September to October 1991, 1st year

Harry was already tired of the whole school by the end of the first day. He had expected people to stare and gossip and whisper and he knew it would take some time until they would start to lose interest in him, time during which he would have to appear as normal and boring as possible – but how long would that take?

So he had apparently defeated a Dark Lord as an infant. Great. Because babies were magically gifted and could defeat an evil, powerful lord no adult stood a chance against – well, Harry was gifted, but even he wouldn't have been able to pull that off. He had only been a year old, for goodness' sake!

The castle was a nightmare, too. Too many stairs, too much magic, and it all made absolutely no sense. At least it kept him occupied, because his classes were so very boring.

Harry could do most spells already – without saying some Latin word and all the unnecessary wand-waving – which made Charms useless and Transfiguration boring as soon as he found out how it worked – which was right during their first lesson and, really, there was no difference between turning a match into a needle or a pig into a desk, no matter what the stern-looking witch said. (Professor McGonagall, he should really remember to call his teachers by their names.)

History of Magic was taught by a ghost, who couldn't have made his own subject more tedious. Astronomy was in the middle of the night on a weekday. Herbology was mostly fine but sometimes rather exhausting and Harry really didn't like getting all dirty and sweaty. Yes, he could easily clean himself with magic afterwards, but still. Also – his housemates couldn't do that and they didn't always have the luxury of a break that was long enough to shower and change before the next class.

Defence Against the Dark Arts sounded interesting, but was taught by the man with the purple turban, who had a stutter – and Harry had nothing against the stutter, it made him pay more attention to what the man was saying – and was constantly frightened of literally everything.

And then there was Potions, which … was actually really interesting. Only, the Professor – hooked nose and greasy hair (Harry wondered whether he didn't want to properly wash his hair or whether it was futile when you were in a classroom full of boiling potions and steam and fumes all day) – he didn't seem to like Harry much. In fact, he seemed to hate Harry. Harry had never met the man before, so he didn't know what his problem was. Probably Harry's stupid fame.

But Harry answered the questions the man – Snape, Professor Snape, he really ought to remember their names – posed at the beginning of their first Potions class and he had fun brewing and when his result seemed 'acceptable' (it was perfect, actually, but whatever), he just decided to ignore Harry. Harry was rather pleased by that. He could brew in peace – with Nott, who was quiet and intelligent and the perfect partner for potion brewing – and enjoy figuring out why they had to do this or that, how the ingredients worked and so on.

They had Potions with the Gryffindors, which was unfortunate – one of them managed to melt his cauldron during the very first lesson, and Gryffindors tended to be rather disruptive in general – but, ultimately, that didn't really matter.

Harry liked Potions.

During their second week, Flying Lessons began. Flying Lessons were just as boring as most of the other classes, because Harry had a talent for flying, because of course he had. And the teacher seemed rather irresponsible to Harry. One of the Gryffindors lost control of his broom and all she did was shout at him to come back down. She then escorted him to the Hospital Wing, leaving the first-year Slytherins and Gryffindors – two houses that were widely known to hate each other – unsupervised. The blonde boy stirred up some trouble and the Gryffindors were too proud to say anything to the teacher when she returned and that was that. (One could say the rivalry between their houses had grown further, but in Harry's opinion it had long reached its peak before he had even come to Hogwarts.)

Anyway, Flying Lessons were boring, too.

But that was only the first few weeks of classes. Maybe he would find them to be less boring as time went on and the teachers started teaching them more advanced magic. Possibly. Though certainly not where it concerned flying.

Homework was a bit of a different matter, because Harry had to do actual research for that and Harry liked research, but not on subjects he found useless. There was no difference between transfiguring a needle and a pig. He still did it, like the diligent student he was, because not doing them would have lost him House Points and drawn attention all around.

The Slytherins all had slightly different approaches to their homework – some did it right on the day it was assigned, others just before the deadline, some did it in the common room, others in the library. Harry and Nott went to the library. Harry and Nott never left the library – except for meals and curfew. The library was magnificent.

And there was 'no talking' in libraries. The librarian was very strict on that rule, which made it even better.

People still stared, but the moment they started whispering too loud, the librarian would descend on them like a vulture and either make them stop or throw them out. Harry liked the librarian. Her name was Madam Pince.

