"Welcome to Slytherin. I'm Gemma Farley. If you got into Slytherin, then you are cunning and ambitious. Congratulations." Farley continued to talk about boring stuff that Salazar was already familiar with, as well as how the password was 'Badger', because no one would ever guess it. A sly move, but really? Badger? Like Hufflepuff's mascot? Why couldn't they choose 'Eagle', or something? Despite being a mudblood, Ravenclaw's attitude was ten times better than Hufflepuff's. Who based their House off of hard-work and loyalty?
Harry's eyes wandered around the Slytherin Dungeons, and was shocked to see that nothing had really changed. Wow. Thousands of years, and not one single person was like, "Let's remodel the dungeons"? Maybe it was because he, the great and powerful Salazar Slytherin had designed it. Before Harry could continue musing about how amazing he was in the past, the same hook-nosed, greasy-haired professor that had dropped his goblet during Harry's sorting swept into the room.
"I am Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin. I am the Potions Professor." The man spoke in a monotone. Ugh. Boring. The way Snape had walked into the room suggested that he was trying to intimidate everyone. If Snape wanted to scare people, then he should use something other than a monotone. Seriously.
"Slytherin shows House unity," Snape continued, "so settle your mindless arguments here in the Common Room, unless you wish to humiliate all of Slytherin in public." Snape's eyes lingered on Harry. Harry blinked innocently, widening his bright green eyes subtly, causing Snape to look away, as if eye contact physically pained him. Huh. Strange.
"Make sure you are early to all your classes. It would not do Slytherin well, if one of you dunderheads decide to be late and lose House Points," Snape lectured. What kind of Head of House insulted their students? Sure, Snape was allowed to snap at Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws, but Slytherins? Back the truck up! Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw many students take on an insulted look. He saw glee in Snape's eyes. Ah, so it was to get a reaction. Harry carefully maintained a neutral expression, and watched in amusement as Snape's eyes darted over to him, only to widen slightly in shock. Snape's reaction was small, though, so Harry doubted anyone would have seen it, but Salazar had been well-trained in the art of spotting reactions, no matter how small.
"Uh, I'll take this bed, I guess," Theodore Nott said awkwardly. "Er, if you guys don't mind, that is." Nott pointed to the four-poster bed that was farthest away from the door.
"Fine with me. I'll take this one," Zabini said, dropping his things on the bed to the left of Nott.
Crabbe and Goyle just grunted and moved their belongings to the beds on Nott's right.
"I guess this leaves me with this one," Harry commented, stuck with the bed closest to the door. Not bad. It would be easier for him to sneak out.
Harry looked around to see everyone unpacking. With a groan, he realized that if he used magic to do so, he would no doubt attract attention. Grimacing, he opened his trunk and got to work.
"Get up! Get up! Come on! It's the first day of classes!" Theodore Nott announced. "Come on, Blaise, Harry, Vince, Greg! Let's go, go, go, go, GO! We have to get to breakfast!"
Glaring daggers at Nott, Harry put on his fake glasses. "Really, Nott?" he asked.
Nott blinked. "Oh, you can just call me Theo. We're all friends here, right? We're all Slytherin first-years and boys!"
How in Merlin's name did that boy get into Slytherin?
Unless. . . Theodore Nott was a secretly really cunning and ambitious guy who would stab his friends in the back as soon as possible, in order to gain an advantage. He was only putting on a nice act to gain allies and make people think that he's not a threat. In private, Nott was a dangerous person who threw around Dark spells for fun, because he was a Dark Lord in the making that Harry would have to eliminate in the future.
Either that, or the boy just asked the hat for Slytherin.
As Harry got ready for breakfast and classes, he continued thinking about what things would be like if his housemates all had acts on.
Blaise Zabini acted sarcastic and arrogant in order to cover up his broken heart. When Zabini was in Italy, he met this girl named Maria, and they wanted to get married. Unfortunately, Maria had a very strict father and didn't want her to see any guys. Out of grief, Maria ran away to start her own ice cream shop, leaving Zabini a heart-broken wreck.
Crabbe and Goyle were secretly genii (How else would they get into Slytherin?). They read Shakespeare, debated on smart people things, and discussed pi. They only grunted and shuffled, because they wanted to avoid suspicion from their peers. If the world knew that they were genii, then everyone would suddenly respect them and bow down to them, and then they would be stuck ruling the world, which didn't really appeal to them, because they were the kinds of guys who would be in the background, manipulating everything. They did that because if they made a mistake, the person they were manipulating would get the blame, and not them.
