Disclaimer – It has come to my attention recently that I unfortunately do not own Harry Potter. Who knew.

Author Note – I enjoy writing short stories for my own enjoyment but at a suggestion from a friend, I have decided to start posting some of my stories that I am working on or have completed. All feedback is welcome (hopefully constructive!) Looking forward to what you think!

Author Note 2 – This chapter will be more intense than more of the chapters I have written, contains graphic scenes of bullying.

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This story is dedicated to the Skywalker Family, thanks for the support.

For days three hundred and sixty four

I sit silently upon a shelf,

No list'ning ear nor wandering eye

Gaze upon my battered self;

Until this night when first-years come

To sit upon a three legged stool,

Do my words proclaim to all

The sorting of this school;

Each September the first

It becomes my duty to place,

This child who sits

With bewildered face;

My choices be four,

As the founders were numbered,

Creating this school

Whilst I still slumbered;

Gryffindor the brave

Put stock in the gallant,

Slytherin so cunning,

Valued the purest of talent;

Ravenclaw was wise,

And wanted the smartest,

While Hufflepuff the true,

desired those who worked hardest;

But immortal the four

Certainly were not,

So they gave me some brains

To sort out you lot;

After they'd passed

And left me behind,

I was given the task

Of sorting each kind;

So to Gryffindor I give

The bold and the brave,

To honorable Slytherin

the keenest I save;

For Ravenclaw I leave

The incredibly smart,

For the truest Hufflepuff

The strongest in heart;

At the end of this sorting,

And the last student sat,

I shall silence my lips

And become merely a hat.

As the Sorting Hat concluded its song, a burst of applause echoed throughout the hall. Amidst the cheer, Harry felt a surge of relief wash over him. Ever since he had overheard a red headed kid talking to another first year, right before entering the hall, he had braced himself for potential challenges of sorting … perhaps even having to conjure a rabbit out of the hat … but thankfully, it simply required wearing it. Nonetheless, the prospect of being scrutinized by hundreds of students and teachers wasn't exactly ideal in his mind.

Professor McGonagall took the lead again, calling out the names of students who then approached, took their seat on the stool in front of the entire school, and donned the hat. The duration of the sorting varied; sometimes it took mere seconds, while other times, it extended to several minutes before the hat made its resounding declaration of a student's designated house. Among the initial selections, Hufflepuff welcomed Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones, faces unfamiliar to Harry. As the sorting continued, more unknown students followed suit.

Observing Crabbe and Goyle, the two individuals he remembered from the earlier encounter on the train, being sorted into Slytherin surprised Harry. Originally based on the Sorting Hat's song, Harry had found himself interested in Slytherin, however the Sorting Hat's decision to place Crabbe and Goyle into the house, despite their lack of apparent cunning … or talent, made him wonder if perhaps he would rather not join that particular house.

When Hermione Granger, even though he realized she meant no harm Harry had found quite annoying on the train, was sorted into Gryffindor, Harry realized that there might be students in all the houses that he would not get along with … although deep down he felt that he might prefer to not be in the same house as her.

Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd, calling out the name "Malfoy, Drea!" The mention of her name prompted Drea to step forward, her demeanor characteristically composed, though as Harry watched he thought he detected a subtle quiver in her hands as she settled into the chair. Watching intently, Harry couldn't contain his curiosity about which house Drea would be sorted into; as she was incredibly restrained.

The Sorting Hat wasted little time this time around, only taking a few moments before announcing its decision loudly, "SLYTHERIN!" The typical applause ensued, yet it seemed more subdued compared to the receptions received by previous Slytherins, who Harry had noticed tended to be getting less applause than any other students who were sorted. Seemingly unfazed by the Hat's choice or her response from the rest of the students, Drea maintained her calm poise and made her way to the Slytherin table, apparently indifferent by the outcome.

Harry felt discomfort watching as the Sorting Hat sorted his only friend, if one could label them as such, among the students of Slytherin, a house he was fervently wishing to evade. The seed of unease towards Slytherin, had been planted earlier during the sorting of Crabbe and Goyle, its roots deepening as he witnessed Draco, Drea's twin brother, swiftly sorted into Slytherin, apparently before the hat even touched his head, just moments before Drea's sorting. Harry felt his unease amplify at the sight of Draco, who had appeared to be reveling in his sorting, had settled smugly beside his brutish companions and disdainfully stared swept towards his sister as she took a seat down the Slytherin table.

As his own name echoed through the hall, sparking a frenzy of whispers and murmurs, Harry sank into misery. Timidly, he made his way forward and took his seat. As the Sorting Hat settled on his head, being too large it dropped over his eyes and enveloped his vision in darkness, rendering everything a bleak blackness and allowing a suffocating feeling of aloneness to engulf him.

"Hmm … well now this is a challenge … ," echoed a voice in Harry's mind, catching him off guard, nearly causing him to topple from the stool. "Difficult, indeed, quite difficult." The voice continued, apparently analyzing Harry's qualities with a hint of surprise evident in its tone. "I sense a deep reservoir of courage within you, a willingness to defend those dear to your heart. Your intellect shines through, alongside your undeniable talent and hardworking nature. And … there's that fervent desire to prove yourself."

