Vernon Dursley closed the front door behind him and awkwardly shrugged his way out of his suit jacket which he handed to his wife alongside his briefcase. Petunia took the items silently and Vernon strode through to the lounge and nodded briefly to his son who was curled up on the sofa quietly. Vernon collapsed heavily onto the sofa and closed his eyes wearily before his mind eventually registered that something wasn’t right.

Why was Dudley just sat there without the TV blaring out as usual? Where was Harry and what had he done this time?

Opening his eyes again he massaged his temples with pudgy hands before letting out a sigh.

‘Well? What is it this time?’

In the hall way Petunia froze midway through her task of unpacking Vernon’s briefcase. On his sofa Dudley also tensed.

‘Stay calm, dear.’ Petunia told him fussily. ‘You mustn’t allow yourself worked up...’

‘Yeah Dad,’ Dudley injected. ‘You know the doctor said you need to watch your blood pressure...’

Clamouring to his feet, Vernon scowled. ‘Why don’t you just tell me where the boy is and leave me to decide how I’m going to react?’

Petunia nodded her hand slightly towards the cupboard under the stairs.

Of course the cupboard. It would have to be the cupboard. Harry’s room was upstairs, but he knew the cupboard was where he belonged when he acted like a freak. Vernon, headed towards the cupboard, his footsteps heavy on the creaky hall floorboards.

At the very back of the cupboard curled in a ball, Harry had been listening to the brief conversation and now heard the ominous footsteps heading towards him. His breath caught in his lungs the way it always did when he was in trouble.

‘Dad?’

Vernon’s hand was on the cupboard handle when his son called out to him.

‘It really isn’t his fault this time.’

‘Huh.’ Vernon snorted disbelievingly. ‘Are you trying to tell me he hasn’t been doing something freaky again?’

‘He’s right,’ Petunia laid her hand on the large man’s arm. ‘It is to do with ...what he’s like. But it’s not his fault this time, not really. It’s what we’ve been expecting. What we’ve been waiting for all these years.’

Oh.

Vernon flung the door open.

‘Harry, get out here boy!’

Cringing into the corner of the cupboard in shame Harry gulped.

‘NOW boy.’ Vernon’s voice was almost but not quite a bellow.

Slowly, Harry emerged in a stooped posture from the cupboard. His hair was messy and dishevelled and his eyes were red where he had obviously been crying. He hung his head in front of his uncle, not daring to meet his eyes.

‘Well then?’ Vernon demanded. ‘Give it here. I want to see this letter that those freaks sent you.’

‘I...I ... tore it up,’ Harry admitted in a low voice.

‘Another one came, Harry,’ Dudley said thrusting it towards his father, ‘just after you went into the cupboard.’

Vernon snatched the opened letter from his son and read it furiously, while Harry stared at the ground. He read the letter all the way through before glancing at the trembling boy in front of him.

Clumsily his hand shot out and gave the cringing boy a rough pat on the shoulder.

‘This is good, you understand me, boy?’ He jabbed a fat finger at the letter in his right hand. ‘This is what we have been waiting for all these years. You’ll go to that place and learn from them how to control your freaky powers. So you can stop using them, once and for all.’

No! In complete anguish Harry shook his head furiously.

‘Please, no!’ His voice was a cracked whisper from dry lips. ‘Please don’t make me go there. I hardly do those things at all anymore. I’ll be good. I promise. Please don’t send me away.’

‘Harry.’ His aunt told him sternly but not unkindly. ‘Don’t make your uncle angry. You know we wouldn’t send you there if it wasn’t the absolutely last resort but after what you did last Christmas we don’t have any choice in the matter do we?’

With a sob, Harry delved back into his cupboard. His uncle shook his head and took the letter with him into the kitchen. Petunia hurried after him, keen to begin discussing how they would organise her nephew's trip away.

Alone in the hall way Dudley knocked lightly on the cupboard door.

‘Harry?’

He heard a sound of a sniff and a muffled sob before Harry responded. ‘Go away!’

‘Harry.’ Dudley glanced at the cupboard door handle in front of him but didn’t dare to use it. Harry didn’t always react well if he was disturbed when he was upset and he didn’t want to get him into any more trouble. Instead he lowered his face so it was next to the door.

‘It’ll be all right, you know, Harry,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You won’t even have to be gone that long. A week or two, a term at most, and they’ll show you what to do to stop it. Then you can come home.’