"So, Potter, how did you get into Slytherin?" Marcus Flint asked, looking curious.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "How did I get into Slytherin? Well, I put on the Sorting Hat. . ." he explained, as if talking to a really, really stupid child.
Flint's face turned red. "Not like that!" he snarled.
Harry smirked lazily. "Then like what? All I did was put on the hat, and it was like, 'Oh, you're Slytherin!' And voila! Here I am."
Flint mumbled some swear words under his breath. Then he perked up. "How come the hat took so long to Sort you?" he questioned, grinning evilly, as if he had beaten Harry at last.
Everyone at the table turned to look. "Why did the hat take so long to Sort you?" they all seemed to ask.
Harry merely laughed. "The Sorting Hat and I had a very interesting conversation about how Gryffindors had no tact. The hat didn't even disagree, and Godric Gryffindor basically created the hat!"
Blaise Zabini gaped at him. "You insulted Gryffindors? Sweet Salazar, everyone thought you'd be one!"
Harry smiled serenely. "Zabini, the hat didn't even consider Gryffindor. Nor Hufflepuff, nor Ravenclaw. We just talked a bit, and it declared I was to be in Slytherin."
"That's possible?" Theo wondered. "The hat considered me for multiple houses, before deciding to put me into Slytherin."
Slytherins all murmured their agreement.
"Yeah! The hat thought I could fit into lots of houses!" Flint said.
Harry arched an eyebrow. "The hat considered you for Gryffindor, no doubt. Possibly Hufflepuff, but not Ravenclaw. No, you're about as intelligent as a troll. Oh, that's right. I've heard many rumors about how the Flints have troll blood in them. Would you care to confirm them?" Harry said, looking bored.
Flint spluttered. "You. . . you. . . Do you know who I am?"
Harry snorted. "I have called you Flint multiple times, haven't I? Merlin, you are as intelligent as a troll. I thought I was exaggerating at first, but I guess I'm not."
Slytherins snickered at Flint's angry sputtering. A few upper years high fived Harry, who waited for Flint to answer.
"That was gold! Nice one, Potter!" Zabini howled with laughter.
"Harry," Harry corrected, trying to seem amicable. "My name's Harry."
Zabini grinned. "I'll only call you Harry if you call be Blaise. Deal?" he asked.
"Deal," Harry agreed.
Harry struggled not to fall asleep during History of Magic. Unfortunately, history was one of the only things that Salazar was bad at. Okay, maybe bad was an understatement. Pathetic was more like it. His pathetic scores on History of Magic tests were something that his family always looked down on, as well as his awful Astronomy and Arithmancy scores. Luckily, Salazar had made up for them by excelling at Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and most of all, the Dark Arts and their Defense. Salazar wasn't one for theory, though. He wasn't bad at the theory, like Godric, but he wasn't great at it, like Rowena. He was only slightly better than Helga, who was mediocre at it. . .
What was that pink hippogriff doing? Why in the world was it wearing a bikini? And why were the other founders dressed up as dragons? Oh well, at least he was at a dance party. Ooh, that chick had some nice legs. All he had to do was turn up the Salazar charm and-
"For homework, write a ten inch essay on the Goblin Rebellion of 1478 and how Gopkirk played a large part in it."
Huh? What was going on? Harry rubbed his eyes. He had fallen asleep! Looking around, he noticed that everyone else had, as well. Hold on. . . Homework was on Goblin Rebellions? He loved Goblins! Amusing little creatures, those Goblins were. Always insulting Godric. Maybe History of Magic wasn't so bad this time. Thousands of years ago, in History of Magic, all they did was learn about boring things, such as Camelot and why Morgan le Fay was named Morgan le Fay. Boring stuff. But Goblins? Harry was slightly upset that Binns could make Goblins seem boring. They were sly little things. They were anything but boring!
Every Thursday, midnight was spent gazing at the stars and writing down useless notes with Professor Sinistra. What was the point in figuring out the movement of the planets, and the names of the stars? Harry was just lucky that Salazar knew just enough Astronomy, thanks all those tutors, to get past seven years of it at school.
