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Chapter Text

Everything went to shit on the last day of Harry’s second year, with the Hogwarts Express set to return the students of Hogwarts back to their homes in just a couple of hours.

The basilisk's body lay dead in the Chamber of Secrets, a fragmented soul of Voldemort’s long dead, Hermione dutifully unpetrified and exams blissfully cancelled.

All was well.

That was until Dumbledore called Harry into his office on the last day of the term. What was supposed to be a brief and final check-in with Harry regarding the harsh year he’d had, quickly turned into the moment Harry’s life turned on its head.

Harry’s head peered in through the large dark oak doors of the Headmaster’s office, “Professor?” he called out. Harry was still softly grinning at the password he’d just said to get up through the gargoyle. Fizzing Whizbees. Raspberry-flavoured candy that made the consumer float a few inches high.

A voice called out, distracting Harry from the image in his head of the Headmaster floating around his office eating a packet of Fizzing Whizbee. “Ah Harry! I shall be there in a moment, do come in!”

Harry walked into the office, gently shutting the door behind him. The Headmaster’s office was always a sight to behold. The large circular room was richly decorated with the portraits of the previous Headmasters, floor-to-ceiling high bookshelves, and the abundant amount of trinkets scattered delicately throughout the room.

In the few times that Harry had been in the Headmaster’s office, he was always enamoured with a wonder that reminded him of how little he really knew of the magical world. Scanning through the room, Harry’s eyes fell on something he recognised.

Resting on a spindly table near Dumbledore’s bookshelves was the ragged old relic, the Sorting Hat.

Harry recalled his experience of the sorting in his first year when the blasted hat tried to put him in Slytherin. He sent a silent thank you prayer to the ceiling for being sorted to Gryffindor rather than Slytherin. Relief flooded through his body whilst he imagined what his life would be like without his Gryffindor friends. Definitely dodged a bullet with that one, Harry thought gratefully.

His line of thinking drew him towards the hat. He stood in front of the spindly table it laid on and reached his hand out to trace the rim of the hat.

At his soft touch, the hat burst alive from its previous slumber, “Harry Potter!” It croaked.

The hat’s loud voice made Harry flinch harshly, who was already on edge over the fact that he was about to begin another long and difficult summer with the Dursleys.

Harry took a large and hasty step back, but it was too late. The hat seemed to have arisen from whatever spell it was under that was keeping it in its slumber. “Mr. Potter. Put me on your head this instant.”

“Pardon?” Harry questioned, perplexed and heart still racing from the scare the hat had given him.

“You heard me! Do not dawdle any longer Mr. Potter. Put me on your head immediately.” The hat’s old and timely voice demanded of him.

“Err… Right.” Harry liked to pick his battles, and he was not about to argue with an ancient hat dating back to the time of Hogwart’s founding. He listened.

When the hat hit his head, Harry heard its voice echoing in his mind, just like he did in his first year during the sorting.

“Merlin, why did I listen to an eleven year old? When do I ever listen to eleven year olds? I cannot believe myself.” It murmured to itself, reminiscent of the spiel the hat had given Harry during the sorting.

The hat remained on his head murmuring in Harry’s head unintelligibly now, seemingly reading something in his mind, Harry assumed. That was when he noticed Dumbledore appearing from an adjacent room in his office and walking towards Harry.

Dumbledore’s head was tilted as he sauntered forward, regarding the entire situation with a curious smile on his face.

“Err… Hello Professor.” Harry began awkwardly, cringing at the idea of the Headmaster catching him playing about with the Sorting Hat, “I’m sorry, the hat just kind of demanded me to put it on…”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, “That is rather alright Harry, what has it told you?” Dumbledore inquired.

“Nothing really, actually it's gone sort of quiet, I’m not sure-”

Harry was cut off by the solemn voice of the hat speaking aloud, rather than in his head.

“It appears,” The hat began slowly, “I have made a mistake.”

Harry’s mind reeled. What? A mistake?

Dumbledore’s face did not betray any of his thoughts. He simply conversed back with the hat, as if it told him it made mistakes every other day.

“Whatever do you mean, Sorting Hat?” Dumbledore inquired. “Surely not, for it has been almost 200 long years since you have made a mistake, am I correct? The Hufflepuff turned Slytherin?”

“Correct,” The hat drawled. “Headmaster, I apologise. I have made a grave mistake with Mr. Potter. He does not belong to Gryffindor.”

Harry’s heart dropped to his stomach, “What?” He exclaimed. Despite the troubles he’d had with his house this year, he still considered it home. His best friends were Gryffindors and his parents were Gryffindors, he belonged there.

“You’re wrong. Gryffindor is right where I’m supposed to be.” Harry moved to angrily push the hat off his head. It did not budge. The hat did not want to be taken off.

“I apologise Mr. Potter. I should not have listened to your pleadings when we initially met. Even in the moment, I felt that I was not making the right decision. Nevertheless, I still relented.”

Harry’s panic began to rise. The hat continued.

“Gryffindor, whilst it has provided you with loyal friends, is not enough for you. You deserve more. Loyal friends. And a family. Gryffindor cannot provide both for you.”

Before it even said it, Harry knew with every bone in his body what was about to happen, “No, no, no…” Harry panicked, once again trying to get the hat off his head to no avail.

“SLYTHERIN!” The hat shouted to the room before it turned limp on Harry’s head, succumbing to its previous slumber, and Harry was finally able to throw it off his head onto the floor between him and the Headmaster.

— — — — —

Unbeknownst to Harry at the time, Harry’s school robes folded carefully away in his trunk, transformed from the maroon Gryffindor red to the deep emerald Slytherin green, sealing his fate.

Yet in the moment, Harry’s chest fell and raised with his deep breaths as he stared at the discarded hat between himself and the Headmaster.

“Professor…” Harry started after a long moment of silence. He looked up to meet the Headmaster’s gaze, who was regarding Harry with a cool and inquisitive look. “There’s no way, right? There is no way that I’ve gotten…” Harry paused. “Resorted?”

Harry watched with a sinking heart as Dumbledore remained silent.

“What happened during your initial sorting, Harry? Please spare no details.” Dumbledore asked softly.

“It tried to put me in Slytherin. Said I’d be great there or something. I asked it not to put me in there, I asked for anything but Slytherin, and it listened!” Harry’s voice raised slightly. “How is it now suddenly doubling back and changing its mind? I didn’t even know that was possible, Professor!”

Dumbledore’s gaze shifted between Harry and the Sorting Hat. “Yes, it is possible. It happens around once every century. We are a century overdue for a Sorting Hat mistake.”

“Professor…” Harry, unable to help himself, laughed nervously. “Surely you don’t mean to say that I have actually been resorted. To Slytherin. Slytherin!”

“This is a rather peculiar situation, indeed.” Dumbledore agreed. “However, I am not one to question the decree of the Sorting Hat.”

Harry’s stomach turned, his breakfast threatening to make an appearance.

Dumbledore must’ve noticed his face paling because he quickly motioned Harry to sit in one of the chairs situated in front of his desk.

“Harry, please remain here while I summon Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape.” Dumbledore swept out of the room, leaving Harry to his daze.

Harry barely noticed Dumbledore leaving, too preoccupied with the disconnect and detachment he was feeling from his mind and body. Harry recognises this feeling of disassociation. He typically associates it with his time at the Dursleys, yet all he could think about this time is how this was about to ruin his life.

How was Ron and Hermione going to react to this? Was he about to lose them? Was he about to lose the Weasleys too? There is no way they would want to associate with him anymore. A Slytherin! Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, in Slytherin? He was going to die. He was going to get eaten alive by stupid, snobby, posh Slytherins.

There was absolutely no way this was actually happening to Harry. He knew he had rotten luck so far at Hogwarts. His mere two years proved this with all that he has faced so far. But his bad luck could not extend this severely. It was simply not happening.

Harry was very, very wrong

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the return of the Headmaster, with two very bewildered Heads of Houses trailing behind him.

If Harry’s life was not falling apart at the moment, he might’ve laughed at the look on their faces, particularly Snape’s, who was using the most facial muscles Harry had ever seen him exercise in his two years at Hogwarts.

“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall exclaimed, striding over to Harry. “Is this true? You have been resorted?”

Harry’s panic heightened at his professors all suddenly striding towards him. He forced himself to remain calm. He only nodded in affirmation in response to McGonagall’s question.

McGonagall immediately broke out into an argument with Dumbledore. Harry could not bring himself to listen as he was becoming increasingly distracted by his own growing and rapid heartbeat.

It all became a little too much. The three bewildered adults in the room, the events of the previous hour, hell - even the events of the year, all finally catching up to him.

Harry felt his chest moving at a distressing speed to match his silent panicked breaths.

Silently, he sat in the chair at Dumbledore’s desk in a daze, tuning out the voices around him, only able to listen to the rapid heartbeat in his ear as his panic consumed him.

When suddenly, a dark figure whirled in front of him, crouching down to meet his face.

“Potter,” Snape spoke, as softly as Harry had never thought him capable, particularly when speaking his name.

Harry flinched and let out a sharp inhale amongst his panicked breathing at the sudden intrusion of Snape in his vision. If Snape noticed his reaction, he did not say anything, rather he only lifted a vial filled with a cold blue liquid.

“This is a Calming Draught,” Snape explained. “Drink.”

Harry took hold of the vial from Snape with shaking hands, pausing as he began to lift it to his mouth. What was he doing? Was he really about to drink some mysterious potion offered by bloody Snape of all people?

Harry’s shaking hands put the vial back down, far away from his mouth. He didn’t need some potion to calm him down, he was not a baby! Harry had suffered many of these breathing episode thingies and calmed himself down just fine.

He closed his eyes, fingernails digging painfully into one of his palms as he tried to utilise the pain to regulate his breathing.

“Potter,” Harry heard Snape’s stern voice once more, “For once in your life, do not be stubborn and drink the potion.”

Harry opened his eyes once more, and noted how Snape was crouched in front of him, face level with Harry as he observed Harry’s face with a furrow in his brow. Devoid of the usual disdain and sneer on his face, Harry almost thought he looked concerned. Harry nearly laughed at the absurdity of his thoughts.

“I’m not drinking this,” Harry said with a scowl, as he finally managed to slow his breaths. He held the vial back to Snape with still shaking hands.

Snape made no motion to take it back, “I insist.”

Harry only stared back at his potion’s professor, scowl still on his face, There was no way the git thought he was actually going to drink a potion he gave him. He must be out of his mind
if he genuinely thought that.

Seemingly reading his thoughts, Snape finally mirrored Harry’s face with a scowl of his own, “Really Mr. Potter?” He drawled. “If I had wanted to poison you, do not doubt, I would have done so already.”

Harry did not reply, instead, he set the vial down harshly on Dumbledore’s desk as he loudly pushed back his chair and stood, hiding his shaking hands with clenching fists. The sudden movement made Snape finally take a step back and interrupted the heated discussion Professor McGonagall was having with the Headmaster.

Harry cleared his throat, “Sorry Professors, if you’d excuse me…”

McGonagall’s face softened, “Of course Mr. Potter. Return to your dormitory whilst we get this sorted. You have a couple of hours until the train departs, use this time wisely.”

Harry only nodded, unable to use anymore of his words, or meet anyone else’s eyes as he practically bolted out of the Headmaster’s office.

— — — — —

Harry runs. And runs, and runs, and runs. To the only two people in this world he had ever truly felt at home with.

Ron and Hermione.

Harry found them lingering outside the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. The pair quickly turned at the sound of Harry’s sprint towards them, their eyes widening in concern as they took in Harry’s panicked state.

Hermione was quick to recover from the shock as she watched Harry take sharp inhales of breath after his sprint from Dumbledore’s office to Gryffindor tower. “Harry! Are you okay?”

“Mate, you look like you just got run over by a hippogriff,” Ron added.

“Guys-” Harry begins, but his voice cracks, a weakness he does not usually show in public. Hermione, his ever observant best friend, notes this immediately and grabs Harry’s hand, leading the two following boys to an empty classroom.

Ron locks the door shut as Hermione gently sits him down on an empty desk.

Her voice is soft and gentle like it always is when Harry is in a panicked state, “Harry, what happened?”

“Yeah, whose arse am I kicking?” Ron, who was frowning in concern, didn’t always have the words like Hermione did, but he was always fierce in his loyalty to Harry.

Harry was suddenly struck by the fact of how much he was going to miss his two best friends over the summer while he was stuck with the Dursleys.

He took a moment to soak in the care of his friends before he answered Ron, “The Sorting Hat’s. You are kicking the Sorting Hat’s arse.”

Ron’s face screwed up in confusion, “Harry, did you take anything? A funny smelling potion? Get hit by a loose spell? What in Merlin’s name could the Sorting Hat have done to you?”

Harry gulped. Would Ron and Hermione still want to be his friends after this? He honestly did not know.

“Resort me.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead, “A resort? The Sorting Hat resorted you? But that hasn’t happened in…”

“Two centuries,” Harry finished her sentence.

Ron was standing there in disbelief, then as the thought overcame him, he closed his gaping mouth and quickly asked, “To where?”

Harry’s face screwed in pain, remaining silent. He could not bear to say it.

