Chapter 3: A House Divided

The moment they returned from Diagon Alley, it became clear that Vernon wanted nothing to do with either of them. He refused to speak to them directly. Not a single word, not a glare, not a reprimand, not a single grunt of acknowledgement. It was as if they had ceased to exist entirely. He would speak to Petunia, to Dudley, and even to Storm the cat, but not to them.

At first, Charlie didn't seem to notice. The moment they stepped inside, he had locked his school trunk, shoved it into a corner of their shared room, and refused to touch it again. But as the days passed, Vernon's cold shoulder became impossible to ignore. Vernon volunteered for extra shifts at Grunnings, working late into the night and leaving early in the morning. He was never home. The rare occasion that he was, he acted as if Charlie and Harry weren't in the room. He would slam the newspaper up the second they entered the kitchen. If either of them spoke, he would turn the volume of the television to deafening levels. The few times his twin had attempted to bring up Stonewall, to insist there had to be another way, Vernon's jaw had tightened-but he hadn't answered.

Harry personally preferred it.

By the time August dragged into September, Charlie's usual complaints had died down. Harry often found him lingering near the front window, staring out at the driveway long after Vernon had left for work. Waiting. As if hoping that maybe just maybe he'd walk through the door, ruffle his hair, and say something, anything. But Vernon never did. For the first time in Charlie's life, he was being ignored. He had always been Vernon's second favorite-not as spoiled as Dudley, but still acknowledged and loved. Petunia was as doting as ever, but it wasn't the same.

The day before they were set to leave for Hogwarts, Harry came downstairs for breakfast and found Charlie sitting alone at the kitchen table. Vernon had already left for work. He poked at his cereal absentmindedly, not eating. His face was blank, but his shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the spoon too tightly. Harry didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say. He wanted things to go back to normal. He wanted Vernon to look at him again, to say his name, to care. But that wasn't going to happen. Vernon wasn't going to change. And come tomorrow, Charlie would be boarding the Hogwarts Express, whether he liked it or not.

And then, to make matters worse, Dudley stopped talking to him. At first, Dudley had seemed thrilled by the revelation that Charlie was a wizard. He had laughed himself sick when Vernon nearly had a stroke at the kitchen table. He had treated him like some kind of bizarre new toy, watching him with an odd mix of fascination and wariness. Then Vernon stopped speaking to Charlie. And Dudley followed his lead. The shift was slow at first-Dudley would ignore his's jokes, brush off his questions, and conveniently forget to invite him places. Then it became obvious. Dudley spent every waking second with Piers Polkiss. If he wasn't out at the park, he was playing video games at Piers' house or riding around on his new bicycle, leaving Charlie behind without so much as a glance.

Harry had little sympathy for his twin, though. He was enjoying the new status quo, and lack of Vernon and Dudley presence in the house. For once, he was left to his own devices. Petunia didn't even want him in her kitchen, in case he infected the rest of them with his nonsense. That left him with little more to do than prepare for the upcoming school term.

The weeks leading up to September 1st crawled by, but Harry hardly noticed. He had devoured most of his schoolbooks, poring over each chapter in the dim glow of his bedroom lamp late into the night. Every subject fascinated him-Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, even Astronomy. He even read every book he had managed to smuggle into between his schoolbooks, wanting to make sure that he was prepared and not caught off-guard as he had been in Diagon Alley. For the first time in his life, he had something that belonged to him, something that no one could take away. His relatives had tried, and they failed miserably.

Charlie, however, refused to acknowledge any of it. His school things remained stuffed in his trunk, untouched since their trip to Diagon Alley. If not for the occasional glare at Hedwig or his muttered complaints about 'freaks' one might assume he had convinced himself the whole thing had been a fever dream. Harry suspected that was exactly what he was trying to do.

Even when Petunia had firmly told Charlie that he must attend Hogwarts, that there was no other choice, she had refused to elaborate on why. Charlie had pleaded, argued, even thrown a tantrum, but her decision remained final. That didn't stop him from acting as if the whole situation was just some cruel joke he was being forced to endure. Harry, on the other hand, counted down the days.

