A/N: A huge thank you to Gwendolyn for discussing and proof-reading the fic and for putting up with me while I was writing! This story wouldn't exist if not for you. One day, your kindness will be repaid. Maybe even by me...
On a different note, this is an AU (obviously) about a canon Harry being Sorted differently. So please assume that the first few chapters of The Philosopher's Stone stand unchanged up until the point when Harry puts on the Sorting Hat—at which point the Hat does not listen to Harry's demands and off to Slytherin he goes, having just fought with Malfoy and befriended Ron.
This is the first part of a project that spans all seven books; the plan is to have the number of chapters correspond to the year, i.e. one chapter for first year, two for second, three for third, etc. As a final note, it's worth saying that Harry spends pretty much all of this fic being an unreliable narrator; reality is filtered through the lens of his understanding of any given situation. His understanding isn't always accurate, and his views will shift over time.
"You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness…"
(The Sorting Hat, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone)
I.
Slytherin. He was a bloody Slytherin. Head bowed, eyes fixed on an empty plate, Harry tried to comprehend the enormity of the Hat's decision. Hagrid had said that all wizards who went to Slytherin ended up bad, hadn't he? What did it mean for Harry—surely he wasn't bad already?
("Always spoil everything… ungrateful… freakish… strange... abnormal...")
He wasn't.
Harry's stomach swooped unpleasantly. Everyone was staring at him. They'd been staring before the Sorting too, but the hush that went through the hall at the Hat's choice had been impossible to mistake. This wasn't… this wasn't how this was meant to go.
"Weasley, Ronald!"
Oh god. What would Ron think of Harry now? The Hat's decisive "GRYFFINDOR!" dashed all hopes of Harry and Ron ending up in the same house. Harry clenched his fists and tried to calm his breathing. Nothing for it. He raised his eyes.
Ron was staring at him with the expression of utter betrayal.
("I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin.")
Well. That answered that question. Harry didn't dare look at Hagrid; one disappointed gaze was all he could take in an evening.
The joyful train ride to Hogwarts seemed so far away now...
Zabini, Blaise seated himself next to Harry; with that, the Sorting came to an end. The Headmaster got up to say a few words, and then food appeared out of nowhere on the table. Harry jumped.
"It's called magic, Potter," Draco Malfoy said acerbically. The two huge boys next to him guffawed.
Harry fixed Malfoy with a glare.
"Wow. Thanks. I never would've worked that out."
Why did the Hat have to put him in bloody Slytherin with bloody Draco bloody Malfoy and away from all kids who seemed nice? Even the bushy-haired know-it-all didn't seem so bad now, nor the hapless boy with the toad. At least they weren't Slytherins.
His new housemates kept a close eye on the exchange—some with open interest, some with suspicion, some with smiles so sharp they made Harry inwardly shudder…
"Do you two already know each other?" asked a thin-faced boy sitting opposite Harry. He glanced between Harry and Malfoy.
"Unfortunately." Malfoy raised his chin. "I think you'll find that Potter's quite inclined to the wrong sort, Theo. He was making friends with Mudbloods and blood traitors on the train."
A ripple of whispers swept through the table. Harry set his jaw. Whatever those words meant, they had to be bad, coming from Malfoy.
"You're just saying that because I didn't want to be friends with you," he said, and set off a wave of quiet ohhhs.
"So what do you want to be—enemies?" The thin-faced boy narrowed his eyes. "That confident you can take Draco on, are you?"
He looked Harry up and down, as if appraising his scrawny frame, messy hair and crooked glasses. An impressive sight Harry did not make. Harry hid his hands under the table so that the other boys wouldn't notice how they shook.
"Yeah, Potter, what do you want?" Malfoy leaned forward.
Harry steeled himself. Now was not the time to show weakness—bullies would pounce on that at once.
"From you? Nothing," he said. "Except the potatoes. Do you mind passing them along?"
Zabini stifled a snicker next to Harry; Malfoy sputtered. Then, his face contorted with anger.
"Funny, Potter. I'll be the one laughing when you can't last a month in Slytherin. You think we'll fall over ourselves for the Boy-Who-Lived? Think again."
Yeah. Harry was getting the picture.
("While you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts...")
Funny thing; his family didn't want him either.
He hated knowing that things would be the same here as they'd been in the Muggle world.
He'd probably been foolish to hope for anything different.
xXxXx
Over the next few days, Harry discovered that there were rules to living in Slytherin—unspoken little rules, invisible ties connecting certain members of his house, dark secrets and closets full of skeletons. Harry knew quite a bit about secrets and he was an expert on closets; maybe there was still a way for him to make it through.
The most obvious principle ruling Slytherin was power. If you had power, you could thrive. If you had no power, you tried to gain it. If you had no power and no idea how to gain it, you kept a low profile and did your best to navigate the people who held the threads of power in their grasp.
Ignorance was weakness; knowledge was power.
Harry started going to the library in his first week of school.
He wasn't after power, exactly; he didn't want to be a bully like Malfoy. But he wanted to be safe from the Malfoys of Hogwarts—and Malfoy was a lot less scary than the older Slytherins, whose eyes felt heavy on Harry in the common room. Harry tried to avoid them and spent a lot of his time in the library, hoping that bullying was less likely to happen there anyway.
He had loads to learn. He was terribly unaware of wizarding customs, wizarding history, and his own place in that world of connections and alliances. He knew next to nothing about his parents. He knew next to nothing about Voldemort. He knew next to nothing about Hogwarts.
If he was to carve out a place for himself in the wizarding world, this had to change.
xXxXx
Harry dragged himself towards the Potions classroom. The later he got there, the later he'd have to face his Head of House. This was a beautiful plan—except he couldn't afford to be tardy, either…
Given Harry's chilly welcome in Slytherin, it shouldn't have come as a surprise that his Head of House hated him too; Professor Snape had cornered him on his very first evening in the castle and given a threatening speech.
