Ten years.

It had been ten years since Lily and James Potter had died and their only son, Harry, had miraculously survived. Ten years since You-Know-Who had disappeared. Ten years of unfettered peace the wizarding world had enjoyed for the first time in nearly a century.

Dark wizards had come and gone, but none so spectacularly as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. When he had disappeared, many feared there would be one of his followers who would attempt to fill the power vacuum left behind by the disappearance of their leader. Anyone who attempted to, however, was immediately arrested. Some, such as Sirius Black, without trial.

Today, though, was a big day for the wizarding world. Today, Harry Potter, their saviour, would rejoin their world after having lived with his muggle relatives since the death of his parents. Today their hero returned and they would welcome him with open arms.

No one really knew anything about Harry Potter. What did he like? What were his favorite foods? Did he enjoy school? Did he enjoy sports? What was he like?!

What was he like?

All eyes were looking for him as the train to Hogwarts was boarded. Everyone was looking for someone who looked like James Potter: tall, lanky, wild black hair. It was well known, however, that he had his mother’s eyes. A powerful couple they had been: beautiful, tall, rich, good morals. The Potter family had been an inspiration to many. Stand strong, fight the good fight. Surely their son would take after them!

Where was their son? Where was Harry?

Few eyes saw the dark haired child board the train from the back, and those who did assumed it was an unknown muggleborn student. They ignored him though, for he was much too small and scrawny to be who they were waiting for.

When Harry Potter didn’t show up at the train station, it was assumed Albus Dumbledore had already taken him to Hogwarts so as to avoid the train and the crowds. Albus Dumbledore was always looking after the boy, making sure he was raised away from the fawning masses. He needed to be raised to be humble.

What house would Harry Potter be in? Surely it would be Gryffindor. Every Potter for generations had been one, and a child as brave and powerful as Harry Potter had been even at the tender age one could go nowhere else.

---

“Better be….SLYTHERIN!”

The entire great hall was silent as the small, thin, dark haired boy nearly ran to the Slytherin table and sat down, hands tucked between his legs, head bowed, and shoulders hunched. There were a few moments of silence before the sorting restarted. Applause for the other incoming students continued, although it was far more stunted than it had been previously.

How could this have happened? Harry Potter in Slytherin?

Once the sorting had finished and the headmaster had said his traditional welcome to the student, food appeared on the table almost as fast as the whispers began. Students from every house kept looking over at Slytherin, trying to catch a glimpse of their hero.

How dare he?! Didn’t he know Slytherin was where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been?

Harry could hear the whispers. He had tried to convince the sorting hat not to put him there, but it had insisted, stating he would do much better there. How could that be? He knew he wasn’t wanted at Hogwarts. Eventually they would find out what a freak he was, they always did.

“You need to eat something,” an older student said, nudging him and motioning to the food.

Harry slowly raised his eyes and looked in awe at the now filled platters in front of him. His stomach ached with hunger, but he knew the rules. No eating until the normal people had had their fill. None of the food is yours. Eating with your eyes is still eating.

Harry’s stomach growled as he snapped his eyes back to looking at his hands. He hadn’t eaten in several days and the smells of the fantastic meal sitting in front of him were enough to make him dizzy.

“Are you sick?” the rude, blonde boy from the train said from across the table. What was his name again? Draco?

Harry didn’t answer, but rather pulled his knees to his chest as best he could while sitting on a bench. The smell of pot roast assaulting his senses and making him drool and look up at the food once more.

NO! He couldn’t break the rules. Not this early into being here. This wasn’t his food. This was far too nice for people like him: for freaks.

Maybe just an apple? Or a roll? Maybe they wouldn’t mind him eating those? He was so hungry

He quickly scanned the table and saw a small apple sitting in a basket filled with fruit just down the table. The rolls were also down a bit from where he was sitting. Too far away for him to get without bothering other people.

That was another rule: don’t bother other people.

“Potter, eat. We aren’t going to hurt you,” the older girl said again, giving him a slight nudge once more.

Harry winced when the girl’s arm grazed his ribs. He was fairly certain he had at least one broken bone in there.

Glancing at the table once more, he saw those around him looking at him curiously. He could imagine what they were thinking. Why is this freak sitting with us? Why is he even sitting at the table? I wonder if he’ll try touching the food. He shouldn’t be sitting at the table. He knows he shouldn’t be sitting at the table.

A glance towards the head table confirmed it. The adults were all talking amongst themselves and pointing at him. One man in particular was glaring at him, unbridled fury evident on his face. Suddenly a pain shot through Harry’s head as the man made eye contact with him.

Harry immediately went back into the proper position: hands between his knees, head down, shoulders hunched. His eyes watered at the pain in his forehead. He had never had that happen before. Maybe the man had cursed him for breaking the rules? He would try harder, he had to. He didn’t want to feel that sharp pain in his head again.

Stealthily, he raised his eyes to the table once more hoping the others would be done soon. Maybe when they left he could get that apple? It was still sitting there, untouched. And he was so hungry.

---

Gemma Farley was worried. This was her first year as a Prefect and she had been so proud to be chosen. This was her chance to make a name for herself and for her family. They were not a wealthy family like the Malfoys, nor were they famous like the Potters. Their name was all they had and it was hard being a pureblood from an unknown family. Something had to change, and she was going to be the one to do it. She would be the one to put their name on the map.

But this wasn’t the way she wanted to do it. She hoped she was wrong. Every fiber of her being hoped she was wrong. But she was still going to report it. She had to.

There was something wrong with Harry Potter. Something seriously wrong. She could tell he wanted to eat, but she could tell he was terrified of something. He was shaking so badly she could feel it through the bench. He had looked healthy enough from a distance, but sitting next to her, she could see bright purple bruises hidden just under his collar.

She had tried to get him to eat, but even nudging the boy to try and pull him from his thoughts seemed to cause him pain. And still he just stared at the food, though he seemed to not want to get caught doing so.

He kept making googly eyes at a platter of fruit, however. Maybe he would eat if someone gave it to him?

She saw him look at the head table, then jolt and look back down before returning to staring at the fruit, albeit as though he were trying not to get caught looking at it.

And still he made no move to take any food for himself.

Sighing, she reached over and grabbed an apple from the fruit pile and placed it on his plate. She had thought he would be grateful, perhaps even thank her. The response she got only furthered her worry: he looked at her briefly, terror evident in his eyes, before looking back down at his knees.

Throughout the rest of the meal, no matter what was said to him or around him, he remained locked in that position. He never looked at the apple on his plate, he never looked at the table again, he never lifted his eyes from his knees. He just sat there, frozen. Only the trembling she could see in his shoulders and the occasional jerks as a loud noise occurred in the hall prevented her from assuming he had been petrified by a spell.

When dessert came, he remained frozen, ignoring the changing of the food on the table. The apple remained untouched on his plate as everyone around him tucked into the various sweet treats and puddings which had materialized in place of the fantastic main course.

It wasn’t until everyone had finished eating that he finally grabbed the apple. He didn’t, however, begin to eat it. Instead, he quickly shoved the apple into his pocket and immediately went back to his former position, though now he seemed to be protecting the apple he had stashed in his pocket.

Something was definitely wrong.

---

Standing outside of the Slytherin common room, Severus Snape found himself taking several calming breaths. Never in a million years had he expected this. A Potter in Slytherin? How? And the boy was obviously as spoiled as his father! Why else would he refuse to eat the meal provided by the school?

In fact, the boy had looked as though he were on the verge of tears looking at the food. Even Draco Malfoy, who was undoubtedly the most spoiled child to grace Hogwarts’s school grounds, had readily tucked into the meal. Potter, on the other hand, had only stared at the food. Maybe he was just in shock, Merlin knows the rest of the school was. Or maybe he was expecting to be spoon fed.