Harry barely dodged as sharp claws swiped at his leg. Storm, Charlie's ever-growing demon of a cat, hissed and batted at him aggressively, its tail flicking with obvious irritation. Harry scowled at the creature as he hurriedly packed the last of his things. The damn thing seemed to hate him on a personal level. It had latched onto Charlie almost immediately after arriving, draping itself over his shoulders, curling up at his feet at night, and generally acting as though it had claimed him as its own. Harry, however, was apparently an intruder in its kingdom.

Not that it was surprising. The cat got along well with the Dursleys in that regard. He resisted the urge to kick the fluff-covered menace across the room and instead focused on gathering his books. His portion of the room-a measly corner beside the window-had become cluttered with school supplies, books, and parchment notes he'd scribbled on various magical subjects. As he tucked his cauldron into his trunk, Charlie entered, his expression sour as usual. Without a word, he shoved a few extra items into his own trunk, including his Game Boy and a stack of cartridges.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You can't take that."

Charlie crossed his arms, attempting to look intimidating despite his scrawny frame. "It's mine. I can take it."

Harry sighed, closing his own trunk with a soft thud. "No, you really can't. The magic at Hogwarts will break it. Electronics don't work there. Not even digital watches."

His brother snorted and shoved the Game Boy deeper into his bag anyway, "Yeah, right."

Harry shrugged. He had warned him, of course. But warnings never seemed to matter when Charlie had already made up his mind. If his Game Boy fried itself the second that he stepped into the castle, that was his problem. Harry highly doubted Vernon would replace it, especially since he had only got one in the first place because Dudley had whined about sharing. He turned away without another word, focusing instead on the careful placement of his remaining books.

September 1st arrived at last.

The moment they set foot in King's Cross Station, Harry took off like a rocket. His grip tightened around his cart as he tore away from the group, weaving swiftly through the crowd before anyone had the chance to stop him. Not one of them even noticed Harry had left. Harry had already read how to get onto Platform 9¾. He wasn't about to stand around awkwardly and wait for the Dursleys to help. He wandered casually down the station, pretending to scan the numbered platforms as if he were lost. In reality, he was waiting. Watching. He knew that somewhere nearby, there would be other witches and wizards heading to the same place.

It didn't take long. A small group caught his eye-a small family of four with clothes that appeared from the Victorian era. Harry came to a halt, watching closely. The family strode forward confidently and disappeared through the barrier. Harry exhaled. That was proof enough. His heart thumped as he lined up his cart, gripping the handle tightly. He glanced around once, ensuring no Muggles were watching, and walked straight toward the wall. His breath caught for a brief second as his mind screamed that he was about to crash face-first into a very solid surface. But the sensation was brief. He felt a cool ripple, like stepping through a curtain of water, and then he was on the other side.

Platform 9¾ stretched before him. A scarlet steam engine loomed overhead, billowing clouds of white smoke into the air. Students bustled about, trunks clanking, owls hooting, excited voices mixing with the hiss of the train. For the first time in his life, he felt free. Harry wasted no time in finding an empty compartment before the crowd fully settled in. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of Diagon Alley, where he and Charlie had been recognized almost instantly and forced to endure at least thirty minutes of relentless handshakes, stares, and overly enthusiastic greetings. He had learned quickly that he didn't like being the center of attention.

As soon as he slid the door shut behind him, he let out a small breath of relief and pulled out his potions book. Changing into his Hogwarts robes was a welcome change-at least they fit him properly, unlike the oversized, hand-me-downs from Dudley. He had barely started reading when the compartment door slid open again. Charlie poked his head in, dragging his trunk behind him.

"How'd you figure out how to get on the platform?" he asked, dropping his things with a heavy thud and flopping into the seat across from Harry.

Harry tensed but forced himself to remain neutral. He wanted to tell Charlie to leave, to find someone else to sit with, but he held his tongue. They hadn't left the station yet, and if his twin went running off to complain, there was a chance he'd drag the Dursleys into it. No matter how unlikely it was that they had actually stuck around, Harry wasn't willing to take that risk.

"Magic," he said simply, turning a page in his book.

Charlie scowled, looking indignant. "Seriously?"