There was more sniffing and muffled crying before he heard an eventual response. When it came it was very quiet, barely above a whisper which was just as well considering what would have happened if his parents had overheard.

‘I won’t go, not to that place full of those freaks! I won’t go, they can’t make me.’

‘Harry hush, Dad’s only in the kitchen! Listen. Don’t you see this is actually a good thing? They’ll show you how to stop doing magic,’ Dudley said the forbidden word in a whisper, they’d both be in trouble if that was overheard. ‘You’ll be normal! You won’t be a freak anymore and I’ll be able to play with you outside the house and everything! Don’t you want to stop looking strange, blowing things up and making Dad angry?’

A sniff was followed by a tentative, ‘Yes.’

‘And to stop being dangerous to everyone else?’

‘I can’t help that! It just happens when I’m hurt and I can’t stop it.’ Harry protested in a louder voice.

Dudley glanced towards the kitchen, but his parents were concentrating on their own conversation. They were ok.

‘Yes, yes I know,’ he said soothingly. ‘But you want to be able to not do those things don’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘So you’re going to have to go, Harry.’

Harry heard the note of finality in his cousins voice as he walked away, leaving him to stay in his cupboard. Shifting back to lean against the wall he decided he’d probably sleep here tonight. He didn’t have the heart to go out for dinner, even though his aunt and uncle would probably let him eat as if he hadn't been sent to the cupboard this time.

Alone in the dark Harry gradually felt himself begin to calm down and register the sense in Dudley’s argument. He had to sort himself out once and for all. It would be terrible, simply awful to have to go to that place... Hogwarts and be surrounded by people who would proudly use what he knew were the very worse traits in his character. But he would be strong. He wouldn’t allow himself to be influenced by their freakery or magic. He would learn how to turn it off and then he'd leave straight away. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to stay more than a day or two.

***

One month later

***

As the 4th of September dawned Harry lay awake in his bed. He’d been tossing and turning since the early hours of the morning, his stomach knotted into one huge mass of fear and apprehension. The dreaded day had arrived. Today his Uncle would drop him off at Kings Cross Station for him to catch the train to that place. There was no escaping it. He was about to face his worse fears.

Half past six and the alarm on Harry’s wrist watch started to beep. He hurried to jump out of bed and prepare breakfast for the rest of his family. It was expected of him and today would be no exception. In any case, he wanted to do the lion’s share of the chores around the place to make up a little for being such a dreadful burden to his relatives. As long as he’d been old enough to remember Harry had felt immeasurably grateful for them taking him in despite his grotesque disposition.

Absorbed in his thoughts Harry set to work in the kitchen on auto-pilot. He sliced several thick slices of bread and set them aside ready for toasting. He set plates, cutlery, cups, saucers and milk upon the table as quietly as he could so as not to disturb the rest of his family in case they were still sleeping. Harry had learnt to organise himself well in the kitchen over the years. He multi-tasked, scrambling eggs while the bacon sizzled and kettle boiled.

It wasn’t until the whole family was seated around the table and he was sat beside them cradling a glass of milk in his hands that a voice interrupted his thoughts.

‘Why aren’t you eating?’ his aunt demanded having noticed the empty plate which lay in front of him.

‘I don’t know,’ he mumbled before taking a slice of toast.

‘Well go on,’ his uncle told him, shoving the dish of eggs towards him, ‘don’t waste good food.’

Obediently Harry added some eggs to his plate and forced himself to take a bite. They might have been cardboard in his mouth, he chewed slowly before washing the mouthful down with a gulp of milk.

‘We’ll need to set off at nine o’clock,’ his uncle told him, ‘so make sure you’re ready.’

Harry nodded, taking another small bite and praying that his churning stomach would let him keep his breakfast down. It wasn’t as if it would take him long to pack. His aunt and uncle had decided there was little point in buying Harry books and uniform seeing as he wouldn’t be staying at Hogwarts for long. Not that they would have even have considered venturing into the Magical part of London, Diagon Alley, as the letter had suggested.

***

After dropping Harry at the station, Vernon drove back to Little Whining in an uncharacteristically contemplative mood. Although he liked to think of himself as a man’s man and above taking notice of any emotional mumbo-jumbo he’d almost found himself feeling sorry for his nephew when he’d left him outside the station.

