THE STARS ARE DIFFERENT HERE

Chapter Six: Realities New and Old

Crabbe and Goyle were competing to see who could eat a full plate of eggs first. Harry did his best to ignore the array of noises but, much like their snoring that didn't abate the night before, this was easier said than done. He glanced around, desperate for something less nauseating to focus on.

Blaise Zabini was reading ahead in his Transfiguration book with the sort of body language that made it clear he didn't wish to be disturbed. Theodore Nott, meanwhile, met Harry's eyes from further down the Slytherin table and jerked his head in the direction of Crabbe and Goyle, rolling his eyes as he did so. Harry nodded in agreement, then returned to his own breakfast, which was much less appealing when choreographed to the impromptu symphony.

Taking a sip of pumpkin juice, he glanced at the High Table. He'd woken up before anyone else in the Slytherin first-year dorm and proceeded to get dressed and make his way to Professor McGonagall's office faster than he would have imagined possible, but no one answered when he knocked on the door at the top of the spiral staircase. Reluctantly making his way to the Great Hall after knocking several more times, he'd spotted Professor McGonagall sitting at the top of the High Table, with Snape at just one seat over. He glanced at the headmistress, who simply gave him a small, nearly imperceptible nod that seemed to convey just word-

Soon.

Making certain Snape wasn't watching, Harry gave her a tiny nod of his own, then turned back to his pumpkin juice, grateful when Marcus Flint snapped at Crabbe and Goyle to stop eating like animals before he knocked their heads together.

The moment Professor McGonagall made her exit, Harry rose to his feet. The rest of the students were starting to make their way to their first class, and he weaved his way through the crowd as best he could. He'd nearly made it to the door when Malfoy stepped in front of his path.

Harry managed not to swear under his breath, but only just. "What is it, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's lip curled. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Snape was standing beside him, a hand gripping his shoulder.

"Malfoy. A moment, if you will." A pause, then Snape turned to Harry. "You're not needed for this discussion, Potter. Move along."

Harry was all too happy to obey.

"Butterscotch!"

The gargoyle outside Professor McGonagall's office jumped aside, and Harry charged through the opening in the wall and up the spiral staircase two steps at a time. The door swung open as he reached the top, revealing Professor McGonagall behind her desk.

"I had a feeling I'd see you sooner rather than later," she said, one eyebrow slightly raised. "You're supposed to be in your first class of the day."

"I've taken all of these classes already." Harry threw himself into the hair opposite her desk, breathing heavily. "Ages ago."

Professor McGonagall made a small noise, one he couldn't decipher. "Go on, then."

"I can't be in Slytherin." It came out in a rush. "There's been a mistake. That hat-" He gestured at the Sorting Hat, motionless on its usual perch, as though it hadn't just upended his life without a second thought. "It tricked me. I asked it what house I thought I belonged in, and- and-"

"It responded to your question?"

"It's not funny!" Harry's voice squeaked, and he winced at one of the many embarrassing aspects of being eleven once again. "I only wanted its opinion; I hadn't decided yet! The Sorting Hat is supposed to take what you want into consideration, isn't it? Unless that's another change here, and the entire point of the hat is to ruin your life."

"Its purpose isn't that dramatic, no," Professor McGonagall said dryly. "And the Sorting Hat does take your desires into consideration. It seems your desire was assistance reaching a decision."

"But it didn't assist me! It just decided for me!"

"After you asked it to, yes, it did."

Harry let out a grunt of frustration. "Not to be rude, Professor, but that's a load of bollocks."

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, but her expression didn't change. "Were you this much trouble when speaking with my counterpart?"

"No," Harry admitted. "Not openly, at least. And never without a good reason."

"Then I'd advise you to behave toward me as you would toward her." She leaned forward, face gentler than he would have expected. "Harry, I know you're surprised. I wasn't expecting this either. But I hope you come to see the Slytherin of our Hogwarts is not the Slytherin of your Hogwarts."