("Misbehaviour—pampered prince—prancing around—expelled faster that you can say Potions—flaunting your fame—keeping an eye on you, boy.")
Harry had been half-furious, half-terrified, so he couldn't really recall what Snape had said, but he'd immediately become Harry's least favourite teacher. Harry's schedule had allowed him to avoid the horrid professor for almost a week, but the time for the first-ever Potions lesson was finally upon him.
"Weasel, I'm still surprised to see you at Hogwarts. I wouldn't have thought your family could afford to send so many of you here."
Oh, great.
Potions was a joint class with the Gryffindors; the students had already gathered by the door, and Harry had apparently arrived just in time to witness Malfoy and his sidekicks picking on Ron.
The sight of Ron had Harry's stomach flipping over. They hadn't spoken since the Sorting…
Ron and Malfoy squared off against each other, Malfoy flanked by Grabbe and Goyle on both sides. The rest of their classmates milled about, each group keeping to their house, watching the confrontation unfold.
Harry could just join the onlookers, but…
"Shut up," he hissed into Malfoy's ear, sidling up to him. He'd rather snap at the boy at full volume, but one of the Slytherin rules was to present a united front to the other houses at all times. "Just leave Ron alone!"
Without Malfoy messing everything up, maybe there was still a chance for Harry and Ron to—
"Figures that the two of you are plotting together," Ron said, tone disgusted.
Harry flinched away from Malfoy. Did Ron think..?
"Didn't take you long to make friends with Malfoy, did it, Potter? I guess you Slytherins are all the same in the end."
Dead silence followed the words. Harry flushed hot, and then so cold it felt like something inside him froze.
("There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin.")
Did people even—did Ron have any idea of what being in Slytherin was like?
Harry hadn't chosen this. The bloody Hat had put him here. But clearly, the fact that he got sent to Slytherin in the first place had told Ron everything he needed to know.
Forget the fact that, not so long ago, Ron had seen Harry rejecting Malfoy's handshake; Ron thought that Harry and Malfoy were friends now just because Harry was in Slytherin too—as if that changed anything.
Did that change anything?
Suddenly seeing himself from aside, Harry realized he was standing with the Slytherin half of the divided crowd. Hate it or not, he was one of them now. He couldn't go back; he couldn't undo the Sorting, un-convince the Hat.
("You could be great, you know…")
It wasn't fair. Worse, it wasn't as if all Slytherins were monsters. Even in his dorm, Malfoy was a twit, Nott was annoying, Crabbe and Goyle were scary and Zabini distant, but they weren't exactly villainous masterminds. Harry hadn't made friends in Slytherin, but he'd thought he was friends with a Gryffindor—and how quickly had that changed?
It hurt to think, so Harry opened his mouth to talk instead.
"Well, seeing the kind of friends Gryffindors are, I'll take my chances with Slytherin, thanks."
There. He'd stood up for Slytherin. The world was slowly tilting off its axis.
His classmates gave him cautious, assessing glances. With a sinking feeling, Harry realized that Malfoy approved.
"Yes, Weasley, why don't you crawl back to that hole you came out of?" Malfoy interjected.
"Shut up, you stupid—"
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Weasley," Professor Snape said, appearing soundlessly out of the classroom.
Harry ignored Ron's protests and Malfoy's smirk, and marched into the room ahead of everybody else.
All through the Potions master's introductory speech, Harry tried to calm his racing pulse. The teacher's glare landed on Harry, and Harry braced himself for another confrontation… A part of him thought that, right now, he'd even welcome it… But then the teacher turned away to scold the Gryffindors, venting his anger on the toad boy and the know-it-all.
Millicent Bulstrode sent Harry thoughtful looks as they worked together. By the end of the class, their boil-curing potion actually resembled the desired result. Obviously, nothing could compare to Malfoy's concoction—not according to Professor Snape, anyway—but Harry would take what wins he could get. He gave Bulstrode a tentative smile, and received a stony glance in response.
The professor's scowl followed Harry out the door, but no comments accompanied it. Whatever vitriol he'd unleashed on the Gryffindors, Snape didn't seem to have a single word of censure against the Slytherins—not where the others could see; and whatever protective cocoon enveloped the Slytherins in the Potions classroom, it evidently covered Harry, too.
The Slytherins stood publicly united. Harry was one of them. That was… something.
xXxXx
"Psst! That's Harry Potter!"
"Shh, he'll hear you!"
"Do you see his scar?"
Harry pretended not to notice the whispers as he walked out the castle doors onto the grounds, heading towards the large lawn where the Flying lesson would take place.
"Loving the fame, are you, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, catching up to him. "Little do they know you're about to make a fool of yourself. Never been on a broom, have you?"
Harry ignored him. Malfoy kept pace with him, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering behind.
"That's what you get for being raised by Muggles." Malfoy sniffed.
"Yeah, because that was totally my idea," Harry couldn't help sniping back. He'd have traded the Dursleys for the first wizarding family who'd want to have him…
Well, okay, maybe not the Malfoys, what with Draco basically being a posh, magical Dudley.
"First-years, listen up!" barked Madam Hooch, their hawk-eyed instructor, as soon as they reached the lawn. "Everyone stand by a broomstick." She gestured at the rows of brooms lying in orderly lines on the ground, and frowned at a couple of Gryffindor stragglers—since this was a joint Slytherin-Gryffindor class.
Ron Weasley would be there for Harry's first-ever attempts at flying. Joy.
Harry chose a broom at random. Malfoy stuck doggedly to his side, evidently looking forward to the show.
"Stick out your right hand over your broom and say, Up!"
"UP!"
And the most delightful thing happened: the broom jumped eagerly into Harry's hand. Malfoy's eyes widened, but he schooled his expression quickly.