Harry smirked at his twin's reaction. The word magic may have been banned at the Dursleys but now it was the very thing they were meant to learn. He could hardly complain about Harry's word choice. Before he could retort, the door slid open again, revealing a freckle-faced redhead with slightly tattered robes. He had an eager look about him, but his expression turned somewhat hesitant when he saw them.

"Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full," he asked.

Charlie immediately perked up, gesturing for the boy to come in. Harry held back a sigh. Just what he needed-another person to share space with. The redhead sat down, dragging his battered trunk with him.

"Ron Weasley," he introduced himself, puffing out his chest slightly, as though expecting the name to hold some weight.

Harry, unimpressed, went back to reading. Charlie, however, eagerly took the bait.

"Charlie-Charlie Potter," he replied, grinning. He then nudged Harry, none too gently, in the shin.

Harry clenched his jaw and refused to react. He was used to that kind of thing by now.

"And this is Harry," he added, as though it was an afterthought.

Ron's eyes widened in awe, his gaze flicking between them.

"Blimey, it's true, then," he said, his voice almost reverent. "The Potter twins really did come this year!"

Harry stiffened slightly. He cautiously looked up from his book.

"Do you both really have the same scars?" Ron asked, his excitement bubbling over.

Charlie immediately pushed up his bangs to show off the mark on his forehead, clearly enjoying the attention. Harry, on the other hand, didn't move. He wasn't going to entertain the spectacle.

Ron, undeterred, leaned forward. "Do you remember what happened?"

Harry's patience snapped. With a loud thud, he shut his book and leveled Ron with a hard stare.

"You know, it's a bit rude to ask people about the night their parents were murdered," he said coolly.

Ron paled, shifting uncomfortably. Charlie, however, scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Merlin, he's always like this," Charlie said to Ron, making no effort to lower his voice. "He's always been the miserable sort."

Harry clenched his fists and turned away, curling his legs up onto the seat so he was facing the window instead. He tuned them out, focusing on the blurred shapes outside as the train rattled along. He wasn't going to waste his breath arguing-he had learned long ago that it wasn't worth it. He had just started to relax when the compartment door was flung open again. A girl with a wild mane of brown hair stepped inside, looking around briskly. Her robes were without a single wrinkle, and she carried herself with an air of authority.

"Have any of you seen a toad? Neville's lost his," she announced.

Harry exhaled slowly. It seemed he was doomed to continue to be bothered.

"No, but I'd ask a prefect," Harry suggested coolly, not even bothering to look up from his book. He flipped a page and took out his pen, writing neat notes in the margins. "There are spells that can locate items. It would be far more efficient than barging into every compartment and interrupting."

The girl didn't seem the least bit deterred by his tone. Instead, she squared her shoulders, crossing her arms as she regarded him with a critical gaze.

"I know who you are," she declared, lifting her chin slightly.

Harry finally looked up, narrowing his eyes. "Oh really?"

Charlie, ever eager for attention, shot her a grin. "And who might you be?" he asked, his voice far more inviting.

"Hermione Granger," she said briskly. "You're the Potter twins. I've read all about you."

Harry sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. Here we go again.

"You are the Boys-Who-Lived," Hermione continued, undeterred. "You defeated the Dark Lord."

"Did we?" Harry drawled, finally closing his book with a thud. His emerald eyes, sharp and piercing, met hers. "I wasn't aware. Thank you, perfectly random stranger, for telling me such valued and delightful information. What would I have done going through life without you to enlighten me?"

Hermione sputtered, clearly affronted, before scowling and slamming the door behind her.

"You didn't have to be so rude," Charlie chided, glaring at Harry.

Harry didn't reply. He knew he had been unnecessarily sharp, but his patience had run dry. It wasn't Granger, specifically, that irritated him. it was the constant whispering, the gawking, the expectations. He could already tell Hogwarts was going to be just as exhausting as Diagon Alley had been. At least back at the Dursleys, people left him alone and random dark wizards hadn't attempted to murder him. Then again, it was preferable over Vernon.

Silence fell over the compartment as the train continued its journey. The sky outside darkened, the sun dipping lower as Hogwarts drew nearer. Harry, however, was already forming a plan. As soon as they arrived, he would find a way to slip away from Charlie and lose him in the crowd.