"Isn't it, though?" Harry ran a hand through his hair, inadvertently making it stick up even more. "I mean, some people have been all right. But Ma- someone called my mum a Mudblood my very first night! It's still Slytherin!"

Professor McGonagall's lips went thin. "Who told you that?"

Harry paused, then threw caution to the wind. "It was Draco Malfoy. He's not even in the right year. He's supposed to be my age! You can't expect me to be in the same house as Malfoy!"

"Draco Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said quietly, "Is a troubled boy from a troubled home. He never should have said such a thing, and he's faced consequences for it before. That being said, Mr. Malfoy does not speak for the entire house of Slytherin, just as, say, Peter Pettigrew does not speak for the entire house of Gryffindor."

"So you're not going to do anything?" Harry could hear his tone turning desperate. "You're going to force me to live with the- the enemy?"

"The Sorting Hat's decision is final." Professor McGonagall still spoke gently, but Harry felt as though she'd punched him in the gut. "And I hope, in time, that you come to see your new house is not, in fact, the enemy."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, roughly pressing the palms of his hands against his forehead. After a moment, he turned to the portrait of Professor Dumbledore, who was watching the proceedings with a mildly detached air of interest.

"Professor," he said. "She can't be right, can she? I've put up with so many changes, but... Slytherin?"

"My boy," Professor Dumbledore said congenially, as though they were discussing the weather. "I know you've had an enormous shock. I've suffered a great many myself over the years- for example, when the Weird Sisters released their metallic opera album. I quite understand wanting answers. But why, Harry, are you coming to me?" When Harry stared at him blankly, he continued on. "Professor McGonagall is the headmistress of Hogwarts, is she not? I may look and sound like Albus Dumbledore, but you mustn't forget that I'm but a painting resembling of a man who is no longer headmaster."

Harry hesitated, then turned back to Professor McGonagall. "Sorry. I didn't mean... I didn't mean to imply you're not really Headmistress."

"Duly noted." Professor McGonagall's tone was somewhat more severe than it had been, but Harry could see she wasn't truly angry. "I do hope, however, that in time you'll come to trust me as you trusted your world's Professor Dumbledore."

"I do trust you, Professor." Harry forced himself to turn away from the portrait of Professor Dumbledore and back to the flesh-and-blood woman before him. "It's just... Slytherin."

"Ah, yes. I do understand, Mr. Potter. But you may find that people surprise you in this world. I don't say things like this lightly, but you are in very good hands with Professor Snape."

"I suppose," Harry said, not believing her for a moment. "But, Professor, what happens when he tries to read my mind? He'll see everything, won't he, about the past? I was always rubbish at blocking him out."

"Are you referring to Legilimency outside the context of the lessons you told me of?" Professor McGonagall gave him a puzzled look. "Professor Snape would never use Occlumency against one of his students."

"He did loads of times on me, even before our lessons."

"Another difference," Professor McGonagall reminded him, "Between the Professor Snape of your world, and the Professor Snape of ours." She paused. "However... I would never ask this of you now, and will never force the issue in the future. This is entirely your decision to make. But, in time, once you've had a chance to decide how you feel about your new Head of House... you might consider sharing with him what you've shared with me."

"What?" Harry stared at her in horror as the meaning of her words sank in. "Professor, I- no. I can't do that."

"I understand," Professor McGonagall said smoothly. "And, again, it is entirely your decision. Please know I'm not suggesting you share your secret with anyone further, but I do hope you'll consider the possibility of including him in time. Professor Snape is a good ally to have."

"I'll... consider it," Harry lied.

"Then I shall allow the matter to rest until you decide- if you decide- to speak of it again."

Harry swallowed. "There's one last thing, Professor."

"Yes?"

"My father's Invisibility Cloak. Professor Dumbledore gave it to me for Christmas my first year at Hogwarts. I was wondering... well, I was wondering if I could have it back."

