Chapter 3 – The Practical Applications of Violence
AN
Welcome to the next chapter which, as the title implies, is about fluffy kittens and flower arranging. Possibly.
Actually, I should flag up a violence warning here: for the first time in the story you get to see what a Grindelwald-trained Harry can do, and it's not pretty. On the other side of the coin, I hope the later part of the story shows that that he isn't some evil, unfeeling machine, either. There are no absolutes in life, unless it's on a bottle of vodka.
Huge squidgy thanks to Arnel for her wondrous beta skills, and thanks to everyone who's left a review of this story, too. The feedback on this one has been tremendous, and it is appreciated.
Harry followed the group of nervous first years as they trailed behind the pair of Slytherin prefects. Although he hadn't said anything to anyone, he'd already memorised the layout of the castle from the extensive set of plans his Aunt Bathy had left at the house. She'd been planning a book on Hogwarts, but had only got as far as gathering reference material before she died. He suspected those plans were going to be a major help in the coming months.
The nameless prefects halted in front of what appeared to be a blank, stone wall.
"Right, this is the entrance to the Slytherin common room," the male one explained forcefully. "Currently, the password is set as 'Glumbumble', although we change it weekly. We tend to use Potion ingredients for passwords in honour of our Head of House."
"You will not disclose this information to a member of any other House," the dark-haired female, who was the other prefect present, declared vehemently. "If it's found that you've revealed this information, the consequences will be extremely unpleasant for you, understand?"
The first years all mumbled a positive response, clearly intimidated by the authoritarian prefects. The male prefect repeated the password, and the stone wall slid aside, revealing a dark passageway. Both prefects entered the passage without hesitation, and the rest of the group shuffled after them in a rather more timid manner.
A few moments later, Harry had his first look at the Slytherin common room. He had to confess, this was much more to his taste then the rather tacky Great Hall had been. The most striking aspect of the room was the large, arched windows that dominated the far wall, through which the dark, murky waters of the Great Lake could be seen. Harry remembered reading that the common room extended partway under the lake, although the waters outside were shallow enough to allow rays of green-tinted light to penetrate through the windows. The effect gave the room a dark, mysterious aura, like walking through some atmospheric underwater shipwreck.
The furnishings only added to the eerie atmosphere. Low-backed, black sofas were scattered around the room, while dark-wooden tables and cupboards were positioned at various points. Medieval tapestries hung from the walls, interspersed with grand paintings of fierce-looking witches and wizards, no doubt respected Slytherin alumni. More intimidating still were the bleached skulls that were mounted in prominent positions. While the place could hardly be called welcoming, indeed, it was rather chilly and bleak, Harry had to admit he felt strangely at home here.
"Right, the boys' bedrooms are through that corridor on the right, the girls' ones are to the left. As befits our status as the greatest of the four Houses, we are the only ones that provide our students with individual rooms," the female prefect lectured. "It is a privilege that you should not abuse. The penalty for finding a boy in a girl's room, or vice versa, is particularly harsh. There will be no fraternisation in your rooms, even for those of you entered into betrothal agreements, is that clear?"
The first years all nodded vigorously.
"When you enter the corridor, you'll find the first year's accommodation clear marked. You will already have been assigned a room and your name will be marked on the door. Do not attempt to swap rooms," the male prefect added, before turning towards Harry with a sneer on his face. "Potter, you have a room allocated in the seventh years' wing. I understand it used to be a store room."
"I'm sure it will be adequate," Harry replied blandly.
The prefect's sneer only got uglier, although he refrained from saying anything further.
"Right, we'll expect all of you back down here at seven-thirty sharp tomorrow morning. You will be washed and dressed to a standard we would expect from a member of this House, which is to say, immaculate. If I see any grubby, unwashed faces or dirty uniforms, you will find yourselves in detention with Professor Snape and, trust me, you don't want that," the female continued while glaring at the youngsters. "Okay, off you go to your rooms where you'll find your trunks have already been delivered. Get a good night's sleep, because you'll need it tomorrow. Off you go, now!"
"Not you, Potter," the male prefect said firmly. "You stay here. Your fellow seventh year pupils all wanted the chance to say hello. They'll be here soon, so make yourself comfortable. While you can, anyway."
The two prefects turned and walked away, leaving Harry standing in the deserted common room. With a shrug, he took a seat on one of the sofas, specifically choosing one that faced away from the entrance. He relaxed and watched the green waters outside the window calmly.
It was several minutes later when he heard the door swing open behind him, and the low murmur of voices disrupt the silence. Listening intently, he gauged the progress of his fellow pupils as they entered the common room. There was little of the rumbustiousness that had filled the Great Hall earlier, he noted. Indeed, Harry could almost sense the tense atmosphere around him. Surreptitiously, he began to stretch his arms and legs, warming his muscles up in preparation of what was to come.
"Potter! Stand up and face me like a man, you miserable piece of excrement!" a sneering voice said loudly from somewhere behind him. Obediently, Harry stood and turned to face his aggressor.
It was all he could do to keep a smile from forming on his face. There, perhaps ten feet away, was Draco Malfoy with his two thuggish companions standing at his shoulders. The rest of the House had arranged themselves around the walls, many of them openly grinning at the prospect of impending violence. Keeping his face expressionless, Harry walked around the sofa towards Malfoy, halting once he was just a few feet away from the boy.