"So what, Potter," he hissed. "You haven't tried flying yet."
"We'll see," Harry said, spirits rising.
But then Neville Longbottom broke his wrist and Madam Hooch halted the lesson to take him to the hospital wing. It took all of two minutes for Malfoy to get bored and start antagonizing the Gryffindors; Ron Weasley rose to the challenge, and Malfoy baited him into a broom race.
"You'll get in trouble! Get down at once!" the bushy-haired Gryffindor girl shouted.
She was right, of course, but Harry kind of wished he were up there too. Flying looked fun…
Malfoy managed to land in his place near Harry and look like the picture of innocence by the time Madam Hooch returned, but the teacher caught Ron still in the air and promptly assigned him detention. This left Ron glaring at Malfoy and Harry, as if Harry had egged Malfoy on somehow.
Sure. Whatever.
"Be ready on my whistle!" Madam Hooch said. "Three… two…"
Harry kicked off on one, and then he was finally, marvellously flying. The wind rushed past his ears, and all his troubles seemed to fade in the flush of pure joy as the broom soared in the air. Somehow, flying was easy—he knew just what to do without thinking about it, and the broom obeyed his every nudge…
"Well, now I have tried flying," Harry told Malfoy, braking sharply near him. "I think it's going pretty great—don't you?"
Malfoy fumed all the way back to the castle, afterwards. The other classmates—even some Gryffindors—shot Harry impressed glances. Harry basked in the feeling. He hoped he'd get to fly again.
xXxXx
While Professor Snape never chewed Harry out during class, he did find a way to punish him for existing: having established that Longbottom was atrocious at Potions by the third week of school, he made Harry the Gryffindor's permanent partner. Harry had been doing okay in Potions up until that point; he and Millicent Bulstrode had coexisted in a state of cool civility that suited him just fine. Longbottom, however, seemed to explode everything he touched. A potion that was meant to be, for all intents and purposes, non-toxic managed to go berserk and eat through a desk under Longbottom's care. In other words, Harry stood no chance.
This left him having to study extra hard at Potions in order to anticipate Longbottom's mistakes and prevent explosions. Reading up on Hogwarts, or his family, or the wizarding world at large took a backseat to the urgent need to improve his Potions knowledge. He wanted to get at least a pass for this class, even if he would never get good marks with such a partner…
"Excuse me, is it okay if I sit here?"
Harry raised his head from One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi to see Granger, the bushy-haired Gryffindor. She looked anxious, balancing three heavy tomes, her school bag, quills and parchment in her arms.
"Er… Sure."
Harry halfway regretted his words at once; he was a Slytherin and she was a Gryffindor, so he might get in trouble for associating with her. The same thoughts seemed to be flying through her mind, as she threw a nervous glance at the green crest on his robes, but her entire being screamed determination. A look around revealed that there was nowhere else for her to sit. Oh well.
They worked in silence for an hour and then Harry got up and left.
The next day he was back and so was she.
The day after, Harry learned that her first name was Hermione; she'd told him that on the train, but he'd forgotten since. She, of course, had read all about him in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. The girl was a bit much—she tended to talk like she was the only smart person in the room—but she really was intelligent and eager to help. Harry could definitely use that to stay afloat in Potions.
Explaining that to his fellow Slytherins, of course, took some effort.
"Potter, what do you think you're doing with that Granger creature?" Nott asked in the common room, lip curled in disgust.
Harry glanced up from his homework to find that Malfoy, his goons and Parkinson were hovering by as well. He sighed.
"She's smart. I'm using it to my advantage and being very sneaky and Slytherin that way."
For a moment, everyone stared at him and he almost hoped his reasoning would work.
"Potter, she's a Mudblood," Malfoy said slowly, as if addressing a two-year-old.
"I know," Harry answered with the same air of exaggerated patience. "Strangely, that doesn't make her any less clever and therefore useful."
"Are you that desperate for friends?" Parkinson laughed.
Harry rolled his eyes, hoping he looked a lot braver than he felt.
Still, he didn't want to antagonize his house too much. They did know where he slept, and he hadn't yet worked out the charms to booby-trap his bed.
xXxXx
Harry's scar hurt sometimes. He'd be sitting in the Great Hall, or in walking down a corridor, and he'd feel an odd piercing pain. It had never happened back in the Muggle world, but maybe being at Hogwarts, around magic, was setting it off somehow.
Harry winced and tried to rub his forehead so that his classmates wouldn't notice. Did it have to act up mid-lesson? He was struggling to follow Professor Quirrell as it was, what with the stuttering and the roundaboutation.
"P-Please open your t-t-textbooks on page 54…"
Thankfully, the pain went away as quickly as it had come, and Harry spent the rest of the lesson diligently taking notes. Still, Professor Quirrell must've noticed something; his voice rang out while Harry was packing his bag:
"P-Potter? I'd like a quick word…"
"Yes, sir?"
With the room empty of anyone but him and Harry, the teacher shuffled where he stood, fiddling awkwardly with his papers. When his eyes met Harry's, they darted away at once.
"Your last essay was quite g-good… but I noticed you—your head… p-perhaps—a headache?"
And there it was. Another person curious about the famous scar.
"I'm all right, Professor."
"I'm g-g-glad… the world owes a lot to you, P-Potter… T-Today on all days…"
Harry frowned, but then understanding dawned.
("All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. He came ter yer house an'– an'–")
Today was Halloween—the tenth anniversary of his parents' deaths.
Harry hadn't even thought about it, he realized with a sinking heart… He'd almost forgotten the date Hagrid had mentioned to him all those months ago…
Did that make him a bad son?
"P-P-Perhaps people didn't expect t-to see you… in S-Slytherin…"
Harry flinched, wondering if his parents would've said that too.
