"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat shouted to the rest of the Great Hall. Silence met Harry's ears. He swallowed hard, handing the hat back to Professor McGonagall and edging uncertainly toward the table decorated with green and silver. Malfoy, already Sorted, sat there, looking stunned.

"Go on, child," Professor McGonagall whispered encouragingly before calling the next name. He hurried over, sliding into a seat at the very end of the table. He hunched into his robes, feeling desperately small and pitiful. He'd been more than half afraid that the Sorting Hat would pronounce him without magic at all and he would be sent back to the Dursleys. He didn't want to be sent back. He felt like a horrible, ungrateful brat for even thinking that, when he knew that they had been kind enough to take him in and feed and clothe him, regardless of his freakishness. But the thought nevertheless would not leave.

"So how did YOU end up a Snake," Malfoy demanded rudely. An older boy with a pale, pointy face nudged him sharply, making the blonde ferrety first year gasp and stick his bottom lip out in a sulky pout.

"Dunno," Harry mumbled to his hands. The Headmaster was talking now, but he couldn't pay attention to the words. It felt like cotton wool was filling his head. He thought it might be because of the last blow Uncle Vernon had dealt him--a good swift blow to the top of his head before he was dropped off at the train station. He'd bitten his tongue and nearly fallen over. The only reason he didn't was because he knew if he did, Uncle Vernon would be forced to beat him further.

He was very lucky that he was allowed to go to this school, anyway. Hagrid had called his freakishness magic, labeled him a wizard. The wandmaker had declared him someone capable of doing great things. Harry felt very confused. He couldn't be a--a wizard. He was a freak. A worthless, ungrateful freak who had to expiate the sin of his being born and dumped on his relatives' doorstep by slaving for them since the day he turned six.

When dinner was over, Harry obediently slid off the bench and followed the rest of the first years down to the dungeons. This, apparently, was where their dormitory lay. He had eaten only a piece of toast and drank some pumpkin juice at the Feast. The pumpkin juice was what he really liked. It was sweet. He hardly ever got sweet things.

The Head of Slytherin House was the grim-faced hook-nosed man all in black he had seen at the Head Table. His name was Professor Snape. He glared at Harry the entire time he was going over the House rules. Harry resolved never to break a single one. He knew the type of man Snape was. Like Uncle Vernon. One who would not hesitate to beat the freakishness out of him. He wasn't stupid.

"Potter!" Snape was calling for him to stay behind. Harry stood stock still as the rest of the Slytherins filed out of the common room. Snape stalked closer to him and Harry fought the urge to flinch. He could not show fear--not this early.

"I'm warning you, Potter," Snape said softly, his voice icy with incipient menace. Despite himself, Harry felt his hands begin to tremble and he quickly hid them in the overflowing sleeves of his robes, drawing them into tight fists. "You may be the Golden Boy out there, famous Harry Potter, but in here, you're only a Slytherin first year. And while I don't care to make my punishments public to the rest of Hogwarts, you can be sure that you will be one sorry little boy if you put one toe out of line. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, a little softly but still clearly. He had learned from Uncle Vernon. Mumble and the punishment will be that much worse.

"Go up to your dormitory now, Potter," Snape spat, turning away from him with a billowing of his robes. Harry scampered up the stairs, making his way into the first-year boy's dormitory on cat-like feet.

The room instantly went silent as the other boys turned and stared at him. Harry flushed bright red, quickly going to the only unoccupied bed. A mousy boy named Theodore Nott was his neighbor. Nott gave him a quick, jerky nod of welcome. Harry nodded back. The spell was broken as the other boys resumed readying themselves for bed. Lights-out was in fifteen minutes and no one wanted to be the first to suffer Snape's wrath.

Harry quietly took himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He had gotten a new toothbrush when Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley--mainly because, well, he hadn't had one before. He had a feeling that even freaks were meant to stay clean at this school.

The rustling of his dormmates slowly stilled as Harry tiptoed back into the room and got into bed, drawing the curtains round. Here, he changed into the ratty old tee shirt and pajama bottoms that Dudley had kindly allowed him to have. They were about five sizes too big, at least, but Harry didn't mind. They were clothes. He didn't need any others. He had bought one new "Muggle" outfit that he could wear on the train (he had changed after the Dursleys had dropped him off), and he intended to wear that on the weekends. He didn't want anyone to know that he was a freak, undeserving of food or clothes or hot showers. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had no say here. His ears turned red at the enormous betrayal of his thoughts. Curling up in a tight ball under one of the covers, Harry fell into an uneasy sleep.

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.