'Boy' was absolutely the correct word to describe the Malfoy heir, he decided. Now he could look at him closely, Harry could see that Draco was a pale, slender young man who gave the impression of being outrageously pampered all his life. His clothes were expertly tailored and his white-blond hair smoothed back with scented oils. He smelt of expensive soaps and cologne. Judging by his slim, almost delicate, build, Harry suspected the boy had never done any hard, physical activity in his life. He was a soft, mollycoddled little prince. Of course, this may be no reflection on his magical abilities, and Harry doubted any Malfoy would be a slouch with a wand. Just looking into the boy's cold, grey eyes, Harry could sense that Draco had abilities in Occlumency. What other talents did he have, Harry wondered?
The two thugs were a more obvious problem. Even if they were as ungainly as they first appeared, their bulk ensured that if they could get a good punch in, it would probably put him down. He'd need to take that pair out quickly.
"Well?" Draco demanded loudly. "Are you dumb as well as stupid? Or are you so arrogant that you thought that you could just waltz in here with impunity? We don't take kindly to half-blood scum like you in Slytherin, Potter."
Harry took the opportunity to look around him. He saw Davis leaning against the far wall with an impassive expression on her face. Lounging casually near the entrance to the boys' sleeping accommodation was the Weasley girl, who actually looked amused by the whole thing. He offered the girl a quick smile before turning back to Draco.
"I don't recall us being introduced," Harry said in a steady voice. "I take it I'm addressing Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy estate and only son of Lucius Malfoy, the degenerate shithead that I arrange to have thrown in Azkaban?"
There was an audible gasp from around the room. Malfoy's face started turning red as his anger grew. Harry smirked; a fight was probably unavoidable, so he figured he might as well goad Draco into action sooner rather than later.
"How dare you refer to my father like that, you filthy vermin! You're going to regret that, Potter. In fact, I'm going to make you regret ever showing your ugly face at Hogwarts. Get him!" Draco snarled.
The two thugs standing beside Malfoy clenched their fists and took a step forward. A stab of fear rose within Harry in anticipation of the coming confrontation. A foolish person would have suggested that only a coward feels fear before entering any sort of fight, but Harry knew better. Fear was the body's natural response to danger. It heightened the senses and sent adrenalin into the system, increasing blood-flow to the muscles and oxygen to the lungs. As long as you didn't allow your fear to dissolve into panic, it was an essential tool in any fight.
Bracing himself for action, Harry took a deep breath. As he half expected, he caught the scent of two people behind him: a boy and a girl. The boy smelt of a spicy aftershave and shoe polish, while the girl's scent was dominated by an overpowering perfume that turned Harry's stomach. As the two thugs stepped closer, Harry detected the boy behind him coming closer.
Letting out a primal yell, Harry kicked backwards with his right leg as hard as he could. He was gratified when his foot made contact with soft tissue, and a started grunt sounded from behind him. After taking a split second to regain his balance, Harry took a half-step forward and kicked the fatter of the two thugs squarely in the groin. The boy gave an agonised scream, and fell to his knees, clutching himself. While a far from noble tactic, when you were fighting in close-quarters and were heavily outnumbered, you had no choice other than to put your opponents down as fast as you could, by any means.
Harry turned and saw that the girl, who turned out to be the hard-faced female he'd seen fawning over Malfoy earlier, had drawn her wand and was pointing it at him. Ducking down, he grabbed the scar-faced, dark-skinned boy who he had kicked in the stomach, and shoved him in the girl's direction. The boy stumbled into her, knocking them both over.
Knowing that he'd been immobile for far too long, Harry threw himself into a forward roll, just in time to see a bolt of purple light streak over his head. Harry scrambled to his feet with lightning speed, to find himself face to face with Malfoy, who was attempting to cast another spell at him. Harry grabbed the front of the boy's robes, and rammed his forehead into Draco's face. Malfoy went down hard, blood cascading from his nose.
The taller thug, who bore an uncanny resemblance to a gorilla, had by now managed to close the gap between them and grabbed Harry by his robes. He raised his fist to deliver a knock-out punch, but Harry was faster. With the rigid fingers of his right hand, he jabbed the boy in the throat. The thuggish brute instantly let go of Harry, and clutched his neck while making choking noises. A second later, Harry's elbow made contact with the side of the boy's head, knocking him out.
Without wasting a second, Harry leapt back towards the girl and the dark-skinned boy, who had just about managed to untangle themselves and were starting to scramble to their feet. Harry kicked the girl hard in the stomach, and she emitted a high-pitch squeal of pain, and fell back clutching her mid-drift in agony. The dark-skinned boy just stared at Harry in complete shock, until Harry's fist connected squarely with his face. The boy crumpled to the floor and didn't get back up.
Taking a breath, Harry quickly took stock of his foes. Malfoy was on his knees with his hands pressed to his face, blood dripping between his fingers. One of the thugs was rolling on the floor, his hands pressed between his legs, whimpering, while the other was out cold. The dark-skinned boy was also unconscious, while the girl had risen to her hands and knees, and was vomiting on the floor.
Movement caught Harry's eye and he turned to see the weedy, rat-faced boy that had been with Draco's group earlier pulling out his wand. With a practised flick of the wrist, Harry's wand slipped into his hand, and he aimed it at directly the sneering young man.
"Just try it, you little turd, and I'll smear you all over that wall," Harry growled.
The boy paled noticeably, and the tip of his wand dropped for a second, before he suddenly snapped off a Stunning Spell in Harry's direction. Harry dropped his shoulder and the red bolt of light passed harmlessly by him. He returned fire with a Banishing Spell, which caught the rat-faced boy squarely in the chest and slammed him hard into the back wall. There was an audible crack of breaking bone, and the boy collapsed in a heap.