Several professors had looked at Harry oddly the first time they'd had him in their class. Maybe Quirrell felt the same. Maybe this wasn't what he'd expected of Harry when they'd first met in Diagon Alley—maybe he'd expected him to become a popular boy, a success, a Gryffindor like his parents…
Quirrell sighed. "Well, I ought n-not ramble… One just thinks back t-to other students like you… certain p-parallels… d-d-distorted mirrors of each other… Never m-mind."
The teacher blinked at Harry, looking him directly for once, and for a moment something shifted behind his eyes—something sharper. But then he coughed, and adjusted his turban in that timid, cringing way of his, and Harry gave him a strained smile.
"Run along, then, P-Potter. Enjoy the feast."
xXxXx
Despite Harry's dampened mood, the Halloween decorations took his breath away as he walked into the Great Hall with his housemates. The floating pumpkins, the live bats, the festive golden plates… Harry couldn't help swivelling his head around to appreciate it all. Nott and Malfoy could scoff at him all they wanted about decorum and purging your inner Muggle—sometimes, it struck Harry all over again just how cool the wizarding world was.
Fine, Harry was a friendless Slytherin who might've been a disappointment to his parents. But at least he still had magic.
Harry sat down and was just about to try a tempting-looking pie when Professor Quirrell burst through the doors.
"Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know."
Harry froze. Most people did the opposite and jumped up, screaming, as the professor fainted.
A troll seemed to be a very bad magic thing.
"Quiet, please!" the Headmaster demanded, making firecrackers explode from his wand. "Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
"Into the dormitories?" Malfoy repeated, hysterical. "Our dormitories are in the dungeons! Where the troll is!"
A swell of voices rose up in agreement.
"We'll let the other houses leave the hall first," said Gemma Farley, one of the Slytherin Prefects. Her face was very pale.
Everyone's anxiety communicated itself to Harry; his heart was beating faster, and he clutched his wand in his hand. Not that he'd be able to fight a troll… but it felt good to hold on to the reminder that he was no longer entirely helpless—that if worst came to worst, he'd have a weapon… He still had magic on his side…
The Bloody Baron phased through the wall, startling Harry.
"The troll has left the dungeons. It's bound for the upper floors," he told the Prefects in a grave voice.
"Time to go. Line up!" Gemma Farley ordered, and Harry fell in step behind Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode.
They reached the common room and waited for news, chatter filled with speculations about how the troll had got into the castle. Harry darted to his dormitory and took out his books on magical creatures, hoping to find something about trolls.
It was strange to think… Harry had heard of magical threats before, of course: Voldemort himself was out there, allegedly not completely dead, according to Hagrid; plus, after the welcoming feast Professor Dumbledore had said something about deadly peril in some third floor corridor. Harry hadn't been sure how seriously to take that—his housemates tended to scoff at anything the Headmaster said—but now the idea of danger within the school seemed much more real…
He'd been so focused on how to survive in Slytherin, he hadn't really thought about what else might be out to get him. Maybe that had been a mistake—but on the other hand, how much danger could first-years really be in?
The next morning, Harry found out that Hermione Granger hadn't been with the rest of her house that evening and so hadn't known about the troll; it had cornered her in a bathroom, and only Professor McGonagall's intervention had allowed her to escape with her life.
So much for first-years not facing danger at Hogwarts.
xXxXx
Hermione Granger spent several weeks in the hospital wing. This was very sad for Hermione Granger, but it was also not great for Harry, because it meant that her help with Potions had come to an end. Even upon being released from the infirmary, she shied away from further library meetups, apparently withdrawing into her books.
Understandable. But also inconvenient.
Harry braced himself as Snape stopped by his and Neville's station. Today's potion was—well, Harry wasn't sure what to call it, but certainly not what it was meant to be. The disgusting goo he and Neville had concocted was sitting in their cauldron and didn't look like it would ever be scraped out again.
"Do you have eyes, Longbottom?" the Potions master asked silkily. "Yes? In that case, why did you not bother to read the instructions?"
The Slytherin half of the class sniggered. Neville looked down, shrinking into himself. Harry set his jaw. The words had been aimed at Neville, but Snape's dark gaze bored straight into Harry.
"Class, please note the depths of incompetence to which a student might sink," the professor announced, making a broad gesture at their cauldron. "There is only one mark I can give. Evanesco."
The congealed goo vanished, along with Harry's chance to get a passing grade.
Damn it. Snape knew this wasn't Harry's fault —Longbottom had messed up the potion, as always, and Harry needed eight eyes and three hands at the very least to keep up with the bloody Gryffindor. Sometimes Harry thought the easiest option would be just to throttle Longbottom and eliminate the problem altogether.
"Um, Potter?" Longbottom asked uncertainly.
Harry refrained from rolling his eyes through a supreme effort of will.
"Yes?"
The other boy seemed to be gathering the famed Gryffindor courage to speak. If this was yet another end-of-class apology—
"Look, Longbottom, just don't bother," Harry snapped.
Longbottom went pale.
"Uh, I'm sorry, but—" Harry's expression must've been thunderous, because Longbottom went on hastily: "I've tried! I've tried and tried! But I really don't get it, I just can't do it when P-p-professor Sn-nape is looking at me and I just forget everything and—"
Harry closed his bag forcefully and threw it over his shoulder. Seeing that he was about to leave, Longbottom hurried after him.
"Can I make it up to you? I mean, you know I'm sorry but—I can—I can do Herbology! I can help you in Herbology if… if you would like that."
Harry stopped in the corridor to look at the other boy incredulously.
"You're good at Herbology? Then why do you mess up so badly in Potions?"
"I don't know!" Longbottom wailed.
Harry wrinkled his nose.
"Okay. How about… you ask Granger for help?"
"Hermione?" Longbottom asked, confused.
"Yes." This time Harry did roll his eyes. "You know, lots of hair, smart, in your house? I used to study with her, trade notes on Potions. It would make more sense for you to go straight to her for help. Just… ask her."
