Harry hesitantly approached the stool, heart thumping so loud that he thought that the entire hall must be able to hear it. At last he reached it and sat on it, hastily pulling the Sorting Hat over his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see all the other students staring at him, glaring at him, appraising him, trying to memorize his features. All of a sudden, he felt an odd...pressure, for lack of a better word, bearing down on his brain.

"Oh, my, well this is interesting," a little voice commented. Harry blinked rapidly a few times. A hat was reading his mind. And commenting. Surely this counted as some kind of breach of privacy?

"Well hello to you too, I guess," he responded mentally. "So how does this work? Do you just rummage around in my brain, or..."

The hat seemed to chuckle, if such a thing were possible. "Yes, although that is a rather crude way of putting it. You know, you sound very much like your father was when he was your age."

Harry gasped, letting out a quiet but unmistakable huff of air. "You knew my father? My real one?"

"Child," was the hat's response, "I know every student whom I ever sorted."

"What was he like?" Harry asked, forgetting the other students, and the staff, and everyone else in the hall. He could distinctly feel the hat's amusement.

"I expect that you'll find out for yourself; he's the head of Slytherin house here at Hogwarts."

'What?!"

"Yes, now let me sort you, you don't want everyone thinking you're a hatstall..."

"A hatstall?

"Hmm," the hat said without replying. "You're brave enough to be in Gryffindor, but I don't think you'd be the best fit. Not a bad mind, either- you'd make a good Ravenclaw, but I don't think that's where you want to go. Loyal enough for Hufflepuff- now that's an idea...and Slytherin...you'd fit perfectly into Slytherin...you're a parselmouth, and you have the ambition needed...you would do very well in Slytherin."

"Please not Slytherin," Harry responded, eyes wide. "I want to be in Slytherin really bad, but I'm new to the Wizarding world, and I'm worried about everyone's reactions."

"Child, you shouldn't have to worry about people's reactions to your sorting. Do you truly want to be in Slytherin? You'd do well there..."

"Yes, but-"

"No buts. If you truly want to be in Slytherin, I can put you there."

"I..."

"Or I can do something I haven't done since Halcyon Gryffindor came to Hogwarts."

"What's that?"

The hat raised his? voice, speaking out loud now. "Better be Slytherpuff!"

Complete and total silence fell over the whispering hall. One of the teachers, a tall man with a large nose and long black hair, turned very pale, black eyes widening. A wizard with long white hair and garishly bright robes choked, looking momentarily horrified before a twinkling-eyed and grandfatherly facade dropped over his face again. A short little wizard slid three galleons down to table to a cheerful-looking witch, and the students stared at each other down the long tables, evidently shocked speechless. Finally the witch who had introduced herself as Professor Mcgonagall walked over and took the hat off his head.

"Mr Potter, you may sit at either the Hufflepuff or the Slytherin table- you will meet your heads of house after the feast and they can explain more about your dorm arrangements."

Harry blinked at the her and then at the two tables mentioned, still reeling from the shock of his sorting; whatever had happened was obviously unusual- yet another thing that they would stare at him for. Then he looked back at the tables. Hufflepuff table looked much more cheerful- it was draped with black and butter yellow pennants, and the students looked more welcoming. But the hat had said that his father was the head of Slytherin house, and Harry longed to make the illusive man proud, to prove to him that he was good enough, to make him come back. And so, in the whispering silence, he cautiously walked over to the Slytherin table and sat next to a pretty, if a little aloof, Slytherin girl, making sure that he was as far from the boy from the train (Malfoy, Drace) and his two bodyguards.

Everyone seemed very shocked by his decision, but the sneering Slytherins were starting to smile, as if they had just realized the political advantage of having the Boy-Who-Lived in their house (well, partially in their house). The rest of the hall was just staring and whispering as Harry tried to ignore them- he felt so much like an animal at the British menangeries.

Just then Professor Mcgonagall cleared her throat. "We will now be moving on normally," she said in what was obviously a magically amplified voice, and then called out the next name as if nothing had happened.

Harry simply sat stiffly at the Slytherin table in silence, while the rest of the names were called. After Blaise, Zabini, went into Slytherin, the grandfatherly man at the head table- Harry assumed he was Professer Dumbledore- got up, tapping his glass with a fork to make a chime that rang through the hall.

"Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" he said, before sitting down again. The girl sitting next to him (Greengrass, Daphne) gave a little snort.

"Definitely mad," she muttered, glancing at the head table. "Father was right."

"Who is?" Harry asked, digging for more information.

"Dumbledore, of course," was her answer, she said after a moment, nodding at the eccentric man. Harry might have asked something else, but at that moment the food popped up on the tables, and Harry cast a critical eye over it before carefully collecting some, trying to remember what Aunt Petunia had always told Dudley about manners and watching the other Slytherins to pick up the rest, very self-conscious.

The food was very good, however. Harry spent most of the time watching the other Slytherins and making simple replies to the questions leveled at him- yes, he was looking forward to flying class, no he had not flown before, yes, he had been raised under a rock (that last answer garnered giggles from a few of the others). All and all, it was one of the best days Harry had ever had, even though he had to endure the constant whispers about his sorting, and his looks, and everything about him, and though he had a very nasty headache by the end of the night.

At last, however, the feast ended, and Harry was left staring at the backs of the other Slytherins as they left to their common room. And then two of the teachers- a plump, motherly woman in warm brown robes and the rather sinister-looking teacher he had noted at his sorting. "Mr. Potter," the witch said, when the other looked as though he wasn't going to say anything, "We will be your house heads from now on. I am Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff, and this is Severus Snape, head of Slytherin. We will be your..."

But Harry didn't hear any more. Severus Snape, head of Slytherin. His new head of house. His father. His father was Severus Snape. The man who was currently sneering at him as if he would rather be anywhere but there. He was never, ever going to tell him, Harry resolved grimly, making an effort to refocus.

"Because you have been sorted into two houses," Professor Sprout went on, "you may sleep in either the Hufflepuff or the Slytherin dormitories, and sit at either table. You may also go back and forth between tables, if you wish, although I suggest sticking with one or the other. You will only be permitted to switch dormitories between semesters, or if you feel threatened. Any points taken from you will be divided between the two houses, and any points you win will likewise be divided. You may come to either me or Professor Snape if you need help or advice or anything..."

Professor Snape sneered coldly at this, as if he hoped that he would never be the one approached. Harry felt this heart clench just a little more.

"For now, you will have to choose a dormitory to begin with."

Harry blinked a few times. Choose a dormitory. He knew which one he wanted to choose, but he also knew that he'd never get a chance to even be near Professor Snape if he did not sleep with the Slytherins. And yet he also knew that the headmaster would probably keep more of an eye on him if he slept with the Slythers, and he also didn't like the way some of them were looking at him. And Professor Sprout looked so much more welcoming...but what would his father- no, Professor Snape, he reminded himself- think of him moving in with the Hufflepuffs?

"Well, get on with it," Snape said in a harsh voice. Harry couldn't help but flinch at this.

"Slytherin," he whispered finally. "I want to sleep in Slytherin."

Both of the teachers stared at him, Sprout looking more worried and Snape more calculating.

"Are you sure?" Sprout asked. "You can't just change dorms when you want."

"I'm sure," was Harry's quiet reply. He did not look at Snape.

Harry was soon situated in the Slytherins boys' dorms, with Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Zabini. He had to admit that he was scared. He had known the habits of bullies long enough to know sleep was a very vulnerable time...and he quite regretted the choice he had made. Still, there was no going back, and, if it came to it, he knew that he was experienced enough to avoid being bullied, at least somewhat. And it wouldn't be long, anyway- he just had to hold out until the holidays. And...would Professor Snape notice him, now that he was rooming with the Slytherins?

All too well, as it turned out. He entered and left the Great Hall for each meal feeling uncomfortable black eyes scrutinizing him, and he always seemed to come across the man in the hallways. He usually took points- just enough to show his disapproval (of what, he didn't know)- and not enough to really deplete the Slytherin house point hourglass. Which was a good thing, because only Blaise Zabini of all his dorm mates seemed to want to talk to him. Nott asked the occasional question until he finally seemed to decide that Harry was too boring to talk to, and Malfoy was following the lead of Snape, like most of the rest of the house, and giving him the silent treatment. And Harry doubted Crabbe and Goyle were capable of intelligent expression...