A stunned silence greeted him. Filled with an immense anger, Harry strode over to where Malfoy was kneeling and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head up. He then dragged the boy forward, as Draco's fingers clutched desperately at Harry's wrist. Malfoy screamed like a stuck-pig as he was dragged along.
"Everyone enjoy the show?" Harry yelled at the gathered Slytherins, who all watched him in complete shock.
No-one seemed willing to speak.
"No? Oh, what a shame. I expect you were all hoping to see me get beaten to a pulp, weren't you? Sorry to disappoint," he snarled, taking another step forward and causing Draco to scream again. "Well, I'm here to tell you that your sad little lives have just changed. There's a new order to the universe, and if you don't like it then you're going to have problems."
Disgusted by the greasy feel of Draco's hair, Harry pushed the boy's head forwards, before kicking him hard in the stomach. Malfoy curled into a ball, his arms cradling his mid-section. The arrogant young man sobbed as he pressed his face into the lavish rug that covered the floor.
"This miserable little worm's day is over," Harry continued with a contemptuous wave at the grovelling boy. "I'm here now and things are going to change. I have zero tolerance for moronic blood-purists and Muggle-haters. Anyone who thinks they are instantly superior because their families practiced in-breeding for several generations is a cretin, in my book. Blaming your problems on Muggles is stupid, too. They don't need us and we don't need them. Let them do their own thing, I say."
Harry walked over to where the dark-haired girl was still on her hands and knees, having pretty much emptied her stomach out by this point. He placed the sole of his boot on the girl's backside and shoved. She fell forward with a screech, landing in her own vomit.
"But if there's one thing I truly hate in this world," Harry continued, smirking at the sobbing girl, "it's Death Eaters. Voldemort killed my parents and he has tried, and failed, to kill me several times. Well, I've had enough. It's my intention to bury that snake-faced bastard six feet under, and, if he's lucky, I'll kill him before I do it."
A gasp of horror escaped from most of the assembled Slytherins.
"What? Frightened by the name, are you? It's only a made-up name, created by a pathetic little half-blood whose mummy and daddy didn't love him. He so despises what he actually is, the sad prick has to take it out on the rest of the world, attacking those not of 'pure' blood in a desperate effort to hide the fact that he's one of them. But you know what the saddest thing is? Some of you pitiful fools actually follow him! Unbelievable!" Harry snorted, prowling around the room like a caged tiger.
He stopped and slowly looked around him.
"Let me explain what happens now," he said in a cold voice. "Someday soon, I'm going to kill Voldemort. In addition, I fully intend to massacre all of his arse-licking Death Eaters, too. If I find anyone bearing a Dark Mark, I will kill them without hesitation or remorse. If anyone tries to stop me or gets in my way, I promise I will put them in hospital for a very long time. Do you all understand me?"
A stunned silence was his only response.
"I SAID, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" Harry yelled in a voice like thunder.
"Yes!" came a ragged chorus of voices. Many of the Slytherins just stood staring at him with dumbfounded expressions on their faces.
"I suppose that will have to do. Now, someone pick up these worthless little shits and take them to the hospital wing. Oh, and if anyone else wants to have a go at me, please feel free, although I should tell you that I took it easy on this lot. Next time I won't be so lenient," he spat and strode towards the entrance to the boy's dormitory.
As he passed through the entrance, he noticed Weasley still leaning against the wall. As he approached, she broke into a slow, silent handclap, the amused expression still on her face. Harry winked at her as he passed, intent on finding his room.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Around an hour later, Harry was to be found lounging elegantly on his bed, surveying his new accommodation.
To be honest, it wasn't nearly as bad as he had feared. Although it was small, it wasn't the matchbox that the prefect had implied. A four-poster bed dominated the room, but there was still enough space for a small writing desk and a chair. His trunk had already been deposited at the foot of his bed, he noted, and no attempt had been made to try and open it. Next to the bed was another door, which on examination led to a small bathroom which boasted a toilet, sink and shower. While it certainly wasn't luxurious, it wasn't uncomfortable, by any means.
Harry lay back and allowed himself to relax. Although the door to his room boasted only a simple sliding lock, he had reinforced this with a complicated series of wards and protections that should ensure that nobody, student or teacher alike, could enter without his express permission. A simple Blood Magic ritual would guarantee that anyone who tried would bitterly regret it, assuming they survived, that is.
Thinking back over his day, Harry realised that things here at Hogwarts were both simpler and more complicated than he had feared. This was a school divided, he realised, and a potential powder-keg. His new, small friends in Hufflepuff had made clear how sick of the racist attitude of Slytherins the rest of the school actually were, while here within the House he could already see divisions that he could utilise. Of course, he had yet to meet his Head of House, but he suspected that meeting wouldn't be too far off. In a perverse way, he was looking forward to it.
In the meantime, he would present a very visible face to the rest of the school. Smiling to himself, he recalled the lessons his guardian had imparted on him.
"Most of what we believe to be true is not," Gellert explained in an amused voice. "Everyone has an image we like to present to the world, and frequently this has little to do with the person we actually are."
"So, everyone is a liar? I don't believe that," Harry snorted, looking at the old man warily.
"Oh, it's true! Every single person on the face of this planet is a liar, to some extent. The trouble is, most of us don't realise we are lying," Gellert continued. "Take me, for instance. For years, I lived under the self-imposed belief that witches and wizards needed to take over the world, and lead the poor, misguided Muggles into a new era of prosperity. It was utter rubbish, my boy. I was merely looking for excuses to justify what I was doing. I was lying to myself."
