Year 1 – The Philosopher's Stone

Chapter 2 – Sorting Hats, Houses, and Rivals

Chapter Summary: Harry gets sorted into his new house, and gets started at this new school, including making some new friends, and meeting some new enemies.

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For occasional graphic concepts and atmosphere. No cussing, no adult situations, no violence (yet).

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Harry Potter. Those rights are owned by Scholastic Publishing Inc and J.K. Rowling. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by J.K. Rowling.

Author's Note: I originally did not include the full sorting song in this chapter because I did not want to repeat large sections of text verbatim from Rowling's novel. However, after writing songs for Years 2 and 3, this chapter felt incomplete with merely a passing mention of the contents of the song. I'm adding it back in, and if you do not wish to read it, feel free to skip it.

Cheers!

When the massive doors opened – creaking only a little on well-maintained hinges – the first thing they saw was a witch with lightly graying black hair, wearing emerald-green robes of a soft, satiny material, with a pointed hat of the same color and texture. She wore a stern expression as she regarded the assembled first year students, and Harry immediately was struck by the impression that here was a woman he would not like to cross.

Hagrid cleared his throat and gestured to Harry and the others behind him, "The firs' years, Professor McGonagall." He told her.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She nodded to him, and turned her full attention to the new students. Hagrid opened the doors the rest of the way, and Harry was treated to his first sight of the entrance hall. It was a vast chamber lit with torches all along the walls. Harry couldn't quite make out the ceiling, it was so high.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the hall, and toward another large doorway through which Harry could hear the sound of hundreds of voices, muffled through the thick stone walls. They were led into a waiting room just next to the larger doors. There was barely enough space to contain them all, and Harry had to stand very still to avoid bumping his closest neighbors with his elbows.

McGonagall then turned to address them, and her no nonsense expression was enough to catch Harry's attention and quiet the room before her, "Welcome to Hogwarts," she began, "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses." She went on to explain about the houses Draco had described to him earlier, and Harry nodded as he recognized the names. But while Draco had tried to explain to him some of what the students in each house were like, McGonagall simply explained how their houses were to be like their family, and how their 'triumphs and failures' would be shared with the whole house. Harry wasn't sure he liked the idea that his house as a whole could be punished by loss of 'points' on his account.

When she was finished, McGonagall suggested that they use the time while they were waiting to straighten up a bit. She then left them to stand quietly, after promising to return for them shortly. Harry immediately attempted, in vain, to flatten his unruly hair.

The moment she was gone, people began whispering about how they would be sorted. Harry tried to listen carefully in case anyone knew more than he and Draco, but everyone seemed as in the dark as they were. Listening to the nervous and almost panicked chatter, was making Harry feel a bit panicked himself. Someone mentioned doing some sort of test, and Harry's heart sank. He wasn't prepared for anything like that. How was he supposed to have known that he would be expected to do… whatever it was they were expected to do…? And it didn't help his confidence that he would evidently be doing it in front of the whole school, either!

He was startled from his rapidly escalating imaginings when several people behind him screamed. He jumped and whirled around to see what looked like… ghosts. He had no other word for them. They were pale-white and translucent, and glowed softly as they glided across the room, seeming to be arguing between themselves.

It took the ghosts a moment before they seemed to even notice the terrified and nerve-wracked children crowding back to give them room. "I say, what are you all doing here?" the first one said. He appeared to be wearing a doublet and tights, with a ruff and lace, all in the same pale colorless texture as the rest of him.

When no one answered him, the second ghost – a bit larger and wearing a monk's habit – spoke, "New students!" he exclaimed, as he smiled at all of them, "About to be Sorted, I suppose." After a few people nodded nervously, he continued, "Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know."

"Move along now," The sharp voice of Professor McGonagall cut through the tense quiet. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Once the ghosts were gone she continued addressing the students, "Now, form a line, and follow me." It took some doing, but they eventually formed a mostly orderly line behind McGonagall as she led them back into the entry and through the double doors into the hall, where the rest of the school was already assembled.

The great hall was lit by thousands of candles which hovered in the air between four long tables and the arched ceiling, though after a second glance, Harry realized the ceiling didn't look much like a ceiling, but almost looked as if it were made of glass, and he could see through to the night sky beyond. He heard someone in the line behind him saying something about it being bewitched. They passed down the middle of the hall, between the four tables, which were laid out with golden plates and goblets in front of the older students already seated.