“Harry, which house have you been resorted into?” Hermione pressed on.

Harry only pressed his lips tighter shut, his face twisted in despair as he shook his head, refusing to answer.

Ron caught on. His jaw dropped.

“No bloody way.”

Harry could only curl into himself, no longer able to look his two friends in the eye. They would surely run for the hills now.

Hermione, not liking being out of the loop, looks crossly at Ron, “One of you tell me what is going on!”

Ron, still staring at Harry incredulously, replies after a few moments of silent shock.

“They’ve put him in Slytherin. Harry’s been resorted to Slytherin.”

Hermione’s jaw drops.

Chapter Text

Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey was particularly peaceful following the day that Harry accidentally inflated Aunt Marge.

However, this was not because Harry had left Number 4 Privet Drive but because he was imprisoned inside it.

Note to self: Do not blow up Aunt Marge, Uncle Vernon does not like that.

After Harry’s burst of accidental magic, every bone in his body, every survival instinct he had ever developed at the Dursleys’, screamed at him to run. So he had done exactly that.

To be fair to himself, he had nearly made it. His trunk already packed, from never quite unpacking it in the first place, was trailing hastily behind him in his pursuit to the front door.

His heart jumped in elation as his hand made contact with the handle of the front door, ready to flee the house and not look back.

However, Harry was never able to open the door.

He had grossly miscalculated how far Uncle Vernon was to his person as his arm was so violently yanked backwards, causing the first searing wave of pain that would occur that evening to erupt throughout his body.

The next hour was a blur of pain.

Apparently, being beaten to an inch of your life could cause quite the dissociation. As whenever Harry tried to recall his Uncle’s exact blows, it only made it harder for him to remember the entire experience. Currently, the only evidence he had to himself of the beating was the initial memory of his arm being yanked away from the door handle.

Oh, and the welts and bruises scattered over his body. Right.

Harry wasn’t sure how many days had passed since that evening as he was in and out of consciousness. He could recall a very vague image of Aunt Petunia hovering over his curled-up body on the floor. He remembered feeling a wave of pain course through his body as he was transferred to his bed. He had felt hands prodding the bleeding belt wounds on his back until the burning pain of it sent him back into unconsciousness.

Yet, right before he blacked out, Harry could have sworn he had heard the soft cries of his Aunt sobbing over his limp, injured and bloodied frame.

It would be a few days until Harry would properly awaken from his semi-comatose state.

It was the loud engine of Uncle Vernon’s car revving to life as it did every morning before he would leave for work that brought Harry back to consciousness. The sound made his heart drop to his stomach.

What was he still doing in bed? Had he missed cooking breakfast? His Aunt and Uncle were going to murder him. Harry moved to launch his body out of bed but was dutifully reminded of the past couple of days. Pain flared through his body causing a soft whimper of pain that he was just able to muffle from what would have been a harsh scream.

He landed back on his stomach on his bed and lifted his head slightly to assess his surroundings to make sense of things. Hell, even lifting his head that small distance made him ache. There was a large amount of dried blood stains on the floorboards next to his bed. His own bloodied shirt was discarded in a pile next to the stains. A bottle of antiseptic and bloodied washcloths laid on top of his decrepit bedside table. Next to these was a tall glass of water and a tab of painkillers.

Slowly, very slowly, he moved his limbs one by one to sit himself up. His mouth was sandpaper dry. He made a slow reach with his arm to get the water, gritting his teeth as he ignored the pain the movement caused in his back and arms.

With a shaking hand, he took his time drinking the water and knocking back four pills. He knew Aunt Petunia had left it there for him, as she did on the days when Uncle Vernon went too far.

He must’ve been making more noise than he thought because the quiet of the Dursley residence on a weekday morning was interrupted by the familiar sound of Aunt Petunia’s hasty but light footsteps making her way to his room.

Harry watched as his door slowly creaked open and Aunt Petunia stepped into his room, closing the door behind her slowly to not make a sound. Dudley was asleep and would be asleep long into the early afternoon, but evidently, she did not want to risk waking him.

Finally, she turned to face Harry. Her face softened as it usually was when Uncle Vernon went too far with Harry. Her eyes scanned his body, clad only in pants, his shirt discarded and bloodied in a corner.

“Good. You’re up.” Her no-nonsense voice was soft in her lowered octave, “Did you take the painkillers?

Harry tried to respond but his mouth was still too dry and he had just noted the swelling pain in his throat when he tried to move his mouth to formulate words.

Aunt Petunia watched his struggle, “Never mind. Best not to talk. Nod or shake your head, did you take it or not?”

Harry nodded in affirmation.

“Good.” She glanced towards the empty glass in his hands, she took it from him and walked out of the room.

She returned a couple of minutes later holding a tray with a plastic bottle of water and scrambled eggs that was probably the leftovers of Uncle Vernon’s breakfast.

She placed the tray next to Harry on his bed, and after a moment of hesitation, sat next to Harry with the tray in between them.

Harry did not reach towards the tray of food yet, wanting to soak in this moment with his Aunt instead.

Aunt Petunia around ninety-five percent of the time treated him the same as her husband and son did. Like vermin. Dirt at the bottom of their shoes. A pest that had invaded their house. Yet, there was that five per cent, where Aunt Petunia would treat him with compassion and kindness and show him fractions of the love she showed her husband and son.

When he was younger and still in his cupboard, she would unlatch the lock on the door before they all went to bed so that Harry could clean himself up, stretch and eat. Sometimes she’d place some of Dudley’s discarded and broken toys on his cot in his cupboard for him to play with. On a good day, she’d sneak him an extra piece of burnt bacon when Uncle Vernon or Dudley weren’t looking.

Harry clung to these five per cent displays of kindness, as for a long time it was the only love he had ever known.

Harry observed Aunt Petunia as she sat primly next to him on the dirtied sheets of his bed, staring at the wall across her with a degree of despair Harry had never seen flickering in her eyes.

After a long moment, she turned her face to meet Harry’s eyes. Harry never took his eyes off hers. She breathed a long shaking breath with a haunting look in his Aunt’s eyes Harry just couldn’t place.

“Harry-”, she began but was cut off by the sound of a loud snore of Dudley across the hall piercing the quiet of the house.

Harry’s stomach swirled. It was one of the few times he had heard her call him by his name. Not Boy. Harry. He knew he would cling to this moment like he had all the other times.

Whatever she was about to say, she seemed to change her mind and instead swiftly ripped her eyes away from Harry’s with a harsh turn of her head back towards the wall across her.

Another long moment passed. She then stood briskly and turned to Harry, her no-nonsense demeanour returning.

“Alright. Up, now,” She spoke, voice stern but kinder and softer than its usual tone. “You need to shower and wash your back before it gets infected.”

Harry opened his mouth to try to speak to argue but was reminded of the pain in his throat. Aunt Petunia made a tsking sound, “I told you not to talk. Don’t use your voice.” She picked up the tray of food and water on his bed and placed it on his bedside table.

She moved to help Harry up from his bed, lifting his arm and putting it on her shoulder. Harry’s heart jumped at the contact. He was not accustomed to any sort of physical contact from his Aunt and was unsure whether to discard it or welcome it.

Harry’s wounds from Uncle Vernon must really look bad this time if it's got Aunt Petunia making contact with him and helping him this much. Harry almost smiled at the thought. God, was this how much he craved affection? Harry felt pathetic but he could not let go of the warmth Aunt Petunia’s touch brought him.

Slowly, the pair made their way to the bathroom. Each step was felt in excruciating pain, but Harry gritted his teeth, clenched his jaw, and took it.

Aunt Petunia left Harry leaning on his side on the wall of the bathroom as she turned the shower on for him, brought him a towel and left without saying another word.

The peltering sound of water hitting the floor turned his mind to static as he finally caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror.

Jesus. No wonder why Aunt Petunia was being so nice. And no wonder why he couldn’t talk too.

Purple bruises in the shape of a hand wrapped around his neck. When the hell had Uncle Vernon even choked him? He truly did not remember.

He had a nasty black eye paired with a deep cut on his eyebrow below his scar with dried blood crusting its edges that Harry just knew would scar. Fantastic. Another scar to match the first one. One from a psychotic child-killing Dark Lord and one from his loving uncle. Apparently, he was collecting face scars from people who despise him. Next up, the Malfoys. Perhaps Professor Snape is next.

How the hell had his Uncle even managed to cut him on his face? Whatever. Harry was more irritated about this than necessary. He really had bigger problems than another scar on his face.

Harry did not even attempt to take a glimpse at his back. He knew the damage was bad. Hell, not only did he know it, but he felt it too.

He had also noted the faint throbbing pain of the shoulder of his right arm where Uncle Vernon had yanked him back when he tried to leave that terrible evening.

Deciding he was wasting enough water already, Harry took off the rest of his clothes as fast and painlessly as he could and stepped in the shower.

He didn’t allow himself to think or hesitate as he leaned forward on the shower wall so that the water could hit his back. Needle-like pain exploded in his back as he clenched his teeth so hard he thought they would surely be ground down.

Harry looked down and watched the pink water swirl down the drain.

If tears were streaming down his face, Harry refused to acknowledge it. No, it was just the water flowing down his face. Nothing else.

—————

The rest of Harry’s day remained uninterrupted. He was quick to return to his room after that debilitating shower and demolish the tray of food and water Aunt Petunia had left for him. He knew he would come to regret not rationing it, but he was desperate for any semblance of energy to return to his weakened body.

He wondered how long of a recovery time his Aunt and Uncle would give him this time until they started hounding him with accusations of lazing about, not doing any chores and freeloading in their house.

Harry was exhausted. He did not want to wake up at six in the morning to cook breakfast anymore. He did not want to clean the kitchen top to bottom anymore. He did not want to scrub the toilet. He did not want to paint the fence under the blistering sun. Then repaint it. Then paint the shed too. Then repaint that. Then prune the garden weeds. Without gloves.

But Harry knew he was going to do it anyway. Beaten or not, the Dursleys would make sure Harry earned his keep.

His previous two summers were made infinitely more bearable by the comfort of the summer’s inevitable end.

Because no matter what, on September 1st, Harry was going to King’s Cross, getting on that train and spending the next 10 months Dursleys-free. He’d be with his best friends, content and happy. He’d be home.

Harry wasn’t so sure of that anymore.

The deep emerald green of his previously maroon-coloured robes stuffed angrily at the bottom of his trunk had taunted him to no end for the past couple of weeks.

Come September 1st, would Harry really be home again?

He did not think so.

Slytherin was no home for Harry Potter.

Those first couple of days of the holidays, Harry’s room was invaded by owls, bringing him letter after letter.

First was Professor McGonagall’s letter. A rather short but straightforward letter assuring Harry she would get to the bottom of this and to not worry. Another letter from her followed the initial one only a few days later. That letter was more lengthy, but when Harry realised that she was saying this was out of her control, he burned the letter to ashes in his first display of anger-induced accidental magic that summer.

For about the first two weeks of the holidays, Harry had managed to have a steady back-and-forth correspondence with Ron and Hermione.

Both had shared his panic, confusion and anger. But most importantly, they had promised to remain by his side no matter what. Still, Harry could not help but think that surely, that would not last. They might have meant it when they said it, but when they realised that Harry was going to be in the den of snakes, they would run as fast as their legs could take them, far away from Harry.

Despite Harry’s overthinking, the correspondence with his friends had grounded him, reducing his panic by the slightest at their consistent presence.

This was until Uncle Vernon came into Harry’s room one day, yelling about the amount of owls that had been coming in and out of his room. He had ended up getting so angry, that he had nearly throttled the Weasley’s elderly owl, Errol, until Harry threw himself between the bird and his Uncle.

That was not a good day. He was bruised up for a bloody week for that stupid owl, Errol. All the blasted owl ended up doing was peck him for not giving him any treats.

As much as it pained Harry to isolate himself from his friends, he was quick to send Hedwig away with Errol and tell Ron and Hermione not to send any more letters.

Even after the Aunt Marge incident, as Harry had dubbed, he had kept contact with his friends to an absolute minimum. The only letter Harry sent after sending Hedwig away was to Ron, a hastily scribbled reply confirming he would be at the Leaky Cauldron on August 31st.

So for the remainder of his summer, Harry was left to stew in his thoughts alone, mind racing in perpetual anxiety and simmering anger about the school year to come.

Chapter Text

The loud silence permeated the car as Uncle Vernon drove Harry into London towards the dark and shabby street that held the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry had managed to convince Uncle Vernon to drop him off at the inn at the rationale that he was getting rid of him one day earlier for the beginning of a Harry-free presence at Number 4, Privet Drive for ten months.

Uncle Vernon couldn’t have agreed any faster.

The engine of the car was loud, the volume of the radio was low and the tension in the car was deafening.

Harry’s muscles were drawn tight with anxiety. He did not want to do anything to anger his Uncle when he was so close to escaping him for ten whole months.

Sat behind Uncle Vernon’s seat in the driver’s seat, Harry kept an eye on his Uncle’s expressions through the rear view mirror, assessing for any further expressions of annoyance besides the one that was already there.

