Summers always were Albus Dumbledore’s least favourite time of year. The castle was barren, there were no laughing children filling its halls, and paperwork could be found on every flat surface possible.

So when the Sorting Hat jumped from its position behind the Headmaster’s desk to the top of the man’s head, Albus sighed in relief at the distraction from timetables and registries.

Albus chuckled. ‘Indeed it has. Have you any pressing concerns for me, or perhaps you are simply in the mood for a nice chat this year?’

‘Pressing matters,’ the Hat said seriously. ‘Five years ago, I wrongly sorted three students. This fall, they need to be properly placed. The fate of our world may depend on it.’

Albus blinked. Of all the things he and the Sorting Hat had discussed over the years, a wrongly sorted student was never one of them. ‘If I may ask, why were these students wrongly sorted?’

The Hat made a movement that Albus equated with a shrug. ‘It was where they needed to be at the time.’

‘And now…?’

‘You understand.'

Albus sighed. ‘May I so inquire who these students are?

The Hat nodded. Or at least bobbed its tip in a way that one could perceive as a nod. ‘Mr. Neville Longbottom, Miss Hermione Granger, Miss Ginevra Weasley, and Mr. Harry Potter.’

‘Four? I believe you said three students were wrongly sorted?’

The Sorting Hat chuckled. ‘Three students from five years ago, Albus…. However, as Miss Weasley will join her peers in their sixth year this term, you see my dilemma?’

‘I believe I do,’ Albus said with a light chuckle. ‘I’m not quite so senile to ask your reasons, but I can’t help but wonder where these students will be sorted now.’

‘Good try, old man. You’ll just have to wait and find out at the Feast, as I tell you every year….’

Albus sighed, shaking his head. ‘Indeed, you do.’

‘You should inform your tall, scowling one that the year will be a trying one. Especially for him.’

A loud, hearty chuckled escaped the Headmaster’s lips. ‘I will be sure to inform Severus of your predictions. I’m certain he will wish to brew extra Headache Potions.’

‘If you say so. Until next year, Headmaster….’

-----

Summers always were Harry Potter’s least favourite time of year. Ever since he had been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, summers were the only time he ever had to return to the Dursleys. Stuck with your only living relatives while one taunted you, one starved you, and one beat you wasn’t much fun. At least they had never claimed to love him. He could handle the pain, no matter how bad it got, knowing that they never gave one damn about him, anyway.

No, the real pain only began after his fifth-year. After the disaster at the Ministry, Harry spent all but the last two weeks of his vacation at the Dursleys’ before he was finally whisked away to the Burrow. He couldn’t have been more thrilled to escape the Dursleys’ and be with a family who loved him when he was grieving so horribly over Sirius’ death. Even Percy had moved back home, and the family was in high spirits over his reconciliatory attitude. So when Molly Weasley found him crying late one night--or it may have been early morning, he wasn’t quite sure--he was relieved that someone who genuinely cared about him might be able to help consol his pain.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Oh, stop whinging,” the older woman sneered, scowling at him from the kitchen sink as she prepared a kettle for tea.

Harry looked up at her with wide-eyes. “Excuse me, Mrs. Weasley?”

The robust woman turned on him with such anger in her eyes that it made Harry back up, nearly tumbling from his chair.

“You heard me, you little snot!” she snapped. “Haven’t I given you all you’ve asked for these past years?! And yet you still found it in you to put my children in danger, not to mention murdering Sirius?!”

Harry felt his heart stop. Murdering Sirius…. That was what he’d done, wasn’t it? It was his biggest fear being confirmed by the woman he regarded as something like a mother and it hurt. It hurt because he knew it was true. No one could deny that it was his fault that Sirius had died.

“Mrs. Weasley,” he whispered, nearly begging. “I’m so sorry! Please, I didn’t mean to kill him. Please, forgive me!”

