"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. It wasn't as though he was surprised his cousin had ended up in Slytherin House, but he had hoped, for once, to have one, just one thing for his very own. But no, even being a wizard he had to share with Dudley.

When Harry first received his Hogwarts letters, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had done all in their power to stop him from reading the letters. They had burnt them, shredded them and basically disintegrated them in their struggle to prevent him from finding out the secret. The fact that Harry Potter was, in fact, a wizard. He reckoned if the second letter hadn't arrived, he'd still be locked in the cupboard under the stairs.

But the second letter did arrive, and was responsible for Harry standing in line, waiting nervously for the strict professor (was her name McGonagall? Harry had a hard time remembering all the names he had heard that day.) to call out his name. The second letter contained the news that Dudley Dursley also was a wizard. And Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon could not have been more happy. For people who had spent their son's and nephew's first eleven years on earth trying to deny the existence of magic and Petunia's freak sister, Harry thought they took the news incredibly well. They were, as a matter of fact, incredibly proud of their 'special little Duddykins' and had known all along 'that he was meant for something more, my son is!' They had grumbled for days about the fact that they weren't allowed to tell anyone about the magical world, and Uncle Vernon had immediately added the Ministry of Magic to his favorite list of complaints. Harry was still on top of that list, but the Ministry did all in their power (or so it seemed to Harry) to catch up with him. The Stature of Secrecy, the general freakiness and old fashioned ways of the magical people in Britain all seemed to work against him, or that was at least what Uncle Vernon thought. He was especially irked by the fact that his freak nephew apparently was famous in the wizarding world. However, when Harry tried to find out more about his parents, Aunt Petunia just replied with her usual 'no more questions!'

”Harry Potter!”

A murmur rose in the Great Hall, as every student's eyes, and all of the teachers' followed Harry as he scrambled to the small chair. He took a deep breath, and felt, rather than heard, Dudley snicker somewhere about how he couldn't understand how Potty Potter would belong anywhere. To close the voice of his cousin out, he pulled the hat down over his ears.

--

Harry Potter silently walked towards the Gryffindor tower, his heart singing with joy knowing that he finally had something for his own. He was brave, and a Gryffindor, and not in the same house as Dudley. He sat down next to the red-haired twins who had helped him with his trunk at platform nine and three quarters. He noticed they were still chanting 'we got Potter' even though even Professor Dumbledore had been glaring quite surly at them for a while. Harry sat staring at all the people who he was going to live with for the next seven years of his life, and twisted his hands nervously. He had so hoped he would make friends here...

Ron Weasley was also sorted into Gryffindor, and Harry grinned up at Ron when he sat down next to him. Ron really was a lot taller than Harry. The other redheads at the table talked excitedly to each other, patted Ron hard on the back and seemed generally high of spirits. All of them made sure to smile at Harry, even though he noticed them staring at his forehead. When they discovered he knew they were doing it, they looked away quickly and pretended to have studied Mandy Brocklehurst of Ravenclaw all along.

Not only the Weasleys were staring at him. Harry had the unpleasant feeling of being watched behind his back. As soon as he turned around to look, at least five people hurriedly averted their gazes. Even the teachers seemed to do their best to get a good look at him. Harry shifted, not used to all the attention.

After Zabini, Blaise was sorted into Slytherin and the feast had begun, the headmaster said a few words. Harry studied him intently. He remembered the headmistress in primary school. She had never liked him. Perhaps this man would be different? The twinkle in his sharp blue eyes made Harry hope, just a little.

”Harry, look!”

Ron poked him in the ribs with an elbow. Suddenly, hundreds of plates filled with food had appeared at the table. Harry stared at it, amazed, and that moment, he truly realized magic actually existed.

After a few hours, Harry was more than unpleasantly full, and he felt sure that even the tiniest bite of treacle tart would make his stomach explode. Inhaling the wonderful scent, he decided that on second thought, maybe he could make room for just a little, little bit more.

Ron didn't seem much better off either. He was slumped in his chair, one hand draped over his stomach and the other one in the air, hovering over some coconut cakes. He was nice, but he really had the worst table manners of anyone Harry had ever seen. Glancing over to the Slytherin table and spotting Dudley, he quickly amended the statement.