He kept his breaths short and quiet in fear of Uncle Vernon complaining about that too. Wouldn’t have been the first time he’d complained about Harry breathing. Maybe that’s why he nearly strangled him to death a couple weeks ago.

The view of London began to deteriorate as they drove closer towards the more decrepit side of the city where the Leaky Cauldron was located.

They were getting close. As Harry’s heart raced in joy, he had to remind himself to stay calm so as to not jeopardise his short path to freedom. The man would take the first opportunity to steal his joy if he saw how excited Harry was.

Harry remained stoic in the backseat, face blank, ensuring to not reveal his inner feelings of glee.

“Boy.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Yes, sir?”

“How’d you get that shiner?”

Right. They were playing this game. Uncle Vernon liked to test him. He’d done this with Harry since he started going to primary school. Uncle Vernon liked to ensure Harry would not slip up or give the wrong answers.

“I was looking for trouble, sir. Got into it with some kids in my neighbourhood.”

Uncle Vernon had punched him last night when he had initially asked for a ride into London.

“Damn well you did,” Uncle Vernon snarled. “Do you know how tiring it is to put up with you? Should’ve sent you to St Brutus years ago.”

“Yes, sir”

“Don’t sass me, boy.” Harry watched Uncle Vernon’s expression twist in anger in the rearview mirror. Harry’s stomach turned. He had made his Uncle angry.

“Sorry, sir.”

“And how’d you get that scar on your eyebrow?”

“Had a nasty fall while riding my bike.”

He did not have a bike.

Uncle Vernon let out a hum of approval.

The car stopped abruptly. “Get out of my sight, boy.”

He did not have to tell him twice. Harry bolted out of the car. He quickly circled to the back of the car, popped the boot open and took his trunk out before Uncle Vernon could drive off.

The moment Harry closed the boot, the car sped off the curb. Harry let his stoic expression morph into a grin at the blissful sight of Uncle Vernon’s car speeding down the road. Far, far away from him.

Harry did not linger for long, not wanting to get caught in this part of London holding his school trunk filled with everything he owns. He pushed the door to the inn open and stepped through, feeling the wards as he passed through the entrance. The feel of magic on his skin was euphoric after two long months of not even being permitted to speak the word ‘magic’ aloud.

Harry made it about five steps into the inn before a familiar voice shouted, “Harry!”

Harry flinched violently at the sudden voice, but it went unnoticed as Hermione launched herself onto Harry, her arms wrapping around his frame.

Harry fought the wince that tried to escape him from her actions. His back had not healed from that dreadful evening. Despite Aunt Petunia sterilising it and his best efforts to keep it clean, the welts on his back had become infected. The plan was to get to Hogwarts and deal with it there. Maybe ask Madam Promfey for some murtlap essence for a Quidditch injury or something.

Ron was right behind Hermione, grinning, and was quick to pull him in for a hug as well.

Despite the pain, a wide smile stretched onto his face. He had made it through the summer.

However, the joyful atmosphere was short-lived. As his two best friends stepped back from Harry’s frame, it allowed them to finally get a good look at him.

Harry knew it wasn’t pretty. The bruise on eye, the scar on his eyebrow, the bags under his eyes and his starved frame. Harry was grateful his neck had healed quickly and was not still displaying the harsh marks of his Uncle’s hands. Yet even without that, Harry knew he looked like shit.

“Merlin.” Ron scowled. “Harry, what the bloody hell did those muggles do to you?”

“Look,” Harry began, averting his eyes and clenching his jaw, “It’s not that bad, it’s worse than it looks, I’ll explain later-”

Harry was cut off, to his horror, by the sight of tears in Hermione’s eyes.

“Hermione! I swear it’s not what it looks like-”

“Harry James Potter, don’t you lie to me!” She whisper-shouted.

Harry looked around the inn. It was mostly empty besides the two men sitting on stools right at the bar who seemed to be engrossed in a low conversation themselves. Nevertheless, Harry was grateful for Hermione’s lowered tone.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you return for another summer. Especially after last summer when Ron had to break bars off your window to get you out of that house!”

Hermione wiped the few tears that fell down her face. “You’re not going back. I’m telling someone. I refuse to see you like this-”

“No!” Harry interrupted. “Not now, please Hermione, don’t do this now. Not now, please, right now I just need,” Harry faltered a bit. “I just need my friends right now, please.”

Ron placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, she turned her head towards him and they shared a weighted look. Ron shook his head at Hermione.

Ron looked back towards him. His face serious and solemn, he nodded, “Mate, you have us. Always.”

Desperate to lift the mood, especially with Hermione still looking so crestfallen, Harry smiled.

“Thank you.”

The sound of two sets of footsteps thundering down the stairs towards them distracted the trio, making them turn towards the sound.

“Ah! Harry!” Fred shouted into the silence of the inn.

“Knew we heard your voice.” George spoke after him.

“Of course, we would never be able to mistake the voice of the great,”

“HEIR OF SLYTHERIN!” The twins shouted together as they finally made their way in front of Harry and bowed to him with an excessive amount of flourish.

Their laughs, however, faltered when they rose from their bows and took in Harry’s appearance. The pair paused and glanced at each other, though did not have an opportunity to say anything as the rest of the Weasley clan began to stride down the stairs.

“Ginny, dear, go back up to my room and get my purse for me,” Mrs Weasley spoke. “We should have left half an hour earlier! The line at Flourish & Blotts is going to be out the door!”

“Don’t worry Molly,” Mr Weasley said, “We’re still early.”

“Mum!” Ginny whined, “Why do you always ask me to do everything?”

“Ginny, don’t talk to your mother like that.”

“Shut up, Perce.”

“I am your Head Boy! You can’t talk to me like that either!” shouted Percy.

“Shut up, Bighead Boy.” Ginny yelled as she turned and ran back up the stairs to get the purse.

Mr Weasley stifled a laugh.

“Ginny!” Mrs Weasley yelled after her, “That’s enough!”

When the group had finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Mr Weasley was the first to notice Harry.

“Harry!” Mr Weasley grinned, but after a scan of his person, his smile dwindled and he halted in his movements.

“Did you say Harry? Is he here already?” Mrs Weasley turned, “Oh! Harry-”

She stopped in her tracks. There was a moment of silence in the room as everyone watched Mrs Weasley’s warm smile drop.

She and Mr Weasley exchanged a weighted look with each other.

Harry panicked. In the span of five minutes, he had managed to get everyone worried about him.

Harry plastered a wide smile on his face, pretending like he didn’t notice the concerned looks on their faces.

“Hi, Mr and Mrs Weasley! Good to see you, how was Egypt?”

Mr and Mrs Weasley hesitated, glanced at each other again and seemed to both make a decision at the same time.

Mrs Weasley’s warm smile returned to her face as she slowly made her way towards Harry and engulfed him in a hug.

The pain that erupted in his back with Mrs Weasley’s hug measured nothing compared to the warm feeling he got from one of her hugs. He always thought this was what it’d be like to be hugged by his own mother.

“Egypt was beautiful. We all enjoyed ourselves, I’m sure Ron’s told you plenty already in his letters. How was your summer, dear?”

“My summer was fine,” Harry smiled, lying easily. “Got a new bike, spent most of my time riding it.”

“A bike, you say!” Mr Weasley interrupted, filled with joy at the topic of something muggle related, “That is one of those bicycles, yes? Harry, tell me everything. How does-”

“No, no, no, Arthur!” Mrs Weasley cut him off with a finger raised in his direction, “We need to be on our way to Diagon Alley. Ginny! Hurry up! Fred, George, what are you up to over there?”

The twins looked unusually serious, speaking to each other in hushed tones. They looked up at Mrs Weasley’s call, smiles making their way back to their faces.

“We are discussing the socioeconomic and political repercussions of starting a black market trade at Hogwarts.”

“Boys! For my own sake, I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear what I think I heard. Do you have your shopping list ready?”

“Yes, mum.” The boys choruses in union.

“Ron, Hermione, help Harry put his trunk upstairs and come down quickly. We need to make a trip to Gringotts first too! Quick with it!”

The trio obeyed and quickly made their way up the stairs and into the room Harry was sharing with Ron, depositing the trunk on the floor.

The three were silent as Harry opened his trunk and took his pouch of wizard money out to purchase his school supplies.

Harry stood and turned to head towards the door when Hermione stopped him, standing in his way. She opened her mouth to speak but Harry cut her off before she could even begin.

“Later. Not now, alright?” Harry brushed her off and stepped to the side of Hermione to pass her.

He made it to the door, plastered a smile on his face, turned to look at his best friends and asked, “C’mon, you guys coming, or not?”

He didn’t wait for a response, only turning on his heel and leaving to go downstairs.

Behind him, his two best friends exchanged worried glances and followed Harry downstairs.

—————

The Leaky Cauldron that night was loudly filled by the laughter and conversation of the Weasley clan. A table on the ground floor of the inn had been transfigured to accommodate the large group of people that was the Weasleys plus Hermione and Harry.

Before Harry was even settled in his seat properly, large helpings of food were being piled onto his plate for him. It took everything in him to not visibly gag at the smell of the rich food invading his senses.

“There you go, Harry dear. Tuck in.” Mrs Weasley spoke softly to him as she filled his cup up with pumpkin juice.

In this situation a year ago, Harry would have inhaled the food on his plate just like Ron was already doing beside him. It was a lesson hard learnt that eating such a large amount of rich and flavourful food after months of cold tinned soup was a recipe for disaster.

So today, all Harry could do was grimace at the sight of the food and the inevitable pain it would bring him.

He forced a smile on his face and turned to Mrs Weasley, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Oh Harry, if you refuse to call me Molly, at least call me Mrs Weasley. None of this Ma’am nonsense.”

Harry smiled at her sheepishly, scratching his neck, “Sorry Mrs Weasley, I’ll try not to. It's a habit.”

Mrs Weasley sent him a warm smile from behind him then turned to look at her own children, suddenly crossed at them and raised her voice, grabbing their attention, “I sure wish my own kids could have developed a habit for manners.” Not expecting a response, she walked away to sit with Mr Weasley, sat at the end of the table and began talking to him in low tones.

Next to him, Ron groaned loudly, giving everyone in view a show of his half chewed chicken in his mouth.

“Harry, stop making me look bad.” He said in between chews.

Hermione, who was sitting adjacent to them with Ginny, shot Ron a disgusted look.

“Trust me Ronald, it is not difficult.”

“I live with that. Have my whole life.” Ginny told Hermione, similarly disgusted as she stared at her brother.

“My sincerest condolences.” said Hermione.

Ron scowled at the two of them, then zeroed in on Hermione. “You know who you’re going to have to give condolences to soon? Scabbers!”

Hermione scowled back at Ron across the table, “How could I give condolences to Scabbers if he’s dead? Which he won’t be because Crookshanks hasn’t done anything wrong!”

Harry, who had been pushing his food around with his fork, spoke, “You know, you two bicker like an old married couple.”

The pair turned red, “No we don’t!” They yelled at him in unison. Ron shoved Harry with his shoulder. Harry, who was expecting the shove, ignored the pain that came with it and laughed in his best friends’ faces.

“Then shut up about your animals already. If I have to hear one more cat or rat-related thing, I’m going to lose it.” He had been listening to them bicker in Diagon Alley as Harry hustled in the crowd of people rushing to purchase their school supplies at the last minute as well. Their fighting had been funny for the first 20 minutes but had gotten old quick.

If he had to be honest, Crookshanks was without a doubt the most ugliest, blood-thirsty, murderous cat Harry had ever laid his eyes on. And that meant a lot coming from him considering the amount of cats he had spent time with as a kid whilst being babysit by Mrs Figgs. He had lost count how many times Crookshanks had tried to pounce on Scabbers since Hermione had got him earlier that day.

But he wasn’t about to tell Hermione that.

So instead, he had resorted to embarrassing them. They were both so easy to read and Harry has known they’d fancied each other since the end of last year.

But he wasn’t about to tell them that either.

“So when are we going to talk about it?” Fred and George’s loud voices interrupted the conversations at the table. Harry turned to the end of the table where the twins sat and caught the glint of chaos in their eyes that were staring right back at him. Even Mr and Mrs Weasley had stopped their discussion and turned their attention to the pair.

“Talk about what?” Asked Ron, still speaking with his mouth full.

Hermione facepalmed.

“Well, to start off with, that shiner on Harry’s face.” George said.

“And the fact that there is currently a snake amongst the lions!” Fred added, with a grin on his face.

Harry clenched his jaw and scowled at the very two things he would rather not be talking about.

He didn’t reply to the twins. Instead, he looked down to his plate and shoved a large helping of food in his mouth before anyone could expect him to say anything. He regretted it immediately, his stomach swirling with the promise of nausea, but chewed on.

“Boys!” Mrs Weasley scowled. “I’m so sorry, Harry dear, I forget just how insensitive those two could be-”

Harry cut her off, before she could get started on a lecture, “It’s fine, Mrs Weasley. What do you guys want to know?” He asked the group, reasoning that these questions were inevitable and he’d rather get it over with now.

Fred and George narrowed their eyes at him. “Your face. What happened?” Fred asked.