"But you realised that in the end, didn't you?" Harry pressed. "That's when you gave up searching for the Deathly Hallows and stopped trying to take over the world."
"Well, not immediately. To tell you the truth, at first, I just accepted that I wanted total control. I was honest enough to realise that I wanted to be king of the world. An all-powerful, magical emperor, to whom everybody bent their knee. That's what I wanted to be," Gellert admitted before sighing deeply. "Only later did I come to understand how foolish my dream was. One man cannot rule the world! The very idea is preposterous. All men have free-will and an in-built desire for freedom. The only way one man will ever rule entirely will be if he kills every other living being on the planet. Even Voldemort, with all his insane dreams of power, knows this. He seeks to subjugate the Muggles by turning the entire magical population against them. He, in turn, will rule the witches and wizards through fear and intimidation. Divide and conquer, my boy. But, in the end, even that idea won't work for long."
"Why not?" Harry asked in fascination.
"Because Voldemort cannot impress his will on everyone. It only takes one person to start a revolution, and the people who you subjugate the hardest will always be the ones to rise up and destroy you. That is a clear lesson from history; just ask your aunt," Gellert said with a wink. "Besides, wanting to rule the world is just childish."
"Childish?" Harry repeated in surprise. "How can wanting to rule over everybody and everything be childish?"
"Because it's an impossible dream," Gellert responded gently. "Can you stop the tides turning, or the rain from falling? No, of course you can't. Neither can you control the thoughts and actions of seven billion people completely, nor, in my opinion, do you actually need to. Some of the most powerful men in history have been virtually unknown to the general public. They have worked in secret, moulding the world to their desires and reaping the rewards from their positions in the shadows. Contrarily, others have used fame and public opinion to get what they want, effectively using the population's own beliefs and assumptions for their own benefit. Either way is better than just trying to take over and force your will on others, which will just create anger, bitterness and hatred of you."
"So, which path do you think is best?" Harry asked.
"For you, Harry, there is only one path available. Unless you chose you spend your life wearing a disguise, you will have no option but to be in the public eye. You are famous, don't forget, and if you are wise you will use that fame to your advantage. Remember, if you don't use your name, someone else will. As soon as you reveal yourself to the outside world, the press will be onto you like a pack of wild dogs. Make sure they are saying what you want them to say, not what they just think will make a good story," Gellert advised sagely.
He paused to take a drink from his coffee cup before wincing. Bathilda only ever drank tea, and her choice of brands when it came to purchasing his coffee left a lot to be desired. Irritably, he pushed the cup away.
"Being in the public eye is all about image," he continued. "You must think carefully about what image you want to portray at any given time. Situations will change and you must adapt. There are times when you must present yourself as a strong and decisive person, a true leader and someone to be trusted. At other times, it may benefit you to show a more vulnerable, tender side. You must always be careful about your appearance, Harry. You would be amazed how much of an impression dressing well makes. I suspect that you will want to project the image of a powerful, intelligent wizard, and making sure that you wear sensible, well-styled clothes is an important way of conveying that. I ask you, who would you trust more to make important decisions: a man dressed in a suit, or one dressed in jeans and a t-shirt?"
"It all sounds a bit superficial," Harry protested. "Surely most people would see through what someone was wearing and just choose the person who was best for the job, wouldn't they?"
"Oh, my poor naïve child. You credit the general public with far too much intelligence. Yes, a few people will look beneath the surface and ask the truly important questions, but most people will just make their first impressions based on image. You never get a second chance to convey a first impression, so always be sure to grab that opportunity!"
Harry smiled, thinking back to those involved conversations he used to have with his guardian. Gellert had a world of experience, and never once tried to hide his terrible past. It was based on the old man's knowledge and wisdom that Harry had laid out his plan of action.
Handling the Ministry had been easy. While Scrimgeour's predecessor, Fudge, had been an incompetent idiot who relied totally on either Dumbledore or Lucius Malfoy to tell him what to do, the present Minister was more of his own man. This didn't mean, however, that he couldn't be manipulated. It had been a simple matter to convince Scrimgeour that Harry had remained hidden for so long because he feared attack from Death Eaters and the interference of Albus Dumbledore. The Minister had readily agreed to Harry's idea that he should attend Hogwarts to act a spy on the Headmaster. Hell, Scrimgeour had practically creamed his pants at the thought that the Boy Who Lived would be a Ministry mole. He'd bought into Harry's lies eagerly.
Dumbledore, of course, would just be delighted to have Harry back under his influence and would use the opportunity to try to mould him into a useful tool, completely unaware that Harry was totally aware of his intentions. Neither the Minister nor the Headmaster realised that Harry had manipulated both of them to get himself positioned in exactly the place he wanted to be.
Apart from his primary mission here, Harry had other tasks he wanted to perform. After so long in the shadows, he had to create a public persona for himself. If he could take control of Slytherin and curb its aggression towards the other Houses, he would make a very positive impression as a young man who could get things done. Likewise, if he could bring the more extreme elements of Slytherin to heel, he would simultaneously cut off a source of new recruits for Voldemort and gather useful allies. If that meant a few sons and daughters of Death Eaters happen to end up having unfortunate accidents, well, so be it.
Harry rolled off his bed and entered the small bathroom area. He looked at his reflection in the (thankfully) non-magical mirror and smiled. With the index finger of his right hand, he reached up and ran his finger along the length of his famous scar. The make-up wiped off on his finger, leaving only a thin, barely-noticeable lightning bolt-shaped line on his forehead. Muggle make-up was so much better than Glamour Charms, which could be easily detected, and was a necessary addition.