So the weekends were spent entirely in the library. And then Monday came around and everything began anew. Classes were boring, the library was their home, and people whispered. Harry spent all of his time with Nott. For one, Slytherins didn't walk the corridors alone, for another, Harry found he actually liked Nott. Harry had chosen the right person, after all. Nott was quiet and clever. Nott barely ever talked and seemed content to just walk next to Harry, sit next to Harry, work in classes with Harry. Nott was perfect.

Since classes weren't keeping him occupied, and there was only so much reading he could do in a day until even his brilliant mind couldn't take it anymore, Harry took to observing Nott. The boy had talked on the train, had even argued with Harry, so he could talk more than a few sentences and was even willing to, but he had never done it again. In fact, he had spoken more words on the train than he had since they had arrived at Hogwarts – they hadn't even continued their discussion from the train. Harry found that fascinating.

Also, concerning their discussion on the train – Harry knew the bushy-haired girl was a Muggle-born. He knew that he, himself, was a half-blood. He knew two of the Slytherin girls in his year were half-bloods – the blonde boy wouldn't shut up about it. He had no idea who else wasn't pure of blood, because Harry had no way of knowing other than relying on the blonde boy and the blonde boy wasn't reliable at all – at least he didn't behave like it.

The people he knew of where in no way inferior to the ones he knew to be pure of blood. The bushy-haired girl even surpassed most of them when it came to academics. They only shared Potions with the Gryffindors – which was a good thing, because Gryffindor hated Slytherin and they had a special grudge against Harry – but people liked to gossip. Harry did not pay attention to gossip, did not care in the least, but people talked a lot. And when it wasn't about him, when it was someone from their year doing the talking, then it was mostly complaints about the bushy haired girl. Granger. Harry knew that was her name, but she had not earned the right to be remembered by her name, yet. Maybe she never would. Harry didn't care either way.

In any case, the bushy-haired girl knew all their books by heart and was exceptionally good at learning the spells taught in class. She was also very good at following instructions in potions. What she lacked was the depth of knowledge that came with questioning the things you were taught and the ones you read. But that wasn't Harry's problem.

Harry's problem was the blonde boy.

Harry solved that problem as soon as he had the chance.

No, he did not kill the blonde boy, that would have been too much effort and brought too much trouble. And the boy hadn't annoyed Harry that much. Also, Harry wasn't a killer, not really. He probably shouldn't think about this too hard, though, or he might actually start considering it. Harry had never actually taken a life and he didn't plan on it, but the longer he entertained the idea …

Anyway, the blonde boy tried to befriend Harry at first. He graciously forgave Harry for his improper behaviour on the train – Harry did not roll his eyes, even though he would have been justified in doing so, because Harry wanted to see where this was going to go – and then offered his hand in friendship. Harry had not taken it.

Harry had calmly explained that he didn't need any friends, that he was perfectly content with Nott's presence, and that he didn't care what the blonde boy did. Harry had then further elaborated – because the blond boy had turned pink and begun to splutter in indignation – that it was nothing personal. In fact, if the blonde boy could be quiet and not talk to Harry, ever, Harry would have no problem with them spending time together. The blonde boy had taken that as even more of an insult and had 'declared war' on Harry.

In short, the blonde boy was an idiot.

The blonde boy was also, apparently, supposedly, at the top of their year's hierarchy and his family was allied with most of their housemates. And wasn't that, finally, something of interest? Harry had been waiting for the issue to come up eventually. It was easy to see in the Slytherins' interactions that there was a clear distinction in rank and it was not entirely by age. Blood status, wealth, academic achievements, or just sheer power – all of it mattered.

Now, Harry did not want to be at the top of the hierarchy, but Harry also did not want to have to listen to anyone. He made that quite clear when the blonde boy challenged him to a duel.

You see, the Slytherin Common Room was covered in snakes. Harry knew, now, that his ability to speak to snakes was called Parseltongue and that it was special – another one of Harry's gifts. Salazar Slytherin had been a Parselmouth. It wasn't hard to conclude from those pieces of information that Harry could simply end all discussions about him by demonstrating his superiority over Malfoy (very simple, just had to immobilize his body with a careless wave of his hand and summon the boy's wand) and then commanding the snakes in the common room – because Harry had very deliberately chosen the common room for their duel – to show off some more.

No one had accepted his challenge and they had all listened to his demand to be left alone and nodded and that was that. They saw him in a different light now, yes, but they did not whisper behind his back or stare or otherwise bother him. Slytherins had rules. Slytherins had pride. The hat really had chosen the right house for Harry.