He’d remembered how Petunia had comforted Dudley’s plaintive wailings when he’d started at Smeltings and had almost wished she’d came with them today. Not that she’d have accepted tears from Harry in any case. After all it was somehow different when it was your own son, and in any case it was best to ignore Harry’s emotions-just in case.

In spite of all of this Vernon had felt slightly moved as he’d left the skinny eleven year old gripping his rucksack in a white knuckled fist. The boy had looked utterly terrified, as well he might, considering the oddballs and rum sorts he’d been about to meet. Why, Vernon thought grimly, I couldn’t drive away soon enough, no one would want to be at the station with those monsters milling about...

Well there was nothing to be done. Harry was going to the only place that could possibly hope to sort him out. Vernon comforted himself as usual by telling himself he’d done the right thing by the boy and looked after him far better than any freak could hope to expect.

***

Vernon had only been home for a couple of hours, and was sat with his feet propped up in front of the telly, taking advantage of the half day he’d taken off work, when the doorbell rang. Petunia was out at one of her coffee mornings so he was forced to get up himself.

Grumbling he lumbered over to the door and opened it, his eyes widening in disbelief at the figure on the doorstep.

‘You!’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘I’ve just drove you all the way to the other side of London and now you’re back again!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said in a small voice, tears glistening in his emerald eyes. ‘I don’t mean to be a nuisance but I missed the train...’

Wham. A blow to his jaw from his uncle’s clenched fist made him stagger against the wall.

‘Liar! You waited till I drove away and then set off back here. DIDN’T YOU?!’

Harry’s hand flew to cradle his sore cheek, even as he mentally acknowledged that he deserved the blow. He certainly hadn’t tried to catch the train. It wasn’t like he could have caught it even if he’d wanted to. He didn’t have a clue what Platform 9 ¾ meant and he’d also had no intention of finding out. He’d sat down despairingly outside Kings Cross Station as soon as his Uncle’s car had turned the corner. After forty minutes he’d spent every penny he had to catch a bus most of the way back to Little Whining. He’d walked the last mile, dreading seeing his uncle but knowing he had to face him.

His uncle grabbed his collar, shaking him sharply.

‘After everything we’ve done for you. This is how you repay us?!’ He released Harry abruptly causing him to fall against the wall again.

‘I can’t go there...I don’t want to be with those people,’ he whispered not daring to meet his uncle’s eyes.

‘You little...’

 Vernon socked his nephew again, this time in the stomach; Harry inhaled sharply from the pain.

‘...freak...’

He shook him again.

‘We’ve put up with you for all these years, fed you clothed despite you acting like a disgusting freak and now when you finally get the chance to learn how to stop it you dare to refuse...’

Harry felt like his teeth were rattling in his head.

‘What on earth?!’ Arriving back from her coffee morning Petunia was brought up short by the scene in front of her. Vernon was bright red in the face, breathing heavily from his exertion. Harry was a deathly pale apart from an angry mark on his chin.

Vernon let Harry go again.

‘This little shit thinks he can refuse to go to school!’

‘Harry,’ his aunt sounded immensely irritated.

 ‘He...thinks...wrong!’ His uncle shook him again.

‘Vernon, stop it. Stop it, quickly!’ Petunia cried.

His uncle let followed his wife’s glance at the loose pane of glass in the front door which had begun vibrating slightly.

He released Harry as if he was burning hot.

‘See this is what I mean!’ Vernon jabbed his thumb towards the door.

‘I’ll... I’ll go to my cupboard?’ Harry suggested shakily.

‘You do that,’ his uncle ground out.

***

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon lying in his cupboard, focusing all his efforts on reigning in his emotions. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there. At some point he managed to drift into an uneasy sleep which he was woken from by a sharp rap on the cupboard door.

‘Harry! You need to come out here,’ his uncle’s voice sounded uncomfortable.

Harry soon realised why when he obediently stepped out.

A stranger- a tall, willowy, grey haired woman dressed in a high necked navy jumper and dark grey cloak was stood in their hall way. Harry dropped his eyes abruptly to the floor.

‘May I ask why the child was in the cupboard?’ The woman demanded in a pronounced Scottish accent.

‘Because he didn’t want to go to your school,’ Vernon replied staring back at her defiantly.

‘I see,’ her tone of voice made it obvious that she clearly didn’t understand or approve of Harry’s relatives at all.

In a softer, warmer voice she turned to Harry.

‘Well, Harry, my name is Professor McGonagall and I have come to take you to Hogwarts, seeing as you didn’t manage to catch the train. You’d better get your things.’