The door slammed shut behind Professor Snape as he made a dramatic entrance, robes billowing around him like bat wings. All of the first years jumped but none more so than Harry. He had barely been able to eat a slice of toast at lunch, convinced that if he tried anymore, his stomach would heave all over the table. It didn't help that he wasn't used to much food. The Dursleys had only fed him once a day if he was lucky and then always a very small meal. He'd heard Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon talking once--they only fed him so much to allay suspicion and ensure that he was able to keep working. Harry still thought it was very kind of them. He knew he didn't deserve food.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," Professor Snape's silky voice reached Harry's ears. He frantically pulled out his parchment and began writing down the Potions Professor's speech. It sounded like it might be important later. However, Harry had only had two classes' worth of practice with a quill, and his parchment was soon festooned with ink splotches.

"--Pay attention," Snape's voice snapped, almost right above his head. Harry barely suppressed the jump of terror his professor had startled within him.

"Harry Potter," Snape smiled unpleasantly, his mouth twisting in a smirk worthy of Uncle Vernon at his worst. "Our new...celebrity."

Crabbe and Goyle, two of the more oafish new Slytherins, snickered behind him. Harry could feel his ears turn red. Snape looked like he was dying to take points, but didn't--he never took points off his own House unless it was a matter of dire severity. Having the Boy He Disliked in his House did not count.

Thankfully, the Potions professor ceased at that moment, turning and stalking to the front of the room, where instructions appeared on the blackboard. Oh hell, Harry realized with an internal groan. The board was blurry--his glasses weren't strong enough to allow him to see clearly that far away. He worried his bottom lip nervously with his teeth. He couldn't ask at this point to move closer--there weren't any empty seats. At least he was paired with Nott again.

"What are we making?" he whispered to Theodore under the general rustles and noises of the class copying down the potion instructions and gathering ingredients. Nott shot him a surprised look.

"Boil cure potion," Teddy whispered back. Harry flushed again and nodded a quick thanks.

"Talking in class, Potter?" Snape swooped down on them, making Harry jump.

"Detention."

Harry's mouth dropped open at the blatant unfairness as the swell of conversation around them buzzed in his ears. Then he slumped, defeated.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, staring at the floor. His relatives were right. He was a freak and Professor Snape was the only one who could see it. For now, anyway. He had no doubt that the others in this school would understand soon, and then he would be kicked out, sent back to live with the relatives who despised him. He couldn't blame them. His freakishness contaminated the household, no matter how many cleaning sprays and powders were used on its surfaces. His mere presence, even locked inside the cupboard under the stairs, contaminated it.

Class droned on. It did not get any better for Harry. He had to keep sneaking glances at Theodore's notes to understand what they were supposed to be doing. Their potion was supposed to be a sort of aquamarine blue at this stage. Instead, it was a manky sort of green and smelled unpleasant. Harry actually felt his stomach start to churn and worried he might be sick into their cauldron.

"Terrible even for first years," Snape proclaimed behind them. Harry didn't even flinch this time. He felt too defeated. "Another detention, Potter. In fact...maybe a week's worth of detention will improve that horrible concentration of yours." Harry just nodded. Nott actually looked angry-on his behalf!-but didn't say anything. Probably didn't dare to. If he did, he would be given detention.

A cauldron on the Gryffindor side exploded and Harry reacted with trauma-born reflexes, pushing Theodore further away from the scene and clamoring up on the bench. Green smoke filled the room, and he could see the potion oozing across the floor. A round-faced Gryffindor boy was crying, his face popping up in boils.

"Off to the Hospital Wing, Longbottom," Snape said with a look of weary resignation. "If anyone else has been splashed, please come up front. I will either administer a proper boil cure potion or send you to the Hospital Wing. Class dismissed."

Harry shot out of there with alacrity, feeling his stomach fill with acid. He felt horrible. Stupid. His fingers clenched tightly into his palms as he found an out-of-the-way boys' loo. Locking himself into the very last stall, he sat there and panted, emotions overwhelming him. It was almost as if Uncle Vernon was there, there at Hogwarts, there to yell at him. To inform everyone of what a worthless freak he was.

Gradually, Harry stilled. A blank sort of peace settled over his face. He opened his bag and calmly withdrew a small pen-knife. A quick shove of his sleeves up and the knife was moving steadily across his skin. The blankness remained, even as a thin line of blood oozed across his arm, puddling into his palm.

"There," Harry whispered. He felt better. The emotions had receded. Enough that he could go to History of Magic anyway. He dabbed briskly at the cut with a wad of toilet paper and flushed it away. With his sleeves down, no one would ever know.

When he walked back out and got into line for his next class, he knew that no one had even missed him.