Word travelled fast within Slytherin but not the other houses. The Slytherins didn't reveal their secrets, after all. Harry had to demonstrate his Gift a second time. Some Gryffindors cornered him and Nott. Harry stopped listening after it became clear they weren't there to talk. He waited. Patiently. Harry wasn't a bad person, he wouldn't just attack unprovoked – although, really, that was actually provocation, what they were doing. Harry waited until the first spell was cast and only then did he retaliate.

It was easy. None of them were as gifted as Harry was. Harry was special, after all.

Word travelled fast within the school in general.

And Harry had just botched up his own plan to blend in and be overlooked, to have his fame be forgotten. Oh, well. Harry was gifted, Harry was special – Harry knew that and Harry was proud of that. He had not wanted to put his Gift on display, but he had also never really cared about hiding it. He had wanted to blend in, because that had seemed the best plan to be left alone infinitely. Displays of power had to be repeated now and then, to keep the memory fresh as to why one better left you alone.

It was still a win, in the end, and the teachers hadn't even noticed. Nothing changed. People whispered, but even with Harry's slip up, he was confident they would stop eventually, grow bored. 'So Harry Potter is gifted, nothing new there' – it would only take some time.

Ah, but the rumours. Harry hadn't anticipated the rumours.

Oh, well. Whatever. So people thought he was dark and evil and the next Dark Lord. Who cared? They left him alone – except for the whispering and occasional pointing and staring – and that was all he had wanted, wasn't it?

"They do not bother you?" Nott asked.

"No," Harry replied.

"Because they are true?"

Harry looked up from his book. He hadn't heard Nott talk as much since the train and that had been over a month ago. He glanced around and then set up some silencing wards around them. This was the library, after all.

Nott looked at him with wonder in his eyes. He always did when Harry used his Gift – even in class, when Harry was pretending to do what everyone else was doing.

Harry tilted his head. "What makes you think they are true?"

Nott looked at him calmly. "I do not make assumptions. That is why I am asking."

Harry had to smile at that. "Let me ask you a question, then. What makes a wizard 'dark'? I am not evil, I can tell you that much – or at least I don't think I am. And I do not plan to become the next Dark Lord, because that sounds like a lot of work and effort and I really only want to live my life in peace. Peace and quiet."

Nott nodded. "That matches what I have observed so far." He paused. "A Dark Wizard or Witch is simply someone who studies the Dark Arts. The general magical community views the Dark Arts as sinister and evil and, therefore, categorizes anyone who practices them as inherently evil – or, if not inherently, then someone who has strayed from the right way."

"And what do the practitioners of the Dark Arts think about that?"

Nott gave him a shrewd look. "Hypothetically speaking, I would assume they disagree. The Dark Arts contain a variety of spells and not all of them are harmful to others, just as not all harmful spells belong to the Dark Arts. It is the intention that matters. The Light is too narrow-minded to see the potential in the Dark. They are afraid."

"But magic is neither 'dark' nor 'light'," Harry said, "It isn't 'good' or 'evil'. It is only magic. The Dark Arts are a category wizards use for certain spells. Therefore, the Dark Arts could be anything you want them to be. In the end, it is all magic."

"Yet some witched and wizards are more adept at using Dark Magic than Light Magic," Nott said.

Harry shrugged. "Everyone has things they can do better than others. That still does not make magic dark."

"And if the magic corrupts?"

"How so?"

"Dark Wizards can generally not perform Light Magic – or only with great difficulty. But they had no problems performing that magic before they began studying the Dark Arts in earnest."

"That could be ascribed to several things," Harry replied. "For one, when you extensively practice one thing, you neglect all else. For another, the intent matters. If you do not want to perform certain magic or do not think that you can – then it will not listen to your command."

"Do you think that magic is sentient, then?"

Harry shrugged. "It can be. Just look at ghosts. Look at portraits. Look at this castle."

Nott nodded. "I see your point."

"Coming back to your original question," Harry said. "Am I a Dark Wizard? No, I am not. For one, I do not study the Dark Arts as of yet. I might, one day. But I will not limit myself to one branch, one category, when I can access all magic. For another, I do not think there is such a thing as 'Dark Magic' and, therefore, I cannot be dark."

Nott gave him a sharp smile. "Well argued, Potter."

"Harry," Harry said. "Call me Harry."

Nott's smile widened. "Then you may call me Theodore. Or Theo, if you prefer."

AN

Introducing Susan next chapter.