Harry looked around at the rest of the table who were awaiting his response. Mr and Mrs Weasley, who were so clearly concerned about him. Ron and Hermione, who he had yet to properly speak with. Then, Fred and George, who had no qualms about questioning Harry in front of the rest.

As he wracked his brain for which excuse he could use, Harry remembered the conversation he had with his Uncle in the car.

“Got into it with some kids in my neighbourhood,” Harry plastered a sheepish smile on his face. “You know how I can get, I was looking for trouble.”

Yet, everyone knew that Harry did not often go looking for trouble, rather trouble often found him. Before anyone could call the bluff, Harry deflected the topic, “Alright, first question done, what’s the next one?” he asked as he took a small bite of his food and forced it down his throat.

“That scar on your eyebrow?” Asked Ginny. “Where did it come from? You definitely did not have that last year.” Turning slightly pink, she added quickly, “Not that I was looking or anything.”

“Had a nasty fall while riding my bike,” Harry replied. “Next.”

“What’s a bike?” That was from Ron.

Before Mr Weasley could answer, Harry replied, “Imagine a broom. But it stays on the ground. And it has wheels. Next question.”

“What are we doing to get you out of Slytherin clutches?” George asked.

Harry gritted his teeth, scowling at the reminder of his resort into Slytherin. Not that he needed it. It had consumed his thoughts daily in the past months. He didn’t know how to answer, so he didn’t. He looked down to his plate and shoved another large helping of food in his mouth whilst he thought of a suitable reply.

The whole resort situation had initially sent Harry into a panic.

When the panic passed, the anxiety kicked in.

The anxiety never quite passed, but as it lessened, the anger was fast to kick in.

Harry was a stewing and bubbling cauldron of anger and resentment. He was annoyed at Professor McGonagall for not helping him. He was enraged at that stupid hat. He was furious at Dumbledore for just standing there as it resorted him. He despised Dumbledore for sending Harry back to the Dursleys. He was seething at the Dursleys all summer.

Harry had caught himself feeling so much anger lately. More often, he had caught himself feeling a distinct lack of control of this anger - as proven by the Aunt Marge incident.

“Nothing,” Harry finally answered after a long moment. “Nothing is going to work.”

Hermione frowned, “Harry, do try being optimistic. This is all a huge misunderstanding. When we get back, we’re going to sort it out with Professor McGonagall.”

Harry decided that now would probably be a good time to tell them about the letter Professor McGonagall had sent him, “I tried. It didn’t work.”

Hermione’s head swivelled towards him, “Excuse me?”

Harry gulped. “It didn’t work,” he said again, averting his eyes to his plate and shovelling another heaping into his mouth.

“Harry James, you explain yourself right now! When did you talk to Professor McGonagall?”

Harry took a long moment to swallow his food normally whilst the table stared at him.

“She sent me a letter earlier this summer.” Harry mumbled, avoiding his friends’ eyes, “Said she tried, but there’s nothing she can do.”

Despite his mumbling, they had heard him loud and clear. The table erupted at the same time in disbelief and anger on behalf of him. For some reason, all Harry could feel right now was grateful. Grateful that he had so many people around him that cared. In the chaos of the table, Harry felt his darkened heart swell in the presence of those around him.

After a long minute of yelling, Mr Weasley had to settle them down. Once he did, he turned to Harry, “You’re sure Harry? Where’s the letter she sent, I’d like to read it, if that's alright with you?”

“Uhm,” Harry turned red. “I kind of burnt it. On accident! It just burst into flames!”

He watched Mrs Weasley frown in concern, “That's two instances of accidental magic. You should be growing out of it by now.”

Harry’s eyes widened in panic, “You guys know about the other time?”

“Yes,” Mr Weasley said. “The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad are such blabbermouths, if you ask me. It was quite the talk when you inflated your Aunt.”

The sound of a fork hitting the floor accompanied Ron’s gaping jaw.

“YOU INFLATED YOUR AUNT!?” Ron yelled.

A roaring laughter exploded from the twin’s end of the table.

“Not Aunt Petunia! Just Aunt Marge, Uncle Vernon’s sister. Not really my Aunt.” Harry quickly clarified.

Hermione was bewildered. “Why didn’t you tell us?” She asked Harry and after a short moment, she added, “And how exactly is a person inflated?”

George, who was grinning from ear to ear, questioned, “By inflated, do you mean you pumped her up with air?”

“Well, I didn’t do it on purpose, it was an accident! But yes, she blew up like a balloon.” Harry answered.

“Wicked. Write that down, Fred.”

Now that Harry thinks of it, it was kind of wicked. Until he got beaten to a pulp for it. But besides that, it was a cool display of his magic.

George paused in thought before asking, “And what’s a balloon and how do I get one?”

Mr Weasley looked as if he was about to jump out of his seat, “Ah! A Balloon is a sort of round, floating-”

Mrs Weasley cut him off with a scowl, “No! No more muggle devices! I put up with that car last year and look how that went!”

Harry’s eyes darted to Ron’s beside him, who was already looking at him. They shared a loaded look.

Hermione, who was frowning in thought and staring at Harry, asked, “So that’s it? You’re not going to fight it? You’re just accepting that you are a Slytherin now? It’s not like you to give up so easily.”

A sudden but small burst of anger exploded through him.

“Yes Hermione, I’m just giving up,” He replied sharply to Hermione, sending a glare her way. “I’m always fighting. I’m tired.”

As he said that, he became vividly aware of the aches throughout his body, the black eye on his face and the new scar on his eyebrow and the tightness of his skin on his bones.

He was exhausted.

A long moment of silence hovered in the air until Harry realised his tone must've been too harsh.

He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, Hermione. It just seems that every year there’s going to be something. This year, I’ve been resorted to Slytherin by some ugly ancient hat.”

Harry paused in thought for a moment, “Hey, at least the only mortal danger I’ll be facing this year will be posh snobby Slytherins.” He sent a pointed look at Hermione, “There’s your optimism.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” She began, but Harry didn’t quite process the rest of her words as he zeroed in on the exchange of pale faces and frightened expressions between Mr and Mrs Weasley at the mention of him being in danger.

They knew something. Harry’s gut twisted in a low wave of anxiety.

He returned his focus to Hermione, “Really what I’m trying to say is that you are the most resilient person I know, and if anyone’s getting through this, it’s you.”

Though not listening to her entire speech, Harry softened at the words he had caught. He smiled at his best friend, “Thank you, ‘Mione.”

He cleared his throat and looked around the table at the faces staring at him.

“And just to be clear,” Harry spoke, nervousness lingering in his tone. “If-if I can’t go back to Gryffindor…” He stopped his thought as he didn’t quite know what he was trying to ask.

Though Ron was quick to understand him.

“I don’t care what some bloody old hat has to say, you’re as Gryffindor as they come.”

“Language, Ron!” Mrs Weasley scolded in his direction. “But he is quite right, Harry dear. You are always welcome here,” she said, gesturing to her family.

Fred nodded along, grinning “Exactly, Harry dear, you’re one of us.”

“Mhm,” George agreed. “Sleep with one eye open, Harry dear, we’re spelling your hair Weasley red tonight.”

Laughs erupted around the table and an argument broke out as Mrs Weasley double checked that the boys did not actually have any plans of spelling his hair Weasley red.

Harry was glad for the deflection of attention on him as he looked down at his lap and felt his eyes sting with unshed tears.

After a long summer of ruthless hits, scathing words, oppressive treatment and relentless despair at the hands of his Aunt and Uncle, Harry was struggling to remember his worth.

Their words meant more than they would ever know.

A soft nudge from beside him interrupted his thoughts.

Ron looked at him with uncharacteristic seriousness, “I mean it. You’re my best mate first. Everything else comes second.”

Harry smiled at his words, but before he could reply, Hermione’s voice broke through the conversation at the table, “Say, Harry, how did the Sorting Hat get on your head in the first place?”

Harry huffed at the thought, “I was waiting for Dumbledore in his office, poking around and the hat asked me to put it on after I touched it.”

Mr and Mrs Weasley looked slightly perturbed, but before they could say anything Ron looked at Harry in astonishment, “Why in the world would you touch it? And why’d you listen to a strange talking hat and put it on your head?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Put it on my head on first year, didn’t I?” He answered.

“Merlin, Harry, didn’t anyone ever tell you to watch out for strange enchanted objects?”

Harry’s lip twitched and without missing a beat he replied, “Who was supposed to tell me that? My parents?”

Harry sat in the awkward moment of silence he had caused as he desperately fought the grin struggling to break out on his face.

After another moment, unable to restrain himself, he snorted and laughed loudly.

“Harry!” Ron groaned loudly, “Stop making dead parent jokes, you know we don’t know how to react to them!”

Harry only laughed harder.

Tough crowd.

Chapter Text

The morning of September 1st was bustling with the chaos that came with rounding up half a dozen teenagers to board the Hogwarts Express.

Their large group gathered once again at the ground floor of the Leaky Cauldron for a hastily prepared breakfast. Harry was listening to Mrs Weasley interrogating each of them on their packed trunks, so he didn’t notice when Mr Weasley appeared from behind and placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

Despite the gentle touch, Harry flinched. His head whipped around as his blood began pumping in fear.

Mr Weasley was quick to withdraw his hand, “Sorry lad, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said with a low voice and furrowed brow. “Mind if I had a word?”

Harry felt a blush creeping up his neck in embarrassment, “Yes, sir.” He looked around at the others and was grateful no one seemed to notice his reaction. Harry stood from his chair and followed the man to a darkened corner of the inn.

Although Harry had not had many interactions with his best friend’s dad, when Mr Weasley turned to face Harry, he wore an expression that was so solemn in a way Harry found so unfamiliar. He shoved down the urge to run from the ensuing conversation.

“Harry. You can tell me if something is going on. I can get you help, you know that, yes?”

Harry inhaled deeply, averting his gaze from the concerned and warm brown eyes of the man in front of him.

“I know that, sir.” He exhaled, returning his eyes to the man and prepared to lie to him. “I’m fine, nothing is going on. Truly. If there was, I’d tell you.” The lie left his mouth with ease.

Mrs Weasley softened at the statement but was still not convinced. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “If someone was hurting you…”

“No, sir. It’s nothing like that, honest. I know I look bad, but I give as much as I take to those kids in my neighbourhood.” Harry replied, forcing a grin on his face. Despite Harry’s best efforts, it seemed as if Mr Weasley was seeing right through him. However, if he did, he didn’t say anything about it.

There was another long pause whilst Harry watched Mr Weasley hesitate with something in his mind. “I know you do,” Mr Weasley finally replied firmly. “Which is why I need to warn you. You’re in danger, Harry. Grave danger.”

His mouth turned dry while Mr Weasley explained that deranged escaped convict, Sirius Black, was out to kill him.

Harry could not help but begin to think that he was not destined to ever live in peace.

—————

Harry felt nothing of his usual happiness and excitement at the start of new school year as Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way up the Hogwarts Express in search of an empty cabin. His mind was fogged with the many anxieties he would be facing this year. Sirius Black and Slytherin seemed to be the major stressors that would consume him in the coming months. Harry did not know how to even begin dealing with any of it.

Hermione paused in front of a cabin and sighed, “Come on, everywhere else is full.” The three of them piled into the compartment with the strange sleeping man curled into his shabby robes, his face hidden from view.

“Who do you think that is?” Ron asked.

“Professor R. J. Lupin.”

“‘Mione, there’s no way you actually know that. Do you think she just says things with confidence and we all just believe it?”

Despite his foul mood, Harry laughed at the idea.

“It’s on his suitcase, Ronald.” Hermione said in exasperation.

“Oh,” Ron replied airily.

Silence overcame the trio as they settled into their seats. Harry made sure to sit in the adjacent corner to the unknown sleeping man, as far away as he could but still able to keep an eye on him for any sudden movements. Despite this anxiety, exhaustion overcame Harry. He leaned his head back on his seat and closed his eyes to bask in his last moment of peace before the new school year began.

His actions did not go unnoticed by his friends. He could feel their piercing gazes on his face. Harry sighed loudly, “What?” He questioned his friends without opening his eyes.

Hermione cleared her throat and her head motioned to the sleeping man, “You think he’s really asleep?” Harry didn’t answer. “Looks like it,” said Ron.

“Harry, you told us we’d talk about it later.” Hermione’s voice was soft and full of concern. “It’s later now.”

“We know you didn’t get into a fight with some other kids,” Ron stated firmly. “Or fall riding that- what was it? The muggle broom?”

“A bike, Ronald.” Hermione provided.

“Yeah! That. Mate, we’re worried about your muggles are doing-”

Harry cut him off with a loud and irritated exhale of breath. Annoyance flooded him as he finally opened his closed eyes to meet the worried gazes of his best friends.

“Does it matter?” Harry spat out. “I’m not going back to them for months. If you ask me, I’ve got about ten other things to be worried about before my stupid relatives.”

“But you’re going to go back to them eventually-” Hermione began to argue before Harry cut her off.

“Like I’ve told you before, I can handle it.”

“Obviously you can’t!” Ron said in exasperation. “Harry, mate, have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like shit.”

“Jeez, Ron. You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Harry, we're being serious.”

