Severus was unsurprised to hear his monitoring alarm sound. He groaned, rolled over, cancelled the spell and launched himself from bed, still only half awake. His mouth was tacky from the firewhiskey, and he squinted into the bright light of his rooms as he pulled on his outer robe. Had he gotten two hours this time? Three? Really, on the first night, he should just eschew sleep, altogether. Every year it was the same; one of his urchins decided they were too good for rules and attempted to try his patience and his "Everywhere at once-ness," by not adhering to the schedules he had scrupulously devised. Without fail, every year, some Snake or other sneaked out of bed earlier or later than they should have, and he was left needing to set them to rights.

The only question, every year, was who was fool enough to face his wrath.

---

Harry sneaked into the bathroom with his toiletry bag and took a towel from the cubby just inside the door. He absolutely had to shower before anyone else was up. It was tempting fate to do so, he knew, but he couldn't bear the inevitable laughter and stares if his dorm mates saw him naked. And almost worse, he couldn't deal with the thought of earning detentions so early in the term for not having proper clothes.

He'd lain awake most of the night thinking about the Sorting, and about the new rules they were to memorize, and trying frantically to come up with a way to avoid getting detention for the rest of his life before he could do something about his tatty, too large clothes. He wished he'd had more time at Madam Malkin's when he was buying the rest of his school clothes -- his robes, trousers, tie and all were new -- but Hagrid had been running late, he said, and they'd arrived at the clothier only moments before closing. Fortunately, the proprietress had only them for a customer, so they were able to get through the fitting quickly. Unfortunately, no one had thought to mention pants. This morning, he had to send Hedwig off before anyone was the wiser, which meant getting up very early and getting to the owlry and back before anyone noticed he was gone.

Professor Snape was not one he ever wanted to cross. He'd caught the looks Snape had sent him during the meeting earlier, and he wondered what he'd done to make the man angry at him already. It was probably just that Harry got sorted into his House; no one had been happy about it at supper. Harry wasn't sure what he could do to be accepted here, but the first thing he needed to do was get presentable. He didn't want to be an embarrassment to his Housemates.

After setting Dudley's hand me downs on a bench beside the showers, Harry turned on the tap and was immediately surprised to find hot water. Not too hot, but pleasant for the purposes of bathing. He was so used to cold water showers only that it seemed awfully extravagant, and he vowed to make quick work of his washing up. He put his glasses within easy reach of the shower stall, and stepped under the flow of water. It was glorious. The heat of the water soothed away the aches of bruises and strained muscles, as well as the almost constant headache from glasses that weren't quite right.

He did a fast scrub with shampoo over the messy hair that he could never tame no matter how hard he tried, then soaped up his scrawny - according to the Dursleys - body, rinsed quickly and deftly turned the water off in under three minutes. He was reaching for his towel when someone grabbed his arm and dragged him, completely starkers, out of his stall. He didn't yet have his glasses on, but he would recognize the billowing robes of the Head of Slytherin through a thick fog.

Oh, gods, no.

"How deficient are you, Potter?" the man snarled. He was rumpled, likely from bed, and his hair stuck up at odd angles, almost like his own. But Harry was too frightened to do more than shake his head. As if he didn't notice, Professor Snape went on, "Could it be that your tiny brain was insufficient to the task of following the simplest of instructions?"

"N-no, sir," Harry said. Then he swallowed his fear and put his chin up just a bit. If he got hit, he got hit. He could deal with that. Didn't Dudley and his gang pummel him practically every day? But he wasn't going to cower for anyone. "No, sir," he said again. "I'm not deficient."

"Really?" the professor drawled, still holding his arm in a pincer like grip. Damn; it was going to leave another bruise. "Then how is it you are in here, when you should still be abed?"

What could he say? Not the truth, certainly. That only led to more questions and angry Dursleys and probably expulsion from school. He knew how this went. There'd been a nurse once, in primary, who'd asked loads of questions, and he'd even answered truthfully, about how much he ate, and when, and how often he'd been to see the doctor, and then someone from Child Welfare visited the Dursley's home and asked -- in front of them -- many of the same questions. Well, what was he going to say? He'd lied, of course, and smiled and said all was grand, and the nurse had treated him like an attention seeking freak after that. He didn't like to recall what Uncle's reaction had been.

Snape shook him by the arm and snarled, "I asked you a question, boy!"

Despite his resolve not to cower, he couldn't help but flinch a little. "I'm sorry, sir."

"You certainly will be! I suppose you feel you don't need to answer a proper question, is that it? And that rules are for everyone else, but not for Potters? Well let me tell you something, you insufferable brat, you will learn very quickly that when I give orders, they are meant to be followed. And when I deem something forbidden, you are meant not to do it!" By the end of his tirade, he had pulled Harry very close and specks of spittle hit Harry's face and bare chest. Even without glasses, Harry could see the disgust and rage clearly in the man's eyes.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I'll obey the schedule."