In retrospect, Severus should have realised what his intentions would do to the child. He was already more than well aware of the usual effect the thought of going to the Hospital Wing had on his abused Snakes. It was just...it was Potter...

Harry, he corrected himself firmly as he squatted down and lifted up the boy in his arms. Not his father. He had no desire to be seen walking through the halls of Hogwarts carrying the Boy Who Lived, but it wasn't like it was a difficult trip to his fireplace to Floo through. The child was frightfully light, and he could feel bones pressing against him.

Striding to the fireplace, he tossed in a handful of green powder, and was stepping into the Hospital Wing not a minute later, a still unconscious Harry Potter firmly within his grasp.

"Poppy!" he called, laying the first year down on a bed as Potter stirred, eyelids fluttering weakly. The Mediwitch bustled out of her office, jaw a bit slack in surprise at seeing the Boy Who Lived sprawled out on a bed, and Snape looking rather discomfited beside it.

"Severus?" she asked, wiping her hands on a towel she carried at her belt and drawing her wand. "What is it? What's wrong with Harry?"

"See for yourself," Severus gestured, a bit dryly, toward the now fully awake and cowering Savior of the Wizarding World. The boy looked absolutely petrified, shivering in his too-large robes like he'd caught his death of cold.

"Mr. Potter?" Poppy asked, her voice gentle. "Are you all right?"

Through Harry's panic, he heard the woman ask the question, and he sagged a bit in relief, his response coming automatically.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered, peeking at her through his fringe. He heard his Professor snort beside him, and despite himself, startled.

"The truth, Potter," Professor Snape instructed. Harry's shoulders hunched and he stared down at the rather starchy sheets he found himself lying on.

"I don't know, ma'am," he finally revised his answer, aware it was painfully inadequate and more than half-expecting a blow to the head or back, like Uncle Vernon liked to do when he hadn't answered properly (which was most of the time).

"That's all right, Harry," the woman said with a smile. She looked nothing like Aunt Petunia. "I'm Madam Pomfrey. I'm here to help, all right?" She waved her wand in a very complicated-looking spiral and an odd tingling filled Harry's bones, crinkling his nose and making him feel like he had to pee for a brief, startling moment.

Then her wand was spitting out loads of complicated red squiggles in the air, and the frown between her brows kept getting deeper and deeper, and Harry couldn't stop himself from scooting to the far end of the bed, ready to run.

"What on earth has happened to this child?" Madam Pomfrey exploded, and Harry was gone, nearly flying across the room to end up stuffing himself head-long into a storage cabinet, cramping himself into the tightest ball possible. He couldn't stop trembling, and his ears kept buzzing again, and all he could think of was what a terrible mistake he'd made, letting her do that, letting anyone do that. Obviously he was bad, her reaction certainly couldn't mean he was good, after all. He had to be bad, and oh gods, now he'd run away from her, he was sure to be in even more trouble...!

Harry knew he was hyperventilating, but he couldn't stop, his breathing echoing painfully loud in the confined space, until he heard footsteps, and then the door was eased open, and his Professor was there. The man didn't look angry, though. Just...concerned? And suddenly Harry was too confused to panic anymore.

Severus wanted to shake Poppy as the boy escaped into a storage cupboard. Damn the woman, she knew better than to yell like that around abused children, and from what little he'd managed to understand of the diagnostic results, there was certainly no doubt the boy had been abused!

"I'm sorry, Severus," Poppy said, the corners of her mouth trembling. "I didn't think..."

"That's obvious," Severus sneered. He crossed the room to the cupboard the boy had stuffed himself in, doing his best to sound non-threatening.

"Potter?" he asked, swinging open the door. The boy looked up at him with brilliant green eyes, glazed over with tears. There was a scratch down one cheek that oozed blood, probably from how he'd crammed himself in there. "Would you come out, please? You aren't in trouble."

"You promise, sir?" the boy whispered, in a voice so faint Severus had to strain his ears to catch it.

"Yes," he said curtly. "Madam Pomfrey was...startled at your results, Potter. She was not angry at you."

The child uncurled himself and clambered out of the storage cupboard, still trembling like a leaf, but he made no protest when Severus guided him back to his original spot and helped him climb back onto the bed.

"I apologise, Harry," Poppy said quietly. "Professor Snape is right. I am not angry at you, but I apologise for shouting and making you believe I was."

"It's all right, ma'am," Harry murmured shyly, still peering down at the ground.

"I want you to be able to feel like this is a safe place, Harry," Poppy explained, conjuring up chairs for her and Severus. "It can't be a safe place if I'm frightening you."

Harry only shrugged a little, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"So, Harry," Poppy continued, leaning forward, her smile becoming more encouraging. "Would you like to tell me about your guardians?"