“So am I.” Harry realised they were not going to let this go without a fight. He needed to deflect the conversation quickly. “And I was being serious about other things to be worried about. First of all, I’m a bloody Slytherin-”

Hermione interrupted him before he could finish, “Harry, your re-sort does not take precedence over your safety-”

Harry shot her a glare for interrupting him and continued what he was saying, “And second of all, according to your dad, Ron, Sirius Black has escaped wizard prison to kill me once and for all.”

Hermione and Ron’s faces twist into horror. Harry smiled grimly with no true happiness in his expression, “How’s that for my safety?”

The two begin to hound him for information, and Harry readily complied, recounting for them his conversation with Mr Weasley. He would much rather be discussing this, or even his change of house, than his relatives.

A grim atmosphere settled in their train cabin after their discussion. The pounding rain hitting the window and the grey, gloomy sky was not helping either. Neither was the unmoving mysterious man still sleeping in the corner. Ron had already checked multiple times to see if he was even breathing.

“How much longer till we’re there?” Ron asks.

“About 20 minutes, I think. We should change into our robes.” Hermione answers.

Harry winces. “I’m not changing until I have to.”

Ron’s eyes widened at the reminder. “Oh Merlin, I nearly forgot about that. Did you have to buy new robes?”

“Yeah, but I grew out of my old ones anyway.” No one was more surprised at this than Harry. He did not expect to have a growth spurt after sporadically eating small portions of cold, canned food all summer. “Even so, my old ones turned green after the re-sort.”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his anxiety. “I didn’t ask, but did you guys tell anyone? Does anyone know yet?”

They both shook their heads, “Only my family, and they all promised not to say anything,” Ron supplied.

Harry runs a hand down his face in stress. “I almost wish you guys did. I don’t want to be the centre of gossip again when everyone finds out at once.” He clenches his eyes shut, trying to ignore his racing heart. “Why does this happen every bloody year?” Harry mumbles.

“Potter luck.” Ron declares with adamance. Harry laughs humorlessly, “Some rotten luck.”

Suddenly, the trio are startled by the loud screech of metal scraping against metal, piercing their ears.

“Why are we stopping? We can’t be there yet.”

Harry’s adrenaline kicks in as he stands from his seat, sliding the door of his cabin to investigate. He is thrown backwards when the train comes to a violent stop. The lights flicker a couple of times before they completely shut off.

“The bloody hell is going on?” Ron questions, frightened, as he looks out the window for answers.

“Ouch, Ron! That’s my foot!”

“Something is moving out there, someone’s coming aboard…” Ron whispers before the train lurches once again.

A sudden chill floods Harry from top to bottom. It was a type of cold he had never felt before, crawling under his skin and into his bones. Harry sat in his seat, shivering limbs and chattering teeth, until the cold seemed to reach his mind. It was as if all his bottled-up emotions were finally being released and pressing into him until he could barely remember how to breathe.

The feeling only continued to worsen when the ghastly, hooded figure appeared at the door of their cabin. Long, skeletal fingers slid the door open, and it immediately began to float towards Harry.

All of Harry’s instincts he had religiously relied upon his entire life, were so callously failing him whilst he stared immobilised and helpless into the face of the hooded figure cowering over him. The little joy he had within him had long disappeared, replaced with a degree of misery even Harry had not ever experienced.

That was when he heard it. A long, ear-splitting, piercing scream echoed around him from all directions. The scream was filled with vicious despair and agony, making every hair on Harry’s body stand straight. The sound had impaled his mind until he could no longer see, hear, or feel anything.

When the screaming had finally ceased, there was a short moment of absolute nothing. No inputs into any of his senses. That was when Harry felt familiar hands wrap around his throat and begin squeezing with the full strength of his 400-pound frame.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

And as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

A bright white light invaded Harry’s senses, but he did not hang around to find out what it was, succumbing to the darkness of his unconsciousness and effectively passing out.

—————

“Reneverate.”

Consciousness returned to Harry like a slap on the face. For a moment, Harry had no idea what was going on or where he was, feeling only the hands of his Uncle on his throat. Panic consumed him as his body transitioned to full alert. He attempted to sit up from wherever he was lying down, and his hands scratched at his throat as he desperately tried to inhale.

A set of hands pressed him back down into the soft cushion underneath him, whilst another set of hands grabbed his wrists to stop his clawing. The touch only heightened his panic.

“Potter!” Even in his state, Harry had recognised the voice immediately. After hearing its distinct tone twice a week for two years of his life in a class he detested the most, it was impossible not to recognise the scold of his Potions Professor.

“Potter, listen to me,” The Professor demanded, annoyed in his tone. “You are at Hogwarts. The Dementor is gone. Cease with the dramatics.”

The words processed in his head. He was at Hogwarts. He was safe. A breath of fresh air finally made it through his throat, and he stopped struggling against the hands holding him down. With air finally returning to his lungs, he scanned his surroundings.

He was lying in his usual bed in the Hospital Wing, Madam Promfrey to his left, who was still pressing her hands on his chest, ready to hold him down to his bed if necessary.

To his right was Professor Snape, holding his wrists tightly in one hand and scowling down at him as if he was about to start maniacally scratching at his throat again.

Harry’s skin itched all over from the hands on him. “Le’ go o’ me,” he mumbled in a hoarse voice. He shot Snape a glare and snatched his hands away. The man released Harry’s hands from his clutch, a disgusted snarl twisting onto his face.

The hands pressing down on his chest remained. “Mr. Potter, you’re not going to be foolish and try to run off once more, are you?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice questioned, firm and authoritative.

“No, Madam.” The hands came off. Harry slowly sat up and finally felt as if he could breathe normally again.

A bar of chocolate was pressed into his hands by Madam Pomfrey. “Eat. It will help you regain your energy,” she told him. He listened mindlessly, taking a nibble of the bar. He was surprised to find her correct as a wave of energy returned to his body.

He took a few more bites of the chocolate before asking, “What happened?” Madam Pomfrey and Snape exchanged a look. Snape, who now stood a wide berth away from Harry, crossed his arms and looked away, clearly ignoring his question.

Madam Pomfrey’s eyes seemed to soften with sympathy as she took the time to explain to Harry what a Dementor was. “You were lucky Professor Lupin was there to cast a Patronus. It seems Hogwarts has a competent Defence Against the Dark Arts professor once more.”

Snape scoffed from where he stood silently. Harry glared at him. Of course Snape would scoff at the man who saved his life. “What is he even doing here?” Harry asked Madam Pomfrey, gesturing to Snape and scowling.

Madam Pomfrey tutted at his tone, yet before she could begin to scold him, Snape beat her to it. “I suggest you watch your tongue, Mr. Potter,” reprimanded Snape. “Might I remind you of your new Head of House?” Snape’s lip curled into a sneer as he looked down at Harry.

The reminder made him blanch. Harry was silenced by his words and hung his head down to calm his swirling thoughts and panic.

“As is now my responsibility, I must also remind you that fighting is not tolerated under Slytherin House.” Harry was momentarily confused until he remembered the black eye and scar he was sporting on his face.

“If you decide, like you so often do, that you are above my rules, you will face severe repercussions.” Snape walked slowly towards Harry, his intent to intimidate clear in his movement, “Do you understand me, Mr. Potter?”

Harry kept his face devoid of expression, “Yes, sir.” Harry tried not to panic about what those repercussions would be when he inevitably messed up.

“We’ll see about that. Madam Pomfrey, is he well enough to leave?”

“Perhaps, but I’d like to check for other injur-”

“Get up then, Potter.” Snape cut her off, ignoring the glare she was sending his way. “I’m sure you’ve lounged about enough all summer. We have a feast to attend and you have wasted enough of our time.”

Harry swallowed down the rush of anger that overcame him. He had most definitely not lounged about all summer. He had been worked, starved and been hit until he bled. Now that he was thinking of it, Harry was surprised that Madam Pomfrey had not discovered any of his other injuries. Though he was not about to take that risk any longer, as he threw his legs on the floor and made a rush to stand from the bed.

Stars invaded his vision from the fast movement, causing him to stumble a little. He glanced at Madam Pomfrey, praying she did not see that, for if she did, he would be in the infirmary for the next week. Harry let out a breath of relief seeing her back turned as she retrieved something from a cupboard, but when he turned to Snape, he saw the man watching his movements closely with a horrible sneer on his face. No doubt about to berate him for being pathetic and weak, Harry ignored the humming pain all over his mind and body and collected himself.

Madam Pomfrey walked back towards him, holding out a bundle of robes. It took a moment for Harry to realise the outline of Slytherin green along the robe. He gulped at the view, frozen, not wanting to collect it from Madam Pomfrey’s hands. The woman’s hard exterior seemed to soften at whatever expression he held on his face.

“An elf retrieved these robes from your trunk. Do make sure you return to me tomorrow for a quick scan of your person. I would like to sort that bruise and cut on your face and check for any lingering aftereffects of the dementor.” Madam Pomfrey told him with the softest voice he had heard yet from her.

Harry nodded, finally taking the robe from her hands. “Yes, Madam,” he replied, putting on the robe on top of his clothes quickly so he could pretend to ignore the foreign colour he was dressing himself with.

“Do not coddle the boy, Pomfrey,” Snape almost growled from the corner he stood in. “Surely this is inconsequential to the great Harry Potter. I do not wish to experience any more of this nauseating exchange. Come, Potter.”

Inwardly, Harry fumed. From being belittled to now being summoned like a dog, he felt as if he had never left the Dursleys. Would this be his life now as a Slytherin? To his horror, he felt the threatening burn of tears behind his eyes. He shoved the horrid feeling down with all his might. How the hell was he going to handle this? He hadn’t even made it to the Great Hall!

Harry took a deep breath and forced all his emotions to the back of his mind. He had no time to feel. Instead, he followed the billowing robes of Snape out of the infirmary. It was not long until the two had reached the door to the Great Hall, and the Headmaster’s steady voice could be heard giving his usual start-of-term speech.

Snape placed his hands on the doors, and Harry lifted his chin and began to brace himself for whatever was to come. Instead of entering, Snape swirled around to face Harry in such a sudden movement that Harry instinctively took a step back. Snape’s already snarling face twisted further in disgust at the movement, and he took several more steps towards Harry so that his tall figure was threateningly looking down at him.

Harry shoved the panic down, desperately attempting to ignore the fact that the Professor was so close to him, so easy to grab him. Hurt him. He looked up at the man with his practised poker face, praying that his face did not reflect his panic.

“You are to come to my office immediately after the feast has concluded,” the Professor demanded. “It would be in your best interest not to defy me, Potter. Do you understand?”

With Harry’s panic momentarily forgotten, he fought the urge to immediately defy the man’s barked order. Instead, he gritted out between clenched teeth, “Yes, sir.”

His response seemed to be acceptable to the man as he swirled around towards the door as suddenly as he did before, and without warning, pushed the doors to the Great Hall open.

Harry had only but a moment to collect himself, lift his head up, and stride after the great billowing robes of his new Head of House into the Hall. The sudden intrusion had caused the entire Hall to come to a halt. Heads whipped around to see who had dared to interrupt the Headmaster’s speech.

Harry stayed frozen at the threshold to the Hall as he watched the Professor walk firmly to his seat at the Head table, never sparing a glance back.

“Ah!” Dumbledore’s whimsical voice called out, clearly not bothered by the interruption to his speech, he continued, “Welcome, our latecomers! This reminds me of my final announcement for the evening.”

Here it comes. Harry wished nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow him.

“Around every century or so, the Sorting Hat makes a mistake. For even our beloved hat is not perfect and is much like us in committing the occasional error. It is important not to be harsh in condemning its occasional errors, for if we did so as much as we do to ourselves, the hat would not ever be able to withstand the pressure of its job. So I hope we can understand that we must celebrate the correction of this wrong.”

Harry was almost gaping at the man in astonishment. He was not seriously going on about the bloody hat when it had literally upended his life? In that moment, Harry prayed for nothing more than the stupid hat to be burned to a crisp. Preferably on Dumbledore’s head. See how he liked getting re-sorted.

“It is with this pleasure that I announce the resortment of Harry Potter, from Gryffindor to Slytherin.”

Silence. An elongated, heavy silence suffocated the Great Hall.

Harry almost wasn’t sure how long it was going to last until a familiar voice from the Gryffindor table cried out in a shout. “No!” Oliver Wood wailed.

The spell of silence broke, and the Hall erupted in astonishment. In the increasingly loud array of overlapping voices, Harry could not make out anything but the whispers of his name over and over again. His skin began to crawl as he felt the eyes of the student body zeroing in on him, waiting for him to do something, to defy, to revolt, to—hell, he didn’t even know.

Instead, all he did was stand still at the entrance of the Hall, his head lifted high, chin up and praying to hell he was displaying a sense of indifference and aloofness that he most definitely did not feel.

He did not want to show his weakness, his fear, his vulnerability— he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Silence!” The Headmaster called out, calm yet strong. “If all students could return to their seats,” He paused, eyeing Harry pointedly, “so that we can commence the feast. I have a particular fancy for a roast right now.” Harry’s eye twitched. The whimsy of the Headmaster was, for the first time ever, beginning to get on his nerves.