They were brought to the front of the hall, where the teachers were sitting on a raised platform at their own table. Harry and the others were turned to face the rest of the students, the teachers behind them. Harry looked back at hundreds of pairs of eyes blinking at them, more than a few of them ghosts, hovering amid the students.

McGonagall placed a stool in the space immediately in front of them and set a shabby battered pointed wizard's hat on top. Harry wondered if maybe they were supposed to pull a rabbit out of the hat, but he didn't say anything. After several long moments of absolute quiet, the hat shifted by itself, and a sort of face in the rumpled surface began to move. The hat was singing…

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 hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folks use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!

The room was immediately drowned in applause the moment the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables – a bit of a bob of the pointed tip – then ceased moving altogether.

"So… you just try the hat on?" Draco whispered.

"I guess so." Harry whispered back. It seemed to Harry that Draco was feeling just as perplexed and miffed as he himself was, annoyed that he'd gotten himself worked up over something not so intimidating after all.

McGonagall soon stepped in front of them, and unrolled a very long scroll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat, and sit on the stool to be sorted." She paused briefly, then called the name, "Abbott, Hannah!"

The girl who was called forward, sat on the stool and McGonagall lowered the hat onto her head, after only a moment the Sorting Hat shouted, "Hufflepuff!" and the table to Harry's far right cheered most enthusiastically as McGonagall directed Hannah to join them. The girl strolled happily to sit with her new housemates under a large yellow and black banner emblazoned with a badger.

McGonagall continued to call out names in alphabetical order. Harry noticed that sometimes the hat shouted out the name of a house almost immediately as it came to rest on a student's head, and on other occasions it took a bit of time before making its announcement. During these longer intervals he could see its mouth moving, but couldn't make out any words when it did.

He watched as Hermione Granger – the bossy girl from the train – was sorted into Gryffindor, just as she'd hoped, along with Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, though the hat took a long time deciding for him.

Soon after that, McGonagall called out, "Malfoy, Draco!" And his new friend gave him a grin and moved to take his place on the stool.

The hat had only barely touched his hair before it screamed, "Slytherin!"

There were only about a dozen first years left after Draco joined his friends Crabbe and Goyle at the Slytherin table just to Harry's right. Harry was becoming more and more nervous as he waited, and nearly jumped, when the Professor finally called out, "Potter, Harry!" And, to make matters worse, the hall was quickly filled with echoing whispers before he'd even started toward the stool.

"Potter, did she say?" "The Harry Potter?" "Is that him?" "Told you it was Potter." "Potter, as in… The-Boy-Who-Lived?"

Everyone seemed to be craning to get a look at him, and it was with some relief that the hat dropped over his head, half covering his eyes.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear; the voice of the sorting hat muttering, "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

Draco's in Slytherin. Harry thought to himself. Draco was the only friend he'd made here who was close to his age, and he hoped somehow that he could stick with him a little longer, but he really didn't know where he wanted to be sorted. With his luck, he wouldn't get sorted at all, and McGonagall would take the hat off him – after he'd sat there in silence forever – and tell him there'd been a mistake and he needed to get back on the train.

"The Hufflepuffs would love to have you." The hat continued. "Your heart knows compassion, and you've been marked by a love few will experience." Harry blinked into the darkness inside the hat, wondering what exactly that meant, but before he could dwell on the ramifications of being sorted into Hufflepuff for more than a moment, the hat continued, "You're crafty, and intelligent too, and Ravenclaw values that, though perhaps your mind doesn't quite have the set for them. It's all here in your head, you see, and I can read you like a book. You have a capacity to do great things, and with strong ambition, Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. Hmm, you'd also do well in Gryffindor. You may not feel brave now, but your courage is there, waiting for you to find it." Harry felt a momentary twinge. Was he going to be in Gryffindor? It didn't sound too bad, but Draco didn't seem to think much of the people there. Then again, he'd only known Draco a short time, and didn't entirely agree with all of his opinions either. "So if you don't object…" the Sorting Hat said at last. "SLYTHERIN!"