Whatever the case may be, no matter how badly he despised the boy, Mr. Potter was now in Slytherin house. What better place to keep track of the boy and make sure he wasn’t following in his father's steps?

Severus took a deep breath and walked into the Slytherin common room to deliver his customary beginning of the year speech. Before beginning, he briefly swept the room with his eyes to take in the children in his house. It was incredible how much each of them had grown from when he first saw them, both physically and intellectually.

“Welcome to the proud house of Slytherin,” he began, eyes searching out each of the first years. “Congratulations to our new first years, I hope in the coming weeks and months you shall find this house to be a second family for you and these hallowed walls to be your home. You may find the other houses do not take kindly to us and our ways, but here you shall find safety.”

“Do take note,” he said, eyes locking onto the scruffy black hair of Harry Potter, who was for some reason kneeling on the floor by the sofa. “Others may search out our weaknesses, wondering why we are consistently the highest achieving house in every regard, even outpacing the Ravenclaws in academics and Gryffindors in sports. Always present a unified front. If one person is struggling in this house, the whole house struggles. We are only as strong as our weakest member. Remember, you are not the only person in this house. Your achievements are your own, but only if they are not at the expense of someone else.”

“Prefects, please make sure all students have their schedules and general maps before going to breakfast in the morning. First years, contained within your schedules will be built in study time as well as a list of expectations for both behavior and dress. Good night, and again, welcome.”

He turned and stalked out, looking once more at Potter who was now looking around at everyone getting up as though they were all going to attack him. Good, maybe the boy’s fear would keep him in line for a while. Hopefully one of the other first years would teach him some manners.

---

“Potter, what are you doing?” the dark skinned first year boy asked, yanking open the curtains around his bed.

“Cleaning,” Harry said softly, jumping at the address and nearly dropping his rag. The room was quite clean, but there were a few areas he noticed that needed a little extra elbow grease.

“That’s what house-elves are for,” Draco said, climbing into bed and pulling the covers up to his shoulders. “Didn’t you have house-elves?”

Harry shook his head, and lowered the rag. If this wasn’t his chore, then what was? How was he going to earn his keep?

“What should I do then,” Harry whispered, barely hearing himself over the largest two boys in the room’s snores.

“You should go to bed,” Draco said, eyes peering out from under the covers. “Come on Potter, the lights won’t go out completely until everyone is in bed.”

Harry looked around the room in confusion. All of the beds were taken except for the one between Draco and the dark skinned boy. There was no way that one was his, no possible way. Maybe they were missing someone? But there were no empty cupboards and the wardrobes were already full of their clothing. Maybe he was to sleep in the wardrobe with his clothing? He wasn’t supposed to be on the furniture, he was too dirty, he’d mess it up.

He went to the wardrobe with his clothes in it and looked at the way it was laid out. It would be cramped to be under all of his uniforms, but he could make it work. He’d have to, especially if there was another person who was going to be joining them and took that bed.

“Potter? What are you doing now?” the dark skinned boy growled, throwing off his covers and stalking towards Harry.

“Going to bed,” Harry murmured, sidestepping away from the wardrobe and the other boy, arms instinctively creeping into a more defensive position. He hoped the other boy wouldn’t hit him too hard for not understanding, his ribs and back were still sore from the beating Uncle Vernon gave him before he left.

“Go to bed in your bed,” the boy said, pointing at the empty bed. “Not in the wardrobe, not on the floor, in the bed. Are you dense?”

Harry shook his head slightly and shuffled to the bed, giving the boy a wide berth. The bed was his? Why would they give him a bed? He wasn’t allowed! What if Uncle Vernon found out?

He stood by the bed for a moment too long, longing to climb into it, imagining what it would be like to sleep on a soft surface for the first time in his life.

“Potter! Get in the bloody bed!” the dark skinned boy growled, suddenly standing at his side.

Harry immediately threw his hands up to protect his face and flinched violently away from the other boy.

“Zabini, stop. Look at him,” Draco said, sitting up to get a better look at what was going on.

“Potter?” Zabini said, malice draining from his voice. “I just want you to go to bed. I’m tired, I just want to sleep.”

Harry kept backing away from him, however. Aunt Petunia would do this sometimes too. She would be nice one moment, then lash out the next. He wasn’t going to fall for it again. He hadn’t fallen for that ruse in a long time.

Blaise sighed and walked back to his bed in frustration. He had been hoping for the room to be dark so he could sleep well, but it looked like he would have to get used to having some light on in the room. What was up with Potter anyways? It was just a bed! He shut the curtains on his four poster and was thankful they blocked out much of the noise and light from outside. He could still hear some murmuring as Draco took his place in trying to convince Potter to get into the bed, but it was low enough he could block it out. Finally, some rest!

Draco climbed out of bed when Zabini finally gave up the fight. Something was wrong with Potter. True, these beds were nothing compared to those at Malfoy Manor, but it had taken climbing into them for him to find that out. Maybe he could convince Potter they were ok? But that didn’t explain the flinching and jumpiness when Zabini was walking towards him.

“Potter,” Draco said, looking at the small boy who was looking longingly at the wardrobe. “Why don’t you want to sleep in the bed?”

Harry paled several shades as he whispered, “What if Uncle Vernon finds out?”

“Finds out about what?” Draco asked. Who was ‘Uncle Vernon?’

“That the freak has a bed.”

“Who is ‘the freak?’”

“Me.”

Draco felt his stomach drop. He suddenly doubted Potter was not wanting to get into bed because the bed was below his standards. In fact, he doubted Potter had a bed at all at home. Or house-elves to do the cleaning.

“Is he a muggle?”

“Yes,” Harry said, twisting his hands together. He really wanted to get into the bed, but freaks don’t get beds.

“He won’t find out. Besides, this bed is assigned to you. Look,” Draco pointed at the small plaque at the foot of the bed which read the bed’s owner’s name.

Harry looked at the plaque in awe, emblazoned on it was the name ‘H. Potter.’ Not ‘freak’ or ‘boy’ or any other name the Dursleys had called him. His name, his real name, was there.

“It’s mine?” he asked, staring at the bed in awe.

“Yeah, now change out of your uniform and get in it,” Draco said, a small, worried smile on his face.

Harry shakily went to the wardrobe and took out the oldest, rattiest shirt Draco had ever seen. He then gently took off his tie, robe, and trousers. As he was beginning to remove his shirt, Draco noticed something on the back of it. It was obviously a new shirt, but there were small red spots on the back of it. When Harry removed the shirt, Draco immediately realized what it was.

Blood. The boy’s back was covered in raised welts, many of which were bleeding slightly. There were bruises all over the boy’s back and arms in various stages of healing, including one which looked oddly like a boot print. Draco didn’t get too good of a look, however, as Harry quickly pulled the oversized shirt over his head. The rattiness of it made Draco think of the house-elves at the Manor.

Harry didn’t have house-elves because he was the house-elf.

That realization left a horrible taste in Draco’s mouth as he watched the smaller boy come to the bed and freeze again before gently touching the bedspread and leaning his weight against it. He then jumped back and looked around as though expecting to be attacked. When no attack came, he slowly climbed onto the bed, being sure to continue facing towards the door to the common room.

He wasn’t under the covers, but he was at least in the bed. Slowly the lights dimmed until they barely let out any light at all. Draco let out a sigh of relief. It was now nearly half past two in the morning, and they were to be up and in the great hall for breakfast at seven thirty. Hopefully Potter would get the hang of getting into bed at night, otherwise this was going to be a long seven years.