After all, it wouldn't do for Albus Dumbledore to learn that Harry's guardian had known exactly what that scar represented, and unlike the meddling Headmaster of Hogwarts, had done something about it.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Next morning, Harry casually made his way down to the common room. A brief examination of the Charms he had cast on his door revealed someone had attempted to enter his room the previous night, but had failed miserably. As none of the nastier traps had been sprung, Harry assumed whoever it had been had at least had the common sense to cast a few Detection Spells on door before trying to gain entry. Lucky for them.
As soon as he entered the chilly common room, he was confronted by a nervous girl he recognised as being one of the prefects that had guided the first years here after the welcome feast. Her previous arrogant manner appeared to have vanished Harry noted with some small satisfaction.
"Um, Potter?" the girl practically stammered. "Professor Snape wants to see you in his office immediately."
"Very well," Harry agreed calmly. "Where is his office?"
"Oh! It's just down the corridor, on the right," she said, her words tumbling out in relief that Harry didn't appear that angry at the summons.
"Show me," Harry commanded, and the relieved expression vanished from the girl's face. Reluctantly, she made her way out of the common room with Harry at her heels. As soon as she passed through the hidden entrance, she turned right and made her way down the dimly-lit stone corridor. After only a short walk, she halted in front of a sturdy wood door, set into the dark, grey stone.
"Here you are," the girl said, indicating the door. She was about to walk off when Harry stopped her.
"What's your name?" he asked in a commanding voice.
"Sadie Baldock," the girl replied, practically flinching his tone.
"Tell me, Baldock, you're a prefect here, right? Why didn't you or any of your fellow prefects try and intervene during the fight in the common room last night?" Harry asked, taking a step forward so he was deliberately intruding in the girl's personal space.
"I… err…" she mumbled, looking terrified. "Well, Malfoy is Head Boy and…"
"So, if the Head Boy decides he's going to break the rules and attack someone, it's okay, is it?" Harry demanded, his voice colder than a Russian winter.
"No one crosses Draco," Baldock said hurriedly. "He practically runs this school. His father is on the Board of Governors and can get anyone expelled."
"Draco's father is in Azkaban getting cosy with the Dementors," Harry pointed out harshly. "Draco himself is an insignificant little worm whom I'm going to take great delight in squashing. Is that understood?"
The girl's eyes glanced towards the wooden door, perhaps silently begging her Head of House for help.
"Snape's not going to help you," Harry snapped, "and in case you were hoping that he is going to expel me for teaching those idiots a lesson last night, think again. I'm going to leave Snape's office still a pupil of Hogwarts, and completely unpunished, too. What you and your fellow prefects need to understand is that things have changed around here. Unless you start doing your jobs and acting like prefects should… well, let's just say I'm going to have to take steps. Understand?"
The girl nodded furiously. Harry reached out and gently ran his fingers down the girl's cheek. She recoiled slightly, but stayed rooted to the spot in fear. He leaned in towards her.
"There's a good girl," Harry whispered, his lips only a couple of inches from her ear. "Run along now, and maybe I'll see you later."
Baldock's eyes went wide with fright, and she took off like a bat out of hell down the corridor. Harry smiled as her footsteps gradually became fainter and fainter. Fear and intimidation were what the Slytherins understood, and this would be the tool he would use against the weaker members of the House. If he was totally honest with himself, he did rather enjoy it… sometimes.
He turned and knocked three times on the door. There was barely a pause before an angry voice yelled 'enter!'
Harry pushed open the door and stepped into a dark, gloomy room. At first, his eyes were drawn to the great number of shelves mounted along the walls, all lined with bottles and jars of every shape and size. A large, brown cupboard occupied one corner of the room, and a small desk was situated opposite the door. Behind that desk sat a hook-nosed man with greasy, shoulder-length black hair. At the sight of Harry, the man sneered, revealing a row of yellow, uneven teeth.
So this was Severus Snape, former friend of Harry's mother, reformed Death Eater and Dumbledore's personal lap-dog.
He had to push down his emotions at the sight of the man who had, apparently, begged Voldemort to spare his mother, uncaring if Harry and his father were slaughtered. Snape was an expert Legilimens, apparently, and would probably pick up any stray thoughts and emotions that Harry projected, so it was vital to remain calm.
He walked forward until he was a few feet away from the desk. With his hands folded behind his back, Harry looked directly into the man's cold, dark eyes.
"You wanted to see me, Professor Snape?" Harry asked in a polite voice.
"Harry Potter," Snape snarled with venom and spite practically dripping in his voice. "For years I've lived comfortably in the belief that you were dead. But no, you have to turn up here, thinking that you owned the place as soon as you stepped through the doors. What you did last night was inexcusable, you wretched brat, and I'm going to see you expelled immediately!"
"No, you won't" Harry replied calmly.
"What?" Snape raged, spittle flying from his mouth. "You think you can attack and seriously injure six students, including the Head Boy, and you can get away with it? You're even worse than that arrogant father of yours."
"I wouldn't know, seeing as my father was killed when I was fifteen months old. But you would know all about that, seeing as you were a Death Eater at the time, wouldn't you?" Harry said in a cool tone.
Snapes eyes bulged slightly. The knowledge that he'd been a follower of Voldemort had been tightly suppressed, mainly thanks to Dumbledore.
"You don't deny you attacked those students, then?" Snape yelled, carefully avoiding the subject of his former employment.
"Yes, actually I do. They attacked me first, so I was merely defending myself. I would also mention that several prefects were in the room and not one of them tried to intervene. I'm sure that's going to look odd when the matter is brought up before the Board of Governors," Harry responded.