""Now then … where would you be best placed to succeed?" pondered the voice within Harry's mind, its tone contemplative. "Perhaps Slytherin? Then you would be able to join the girl who occupies your thoughs. Hmmm … yes, Slytherin holds the promise of greatness for you. Your aspirations and evident, and Slytherin could undoubtedly assist you on the path to achieve greatness … yet, I must warn you … that decision would not be without its difficulties, though I am just a hat and the future remains uncertain.

The Sorting Hat's consideration shifted to Gryffindor, the house associated with Harry's lineage. "Alternatively, there's Gryffindor …" the Sorting Hat trailed off as it pivoted its consideration, "… your parents' house. They would undoubtedly have been filled with pride if you were to join Gryffindor."

Harry felt himself tense at the mention of his parents, a familiar hollowness settling within him. The knowledge that his parents had belonged to Gryffindor stirred conflicting emotions. On one hand, he felt that it seemed like an opportunity to bridge a connection with them, one he never had been given before. Yet, Harry couldn't shake the realization that this connection would be a meager substitute at best. He knew deep down that his parents remained out of reach. Knowing that the intangibles he had been deprived of in the past: love, familial warmth, nurturing care … a home, were things he could not change, but there was no need everything needed to stay out of reach. Deep down even though the feeling of his parents' absence weighed heavily on his heart, he felt that they would want what was best for him and for him to move on from the past as well as he was able to.

"I want …"

"Yes … I think I now know what you want, I know which house you belong to, Mr. Potter. SLYTHERIN!"

The Sorting Hat's decision echoed across the expanse of the great hall, its voice resounding with the weight of the verdict. Immediately after the announcement, it seemed everyone erupted into whispers throughout the hall … a chaotic response of surprise and disbelief.

As the Sorting Hat was lifted from his head, Harry noticed the stunned gazes fixed upon him. Some students gestured in apparent astonishment between each other at the Hat's decision, while an eerie silence replaced the applause. The air was thick with tension as Harry, his knees quivering, rose unsteadily and made his way toward the Slytherin table. Every step seemed charged with the weight of the gazes fixated upon him, eyes from every corner of the hall honed in on his every step. It was a discomforting spotlight he hadn't expected on his first evening at Hogwarts.

In the midst of his hesitant walk toward Slytherin, a singular sound cut through the uneasy whispers … a lone sound of applause emanating from the teacher's table. Startled, Harry turned to locate the source and found himself locking eyes with an old man seated in a grand, golden chair … none other than Albus Dumbledore. There was something in the Headmaster's applause, a subtle expression that seemed to convey encouragement, yet tinged with an undercurrent of sorrow that Harry discerned in the wrinkles around Dumbledore's eyes.

Gradually, the initial stillness dissipated as scattered claps erupted from various corners of the hall, mingling with the lingering murmurs.

Harry felt a glimmer of relief upon noticing Drea's applause, no more restrained than anything else she usually did, a subtle sign that perhaps not everyone was taken aback or upset by his placement in Slytherin. Making his way to the table, he settled into an empty seat beside a towering boy who introduced himself as Barden DeVil, a senior student by the looks of it. Positioned diagonally across from him sat Drea, a somewhat reassuring presence amidst the unfamiliarity of the moment.

Fortuitously, Draco occupied a distant spot at the table, seated several places away. His displeasure at being seated next to a ghastly-looking ghost draped in a cloak stained with eerily silvery blood was unmistakable, which Harry observed with a sense of amusement.

Glancing back at the teacher's table, Harry discerned the familiar faces of Hagrid and Professor Quirrell … the jittery man he'd encountered at the Leaky Cauldron, now adorned with a large purple turban. Locking eyes with Hagrid, who seemed a bit on edge, Harry received an awkward thumbs-up gesture, an attempt at reassurance despite the visible tension in Hagrid's demeanor as he looked at Harry.

Harry averted his gaze from all the rest of the students who were still staring at him, shifting his attention to the ongoing sorting of the remaining students. The ceremony progressed until the last students were sorted, with Ronald Weasley being sorted into Gryffindor, eliciting a cheer from the Gryffindor table, especially among three similar looking red haired students, and Blaise Zabini joining Slytherin. Approaching the table he settled down beside Harry, offering a friendly, if slightly hesitant, smile which Harry reciprocated.

As Dumbledore rose to deliver his speech, Harry couldn't help but burst into light laughter at the eccentricity of the Headmaster's words, relieved that he was not the only one in the hall to react this way. "Is he ... is he a bit crazy?" he inquired, turning to Richard seated beside him.

"Crazy … ? Well … to some extent, certainly," Richard replied with a hint of humor. "That might be one of the more endearing descriptions some in this house would offer about our esteemed headmaster. But truth be told, he's revered and admired by almost all witches and wizards, even those who hate him. There are numerous legends surrounding his immense power and remarkable deeds. Never underestimate him, for he is without a doubt a formidable wizard."