The hat shouted the last word so that all in the great hall heard. Harry quickly pulled it off his head and started a bit unsteadily towards the Slytherin table, where Draco waited, beaming at him. There was quite a commotion for a while, everyone chattering at once and everyone cheering, especially the students of his new house. Someone was yelling, "Hey, we've got Potter! We've got Potter!"

Harry could see the High Table properly now, and he quickly caught Hagrid's eye. The big man had an odd uncertain expression, but he gave Harry a reassuring smile just the same. At the center of the table was an old man with a long silver beard, whom Harry guessed – from everything he'd seen and heard – was the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. He was regarding Harry curiously, as if something rather unexpected had occurred. Next, Harry spotted Professor Quirrell toward the left, sporting a rather odd purple turban. They'd met briefly at the Leaky Cauldron a month before. Like the others, he was looking at Harry with a very unusual expression. Harry's gaze was drawn then to the man next to him, a tall thin man with black robes, and equally black hair, who looked down at Harry from behind a long thin nose. His, was the most striking expression of all the teachers, a mixture of surprise and rather pointed distaste, much like the look Lucius had given his shabby clothes in King's Cross.

Once the commotion over Harry's placement died down, the hat resumed sorting the last few students. Harry noted the youngest Weasley boy was sorted into Gryffindor, where he joined his brothers – the twins – at the table nearest the far wall from the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. The last student, Blaise Zabini, was made a Slytherin, and McGonagall took the scroll, hat, and stool away.

Albus Dumbledore got to his feet and stood at a podium just in front of the teacher's long table. He spread his arms wide and grinned at them as if seeing them here pleased him more than anything in the world. "Welcome!" he began, in a kindly soft voice, which somehow still carried easily throughout the hall. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!" He sat back down, and everyone broke into applause and cheers again. Harry fought the urge to laugh, noting that no one else was laughing.

"Is he – a bit mad?" Harry asked Draco beside him.

"Well, he is getting a little old." It wasn't Draco who answered, but an older girl who sat close by. Harry recognized her as the voice who'd shouted 'Hey, we've got Potter!' after he'd been sorted.

"He's one of the greatest wizards in the world, but that was a long time ago." She continued. "It was said that even You-Know-Who feared him."

Harry turned to regard the older girl. She smiled and offered a hand across the table, "Farley. Gemma Farley, Slytherin Prefect." She introduced herself. "It's so wonderful to have you, Potter. Slytherin will do even better this year than we did last year, with you on our side."

Harry was about to answer, when he realized the tables were somehow filled with food of all variety and description. He hadn't seen anyone bring it in, and he was speechless for a brief moment, but then he smiled when it occurred to him that it had probably been magic.

He filled up his plate with everything he wanted to try, and after taking a few bites, he remembered the question he'd been about to ask, "Um, Farley, what's a prefect?"

"Prefect?" she blinked at him, but quickly answered, "Prefects are chosen in their fifth year, they receive a letter before coming to school, like I did this summer. Basically, we look after the students in our house. We can even assign punishments, like taking away points – but only to our own house – and detentions – which we can give to any student.

"So, you're a fifth year student?" Harry continued.

She nodded, and resumed her own eating, and Harry decided to leave it at that. He was quite hungry, after all. When he was almost finished, he slowed down enough to look around the room again. He observed Hagrid drinking heavily from his mug – looking well stuffed – and his eyes flitted past Dumbledore to Quirrell, and the black-haired, hook-nosed man next to him. They were deep in conversation when Quirrel stood up briefly and turned to address McGonagall passing behind his seat. In that moment, the black-haired man's gaze shifted, and his eyes met Harry's directly.

Harry felt a sudden sharp pain lance across his forehead, seeming to center on his scar. "Ouch!" he brought his hand to his head and looked away.

"Something wrong?" asked Gemma.

"It's nothing." The pain fled as quickly as it had come.

After a moment he turned back to Gemma and asked, "Who's that teacher next to Professor Quirrell?"

"You've met Quirrell, then?" she asked, glancing up at the teachers he'd mentioned and smiled. "Oh, no wonder he's nervous. That's Professor Snape he's next to, he's…"

But before she could finish Draco interjected, "Snape?" His eyes followed their gaze and he smiled, "That's right! I wasn't thinking about Severus being here! He's good friends with my father. They went to school together."