"I see." Professor McGonagall shot a look at Professor Dumbledore's portrait, who in turn sent her a very innocent expression in reply. "I imagine, Mr. Potter, that you only intend to safeguard your father's cloak and not use it. You certainly aren't considering making a break for it in the coming days, perhaps to Albania to find your godfather."

Harry just stared at her, mouth slightly agape.

"I'm not a fool, Mr. Potter. You care immensely about Sirius Black. You mounted a rescue mission to the Department of Mysteries at the tender age of fifteen- nearly sixteen-" she acknowledged before Harry could cut in, "Because you care so deeply about his safety. You've also been discounted and disappointed many times by the adults in your life, and you've just been denied a transfer of houses. I did listen to the stories you told me." She studied him sternly. "However, Mr. Potter, you must consider this practically. You're underage. You still have the Trace on you. Even if you did run off and both myself and the rest of the staff somehow, miraculously, didn't do or say a thing, the Ministry would know instantly."

"I could avoid the Ministry by not using magic," Harry said, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm not saying I want to run off to Albania, but... I could avoid being found through the Trace that way."

"Harry," Professor McGonagall said gently. "Do you truly expect to make your way across the continent and find Sirius Black in a foreign country without magic, all the while possessing the body of an eleven-year-old who also happens to be one of the most famous people in the wizarding world?"

Harry felt his shoulders slump. "No," he admitted. "I guess... I suppose not."

After dinner, Harry immediately made his way to the Slytherin common room, and from there, to the dormitories, where he hurled himself on his bed and tried to make sense of everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

He had to admit, the dorm itself wasn't terrible. The stone walls and floors had intricate designs cut into them, and a tapestry or two added a bit of colour, even if those colours were mostly green and silver. Much like the common room, there were windows that looked into the depths of the lake, illuminating the room with a faint greenish blue glow. The four-poster beds were identical to the ones in the Gryffindor dormitories, only with green velvet curtains instead of red ones. A couple of Slytherin first-years had put up posters of Quidditch teams and wizarding bands. They didn't quite match the tapestries, which Harry suspected were older than half of the subjects covered in History of Magic, but they did make the space seem a bit more lived in.

Harry had only been in the Slytherin common room once in his past life, and that had been too brief an occasion to take very much in. He'd never thought about where the Slytherins actually slept, but he remembered Ron once verbally picturing a row of overly ornate prison cells deep within the dungeons.

This, well, it wasn't a prison cell. It would be tolerable for the time being. Gryffindor's dorms were better, though.

"Hey, Potter." Nott appeared in the doorway, a bemused look on his face. "It's half past six. What are you doing here?"

"Tired," Harry said, for lack of a better response. "Thought I'd rest a bit. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. Professor Snape wants to see you in his office."

Harry stared at him. "What for?"

"As though he'd tell me." Nott glanced at Harry's forehead as he passed. He braced himself, waiting for the inevitable question or comment, but it didn't come, and he kept walking.

"You took your time, Potter."

"I got lost," Harry admitted. "Sorry."

"Did you not ask an older student for directions?"

"No, sir." The dungeons weren't exactly as he remembered, but he figured it wouldn't be too difficult to locate the Potions Master's office.

Snape's lip curled, and Harry braced himself for a snarky comment about the famous Boy-Who-Lived not deigning to ask someone lesser than him for assistance.

"Foolish, given you've only just arrived at Hogwarts last night. Next time, ask." Snape gestured at the chair opposite his desk. "Sit."

Not having much of a choice, Harry obeyed.

"I heard from Professor Sprout that you missed more than half your Herbology lesson this morning." Snape remained standing, and his tone was cool.

"I was in Professor McGonagall's office," Harry said quickly. They'd come up with an excuse about some of his luggage having gone missing on the Hogwarts Express. "She wrote me a note, sir."