Amidst the grandeur of the Hogwarts feast, Harry's initial concerns over his sorting and the response it received, faded into the background as he beheld the abundance of delectable dishes that appeared on the tables. Indulging in the array of tantalizing foods, he sampled each dish with unreserved delight, savoring the flavors until his stomach felt near to bursting. It was a feast beyond compare, and for the first time in his life, Harry experienced the satisfaction of eating to his heart's content.

Engaged in conversation with Blaise, who sat beside him, Harry found that he discovered interesting things about the boys life as he was more than willing to share. Blaise revealed that his roots traced back to Italy, but his mother had relocated to Great Britain to marry his father. Who had unfortunately, passed away shortly after Blaise's birth. Despite this somber note, Harry felt an unexpected kinship forming with the black-haired boy, which surprised him.

Mutually agreeing, they shifting to lighter topics, and they delved into the intricacies of Quidditch, which Harry learned was a beloved wizarding sport. With animated gestures using their utensils as props, Blaise enthusiastically explained the nuances of the game to Harry, to Harry's enjoyment, even though the game itself seemed quite confusing.

Finally, Dumbledore rose once more, assuming command of the loud hall to acquaint the students with a handful of rules. Many among them responded with eye rolls, as if these rules were old news, and Harry felt they must be general point of order stuff repeated each year. However, Dumbledore's somber warning about a forbidden third-floor corridor, one which he described as leading to a fate of excruciating death, elicited a collective sense of surprise and renewed whispering. Harry couldn't understand what kind of school would issue such ominous instructions to its students. It was an unsettling revelation, leaving him with a feeling that perhaps he had a lot to learn about the differences between the magical and non-magical world.

As the students united in a boisterous, yet disturbing, rendition of the school anthem, their enthusiasm was anything but harmonious, often veering toward off-key notes. Harry found himself chuckling uncontrollably, along with Blaise.

Upon Dumbledore's conclusion of the meal, the students were dismissed to retire to their respective dormitories. Harry, alongside the other first-years, trailed behind two Slytherin prefects en route to the Slytherin common room. Walking alongside Blaise and Drea, a tangible sense of wonder enveloped Harry, although he felt even the other two were impressed, as they wordlessly soaked in the magical spectacles that unfolded around them. The moving portraits, the ethereal presence of the ghosts, and the majestic architecture of Hogwarts left them awestruck.

It certainly was a stark contrast to his boring life at Privet Drive!

Following the Slytherin prefects through the winding corridors of Hogwarts' dungeons, the group ventured through an inconspicuous stone wall that yielded, forming a hidden corridor, when it had been given the correct password. Beyond this concealed passage lay the Slytherin common room, bathed in an eerie glow emanating from greenish ball lamps throughout the room. Through the room's windows, after a moment of staring in puzzlement an intriguing sight unfolded … a view of the underwater world outside the castle. Harry marveled at the realization that they were beneath the depths of the lake.

Inside the common room, high-backed armchairs were scattered about, the ambiance amplified by small tables adorned with … shrunken heads, an oddity that caught Harry's attention, adding an air of peculiarity to the space.

After formally being introduced to each other and the prefects, the Slytherin students were escorted to their respective dormitories. Harry bid Drea and her companions, Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson, Tracey Davis, and Daphne Greengrass, good night as they ascended the stairs leading to the girls' dormitories. Meanwhile, the boys, including Draco Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and a quiet yet mean looking boy who introduced himself as Theodore Nott, ascended their set of stairs. The boys' dormitory greeted them with an opulent display—six four-poster beds with lush green silk covers and silver-embroidered blankets. Medieval tapestries adorned the walls, infusing the room with an aura of ancient grandeur.

Draco, in his apparent usual behavior, dashed forward and claimed the most luxurious bed, which stood out visibly from the rest. Harry couldn't help but wonder about the bed's excessive nature compared to the others. As the remaining boys, including Blaise and Harry, chose their beds, suitcases appeared seemingly out of thin air … a phenomenon that surprised Harry less than it would have before. Smiling to himself Harry realized he was growing more accustomed to the unexpected occurrences within Hogwarts. Amidst the unusual atmosphere, Harry calmly retrieved his pajamas from his suitcase, readying himself for the night.

As the night settled in, Harry anticipated some sort of conflict with Draco, given their previous strained encounter on the train and now the prospect of sharing a room. However, much to Harry's surprise and relief, Draco maintained a conspicuous silence throughout the evening, opting to ignore him entirely. Exhaustion weighed heavily on Harry, his limbs feeling as heavy as lead and his stomach contentedly satiated, for the first time ever, after the delicious feast. Deciding to forgo any remaining conversation, Harry let out a weary sigh as he sank into the soft pillows, succumbing to an enveloping weariness that led him immediately into a deep slumber.