Longbottom looked worried.
"But why would she help me?"
Because she's completely alone, Harry wanted to say. Because I don't know about you, but I haven't seen her speak in a friendly way with anybody in your house. Because she's almost died and she has no one to talk to about it. It'd make sense for the two of you to team up because you seem to be an outsider too.
Just like me, he thought wryly.
"She will," he said with confidence, instead.
xXxXx
Harry was one of the three Slytherins staying for the Christmas holidays: with him were third year Adrian Pucey and a rather stressed sixth year girl.
("Solstice, Potter, it's the winter solstice we're celebrating. Did you think we cared about Santa Bloody Claus? You're such a Mudblood sometimes…")
The best thing about the break was having the dormitory to himself. Harry had rarely slept well with Malfoy and the other boys around, and back at Privet Drive he'd always needed to be on guard as well; not looking over his shoulder all the time made for a really nice change.
So on Christmas morning, Harry stretched and yawned comfortably before sitting up in his four-poster, looking forward to another quiet day. But then his mouth fell open in shock: there were actual gifts on his bed. Who would send him presents? He'd never received any; Dudley got lots and Harry got none—that was how things worked in the Dursley household. That someone would think highly enough of Harry to get him presents—Harry found himself smiling in pure joy.
His gifts were amazing, too. Longbottom gave him Chocolate Frogs and Hagrid got him a flute, which delighted Harry even though he had no intention to ever play it, and even Granger sent him a card thanking him for their past cooperation. There was also a mysterious package on his bed; that one turned out to be an Invisibility Cloak that used to belong to his father.
This Christmas holiday was the most wonderful thing ever.
xXxXx
The Christmas holiday might have tempted him on one adventure too many.
Harry scowled at himself. That had been close: Professor Snape and Filch the caretaker had walked past his hiding place not a minute after he'd sequestered himself in an unfamiliar room. This was what happened when he gave in to stupid Gryffindorish impulses and threw caution to the wind to try out his Invisibility Cloak! Why go exploring the castle when he knew Professor Snape would relish catching him? Harry had managed to avoid detentions or serious loss of points up until today. There was no reason to tempt fate…
Anyway, where was he? Harry turned around. Apparently, he'd ended up in an unused classroom: desks and chairs lined the walls, like in similar rooms he'd visited to practice spells without others breathing down his neck. One peculiarity attracted his attention at once: a huge ornate mirror stood in the middle of the room.
Curious, Harry approached the reflective surface… but he could see nothing there. Harry blinked and then realized he was still wearing the cloak. With a furtive glance to all sides, Harry took the cloak off and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he looked up—and froze.
Reflected next to him were at least ten other people.
Harry took a step backward; his reflection did, too. He closed his eyes; when he opened them, the crowd was still there. He whirled around, searching frantically for a sign that there were people in the room with him, when he'd been so sure there was nobody. Invisible—maybe were they invisible? He turned back to the mirror and watched his reflection carefully as he extended a hand until it should've come into contact with the woman standing next to him; but he felt only air. There was nobody there. And yet—was he seeing things? Who were these people?
He stepped closer and examined them. The woman he'd tried to touch had auburn hair and a kind smile, and her eyes were bright green. Exactly like Harry's.
Harry shifted his gaze to the man standing on his other side. He had messy black hair, bespectacled hazel eyes and—and god, he looked precisely like Harry expected himself to look once he grew up. He had the same nose, the same cheekbones, the same chin, and his hair stood up at the back of his head the exact same way and—what was this?
Harry, wide-eyed and breathless, gaped at the rest of the crowd and spotted similar atrocious hair, knobbly knees, eyes of comparable green… He tried to take in everybody's faces at once, all of them smiling at him encouragingly, all of them accepting… And most importantly, the woman and the man right next to him.
"Mum?" The redhead nodded, tears in her eyes. Harry felt his own prickling too. "Dad?"
The man just smiled sadly and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Reflective Harry's shoulder, because Harry didn't feel anything, but he could almost convince himself that he did. He stood, transfixed, in front of them, hungrily memorizing their faces. He hadn't known he looked so like his dad, or that his mum had been so beautiful.
"I'm sorry." Harry hiccupped, wiping his tears away. "I know I might not be… what you wanted…"
But his parents only looked concerned, and reached out to mirror-Harry with a hug. They—they didn't dislike him, and they didn't judge him and they weren't disappointed… They looked at him like they loved him.
In this cold, abandoned classroom Harry had found a dream come true. He had parents—or had had parents, once, and they were wonderful.
He wasn't leaving anytime soon.
xXxXx
Harry had had to depart from the room in order to catch some sleep and turn up at meals, so that nobody would wonder where he'd gone, but he spent as much time with the mirror as was possible. Yet he must not have been cunning enough, because Dumbledore found him on the third evening since the initial discovery of the mirror.
"So—back again, Harry?"
Harry flinched away from the reflection and turned around only to see the Headmaster sitting on one of the unused desks.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said. He couldn't resist sending one last longing look at his parents even as he tried to calculate how much trouble he was in.
This was his first encounter with the Headmaster outside of seeing him at meals in the Great Hall. He had no real idea what the man was like. Hagrid had only had good things to say, but the Slytherins were less complimentary…
Professor Dumbledore smiled at Harry, apparently not angry at him for trespassing.
"Not to worry, my boy. Wizards older and wiser than you have been lured by the delights of the Mirror of Erised; many have gone insane before it, forgetting to eat and sleep in their determination to catch a glimpse of what it showed them…"
Harry's heart stuttered. He would've asked just what the mirror showed them, but wasn't sure that such boldness would be allowed. Dumbledore peered at him and Harry got the distinct impression that he'd just been x-rayed.
"The happiest man on earth standing before this mirror would see himself and only himself reflected in it, just as he is. Can you guess what it does, Harry?"