For a crazy moment Harry dared to glance pleadingly at his aunt and uncle.

‘Harry. You’ll do as she says,’ his uncle told him threateningly.

Reluctantly Harry fetched his backpack from beside the front door.

McGonagall frowned. ‘But where are the rest of your things?’

‘This is all he needs,’ Petunia told her firmly.

McGonagall didn’t even bother to grace that comment with a response as she took the backpack and peered inside.

‘I take it you haven’t purchased the items on your list, Harry?’ she asked. ‘Have you at least managed to obtain your wand?’

Harry, his aunt and uncle all winced in unison at her casual reference to magic.

McGonagall sighed.

‘I can see we are going to miss the sorting completely at this rate...’ she said distractedly. ‘Everything else we can order by owl but you will need to be present at Ollivander’s... Come along Harry.’

‘Go on, Harry,’ his uncle told him. ‘Write to us when you’ve managed to learn something. And no more running back here till you have, do you hear me?’

Harry nodded solemnly and followed the lady out of the house.

***

Barely half an hour later McGonagall side-along apparated Harry to the gates outside Hogwarts.

Bewildered, dizzy and nauseous Harry stumbled onto his knees trying not to retch. This was the second time the professor had used that apparation thing on him and it was simply awful. First she’d taken him to see someone called Ollivander to get a wand, and there’d been no end of fuss about a Phoenix feather one being the only one which would suit him. Harry just found the whole thing sickening. He’d hoped that none of the wands would match him and the professor would decide he couldn’t be a wizard after all. Unfortunately he’d had no such luck.

Then the professor had tried to speak to him about his parents. He’d soon put a stop to that. Yes he knew all about them and how they’d died. From another wizard hurting them. From magic. He told her he didn’t want to talk about it and that was the truth. It sickened him utterly to think about it.

‘Are you alright, Harry?’ McGonagall sounded genuinely concerned as she helped him up.

‘Fine,’ he muttered.

‘We’ll need to go straight to the Headmasters,’ McGonagall told him as she pointed her wand with a blasé air at the gate which swang open.

Harry stared wide-eyed before shaking his head slightly and following her through.

‘The other new students will already have been sorted into the different Hogwarts houses,’ she told him as they walked up the long driveway to the imposing castle which loomed before them.

‘Of course, we all know which house you’re bound to be in but for forms sake we will have to go through the process...’

‘Come along, Harry,’ McGonagall said softly.

***

Several staircases later, and down a long corridor eventually they seemed to have arrived at their destination outside an enormous painting which hung on a bare wall.

‘Sugar-mice,’ McGonagall suddenly announced inexplicably.

 The portrait shifted aside.

‘Come along.’

Through the gap behind the portrait another staircase led to a door which McGonagall opened to reveal a large room where an elderly, man was sat behind a desk.

‘Ah.’

The man stood up when he saw them. He had a long white beard and his hair nearly reached his waist. His blue eyes twinkled as he stood up to greet them.

‘Harry this is the Headmaster:  Professor Dumbledore.’

 ‘Professor McGonagall. Harry. I’m very glad that you have arrived in one piece. We were most concerned when you missed the train.’

‘Are we going to sort him now?’ McGonagall asked.

‘I think that’s best. Would you be so kind as to do the honours and ask Severus, Pomona and Filius to step through for a moment?’

McGonagall nodded and headed towards the fireplace at the other end of the room.

‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I knew your parents very well in the past.’

‘Oh,’ Harry didn’t have anything to say to that.

‘You look just the image of your father, although you have do have your mother’s eyes.’

Harry’s mouth went dry. Luckily at that moment he was distracted by a roar of sound from the fireplace and a tall, dark haired man stepped out of the fire, irritably brushing soot off his sleeve.  

‘Really Headmaster.’ The man said sourly, his eyes narrowing as he glanced towards Harry. ‘I hardly think all this fanfare is necessary. I’m sure we all know where the hat will place him.’

‘Now, now, Professor Snape.’

Another roar and a plump lady with dark hair stepped out the fire. Harry stared agog.

The Headmaster reached behind his desk to fetch a battered looking hat and as he did a third rush revealed a tiny old man.

Harry was now feeling totally overwhelmed. The Headmaster handed him the hat and all the adults gathered around with the exception of the sour man who hung back a few feet as if he didn’t want to be part of whatever they were doing.