"Oh did they? Malfoy was it?" Gemma asked him, and Draco nodded. "Snape's the Head of Slytherin House, and teaches Potions. But everyone knows that what he really wants, is to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. That's Quirrell's job, and if you ask me, he's too timid for the post. I had him my third year, and he looks even more jittery now than he did then. Snape makes even me nervous sometimes, though he usually favors us Slytherins."

That gave Harry plenty to think about as the feast was wrapping up. Soon Dumbledore once more stood at the podium, and waited for the hall to quiet. "Ahem – just a few more words, now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds, to everyone who does not wish to die a most painful death."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, though he quickly smothered it when he realized almost no one else was laughing. After that, they all sang the 'school song' together. Though since they were asked to choose their favorite tune, no one was at the same pace, or the same melody. Harry remembered very little of their journey to the Slytherin house wing. His exhaustion seemed to catch up to him with every step he took, as he followed the prefects down into the basement levels of the castle.

He recalled going down some stairs, and passing through a secret door before they were split up into the boys' and girls' dormitories. Harry was asleep practically as he fell into bed, though he must have remembered to take off his shoes and robes at the very last.

If Harry had thought it was bad introducing himself to the few witches and wizards he'd met so far, it was far worse here at the school, where he didn't even have to talk to someone before they'd mutter, and point. The whispers followed him everywhere from the moment he left the Slytherin wing. This proved very distracting as he was trying to find his classrooms. The castle didn't help either, for it was enchanted in some of the most interesting, yet also disorienting ways. Everything was always changing, whether it was the people in the portraits moving to visit other portraits, or the stairs leading to different places at different times.

Classes weren't at all what Harry expected, and he quickly discerned that learning magic was going to be anything but easy. He had Astronomy scheduled for Monday nights, and Herbology at the greenhouses three days a week. Other classes included: History of Magic, taught by a ghost; and Charms, taught by a gnome of a man, Professor Flitwick. Then there was Transfiguration, with Professor McGonagall, where Harry decided his impression of her as a woman he didn't want to cross was most definitely accurate.

Tuesday and Friday were Potions, with Professor Snape, and Harry wasn't certain what he thought of that. Even the Slytherins were wary talking about him, except for Draco, who was convinced 'old Severus' would be their best teacher yet.

When Friday morning came around, Harry and Draco were among the first to arrive for breakfast. Harry had gotten used to the 'morning mail' being delivered by a swarm of owls that came through the windows all around the great hall. But the first time it had happened it'd given him a bit of a shock. Today he was surprised, however, when Hedwig flew down next to him and dropped a note onto his plate.

He quickly tore the letter open, and read it:

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry asked around for a quill – ended up borrowing one from Blaise – and quickly wrote, Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent it off with Hedwig.

"What does 'doubles potions' mean?" Draco asked no one in particular, as he scanned his class schedule for the day.

"Doubles with who?" one of the older students glanced at Draco's parchment. "Ah, Gryffindor, that means both houses share the class for your year. Everyone gets doubles with some classes. 3rd years have Transfiguration doubles with Ravenclaw. You'll get the same doubles every year, most likely, those Ravenclaws aren't very fun to compete with in Transfiguration, let me tell you…"

So it was with mixed feelings that Harry attended his first Doubles Potions with Gryffindor. He'd gotten the impression at the banquet that Professor Snape didn't like him very much. He was about to learn just how wrong he'd been. Snape didn't dislike Harry, he seemed to actively loath him for no reason Harry could discern.

It started as Snape was taking roll call. When he got to Harry's name, he paused, "Ah yes." He began, speaking softly, but very precisely, "Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity."

Once he was finished, he paced along the cold room in the dungeons and regarded them each in turn as he talked, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making." Harry quickly started taking notes, wanting to prove to himself and everyone, that he had what it took to be a good wizard, whether or not he was 'famous'. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. However, for those select few…" he paused briefly, "Who possess, the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind, and ensnare the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death." He paused again, "Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not, pay, attention!" He said this last with a stern emphasis which caused Harry to glance up from taking his notes, to see Professor Snape looming over him, and scowling, his thin eyebrows drawn close over his black eyes, which left Harry feeling a bit chilled, and not just from the low temperature in the room.

"Tell me, Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" He asked.