---

As the Slytherin first year boys tiredly meandered into the Great Hall, looking for all intents and purposes as though they had slept only a few hours, Severus couldn’t help but quietly groan. Of course the boys would be tired, he had no doubt that Potter had kept them up late regaling them with stories of his conquests. He had never had to impose a bedtime on any of his students, but maybe he would have to for this batch of first years.

“Severus, look at him. He looks miserable!” Minerva McGonagall said. She had been trying to convince anyone who would listen that there had been a mistake.

“Him and the rest of the first year Slytherins,” Severus said, raising an eyebrow at the older woman. “In all likelihood, he was keeping them awake with his tales of his wonderful life.”

“He shouldn’t be down there, though! What would his parent’s have thought?” Minerva continued. “Is he even safe down there?”

Severus resisted the urge to slam his coffee mug into the ground.

“Are you insinuating I cannot control my students?!” he demanded, his grip tightening around the mug.

“Nothing of the sort!” Minerva tried to back track. “I just mean he is not the largest of children and…”

“And what? That my Slytherins would be any more rough with the boy than your Gryffindors would be? He was sorted into my house. He belongs with the other snakes. Maybe they will even be able to teach the boy some manners!”

He looked pointedly at the Gryffindor table where the Weasley twins were shovelling eggs into their mouths at record speed while several other students were seen throwing toast to one another across the table. The Slytherin table, on the other hand, was far more subdued as the students looked over the schedules and maps they had been provided. Manners were one of the things many of the pure-blood families prided themselves on, and their children followed suit.

Looking at where Draco had sat, he was surprised to find he was sitting next to Potter. While Potter was facing away from him, he could see some of what Draco was doing. Apparently they were having a discussion on cutlery. Draco seemed to get extremely frustrated and turned away from the boy who gingerly picked the most burned piece of bacon off the stack in the middle of the table.

“Severus, are you sure he is fine? He looks so alone!” Minerva continued badgering him.

---

Draco sighed in frustration. Apparently Potter truly was his family’s personal house-elf. He even thought he wasn’t supposed to eat with anyone else, that he had to wait for the table scraps. He had no idea how to properly use a knife or a fork as he had apparently never been allowed to use them. He jumped at loud noises. He was rather terrified of Crabbe as he apparently reminded him a lot of his cousin.

Potter was just a bundle of unfortunate information.

Draco had given the smaller boy one of his school bags as he had noticed the boy didn’t have one. Harry had thanked him graciously, and promptly tried to return it once he found he didn’t have to lug all of his books around at the same time.

Worst of all, though, was his complete lack of understanding of social cues. It didn’t matter if someone were joking around with him, telling him the truth, trying to be friendly, or being a right git, Potter assumed what the other person was saying was an order or was not talking to him. He would stand with the other boys, but looked for all intents and purposes as though he were a house-elf waiting for an order.

Draco had taken to saying his name before every sentence if speaking to him just to make sure he understood the upcoming phrase was relating to him.

It wasn’t as though his attention span was bad, but rather that he was always paying attention to everything and wasn’t used to actually having to speak in a conversation. He knew every one of the Slytherin boy’s favorite colors, the way they tied their shoes, and which leather pack was whose (Draco, Theo, and Zabini had the exact same one). He knew his way around the castle faster than any of the other boys and would routinely beat the rest of them to class (though he would never enter the room alone).

His terror of being called on in class was palpable, to the point even Professor Snape had seen it as even he avoided calling on Potter in class after the first day when he nearly had a panic attack after being called on to answer a question. Severus had to admit, he had been a bit harsh to the boy at the time, believing him to be like his father. It became very apparent this was not the case when Potter began hyperventilating when the class’s attention was on him waiting for him to answer.

It had taken over a week for Potter to even begin to get acclimated to living at Hogwarts. Every day was a new struggle, but one the first year Slytherin boys took on, the voice of their head of house ringing in their ears. Present a unified front. If one Slytherin struggles, the whole house struggles. It wouldn’t do for the other houses to know of Potter’s weaknesses and fears.

Especially since it was Potter.

Draco took on much of the responsibility of making sure he made it through the day. Every night, Draco would stay up to help coerce him into bed, reminding him his muggle uncle didn’t know about it. In the morning, Zabini would help him with tying his tie and shoes and Theo would make sure he actually ate something for breakfast rather than just shoving an apple in his bag and running, but after that he would follow Draco around like a lost puppy. Draco, however, always made it a point to make sure Potter didn’t look like he was following him in such a manner, throwing an arm around the boy’s shoulder or locking elbows with him to prevent him from hiding behind.

It worked well. A bit too well.

Within a few days of Potter’s sorting, word had gotten to the papers. Pictures of the two boys walking down the hallway, arms linked, soon followed.

”’Boy-Who-Lived Going Dark?’” the headlines screamed. ”’The Next Dark Lord?’ ‘Harry Potter: Gryffindor or Slytherin?’”

Something had to be done. Immediately. How could the “Saviour of the Wizarding World,” the Boy-Who-Lived be a Slytherin? He had to be in Gryffindor! He had to be!

It wasn’t long before word reached the Ministry of Magic in the form of Howlers. Cornelius Fudge had had to spell a bin under his desk with several wards and silencing charms in which to place the Howlers he was receiving. It was getting absurd, and the longer he waited, the more Howlers he received. He agreed, of course. Harry Potter, a Slytherin. How preposterous.

It had to be that hat. Merlin knows that thing had been around long enough. Since the time of the Founders to be exact. Over a thousand years of the spells being renewed on the hat had definitely taken its toll on the old thing. It wasn’t as accurate as it had been in the past. Granted, Fudge felt he had been placed correctly in Hufflepuff as he valued hard work and loyalty, but it was the premise of the thing. There was no way a hat which was a millennia old would be working properly.

Though it did sort Lucius Malfoy into Slytherin and Fudge couldn’t think of a better place for the ruthless, sly bastard. But then again, there was also Sirius Black. How that wicked, evil man had ended up anywhere but Slytherin was anyone’s guess.

‘Yes, yes, it is the hat,’ Fudge thought as he got out of the carriage, mopping his brow with a handkerchief and walking up the stairs to the main doors of Hogwarts. ‘There is something wrong with the hat.’

---

“Absolutely not!” Professor Snape roared, slamming his fist on the desk. “The hat made its decision. Potter is a Slytherin!”

“Severus, listen to reason!” Professor McGonagall said, rising to her feet and pointing her finger in the younger man’s face. “It just isn’t safe for the boy in that House…”

“MY House, you mean?!”

“Severus, now hear me out my boy, the hat is ancient…” the Minister said, mopping his crimson face again. “It’s bound to make a mistake.”

“Have you even looked at the boy, Severus?” Minerva continued. “He’s petrified. He doesn’t even want to sit at the same table as the other Slytherins; they force him to stay there.”

“They do no such thing!”

“He needs to be in a more supportive environment! It would do him good to be in the same house his parents were in. Goodness knows there is enough pictures and memorabilia…”

“Quidditch trophies!”

“...to last the boy a lifetime!”

“Now, Severus,” Fudge butted in. “The wizarding world is currently in an uproar.”

“Let them be.”

“ENOUGH!” Dumbledore said loudly, though not shouting. “Severus, please sit. Minerva, you as well.”

Both professors say, nostrils flaring, wanting nothing more than to continue their argument.

“Thank you, Minister, for bringing this to our attention. I, too, have been receiving letters from concerned parents about the situation at hand and have been considering different ways of approaching the issue,” Dumbledore said calmly, just as another Howler exploded on his desk.

“HOW COULD YOU ALLOW SUCH A VULNERABLE CHILD BE SORTED INTO THAT EVIL HOUSE!” the voice of Augusta Longbottom screamed out, rattling the teeth of everyone in the room. “YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED! YOU ARE THE HEADMASTER, OVERRIDE THE DAMNED SORTING HAT!”