Unfortunately, the new silence in the compartment didn't last. The compartment door slid open once more, and Harry looked up in mild irritation, only to find a familiar pale-haired boy standing in the doorway. Two boys flanked him, both of them large and built like bodyguards, reminiscent of Dudley's gang.

"Harry, I was looking for you," the boy said smoothly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

Harry tilted his head, trying to place him.

"Oh, you're that boy from the robe shop… Draco Malfoy, wasn't it?"

It felt like a lifetime ago. Malfoy's lips curled into a smirk, but before he could respond, a snicker from the other side of the compartment caught his attention. Harry turned his head and found Ron Weasley trying and failing to suppress laughter. Malfoy's smirk dropped instantly.

"Find my name funny, do you?" he sneered. "I suppose I shouldn't even have to ask who you are. Second-hand robes and red hair-must be a Weasley."

Ron's amusement vanished in an instant. His face turned as red as his hair, and his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

"Oi! Take that back!" Charlie shot up from his seat, standing over Malfoy.

For a brief moment, he had the height advantage. Then Malfoy's two goons stepped forward, cracking their knuckles. Charlie hesitated. And very wisely sat back down.

"That's what I thought," Malfoy said, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. Then he turned back to Harry, ignoring the others completely.

"Would you like to join us in our compartment?" he asked smoothly. "It certainly should provide… better company."

Harry considered him for a moment. Malfoy was arrogant, clearly. But he had been polite to him, unlike most others who had only gawked. It was an interesting offer. Harry glanced at Ron, who was still seething but keeping his head down. Harry hesitated, glancing between Malfoy and the others. He didn't particularly want to stay here, but he wasn't sure if he truly wanted to leave with Malfoy either. His instincts told him Draco was trouble-but then again, trouble might not be the worst thing if it meant getting away from this compartment.

He turned toward Charlie, who was glaring at him, fists clenched tightly in his lap. The anger in his expression was unmistakable. He was seething, his face tight with frustration, and Harry had the sinking suspicion that his brother's anger had little to do with Malfoy and more to do with Harry possibly making a choice he didn't approve of. That was all the motivation he needed. Without another word, Harry stood, grabbing Hedwig's cage with one hand and reaching for his trunk with the other.

"You can't go with him," Charlie protested suddenly, surging to his feet. Before Harry could react, Charlie's hand clamped around his arm in a vice-like grip, his fingers digging in hard enough that Harry was sure there would be bruises later. "Ron says his family is no good."

Harry flinched at the sudden contact. The grip was tight, possessive, desperate. He didn't like it.

"Don't pretend to care about me," Harry hissed under his breath, yanking his arm free with a sharp twist. Charlie staggered slightly, caught off guard by the sudden force. Without another glance, Harry shoved past him and stormed out of the compartment.

One of the larger boys with Malfoy-Crabbe or Goyle, he wasn't sure which-reached up and easily pulled Harry's forgotten belongings down from the rack before following along. Malfoy led the way, his stride confident and unhurried, as though he had known all along that Harry would make the right choice.

The moment they stepped into Malfoy's compartment, the difference was startling. It was luxurious compared to the others-spacious and untouched by the noise and chaos of the rest of the train. The seats were plush, the lighting softer, and the small table between them was piled high with sweets from the trolley. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Frogs-more candy than Harry had ever seen in one place. A few marbles and a set of intricately carved wizard's chess pieces were scattered across the surface, as if they had been casually abandoned mid-game.

"Sit down," Draco said easily, gesturing to the seat beside him.

Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second before setting Hedwig's cage beside the window and sinking into the cushioned seat. He wasn't sure what to make of this yet, but it was certainly better than being back there. Draco picked up a Chocolate Frog and idly unwrapped it, watching Harry with a casual sort of amusement.

"You made the right choice, you know," he said. "Some people are just beneath us."

Harry didn't answer. He wasn't entirely convinced that was true-but he also wasn't in the mood to argue. His attention was drawn instead to the stack of books on the table. One title in particular caught his eye. Curses and Counter-Curses: How to Hex Your Enemies and Defend Yourself From Foul Play. Harry reached for it, running his fingers over the embossed lettering.