Unbeknownst to Harry, shortly after he fell asleep, Draco signaled to their other roommates, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott, a silent instruction that went unnoticed by Harry. Furthermore, Harry remained oblivious to the expression Malfoy cast towards his bed … a look that would have unsettled Harry had he been awake. Nevertheless, in blissful ignorance, Harry had drifted off into a peaceful and serene sleep, oblivious to the boys exiting the dormitory, an evil smile on Draco's face.

The next morning when Harry awoke, he startled for a second at the unfamiliar surroundings before memories of the previous night settled over him causing him to smile and stretch. Yet, as he was waking himself up, a peculiar and pungent odor invaded his senses, seeming to overpower everything. Blinking away sleep, Harry scanned the room, finding himself alone with the curtains of the other beds still drawn. His senses heightened, he stared around the room attempting to pinpoint the source of the foul stench … a nauseating smell akin to vomit, seemingly emanating from somewhere proximate to his bed. Peering towards the foot of his bed at the suspected spot, a sense of foreboding crept over him.

Panic momentarily gripped Harry like a vice, his mind racing with disbelief. "My suitcase!" His internal scream echoed within his mind as he leaped from his bed, hastily closing the distance to his luggage, which lay partially open … the very same case he had left unattended the night before after retrieving his pajamas. The putrid stench permeating the air, indeed seemed to emanate from his belongings, specifically from the clothes resting right on top. His fingers trembled as he withdrew the topmost cloak, detecting a faint dampness that triggered an immediate sense of alarm.

His heart pounding, Harry hesitated for a moment before cautiously sniffing the cloak, only to be struck by the disgusting odors … vomit and the rank tang of decaying eggs. The smell was overwhelming, causing Harry to recoil backwards dropping his cloak, fighting back waves of his own nausea. What could have transpired to cause such a nauseating smell to coat belongings?

Hearing that his commotion roused the other roommates, Harry turned to face them, and his eyes met the sneering gaze of Draco, wearing an unsettlingly wide grin. Malfoy's smirk widened as Crabbe and Goyle positioned themselves behind Malfoy.

"What seems to be amiss, Potter?" Malfoy's words dripped with disdain. "Aren't you thrilled that your clothes now reek like your lowly mudblood family?" The contempt in Malfoy's voice was palpable, his mockery laced with disgust. He continued as he theatrically pinched his nose. "It's too bad you weren't sorted into Gryffindor, I imagine that smell would fit right in there … you probably wouldn't even notice."

Crabbe, Goyle, and the newly-arrived Nott stood behind him laughing, the sound echoing in the tense air, adding to Harry's escalating sense of isolation and distress. Harry turned to Blaise's bed, silently pleading for support. As Blaise finally emerged from beneath his covers and drew back the curtains, Harry's hopes of finding an ally were dashed when Blaise averted his gaze, refusing to meet Harry's eyes.

Malfoy, seemingly emboldened by the scene that unfolded before them, took a decisive step forward, the smug grin replaced by a cruel, triumphant expression. The air thickened with hostility as Malfoy towered over Harry, exuding an air of superiority and disdain. "Here … in this place …" he paused pointing around him, "you're nothing, Potter," he sneered, his voice dripping with scorn as he looked down upon Harry with contempt. "Slytherin is MY house! You don't belong here. I call the shots. Remember that. You had your chance on the train. Now you're nothing but a foul, repulsive little child of a mudblood and blood traitor."

Anger surged within Harry, he could almost feel it bubbling beneath his skin. "At least I don't stoop to sneaking around and meddling with someone's belongings while they're sleeping," he retorted, his words carrying the anger and frustration he was feeling.

Malfoy's face flushed crimson with anger at Harry's response. "Mind your words!" Malfoy snapped, his voice thick with indignation. He sneered derisively and then laughed, his laughter, rang out, filled with malice and scorn, before delivering a final taunt. "Enjoy your delightful first day of classes, you walking disgrace." With a dismissive wave, Malfoy pivoted on his heels and strode into the adjoining bathroom, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott trailing behind him like the loyal lackeys they appeared to be.

Hopeful for some sign of support, Harry had desperately sought eye contact with Blaise as he slowly and quietly rose from his bed. However, Blaise refused to make eye contact or offer any words of support as he got up, which served as a harsh blow to Harry's already faltering hopes. The weight of isolation settled heavily upon him as he watched Blaise quietly follow the others into the bathroom, abandoning him alone in the dormroom.

Saddened by Blaise's lack of support, Harry let out a resigned sigh, realizing that it might have been too early for Blaise to decide on who he was going to support. He turned his attention back to his suitcase, his heart sinking further at the sight that met his eyes. It appeared as if every garment was saturated with a pungent, slightly reddish liquid … an act that left nothing spared. He was left only with the pajamas he wore, which he felt might be impractical attire for navigating Hogwarts' halls for the day.