"I don't know, sir." Harry responded after a moment, growing a bit uncomfortable, though he noticed the frizzy-haired Hermione Granger across the room with the other Gryffindors raising her hand high in the air.

"Let's try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry glanced around the room in his uncertainty, delaying a moment to try and recall anything he'd read in his books in his month with the Dursleys before school, "I don't know, sir." He repeated at last.

Snape continued, still ignoring Hermione's raised hand, though now she was coming off her seat in her eagerness. "And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"I don't know, sir." Harry repeated for the third time.

"Pity. Clearly, fame isn't everything, is it, Mr. Potter?"

"I think Hermione knows." Harry added after a moment, just as Snape was turning away.

"Sit down!" Snape told Hermione sharply then turned back to Harry. "For your information Potter, Asphodel and Wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of the Living Death. A Bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for Monkshood and Wolfsbane, they are the same plant which also goes by the name of Aconite." A glare was all it took to send half the room rummaging for quills to write down what he'd just said.

"A point will be taken from Slytherin, for your cheek, Potter." Snape told him once the noise quieted down a bit. Then he turned away.

"So much for Snape favoring Slytherin…" Harry mumbled.

As the class continued, they were working on a relatively simple potion, and Snape wandered the room, criticizing nearly everyone except Malfoy. And while he tended to rant at the Gryffindors a bit more than the Slytherins, it was obvious Harry was his favorite victim.

For their first class they were learning how to brew a cure for boils. Harry was at least glad that he'd been partnered with Draco, which made the class slightly more tolerable. He felt sorry for the Gryffindor, Hermione, for Snape picked on her nearly as much as Harry. The toadless boy from the train also seemed to earn a strong portion of the professor's ire, though part of that may have been that the boy was so nervous he kept making mistakes.

"Is that the correct order for those crushed fangs to go in, Potter?" Snape asked at one point, as he passed by his cauldron yet again.

"Yes, sir." Harry said immediately, with more confidence than he felt. He was learning that it was best not to hesitate when the potions master asked him a question.

Draco, who'd been glancing over their recipe, reached out and snatched the cup containing their crushed snake fangs from Harry's hand just before he'd been about to tip it into the simmering cauldron.

"That's another point from Slytherin, Potter. You really should pay better attention. Potion making is a very exact science." He told him sharply.

Some of the students chuckled or snickered, particularly on the Gryffindor side of the room. Harry had been noticing that Neville's partner – a sandy-haired boy he remembered seeing in the line in front of him before being sorted – tended to laugh the most openly whenever Snape picked on Harry. Usually Snape would chastise any Gryffindor who made any such noise, but not when they were laughing at Harry, it seemed.

"And that will earn you two points for Slytherin, Malfoy, for your timely save." Snape finished, before sweeping away to tyrannize someone else for a while.

Draco looked pleased, and when Harry turned his somewhat annoyed frown toward his friend, Draco just shrugged, and gestured for them to get back to work. After that Harry paid extra careful attention to their recipe, and found that between him and Draco they could do fairly well.

Harry and Draco were nearly done with their potion, when a hiss of steam and smoke filled the chamber, drawing everyone's gaze across the room towards Neville and his partner. Their cauldron was melting and bubbling on the table between them, and while the sandy-haired boy had leapt aside in time, Longbottom was covered in the green concoction.

"Idiot boy!" Snape snarled, as he whipped out his wand and gestured with it, causing the spilled potion to vanish. It was too late for Neville, however, as his skin was already starting to break out in numerous painful looking boils, particularly on his hands. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" their teacher intoned as he bore down on the pair, and got a close look at the boy's injuries. Then he turned on Neville's partner, "Mr. Finnigan. Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? You two might be the only ones in this room actually less competent than Potter."

The boy – Finnigan – glared angrily at Harry as Snape instructed him to take Longbottom to the hospital wing. Harry thought it was quite unfair, and opened his mouth to object, but Draco caught his eye and shook his head. Harry tried harder to concentrate on his own potion making and his quiet and sporadic conversation with Draco after that.

Class continued pretty much the same way, though without a repeat of Neville's disastrous mistake, of course. Seamus Finnigan returned from taking Longbottom to the hospital wing in a truly foul mood, but it wasn't until after the class, as Harry was complaining to Draco – who seemed as baffled as he was by Snape's behavior – that they had their first real run-in with the sandy-haired Irish boy.