Harry held the hat in confusion. Everyone was staring at him expectantly.

Feeling worse than ever, Harry gingerly placed the hat on his head and immediately heard it talking to him.

 Hmphf.  Just as I thought huge ambition against near impossible odds the hat mused. You’re driven by a burning desire for success. Well this will not be easy and yet it does seem is the only real option as things stand.

For Harry this meant very little. All of the houses were equally disagreeable to him. For the adults who were gathered around him the decision seemed to have a far greater impact. The expression of complete shock upon Professor McGonagall’s countenance was beaten only by the utter outrage on the tall, dour faced man.

‘This...’ he said in a slow, disdainful tone, ‘has got to be some sort of mistake.’

‘Alas Slytherin!’ the plump lady chortled. ‘Well, well, well. Who would have thought it? I think we always knew the-boy-who-lived was scarcely destined for our houses,’ she glanced at the tiny man beside her, ‘but I for one certainly didn’t expect this.’

Flitwick shared a smile with her as he headed back towards the fireplace.

‘Indeed. Most unexpected, but then I suspect that is one quality we will be seeing in droves from Mr Potter here. Good evening, Headmaster, Professors.’

Standing on tiptoe to dip his hand into a small box upon the mantelpiece the small man seemed to throw something at the fire before stepping into it.

Seemingly oblivious to the glares the tall, sour man was sending her the plump woman also headed for the fire.  

As soon as they were gone McGonagall pleaded with the headmaster.

‘We could try the hat again, Headmaster.’

‘Professor McGonagall, A decision has been taken.’ Dumbledore remonstrated gently although he too seemed to be staring at the hat as if he couldn’t quite fathom its decision.

‘A Potter in Slytherin!’ The other professor muttered darkly to himself. ‘What kind of absurdity is this?’

‘Now, now, Professor Snape.’ Dumbledore chided him softly. ‘I have full confidence in your ability to act professionally and welcome Harry into your house with all the other first years.’

‘Headmaster, resolve this situation, I entreat you.’

‘Severus,’ the slight reproof had hardened slightly in the older wizard’s tone. Harry looked up at this point but immediately wished he hadn’t. It was one thing to hear Snape’s resentful tone and understand his obvious displeasure. It was another to see how much hatred and loathing burned in the black eyes which were glaring at him.

There was a pause while Harry lowered his eyes but could still feel the chill radiating in his direction. Then the Professor spoke again in a dark tone.

‘This is the most ridiculous and untenable situation. It cannot work. He clearly does not belong in my house and I tell you quite plainly that any Godric in the snake pit is likely to be bitten. Of course as that is your decision, Headmaster, I will obviously allow the situation to evolve as it will. Come Potter.’

Turning sharply the professor swept from the room with Harry having to hurry to keep up with him.

As soon as they were outside the headmaster’s room he rounded on Harry who retreated against the cold castle wall.

‘Just what distorted tales did you fabricate in there? What deceitful hyperbole did you use to convince the hat to place you in my house?’

Harry stared at him blankly.

‘I saw you muttering, Potter! Having a conversation with the hat. Why on earth would it place you in Slytherin when you are so plainly ill-suited to my house? Give me one good reason! What lies did you feed it?’

Harry shook his head wordlessly. He didn’t know anything about Slytherin apart from that he obviously wasn’t welcome there. He certainly hadn’t told the hat to put him there.

Snape loomed over him relentlessly, ‘what did it tell you, boy. Tell me!’

 ‘It said just said something about... about me having twisted logic, ill-founded loyalty and hampered bravery ...’ Harry flushed slightly, ‘so that meant I had to be in Slytherin.’

Snape’s dark eyes seemed to narrow even further and he set his lips in a tight, grim line before stalking towards a narrow stone staircase at the end of the corridor. Harry had to practically run to keep up this time. The rest of their journey was a relentless journey along numerous dark, damp corridors until they eventually drew to a stop outside a huge oil portrait with Harry panting slightly.

Snape muttered something under his breath and an apologetic looking man in old fashioned clothes appeared in the portrait all of a sudden. Harry barely had time to stare before the portrait disappeared and Snape stepped through.

‘Come,’ he snapped at Harry.

‘Where- where are we?’

Harry stepped through and stared at the enormous plush room which had several dark green sofas clad with silver and green striped cushions. Book shelves surrounded the walls at the far end of the room next to polished wooden desks. The whole impression was of a richly furnished room where no expense had been spared.