"So I heard. Next time, come to me with these sorts of issues. The headmistress is an extremely busy woman and doesn't have time for lost items from home."

"I will," Harry said, only just barely managing to add, "Sir."

Snape didn't reply, instead taking a few steps to his own chair and lowering himself onto it.

The silence was excruciating. Harry stared at Snape, who didn't seem to be in any hurry to speak. Finally, desperate to fill the dead space, he blurted out the first thing to come to mind. "You were really friends with my mother?"

It came out sounding more like a statement of disbelief than a question. Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, and after a moment he replied, "She was a friend, yes."

"Oh."

Another long pause. Then Snape said, "I hope you understand you won't receive special treatment here. Not due to who I was friends with, nor-" His eyes flicked in the direction of Harry's scar, "-for any other reason you might expect."

"I don't want special treatment." Harry couldn't keep the impatience from his voice; he'd been trying to get this through Snape's head since the last time he was a first-year. "I never have, sir. All I've ever wanted is to be treated like everyone else."

He expected Snape to react with his typical disbelief or scorn, but he instead just nodded curtly. "Good. I'm glad we're in agreement. You may go."

Harry jumped up and headed for the door. He was nearly there when Snape cleared his throat. "Before I forget. If I ever hear of you attempting to sneak out of the common room in the middle of the night again, you'll find yourself serving a week of detention faster than you can blink. This is your first warning. You will not receive a second."

Harry stared, and then he nodded. "Yes, sir. I understand."

"Good. Out."

Harry wasted no time, hurrying out of the office and back toward the common room. Professor McGonagall was full of it. Snape was still a massive dick. And she wanted Harry to share his secret with him? She had to be mad.

Still, he couldn't help but reason with himself, it could have gone worse. He hadn't had a jar of dead cockroaches thrown at his head this time.

"Hold it, Potter. Where do you think you're going?"

"What?" Harry turned quickly, finding Gemma Farley watching him from a sofa. "I'm going to my dormitory."

"Already? Dinner's only just ended!"

"I'm tired," he lied.

"For four nights in a row? No one's that tired." She motioned for him to sit next to her. Unable to think of a better excuse on the spot, he did. "I know what it's like to be new at Hogwarts. It's scary, isn't it?"

We're the same age! Harry thought to himself, exasperated. Trying to keep his expression neutral, he said, "I'm not scared."

"Is it because of what Malfoy said the other night? He's a tosser. Don't take anything he says seriously." She leaned backwards, getting comfortable. "Besides, he won't bother you again."

"How do you know?" Harry glanced around, not spotting Malfoy anywhere. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Detention. All of this week, and all of next week, too. What did you think Professor Snape would do when he found out what happened?"

Awarded fifty points to Slytherin, Harry thought. But, no- even he had to admit this was unlikely. Malfoy had called his mother a Mudblood, and Snape and his mother had been friends. Harry tried to imagine the two of them getting along, but all he could think of was Snape calling his mother that same awful word in his counterpart's memory.

Great, he thought. Two weeks of detention. Another reason for Malfoy to hate you.

"Chin up," Gemma said. "Malfoy's an arse. All houses have them."

"All right." Harry stood up. "Thanks for the pep talk. Really."

He meant it; he'd never imagined the Slytherin prefects to give much of a damn about anyone but themselves.

"I don't want to see you heading back to your dormitory until at least nine. Slytherins don't hide from one another."

He nodded, glancing around the common room, eyes landing on Daphne. He considered joining her, but she was surrounded by a gaggle of other first year girls who seemed unbearably giggly. He thought over his remaining options. Crabbe and Goyle? No, they were too busy seeing who could belch the loudest. Zabini? He didn't talk to anyone. Nott?

Harry paused, then forced himself to make his way to one of the windows that looked into the lake. Nott was gazing with disinterest at his Charms homework, and he glanced up as Harry approached.

"Hey," Harry said.

"Hey."