"This is interesting," he mused, flipping the book open.

Draco glanced over, smirking. "Oh, that one's mine. Father got it for my birthday. We were looking at some low-level jinxes. You never know when you'll have to start hexing Gryffindors."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Is that something you expect to do often?"

Draco shrugged, tossing his Chocolate Frog wrapper aside.

"Better to be prepared. Some of them are impossible. My father says they think they're the only ones who matter just because Dumbledore favours them." His nose wrinkled in distaste. "It's pathetic, really."

Harry said nothing, flipping through the pages. He had seen this book in Flourish and Blotts but hadn't been allowed to buy it.

"The person I was with wouldn't let me get this," he admitted, scanning the table of contents. "Said it was full of all kinds of nasty spells."

Draco snorted, "There are far worse books than this. This one's practically tame compared to some of the ones my father keeps in his library."

He leaned over slightly, looking over Harry's shoulder. Harry could feel the weight of Draco's presence, the way his sharp eyes flicked across the text as though he had already memorized it. "That hex there-Tongue-Tying Curse-works wonders. Good for shutting people up when they're being annoying."

Harry hummed in thought, intrigued despite himself. Draco suddenly tossed something in his direction. Harry caught it instinctively, fingers curling around a round, brightly wrapped sweet.

"It won't bite you, you know," Draco said, watching him with amusement.

Harry turned the candy over in his palm, inspecting it warily. After a moment, he unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. Sweetness burst across his tongue.

Draco smirked. "See? Told you."

Harry felt like he was finally choosing something for himself. As time passed, the hum of the train blended into the background. The compartment settled into a comfortable rhythm, with Malfoy talking at length about Hogwarts-its houses, its traditions, its bloodlines. The train ride stretched into the evening, the sky outside darkening into a deep twilight. Eventually, the slowing of the train caught Harry's attention.

"We're nearly there," Draco announced, stretching as he stood.

Harry peered out the window, spotting the distant flicker of lanterns as the train slowed further. The atmosphere had changed. A nervous, buzzing energy settled over the students as they shifted in their seats, anticipation creeping into every corner of the train. By the time they stepped onto the platform, the cool evening air hit Harry like a wave.

"Firs' years! Over here!" came a familiar booming voice.

Hagrid stood at the edge of the platform, towering over the sea of students. His lantern cast flickering shadows across his face as he beckoned them forward.

"Come on now! Boats are waitin'!"

Harry followed the other first-years toward the lake, where a fleet of small boats bobbed gently in the water. The black lake stretched into the distance, smooth as glass under the moonlight. Then, as they rounded the bend, Harry saw it. Hogwarts. The castle rose against the night sky, its turrets and towers glowing with golden light. It looked impossibly large, a fortress pulled straight from the pages of an ancient fairytale. Harry inhaled sharply. He stepped into one of the boats alongside Draco, and as they pushed off from the shore, the castle loomed closer, its reflection shimmering on the surface of the lake. He felt like he was heading home.

"Potter, Charlus," McGonagall called.

Charlie practically tripped over his own feet in his eagerness to reach the small stool. Harry clamped down on a laugh, watching as his twin stumbled before hastily righting himself, cheeks flushing red. The entire hall was watching as the Sorting Hat was placed over his head.

The hat had barely touched Charlie's head before it cried out-

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table exploded with cheers.

Two identical redheads-twins, judging by their matching grins-leapt up, shouting at the top of their lungs, "We got a Potter! We got a Potter!" as Charlie beamed and made his way over to his new house. Ron looked smugly pleased, grinning ear to ear as he clapped along with the rest of Gryffindor.

"Knew he'd go to Gryffindor. It's really the best house after all," Ron whispered confidently to Harry, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

Harry hummed noncommittally, watching as Charlie slid into his seat, immediately flanked by a crowd of enthusiastic housemates. The Gryffindor table was still buzzing with excitement, and it took McGonagall clearing her throat rather pointedly to silence the room so the Sorting could continue.

"Potter, Hardwin."

The whispers began before Harry had even reached the stool.