‘Slytherin common room,’ Snape said shortly in a harsh tone. ‘You will sleep in the dormitory which is first on the left there,’ he pointed to a corridor at one side of the room. ‘You will not leave either the common room or your dormitory before breakfast time tomorrow. If any prefect tells you anything in the meantime they will expect unquestioned obedience from you always, as do I.’

Harry nodded numbly, starting to move towards the dorm.

‘One more thing, Potter,’ Snape loaded Harry’s surname with such emphasis that it seemed like the most ghastly insult. ‘Most people in this establishment seem to think that you are someone special. Unfortunately most people are also fools. I will be watching your every move, so do not think that your subterfuges will be effective with me, I know your type only too well. Step out of line and I will be waiting, remember that.’

Harry nodded slightly, his expression utterly blank as he made his way to his dormitory.

Stop staring at me!

Harry had been in the dormitory for less than an hour and already he felt like he couldn't take it. There was nowhere to hide in here. No place to be alone.

The other boys had tried to talk to him at first but given up eventually. Now they were just talking among themselves, but every few minutes their eyes darted back over to him as though their questions might start again at any moment.

Bewildering questions. Questions he had no idea how to answer. Questions that didn't even make any sense.

"Are you Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?"

"Is it true that you grew up with mudbloods?"

"Were you surprised to be sorted into Slytherin? Everyone thought you'd go to Gryffindor."

"You'd have hated that though, wouldn't you? Being with a bunch of ill-bred, stupid oafs?"

"Mother says all Gryffindors are a bunch of stinking, blood traitors, no sense of pride at all... hang on, what in Merlin's name is that?"

Harry'd glanced down at the biro in his hand. Were they being sarcastic?

"I'm just writing a letter," he'd mumbled shortly.

"So it's a kind of muggle-quill?" The boy had persisted, "but where's your ink pot?"

And later, "what do you mean a post-box?"

***

He'd ignored them in the end. Muttering that he needed to finish writing, hoping that they'd leave him alone. After a little while they'd got the message although the staring had continued.

Harry wrote feverishly, focusing on his family and normality was the only thing which was keeping him sane at the moment. He knew his Uncle and Aunt wouldn't be able to cope with hearing about the unnatural things which had happened today, so he didn't mention any of that. Instead Harry scrawled copious pages, somewhat incoherently, about how much he missed them. He promised to behave perfectly when he got home, so they'd never need to send him away again.

***

"I'm going to nox the candle now, Harry. Just use lumos if you're staying up."

Harry looked up from his letter, his fingers stained with ink from his frantic writing. A moment later the room was cast in darkness.

They were obviously ready to sleep then. He had no idea what the boy had been talking about... lumos...nox, it sounded like gibberish to him.

Harry sighed and silently changed in the darkness, groping around to find his pyjamas. He would leave going to the loo and brushing his teeth till the morning rather than stumbling around the unfamiliar room.

Lying down on the bed Harry did his best to will himself to sleep.

***

Over an hour later Harry eventually had to admit to himself that it was hopeless.

He was never going to manage to sleep here, not surrounded by them. Considering all the magic he'd witnessed them perform so casually during the evening it was no wonder he felt like he was lying down in the midst of a ticking time any case, he was used to sleeping in his cupboard, more often than not, and the large dormitory seemed huge and alien to him.

Harry clutched the reassuring bulk of his note pad through his pillow. He knew his biro was next to his bed, within reach. Perhaps he could write some more, despite the darkness?

He'd just decided against this course of action, unable to bear the thought of wasting the thin pad of paper which he'd been given for Christmas on illegible writing, when his eyes were drawn to the thin crack of light creeping under the door. Hadn't the professor said he was allowed to be in his room or the common room? Perhaps he could creep out and write out there?

***

A couple hours later Harry eventually fell asleep, forming a crumpled heap on top of his notepad in front of the dying embers of the common room fire.

***

A rough shake from his head of house brought Harry abruptly out of his slumber. Startled he automatically sprang to his feet, away from Snape. He was half asleep but managed to stammer out an apology all the same.

"What on earth do you think you are doing?" the tall, dour man loomed over him, his voice menacing.

Muddled by sleep, for a moment Harry struggled to remember where he was.

"I...uh...I'm sorry Sir, I ...uh...um."

"Very eloquent, Potter," Snape snarled, "answer the question!"