Harry blinked. The fact that the happiest man on earth would see just himself and Harry saw what seemed like his entire extended family showed, if nothing else, that Harry was not as happy, but he didn't need the mirror to tell him that.
"Um, I see my family…" he said, hoping that it would distract Dumbledore from the riddle.
"Yes, and somebody else would see themselves receiving the Order of Merlin, First Class." The Headmaster nodded congenially.
Harry frowned.
"It shows us something we cannot have, but really want?"
"Yes and no. The Mirror of Erised shows us nothing more and nothing less than the deepest and most desperate desire of our hearts, Harry. That desire does not have to be unattainable, although in your case, it unfortunately is."
Harry swallowed painfully. Seeing his parents was wonderful—almost like having them again. Knowing that he'd just been gazing at his most desperate desire somehow didn't diminish the allure of the mirror or make the desire any less desperate.
"The mirror gives us neither knowledge, nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad by its promises. It will be moved to a new location tomorrow, Harry, and I must ask you not to go looking for it again."
There was a sterner look to Dumbledore's eyes, now, and Harry nodded.
"I understand, sir," he said quietly.
"Very good. Now, off you trot; it's almost curfew. I shall take no points for finding the mirror; and you will be prepared if you are ever faced with it again. Good night, my boy."
"Good night, sir," Harry replied and, with a heart-wrenching glance towards the traitorous mirror, left the room.
xXxXx
Harry's thoughts kept straying back to the Mirror of Erised whatever he tried to do over the next few days, but he did his best to get back into the vacation spirit.
He and Adrian Pucey teamed up against the Weasley twins in a snowball fight; Harry hadn't known how it would go with these particular Weasleys, but the twins didn't seem to have their brother's hangups about Harry's house. They pelted Harry and Pucey with snowballs merrily but not maliciously—Harry and even Pucey couldn't help laughing at their quips—and after winning the bout they took to waving at Harry in a friendly way when passing him in the corridors.
Teaming up against a common foe thawed Pucey a bit, as well. The guy was apparently crazy about Quidditch; he was a Chaser for the Slytherin team and chattered on delightedly about the victory against Gryffindor the previous term. The Gryffindors had a really appalling Seeker, which in Harry's opinion had helped the Slytherins, but it was hard not to be drawn into a feeling of at least some patriotism for the house team when Pucey waxed poetic about it. Pucey bemoaned the fact that Terrence Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker, was graduating next year.
Given how much Harry had loved flying…
"I might try out, then," he said, thinking aloud. "If there is a position opening."
Pucey squinted at him, an assessing look on his face.
"Well, you're a Potter; your father was supposed to be really good, so you might as well have a go. Just make sure to tell Flint it was I who recruited you, if you get in."
Harry nodded distractedly. His dad had been good at Quidditch! What else didn't he know?
Hagrid invited Harry to visit during vacation. Harry went, encouraged by the Christmas gift, and found Hagrid as cheerful as ever. The friendly giant was apparently undaunted by Harry ending up in Slytherin and plied him with tea and rock-hard scones. Harry found himself relaxing into the atmosphere and inevitably asking about his parents.
"You knew them, right? What were they like?"
"They got married quick outta school. Didn' want to wait, with the war an' all…" Hagrid sighed. "Yer mum was a right one. Always nice ter me, and clever with Charms…"
"And my dad?"
"Good man, yer dad, a Gryffindor through an' through—not that… yeh know… Slytherin's not… they wouldn' have minded, yer parents…"
And so Harry's mind turned back to his mum and dad, and to having seen them so recently, and to having lost even that little—again… Although he'd agreed not to go looking for the mirror, his steps took him to the classroom where he'd initially found it. As promised, the mirror was gone. For all Harry knew, it was now somewhere in Professor Dumbledore's office…
He began actually looking forward to classes starting up. At least then he'd have homework to complete, people to dodge and lessons to attend—and wouldn't have the time to brood over the unfairness of only ever seeing his parents in an insanity-inducing mirror.
xXxXx
Waiting outside the greenhouses for the first Herbology lesson after the break, Neville Longbottom gazed at Harry with hopeful eyes.
"Thanks for the Christmas gift," Harry said, clutching the strap of his school bag. "Um. Sorry for… not getting you anything? I didn't think—"
"Oh, no!" Neville said hastily. "It's fine! I mean, you've done so much in Potions—it's all very—it's all right!"
They looked at each other for a moment, then away. Neville tugged at the sleeves of his uniform.
"So, er... Do you want to partner up today? In Herbology?"
"Sure." Harry gave him a tentative smile.
When Professor Sprout arrived, Harry followed her into the greenhouse, his steps somehow lighter than before.
xXxXx
It was a good thing that, growing up with the Dursleys, Harry had become fast and agile. Otherwise, he probably would've got on the wrong side of Crabbe's or Goyle's fists more than once by now, the way Malfoy kept setting them on Harry in the dungeons. Harry snorted quietly, slipping into an unused classroom. There. Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't have the brains to consider that Harry might've hidden somewhere instead of continuing to run in straight lines. He was relatively safe now; perhaps he could practice the Body-Bind Curse. It sounded pretty useful…
"A-ha! Who's come to pay us a visit?"
Harry whipped around, wand at the ready, to see redheaded twins grinning him in their crazy identical way. He relaxed, but only marginally; he and these particular Weasleys might be on non-belligerent terms, but he never quite knew what to expect of them.
"Oh," he said, for lack of anything better. "I didn't realize there was anyone here. I'll just go, then."
"Go?" One of the twins—he thought it was Fred—raised his eyebrows. "But you only just got here!"
"And what Slytherin sneakiness brings you to this humble retreat?" the other one, probably George, added.
Their brown eyes were smiling mischievously; evidently, they weren't upset at Harry's interruption.