Harry hesitated. What was he supposed to do now? What did Slytherins talk about?

Nott put his parchment aside. "Do you know how to play Exploding Snap?"

"Yeah."

"Want to play a round?"

Harry thought this over, then nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

They days went by, and Harry found himself becoming slightly more accustomed this version of Hogwarts. Things weren't quite right- the stairs, which had never been terribly consistent, all seemed to lead somewhere different, except when they didn't. Professor Flitwick taught History of Magic, and Professor Burbage taught Charms, while also serving as Head of Gryffindor. Meanwhile, Harry still did a double take every time he spotted Professor Figg in the corridors.

Professor Quirrell taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, and although his head remained free of turbans and/or dark wizards, he was just as twitchy as Harry remembered. There were whispers he'd been attacked while in Albania over the summer, though no one (including, apparently, Quirrell) knew who the attacker was, aside from a vague description of a man dressed in black.

"It was definitely a man, though?" Harry asked, voice low. "Not... I don't know, a spirit? Or something like that?"

"How would I know?" Nott asked as they counted out the correct number of beetle eyes to add to their potions. "Bole said Flint said Quirrell said it was a man, and either way, he got away, didn't he?"

Harry imagined Voldemort, prematurely restored to a human body, skulking about the forests of Albania. But, no, even if he had somehow returned early, he wouldn't still be hanging about there. He'd be on his way to Hogwarts, to Harry.

An even smaller part of his brain imagined Sirius underneath the black cloak, searching the forest to end Voldemort once and for all, but he couldn't let himself think about that for too long. Otherwise he'd start planning his own escape to join him.

With each day that passed, Harry found himself less certain he was about to be hexed in the back by his housemates, though he wasn't entirely convinced. People left him alone, mostly. There were whispers whenever he passed, but Gryffindor had been like that too. Some whispers he suspected were less friendly than others, but no one said anything to his face. He imagined no one wanted to be the next person to test Snape, not after the example that had been made of Draco Malfoy, who was still spending his evenings scrubbing cauldrons in the Potions classroom.

Harry did his best to avoid Malfoy, and aside from a sneer here and there this was returned in kind. Harry was relaxing, though, not yet.

One week after he arrived at Hogwarts, a letter arrived via a post owl. The envelope bore a Muggle stamp and no return address.

Dear Harry,

Did you arrive at school safely? Please advise if you need additional supplies.

Dudley sends his regards.

Yours sincerely,
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon

Harry scribbled a response between classes:

Dear Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon,

I made it to Hogwarts safely. I don't need any supplies right now. Thanks for asking.

Tell Dudley I said hi back.

Yours truly,
Harry

He sent the letter off with Hedwig, her first-ever delivery, and when she returned empty-handed, he figured that was the end of that. Two days later, another post owl arrived with another stamped envelope:

Dear Harry,

We are happy to hear that. Going forward, would it be possible to have your correspondence to us delivered by post?

Yours sincerely,
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon

Whenever he had a moment, he sought out Hermione. There weren't as many of these moments as he would have liked, given Slytherin and Ravenclaw only had a handful of classes together. He always managed to sit next to her when they did, and she seemed to appreciate the attention, not being terribly popular amongst the rest of the first year.

"You fancy Granger, don't you?" Nott asked one evening after Harry returned from the library, where he and Hermione had just spent the last hour revising for Astronomy.

"I don't fancy her," he replied. "I just think she's nice, that's all."

"She's a bit of a know-it-all, isn't she?"

"Sometimes." Harry shrugged. "But that's not the worst thing in the world."

One evening, as they revised material Harry new like the back of his hand, he asked, "Why did the Sorting Hat put you in Ravenclaw?"

"Well, it's the house that values knowledge the most, isn't it? And I love to learn new things." She thought this over seriously. "The hat almost put me in Gryffindor, though. It said it was the hardest decision it's made in a long time. Could you imagine- me in Gryffindor?"