“As I was saying, I have been thinking about how to approach this issue,” Dumbledore continued as though there had not just been the voice of an angry, elderly woman screaming in their ears. “As Mrs. Longbottom stated, I am Headmaster. I do indeed have the power to override the Sorting Hat should the situation warrant it. And in this case, I do believe it does.”

“Headmaster!”

“Not because Slytherin is inherently dark or evil, Severus, but rather for the boy’s safety within the greater wizarding world. Should he remain in Slytherin, he risks having the entire wizarding world turn their backs on him. As a young, untrained wizard, this could be extremely dangerous and very well lead him down a path towards darkness in ways that Slytherin house, nor any house, would be responsible for.”

Severus sat back in shock. Never had he thought the boy would be removed from his house. While he had no strong feelings towards the boy, he certainly did not like having his authority over a student removed simply because people “didn’t like them being in Slytherin.” In the nine years he had been Head of Slytherin House, he had spoken with many families and students alike about the benefits of being in Slytherin. It was not uncommon for families to be opposed to their child being placed in Slytherin initially, though rarely were those feelings kept throughout the child's entire school career.

Having Potter removed from his house was a slap in the face. All of his hard work to build rapport for Slytherins within the wizarding world as a whole following the defeat of the Dark Lord would be for not.

The one and only benefit of having the boy out of the house was maybe now his other first years wouldn’t perpetually look as though they had gotten only a few hours of sleep. That and not having to see Lily’s eyes every time he looked out at his students.

“Mark my words,” Severus hissed at the headmaster as he stood to leave. “That boy does not belong anywhere other than in Slytherin. The ‘torment’ you believe will happen for being sorted into my house will not stop simply by moving him to another house.”

The rules had changed. He knew they would. They always had in the past, so what was the point of assuming anything different here.

Everyone had been so nice to him, how could he not have seen it for what it was? Stupid. Stupid boy. Stupid freak.

He had been slowly picking at his food under Theo and Draco’s watchful eyes when it happened. It had felt good to eat and have someone making sure he ate. He was still worried about getting caught, however. That’s when the worst punishments happened.

He saw the blur of Professor’s Snape and McGonagall coming down from the head table and immediately dropped the fork he was struggling to eat his pasta with.

He was caught.

“Harry, keep eating,” Draco said quietly.

Harry shook his head, eyes wide, staring at his plate. Here they came. They had been so kind to let him eat for as long as they had, but now they knew. Something must have tipped them off that he was a freak and shouldn’t be allowed food.

“Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape said, sending icey chills lapping down his spine. “If you would follow us please.”

Shaking subtly, Harry stood and followed the two adults, mind racing as he followed them out of the room. Was he being removed from Hogwarts? What had he done wrong? Was he going to be sent back?

Continuing to follow the professors, he anxiously noted they were leading him further into the castle than he had ever been before. They must have been on the sixth or seventh floor when Professor McGonagall opened a door and motioned for both men to enter in front of her. Professor Snape immediately sat in one of the chairs in front of a large desk while Harry stood closer to the door.

“Sit, Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape said, rather flippantly, not truly looking at the pre-teen.

‘In the chair, Harry’ Draco’s voice whispered in his ear as he remembered he was allowed to sit on the furniture. It was so hard to remember all of the new rules.

“Mr. Potter, I’m just going to cut to the chase here,” Professor McGonagall said, sitting behind the large desk and folding her hands. “You seem to be struggling in Slytherin house. We’ve noticed you are not eating well, nor are you socializing with your house-mates. This in addition to some rather… insistent… concerned individuals contacting both the Headmaster and the Minister of Magic have led to us making a rather difficult decision.”

Harry paled, but continued to not make eye contact with the woman sitting in front of him. Here it came. He was being kicked out of school, he could feel it. He would be sent back to the Dursleys and… his mind fogged slightly as his anxiety flared. He didn’t want to think about it. He doubted he would survive if he were sent home. This had been his only chance to escape, and he had ruined it already. What had he done wrong? He had been trying so hard!

“...to Gryffindor,” Professor McGonagall was speaking, smiling at him slightly. “I will be your new Head of House. Of course, Professor Snape will still be available for you to speak to, should you feel more comfortable speaking to him about any issues you may have, though I would prefer you to come to me first.”

“Ma’am?” Harry said quietly, in confusion having missed the first portion of her statement.

“Not to worry, Harry,” Professor McGonagall said, smiling still. “Soon enough, you’ll find friends within Gryffindor.”

Harry felt as though he had been dunked in a bucket of ice water. He wasn’t getting kicked out of Hogwarts, but he was getting moved from Slytherin. Away from his friends. Away from his bed. Away from the nice food. He should have known it was too good to be true.

Closing his eyes, he willed the tears to stop pricking his eyes. The rules had changed again. He knew they would. They changed all the time at the Dursley’s, why would here be any different?

“Your things have already been moved from Slytherin, Mr. Potter,” Professor Snape said calmly, though Harry could sense some anger coming from the man. Had he angered his… the Head of Slytherin? He would have to remember he was not a Slytherin any more.

Harry nodded silently, obediently. The choice was already made for him, he wasn’t allowed to fight it. There wasn’t any point anyways, fighting only brought pain. He didn’t know if he could take any more pain, the wounds from his uncle’s ‘going away present’ were still not fully healed. He had no doubt in his mind that the witch and wizard in the room with him could do much worse to him if he failed to comply appropriately.

“Come, Harry,” Professor McGonagall said, the smile on her normally stern face becoming rather disconcerting to Harry. “Let’s go meet your house-mates.”

Panic began to flood back in as he stood, he could tell his hands were shaking so he quickly shoved them into his pockets. He didn’t know what to expect from his new House. He hadn’t expected any kindness from the Slytherins and still wasn’t sure if they were sincere in their actions. If Slytherin was an unknown to him, Gryffindor would be worse. He had already seen how they could be nice at some points but turn their back and be horribly mean.

He didn’t want to go there, but what choice did he have?

Standing to follow his new Head of House, he briefly looked back at Professor Snape hoping the man would say it was a joke. It wasn’t a funny joke, but the jokes played on Harry never were. Locking eyes with the man, he nearly opened his mouth to plead his case but couldn’t find it in himself to do so. The man’s eyes seemed to burn into his soul and Harry turned away after a moment of eye contact. There wasn’t any point to begging anyways.

Harry followed Professor McGonagall out of the office door, head down, missing the look of utter confusion the potions master was looking at him with.

---

Severus had not been expecting that. Far from it.

The boy had been acting surly all morning, sneering at his food, looking as though he had had to be drug out of bed by one of the other boys, and hardly talking to the other Slytherins. This had been how he had been acting since he had arrived at Hogwarts. He had kept acting as though he were above it all, looking down on the meals provided, staying up late talking to his housemates. He had even managed to somehow convince Theodore Nott to tie his shoes and tie for him.

If Nott Sr. saw his son bowing to anyone other than the Dark Lord in such a manner, Severus doubted the boy would live to see twelve. It was better, safer, that Potter not be in Slytherin.

But that look the boy had given him as Minerva led him to the Gryffindor tower for the first time. It was so unsettling. The panic in his eyes was palpable. But that wasn’t even the part that was surprising.

Potter had used legilimency.

Severus doubted he had meant to do it, but the instant Potter made eye contact with him, Severus could feel the connection. And he didn’t like what he felt at all. Potter had sucked him in for that brief moment, but that was all he needed to begin questioning everything he thought about the boy.

Pouring himself another glass of brandy, Severus thought back on what little he had managed to glean from the momentary connection.