Three times a week, Slytherins had to go to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with the Ravenclaws. Salazar had no special feelings of affection for the subject, though he liked the teacher, Professor Sprout. She was a rather nice lady, and a good teacher, as well.
Defense was a joke. Quirrell stuttered on almost every word, which was so annoying. Harry just wanted to Avada Kedavra the man and be done. How come Dumbledore didn't hire a proficient Defense teacher? No one wanted to know about how v-v-vampires w-w-were v-v-very d-d-d-dang-g-g-gerous. It was common knowledge. Harry would have filed a complaint to Dumbledore about Quirrell's incompetence (surely he would listen to the Boy-Who-Lived), but every time Quirrell looked at Harry, his eyes would be filled with well-concealed hatred, and Harry's scar would hurt. There was something peculiar about Quirrell, and Harry would find out what.
Transfiguration was, by far, one of the best classes. McGonagall was an animagus! Salazar had been one as well, and so had the other founders. It was where they got their mascots from. Salazar was a cobra, Godric was a lion, Helga was a badger, and Rowena was an eagle, hence their mascots. McGonagall had proceeded to tell everyone about how Transfiguration was a complex branch of magic, and how it required concentration.
Charms was taught by the diminutive Professor Flitwick, who had to stand on something to reach a respectable height. If Harry had to take a guess, he'd say that Flitwick was part goblin.
Though, as Flitwick took attendance, when he reached Harry's name, he squeaked and fell off the stack of books he was standing on. Of course, Harry, who was acting like the perfect model student, had asked Flitwick if he were okay. Harry began apologizing profusely, and put on a horrified and embarrassed face.
Flitwick just laughed it off, and commented on Harry was just like his mother.
("Such a polite girl, your mother was. I see you take after her. You have her eyes, you know.")
Harry had actually choked.
("You knew my mother?")
Flitwick smiled and looked nostalgic.
("I taught her. She was a brilliant witch. One of the brightest. It's a shame she wasn't in Ravenclaw.")
Harry had widened his eyes and brought on the flattery.
("But, Professor, I would've thought you and her were classmates!")
And just like that, Harry had a teacher on his side.
On Friday, they had Potions. The older students had told him that Snape blatantly favored the Slytherins. Harry grinned. Ah, this would be hilarious.
Harry sat in Potion's class, Blaise beside him.
"I've heard some rumors that Professor Snape is a vampire. Some say that he's a werewolf ," Blaise said, snickering.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Don't tell me you've been listening to Gryffindor gossip again. I don't think Dumbledore would ever hire a vampire as a teacher. Or a werewolf. That would be student endangerment."
Blaise opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, the door slammed open. Snape stormed in, robes billowing dramatically.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. . . I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." He then began to take attendance. Snape's voice was quiet, but everyone heard. Harry was about to mentally applaud Snape for the dramatic entrance, as well as the well-prepared speech, until Snape came across his name.
"Ah, yes. Mr. Potter. Our new. . . celebrity." Snape sneered at Harry, and Harry just widened his eyes again. Snape froze for half a second, before narrowing his own eyes. He continued with attendance.
"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" he snapped when he was done.
Harry pretended to think. That was on the sixth year curriculum, unless difficulty levels had greatly increased and they learned different things nowadays.
"Well?" Snape demanded, looking gleeful.
"Er, Draught of the Living Death, sir. It's a powerful sleeping potion," Harry answered. Snape looked slightly shocked.
"Acceptable. Ten points to Slytherin. Weasley!" Snape called, glaring at a lanky, redheaded Gryffindor boy. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Well, at least that question was on the first year curriculum. If the boy didn't know it, it was his own fault.
"I don't know," the boy mumbled, his face as red as his hair. Harry tried not to laugh at the
boy's incompetence.
Snape's eyes bored hatefully at Weasley. "Let's try again, Weasley. What is the difference between wolfbane and monkshood?"
The boy looked confused. He looked around the room, as if silently asking for some help
from the Gryffindors.
Harry held back laughter at how inept Weasley was. Looking around, he saw that Slytherins were already shaking with suppressed laughter.
"Do you have an answer, Weasley? Or does your tiny little brain not comprehend what I am saying?" Snape snapped.
Weasley flushed. "I don't know."
"Typical. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for coming unprepared." Snape turned towards Harry. "Perhaps Mr. Celebrity knows the answer?"