"They don't really look like twins, do they?"
"He's so much smaller."
"Gryffindor, obviously-just like his brother."
"Do you really think they defeated the Dark Lord? I mean, come on, they were babies."

Harry gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore them, keeping his steps even as he approached the Sorting Hat. He climbed onto the stool, and before he could take a steadying breath, the hat slipped over his head, plunging his vision into darkness.

"Ah… now this is interesting," a voice purred into his ear.

Harry stiffened.

"Quite an interesting mind you have, Mr. Potter. Not what I expected. I assumed you'd be more like your brother."

"Well, I expected a hat that wasn't going to read my mind," Harry muttered under his breath.

The hat let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, but where's the fun in that?"

Harry scowled.

"Now, let's see," the hat mused. "Plenty of courage, but not the brash, reckless kind. No, no… yours is quieter, sharper. More measured. A deep thirst to prove yourself. An eagerness to carve your own path, no matter what it takes. Yes… an ambitious mind indeed."

Harry shifted slightly. "I won't go to Gryffindor."

"Ah… not fond of following in your brother's footsteps, are you?" the hat chuckled. "No, I suppose not. You're determined to stand apart, to be different. A fine trait indeed. Ravenclaw would suit you-yes, your mind is sharp and eager. But Slytherin… oh, you could do great things in Slytherin."

The word sent a jolt through him. Slytherin. The house of cunning. The house of ambition. The house of-

"But Slytherin's bad, isn't it?" Harry asked warily. "All the worst wizards came from there."

"Oh, nonsense,"the hat said with a huff. "Greatness is not the same as evil, Mr. Potter. You have the potential for both, just as every wizard does. Slytherin would give you the tools to rise above. To be more than just 'Charlie Potter's brother'."

Harry clenched his hands in his lap.

"You do not wish to be overshadowed."

He swallowed. That… wasn't wrong. The hat knew more than he liked, that was for sure. The whispering around him was getting louder. He could hear the students shifting in their seats, murmuring about the delay.

"Should it be taking this long?" he asked irritably.

"Good things happen to those who wait, Mr. Potter." A pause. Then, in a voice loud enough for the whole hall to hear- "Better be… SLYTHERIN!"

The silence was more deafening than the fanfare that had accompanied Charlie's sorting. Harry removed the Sorting Hat and set it gently back onto the stool. He took a breath, forcing his face into a neutral expression before standing up. There was no explosion of cheers. No excited shouts. No Weasley twins jumping up and down, celebrating. Instead, hushed whispers rippled through the hall like a gust of cold wind.

"Did he say Slytherin?"
"But his brother's a Gryffindor!"
"That can't be right, can it?"
"One of them is in Slytherin?!"

The Gryffindor table looked shell-shocked, as if they had been expecting Harry to follow Charlie and simply could not comprehend what had just happened. Ron's face twisted in confusion, his expression bordering on betrayal. He was seated in the midst of his new housemates and staring at Harry as if he had just personally insulted him. His hands were clenched into fists on the table.

Harry forced himself not to care. He turned away, lifting his chin as he strode toward the Slytherin table. There was no roaring applause. A few Slytherins clapped politely, though most of them simply observed him with cool, calculating interest. The older students exchanged glances, whispers threading between them.

"Harry, over here!" Draco's voice cut through the low hum of conversation, drawing Harry's attention.

He followed the direction of Draco's gesture and spotted an empty seat next to him. For a brief moment, Harry hesitated, eyes flickering over the rest of the Slytherin table. Some of them were watching him, their expressions ranging from mild curiosity to careful appraisal. But to his surprise, a few offered small, reassuring smiles, subtle nods that felt more like invitations than scrutiny. He inhaled sharply, steeling himself, then walked over and slid into the seat next to Draco.

The Sorting continued, but Harry barely paid attention. His mind was still racing from the whispers, the shocked looks, the quiet murmurs of disbelief that had followed him all the way to his seat. Then, with an almost startling suddenness, golden plates and goblets filled with food. The scent of roasted meats, buttered potatoes, fresh bread, and rich, steaming gravies filled the air. Platters of everything Harry could imagine-and several things he couldn't-appeared before them, stretching endlessly down the long table. He stared, wide-eyed.