Determined to salvage what he could, Harry resolved to attempt to wash the offensive liquid and stench from his clothes. Gathering some of the foul smelling garments, he approached the bathroom door, intending to use its facilities. Yet, as he attempted to turn the doorknob … it remained steadfastly locked. Frustrated, Harry rattled the door, hoping for a response, but it remained sealed, denying him access to attempt to try and clean his clothes.

Mockery laced Malfoy's voice as he called out from behind the locked bathroom door. "No entry for the likes of you," his sneering tone taunted. "Perhaps you'd be more at home wallowing in some putrid, stinking bog … or well … among the Gryffindors. But I believe that means the same thing." The mean laughter of the other boys echoed Malfoy's statement.

Finding himself trapped outside the bathroom, Harry resigned himself to waiting for his roommates to finish. Resolve not to succumb weakness and cry, he laid out his sodden, foul smelling clothes on the floor, and stared defiantly at the door attempting to salvage what little he could from the humiliating ordeal.

The minutes seemed to stretch into an agonizing eternity for Harry, before the door finally creaked open, revealing the boys, now clean and clothed. Draco's demeanor exuded an air of superiority, and his re-entry into the room was marked by laughter from Crabbe and Goyle as they passed Harry's clothing. "We're off to breakfast, I hope you enjoy your morning." Malfoy declared with a sneer, his words carrying a mocking undertone.

Amidst the departure, Blaise lingered, a conflicted expression etched upon his face. For the first time since morning, he met Harry's gaze, shame and sorrow evident in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry, Harry," Blaise's voice barely rose above a whisper, filled with remorse and reluctance.

"Why?" The single word echoed around the quiet room.

A rush of conflicting emotions swirled within Harry as Blaise replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and resignation. "Malfoy … has too much support … ," Blaise admitted with a heavy tone. "He seems to hate you, and if I stand with you … at least openly, it's not just Malfoy I'd face, but Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and others. I'm sorry, Harry, I really am, but I can't stay."

As Blaise departed through the dormitory door, a hollow feeling engulfed Harry. The echoes of Dudley's bullying resurfaced in Harry's mind, a cruel reminder of his current predicament. It was a painful reminder of a pattern he couldn't seem to escape. Each time he attempted to form connections, a shadow loomed, casting him into isolation. The pang of loneliness hit him once again, a stark and bitter reality.

Left standing amidst the chilling silence of the dormitory, Harry grappled with a familiar ache of abandonment.

After nearly an hour of intense effort, Harry reluctantly conceded defeat. He had painstakingly attempted to rid his cloaks and attire of the offensive stench, but despite his diligence, faint reddish splotches stubbornly lingered, and an odor persisted. Fortunately, the smell had slightly lessened from its prior intensity, sparing Harry the threat of constant vomiting. However, his garments remained slightly damp, the absence of means to dry them leaving appearing damp and wrinkled.

Realizing that attending class in his pajamas was likely an unrealistic decision, Harry reluctantly resolved to wear his stained and odorous clothes.

The realization struck him like a lightning bolt … classes! He had completely lost track of time while grappling with his clothing mishap. A sense of urgency surged within him; knowing he had missed breakfast he knew he would need to hurry to reach the classroom.

With a mixture of disdain and resentment directed toward his roommates, Harry reluctantly began dressing, layering his tainted attire and finally donning his dark Hogwarts robe. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he grimaced at the reflection. The stains and accompanying odor had left him appearing and smelling disheveled and unkempt.

With a heavyhearted sigh, Harry gathered his school supplies, exited the dormitory, and stepped into the Slytherin common room. To his astonishment, he encountered Drea emerging from the direction of the girls' dormitory, and a wave of disbelief washed over him at the sight that greeted his eyes.

She appeared just as bedraggled as he did, if not worse. Her clothing bore similar reddish stains and damp patches, resembling Harry's own disheveled state. Her typically neat, slightly wavy hair now stood in disarray, tousled and unkempt, a stark departure from its usual presentation. Red-rimmed eyes hinted at a recent bout of tears, painting a picture of distress that mirrored his own. Blaise's earlier words resurfaced in Harry's mind, the implication dawning on him that Draco's animosity might have extended beyond just him.

A heavy sense of unease settled in Harry's gut as he considered the possibility that Drea had faced similar mistreatment due to her association with him. The thought weighed on him like a burden, an unsettling feeling gnawing at his conscience.

Although this feeling was accompanied by a feeling of anger that Draco could do something like this to his own sister.

"Drea … ," Harry attempted to address her, his voice laden with concern.

"Stop it," she retorted, her tone edged with irritation as she briskly bypassed him. "We need to get to class. I can't afford to be late on the very first day."

With a sense of urgency palpable in her words and evident in her hastened stride, Drea made it clear she was determined to avoid discussing their current situation. Harry, feeling a mix of concern and helplessness, found himself trailing after her, hoping to address the troubling circumstances.

"Drea, I … " Harry began, attempting to initiate a conversation.

"No, I absolutely don't want to talk about it now," she interjected firmly, cutting off any further discussion. Her tone left no room for negotiation. "You'd be better served by helping me find the way to class. Do you know how we get to the Transfiguration classroom?"

