The monitoring alarm chirped contently to itself, indicating that all in Slytherin House were in bed, sleeping. Not so its Head. Severus couldn't sleep. He was still preoccupied by the number one surprise of the day--namely that the Boy Who Lived had somehow ended up in his House. Even Albus was shocked. He had in fact called Severus in for a conference after the first years' curfew, expressing his concerns about Potter being Sorted into the Snakes' Den. Snape was still bristling over that. Even Dumbledore still held prejudice against Slytherin House, small wonder its members felt so besieged.

No matter, he decided, staring into his tumbler of firewhiskey. He would ensure that Potter's reign of fame would end here. End now. He had no doubt that he'd been spoilt by his relatives. How could he not? They knew what he was, what he had done. Voldemort was dead--true death, no matter the fevered worries and whispers of frightened children. The Wizengamot and Department of Magical Law Enforcement had confirmed it together, Albus leading them all. He Who Must Not Be Named was dead.

Knowing that, you'd think the hubbub around Potter would have dimmed a bit by now, but no, of course not. Not the famous Golden Boy. He looked like his father, Severus noted with a sneer. Those round glasses, patched together with tape [careless child that one must be, to have broken them like that]. The messy black hair that stuck up in every direction. It seemed that he had inherited only his eyes from Lily. Those at least were the same pure emerald green.

Severus took another sip, feeling the magically-enhanced alcohol burn all the way down his throat. Tomorrow was the first day of classes. Right after lunch, he had the first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins in the same class. No matter how much he protested to Albus that doing so was a disaster waiting to happen, the Headmaster's eyes would brighten with that damnable twinkle and he would insist that the Houses be together, to "promote House unity." Snape rather thought it was more likely to promote an impossibly large Potions explosion.

He still had no idea what he would do when the Potter boy proved himself a James clone, but he supposed that would have to wait for the morrow. With a final sip, he set the glass down and made his way to bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry woke up as soon as Nott's alarm went off, unlike the boy it belonged to, who shut it off after a moment and went back to sleep. For a moment, Harry was terrified, not knowing where he was. He knew he was not in his cupboard, but that was all. Had Uncle Vernon finally followed through on his threat and sold him?

But no. After a few panicky moments, he finally remembered where he was. Hogwarts. A school for...freaks like himself. No, they weren't like him, they were better than him. Witches and wizards who could practice magic. He wished he didn't have to. One wave of his new wand and they'd know what he was. That he was nothing more than a pitiful freak who needed hard discipline to be kept in line. No matter how much he tried to obey Uncle Vernon's rules, he always slipped up. How was he ever to keep Professor Snape's rules?

Well, lying in bed certainly wasn't keeping them. He got out of bed as quietly as he could, going into the bathroom to get ready for the day. He allowed himself only a three-minute cold shower, scrubbing himself briskly and trying to ignore the pain his lingering bruises and scrapes gave him. They weren't so bad, anyway. He got into his new school uniform, wincing at the cost it had been. He didn't deserve to have that much money spent on him, even if it were fanciful wizard money.

None of his new dormmates were up yet, so Harry carefully retrieved his school bag and went downstairs to the common room. For the moment, he had it to himself. He realized why when he looked at the clock. It was only 5:15. Oh well, he shrugged. He was used to getting up early. He knew he couldn't leave yet, however--Professor Snape had been quite clear that first years were not allowed to leave for breakfast until 6:30 at the earliest.

Harry took out his new Potions book and examined it with great interest. The Dursleys hadn't let him look at his school books until the week just before term started. They were afraid the freakiness would find a new hold on him, start expressing itself in more ways. Harry understood their fear. He was afraid of it himself, but hopefully being in this school, he would learn to control himself.

One could hope, anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Breakfast was an unmitigated disaster in Harry's eyes. The redheaded boy he had met on the train yesterday refused to even look at him. The bushy-haired girl did, but she'd been Sorted into Ravenclaw and that was across the entire Hall from him. And at his own table--his fellow Housemates either glared at him like he'd kicked their puppy, or stared at him with avid curiosity, clearly dying to ask questions. Malfoy kept opening his mouth, only to be elbowed by the same boy who'd shut him up at dinner. Harry still didn't know his name, but he was profoundly grateful toward the boy. He didn't want to hear Malfoy's questions.

On top of that, on the way out, an older Slytherin--perhaps a fourth or fifth year--deliberately dumped pumpkin juice down the front of Harry's robes so that he was forced to splutter and hasten to the dormitory to change. It almost made him late for his first Charms lesson. He didn't know why some of the older Slytherins hated him so. His freakishness wasn't visible, was it? Or could everyone tell? Was it as blatant as the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead that all he was and would ever be was a freak? Harry dug his nails into his palms hard as they lined up for Charms. He didn't stop until he felt his skin sting and a tiny bit of blood seep out. Then calm spread over him like a relaxing flood. There. Now he could pay attention, he hoped.

He was paired up with Nott, the boy who slept next to him. Nott had a very odd twitch in his face and he blinked constantly. Harry felt quite rabbity next to him, but he supposed that it wasn't like the first year could help it.

Flitwick demonstrated the first spell. It was a very minor sort of spell, apparently, meant simply to move an object across the table. They were meant to each stand on opposite sides of their tables and send a button to each other. Theodore was so frustrated after fifteen minutes, he simply prodded the button with his wand until it reached Harry's side.

"Well, you have a try then," Theodore mumbled, his face turning red. Harry had no better luck than his partner. He felt a brief quiver of relief in his stomach. At least his freakishness didn't seem liable to burst out at any moment.

He felt that way through Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts as well. But Harry was ever aware that his first Potions lesson was coming up right after lunch...

And he was not looking forward to it.