"Board of Governors? Why would we need to involve them? This is an open and shut case. You are a dangerous psychopath who needs to be removed for the safety of the other students," Snape growled back.
"I should probably point out that only the Headmaster and the Deputy Headmistress are empowered to expel students, so please don't make threats you can't back up. I should also mention that I'm more than willing to supply a Pensieve memory of the event, something I doubt Draco and his little band of idiots will be prepared to," Harry said in a conversational manner. "If the Headmaster does then still feel the need to expel me at that point, I will be forced to appeal to the Board, and I'm more than willing to share all the knowledge I have about the staff and pupils of this school."
Snape stared at him with such utter hatred that Harry thought he might burst into flames, such was the anger the man was generating.
"Can I speak frankly, Professor, off the record?" Harry continued more bluntly. "We both know you're not going to expel me. The Minister for Magic has very publicly stated how pleased he was that I had returned to the Wizarding world, and that I was attending Hogwarts. Expelling me the day after I arrived would create such political waves that you could kiss your career goodbye. Secondly, we also both know that there is no way in hell that Dumbledore will allow me to be expelled. I'm quite aware that he's known I've been alive all this time, and that he's been searching for me. Now that I'm back within his sphere of influence, there's no way he's going to let me just vanish again. So, let's be realistic here, eh?"
"What are you doing at this school, Potter," Snape ground out. His knuckles were white as he clenched his fists in rage.
"What I assumed every other pupil comes here to do: learn," Harry replied, a little anger creeping into his voice. "Mind you, I'm starting to wonder about the motivation of some of my Housemates, who seem to think that this place is their personal fiefdom. Within hours of stepping foot into this school, I was attacked by Draco Malfoy, that in-bred piece of crap whose murderous bastard of a father I helped to get locked up. He seems to think he runs this place, and I'm fully aware that he and half the pupils in Slytherin want me dead, but I really don't give a shit about that. I should state clearly, however, that I will defend myself most vigorously if attacked, and as I've already proved that I'm more than a match for one of Voldemort's Inner Circle, I would suggest that it would be a very bad idea of any pupil here to try."
"I will not permit you to act in any manner you see fit…" Snape began, but Harry cut him off.
"You know as well as I do that Draco and his gang attacked me. Tell all the junior Death Eaters here to leave me alone, and I promise that I won't put any more of them in the hospital wing," Harry said sharply.
"Even if they did attack you, you responded with unnecessary force! Nott will be hospitalised for the next three days, and poor Draco had to have his nose re-set. Not to mention that Parkinson was kept in overnight. Do you get your thrills by hurting girls, Potter?" Snape snarled.
"I do when they try and Curse me in the back," Harry retorted. "Parkinson, if that was the little bitch's name, got exactly what she deserved, as did the rest of them. Better still, practically the entire House got to witness the event, so now they know that Malfoy isn't untouchable. Hopefully, once that little fact has sunk in, we'll have fewer problems."
Snape shook his head. "Never in all my years have a met someone as arrogant as you, and that includes your idiotic father and his friends. If you think I'm going to let this matter rest, you are sadly mistaken. You're clearly a delusional lunatic, and a menace to all those around you! Oh, and let me tell you, Potter, if you hurt any member of Slytherin House again, you will have to face me personally!"
"Has it escaped your notice that I'm a Slytherin?" Harry asked sarcastically, "I'll expect you to offer that same level of protection to me if I'm attacked by anyone."
"Get out!" Snape screamed. "Get out before I do something I'll regret!"
With a curt nod, Harry turned and started to walk out the office. As he reached the door, he paused and looked back at the angry Professor.
"Don't you get tired of it? Having to follow Dumbledore's orders all the time?" Harry asked.
"What the hell are you raving about, Potter?" Snape demanded furiously.
"Having to act the way you do all the time," Harry clarified. "I mean, you allow the pure-bloods to behave any way they like, you're blatantly biased towards your own House and you let prefects ignore misbehaviour from Slytherins when it's directed at the other houses. There's no way Dumbledore would allow you to act in that manner unless it's part of his plan."
"And, pray tell, what possible motive would the Headmaster have for allowing such actions?" Snape growled.
"Isn't it obvious? He's ensuring that the other houses will never support Voldemort. By making the Slytherins the bogy-men of Hogwarts, he's ensuring that three-quarters of the school end up hating the racist pure-bloods and their beliefs. All the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs will leave this place having suffered seven years of abuse and violence at the hands of the Slytherins, who are generally believed to all be supporters of the Dark Lord. Instantly, all those abused ex-pupils become opponents of Voldemort and, by default, supporters of the light side. It's simply a matter of divide and rule: by sticking all the blood purists into one house and encouraging them to misbehave and flaunt their supposed superiority, Dumbledore has made followers out of everyone else. It's quite a clever strategy, when you think about it," Harry noted.
Snape stared at him like he'd grown another head.
"Still, it's a bit unfair on the more moderate students who get placed into this House, isn't it? They instantly get labelled as wannabe Death Eaters, no matter what. Still, I'm sure their sacrifice is for the greater good, wouldn't you agree, Professor?" Harry asked pointedly.
Not waiting for an answer, Harry left the office, closing the door firmly behind him. As he started to walk towards the Great Hall, he pondered the meeting he had just had, and his first impressions of the man he'd fully expected to hate.