At the Dursleys, meals had been unpredictable: a few scraps here and there if he was lucky, a decent portion only if Petunia was in a good mood or Vernon was too distracted to notice. This-this-was beyond anything he had ever imagined.

"Can't say we expected you here, Potter. Thought for sure you'd be in Gryffindor with your twin."

Harry barely registered the voice at first, too busy deciding where to start with his food. He reached for a serving spoon, but the words finally clicked, and his hand froze midair. Annoyance flared in his chest.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone neutral. Across from him, a boy with sharp eyes and a knowing smirk-Nott, if Harry remembered correctly from the Sorting-watched him with interest.

"You know," Nott continued, leaning forward slightly. "With the whole 'Boys-Who-Lived' thing and all that. People figured you'd be another brave, reckless Gryffindor like your parents. Guess not."

Harry's grip tightened around the serving spoon. He hated being compared to Charlie. Draco scoffed before Harry could reply.

"Leave Harry alone, Nott," he drawled, reaching over to correct Harry's grip on his fork. "Merlin, did you grow up with Muggles or something?"

Harry blinked at him before offering a sheepish grin.

"Actually, I did," he admitted slowly, his voice quieter now.

A brief silence followed. Around him, a few students had paused mid-bite, heads subtly turning in his direction. A few of the older ones exchanged looks. Harry shrank slightly under the sudden scrutiny, his mind racing back to the train, to Ron's muttered words about Slytherins hating muggleborns and muggle-raised students. But before he could second-guess his answer, Draco rolled his eyes.

"Well, that explains a lot," he said breezily, spearing a piece of roasted chicken with his fork. "No offense, Potter, but your table manners are tragic. Good thing you're sitting next to me. I suppose I'll just have to teach you proper etiquette."

Harry blinked. That was… not the reaction he had expected.

"Don't worry," another voice chimed in, drawing his attention. An older girl sitting on the other side of Draco offered him a small smile. "Despite what people think, not all of us come from old wizarding families. Plenty of us are half-bloods, and even a few muggleborns. Things have changed a lot over the years."

Harry studied her for a moment before she tapped a badge pinned to her robes.

"Gemma Farley, prefect," she introduced herself smoothly. "If anyone gives you trouble, let me know."

"Thanks," Harry replied, his voice more genuine this time.

Gemma nodded toward the staff table, subtly pointing with her knife.

"That's Professor Snape, our Head of House," she explained, nodding toward the pale, dark-robed man seated beside a jolly-looking wizard in purple. "You'll want to stay on his good side. If anything happens, he'll handle it."

Harry followed her gaze. Snape was speaking in hushed tones with the cheerful-looking wizard next to him, but every so often, his dark eyes flickered toward the Slytherin table, sharp and assessing. Something about him sent a strange shiver down Harry's spine.

"Right," he muttered, tucking that information away for later.

Deciding that was enough conversation for now, he finally turned his attention back to his plate. Around him, the Slytherins gradually returned to their own meals, the brief moment of scrutiny fading into the natural rhythm of the feast. As he ate, Harry took notice of Crabbe and Goyle, the two bulky boys who had followed Draco onto the train. They did very little talking. Instead, they seemed more focused on shoveling food into their mouths at an alarming rate. Roasted chicken legs, thick slices of steak, mountains of mashed potatoes-everything was disappearing off their plates at a frankly astonishing speed.

Harry couldn't help but be reminded, somewhat, of Dudley. The difference, however, was that Crabbe and Goyle made no move to take anyone else's food. They weren't kicking him under the table, sneering at his portions, or threatening to eat his share if he didn't finish fast enough. They seemed… mostly harmless.

The feast stretched on for what felt like forever, until at last, the golden plates were wiped clean, and Dumbledore stood to address the students. His speech was mostly pleasant nonsense-welcomes, well-wishes, a few strange warnings about the third-floor corridor-before the feast was officially declared over.

Disclaimer:

I do not support J.K. Rowling or her views.
Thank you for reading.

This is a reupload of a story with the same name and plot. Things have been heavily edited and expanded. Please enjoy.