Finnigan didn't look like his mood had improved at all when he deliberately bumped into Harry at the top of the stairs coming out from the dungeons. "Ya think yer better than us, is that it Potter?" he spouted, his Irish accent giving his words an unusual emphasis. "Figures, after You-Know-Who left 'is mark on ya, ye'd decide to follow in 'is footsteps, joinin' up with them Slytherins."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Harry said angrily, still smarting from his treatment at Snape's hands. "Get out of my way."

"You're one to talk." Draco interjected as Harry tried to push past the Irish boy. Seamus wasn't much bigger than Harry, but he was quick, and interposed himself in their path as Draco spoke. "You're just jealous that Harry Potter made it into the best house in the school. Everyone knows Gryffindor is nothing but barbarian fools and hero pretenders."

"Mind yer own business, boyo." Seamus snapped, as Harry turned back.

"I can handle myself, Draco." Harry assured his friend. Then quickly rounded on Seamus, "If all Gryffindors spend their time looking for fights, then I'm quite glad to be a Slytherin, thank you."

Seamus' mouth opened, and his face began to turn a bit pink, but Harry didn't stick around to find out what would happen next. He dodged past Seamus with Draco right on his heels and continued past several other students who'd stopped to watch the emerging spectacle.

"That was brilliant." Draco told him as soon as they were a respectable distance down the corridor.

"I guess." Harry didn't feel brilliant, he was just glad to be out of that situation. "He's not going to leave it alone." He added after a moment. "I probably just made it worse."

"We can handle his sort." Draco assured him. "So what're you up to this afternoon? Wish we could go practice Quidditch or something, but first years aren't allowed to have brooms."

"I'm visiting Hagrid for tea." Harry told him.

"Hagrid? That giant Dumbledore lets be the grounds keeper?" Draco seemed a bit shocked.

"Yeah, that's him, why?" Harry stopped to regard his companion, wondering at his reaction.

"Father says he's an idiot, and possibly dangerous. He says that he shouldn't be allowed to be around children at the school, but the other governors won't back him up on it."

Harry was at a momentary loss, not expecting this turn of conversation. He'd never had any sort of impression of Hagrid being dangerous. "I don't think he's dangerous, he's probably the least dangerous person in the school."

"But, my father says…"

"Does your father know him?" Harry interjected before Draco could finish. "Hagrid was the one who told me I was a wizard. He took me to Diagon Alley, and helped me get everything I needed for school. He bought me my owl, Hedwig. He's just a big old softie. He'd never hurt anyone, especially the children at the school. And Dumbledore trusts him completely."

"Well he's…" Draco was the one at a loss this time. "He's kind of simple though, you have to admit…?"

"What of it?" Harry couldn't really refute that one. Hagrid wasn't stupid, but he wasn't the sharpest person he'd met either. "Crabbe and Goyle seem a bit simple to me, and that doesn't stop you from being their friend."

"Oh, right." Malfoy thought for a moment, then sighed, "Maybe you're right, maybe father just doesn't know him." It almost seemed to pain him to say the words. "Why don't I come with you to see him, then I can tell my father what I think of him."

"That sounds fair." Harry agreed, "I said I'd meet him around three."

And so it was, that at a quarter to three Harry and Draco were leaving the castle, and heading down the hill in the direction of the little wood hut where Hagrid lived, just at the edge of the forbidden forest. It was tall enough for a man of Hagrid's stature to stand in comfortably, though from outward appearances it couldn't have contained more than one room.

When Harry knocked, there was a rustle and scurrying to the door, accompanied by fierce barking and Hagrid's voice – as stern as Harry had heard him – "Back, Fang – back." Hagrid managed to open the door a crack to see who was calling, and told Harry, "Hang on," before disappearing again behind the door.

"Fang?" Draco said, paling slightly, before Hagrid opened the door, having achieved a restraining hold on the large black boarhound's collar.

"Make yerselves at home." Hagrid invited, closing the door behind them as they entered his humble abode. It seemed smaller on the inside, the single chamber taken up mostly by a moderately-sized table and a massive bed covered in a quilt. Hagrid released Fang once the door was securely shut, and Draco squeaked as it raced to him and began licking his face rather enthusiastically, causing the blonde boy to stumble backward into the nearest chair.