Snape had raged, and as expected he'd made several comments about Harry's father, but the man's anger had seemed rather unfocused. Harry had, after all, just severally injured six of his fellow pupils and Snape's brief comment about 'unnecessary force' hardly began to cover it. Harry had deliberately sent out a message to the other Slytherins, and Snape would have had good reason to take him to task for the level of violence involved. Instead, Snape had just yelled vague warning about expulsion which they both knew he couldn't enforce, and the Head of Slytherin didn't seem the sort of man to make empty threats.
Harry was still deep in thought when he reached the Great Hall. Sensing all eyes on him, he straightened his back and adopted an untroubled smile as he made his way to the end of the table where he'd sat for dinner the previous day. Sure enough, the Weasley girl was sitting in the same seat by herself, an evil grin on her face.
"Still with us, Potter?" she asked mockingly. "I'm surprised. Are they letting you eat breakfast before you have to pack your trunk?"
"Why on earth would I be packing my trunk?" Harry exclaimed in mock surprise. "I only just got here."
"Oh, the fact that six of our illustrious number our currently breakfasting in the hospital wing might be a good reason," Weasley pointed out. "As I heard you just had a meeting with our beloved Head of House, I assumed he would be asking you to get your cute little arse out of here."
"You think my arse is cute? Why, thank you. I think yours is lovely, too," Harry smirked, as he began to fill his plate with breakfast items. Further conversation was briefly halted by the arrival of a blond whirlwind.
"Whoa! Hold up, there," Davis declared as she threw herself into the seat next to Weasley. "You two aren't allowed to start talking without me here. Okay, now you can talk."
"Weasley was just complimenting me on my cute arse," Harry explained in a deadpan voice.
"Really? You're developing good taste as you get older, Ginevra," Davis giggled.
"I can admire from a distance," Weasley shrugged as she carried on eating her breakfast. "I have absolutely no interest in doing anything further than that. After all, Potter here is a walking target now."
"Very true," Davis agreed, stealing a sausage from Harry's plate.
"Are there any breakfast items you'd particularly like me to put on my plate for you?" Harry asked in a flat tone.
"Oh, just pick whatever you like best," Davis smiled. "I'm not a fussy eater and this way I get to try new things."
"Interesting way of expanding your culinary horizons, I suppose," Harry agreed as he took a forkful of scrambled egg.
"So, the question on everyone's lips this morning is where did you learn to fight like that? Malfoy and Zabini are both excellent duellers, Crabbe and Goyle could wrestle bulls for a living and Parkinson is a vicious little bitch, yet you put all of them down with your bare hands. You only drew your wand to take out Nott, for which I'd like to thank you, by the way. That weedy little runt has wandering hands, if you know what I mean," Davis said.
"He only tried to grope me once," Weasley noted. "He never made the same mistake again."
"I've had some excellent teachers, let's just put it that way," Harry said mysteriously.
"Why the Muggle style of fighting, though?" Davis pressed. "A lot of people are saying that maybe you're no good with a wand. In fact, a few have gone so far as to suggest that you had to fight like that because you're little more than a Squib."
"Despite that fact that I nearly plastered that Nott guy all over the wall, and I've previously duelled Lucius Malfoy and won? Oh no, Miss Davis, if you're going to try and get me to react to inflammatory statements, you're going to have to do better than that," Harry snorted in amusement.
"Oh, he's so got you pegged, Davis," Weasley chortled.
"So, you're even better with a wand then you are with your hands and feet? Is that what you're saying?" Davis demanded irritably.
"I'm significantly better with my wand, yes," Harry confirmed cheerfully, "although I did rather tame things down a bit last night. Normally, it's my policy to ensure that anyone I put down on the floor doesn't get back up again, but I guess the friendly and welcoming atmosphere here at Hogwarts just turned me into a big softy."
"If you wanted a warm welcome, you really shouldn't have got yourself put in Slytherin, should you," Weasley pointed out, not unreasonably.
"And missed out on your smiling, friendly face and engaging conversation? Unthinkable!" Harry exclaimed.
"Sarcastic git, aren't you?" Weasley noted, although she did seem rather amused. "Just because you managed to cream those idiots last night, don't think you can get fresh with me."
"I won't dream of it, Miss Weasley," Harry replied in a neutral tone. "I live to serve you."
"Good, you can serve me by buggering off someplace else. As I said, Malfoy and all his little followers will be coming after you now and I'd rather not get caught in the crossfire," she informed him archly.
"Charming, isn't she?" Davis noted with a smile. "Relax, Potter, Ginevra is always this cranky on the first day of school."
"Then I look forward to taking classes with her. That should be educational," Harry replied with the faintest of smiles.
"Oh, bad luck. The lovely Miss Weasley is only a sixth year," Davis said in a tragic voice. "You'll just have to put up with me, instead."
"That's not a terrible prospect, I suppose," Harry noted. "Although I am disappointed that you abandoned your tactics of wearing your blouse unbuttoned to distract me."
"What can I say? It's bloody cold in that common room, and that strategy didn't seem to be working, anyway," she grasped her chest with both hands. "Oh, I never thought I'd see the day when these puppies wouldn't reduce a boy to a slobbering wreck."
"Perhaps he prefers boys," Weasley suggested with a leer. "Is that it? Do you like a bit of meat up your seat?"
"What a charming way of putting it," Harry observed blandly. "No, Weasley, I can confirm that I'm one hundred per cent heterosexual."
"Oh, really? Got a girlfriend hidden away somewhere?" Davis asked, her eyes suddenly alight with curiosity.
"No, not anymore," Harry confirmed quietly.
"What? You do surprise me," Weasley scoffed. "A famous bloke like you, I'd have thought you'd have girls dropping their knickers for you left, right and centre. What happened to your last girlfriend, then? You dump her so you could play the field when you got here?"