The emotions he had felt coming off the boy certainly didn’t line up with what he thought he knew about the boy. Pure, unbridled anxiety laced every one of the boy’s thoughts. There was no arrogance or pride he could feel from the boy, only panic. Panic and confusion. It was as though the boy were on the verge of crying. There were no positive thoughts on going to Gryffindor, only sadness. Sadness and pain.

“Please! Why?!” the boy had screamed out with his mind in the brief moment of connection they had had.

Severus was confused. There was no possible way the boy had known what he was doing when he made that connection. The anxiety in the boy was as palpable now as the day the boy started hyperventilating in class after being asked a question. At the time, he thought the child was just unprepared for class and had test anxiety. Now, however, it seemed that anxiety permeated more than just the classroom.

He had been rather relieved when the boy had been taken from his house as he had thought the boy was being a prat like his father. His biggest bone of contention with the entire arrangement had been that all of his protests had been overridden. He would have been completely written out of the conversation had he not continued to push his way into it. The level of hatred and persecution those in his house had faced since the fall of the Dark Lord was absurd and he couldn’t stand for it. There were days where he felt the weight of trying to advocate for his students and his House. He had had a mild sense of hope that this would change when Potter was sorted there, but as he continued to fail to integrate in and ostracized himself from the house, this small sliver of hope rapidly waned.

Sever felt at a loss. Had he missed something about Potter? Was the boy really that cunning or were his observations of the boy highly skewed by his dislike of the boy’s father?

The fact it could likely be the latter of the two made his stomach crawl. He had tried to be a fair and impartial judge of his students, leaving their family histories out of how he treated them. The emotions he felt at seeing a miniaturized version of his former tormenter had made him feel rather raw yet again, as though he was seeing James again for the first time in years. He thought he had overcome that, however.

Apparently not.

It was a pity this hadn’t occurred while the boy was in Slytherin; it would have been so much easier to observe the boy then.

He hoped he hadn’t missed something important.

---

‘This is bad. Bad bad. Really bad,’ Harry thought, skittering around the corner and ducking behind one of the many statues, heart pounding.

“Come out, Potty!” he heard Seamus’s voice echoing down the hallway. “Come out you slimy little snake!”

He hated Gryffindor. Every part of it.

The instant he walked into the tower, he realized immediately how different things were going to be here. The common room was a gaudy mess of red and gold, with large couches Harry was sure he wasn’t allowed to touch and a roaring fire. As if the bright colors and overall chaotic nature of the room wasn’t overstimulating enough, there were also many moving portraits, large windows overlooking the grounds, and hoards of students sitting around doing nothing but talking or playing games. The urge to plug his ears to block out the sound was enormous, but he knew that would be looked down on.

The boys dorm itself was a mess, he quickly discovered. Ron, the red-head he had briefly met on the train, had a rat that was allowed free reign in the dorm, as was Neville's toad. Robes and various undergarments were scattered about, as were a variety of quidditch magazines. He doubted Professor McGonagall ever did a walk through to make sure things were being well kept.

Then there were the Gryffindors themselves.

It was immediately apparent to Harry that the other boys did not want him there. As soon as McGonagall left, they started badgering him ruthlessly about everything. Could they see his scar? Did Slytherin kick him out? Why was he moving in with them? Was he a Gryffindor now? Why hadn’t the hat sorted him properly the first time? Was he a spy?

When he didn’t answer their questions, choosing to remain silent instead for fear of breaking a rule he didn’t know, they didn’t let up with the interrogation becoming more and more hostile until he was sitting in a ball in the corner, fingers laced in his hair.

He didn’t go to class that morning which only led to the Gryffindor boys believing he was going through their belongings. Relations only deteriorated from there. Only Neville wanted to talk to him, but even he was put off by the fact Harry had been a Slytherin and was not immediately social as well. Ron, Seamus, and Dean, on the other hand, made it a point to make him regret ‘trying to be a spy.’

He forgot to shower for several days, leading to comments from the other boys about his smell and the nickname ‘Potty’ being given to him. He tried to study, but discovered one of the other boys had taken one of his books and claimed it was theirs. He tried to argue that theirs was under their bed, but they ignored him in favor of claiming he was trying to steal their books like the slimy snake he was. He went to the library to try and study, but was kicked out rather quickly by Madam Pince due to being too loud as the other boys had followed him and been complaining he was contaminating the books.

This time, they were after him because they had seen him talking to Draco. Or rather, Draco talking to him. Draco had been wanting to talk to him, but the Gryffindors kept getting in the way. During Charms, Draco had sat next to him as no one else wanted to. But Harry was good. He knew if he got caught talking to Draco, he would be in trouble. Draco kept talking to him though. He hadn’t stopped.

And now Harry had to pay.

“Come on, Potty!” Dean yelled down the hall. “We just want to give your hair a little wash! Got some Slytherin slime in it!”

It was just like Harry Hunting, only now the people hunting him had magic. Harry had taken to always wearing robes to make sure he was as protected as he could be from the stings of the spells they sent his way. If they didn’t impede his movement, he would also likely have worn his dragon-hide potions gloves to cover his hands. He wished his hair wasn’t so curly so he could grow it out to help protect his face.

“Where aaaaare you?” he heard Seamus say in a rather sing-song voice.

“Come on, guys, he’s probably run off to cry to Snape,” Ron said, sounding slightly worried.

“I guess,” Dean said, rather disappointed. “Come on, let's go watch Quidditch try-outs!”

Harry held his breath as he heard their footsteps head towards the stairs. He didn’t release the breath until he was sure they were gone, surprising himself when it came out as a sob. Quickly he bit his lip trying to prevent his cries from drawing attention. But he couldn’t stop, the tears pouring from his eyes unbidden. Burying his head in his arms he let his sleeves muffle his cries.

What had he done wrong?

---

“Ugh! Why does it smell like garbage in here?” Ron said, covering his nose with his hand as the smell of rotting food reached his nose.

“It’s Potty’s stuff,” Dean said. “Dunno what he keeps in there, but his trunk smells like a rubbish bin.”

“Of course,” Ron scoffed, getting up and walking over to the boy’s bed. He had never actually seen Potty sleep in it of course, but he didn’t care. It was nearly midnight now, if Potty was going to sleep here tonight, he would have already been here.

Harry Potter was supposed to be the savior of the Wizarding World, instead he was a weird, gross kid who smelled of garbage, didn’t shower, was scared of his own shadow, and never slept or ate. Sure he was ok in class, but he wasn’t anything more than an average student. He never put in any extra effort in anything he did. He was pathetic. It felt like another lifetime that Ron had sat with the boy on the train, but even then they hadn’t talked. Potty was just too weird.

Kicking open the trunk, Ron looked at the contents in disgust. There were only a few school books, some muggle clothes that looked as though they could be worn by an elephant, and an entire side of the trunk which was covered in mold.

“Oh, Merlin!” Ron said, poking at the mold with his wand. “What the hell is this from?”

“What?” Seamus said, closing his magazine and walking over to look in the trunk. “UGH! No wonder! Hey, Nev, come ‘ere! What kind of mold is this?”

Neville looked up from his herbology book in concern. There was mold in the dorm? No wonder it was hard to breathe sometimes! Going over to the trunk, he looked in as well, nose wrinkled in disgust. He had been wondering about the smell too.

“Blue mold,” he said, looking at the mold in the other boy’s trunk. “Food rot.”

“He was keeping food in his trunk?!” Dean said in disgust. “Perishable food?”

“Gross!”

“Let’s get rid of it! I don’t think I can stand the smell any more!”

“I think I’m going to blow chunks!”

Slamming the trunk lid shut, the boys looked at each other in disgust. It wouldn’t be hard to sneak the trunk out, but where to get rid of it? It wasn’t like there were skips around.

