, snatching the ring from the air, and pulled up inches away from the ground.
His relief as he slipped the ring back onto his finger was interrupted as a voice roared, "HARRY POTTER!"
Harry looked up to see Professor McGonagall advancing on him. Her glasses flashed dangerously as she huffed, "Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –" She stopped in front of him. "How _dare_ you – you might have broken your neck!"
"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said softly. "But I wanted my ring back."
"Your _ring_!"
Wordlessly, Harry held up his hand, allowing the enraged professor to see the silver serpent on his finger. The older woman was tightlipped as she said, "Come with me, Mr. Potter."
Harry heard a few of the Gryffindors sniggering behind him. He ignored them as he followed Professor McGonagall through the corridors. It only took them a few minutes to reach the dungeons, and Harry idly wondered if she was going to beat him.
She knocked once, sharply, on an imposing door.
Professor Snape pulled the door open with a sneer. Seeing McGonagall and Harry, he growled, "What?"
Professor McGonagall raised her brow. She seemed to have calmed down between their march from the pitch to the dungeons. "As you are Harry's other Head of House, it's my duty to inform you that I've made him the Gryffindor Seeker."
Harry stared at the older woman. Wasn't he supposed to be in trouble?
Glancing at Snape, Harry could almost see the wheels in the man's head begin to turn. Thoughts like if McGonagall had decided to make Harry a Seeker, despite his age, then Harry's ability on a broom was definitely better than average. And thoughts that if, in fact, Harry was a decent Seeker and Snape simply disregarded McGonagall's statement, Slytherin would suffer for it.
Finally, the man replied, "I have no objection to this." Before Professor McGonagall could let out a relieved breath, Snape continued, "So long as you do not object to Mr. Potter being the Seeker for Slytherin as well."
Professor McGonagall was tightlipped as she replied, "Very well. I suppose we shall have to see the Headmaster about this, won't we?"
Together, they marched out of the dungeons and towards Dumbledore's office, Harry trailing uneasily behind them. The vantage point gave him a clear view of their stiff backs, and he wondered if all professors had the ability to make their robes billow impressively behind them.
"Toffee Crunch," Professor McGonagall barked, and the stone gargoyle that protected the Headmaster's office moved aside.
Each footfall on the stairs was heavy. When they finally made it to the top of the room, Harry could barely make out Dumbledore sitting at his desk.
"May I help you?" the elderly wizard asked curiously, eyeing the two professors.
Snape and McGonagall immediately spoke up, their words overlapping one another.
"Headmaster, I'd like to make Harry Seeker for Gryffindor."
"Headmaster, I'd like to make Mr. Potter Seeker for Slytherin."
Albus Dumbledore's brow shot up sharply. "Well," he replied, eyes twinkling, "As you are both his Heads of House, I can find no reason to object. However, it might be a bit problematic when Gryffindor plays against Slytherin, don't you think?"
"Harry," the Headmaster said softly, "Come here."
Harry squeezed between the two professors to stand in front of Dumbledore's desk. There was a pause, and he got the impression that the older man expected him to say something.
Finally, he asked, "Headmaster, were any of the other dual sortings Quidditch players?"
"One or two," Dumbledore admitted lightly.
"How did they play?"
"In most cases, the student played for both teams against the houses they were not a part of, and a secondary seeker was employed when their houses played against one another." Dumbledore looked at Harry slyly. "Of course, there was one case where a very resourceful student found a spell that enabled him to divide himself into two bodies."
Harry took a moment to consider. Finally he said, "Would I be able to use that spell?"
"It's a very advanced spell, Harry, but if you are able to master is, I don't see why not. Unless," the Headmaster glanced at Snape and McGonagall, "there are any objections?"
Both professors shook their heads, and Dumbledore instantly brightened. "Well then, the incantation is 'Alteralius.'"
Harry flicked his hand to the side, and his wand slipped from its holster and fell securely into his hand.
Dumbledore continued blithely, "Try not to get your hopes up, my boy. It's an extremely difficult spell, and it may take you awhile to-"
Softly, Harry whispered, "Alteralius." He felt a momentary discomfort, as though he was being pulled apart. The feeling subsided a moment later, and Harry found himself staring at himself, twice. The double vision was a bit awkward.