"No, the Death Eaters killed her, actually," Harry said coldly.
He stood, and without another word walked out of the hall.
"I think you pushed a bit too hard there, Ginevra," Davis noted as she watched him disappear.
"Yeah, a bit," Weasley agreed, before continuing to eat her breakfast.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Harry stormed out of the Great Hall, his insides twisting with rage. He knew he was over-reacting, but he couldn't help himself. The Weasley girl had just been winding him up, he understood, but it had just hit a raw nerve with him.
It had only been four months since Voldemort and his cronies had attacked Godric's Hollow, seemingly at random, and he had lost two of the most important people in his life: his guardian Gellert and his girlfriend Melinda. He'd still been reeling at the death of his friend and mentor when he'd stumbled on Melinda's body, lying bloody and battered in the street. It had sent him on a wild killing spree that had only ended with the arrival of the Aurors and the capture of Lucius Malfoy.
A familiar feeling of guilt rose within him. Guilt that he'd not been there to save Melinda and that his entire relationship with her had been based on lies. Never once had she seen him as he truly looked; to her he was a sandy-haired boy with blue eyes. She'd also never known his real name, either. He'd been known as James Bagshot, a distant relative of Bathilda whom she'd taken in following the death of his parents. The fact he'd never been totally honest with his dark-haired girlfriend had never sat well with him, but he'd had no choice if he'd wanted to continue seeing her. Now she was gone, and he'd never be able to tell her.
Trying to calm himself, Harry decided he might as well head to his first class. As luck would have it, this was Transfiguration, the classroom for which was situated on the ground floor, just on the other side of the middle courtyard. He took a sharp turn and headed in that direction.
As he suspected, he was the first to arrive. Fortunately, the classroom door was unlocked so he entered and took a seat towards the back. He began to regulate his breathing and tried to let his rage slip away. It was a hard task, as once raised, the images of Melinda's broken body kept intruding into his mind.
He slammed his fist on the wooden desk in front of him. Desperately, he tried to control his emotions and push down his mounting anger. Turn the anger into something productive, he repeatedly told himself. Hate = energy. Pain = motivation. Remorse = strength. Regret = revenge.
With effort, he managed to get his feelings under control and locked them away, for now. He would let them surface again when they were required: his emergency supply of hatred, ready to be tapped into should a suitable situation present itself. Shame the little Malfoy bastard wasn't here, he would have provided a fitting target for his wrath.
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Professor McGonagall into the room. She looked rather startled that a pupil should already be present, but said nothing. Instead, she made her way to the front of the room and took a seat behind her desk in preparation for the class. Harry could feel her eyes boring into him, an expression of disappointment and mistrust faintly evident on her face.
Soon, other pupils began to file into the room. The class was to be taken jointly with the Hufflepuffs, and it was members of that House that arrived first. Without exception, they eyed Harry warily and took seats as far away from him as possible. Clearly, the rumours about him had stared to spread.
The first Slytherin to appear was an elegant-looking blond girl who swept into the room like she owned the place. She barely gave Harry a glance, and sat a few desks away from him. Next was a large, square-jawed girl with black hair and a fearsome scowl on her face. She glared at him, before taking a seat directly behind the blond. Tracy Davis appeared shortly afterwards, and sat next to the blond. She briefly glanced at Harry with an apologetic look on her face, before turning to face the front.
"We appear to be missing a number of people," McGonagall noted, looking around with a frown. "Miss Bulstrode, where are the rest of your Housemates?"
"Potter put them in the hospital wing," the large girl spat accusingly.
"What?" McGonagall exclaimed, shock evident on her face.
"There was a slight disagreement last night," Harry supplied in a calm voice. "I spoke to Professor Snape this morning about it, and he's handling the matter."
"Are you telling me that you hospitalised five of your Housemates, Potter?" McGonagall asked in a dangerous tone.
"Six, actually, Professor," the blond supplied. "Theodor Nott was hurt, too. He doesn't take this class, so you wouldn't have noticed that he was missing as well."
"Explain!" McGonagall snapped at Harry, her voice trembling in rage.
"Last night six of my Housemates attacked me as I was sitting quietly in the Slytherin common room. As the leader was Draco Malfoy, I assume the attack was in revenge for me putting his father in Azkaban. I restrained them with the minimum of force," Harry explained. "As I said to Professor Snape, I'm more than happy to supply a Pensieve memory of the incident."
"Minimum force?" snorted Bulstrode. "You kicked the crap out of them! They're all still in the hospital wing!"
"You hospitalised six pupils?" McGonagall demanded furiously.
"I assure you that I was just defending myself," Harry insisted. "As it was six against one, I felt I had no choice other than to ensure that each of my aggressors was incapacitated. I do have to say, I'm shocked that I should have been subjected to such a terrible assault mere hours after entering the school. I shall be forced to write to the Board of Governors about this, I fear."
"Why was I not informed of this incident? I am the Deputy Headmistress and I should have been told immediately," McGonagall announced sternly.
"I'm afraid I couldn't tell you why, Professor," Harry shrugged. "I assume it would be up to Professor Snape to alert you to any problems."
For a second, McGonagall looked like she was going to rage at him. However, she obviously thought better of it and instead stormed back to her desk. She turned and faced the class.
"Today we will be studying Conjuration in all its many forms," McGonagall started to lecture.
Harry leaned back in his chair, barely listening to the stern witch. He did, however, notice the Hufflepuffs eyeing him with a mixture of fear and loathing.
It was, he suspected, going to be a very long day.