Harry got the hint and began his stride to the Slytherin table, all of whom quieted at his approach. Harry walked towards his year and found the first small opening available, between a second-year boy and a girl in his year he could not remember the name of.

The two moved, giving him a very large berth of space, enough for Hagrid himself to sit comfortably. For a moment, all Harry could think of was those few weeks in primary school after Dudley had told everyone he ate out of the bin. No one would go within a one-meter radius of him unless they wanted his bin juice.

Maybe he still had bin juice. Or maybe he was just destined to be an outcast. Either way, everything felt wrong as he finally sat in his Hagrid-spaced spot. Though so many things were wrong right now, Harry decided that the worst part about that very moment was not having Ron and Hermione by his side. He fought the urge to whip his head around and search for his two closest friends. He didn’t. Instead, he felt the familiar crawl of loneliness run down his spine.

The Headmaster called out, “Let the feast begin!” and with the clap of his hands, food appeared on the tables. The Hall brightened with chatter over the food and the ability to discuss the first piece of gossip of the school year.

Harry, desperate to look busy at the scrutiny of his new housemates, piled food onto his plate from whatever was closest to him and began to push it around with his fork, pretending to eat. The rich smell of food was making him nauseous, though he ignored it and shoved a small bite in his mouth.

“Potter!” A familiar and aggravating voice spoke. Harry looked up, meeting Malfoy’s eyes. The boy was as put together as ever, but the dark circles under his eyes spoke of restless nights. What was going on with Malfoy? “Is this some kind of joke? Surely you don’t truly think you have become a Slytherin,” he sneered.

“Trust me, Malfoy, I want this just as much as you do.” Harry scowls.

“‘Trust me,' he says. Can you believe him?” He turns, asking the boys on either side of him, who were for once not Crabbe or Goyle, but Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott instead. Harry ignored whatever snob Draco was spouting and looked around, finding the former pair sitting without Malfoy further down the table. Seemed like someone had a breakup and had found himself new friends. Why?

“...an insult to Salazar himself– Potter! Are you even listening?”

Harry returned his gaze to Malfoy, “No.” He responded.

Malfoy’s eye twitched, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped his fork. Harry would have laughed at how easy he was to rile up if he weren’t so morose himself.

“There is no way Professor Snape has approved this. We should speak to him as soon as the feast is over.” Malfoy told the boys beside him. However, the two boys did not respond. Harry unwillingly caught Nott’s intense gaze, and at once, the boy blurted out his question.

“But, how?” Nott asked, cocking his head. Harry did not get time to reply before Zabini interrupted, “No, not how. Why? Why Slytherin?” The two were questioning as if simply asking about the weather.

Malfoy scoffed, “Does it matter? He doesn’t belong here.”

Harry swallowed and looked down at his mashed plate of food. He couldn’t have agreed with Malfoy more. Deciding that he had interacted with enough Slytherins today, he ignored any other attempts at interrogation and pushed around his food for the rest of the feast.

In his short time at Hogwarts, even considering the events of last year, Harry in that moment had not felt more out of place in the castle.

The fact that he did not belong any more rang through his head as the feast finally ended. He was to walk downwards to the dungeon, rather than upwards to the tower. In the frenzy of students trying to make their way to their common rooms, Harry finally caught sight of his two friends. Perking up at the sight of each other, the three of them went to reunite.

Before Harry could even take a few decent steps, a dark figure stepped in front of his path.

“Going somewhere?” Snape looked down, raising his eyebrow. Harry straightened, scowling up at the tall man. “No,” he replied.

“Remind me,” Snape drawled, “Where were you to go as soon as the feast ended?” Harry opened his mouth and went to answer, but was distracted by the sight of Ron and Hermione being shuffled away by the Gryffindor prefects towards their common room. Disappointment and rejection twirled in his gut as he gazed on at their fading backs.

“Potter!” barked Snape. Harry’s eyes snapped back to the man. “Where were you to go when the feast ended?” The man repeated, clearly not happy having been ignored.

“Your office.” Harry finally replied bluntly.

Snape’s body was taught with anger as he narrowed his eyes at Harry, “Go. Now. We have much to discuss.” The man’s face twisted in disgust, seemingly unable to say that last bit without it making him nauseous.

So, Harry turned and made his way down the castle.

Though he was only walking down to the dungeons, he could not help but also feel he was walking down a path he could never return from.

Chapter Text

Snape’s robe billowed around him as he swivelled around his desk, sitting in his chair. Harry stood in front of the desk, staring blankly at the man. He could practically feel the irritation radiating off the man in waves. “Sit. Down.” He said slowly, seething.

Harry complied, slow and controlled in his movements as if he were a prey desperate not to trigger his predator. Snape only scowled further. The man rested his arms on his desk and leaned dangerously close towards Harry.

“I will say this once and once only. You will listen closely.” Snape’s voice was low, but deadly. “Being in Slytherin will be different to what you are accustomed to. Your transgressions will not be celebrated or rewarded. I will not let you get away with any of your usual behaviour. One step out of line, one rule broken, one foolish escapade, and you will be severely punished.”

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as his new reality became more and more apparent to him. This man was his head of house. A silent panic began to swirl in his gut, though he carefully kept his face clear of emotion.

“Is. This. Clear?” Snape questioned, a growing anger littering his tone.

Despite himself and his situation, Harry could not help but reply in his usual sarcasm, “Crystal, Sir.” Harry was exceedingly aware he was playing with fire as he watched Snape’s eye twitch dangerously at his response.

“I will cure you of your insolence, Potter. Detention. Tomorrow night.”

“What?” He exclaimed angrily, “For what? I just got here!”
“Watch your tone, Potter,” Snape seethed, but answered, “Detention for engaging in petty muggle fights.” Snape’s mouth curled in disgust as his gaze zeroed in on Harry’s black eye and newly scarred eyebrow.

Harry stands abruptly, his budding anger causing him to loudly scrape the ground with his chair as he stands, “I did not fight anyone on school grounds! You were there when I woke up in the infirmary after passing out on the train! How could I have done anything?”

“Sit back down, Potter. Now.” Snape warned.

“No! You can’t punish me for something that happened during the holidays!” Harry shouted.

In the blink of an eye, Snape, who had finally lost his little patience, swirled around his desk to invade the boy’s space. Harry’s anger deflated, and his panic set in. He took a large step back and fell back into his chair, staring up at Snape’s looming figure.

“You’ll find that I can do anything I want now that I am your head of house. Remember this.” Snape let the message sink in, taking a step back after a long moment. “Detention tomorrow night. The first of many until I turn you into a contributing member of society,” He sneered. “Is this clear?

Harry took a short, deep breath, knowing that he should probably not respond in sarcasm once again. “Yes, Sir,” he replied instead.

Harry bit his lip to control the anger that coursed through him as he watched Snape’s face fill with triumph at his controlled response. “Can I leave now, Sir?” Harry asked, as respectfully as he could, which wasn’t much.

“No.”

Harry ground his teeth together. He was sure he just heard something chip.

“Lest I be accused of being remiss in my duties as a Head by the great Harry Potter, I must discuss with you the incident that happened last year in Professor Dumbledore’s office on the day of your resort.”

Harry stared at the man, head tilting slightly in irritation, “What about it?” He responded stiffly, before quickly adding, “Sir.”

The man closed his eyes and sharply inhaled, looking similar to Harry in the sense that he would also rather be anywhere but here at this moment.

“Your panic attack,” He said slowly, as if explaining to a child.

Harry almost laughed in his face. “My what?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“Your panic attack. Shortness of breath, dizziness, trembling. Must I go on? How long have you been experiencing panic attacks? Or was that the first time?”

Harry stared at the man, bewildered at the conversation they were having right now. With his Potions Professor, no less. So there was a name for his little breathing episodes? It clearly was not normal if his most hated Professor was bringing it up to him, so the last thing he was going to do was admit to it.

“I don’t have panic attacks,” Harry lied with ease. “I’m not a nutcase.”

The Professor scowled, clearly angered at his remark. ‘It is of no mind then. No one can accuse me of not discussing this with you now.”

Snape waved his hand, and his office door aggressively shot open. Harry swallowed down his flinch at the sudden noise. “Get out of my sight, then. Detention tomorrow night, and remember my words, Mr. Potter. Unfortunate as it is to the Slytherin name, you are now one. Besmirch the name and you will suffer the consequences. Leave.”

Harry did not have to be told twice. He jumped out of his seat and left the office at once.

—————

The halls of the castle were quiet whilst Harry made his way towards the Slytherin common room. He considered sneaking to Gryffindor tower, or somewhere outside, anything but the Slytherin common room, but he knew he could not delay the inevitable.

The thought occurred to Harry that for all Snape knew, Harry had no idea where to go, where the common rooms were and what the password was. His hate doubled for the man as he reflected, scuffing his shoes as he angrily kicked a pebble on the ground. And who did Snape think he was, calling him a nutcase?

His anger multiplied trifold by the time he made it to the blank stone wall he knew the Slytherin common room hid behind. How the hell was he supposed to know the password?

“Pureblood,” He guessed, outloud to the wall, recalling the password from last year when he snuck in after he and Ron polyjuiced themselves as Crabbe and Goyle.

The wall remained blank, and the silence echoed back to him. That’s when he heard it. A low-pitched, snake-like hiss. He blanched at the noise, praying to God he was not hearing another snake in the bloody walls. That’s when he noticed the small slithering snake etched into a singular stone tile. He sighed in relief. No crazy voices in his head today.

It was an unconscious switch, but he knew it was Parseltongue as he spoke to the small snake. “Open.”

The little snake on the wall disappeared in haste, in what Harry thought was fright, as the door to the common room appeared in the blank wall.

He scowled, looking for the little snake once more, “Where were you last year?” he muttered, and pushed the door open without another thought.

He stepped through the entrance and was entranced by the common room just as he was last year when he first entered it. The dull green light of the lake hit the surface of the stone walls that were decorated with rich, dark mahogany wood. The many fireplaces were lit, flowing beautifully with the green haze of the room, creating an atmosphere Harry loathed to admit looked exceedingly cosy. Desks and couches decorated the room, with candles lit in every corner.

In the far back towards the dormitories, stood the entire Slytherin House being lectured by who Harry knew was Gemma Farley, Slytherin’s seventh year prefect.. She stood on the stairs to the dorms, confident and elegant in her speech as she spoke to her house.

“And a final message to our first years, and a reminder to our upper years. Slytherin is your home away from home. We move like a family, a pack, together and united. In-house conflicts do not leave these walls and are instead resolved within. We do not show weakness to others and always have each other to fall back on. Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness.”

A wave of bitterness washed over Harry. He knew this would not be the case for him.

Harry slowly made his way towards the back of the crowd, hoping to blend in. He was immediately proven wrong and practically felt the moment Farley’s eyes landed on him.

“Potter,” she spoke, almost accusatory. “Nice of you to join us.” The crowd split in two as bodies and heads turned to face him. Harry felt the room go cold. Icy gazes speared through him. Harry kept his face blank and stared back only at Farley.

“A lion in the den. Welcome.” She said warmly. Well, as warmly as the cold Slytherin could. He raised an eyebrow at the girl, though before he could say anything in reply, a few seventh-year students whom Harry did not recognise stepped forward towards him.

“Potter,” one of them spat, “Get the fuck out. You aren’t welcome here.” There was a low chorus of agreement.

“Watch your language, Avery, there are first years here.” Farley barked at him.

“I don’t give a fuck. The half-blood needs to leave before I spell his dirty little guts out.” The tall, lanky boy spoke threateningly. Despite the threats, for some inexplicable reason, Harry was not afraid. Farley went to yell at him once more, but Harry quickly interrupted him.

“Do it then,” Harry spoke nonchalantly, tilting his head at the boy. “You think I’m afraid of you? You think I won’t fight back?” The rational part of him was telling him to shut the hell up, but was being increasingly overcome by a confidence Harry had no idea where he was sourcing from.

Harry gripped his wand tightly in his robes and watched the group of upper years approach him, a promise of violence in their eyes.

Then, a hiss. The sound was low at first and made him dart his eyes around the room to search for its source. No one else seemed to hear it. For the second time in the day, Harry thought he was hearing snakes in the walls once more and nearly groaned out loud.

Until it got louder, and gasps echoed throughout the room. Harry let out the second relieved breath of the day. He was not hearing voices in the walls again, thank God. He wondered if this was going to become a problem.

The crowd of Slytherins parted in haste, jumping out of the way. Then, Harry spotted it. The thick, 5-meter-long snake, made entirely out of stone, slithered and hissed along. Right towards Harry.

Harry watched the snake move closely, and found that the snake was embedded into the stone of the dungeons, looking as if it was moving under the stone of the ground. It was an unnerving sight, but Harry could not bring it in him to be afraid. He knew snakes better than anyone, and he knew in his bones, this snake was no danger.

The snake circled Harry. Once. Twice. Thrice. He felt the cold stone of its body brush along his legs. Then, it rose. From the ground it was embedded upon, the snake emerged, lifting its head to face Harry.