Two weeks ago, when the twins had witnessed a minor squabble between Ron and Harry in the library, Harry had cautiously asked them why they didn't mind him if he was in Ron's black books. Both of them had looked at him as if he was the batty one and said that they'd never shun someone who managed to get not one, but two of their brothers riled up until steam was coming out of their ears. Apparently, Percy was having near-apoplectic fits each time Ron got into trouble because of his conflict with Slytherin in general and Harry in particular. Since driving Percy bonkers was one of the twins' goals in life, they had no problem with Harry being on the outs with their brother.
Privately, Harry thought that would change immediately should he actually harm Ron; the Weasleys' family loyalty was legendary, after all.
("Blood-traitors, the lot of them. Father says they are a disgrace to all Purebloods. Poor as dirt and about as powerful—disgusting, really…")
Harry shook his head. The whole family might be dressed in shabby hand-me-downs, but so had Harry been for most of his life. And Ron might be a pillock, and Percy a bore, but the twins were okay. Harry figured they'd have got along fine if they'd been in the same house—and not necessarily Gryffindor; they seemed to have quite the sneaky Slytherin streak themselves. It was certainly better to be on good terms with them than not.
"I'm just exploring the castle," he answered in the meanwhile. "I'm sure you know what I mean."
The twins beamed at him.
"There's a good lad!"
"So what were you doing here, in the dungeons?" he asked.
"Oh, same as you." Fred waved a careless hand.
"Not plotting any pranks, then," Harry probed.
"Oh no, no pranks, we wouldn't ever," George protested.
"Honestly, Harry, who do you take us for?" Fred was all offended innocence.
Harry observed them critically.
"Right," he said. "I don't want to know. But in case you were having a pranker's block, I should tell you that Malfoy is majorly scared of mice."
xXxXx
"I heard Hagrid's hut caught on fire yesterday," Neville confided, pruning the soil around their plant with sure hands.
Harry blinked at the non sequitur.
"How come?" he asked. He hadn't been to see Hagrid in quite a while, caught up in his studies as he was. April had flown by and May had rolled in with sunny days and the dark promise of exams only a month away…
"Oh, I don't know what happened." Neville shrugged. "Someone was saying Hagrid had a dragon in there, but how likely is that? No, Harry, careful with that thorn—you'll sneeze non-stop if it grazes you."
Harry carefully extracted his hand from the vines.
"That's… interesting," he muttered. He recalled Hagrid telling him that he dearly wanted a dragon, but what was the likelihood of him actually getting one?
Hopefully, zero.
"That oaf might just be stupid enough to try and raise a dragon in that wooden hovel of his," Malfoy scoffed. He was working at the next table, and it was obviously too much to expect that he'd keep his mouth shut.
Harry sighed.
"Yes, thank you, Malfoy. Your opinion is priceless and has been duly noted," he said blandly.
Malfoy glared at him but didn't say anything since Harry hadn't actually been rude. Zabini and Bulstrode smirked, amused by the byplay; Harry congratulated himself on having scored a point.
Neville smiled timidly. He was rather scared of Draco, but seemed to feel that Harry provided some protection from the blond Slytherin. A ridiculous notion; Malfoy had power on his side and Harry didn't. It wasn't really smart of Harry to keep antagonizing Malfoy, but he couldn't help it— and besides, they'd lived this way for almost a year and, although Harry walked on eggshells around his house, he had yet to be beaten into a pulp. The Slytherins—especially Malfoy—had tried to give Harry grief about hanging out with Neville, but the Longbottoms were an old Pureblood family, so Harry had got out of that one relatively easily.
And wasn't that something: he and Neville were kind of… friends, now. They'd carried on partnering up in Herbology, and it turned out that Neville really did have a flair for the subject. Neville improved Harry's marks in Herbology and Harry kept them from crashing and burning in Potions; that evened things out. Besides, being on better terms made working together easier, so Harry could take his efforts from explosion prevention to actual brewing.
He got a straight O in Herbology and a sort-of friend out of the deal, so he wasn't complaining about the additional Potions work. And if the Gryffindors were pestering Neville about befriending a slimy Slytherin, Neville never said anything on the matter.
xXxXx
"Potter?"
"Yeah?"
He squinted at Blaise Zabini. Blaise Zabini squinted at him.
"I'll help your revise for History of Magic if you give me a hand with Potions."
Harry did his best not to stare. Staring was very uncool and therefore unSlytherin.
That said, Zabini had never approached Harry like that before, or offered assistance. No Slytherin had. Besides:
"You're asking me for help with Potions? Why?"
Zabini's expression remained stony.
"Anyone who can survive a year of Longbottom and get passable grades is going to breeze through the exam."
Fair enough, if Zabini put it like that. Harry had devoted an absurd amount of time to studying Potions this year. As to the offer… Zabini was one of the quiet ones. He picked no conflicts and chose no sides; like Bulstrode, he didn't interfere in Harry's fights with Malfoy. Greengrass and Davis didn't get involved either, but Harry had the impression that, if push came to shove, they might choose Draco. Zabini and Bulstrode, on the other hand, seemed neutral. They had never tried to get in Harry's way.
"All right," Harry said airily, as if this was no big deal. "Potions in exchange for History of Magic. You're on."
Who knew; he might do okay in more exams than he'd thought.
This got all the more true once Bulstrode joined in. Then, Nott heard about the arrangement and wanted to benefit from Harry's Potions knowledge, too.
"I can help you with Transfiguration in return," Nott suggested stiffly.
Harry would've told Nott where he could stick his ideas, since he had been on Harry's case all year, but the other boy was good at Transfiguration and Harry was not.
"Fine," Harry said.
He didn't have to like Nott in order to work with him—and Nott acknowledging his ability in any way at all was a victory unthinkable just a few months ago.