Harry nodded. "A bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat. It will cure most poisons. Wolfband and monkshood are the same thing; they also go by the name aconite."
Snape reassessed Harry, as if finally seeing him as someone other than a fame-obsessed celebrity who didn't care about anything.
"Twenty points to Slytherin. Well, Mr. Potter, I must say I am relieved that you take more after your mother than your imbecile of a father," Snape said, probably trying to compliment Harry and insult him at the same time. Snape then looked at Harry expectantly, as if waiting for a reply.
"Thank you, sir, I guess," Harry said, hoping to get on his Head of House's good side. Honestly, though, what was the man thinking? Time to find out. Harry looked into the eyes of the Potions professor and reached out with Legilimency. He came across rock solid walls. Harry took it as a cue to pull out. Oops. Not subtle enough. Snape was now looking at him suspiciously. Harry tried his best to look confused.
Snape stared at Harry intensely for a moment, before nodding at him and then going back to yelling at everyone to take notes. He then proceeded to instruct everyone to make a simple cure for boils, and paired everyone up. Salazar had first made a successful cure for boils when he was three year old. If anyone messed it up, Harry would actually struggle to not laugh. And Salazar was a master at concealing emotions.
Great. Just his luck. Harry Potter was paired with Draco Malfoy. Salazar Slytherin was paired with Godric Gryffindor. A Potions Master was paired with a Potions failure. This was not going to turn out well, unless Draco was good at Potions before and his past failures would not affect his current successes.
"I'll crush the snake fangs," Harry offered.
"I'll weigh the dried nettles, I guess," Draco said. No one could possibly be bad at weighing things, right? Harry watched Draco out of his peripheral vision, and was relieved to see he was doing it correctly. Harry made sure that he was crushing the snake fangs into a fine powder himself, before reading the next steps. They added in the ingredients, and Snape praised them at the way they stewed in their horned slugs, when clouds of acid green smoke began rising and a loud hissing filled the dungeon.
Harry couldn't help but feel amused as Longbottom somehow managed to Finnegan's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Red boils sprang up Longbottom's face and body, and the boy moaned in pain.
"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"
The round boy whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.
"Take him to the hospital wing," Snape spat a the Irish boy. Then he rounded on Weasley and Thomas, who had been unlucky enough to be working next to Finnegan and Longbottom.
"You - Weasley - why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."
When class was over, Harry and Draco, along with Theo and Blaise, were the only pairs to hand in a perfect potion.
As Harry left the classroom with Theo and Blaise, he heard Weasley complaining to Draco. "You're so lucky that Snape is your godfather! Why do you suppose he hates me so much?" Weasley whined.
Draco laughed. "You're a Gryffindor," he reminded him.
Weasley scowled. "You're a Gryffindor too!"
Laughing again, Draco said, "Yes, but I'm his godson, and my father'd have his head if he heard a single word about him being. . . unpleasant to me, though it is really unfair. I'll talk to him later about it."
Gringotts Break-in Latest
Investigations continue into the breakin-in at Gringotts on 31 July,
widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.
Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault
that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.
"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses
out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin
this afternoon.
"Someone managed to break into Gringotts?" Pansy Parkinson asked, her eyes wide.
Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, that is what the article is saying, after all. Oddly enough, I was in Diagon Alley on the day of the break-in."
"You were?" Tracey Davis gasped.
Harry nodded. "It was my birthday, you see. You don't expect me to stay home on my birthday, do you?" Honestly, Harry rarely stayed home for his birthday. Usually, he spent most of the day at Ms. Figg's, petting her kneazles and discussing how toilet paper quality was getting worse and worse.
Tracey was frowning. "I don't see what's wrong with spending your birthday at home," she said. "I mean, I've done it tons of times!"
Pansy sneered. "You're a halfblood. You lived in the muggle world!" Tracey flinched.
"I've spent my birthday at home before," Daphne Greengrass cut in, glaring at Pansy. "I'm a pureblood. In fact, the Greengrass family is older and has a purer bloodline than the Parkinsons, who slept around too much."
Pansy gaped at Daphne. "Y-Y-You. . . I-I can't believe-"
Harry smirked at the pug-faced girl. "Wow, Pansy. And to think, you were complaining about Quirrell stuttering!"
Pansy turned around to face Harry. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
"What? I can't hear you!" Harry said, looking at her innocently and widening his green eyes. "Are you just mad because there's a large chance that you're not even a pureblood? Is that why you look like a fish?"