As the events of the day before flooded back to him Harry was under the distinct impression that the professor would be yelling at him now, if it wouldn't have woken the other students.

"I just wanted to write a letter to my relatives, I'm sorry I fell asleep out here," he said in a small voice.

"You certainly will be," the professor promised darkly snatching up the crumpled mass of papers and noticing with distaste that the boy's face and hands were smeared with ink. "Why didn't you write this in your dormitory?"

"It was dark. I was using the light from the fire..."

"You will stay in your room at night time, Potter! Have I not already told you that I won't allow your flagrant disobedience?"

Harry dipped his head respectfully. The Professor had actually told him he could go in the dorm or the common room, but it was understandable that he was angry. After all, everyone else was asleep and Harry knew full well that being different was one of the things that made people hate him.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Harry snapped his head back up immediately.

"Sorry, Sir."

"You conceited, self-satisfied little fool," the man's voice was icy. "We'll see if a week's detention makes any inroads into how clever you think you are. "

"Yes, sir."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go to bed!"

Harry hastily spun towards his dormitory.

"Oh, Potter," Snape called after him, tossing the crumpled wad of paper towards him. "You wouldn't want to forget this now would you? I only hope your drivel is worth the trouble it's caused."

Harry caught the letter deftly and hesitated for a moment.

"Sir?"

The black stare seemed to bore into him, but Harry screwed up his courage to ask the one question which had been plaguing him all evening.

"How can I send a letter home? The others told me there aren't any post boxes here..."

"No doubt they also told you that we use owls, Potter? If you had deigned to read the official correspondence you would have realised that it was suggested that you consider purchasing one. As through your ignorant vapidness you have failed to do so you will simply have to make do with the school owls."

"I can't..." Harry said at once, before trying to frame a more polite explanation "that is... my Uncle would rather that I didn't send letters by Owl...they're used to Royal Mail, you see..."

"What I see," Snape interrupted in a scathing tone, "is a self-absorbed, spoilt, little boy who thinks that his Professors should run around in circles setting things to his liking. You will use the school owls, Potter, or go without post. Indeed, a little less hero worship and attention would no doubt be of benefit in bringing you down to size. Your affected, puerile nature disgusts me and will be stopped. Is that clear?"

"Yes Sir, sorry," Harry muttered towards his bare feet.

"I said that you are to do me the courtesy of looking at me when you speak," the professor ground out.

"Yes Sir," Harry said meekly forcing himself to look up. "I'll be good. I won't do anything else wrong."

"More lies Potter!? I'd advise you not to make promises you won't keep," Snape said sharply. "Now get out of my sight before I lose my patience with you."

***

Harry didn't manage to sleep again that night.

***

The next morning Harry toyed with his scrambled eggs at breakfast, he couldn't get rid of the panicky feeling in his chest as he watched the witches and wizards around him.

The first lesson was charms, where Harry did his best to sink into the background. All the other children appeared excited and eager to learn.

Harry couldn't stop himself taking a sharp breath in as he watched the other students practising lumos and nox, charms which were quick and easy according to some of the children from his own house. All the other children, including those from non-magical families, were having a go. And many of them managed the spells.

Harry by contrast, sat on his own, silent and wide eyed. He was appalled at the thought of joining in with their abnormal behaviour, yet too terrified to dare to look away.

***

A transfiguration lesson followed charms, during which Minerva McGonagall watched Harry closely. She still couldn't believe that he wasn't in Gryffindor like James and Lily, and the fact that he had ended up in Slytherin of all places...well, it simply beggared belief.

She'd also had an alarming conversation with Severus that morning during breakfast. He'd been complaining about the boy- ranting that he was an arrogant, conceited child who was already causing trouble.

"The insufferably spoilt brat started to suggest that I run around delivering his post," Severus had said. "Although, of course, I put a stop to that soon enough."

"Of course, owling home won't be easy for him," she'd replied thoughtfully. "Those relatives of his seem to be quite the worse kind of muggles: ignorant and scared senseless of magic."

"So much the better, it will do him some good to learn that the entire world doesn't resolve around him," Severus had sneered unpleasantly.

"You'd do well to remember that he's not his father," she'd told him. "And I would've thought you of all people would appreciate his predicament. How would your father have reacted if you had dared to owl home from Hogwarts?"