Harry's brows furrowed with uncertainty at the mention of Transfiguration. "Transfiguration?" he echoed.

Shaking her head at his evident confusion, Drea responded, "That's our first class. Tracey and Daphne came back after breakfast and informed me, since we weren't there to receive our schedules."

A twinge of envy pricked Harry, albeit briefly, at the thought of Drea receiving help from some of her roommates whereas Blaise had just left him.

Navigating through the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts, Harry and Drea found themselves alone in the quiet halls, devoid of the bustling throng of students. It seemed that they were either still enjoying their breakfasts or had already hustled off to their initial lessons, which Harry felt were set to begin shortly. Attempting to determine the correct path to their class, they often asked directions from the portraits adorning the walls. However, conflicting directions from these animated artworks only added to their confusion. Moreover, the unpredictable nature of the moving stairs further complicated their journey.

They had almost given up hope on ever finding the classroom when a spectral presence emerged in the form of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, a ghostly figure who offered to guide them to their destination. Relieved to have found assistance, Harry and Drea followed the ghostly knight as he floated gracefully through the corridors, leading them towards the Transfiguration classroom.

As they arrived, the imposing figure of Professor McGonagall was in the process of shutting the door, her stern countenance indicating her displeasure. However, upon catching sight of Harry and Drea's appearances, her initial anger dissolved into surprise as her eyes widened in astonishment.

"Why do you two look like you … " McGonagall began, her voice trailing off as her face darkened, a sudden realization stricking her. With a swift flourish of her wand, a wave of warmth and rejuvenation enveloped Harry. The dank, musty smell immediately vanished and was replaced by a refreshing scent … reminiscent of freshly mowed grass after a rain. A glance down at his cloak revealed a miraculous transformation; it was now pristine and dry, as if completely untouched by the earlier events.

Suppressing a chuckle of delight, Harry turned his attention to Drea. Her attire, too, had been restored to its former immaculate state, save for her hair, which remained slightly ruffled.

As Harry prepared to express his gratitude, Professor McGonagall shook her head and preempted any further conversation, her tone decisive as she instructed, "Now, in you go and sit down. We'll commence the lesson momentarily."

"Of course, Professor," Harry and Drea replied in unison, following her directive. They stepped into the classroom, immediately drawing the collective gaze of their peers. The segregation within the room was evident … Slytherin students occupied the left side while Ravenclaws sat on the right. Among the Slytherins, smirks of anticipation danced across several faces, though they made a concerted effort not to overtly display any disappointment at Harry and Drea's newfound presentability. Meanwhile, the Ravenclaws engaged in hushed exchanges, their curious gazes predominantly fixed upon Harry rather than Drea.

"Take your seats," Professor McGonagall's firm voice echoed behind them once more. With a shared understanding to distance themselves from their Slytherin yearmates, Drea navigated toward a table at the back of the classroom, strategically situated on the Ravenclaw side. Harry followed suit, settling into the seat adjacent to Drea, content to keep a significant distance from their Slytherin classmates.

McGonagall started her class by delivering a complete breakdown on the fundamental principles of transfiguration, emphasizing her strict stance against any foolish behavior during her lessons. Initially, she appeared to Harry similar to his previous teachers. However, his view swiftly changed when McGonagall effortlessly transfigured her desk into a pig and then restored it, leaving Harry thoroughly impressed and eagerly anticipating his turn to wield such transformative magic. Yet, his excitement waned when the class was assigned a task involving the conversion of a matchstick into a needle … a seemingly mundane task in comparison to the astounding transfigurations he had witnessed.

However, getting past his first little bit of disappointment Harry enthusiastically began attempting the transfiguration, thrilled at the prospect of his first practical experience with magic. However, as minutes past and his matchstick remained as it was, his enthusiasm dissipated rapidly. Despite his earnest efforts, the matchstick stubbornly refused to undergo any transfiguration, evoking a sense of frustration and discontent within Harry. His hunger, brought on by the missed breakfast, gnawed at him persistently, worsening his mood.

Beside him, Drea mirrored his dwindling enthusiasm. Her attempts at magic grew increasingly intense, evolving into unrefined motions lacking any of the grace and finesse characteristic of Professor McGonagall's demonstrations. It was small solace to Harry that a majority of their classmates were struggling with the task.

As the lesson ended, only a select handful, including Padma Patil, Terry Boot, and to his disappointment Draco had managed to achieve any level of success in the class, transforming their matchsticks into a needle. Although Harry tried to comfort himself that Draco's needle was at least partially made of wood. Unfortunately, Harry and Drea found themselves among the group who were not successful, their matchsticks stubbornly resisting the transformation.

"Your homework is to write an essay, three hands in length, on the significance of desire, focus, and creativity in transfiguration," concluded McGonagall, her tone carrying the weight of expectation. "And do not forget to practice the spell. I expect to witness notable improvements next time. Excellence at magic requires practice."