”So, Harry, d'you think your relatives will be sad you and your cousin aren't in the same house? I mean... I don't really know any muggles, but I can't think it'll be very easy for him in Slytherin...”

Ron looked slightly doubtful.

”What do you mean?” Harry asked, still paying more attention to his desert than to Ron.

”Well... It's just that Slytherins aren't muggleborn. I mean, I've never heard of a muggleborn Slytherin. He's in for a pretty rough time, or at least that's what I've heard.” Harry thought about this for a while.

”I thought it was just the same for everyone. I mean, everyone's got the same magic, right?”

”Yeah... Sure. Nevermind.” Ron turned away to nick the custard bowl from a chubby boy next to him, and even though his back was turned away, Harry was pretty sure Ron's face was bright red. He studied Ron's neck for a second, and turned around to Neville Longbottom, who was stuttering.

”I just wondered... Maybe... I... Y'know... could see the scar?” Neville uttered the word scar with a sort of hushed awe combined with fear. Feeling that this was probably something he would have to do many times, Harry lifted his bangs and bared his forehead. Immediately, other eyes focused on his forehead.

”I don't really understand what all the fuss is about,” He said irritably. ”It's just a scar, that's all.” Neville started to reply, but appeared to be too shocked, and just shook his head. Harry sighed. His Hogwarts career didn't start out at all like he had wanted.

To distract himself, Harry looked up at the Head Table, studying his new teachers. He spotted Professor Quirrell, the man he had met in Diagon Alley. He seemed as nervous as ever, and was currently bending over to pick up his fork from the floor. Next to him sat a black-haired, sallow man, dressed immaculately in black. He had a distinct sour look on his face, and Harry found himself wondering if the man had accidentally bitten into a lemon. He suppressed a snicker at the thought, and bent over to talk to Ron.

”Hey Ron! Who's that man next to Professor Quirrell?” Ron looked up, and followed Harry's nod to gaze at the black-clad man. He was just about to open his mouth when his older brother interrupted him.

”That, Harry, is Professor Snape, the Potions Master. He is a true genius in his field, and you will learn much from him, if you chose to listen.” Percy's eyes went for a second to the Weasley twins, and then back to Harry. ”Take my advice, and do that. Don't follow some students' leads,” he added pompously.

”Snape? Fred and George told me about about him! They say he's a greasy bast...”

”Ron! Don't speak that way about a teacher, or I will tell mom!”

Percy turned away, and Harry could have sworn he heard Ron a word that surely would have made Percy run directly to the owlery.

Harry looked up at the head table and his eyes briefly met with those of Professor Snape's, peeking through Professor Quirrell. A sharp pain lanced up through his scar, and Harry clenched his fists and bit his lower lip, until the pain dulled. In Professor Snape's black, cold eyes, he had seen hatred. But he had no idea what he had done to make the man hate him so.

The announcement that all the first years were to follow their prefects (in Harry's case, Percy Weasley) to their dorms, the entire Great Hall appeared to explode in sound. Chairs were scraping, plates clattering and everywhere there were students laughing and talking. Harry obidently got up with the others and followed Ron and the bushy haired girl he had met while waiting for the sorting. As he turned around to glance one last time at the Great Hall and its wondrous ceiling, he saw Dudley sticking his tongue out at him, and walking away in company of the pale blond Draco Malfoy and his two thugs. Harry thought with heavy heart and not so little irony that Dudley seemed to have find his perfect companions, both in strength and intelligence.

As Harry Potter lay in his bed in the Gryffindor first years boys dormitory, he contemplated his life. It was, he decided, not so bad. After all he could have been in Stonewall High wearing pieces of elephant skin for clothing. Harry shuddered, as he remembered the uniform Aunt Petunia had been 'kind' enough to make for him. At least, at Hogwarts, he was like everyone else, even if people stared weirdly at him. And so what if Dudley was here? Maybe he wouldn't have any classes with him? And who said things at to be the way there were in Little Whinging here? He had a chance to create a whole new life for himself, and that, Harry decided, did not have to include Dudley. Tomorrow, he was going to make lots of new friends, do great in all his classes, and convince that Professor Snape that he wasn't to be hated for no reason. No, Harry Potter was through being bullied and put down.

Content with his plan, Harry closed his eyes, and went to sleep.