"Indeed you will. And you'll have detention tonight at 7. Do. Not. Be. Late." Giving Harry one last shake by the arm, the professor flung Harry away from him and stalked out of the bathroom in a ripple of black cloth and menace.

Harry grabbed up his towel and scruffed it over himself, then got dressed, lickety split, shrugging the encounter from his mind. The words the professor had shouted were no worse than what he'd heard from the Dursleys, after all, and he certainly deserved them. He was just glad Snape hadn't asked more questions he couldn't answer.

Once he was dressed, he crept out of the Slytherin common room and made a quick -- or as quick as he could make it -- trip to see Hedwig and give her an order to take to Gladrags, down in Hogsmeade. He was glad directions to the owlry had been part of the information handed to him by his Prefect, as well as a list of clothiers who serviced the school.

By the time he returned, the other students were just starting to stir, making their slow way into the showers, or the common room, and Harry busied himself with reading a chapter from his Potions textbook, wanting to be as prepared as he could be when he met Snape in class. He took out some parchment, too, and practiced taking notes with the quill and ink. It was much sloppier than with a ball point, and after he splotched up on roll so bad he could barely read anything, he would have traded a hundred chocolate frogs for one pencil.

While he was trying to scrape away some excess ink, he saw Malfoy come down into the common room, flanked by the two large boys who seemed to follow him everywhere. Goyle and Crumm . . . no, Crabbe. He wasn't sure he knew which of them was which, though. Malfoy, on the other hand. It wasn't hard to make him out from the crowd, with his white blond hair and permanent half-smile, as if he knew a prank was about to be played on you, and for a price, he'd tell you what it was.

Harry glanced at them as Malfoy sauntered and the other two lumbered over to the couches and slumped into them, but he kept at his work. Malfoy hadn't said anything to him at dinner, but he'd been one of the ones who stared.

"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" the blond said, and covered a small yawn with a hand. "That we have to be up so early every day. I mean, I could understand the first day, with schedules to be handed out and all. But weekends?"

Harry, not sure if Malfoy was speaking to one of his goons, didn't say anything, though he privately agreed.

"Are you deaf, Potter?"

Making sure to put hold his quill away from his parchment, he looked up to see Malfoy smirking at him. "No. I didn't know who you were talking to."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Like I make conversation with these two, honestly."

Harry gave a half smile. Dudley was just about as dismissive of his goons, too. Didn't stop them from having wicked fists on his command, though. And Harry was awfully tired of being beaten up at school. So he shrugged. "I'd rather we were allowed to lie in on weekends. Doesn't make much sense to get us up so early. I though breakfast didn't even start till 8 then."

"Exactly." Malfoy leaned forward a little and held out his hand. "I don't think we've had a proper introduction. I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Harry Potter," Harry said and shook the boy's hand.

"I tried to find you on the train--"

"You did?" Harry asked. He'd thought he'd caught a glimpse of the white blond hair at the end of the car, when he was coming out of the loo one time, but Ron hadn't said anything about it when he got back to their compartment.

Malfoy gave him a long look. "Of course. You're rather famous in some circles." He smiled, with only a trace of haughtiness. "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

Harry laughed. "There's no fuss. Really. I didn't even know I was a wizard till a month ago."

Something in Malfoy's face tightened. "But your parents weren't Muggles."

"No . . ." Hagrid had told him about what Muggles were, and that some folks in the wizarding world didn't care for those who weren't wizards, or born of wizards. "But I was raised by Muggles. You know, after my parents died."

Wrinkling his nose as if he smelled something dead a week or more, Malfoy leaned back against the couch. "That's . . . awful."

Well, Malfoy didn't know the half of it, but Harry wasn't going to tell him. "They didn't like magic," he volunteered, however. "But I kept doing it anyway, I guess."

"Obviously." Something in Malfoy's tone suggested that it would be impossible for anything else to have occurred.

---

Breakfast was a quiet affair for the Slytherin table, as all the students had been up late and then up early, but some of the other tables were rather rowdy, particularly the Gryffindors, where Ron Weasley had been sorted. Harry was a little sad about that, but he knew that the boy he'd met on the train and who'd told him about collecting chocolate frog cards and such was probably happier with his family than he ever would have been in Slytherin.

Like he was supposed to, Harry waited till everyone had their fill of breakfast before he snagged a slice of toast, though he almost dropped it back on the platter when Draco gave him a hard look. Instead, he nibbled at the edges, just as Professor Snape came around to their table with schedules.

Harry kept his head down, his ears turning red, remembering the morning's scene in the bathroom, but Professor Snape said nothing about it, said nothing at all, in fact, just gave him a nasty look as he shoved the piece of parchment at Harry.

Draco peered over his shoulder. "We've got Transfigurations first." He rolled his eyes and sent a baleful look at the loudest table. "Then Herbology. With the Gryffindors."