“I will save you, little snake.” She hissed. Harry nodded, hesitant to reply in Parseltongue in front of a large crowd after the events of last year.

The snake turned around to face the group of seventh years, who, despite the massive 5 metre long stone snake, were still sneering at Harry with their wands raised.

The snake moved so fast, Harry almost didn't catch it. One sweep of her tail and the group toppled to the ground. She raised her large body and leered down only inches from their faces and hissed.

The boys screamed, crawling back in fear, tripping over their trembling limbs as they ran. Harry couldn’t help himself; he laughed. For a house of snakes, they sure were quite afraid of them.

The snake returned to circle Harry’s feet as the Slytherins looked on silently in shock. Harry knew why he felt so confident in the face of several upper years threatening him. Her encouraging and comforting magic was washing over him in waves.

“Congratulations.” Farley grinned. “Salvator has chosen you. Or Salve for short. He chooses to protect only the most worthy of Slytherins.”

Harry’s brain circuited. Most worthy of Slytherins? He didn’t even know how to begin to address the absurdity of that, though he did cock his head in confusion.

“She, you mean.”

“What?”

“Salve’s a girl, I heard her voice when she spoke to me.”

The Slytherins erupted in outrage.

“Centuries of misgendering our protector! It’s a crime!”

“He’s a ruddy liar! How the hell does he know?”

“He’s a parseltongue, you idiot!”

Harry tuned out their shouting—apparently, they'd quickly moved past their outrage over Harry being in Slytherin and were now fixated on the misgendered snake. Harry stood silently in the affronted crowd and wondered how he’d missed this side of Slytherin the past two years. What the hell was going on?

“Enough of this ruckus!” Farley called out. “Everyone, return to your dormitories, it's curfew.”

The crowd began to slowly but surely disperse. Harry watched the snake disperse with the crowd, seemingly deeming him as no longer in danger. In her leave, she took her comforting magic with her, and Harry’s nervous energy returned.

He almost went to call her back when Farley and another seventh-year boy with a prefect badge approached Harry.

“Atticus Thorne,” the boy held his hand out eagerly for a handshake, “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“Harry,” he answered distractedly, shaking the boy's hand. “Is it true?” He asked, “You guys aren’t pulling my leg? She’s some sort of Slytherin protector?”

The boy grinned, “Yep. One and only.”

“But I’m not Slytherin.”

Thorne’s grin widened. “You are now. It’s undeniable even! You’ve been chosen by Salve, Slytherin's highest honour.”

Harry paled a little. No, he was not. He was Gryffindor. Thick and thin, just as Ron said. This was still a massive mistake.

“Thorne, he’s clearly going through an identity crisis right now, let him breathe,” Farley added unhelpfully. She turned to Harry, “This is going to be hard. I don’t know how we are supposed to navigate this, but you are not alone in this house. If anyone is giving you problems, come to us. Merlin, go to Salve! This is your home now.”

Harry knew they were being kind, kinder than he ever expected a Slytherin could be, though he still scowled at her in anger, “No. No, it’s not.”

She tutted, but did not rise to his anger, “You will learn. Thorne, show him his dormitory, let him get some rest.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” He saluted, “Come along, Potter. We needed to move the third-year boys’ dorms around a bit to accommodate you, but I think you’re with Malfoy and Zabini.”

Harry groaned, “That’s just fantastic.”

Thorne beamed genuinely, “I’m glad you think so!” Harry stared blankly at the boy. Harry could hardly believe this was who was chosen as prefect by Snape.

Thorne led him up the stairs to the left towards the third-year boys' dormitory. He knocked loudly, “Coming in, hide your knickers, boys!”

Harry followed Thorne inside, immediately taking note of how much space there was. It was roughly the same size as his Gryffindor dorm, but instead of five beds, there were only three. Malfoy stood near the bed adjacent to the door, whilst Zabini stood near the one on the left. That left Harry with the bed on the right side.

His first thought was outrage for his Gryffindor roommates for being piled into one room like sardines, whilst the Slytherins had all this free space. However, his next thought was relief. Finally, Ron’s sweaty socks would not end up in his trunk! He pushed the thought down guiltily. Sorry, Ron, he silently apologised in his head.

He noted the two desks to the left and right of the door, as well as the wardrobes next to each bed. A luxury they did not have in Gryffindor as they’d all become accustomed to living out of their magically expanded trunks.

Thorne gestured towards the bed on the right, “This must be you, Potter. Make yourself at home. A nice big pink tapestry would complement Malfoy nicely.”

Malfoy sneered at the older boy, “Thorne! I’ll be telling my-”

“Your father, yes. Can’t wait to tell him about the fluffy pink socks you hide at the bottom of your trunk.”

“What? I do not have-!”

“Well, Harry, that’s all from me, I’m heading to bed. My dorm is the last room on the right, if you need me. Sweet dreams, boys!” Thorne said, practically skipping out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

A loud silence filled the dorm as the three boys stood stiffly.

Zabini cleared his throat, “Quite the entrance, Potter.” He said blankly.

“Dramatic, as usual,” Malfoy scoffed, “All the attention must be on Potter. I’ll be surprised if this doesn’t make the front page of the Prophet.”

Harry scowled at him and opened his mouth to fire back, but suddenly, all he felt was drained. The day had caught up to him. His horrible summer had caught up to him. His body ached with pain, though it was no contest to the pain still simmering in his mind from the dementor.

Turning his back on the boys, he threw his green robes onto the ground next to his bed and jumped inside, roughly closing the curtain of the four-poster bed.

He cast a silencing spell on his curtains, shoved his face into his pillow and screamed till his throat went dry.

Chapter Text

The subtle rays of the day’s new light shining through his four-poster bed are what awoke Harry from his pitiful slumber. The deep green curtains of his bed were a taunting reminder of his new accommodations.

In what Harry knew was an irrational fit of anger towards the poor curtains, he moved quickly to sit up and get them out of his sight. Though he immediately regretted it when the pain invaded his senses. 

He swallowed down a yelp of pain, only allowing a low hiss to leave his mouth as the wounds on his back, courtesy of Uncle Vernon, twisted painfully with his harsh movements. His right shoulder ached, and his head pounded with a low headache that had persisted since his encounter with the dementor on the train. 

The pain was always the worst in the mornings. Harry knew this. He also knew that it would fade when he forced himself to move and become accustomed to it. Years of experience made him able to push the pain to the back of his mind skillfully. His Aunt and Uncle never cared for his bruises when breakfast had to be made. 

Slowly, this time, he moved to open his curtains and gently place his feet on the floor. He looked around the room, finding Malfoy’s and Zabini’s curtains both closed. The window to the lake was bright as the day’s new sun reflected through the lake and into their dorm. 

Harry’s chest ached at the unfamiliar environment. Loneliness crept upon him. He felt wrong and alienated in this room that held no comfort. The silence mocked him, as if for intruding in the place that had no space for him. 

His movements were slow as he crept towards the bathroom, careful not to awaken either boy. He quietly opened and closed the door with an expert knowledge of moving around a space where you were not to be heard or seen. He cast a silencing spell on the room once safely inside. If only he could do this spell at the Dursleys’, maybe his skin wouldn’t be as tight as it is on his bones. 

There was no use thinking of what he couldn’t have, he reminded himself as he jumped straight into his first warm, steaming shower in months. The water soothed his aching body, a small grin making it to his face. No more freezing cold, two-minute showers. God forbid he waste any hot water at the Dursleys’.  

Creeping back out to the dorm, he was relieved to see both boys still fast asleep. He quickly changed into his uniform and robes, grabbing his wand and book bag. 

He realised he’d need to wake up early every day so he could shower and change before Malfoy or Zabini woke up. The last thing he wanted them to see was the scars and bruises littering his body. It shouldn’t be an issue though. Harry was conditioned to wake up at the crack of dawn to start his chores.  

He made his way to the common room silently, glad to find it empty. He cast a quick Tempus and realised it was six in the morning, so most were probably soaking in as much sleep as they could before the new term started. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do for the next hour until breakfast was served, though he knew for a fact he wasn’t going to wait around in the Slytherin common room. He made a beeline to the exit, wanting to leave just in case any Slytherins came down. 

However, a long hiss stopped him in his tracks. Slithering around the exit was none other than the five-meter stone snake blocking his path. She raised herself from the stone floor to stare at him.

“ Going somewhere? ” She hissed. Harry stared back, nervously glancing behind him, praying no one came down to witness this. 

“ Yes. Just leaving, so if you’d kindly move out of- ”

“ You should not leave. You are in danger, ” She interrupted. Harry looked back at her, annoyed. 

“ Tell me something I don’t know.” He couldn’t help but reply, though he didn’t think the sarcasm translated properly in parseltongue as the snake looked unphased and responded in kind, “ I just did. You are in danger, I can smell it on you. It worries me.”

“Well, lovely to hear about your concern, but it is definitely unnecessary. I can take care of myself. I don’t need protecting.”

The snake narrowed her eyes at him and raised her body higher, looking down at him scoldingly. “ You deny my protection? I am the ancient, powerful, protector and saviour of Slytherin, created by Salazaar himself, and you deny- ” 

“ That’s nice and all, but I’m really quite in a rush, so if you’d excuse me– ” Harry replied, trying to circle the large snake, but she moved quickly, copying his movements and blocking his path once more.

“ You do not understand the honour of my protection yet, little snake, but you will soon. I will let you leave now, but know that these walls are where you are safest. Do not venture too far. Return here to your home for Slytherin is where you belong. ” 

Harry audibly groaned, his hand pressing on his forehead. If another person–or snake–tried to tell him he belonged in Slytherin, he was going to lose it. She finally slithered away from the entrance, and Harry all but ran towards his escape. 

Harry made his way out of the dungeons and walked towards the grounds outside, desperate for some fresh air. He tugged at his Slytherin tie, loosening it. It was no different to his Gryffindor one, and he knew that logically, but physically, he could feel it suffocating him. Uncle Vernon’s hands, squeezing around his throat, flashed through his mind. He shoved the memory down quickly before he worked himself up into another– what did Snape call it? A panic attack? He scowled at the reminder that Snape tried to call him a nut case. 

When he finally made it outside, the cold morning air rushed through his lungs. Despite the cold, the castle was peaceful and quiet, save for the birds chirping their morning song. He realised that, despite usually waking when the sun rises, he’d never walked around the castle grounds this early. It was exceedingly peaceful. 

He savoured the feeling, knowing it would not last once the rest of the castle woke. At that moment, Harry resolved to start his day like this from now on. Not only was it calming, but he could avoid Malfoy and Zabini in the mornings as well as the rest of the Slytherin students. A perfect escape. He’d need to start developing a new routine to best avoid any Slytherin interaction as much as possible. He did not want to be there as much as they wanted him to be there. 

Though that wasn’t all true, was it? Remembering last night, he recognised the split he’d created within Slytherin house. Between Farley, Thorne and Salve, and Snape and the older students who were about to spell him out themselves, he was not sure what to make of his new house. 

The sun revealed itself from behind the clouds, shining brightly on his face and providing a small respite from the cold morning air as he walked. Harry decided that he did not care to find out about the Slytherins. He did not belong there. He did not care. He would avoid them with all his might.

Satisfied with his decision during his calming morning walk, he knew that the castle should be waking up by now. He made his way back to the castle, hoping to find Ron and Hermione at breakfast, despite it being a bit early. 

He determinedly ignored the students who whipped their heads around to stare at him in his Slytherin robes and walked through the open doors of the Great Hall. It was still early, only a few Professors were at the head table eating breakfast, and the tables were not as full yet.

He found his friends at the Gryffindor table and began to walk towards them. Ron was the first to notice him. “Harry!” Ron shouted, standing and waving him over. He ignored the attention that Ron accidentally garnered, knowing that was not his intention and smiled at his two friends. Hermione smiled up at him and moved to make space for him to sit between her and Ron. 

Sitting between the two, Harry felt safer than ever. That bloody snake didn’t know what she was on about. 

Hermione turned to Harry, her concern overcoming her features. “Oh, Harry! This is just awful! How was it last night? Did you get in trouble with Professor Snape? We saw him yelling at you. Who are you sharing a dorm with? Don’t tell me you’re with Malfoy. Did you sleep at all? Did anyone try to hurt you?” 

Harry grinned at her antics, “I’m fine, Mione. I’m here now, aren’t I?” 

“This is just barmy. I can’t believe this. You look crazy in green.” Ron said through his mouth full of sausage. “Do you ever stop eating?” Hermione scolded as she began plating some toast and butter for Harry and placed it in front of him. Harry’s stomach turned at the food and pretended like he didn’t see it.

“Nope.” Ron replied shamelessly, “Harry, start talking, though! How’d you go last night?” 

“I’m sharing a dorm with Malfoy and Zabini.” 

The two grimaced in sympathy. Ron even put his sausage down and stopped chewing. “Potter luck strikes again.” Ron joked humourlessly. “Did they try anything on you?” 

“No, but some seventh-year Slytherins did, and you won’t believe what happened.” Harry recounted last night’s events with the Slytherins and Salve. He also told them about Snape, though he left out the panic attack discussion; he did not want his best friends thinking he was a nutcase as well. 