As students began packing their belongings, readying to depart, McGonagall's voice echoed again, arresting Harry in his seat. "Mr. Potter … Miss Malfoy, please remain here for a moment."

Amidst the shuffle of departing students, Harry and Drea sat still, watching their classmates pass by. Most of the Slytherins after glaring at them, offered them mocking looks but refraining from saying anything. Resentment towards his classmates welled within him, a sense of bitter isolation stinging more profoundly than the disdain he'd encountered from his cousin Dudley.

As the last echoes of their classmates' footsteps faded away into the hallway, Harry and Drea slowly approached the front of the classroom where Professor McGonagall sat, her demeanor serious yet concerned, hands folded before her.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Malfoy, is everything alright? Are you encountering any … issues … with your classmates, perhaps?" McGonagall's gaze lingered on Harry as she broached the subject.

Before Harry could respond, Drea took the lead, her tone dry and collected, a stark contrast to her demeanor at the lesson's end, one marred by the frustration of failed magical attempts. "It's fine," she replied tersely.

McGonagall's scrutinizing gaze shifted to her, staring at Drea after her response. It was apparent that the professor did not believe her for a second. Slowly she turned towards Harry.

"Yes, Professor, everything's fine," Harry responded hastily, although the truth was far from that. He wasn't keen on getting into his issues with his classmates with a teacher. It had never resolved anything in his past experiences, especially not back in elementary school with Dudley and his gang, and he doubted it would help how. Judging by Drea's quick reply as well, it seemed she shared his sentiments.

McGonagall exhaled wearily. " … very well … but do remember, I'm here should you have any difficulties. There are those of us who do care."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Harry acknowledged. However, any response from McGonagall was cut off when his stomach suddenly growled loudly, reminding him of his undeniable hunger. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he looked up at her nervously, "I haven't eaten anything today."

McGonagall's harsh expression softened. "I understand. You should go get something to eat. Lunch won't be served for another two hours. I suggest both of you head to the kitchen."

With a clear call of "Tripsy!" reverberating in the room, a sudden loud bang startled Harry. Abruptly, a diminutive, bald creature materialized before them. It possessed large, luminous yellow eyes and bat-like ears adorned with lengthy white hair.

"Professor McGonagall?" the creature squeaked in response to the summoning.

"Tripsy, could you please escort Mr. Potter and Miss Malfoy to the kitchen and ensure they have something to eat?" McGonagall requested.

Tripsy, turned towards them, a peculiar smile crossing its face. "Tripsy would be delighted to help, Professor," she … or he, Harry couldn't quite discern … said, although the voice made Harry lean towards female. "Please, come along with Tripsy and I'll take you to the kitchen for food."

With a beckoning gesture, Tripsy set off, prompting Harry and Drea to follow in her wake.

"Don't forget about your homework," McGonagall reminded them as they left the room.

Top of Form

Tripsy maintained a brisk pace, but due to her diminutive stature, Harry and Drea found it easy to keep up. Harry found that the conspicuous reaction of the other students grated on his nerves. Whispers trailed their every step in the corridors, and relentless gazes from their peers accompanied them along their journey. Some students strained to catch a glimpse of them, fixating primarily on Harry. The unwanted attention was starting to irk him considerably.

Eventually, they left the prying eyes and murmurs behind, entering into an unexplored section of the dungeons yet unfamiliar to Harry during his short trip through them last night and that morning. Halting before a portrait displaying a large bowl of fruit, Tripsy stretched her arm and reached for a pear within the frame. To Harry's surprise she began to tickle the depicted pear, which responded with giggles before transforming into a doorknob. Turning the doorknob and pushing on the frame, Tripsy opened the door which had appeared before ushering Harry and Drea inside.

Harry was left awe-struck by what lay before him after he entered the room. It was an immense, impeccably clean space adorned with an array of kitchen apparatuses lining the walls. Dominating the room's center were four expansive tables, mirroring the ones from the grand hall where they'd dined the previous night. The kitchen was bustling with creatures resembling Tripsy. Harry stared in wonder and excitement recognizing that this had to be Hogwarts' kitchen!

Upon stepping inside, they were quickly enveloped by these bustling creatures, who promptly escorted them to a specially arranged table. Plates of food arrived promptly, and they were far from modest servings: sausages, fried eggs, bacon, beans, chocolate pudding, and an assortment of many other delectable dishes soon adorned the table. Harry dug in eagerly, savoring the delicious meal spread before him. Drea exhibited a bit more restraint, yet she too indulged in a generous portion of the food presented by the creatures.

Amid their impromptu feast, Harry took a quiet moment to inquire from Drea about the bustling creatures who were catering to their needs. Her brief answer left him surprised: they were elves … house-elves to be precise. Harry was initially shocked as these were extremely dissimilar to the elves he had read about in the pages of books when he had the opportunity. However, he found himself appreciating the differences, particularly when another serving of the delectable chocolate pudding appeared before him.