Both Snape and McGonagall were staring at him in shock. Dumbledore's words trailed off, and for a moment it seemed to Harry that the Headmaster's eyes lost their sparkle.
Mildly, the elderly wizard queried, "Lemon drop?"
He reached out his left hand, consciously willing himself to do so twice, and graciously accepted. The burst of flavor in his mouth was echoed, and both of his mouths replied softly, "Thank you."
There was a slightly tense moment, and one of Harry's mouths began, "Out of curiosity, Headmaster-"
"-is there an incantation to put me back into one body?" his other mouth finished.
"The incantation is 'Ambo,'" Dumbledore replied.
Both Snape and McGonagall were still open-mouthed as Harry repeated in concert, "Ambo."
Back in one body, Harry glanced at Dumbledore. The older man's eyes had narrowed marginally. A quick peek at the two professors showed that they were still shocked, but there was something like dawning respect in Snape's dark eyes.
"Now then," the Headmaster finally said, "I believe there are a few mechanics that need to be worked out."
Professor McGonagall's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. It only took a moment for the three adults to launch into a discussion about working out practice schedules, training programs, and finding Harry two brooms.
It was at this that Harry uncomfortably cleared his throat. "I, ah, already have two brooms," he said softly.
"Which models?" Professor McGonagall demanded.
"A Nimbus 1996, and a Nimbus 2000," Harry replied, staring at the ground.
Professor McGonagall's pursed her lips. "We'll have to look into getting you a second Nimbus 2000, then. It would be unfair to one of your houses otherwise."
Snape sneered, "Top of the line for Famous Harry Potter."
"Severus." Dumbledore's voice was the harshest Harry had ever heard. The Potions Professor's sneer lessened a little. Dumbledore continued, "Well then, I believe that's everything. Harry, if I might talk to you for a moment."
Clearly miffed at having been dismissed, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape swept out of the room.
"Headmaster?" Harry said softly.
Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking very old. "You do realize, Harry, that I didn't expect to have to deal with this until next year." The older man brightened abruptly. "At any rate, that was a skillful bit of work you did with the spell. I'm quite impressed."
Harry felt his face go red. "Thank you, sir."
"Now, I do believe you've missed the end of your flying lesson, but if you cut through your rooms, you'll have just enough time to make it to Charms. You know the way, yes?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied. "Thank you, sir."
"Off with you, then!" Dumbledore's wizened face broke out into a grin.
Harry made his way to the room with all of the doors, slipping through the one that led to his room. Offering a murmured hello and goodbye to Samson and Hedwig, he made his way to Charms.
Thinking of Draco helped him to ignore the whispers.
Professor Flitwick glanced up as Harry entered the classroom. "Mr. Potter!" he squeaked. "Um, have a seat, have a seat. I was just in the middle of roll call."
Harry slipped into the open seat next to Draco, and as soon as the professor had turned away, the blonde leaned over and hissed, "Where _were_ you this morning?"
"I..." Harry stared into the angry silver-blue eyes. "I needed to get out. I went for a ride on one of the school brooms and lost track of time."
Draco's eyes shifted to the side. His voice seemed strained as he muttered, "I'm sorry if I... made you uncomfortable."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Isn't that why you left? Because you woke up next to me?" An embarrassed blush fussed the blonde boy's cheeks.
"No," Harry said slowly, "The mirror in the bathrooms... said something to me."
Instantly, Draco's eyes were once more searching Harry's face. "Really?"
"Really."
Draco grinned, the switch from angry and embarrassed to thrilled and relieved making him look like a completely different person.
Thankful that his friend wasn't angry with him, Harry quickly related the story of what had happened during his flying lesson, how Ron had stolen his ring, how he'd thought he was in trouble when Professor McGonagall pulled him aside, and how he was apparently Seeker for both of his Houses.
Draco listened, wide-eyed, completely ignoring the Charms lesson, and his jaw hit the desktop when he found out Harry was Seeker.
"Are you bloody _serious_?" the blonde hissed.
Harry nodded.
For the rest of Charms class, Draco shook his head, muttering to himself.
Harry's final class of the day was Double Potions with Slytherin and Gryffindor. Having seen the way that Professor Snape disliked him, it was the one class that he wasn't looking forward to. With Draco by his side, he steeled himself against both Snape and Gryffindor, and headed towards the dungeons.
o