“Harry, please be careful around Professor Snape, he’s your Head of House now, he might get even more cruel.” Hermione pleaded. 

“Might?” Ron remarked, “He’s about to become more of a git than he ever has before. Though who cares about him! What the hell do you mean a massive stone snake is living in the dungeons?”

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Salvator has been around for centuries; it’s like none of you have read Hogwarts, A History.” 

“We haven't," both Ron and Harry declare in unison. They both erupted into laughter. Hermione tried to look annoyed, but they could both see the smile creeping on her face. 

They were still laughing when Seamus, Dean and Neville arrived at the table, sitting in front of them. Seamus and Dean looked unnerved by Harry’s presence, his previous roommates staring at him suspiciously. 

Harry glared at the pair, his joy fading. “Yes, I’m wearing green. Yes, I’m still the same person I was last year. Yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

Seamus raised his eyebrow, “Well, you can’t blame me, can you! You’re a rotten Slytherin now?” Harry was instantly annoyed at the boy, “Oh, so suddenly sharing a bloody room with you for two years meant nothing?” 

“Well, it’s looking like you were a snake hiding in the lion's den waiting to attack us!” Dean added. 

Surprisingly, Neville spoke before Harry could reply, “He’s– He’s still Harry! Who cares what house he’s in?” Harry looked at Neville, a newfound fondness for him sprouting. 

“Thanks, Neville,” Harry smiled. At least he knew he had made an honest friend in Gryffindor besides Ron and Hermione. 

“POTTER!” A loud voice shouted, running into the hall and interrupting them. Harry instinctively flinched and looked behind him to find Oliver Wood stalking towards him. Fred and George trailed after him leisurely, wearing matching grins. Wood’s hair was dishevelled, his uniform was rumpled, and he had a crazed look in his twitching eye.

“I went straight to Madam Hooch, then Professor McGonagall,” He rambled, pacing back and forth in front of him. The twins stood behind him, hands shoved in their pockets as they joyfully watched Wood begin his mental breakdown. 

“They both are saying you can’t play for Gryffindor anymore! I was about to go to Dumbledore himself, but McGonagall wouldn’t let me for some reason. Says I was off my rocker! Can you believe her?” He exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

“Yes, actually,” The twins chimed together, grinning. Their remark flies over Wood’s head.

“I’ve just lost my star player in the most important year of my life! My last chance to win the Quidditch Cup is gone! Snatched! Stolen!” Wood stops suddenly, and strives towards Harry, grasping his shoulders and comes close to his face and utters solemnly, “Who restored you? I’ll kill them for what they’ve done.” 

Harry’s entire body tenses at Wood’s invasion. His jaw clenches as his heart begins to race. He did not like people touching him, nor in his personal space like this. The majority of Gryffindor knew this, but Wood in his existential crisis, seemed to have forgotten.

The previously grinning twins, now more serious than ever, grasp Wood’s shoulder immediately. “Back up, Wood,” George warns the boy. “Now,” adds Fred. 

Wood’s eyes widened. His grip quickly came off Harry, and he took a large step back. “Shit, Potter. I forgot. I’m sorry.” He utters with genuine remorse. Though it did not last long, as the crazed look in his eye returned. 

“Don’t worry, Potter,” He declares, straightening himself with newfound resolution, “I’m going to tell McGonagall if she doesn’t let you back on the team, I’m going to try drowning myself in the shower again.” With that, he finally walks off. 

The trio and the twins watch him storm out of the Hall. “You good, Harry?” George asks solemnly. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” He replies, clearing his throat, “Thanks.” The two boys nod at him and walk off. 

Ron whistles, “What a nutter.” Harry doesn’t respond for a long moment, still reeling at the interaction.

“I didn’t even register that I’m off the Gryffindor team now.” Harry breathes out, trying his best to ignore the wave of loss that washes over him. Quidditch was his outlet for his restless mind over the past two years. He couldn’t help but feel that everything he loved was always taken away from him. What was next? 

“Surely you’ll still be able to fly for leisure?” Questions Hermione, though even she was unsure. “I’ll check the rulebook for you, Harry.” 

Harry smiled at his friend, knowing she was trying to help him in the way she knows best. “Thanks, ‘Mione, but I’m sure I’ll live without being able to fly.” 

Ron and Hermione both tilted their heads at him in disbelief. “Fine, okay, that was a lie,” Harry admitted immediately. They both laughed softly. 

“It’s alright, mate. We’ll get through this. We’ll figure it out.” Ron assures him. 

Ron’s gaze suddenly shifts behind Harry, a scowl quickly decorating his face, “Harry, don’t panic, but Snape’s coming towards us.” 

Harry turns his head quickly and confirms the sight. His whole body tenses once more. Snape is glowering at him, looking thoroughly aggravated when he arrives in front of them. The Hall, now filled with students, was quiet around them to watch the exchange.

“Mr. Potter. Remind me, what tie are you wearing?” He drawls. Harry doesn’t look down at his tie, keeping his eye on the Professor, though he hesitates for a moment, till he replies, “A Slytherin tie, sir.” 

“Then, do tell, why are you not sitting with your House?” Hermione clears her throat, “Sir, there are no rules against interhouse mixing during meals. I looked it up last night.” 

Snape glowers transfers to Hermione, “Miss Granger, is your name Mr. Potter?”

“No, sir.”

“Then restrain yourself from speaking.” Snape snarls at her. A couple of laughs from the other tables echo around them.

Harry watches as Hermione shrinks back, his jaw clenches. Anger flares hot in his chest, spilling out before he can stop himself. he snaps, “Sorry, sir. Should I ask my tie where to sit at breakfast next time, or is that your job only? Should I run my lunch plans by you as well?”

The Hall was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. The stunned silence pulses in his ears. 

Snape takes a quick step towards Harry, sneering down at him. Harry digs his nails into his fist to hold back his flinch under the scrutiny of the entire student body. “Congratulations, Potter. Your detention tonight just tripled. Be at my office at six o’clock. Do not expect to return before midnight.”

“Great. Should I bring a sleeping bag–”

“ Get. Up. ” Snape snarls, venom infused into his words. After a long moment, Harry obeys, knowing he probably shouldn’t push the man any longer. 

Snape roughly grabs him by his right shoulder. Harry inhales sharply at the touch. The already existing ache in his shoulder multiplies tenfold. He tenses his whole body and skillfully pushes the pain to the back of his mind. Snape pushes Harry by his shoulder towards the Slytherin table with the other third years. Once Harry is seated, he immediately turns and strides out of the Hall, his robes billowing angrily behind him. 

Eyes press down upon him from all angles. His very little appetite completely vanishes as he looks around and is met with the entirety of Slytherin scrutinising him. Harry stands abruptly from the table, avoiding the gazes of his peers and walks out of the Hall.

He vowed then and there never to set foot in that hall for a meal again, for as long as he could help it. 

—————

Harry’s day did not get any better. In his very first class back, Divination, Professor Trelawney predicted his untimely death from the grim in his tea leaves. He is unhelpfully reminded of the escaped convict, Sirius Black, supposedly after his blood. 

In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall assured them that Professor Trelawney predicts the death of a student every year, though only a couple have come to fruition. That was very reassuring. 

Professor Binns’ voice seemed to have gotten even more monotone and boring, apparently even Hermione was struggling to pay attention, “Not to doubt his credentials of course,” Hermione reassures, but continues her rant as they walked down towards Hagrid’s Hut for their Care of Magical Creatures class, “However, I do think the Headmaster should consider hiring someone more capable. Perhaps alive, even. I’m going to have to teach myself the entire course content! I truly don’t know how I’m going to fit that into my study schedule along with my Muggle Studies, Arithmancy and Runes revision.” 

“Hold on,” Ron pauses. “How many bloody electives are you taking?”

“Well, Professor McGonagall granted me permission to pick up all of them after I couldn’t choose.”

Harry kicks a stone along the pebbled path, uninterested in any talk of studies right now, though Ron’s mind was wheeling. “Isn’t the Muggle Studies and Arithmancy class at the same time? How are you attending both? Wait, why are you taking Muggle Studies in the first place? Are you not a Muggle-born?”

Hermione ignores the first question, shooting Ron a glare, “You don’t get it! It is immensely fascinating to learn about muggles from a wixen perspective.” 

“But how are you taking all these classes? Do the times not clash?”

“Harry, stop dragging your feet and walk faster, we’re going to be late for Hagrid’s first class.” 

The trio made it just in time. The class was dishevelled from the long walk, shirts untucked, ties loosened, and robes thrown off. 

“Gather roun’ everyone!” Hagrid calls out from beside his hut, leading them to a wide opening in the forest just behind his hut. “Got summat special fer yeh today, I do!”

The class watches on in disbelief as Hagrid introduces the hybrid griffin and horse creature, which he named Buckbeak. Harry shot a glare at Ron as he nudged him forward to be the first volunteer.

Before he could fully grasp what was happening, Harry found himself bowing to the creature, thrown on him by Hagrid, and then clinging tightly to Buckbeak’s back as the hippogriff launched into the air. The ground dropped away beneath him, the wind howled past his ears, and the treetops blurred below. He was terrified and breathless, yet wildly exhilarated by the time they returned to the ground.

He jumped off Buckbeak, grinning ear to ear, high on the adrenaline of the experience.

“Righ’, we got time fer one more–  let Buckbeak choose who she likes the mos’. Come on, girl, take yer pick!”

The hippogriff pranced slowly towards them. Her head turned slowly, her eyes carefully assessing each person. She leaned her head towards Ron, sniffing once, twice, then moving on. Ron gulped loudly. 

Her eyes locked with someone in the back, and she took a quick step forward towards them. The small crowd separated hastily for her, revealing Malfoy standing proudly, locking eyes with the beast. 

In a move Harry did not expect, Malfoy lowered his gaze and posture, offering a low and elegant bow to the creature. She immediately approved, bowing back and lowering her body to the ground. Malfoy looked up from his bow, more stunned than anyone else and looked at Hagrid for confirmation. 

“Watchya’ waiting fer? Hop on!” Malfoy didn’t hesitate again as he mounted the bird and off they went, circling amongst the treetops. They caught glimpses of the two flying, hearing Malfoy’s hollers of joy from above. The Slytherins on the ground whistled and cheered on. 

When they returned, Hagrid softly clapped Malfoy on the shoulder, “Tis a right honour to be chosen by a hippogriff!”  

With their final class of the day finished, most of the class took their time walking back towards the castle. 

“I’m just going to say what we’re all thinking,” Ron announced suddenly. “What the hell did Buckbeak see in Malfoy? She sniffed me, and went to Malfoy! Malfoy!” 

Harry laughed at Ron’s outrage. “Maybe she just smelled your lunch on you. You do get more of it on your robes than in your mouth.” 

Hermione cackled. Ron rolled his eyes at them, “Or maybe she just wanted to play fetch with the stick up Malfoy’s arse.”

Harry laughed loudly, but was cut off roughly. Malfoy must have been behind them and heard their conversation. He shoved between the two of them, shoulder-checking them. They all paused, waiting for Malfoy to taunt back, but he continued walking silently towards the castle. 

“That was weird,” Ron said. “Where was his ‘my father will hear about this’?”  

“Have you noticed Crabbe and Goyle aren't hanging around him anymore?” Hermione added. 

“Yeah, actually,” Harry replied. “He wasn’t sitting with them at the start of the term feast. He was with Zabini and Nott. Honestly, now that I think of it, he wasn’t as insufferable as he normally is either.” 

“You defending Slytherins now, Harry? Ron joked. Harry twisted his face up at the idea, “Hell, no. Whatever he’s got going on, I don’t care as long as he stops annoying me.” 

“Whatever,” Ron shrugs the situation off as they make it to the moving stairs that would lead them to Gryffindor Tower. Harry stopped at the stairs, knowing there was no reason he’d need to go up there. Ron looked at him with sympathy. “We’ll meet you at dinner?”

Harry looked at Ron in disbelief. “Were you not there this morning? I am not having a repeat of that. I’m not going to eat meals in the Great Hall anymore.”

“Harry! Did you eat lunch? Did you even eat breakfast? ” Hermione scolded seriously. She looks around for any nearby stragglers before turning to Harry and saying softly, “You need to eat. I know the Dursleys weren’t feeding you properly.”

Harry clenched his jaw at the reminder and turned to leave, “I have detention anyway, remember? I’m going to head down to the dungeons and change. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Hermione stopped Harry, holding on to his hand before he could walk off. “Harry, we’re worried about you. You need to talk to us. You can’t go back there.”

“Please. I don’t want to talk about this. Not now.” Harry pleaded softly, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby. Hermione sighed gently, letting go of Harry’s hand, “Alright. I’ll leave it alone for now. But remember, we’re here for you, okay?”

“I know,” Harry replied, before hastily walking away from the conversation he did not want to have. Not even with his best friends. 

He walked down to the dungeons, reflecting on the terrible day he’d had. And to think it still wasn’t over. Harry groaned inwardly at the reminder of his six o’clock detention. He cast a Tempus to check the time. 

“Shit!” Harry cursed, breaking into a sprint. 

He was late for his detention with Snape.