"I wonder how they can hear their Head of House, with all their noise," Harry murmured.

Draco snorted a laugh. "Like my father says, they're uncultured ruffians. They can't help it, really."

Harry wrinkled his nose, but finished his toast and waited, according to the new rules, for his year mates to finish, as well as for any announcements, before they left to go to their first class. Though he was feeling rather queasy with the knowledge that he didn't know any magic and was likely going to be terribly behind all his classmates, he was still very careful, while walking next to Draco to their first class, to make sure none of his awful clothes peeked from beneath his robes. It was harder to hide his trainers, but if he took deliberate enough steps, his robe didn't flap around them and kept them from being seen. So far so good, for the day.

Professor McGonagall seemed tough but fair, and she told them first thing that her class would be amongst the hardest they would have at Hogwarts, and she wouldn't tolerate any messing around. Later, in Herbology, Harry had a chance to say "Hi," to Ron for the first time since the boats across the lake, but to his disappointment, Ron gave him a disgusted look and turned away.

Seeing that, Draco swore under his breath something about "blood traitors," which Harry didn't understand. The rest of the day went fairly well, and Harry was almost used to the odd way the staircases had of moving when you least expected it, and to the various ghosts who flitted by them in the corridors. Peeves was another matter, but since everyone seemed equally annoyed by the poltergeist, that was okay, too.

He ate lunch with "Teddy" Nott, as he preferred to be called, while Draco sat with a couple of girls from their year, who he said he'd knows for years and wanted to catch up with. Teddy kept giving Harry odd looks during the meal, and finally Harry said, "What? Have I got something on my face?"

Teddy's lips quirked into a semblance of a smile. "Except for your scar, no."

Harry frowned. It was a remnant of the night his parents died, and he preferred not to think about it, but Hagrid had said they hadn't died in a car crash at all, but were killed by a wizard named Voldemort. And it was the scar that made him famous. "It's just a scar," he said, and pushed his hair down to cover it the best he could. "I wish people wouldn't stare at it."

Eyes widening just a bit, Teddy nodded sharply and applied himself to his meal. Harry thought he seemed almost . . . wary, which was kind of disconcerting.

After lunch, they had more classes, and then dinner, and then Harry had to go to Professor Snape's office for detention. He knocked softly on the door, heart in his throat, but determined not to cry, even if he was to get caned, like Dudley said they did to freaks at schools like his.

"Enter."

Harry pushed open the door and gaped around the room at the bottles and vials and jars of weird, squiggly plants and severed animal parts floating in variously colored liquids. The smell of disinfectant and something . . . earthy hung in the air.

"Close you mouth, Potter, before a doleshinkle weed makes a home of it." The professor was hunched over his desk, writing quickly in bright red ink all over some parchments, which must have been student work. He hadn't even looked up! While still not looking at Harry, he pointed a slim finger toward the door that led to his classroom. "You will find cauldrons in there. Clean them. Without a wand. Go now."

Harry jumped to obey, and after rolling up the sleeves of his robe, spent the next few hours scrubbing cauldrons. He was pretty good at cleaning, but there were a couple stains he just could not get out. He scrubbed at those for a long time, until his arms ached, and his fingers were sore and blistered from gripping the cloths. He had only two left, from the dozen he'd been assigned, and each of them with one last unassailable stain that he was still working on, when a voice behind him made him jump.

"That's enough. Dismissed."

He spun around to find Snape only a foot or two away, and looked up into the sneering face. "But, sir, I wasn't able--"

"Are you still having trouble with simple instructions?" the professor snapped. "I can give you another detention, if that's the case."

"No, sir. Sorry, sir." He quickly put away his cleaning supplies and hurried to the door, not catching the pensive look Snape sent after him.

He didn't have time to do very much homework before he was scheduled for bed, but he got a start on reading for Transfiguration, in preparation for an essay they had due in two days. At bed time, once again, Harry didn't want to undress in front of his Housemates, and so crawled onto his bed, and shut the drapes before changing into his nightclothes -- an enormous shirt of Dudley's that was worn enough to be softer than most of his other clothes.

"Awww, is the little half-blood shy?" came a voice from the room. Harry recognized it, though the boy had never spoken to him. "Hiding away behind his curtains so no one can see his nasty little half-blood body?"

"Shut it, Zabini," said another, cooler voice.

"He your boyfriend, Teddy?" Zabini teased.

"I said shut it. And I mean it," Teddy growled. "You don't know what you're messing with."

With that, Zabini left him alone, but Harry's whole face was burning, as he crept out from his drapes and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the loo.

He would have to face them sooner or later . . . sooner, he realized, as he had to shower with them in the morning. He couldn't cross Snape again, that was for certain. That night, for the first time in a long time, he dreamed of the snake-like man who laughed in the midst of a flash of green light, and his scar hurt something fierce when he woke in the morning.