“Ron, can you go see if there’s astronomy class going on right now?” Seamus said. “If not, we take this rubbish bin to the tower and burn it.”

“What about his stuff?” Neville asked, wringing his hands.

“What about it? There’s mold in there. It’s making the dorm smell like a garbage pit.”

Neville nodded, looking sadly at the trunk. Yes, Potter smelled bad, and so did his trunk, but Neville doubted getting rid of the trunk was going to solve the problem. In fact, getting rid of what few belongings the boy had might make the issue worse.

Why was he keeping food in there anyways?

---

His trunk was gone. His food stash: gone. His work clothes for when he inevitably went back to the Dursley’s: gone. His trainers: gone. His potions book: gone.

Harry sat on the floor of the empty dorm in shock. The name tag was still on his bed, letting him know he hadn’t been moved to yet another dorm. So where was his trunk?

He felt tears beginning to well up in his eyes again. He never cried this much at the Dursley’s, but that was because he wasn’t allowed to. This had been his hope. His escape from their torment and torture. He had hoped this would be a home. A family.

Since being forced to move to Gryffindor, this hadn’t been the case. This wasn’t his home. This wasn’t his family. This was just another hell in which he was forced to stay.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to Slytherin. If he couldn’t go there he… he didn’t know what he would do.

---

“Come in, Miss Farley,” Severus said, seeing one of his prefects standing at the door to his office. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m worried about Potter,” she said abruptly as she sat on the stool in front of the man’s desk.

Severus immediately put down his quill. He had been doing a lot of thinking about the day they had removed Potter from Slytherin. No one on staff seemed to actually know much about the boy other than what they had been told by the media. The boy’s other professors noted he was quiet and rather anxious, but was overall a good student. A common theme, however, was that he never sat with the other Gryffindor boys. Even at dinner, he would come in, take a few small items and run.

The first year Slytherins seemed mildly concerned by this, however no one had come to him yet with concerns and he, quite honestly, hadn’t had the time to look into the issue more thoroughly. Besides, he was now in Minerva’s jurisdiction.

But, as a Slytherin prefect had now approached him, it forced his hand.

“What are your concerns,” he said, giving the girl his full attention. The urge to use legilimency on her to see what she saw was extremely high, but that went well beyond breaching someone’s privacy.

“Well, sir, I’m sure you’ve seen how nervous the boy is,” Gemma started slowly, making sure to use the right words to get her point across properly. “During the Welcoming Feast, I as well as several of the other Slytherins were trying to get him to eat. He seemed afraid of touching the food, you see.”

“Afraid to eat?” Severus said, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. From his vantage point at the head table, he had believed the boy was not wanting to eat due to the quality of the food. Already, this wasn’t boding well.

“Yes, sir. As though he were afraid of being punished,” Gemma continued, noting the slight pallor in her Head of House. “I nudged him slightly, trying to get him to eat more. I’m not positive, sir, but I believe he may have had an injury as he winced quite badly from the small nudge I gave him.”

“Why have you not come to me with this before,” Severus said, rather disappointed. They were now several weeks into the school year, any injuries the boy had could very well have been healed by now.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Gemma said, blushing fiercely but refusing to lower her head in shame. “My course load was heavier than expected and once he was moved from Slytherin, I haven’t been able to observe him as easily.”

Severus nodded in acceptance. “Have you witnessed something else?”

“Yes, sir. He’s been losing weight. He doesn’t eat anything in the Great Hall anymore. I also believe he may be hoarding food somewhere within the castle as he always pockets some small item and protects it as though it may be taken from him.

“I also believe the Gryffindors may be bullying him. I’ve heard them calling him names and noticed how he shies away from them. I don’t know how physical they’ve gotten, but if he was able to cover up injuries at the beginning of the year, who knows how high of a pain tolerance he has.”

Severus felt his frown deepen greatly. He had noticed the boy had started wearing robes everywhere, much like he had found himself doing when he was younger to avoid some of the hexes James Potter would throw at him, but he had hoped it was because the boy just found them more comfortable.

“Anything else you would like to tell me?”

“No sir, though I believe the first year Slytherin boys may be able to corroborate some of my story.”

Severus nodded. “Thank you Miss Farley. Please come to me promptly if you witness anything else.”

“Thank you sir,” Gemma said, leaving quickly.

Severus folded his hands in thought. He needed to speak with the first year Slytherins immediately. Hearing Miss Farley speak about the boy made his stomach drop. He had certainly missed something major.

Now he needed to correct for that. And promptly.

---

Harry made his way as swiftly to the dungeons as he could, trying his hardest to dodge any students who were coming from that direction. He wanted to go home. He didn’t want to be a Gryffindor. He wanted to be with his friends. He wanted to lay in a bed at night to sleep, not hide in a weird shaped cabinet he found on the first floor. He wanted to sit with friends who let him eat and made sure he wasn’t just eating an apple or a roll.

He’d had a taste of family and he wanted it back. He was tired of being the unwanted child.

He wanted a friend.

Wiping his eyes, he turned the corner to head into the dungeons and ran directly into Seamus and Dean who were coming back from detention with Snape.

“Well look who we have here!” Seamus said, backing Harry into a side hallway. “What’re you doing down here, Potty?”

Harry frantically shook his head, trying to scramble away from the advancing boys as quickly as he could. His back hit a wall. He was trapped. Trapped in a small hallway away from the main thoroughfares of the castle. Trapped while obviously heading down to the dungeons.

“Come to rat on us some more, I suppose,” Dean said, creeping ever closer. “You know what we just spent the last hour and a half doing Potty?”

Harry shook his head, not looking either boy in the eye. It wouldn’t matter what he said or did, they were out for his blood. He could feel it.

“We just spent the last hour and a half disemboweling toads for the greasy bat of the dungeons,” Seamus said. “He said it was for ‘goofing off in class,’ but I think we know the real reason, don’t we Dean.”

“Some smelly Gryffindor wanna-be keeps spreading rumors,” Dean said.

Harry’s legs felt as though they were made of lead. There was no point to running, they would just catch him again. And again. And again. But he wouldn’t cry in front of them. He wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

Suddenly, a fist made contact with his abdomen. Instinctively he bent forward, only to have another fist catch him under the jaw and send his head flying backwards. His knees gave out as his head hit the wall. A foot caught him in his ribs, refracturing the poorly healed rib he had come from the Dursley’s with. Another kick dislodged it. One more sent the rib into his lung.

He gasped at the pain, paying no mind to what was going on around him. It was getting harder to breathe.

No more blows were coming, but he couldn’t move to run. He tried, but every move he made sent waves of pain through his chest. Breath was coming to him in gasps. He could feel his lungs weren’t moving right.

Opening his eyes, he could see the other boys had left finally. But he couldn’t move. And he couldn’t breathe.

“Help!” he whimpered softly as he saw a figure walk by the hall he was lying in. “Help… me!”

“Potter?!” a familiar voice said as the figure walked towards him.

“Help-” Harry gasped once more before the world grew dark around him.

It was three days before Harry Potter finally awoke from his ordeal.

The world to which he awoke was drastically different from the world he had previously been inhabiting. If it weren’t for the fact his injuries were the same, albeit healing, he would have thought he had died or woken up in a parallel universe. It seemed the rules had changed yet again, though this time was different. The rules were reverted back to what they were before.

That was something that had never happened before.

When Harry’s eyes finally fluttered open late that September night, he was greeted by a sight he didn’t think he would ever see. Sitting next to him was Draco, calmly reading a book by candlelight. Looking around, he could just make out Zabini and Theo quietly playing cards while sitting on a bed. Farther in the distance, he could barely make out two figures standing and whispering quietly to each other. One was in all black and the other was shorter and seemed to be in red with a white hat and apron.