It seemed harmless enough, to Harry's mind, just energetically friendly. "This is Draco." Harry introduced his friend, "I hope you don't mind me bringing him along." Hagrid was busying himself putting rock cakes onto plates for them, and filling a large tea pot with scalding hot water.

"Draco, is it?" Hagrid gave him a smile, and extended a hand, "Rubeus Hagrid, nice ta see yer makin' friends a'ready, 'Arry." His hand enveloped Draco's and shook it vigorously for a moment. When he was done, Draco examined his hand, as if checking to make sure it was still intact.

Draco then tried a bite of the rock cakes, the sound of his teeth crunching down was painful to Harry's ears. "Ow, what are these? I could break a tooth on these things." He muttered.

"Sorry, might 'ave overcooked 'em a bit." Hagrid blushed sheepishly.

Harry pretended to enjoy his cakes, as Malfoy stuck to the tea, and they talked about various things, though mostly about Harry's first week, and all the classes they'd had so far, finishing with an account of their first Doubles Potions with Snape.

"I was told Snape favors Slytherins." Harry explained, "But he seems to hate me, and love Draco, though I can't really figure out why."

"He and my father were friends in school." Draco supplied after a moment, "I've known him since I was little. He's always been like an uncle to me."

"Yer father?!" Hagrid took another look at Draco, and seemed to suddenly realize something, "Yer Lucius' son then, Draco Malfoy? I didn' make the connection, sorry 'bout that."

Draco waved it off, "I can understand why Snape likes me, but I honestly have no idea why he'd hate Harry, 'specially since he's a Slytherin."

"Yeah, I been meanin' ter ask ya about that." Hagrid said, not meeting Harry's eyes.

"About what?" Harry asked, perplexed, absently stroking Fang's head. The dog was resting his muzzle on Harry's knee where he was drooling all over Harry's robes.

"Well yer… I mean… well, ter be honest, it was a bit of a shock when you got sorted inta Slytherin."

"Don't tell me you believe all those nasty rumors too." Draco scowled darkly at Hagrid for a moment.

"No, no, nothin' like that. It's just… yer parents were both Gryffindors, as was Dumbledore, and meself. Most o' yer dad's friends were in Gryffindor, and yer mom's too, 'sept fer S…" He paled a bit, and averted his gaze again, "'Sept for one or two." He finished, though Harry wondered what he'd been about to say before he caught himself.

"Well, I didn't know. No one told me." Harry admitted, thinking a bit, then asked, "Hagrid, what house was Volde… I mean, You-Know-Who, in?" thinking about what Seamus Finnigan had said earlier.

"Tha's just it." Hagrid cleared his throat, looking a bit embarrassed.

"He was in Slytherin, wasn't he? That's what Finnigan meant."

"Just because one dark wizard was in Slytherin, doesn't mean you're going to be like him, just 'cause you are too." Draco insisted, and seemed surprised when Hagrid backed him up.

"He's right, 'Arry, it doesn't matter what house yer in, you'll do great, and make yer parents proud in Slytherin as easily as Gryffindor, or any other house. The Sortin' Hat knows its business, so don' worry yer head none."

Harry felt reassured, and was definitely in a better mood as they chatted for the better part of the afternoon. Even Draco seemed to loosen up and enjoy Hagrid's company after a while, though he still seemed wary of Fang's particular brand of affection.

Snape's class had unsettled him, but by the time they left Hagrid's hut – about an hour before dark – Harry felt much more positive about his first week of school.

Author's Comments: I've been working on this one for quite some time, and while I don't read a lot of Harry Potter fan fiction, I understand this particular concept has been done before. However, the ideas wouldn't leave me alone, and I'm sure my story will have its own merit and uniqueness. In particular, Seru Crescent and Illusor Maeneld have encouraged me to work on this when I wasn't sure if it was worth the effort. Though I think it's off to a good start.

So please, let me know what you think.

EDIT: Once again I've been making some edits here, and while nothing major has been updated in this chapter, I think I've improved the flow in certain areas significantly. Hope you all enjoy!

Once again the copyrights for the Harry Potter worlds belong to J.K. Rowling. All original characters depicted here and this story are copyrighted to me.