This, Zabini and Bulstrode and Nott offering to exchange favours with Harry—to learn from him, and to help him succeed right back—implied recognition beyond just Potions proficiency. It meant being treated on equal terms.
("I'll be the one laughing when you can't last a month in Slytherin.")
Harry hadn't survived a year in his house for nothing.
Ironic that the Potions class, which had tortured him for so long, had become his way in…
Malfoy said that Harry was a fraud at Potions. Harry said he was wounded. Draco told him not to be sarcastic to his betters. Harry promised to not be sarcastic to the next better he came across. Malfoy threw the first hex. Harry retaliated. The others just leaned back and watched the sparks fly.
xXxXx
Harry put his quill down just as Professor Binns called out:
"Stop writing! The time is up! Roll up your parchments now."
A cheer went through the class: History of Magic was the last exam on their schedule. They were now gloriously, blessedly free.
"Thanks for telling me to read up on Ulfric the Ugly," Harry said to Blaise Zabini. That had come in handy for the last question.
"The pleasure is all Ulfric's, I'm sure," Zabini said. "Later, Potter."
Exams off his plate, and another week before the results; Harry was looking at an unprecedentedly leisurely stretch of days ahead. Maybe it was finally time to look up Hagrid and ask what had happened with that rumoured dragon...
A couple of days later, Harry found Hagrid sitting outside his house, relaxing in the sun with Fang the dog dozing by his feet. The hut didn't look the worse for wear; if an accident had taken place, magic had removed the traces.
"Harry!" Hagrid exclaimed delightedly. "Done with yer exams? Sit down, sit down. It does me good to see yer face, 'specially now…"
"How come?" Harry asked. "I mean, I'm glad to see you too. Are you all right? I've heard something about a fire, and a dragon…"
"Blimey, Harry, fancy yeh askin' me about Norbert. Brings it all right back." Hagrid sighed and took a hearty swig from his tea mug. "I raised him from an egg. A lovely baby, he was."
"A lovely baby… dragon?"
"Wish yeh coulda seen him." Hagrid sniffed.
"What happened?" Harry asked, fascinated even though he could already see where it was going, given the fire-breathing creature in a wooden house. Malfoy hadn't been wrong about that.
"Well, I had to leave 'im alone, didn' I? What with the unicorns dyin' in the forest, I had to go an'—"
"I'm sorry, did you say there are unicorns in the Forbidden Forest?" Harry asked. "And they are dying?"
Was there actually a dull moment in this school? First a troll, then a dragon, now unicorns in peril?
Hagrid's expression darkened, bushy eyebrows drawing together.
"They was bein' killed," he said. "A horrid thing, to slay a unicorn… If yeh murder a creature that pure, yer soul never comes clean again. But he's beyond tha', o' course…"
"So you know who did it?"
"A wraith… a shadow—the darkest one yeh can imagine." Hagrid looked at Harry, eyes suddenly misty. "He's gone now. Tried ter get past Dumbledore's defences jus' yesterday, but Dumbledore stopped 'im."
"Wow." And to think, exams had seemed like the biggest thing going on at the school.
"Great man, Dumbledore. Helped me with Norbert, too. After Norbert had a bit o' a turn an' set the house on fire, Dumbledore sent 'im ter be happy with other dragons. While Dumbledore's at Hogwarts, don' yeh worry about nothing, Harry."
Harry had had plenty to worry about this year; still, having Britain's most powerful wizard around clearly counted for a lot.
xXxXx
Harry walked into the Great Hall for the Leaving Feast alongside Zabini and Nott to see the place decked out in Slytherin colours. Green and silver banners hung from the ceiling, and the house emblem decorated the wall behind the High Table. Harry sat down between Nott and Bulstrode and eagerly waited for the feast to start.
Harry had made it to the end of his first year. He hadn't been expelled by Snape or killed by the troll, hadn't run into a creepy wraith, and most importantly—he'd survived in Slytherin.
So much to celebrate!
"Another year done!" Dumbledore said, standing up from his seat. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast."
Harry looked at the teachers, wondering…
"Where is Quirrell?" he asked in a whisper.
"Do I look like I know?" Nott sneered, but there was no malice in it.
"I heard he's had an accident of some sort," Malfoy informed them.
Harry raised his eyebrows.
"Rumour has it that he's snuffed it," Draco continued.
Nott didn't look impressed.
"What, tripped over his own feet and fell to death?"
Malfoy shrugged, somehow managing to imply that he knew the details but wasn't going to share them. The ploy only worked on Grabbe, Goyle and Parkinson; the rest saw through Malfoy too well to fall for his charade. Harry's mind went to the conversation with Hagrid… A teacher disappearing just now felt like too big of a coincidence. Quirrell had taught Defence Against the Dark Arts; what if Malfoy was right and he had died—fighting evil? But surely the Headmaster would've said something. And Hagrid hadn't mentioned anyone except Dumbledore… More likely, Quirrell had fled in the face of danger. It made sense that the Headmaster wouldn't want to announce that.
"I won't miss Quirrell, anyway," Malfoy said, and damningly for the man's teaching skills, no one disagreed.
Harry sent a small wave to Neville, who sat at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione Granger. Noticing Harry's attention, she gave him a cautious nod before refocusing on Neville and continuing whatever conversation they were having.
"He's about to announce the points!" Parkinson said. "Listen, everyone!"
"…Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two," Dumbledore said, smiling. "The points standings mean that Slytherin wins the House Cup for the seventh year running. Congratulations, Slytherin!"
Malfoy, Nott, Zabini, Greengrass, Parkinson, the older students—everyone at the Slytherin table burst out cheering and stamping, and Harry joined in. The Gryffindors groaned while the other two houses clapped politely. Professor Snape looked as smug as his sour disposition allowed.
Sitting with the Slytherins and revelling in the shared victory, Harry felt, for the first time, that maybe he belonged here, too.
-End of year one-