"Yes," Harry said honestly.

"Why did the Sorting Hat put you in Slytherin? It took an awfully long time with you."

"I'm still not certain myself," Harry replied, just as honestly.

Things weren't right, but they were manageable. Or they would be manageable if Ron still existed.

Harry kept thinking he saw him in the corridors. A flash of ginger hair, and Harry would stop dead in his tracks, only to see it was one of the Weasley brothers, or worse, the Ginny who wasn't actually Ginny. Harry couldn't help but feel a stab of irritation mixed with regret when he saw her, this stranger who'd replaced two people he'd known and cared about.

If Ron were here... Harry frequently imagined how much more bearable things would be. They'd find the humour in it together, of how absolutely insane this world was, of what it was like to adjust to having the body of an eleven-year-old again.

It was lonely, isolating being the only person he knew who understood what this was like. Sirius knew, but Harry wasn't even certain if he was still alive.

Don't say that. Don't even think it. He is alive, and you'll see him again.

He visited Professor McGonagall whenever he could sneak away. It wasn't easy. Snape, as disinterested as he seemed in the world around him, somehow had a better grasp on his students' whereabouts than Harry would have imagined. The portraits in the common room were a huge help, Harry suspected, though he wasn't certain which other means the Head of Slytherin used to stay in the know.

It was a rude awakening; he'd expected the Snape from before who'd seemingly allowed his house to do whatever they wanted, so long as they didn't embarrass or inconvenience him. This Snape wasn't seen often, but when he was, everyone knew he was looking for someone. Said someone tended to disappear into Snape's office for a short period, then come back grumbling about a detention or lines to be written.

Harry took advantage of Malfoy's detentions with Snape to sneak away to Professor McGonagall's office now and then. They'd spend an hour or two discussing the histories of both Harry's old world and this new one, as well as generally catch up on his adjustment. Professor Dumbledore occasionally chimed in with an observation or a witticism, but he stayed surprisingly quiet, instead frequently just taking in the conversation from his portrait.

For the first time, Harry began to wonder what it might be like to be the headmistress following the most famous headmaster in Hogwarts' history. He wondered if that had anything to do with why Dumbledore didn't say much, instead leaning back in his chair as Professor McGonagall led their conversations.

"Was it difficult?" he asked once, unable to ask himself. He nodded at Professor Dumbledore's portrait before turning back to Professor McGonagall. "When you took over from Professor Dumbledore?"

Professor McGonagall studied him for a moment, eyebrows raised, then she chuckled. "Monstrously so, yes."

"You've done an excellent job, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said, his eyes closed, having spent the past half hour pretending to be asleep.

"Oh, hush, you," she replied, but she was smiling.

"I think a lot about Ron," Harry admitted one evening, reaching for another biscuit from the open tin on Professor McGonagall's desk. "I think maybe I could start to accept being here a bit more if I could bring him back. Not even the one from my world, just... some version of him."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "I can't claim to know precisely what your situation must feel like, Potter, but I have experienced loss. It's a terrible, wrenching thing, and I'm sorry I'm unable to spare you from it."

"Ron's not lost," Harry said quietly. "He's still out there. Back in my world."

"Yes, he is."

"Do you think he's mourning me too?" Harry shook his head, motioning for her not to answer. "I don't want to think about it."

"We don't have to speak of it now." Professor McGonagall gestured to the pile of books scattered across her desks, the quantity of which only seemed to grow each time he visited. "But I hope you know if I find anything in my research that hints on how to return you home..."

"I know," Harry said. "Thank you, Professor."

Two weeks had passed before Nott asked the question. They were playing wizard chess in a corner of the common room, near one of the massive stone pillars that stood in two lines down the length of the room.

"Do you remember?" he asked, nodding at Harry's scar. "Any of it?"

Harry shook his head, staring down at the board. "No. A bit of green light, but not anything else. I was a baby."