As their make-up breakfast drew to a close, Harry, now full, reclined, smiling with contentment. Despite his full stomach, he encountered some difficulty in politely declining the house-elves' persistent offers for more food, making it clear that it was no reflection on their cooking ability. Meanwhile, he studied Drea, who had already finished eating. She sat leaned forward, staring intently at her hands folded in front of her.

"Is everything alright, Drea?" he asked, his tone careful.

Drea's sudden reaction startled Harry. Her eyes, usually calm and composed, now blazed with an anger and intensity that made Harry feel as though they might shoot out lightning bolts and wonder if perhaps, he was sitting too close to her. The tension in her clenched fists suggested she was attempting to contain her fury. In a conscious effort to compose herself, she closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and flattened her trembling hands on the table before speaking again.

"No … things are … not okay. That was a humiliating morning. I've never been so angry and humiliated before," she uttered with a controlled forcefulness, her voice laced with barely veiled anger.

Sensing her pent-up frustration, Harry felt the need to express his empathy. "Drea, I'm sorry. It is my fault. What happened this morning … "

Drea interrupted, looking at him with surprise. "What do you mean?"

Harry lowered his gaze, grappling with a sense of guilt that threatened to overtake him. "What the others did to you ... it was the same thing they did to me. It was because of me. I'm sorry ..." His voice trailed off.

Harry found himself at a loss for words staring at her. The feeling of guilt weighed heavily on him; he felt horrible and truly was sorry. It was because of him that her classmates had subjected her to the same mistreatment he had endured, merely because she had shown concern and sat together on the train before standing up to her brother.

For a brief moment, the only sounds were the bustling activities of the house-elves.

Drea shook her head, before finally breaking the silence, her voice devoid of emotion. "What our classmates did … what happened to my things … it had nothing to do with you. The only reason they treated both of us similarly is that they dislike us for different reasons. And my brother was likely responsible for setting them up on both accounts." Sensing Harry's questioning look, she continued, "I'd rather not talk about them now. Probably never. It's none of your concern either. It certainly has nothing to do with you. You are not the only reason bad things happen and there are people out there who hate others."

With those words, Drea stood up suddenly and gathered her school supplies before swiftly attempting to depart, leaving Harry sitting there with a mix of relief and confusion, lingering questions occupying his thoughts. Her firm tone indicated that any inquiries he harbored might not find their answers with her, at least not yet.

While Harry pondered the events, he realized Drea was unlikely to be heading back to the common room. He weighed his options carefully. He didn't fancy returning to the common room with Slytherins and their whispers, nor did he want to explore the castle alone, facing the prying gazes of curious onlookers. Both of those options were even less appealing by themselves.

In a sudden decision, Harry called out to Drea, "Wait, I'm coming with you."

Drea turned to face him with a hint of surprise. "Why?" she inquired. "I'm going to the library."

"I ... well I need to ..." Harry hesitated, searching for a reason. Then, a plausible explanation dawned on him. "I want to get started on my transfiguration homework. It would be nice to be able to successfully transfigure the match next class."

"Well … if you say so, feel free to do what you want," Drea replied curtly, before turning and resuming her brisk pace. Harry matched her strides, trailing slightly behind her towards the kitchen exit.

As they left the kitchen, Harry waved farewell to the house-elves, eagerly promising to return soon. Their cheerful responses lightened his spirits, albeit briefly.

Preferring to avoid asking with fellow students, they navigated their way to the library, occasionally seeking guidance from portraits and friendly ghosts. Amidst their silent journey, Harry's curiosity surfaced, prompting him to ask Drea a question that had been on his mind. "Why did you ask me about the library? Don't you want to do your transfiguration homework as well? What were you planning to do there?"

Without breaking her stride or turning to look at him, Drea's voice was frigid as she replied, "I'm going to look for spells to protect my belongings. And then I will practice them until I perfect them. Then neither Millicent, nor Pansy, will dare to lay hands on my things ever again."

Her words were laced with a disdain that sent a chill down Harry's spine, wondering if perhaps he should be worried for their classmates.

TheRazgrizDragon - Thanks! I thought the character turned out really well. Wanted to write an OC that brought a different perspective and experience to Harry than he had otherwise experienced. I was happy with how she has turned out.

exlpdingbunnies52 - Thanks so much

Ariadne Venegas - I have a feeling Harry and her will have a chat about the specifics. But I have a feeling Sirius' mom would view him as a blood traitor after he gave up on his family.

As for the house. They became slytherins because even though JKR chose to drop all the bad people in the house and even though Drea clearly doesnt like her brother I believe she is a cunning planning person.

Jeff - Thanks so much!

T - I hope you liked the story and the house they were put in. I always felt that Slytherin was always the house Harry might have ended up in if he had not made friends with Ron and been biased against Slytherin. The hat seemed to push the idea and wasn't until Harry said no that he ended up in Gryffindor.

Kind Regards,

FavoriteAuthor

Thanks to those of you out to those of you who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you enjoy them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or reach out to me directly.

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