"We're not talking about me." Severus had replied coldly. "Although in any case you have proved my point; I didn't communicate with my parents during term-time and was none the worse for it."

An assertion that could be disputed, McGonagall had mused to herself. Still it was obvious that Severus' mind was made up. She would simply have to take Harry under her wing. She would have done so anyway, for James' and Lily's sake if nothing else.

***

At the end of transfiguration lesson Professor McGonagall asked Harry to remain behind. Which he did, albeit reluctantly.

"I'm sorry..." he started as soon as the door swung shut behind the last student.

"For what?" she asked.

Anxiously the boy's eyes drifted across to the table where he'd been sat. Other children had managed to transfigure match sticks into pins. Most had at least made a feasible an attempt.

"I wasn't very good..."

"Hush, Harry, you're not in trouble," she assured him. "That was your first transfiguration lesson. You only got your wand yesterday; success will come given practise and patience. My own first attempt at transfiguration was much worse."

He glanced at her in question wondering what she'd class as worse. His match was completely the same as at the start of the lesson.

"I was somewhat younger than you, and had the misguided idea of trying to transfigure the candle on my bedroom dresser into a wax figurine... ended up with wax everywhere. Terrible mess," she said crisply, "although of course I was only seven. In any case, the reason I wanted to speak to you was about your relatives. Professor Snape mentioned that you wanted to write to them but that they wouldn't be very pleased to receive your post by owl. Well, I have a solution to propose."

Harry looked at her eagerly. As soon as he'd mastered controlling his magic he could write home. When the letter was delivered his relatives would allow him to return. He couldn't wait.

"Arabella Figg, your neighbour is connected to the floo network. It is perfectly simple for me to pass her any letters and she can hand deliver them and any replies."

Mrs Figg?! Old Mrs Figg from down the road... Harry's jaw dropped.

"She's a-a-a w-witch?" he said weakly. He would never have believed it.

"Well, not quite. She is what we would call a squib, meaning she was born into a magical family although she is not magical herself."

Everywhere. These freaks... this madness is everywhere.

Even when he got home, she would be there reminding him. It made his head feel faint to consider it.

"So just pass the letter to me when you've finished it..."

No!

Shaking his head wordlessly, Harry backed away towards the door.

He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't subject his family to anymore of them. They'd been through enough already.

"I need to go..." he said. "I'm late."

Puzzled, Professor McGonagall watched him hurry away. Something was very wrong with Harry Potter.

***

It turned out that Harry's hurried departure meant that he soon caught up with the other first years on their way out to their first flying lesson. As soon as they were all lined up beside a broomstick and given instructions by Madam Hooch, Harry was disturbed to realise that he could feel the broom reacting to him. It took all his concentration to make sure it stayed down on the ground and didn't rise towards his hand straight away.

Sickened, Harry looked around at the others. All the children were eagerly stood over their broomstick with the exception of one of the Slytherins from Harry's dorm who was looking at the broom at his feet with an expression of disgust.

"How can they expect us to use these things?" the boy complained to another Slytherin beside him.

For a moment Harry felt a moments relief.

I'm not the only one who doesn't want to use them.

"Why don't you want to use them, Draco?" the boy larger boy asked.

"Use your head, Goyle. I haven't flown on anything quite so rudimentary since I was about eight years old. They're simply not up the speeds and flying that I'm used to. Alas, I suppose one has to put up with them, but I will be owling my father, I'm sure he can't realise how shocking the school brooms are these days,"the slim blond boy replied disdainfully before making his broom hover in front of him with a practised air.

Harry turned away deeply troubled.

Everyone here is convinced that magic is exciting and good. If only I can find a way to sort myself out then perhaps some help could be found for them?

***

Lunch followed the flying lesson and Harry ate barely anything. He sat between Draco and another Slytherin, a huge, broad boy, and contented himself with stirring his food and moving it around the plate.

Harry's stomach began to growl in protest.

"Aren't you going to eat that?" the large boy asked.

Harry shrugged, "not hungry."

A lie of course but completely necessary.

"I'll have it then," the boy decided scooping the slice of quiche off Harry's plate and onto his, quickly followed by his potatoes.

"Hurry up, Goyle," Draco hissed. "It's potions next and I wanted to get there early."

"What's the rush?" Goyle replied with his mouth full.

"It's potions," Draco replied as though that explained everything. "Anyway Severus expects us to be on top of it. We're in classes with Gryffindor and need to show them up for the dross they are."

***