His friends were here! But where was here? And why did his chest hurt so much?

Trying to suppress a moan, he slowly tried to sit up.

“Oh my!” a woman’s voice was heard as the person in red and white came bustling over. “Lay back down, Mr. Potter!”

He was barely on his elbows but knew he wouldn’t be able to make it all the way up. Sparkles were dancing in his eyes and pain was lancing through his side from the movement.

“Harry! You’re awake!” Draco said excitedly, though rather quietly to not startle the boy too badly.

“Where-” Harry started to say before his chest spasmed in pain, leaving him gasping.

“Lay down, Mr. Potter!” the woman in red said once more, gently pressing him back down into the bed. “You are in the Hospital Wing. You have two broken ribs, one of which punctured your lung. Now please, do not move. I’ve stabilized the injury, but I need you to take a bit of Skele-grow to finish healing your ribs.”

Harry was only half listening, however. His chest hurt so much and his breaths were coming in gasps. He couldn’t breathe! Why couldn’t she see that?! He needed to get up! He needed to hide!

Try as he might, he couldn’t manage to get himself out of bed. It was as though something were sticking him to the bed. He couldn’t move!

Tears began to well up in his eyes as he struggled against the unknown force. He was trapped. He didn’t like being trapped. He didn’t know what would happen next, but it couldn’t be good. It was never good. How could it be, he was just a freak after all.

“Potter!” Professor Snape’s voice cut through his panic momentarily. “Stop moving!”

“Noooo,” he moaned, trying to lift his hips off the bed. If he could get them off, maybe he could move. He needed to move. He needed to run. This wasn’t safe! It wasn’t safe here.

He could hear frantic talking in the background, but couldn’t make out what was being said. Suddenly, he felt a cooling sensation in his stomach as though an ice cube had slid down his throat and into his stomach unnoticed. The cooling sensation lasted for a moment before the rushing in his ears started to calm and his frantic breaths started to slow.

“There you go, Mr. Potter,” the woman said again, more gently this time. “Deep breaths, that’s it.”

Tilting his head back and staring aimlessly at the ceiling, Harry now felt as though he were moving in a fog.

“What did you give him?” he could hear Draco ask.

“That was Draught of Peace,” Professor Snape said, placing the vial back on the table next to the head of the bed.

When Draco had come running down into the dungeons screaming for help, Severus was immediately on guard. He didn’t know what had happened, nor what to think. A part of him immediately assumed there was an attack on the school. Thoughts of duelling his former compatriots came to mind as he rushed out of his office door. He hadn’t had to use those skills in so long, would he be able to properly duel against the likes of either of the Lestranges?

Whatever he had been expecting, a bloody, bruised, and blue Potter was not on that list. The boy was laying at the end of a short hallway, one of the Weasley boys there next to him begging him to keep breathing though he clearly was not doing well at following this request.

Severus had quickly applied what healing knowledge he had before sending a patronus message to the Hospital Wing and levitating the small, cyanotic boy onto a stretcher and racing towards the wing himself. While he would have loved to question both Weasley and Draco, time was of the essence. He needed to get the boy to someone with more healing skills than him, and quickly.

Madam Pomfrey had been enjoying the first day in a long time where she hadn’t had any students come through her door. Generally there was at least one or two students on any given day who had come in with some sort of injury, usually mild and related to either Quidditch or a simple spell gone wrong. It had been a long time since she had needed to use any of her emergency skills.

It was too good of a day to last, however.

The boy Severus had brought her was in dire condition, though he had done well to stabilize the boy’s condition as best he could before bringing him. Her shock at his condition barely managed to override her shock that this was Harry Potter. She, like everyone else, had assumed the boy would be healthy, strong, and like his parents. The waif that was now laying in her ward was not what she expected in the least.

The bruising, malnutrition, and broken bones were not what she expected to see at all, but she couldn’t pause and create theories as to what happened. That could come later, once the boy was stable.

Once he had been stabilized then came the long wait for him to finally wake up. Healing magic on such severe injuries would put the boy into a sleep-like state, dreamless and unaware of his surroundings, until he was well enough to finally awaken. She expected it to last at least a week, possibly two depending on how quickly his magic would deem him healed enough.

Due to the unknown of when he would awaken, Poppy allowed his friends to come see him. While she wasn’t normally keen on allowing visitors, he did seem to relax a bit more when they were around. Particularly, she noticed, when Draco was there reading to him.

Once, the youngest Weasley boy had paid a visit to him as well. This did not have the same effect as the Slytherin’s visits however, so she rapidly escorted the red-head out despite his desire to stay and apologize. Apparently he was not directly involved in the attack on the boy however he was involved in some of the bullying Harry had experienced. Unlike the other boys in Gryffindor, Ron felt some remorse for what had happened to the boy in her care.

It was quite a surprise to everyone when Harry awoke three days later. An ominous surprise. The only reason a wizard would awaken after that amount of healing magic so quickly was if he was used to being injured regularly. And badly.

The panic the boy had at being restrained also fed into her suspicion there was something more that was going on in his homelife.

She had tried spelling a simple calming draught into the boy as soon as he awoke, but as his panic grew as he tried to get out of bed after the sticking charm was applied she knew she had no choice but to give him a Draught of Peace to calm him down. She couldn’t have him moving around just yet. Had he actually stayed asleep for a week like she had hoped, his magic in combination with the healing spells would have knitted his ribs back together much more substantially and him moving around wouldn’t have been an issue.

“Severus, I can’t give him any more Draught of Peace after this. He is much too small to keep giving him such a high powered sedative safely,” Madame Pomfrey said as Harry continued to trace the stonework on the ceiling with his eyes and blink dopily.

“A small dose of Skele-gro will work just fine,” Professor Snape said. “You won’t have to worry about dose adjustments or interactions unless you are needing to regrow whole bones.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded and went to her potions stores to pull out the required potion as the Slytherin boys gathered around their fallen friend.

“Harry,” Draco started, waiting until Harry slowly looked over at him. “How are you feeling?”

“I huuuuuurt,” Harry said, dragging out the words as he struggled to move his mouth. “Wha’ ‘bou’ chu?”

“I’m ok,” Draco said, taking his friend’s hand. “I hope the headmaster sees some sense and moves you back to Slytherin.”

“Like green,” Harry said, reaching a hand out to pat his friend’s robe’s green lapels. “Snakessss.”

“You like snakes?” Draco asked.

“Pretty snakes,” Harry mumbled. -Nice snakes.-

Professor Snape whipped his head around when he heard hissing coming from the boy’s bed. He had heard the boy drunkenly talking about how he liked green and snakes and would have ignored the hissing sounds the boy made if it hadn’t been for one thing.

His Dark Mark responded.

He could feel the snake in the skull’s mouth writhe slightly in response to the sound. It was a feeling unlike any he had felt since the first war. He didn’t even need to look at his arm to know what was happening. But he needed to know, desperately, immediately, if his suspicions were correct.

Quickly undoing the buttons on his sleeve, he rolled it up to reveal the horrifically scarred tattoo. Over the past few years he had noticed it occasionally changing shades, and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief when he noticed the color hadn’t darkened. But still, the feeling of the snake-tongue moving was unmistakeable.

“Draco, keep him talking about snakes,” Snape said, eyes never leaving the Mark.

Draco’s eyes widened at the sight of the professor’s Dark Mark, but he wasn’t overly surprised or concerned by it. His own father had one as well.

“Harry, tell me about your favorite snakes,” Draco said, watching Harry’s reactions closely, hoping he didn’t drift back to sleep.

“Snake in the garrrrrden,” Harry said in a rather sing-song voice. “Snake in the grasssssssss.”

“Do the snakes ever talk to you, Harry?” Snape asked gently, eyes still staring at his tattoo.