Pansy closed her mouth and glared. The sight of the fire burning in her beady eyes made everyone flinch at the ferocity of it, except for Harry. Salazar had been used to all the death glares. Godric's was able to cause Helga and Rowena flinch. Rowena's was able to cause Godric and Helga to flinch. Salazar's could cause Rowena, Helga, and Godric to flinch. Helga's, unlike the others, didn't cause anyone to flinch. It petrified everyone. Like, everyone. Even random people passing by. It even seemed to make statues tremble.
Pulling out from the past, Harry smiled like an angel at the furious girl. "Good. You finally closed your mouth. It wasn't a very good look on you. You can't pull off a fish look if your face already looks so much like a pug's."
Blaise cackled. "Burn! You want some ice for that, Pansy?"
Pansy shot her glare at all of them, stormed out of the Slytherin Common Room, tears brimming in her angry eyes.
Silence. Daphne, Blaise, and Tracey looked at each other, panicked. They had just caused another Slytherin to cry.
"What have we done?" Tracey whispered.
Daphne put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Tracey, you haven't done anything. That was our fault."
Harry shook his head. "It was her own fault. Pansy should have know better than to babble on about blood purity in front of-" one "- two halfbloods. And really, she was being stupid. I mean, I lived in the muggle world, too. She can't just sneer at Tracey and insult halfbloods. At least halfbloods have been descended from a witch or wizard. Mu-" Mudbloods "-ggleborns are less exposed to our world, not being descended from a magical person."
Daphne frowned. "So you believe muggleborns to be inferior?" she asked.
Yes. "My mother was muggleborn, Daphne." Harry avoided answering the question.
Daphne blushed, obviously not realizing what he did. "Sorry. That was rude of me."
Harry shrugged. "It's fine," he told her.
"I can't believe it's our first flying lesson!" Pansy squealed. Harry and Pansy had forgiven each other, both knowing that they were both at fault. Harry fingers twitched slightly. He yearned to feel grip a broom again, have the wind blow against his face, and feel free. He wanted to perform all those dives and feints, and have Godric scream in terror as Salazar had almost crashed.
Harry froze. He wouldn't be able to have that happen anytime soon. Godric was reincarnated as Draco Malfoy, and currently, Harry didn't want to be discovered as Salazar Slytherin.
"Hey, Harry, are you okay? You just kind of stiffened up and had this distant look on your face," Theo commented.
Harry was jerked back into reality, away from his angsty thoughts. "I'm fine, Theo. Thanks for asking. I'm just kind of nervous. I've never been on a broom before, y'know. I've been raised by muggles and such."
His friends gave him a look of pity.
"I've been raised in the muggle world, but my mum has taken me flying before. It's not my favorite thing to do, though. But surely, your relatives can't be that bad, right?" Tracey asked.
Harry fought back a sneer. "My relatives kept me in a cupboard. McGonagall had to take me to the orphanage in Diagon Alley because they'd treat me better."
Blaise cringed. "Tough luck, mate. But, hey, maybe we could get one of our families to adopt you," he suggested.
Harry's eyes widened. "Blaise! You're a genius!"
Blaise snorted. "Wow, Harry. It took you this long to notice? I mean, I practically ooze geniusness!" he claimed.
Daphne frowned. "Is geniusness even a word?"
Blaise grinned. "Well, if it wasn't before, it is now! Because I just made it a word. No need to thank me. Just kidding, there is a need to thank me," he joked.
Everyone laughed.
If this is what it's going to be like for seven more years, I'm glad I chose to come to Hogwarts, Harry thought, as he took in the smiling faces of his new "friends". In fact, they'd make quite impressive followers, once he earned their loyalty. . .
Harry did an evil cackle in his head.
Finally! Done with this chapter! Sorry for the long wait! *stretches back* So, after a long time of thinking, I have decided that Harry shall not be arch enemies with Draco, Hermione, and Susan! I kind of need the Founders to be. . . civil toward each other. I don't want them to decapitate each other, thank you very much. They won't be best friends either, but they won't be trying to murder each other. Sorry if that disappointed anyone; Harry still needs to get rid of Voldemort and accept that he will have allies. Thanks!
Signing off,
The Pencil Goddess
Published December 31, 2014