His only other friends so far were Neville Longbottom and the two Slytherin girls in his year, Daphne and Tracy, and he could only talk to Neville in the library or in the halls, except when they partnered in Herbology, because the other Slytherins did not tolerate inter-house communication with Gryffindor house.

His classes, though, seemed to go well, even if he had to borrow some muggleborn orientation pamphlets from Deborah McKay, one of the Hufflepuff prefects- he especially like Charms. He thought he would like DADA too, but the professor, professor Quirrell, was a shy-looking man who stuttered excessively and seemed afraid of his own shadow. Harry didn't like the way he looked at him. Not at all. That man gave him the creeps...and not only because by the third week he was already talking about entrail-expelling curses.

And then it was Friday, and his first Potions class. Even with how cold Snape had been to him so far, Harry was almost bouncing in anticipation. He would be in his father's class!

The enthusiasm lasted only a few moments after Professor Snape entered the classroom, as the man started laying into him because of his supposed "celebrity". Harry sat in silence, head bowed, forcibly calming himself. He would not cry, at least in front of his teacher and housemates. There would be time enough for that later.

But it was so hard. Especially when Snape concluded his absolutely breathtaking introduction by pummeling him with questions that he had no possible way of knowing, using the excuse that Harry hadn't been taking notes, which he certainly had been, as he wanted to do well in Potions.

"Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to and infusion of wormwood?"

"Um, I don't know sir."

"Hmm, apparently fame isn't everything. Let's try again: where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?"

Jewel, on his wrist, muttered: ~Probably in hisss ingredientsss cupboard~ and Harry, who had been flushed with rage, eyes stinging, stifled a giggle. He knew better than to say that, though.

"I don't know sir."

"What might be the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He shouldn't have expected Snape to be anything but cruel, the Dursleys certainly were and they knew they were related to him. "I- I don't know, sir."

Snape looked displeased. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Everyone hurriedly began writing. After they had finished, Snape put a recipe for a simple burn salve on the board and told everyone to do it.

They began. Everything went fine until Neville's cauldron blew up, injuring him, and Harry offered to take him to the hospital wing. Snape told Seamus Finnegan, a Gryffindor first-year, to do it instead, and then proceeded to blame Harry for somehow being too arrogant to tell Neville he was adding the porcupine quills before the heat had been turned down, as if he could have even noticed at all, much less in time. Not only that, but the distraction afforded by the accident gave Malfoy (at least, Harry assumed it was Malfoy) a chance to throw something in Harry's partially completed burn salve, which was already creeping up the sides of its container, resulting in the entire thing cracking and leaking smoking grey slime. Snape banished it peremptorily, looking furious.

"Ten points from Slytherpuff, for being lazy and incompetent. Just like your father!"

"Unfortunately," Harry hissed between gritted, shoving his books in his bag rather too fast and bolting for the door.

"Potter! Where are you going?"

"It's evident that I will never learn anything, so why stay to be verbally attacked for no reason?" Harry responded, flinging said bag over his shoulder and resuming his flight.

Snape stared after him. He had sounded, if he could have only known it, like an eleven-year old Severus in Slughorn's biased class.

Harry, however, continued running until he had reached the owlery, where he leaned on the wall and then slid down it, tears overcoming him. It was clear that his father would prefer that he not exist. At this point, Harry was so upset he was considering indulging him.

~He'ssss just being a carrion-eater,~ Jewel told him, coiling comfortingly around as much of his body as her little frame could manage. ~He doessn't dessserve to be your ssseed-giver.~ (There was no word in parseltongue for "father".)

~But he isss, and I can't change that. I jusssst want ssomeone to care about me asss a blood-mate.~

~Make him,~ she suggested. ~He needs a good bite in the tail.~

Harry gave a watery giggle, running one finger along her scaly back. ~You are a great sssun-ssissster,~ he told her, using the word for close friend. ~I don't know what I would do without you.~

~Have more ratsss to yoursself,~ she told him, giving a serpentine impression of a laugh. ~Just finisshh your sssalt-rain, you'll feel better. He doessn't know what he isss missssing.~

Harry cried for a long time, intermittently stroking Jewel, before at last the tears died to hiccups, and Harry simply leaned back against the cold, slightly dropping-spattered wall of the owlery and closed his eyes. And that's when a voice startled him into wakefulness. "Mr. Potter?"