“Yeah, they’re my only friends,” Harry said, eyes filling with tears suddenly. “Aunt Petunia killed her!”

“What kind of things did you and your snake friends talk about?” Zabini asked, realizing they were trying to instigate parseltongue.

-Silly humans- Harry giggled. “She liked to say that a lot. -Silly humans have no scales.-”

Snape’s eyes went wide and his face lost what little color it had as the snake-tongue of the Dark Mark wriggled twice more in response to the boy’s hissing. So it was true then, he was a parselmouth. But how? The Potters were direct descendants of Godric Gryffindor himself and Lily was a muggleborn.

It was a feasible conclusion that somewhere along the line a Slytherin was a squib and married a muggle and generations later Lily Evans was born, but that seemed absurd as Lily was also sorted into Gryffindor and had never spoken to snakes. That much Severus was sure of. Lily had loathed real snakes with a burning passion and would never be seen near them, let alone talking to them.

“Professor?” Theodore Nott asked, pulling him from his reverie. “Is he a …”

Snape nodded and swallowed heavily as he pulled his sleeve down. “Yes, he is a parselmouth.”

“He can’t go back to Gryffindor then?” Draco asked rather excitedly.

“I’ll have to speak with the Headmaster. In light of recent… events, I would assume the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall would agree.”

“Oh,” Draco said, looking down sadly. “He shouldn’t have to go back there.”

“I agree,” the rather sad, wistful voice of Professor Dumbledore said from the entrance to the Hospital Wing. “I agree wholeheartedly.”

Snape glared vehemently at the man. Where was this agreement when the world seemed to want him moved to Gryffindor? Where was this agreement when he had pleaded his case for the boy not to be moved? Never in the history of Hogwarts had a child been removed from the house they had been sorted into, and for damn good reason.

“I am afraid, my boy, that I let the pressure of the public get to me,” Professor Dumbledore said, sadly as he gingerly sat on the bed opposite the dozy boy. “And I fear my complacency has led to the situation we find ourselves in.”

Snape could barely control his anger. Complacency? Was that what he called it? Cowardice was a more fitting word. Cowardice in his old age. The Wizarding World respected Dumbledore greatly. If he stood up for something, the Wizarding World would follow. Perhaps unwillingly at first, but it would follow. This was a fact.

Complacency was an understatement. Prior to Severus taking over Slytherin house, the students within its walls were constantly operating under the fear of persecution. A fear which was not unjustified as many students immediately assumed those sorted into Slytherin were immediately going to become the next Dark Lord. The Headmaster had the power and ability to change this, however he chose not to do anything about these perceptions and the bullying which came with it.

He chose to do nothing and a student had nearly died because of it.

“I told you,” Severus seethed.

“That you did, my … Severus. And I apologize, truly, sincerely, for not listening to you.”

“I am not the one you should be apologizing to,” Severus growled, nostrils flaring. “The child in the bed with broken bones and a punctured lung is who you should be apologizing to.”

“I am aware of this,” Dumbledore said, looking sadly at the frail boy in the bed who was trying to grasp at something only he could see. “How would you prefer I proceed? Mr. Finnegan and Mr. Thomas have been suspended until the end of term for their actions already. They and their families have been informed that any other infraction against another student, no matter how small, will end with their expulsion.”

Severus’s lips disappeared into a thin line in his fury. If they had been Slytherins, both boys would have been expelled instantly for nearly murdering a classmate. But they were Gryffindors, so the rules only loosely applied to them.

“How would I prefer you proceed? I would prefer you expel them as you would if they had been a student in any other house. I would prefer if the rules and the consequences to breaking them were consistent amongst all of the houses. I would PREFER it if the Headmaster didn’t consistently play favorites and would stand up for ALL of his students.”

“I understand,” Dumbledore said solemnly, looking every one of his 150 years of age. “I have failed you and your students greatly, Severus. However, I am still asking for your advice on how to proceed.”

“He will need time to recover,” Severus said, folding his arms across his chest

The first year boys who remained in the room looked on at the conversation in thinly veiled shock. For better or worse, they had grown up with tales of the infallible, all-knowing, extremely powerful Headmaster. To see him in such a state shook them to the core. Knowing that he could have prevented their housemate, and debatably friend’s, injuries was unfathomable, yet here they were.

“Understood,” Dumbledore said. “Would you like to place him in private quarters close to yours for the time being?”

“That would be preferable,” Severus said, sneering. “Anything to allow him a safe retreat from the other … What is it Draco?”

Draco had started shaking his head as soon as Dumbledore had offered a set of private quarters for the boy. While that may have been a good idea for a normal student, Harry was far from normal and Draco doubted he would do well with living on his own. In fact, he doubted Harry would appreciate the gesture at all, but rather would feel extremely isolated and that he was needing to be kept away from the other students.

“I don’t think that is a good idea,” Draco said, skillfully hiding his nervousness at talking back to the Headmaster and his Head of House.

“Why not?” Snape asked, curious as to what would lead to the boy to speak out of turn. It was likely he knew more about Potter and his habits than what the adults did.

“He doesn’t know how to take care of himself. It’s not that he can’t or that he chooses not to, he just doesn’t have the practice to remember when to do things. He doesn’t like sleeping in bed, he squirrels away food in case he doesn’t get fed later, and he doesn’t know things like how often he should shower.”

Both Dumbledore and Snape looked at him with rather shocked expressions on their faces. How had they missed this? Had they all been so blind to miss all of the boy’s many struggles? Had they all been so blinded by their expectations of what Harry Potter would be that they had missed who Harry Potter truly was?

“Are you saying he needs a caregiver?” Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s learning,” Nott said, stepping up behind Draco. “Or he was. He’s probably right back where he was when he started here, if I’m being honest sir.”

Dumbledore looked rather pensive for a moment before his eyes regained some of their normal twinkle. It was obvious, of course. Keeping him in Slytherin was the safest thing. He could learn from the other boys. He could keep to himself and ask the questions he needed answered. He didn’t need to fear being ostracized for his lack of understanding or his strange behaviour. And if he needed a friend to speak to in confidence, who better to speak to than the snakes of Slytherin himself? The boy truly was a Slytherin through and through.

To hell with what the people wanted, they didn’t know or understand the situation the boy was in. Admittedly, Dumbledore didn’t fully understand the extent of trauma in the child’s life either, but removing him from safety for the sake of what others believed was ‘right’ was the largest error in justice he had made in all of the years he had been headmaster. Harry Potter was just a boy after all, and one who needed and desired stability more than anything.

Slytherins continuously were given a bad reputation due to the number of dark wizards which came from the house, but truly there was something more to those who lived in the dungeons. Favoritism and prejudice had damaged their reputation and created fear within the population, and not just the population of Hogwarts. This prejudice carried over into the everyday life of the wizarding world. A little support, true repercussions for discriminatory behavior on both sides of the spectrum, and an understanding of why students were placed into the houses they were was the way forward.

“He will stay in Slytherin,” Dumbledore said firmly. “I will allow him to not go to classes for the time being, however I must require he be given tutoring in the core subjects. Severus, you and I shall discuss his return to classes at a later date when he feels up to it. He will stay in the dorms and be allowed to attend classes at his leisure should he choose to during this time.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Snape said, bowing his head slightly and watching as his students did the same.

“I do believe the sanctity of the sorting hat stands,” Dumbledore said with a small smile. “And I believe more than ever we should ask ourselves to evaluate why a student is placed where they are with utmost caution and compassion.”

He then turned to the frail boy in the bed and gently swept the fringe on the boy’s forehead so it covered his scar.

“Mr. Potter, I believe you are saving the wizarding world, but not in the way anyone ever expected.”