"How'd you do it?"

"No clue," Harry lied. He'd told barely anyone of his mother's sacrificial magic in his past life, and he wasn't about to start spreading the story now.

"Okay." Nott had one of his pawns move forward, then he said, "I don't know if you know this, but my dad was a Death Eater."

I know, Harry thought, but he didn't say it aloud. He'd at least known Nott Sr. was a Death Eater the last time around, but given the surprises thrown his way he wouldn't have been surprised if Nott told him his father was the Queen's second husband.

"He isn't now." Nott paused. "I mean, he isn't much of anything. He's dead."

Harry looked up sharply, remembering the hunched over figure in the graveyard after Voldemort returned, and of the Death Eaters of which Nott Sr. had been part of in the Department of Mysteries. "He is?"

Nott nodded. Now he was the one avoiding eye contact. "Apparently he tried to leave the Dark Lord just before I was born, and the Dark Lord killed him for it. I don't know if they've just told me that to feel better about the whole thing, but..." He shrugged. "I just thought you should know."

"Oh." Harry didn't know what else to say.

"My mum was like him, at least according to my relatives. She died not long after I was born." Nott was still staring at the chessboard, though Harry hadn't yet made his move. "I stayed with an aunt and uncle for a year, but they were arrested after the end of the war. They weren't Death Eaters, but they were helping them."

"Oh," Harry said again.

"I've lived with my cousins ever since. They're distant cousins. They're all right. They aren't Death Eaters. They didn't help them during the war, either."

"I live with my aunt and uncle," Harry told him, then paused. "You're an orphan too, then?"

Nott shrugged. "I suppose so." He hesitated. "I'm not telling you any of this so you feel sorry for me. I just... thought you should know. Didn't want you finding out from someone else."

"I... don't think it's your fault, for the things your parents did," Harry said carefully. "I mean, not unless you end up doing the same thing yourself, you know?"

Nott chuckled. "You sound like my cousins." He jerked his head at the chessboard. "It's your turn. Aren't you going to play?"

Malfoy's detentions with Snape ended, but he mostly kept to himself. Occasionally, he'd "accidentally" bump into Harry in the corridors before profusely offering his apologies to the great and powerful Boy-Who-Lived, but Harry just rolled his eyes and kept walking. It was hard to be intimidated by Malfoy, given he was a spotty twelve-year-old with a voice that had only just begun to break.

Besides, Malfoy was all bark and no bite, at least for now. Harry imagined didn't want to push his luck with Snape, who would now occasionally make appearances in the common room, and not just to summon a miscreant to his office. He never stayed for long, but his presence was enough to tamper down any particularly foolhardy plans circulating amongst the Slytherins during their time after dinner and before bed.

Even the older Slytherins, some of whom had whispered the most when he'd first arrived, had lost a bit of interest in Harry.

"He's just a normal first-year," Harry heard Flint complain one evening, and he smirked when Flint froze upon noticing he was listening. "Scram, Potter. It isn't polite to eavesdrop."

"It isn't polite to talk about people behind their backs, either."

The older Slytherins around Flint roared with laughter as the latter glared. There were even less whispers after that, or they were at least more subtle about it.

"Do you still wish you'd been sorted into Gryffindor?" Daphne asked him one evening as they did their Transfiguration homework together, Harry pretending to find it more difficult than he actually did.

"Yes," Harry said. "But I suppose things could be worse."

"Charmed, Potter."

The following morning, as he exited the Great Hall, a bit of parchment found its way into his hand. Harry looked up sharply as Professor McGonagall walked past, not pausing or glancing in his direction. It was several minutes before he found a quiet spot to unfold the note. It was short, but he had to read it several times before its meaning sank in.

Come to my office tonight. I've made contact with S.B.

Author's Note: Thank you very much for the kind reviews and comments! Thrilled that people are enjoying this, not to mention reading it in the first place! Stay posted for the next chapter soon.