He sobbed, falling onto the hard wood floor of the Burrow kitchen. Mrs. Weasley stood over him, pot of tea in hand and her face contorted with rage.

“You’re sorry?! I’ll show you sorry, you dirty whelp!”

The next thing Harry knew was pain, lots of pain. He felt as if his very skin was melting from his bones, until he looked down, and realised it was. Or, almost was, for the angry red burns that were popping up all over his skin as Mrs. Weasley poured the boiling tea water all over him.

He screamed. Only it wasn’t the kind of scream you could hear for miles and miles, it was the kind of scream he had perfected at the hands at Vernon Dursley. It was the scream for when the pain was so complete, so soul-consuming that you couldn’t make a sound, wouldn’t, because screaming and crying only made it worse. So he screamed on the inside, where the only one to hear his pleas was the one person who thought he deserved the pain in the first place: himself.

Just before he passed out, one fleeting thought crossed his mind.

----

The Sorting took longer than ever that year. Or perhaps it only seemed that way because of the sheer energy it was taking to keep a straight face. Harry Potter was digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands, he was sure he had drawn blood by now, but he needed something, anything to take away from the white-hot pain of sitting on a hard wooden bench when one’s skin was seared.

The summer at the Burrow had been downhill from the moment it began. Mrs. Weasley punished Harry every evening without fail, and every evening, Harry cowed at the rage in his once-surrogate mother’s eyes, all the while knowing that he deserved worse, much worse.

He’d begun to pull more and more into himself by the day. The rest of the Weasleys assumed he was struggling with the grief of Sirius’ death. And he was. To Harry, however, the worst part was the hugs. Whenever Harry was looking particularly pale or upset, Mrs. Weasley would hug him, all the while whispering sweet nothings in his ear about how things would get better and how he shouldn’t be upset.

So as large platters of food appeared on the table, Harry sighed in relief, grateful for the distraction and an end to the silence of the Sorting that forced him to remain still. Eating as much as his queasy stomach could handle, Harry set down his utensils, waiting quietly for the end of the feast so he could sneak up to his dorm and apply some Burn Salve to his legs. Of course, he’d apply only the slightest amount, so he could sit without drawing attention, but not enough to take away the pain. The pain was his punishment; he didn’t deserve to have it disappear.

“Before I dismiss you all, I would like to request that the 6th year students remain behind,” the Headmaster instructed, ignoring the confused glances and whispers that followed his announcement. “Once again, the Forbidden Forest and all Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes are banned. First years, please follow the Prefects. Dismissed.”

Harry let out a groan, digging his fingernails deeper into his palms as he stood, following an equally confused Hermione and Ron to the front of the Hall.

“Ginny!” Ron called out, as the redheaded girl made her way forward with the sixth-years. “Oi! You’re not a sixth-year, what are you doing here?”

Ginny smirked at him. “Oh, yes I am, dear brother. Just you wait and see.”

Ron looked to his friend questioningly and Harry simply shrugged. Ginny had only been at the Burrow the last week of the summer holiday. From what he had heard, Dumbledore had sent her to something akin to a summer camp. But then again, he might have had it all wrong. He hadn’t exactly had his mind on camping at the time….

“Now, I know most of you are eager to return to your dorms and catch up,” Albus began, his eyes sparkling madly at the class that had caused so much ruckus during their time at Hogwarts. “However, the Sorting Hat has presented us with a problem. It appears that four of you have been intentionally sorted in the wrong house, and the Sorting Hat feels it is imperative to correct this mistake now.”

Cries of disbelief and confusion spread through the group of students. Harry felt his stomach sink. The hat had wanted to put him in Slytherin… now it was actually going to do it.

“Now, now,” Dumbledore said calmly. “The Hat indeed has the power to do this, and not to follow its advice in such a manner would be imprudent, to say the least. As it is, I must ask Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, Ginevra Weasley and Harry Potter to please come forward.

How Harry made it to where the Headmaster was standing, he didn’t know. His mind had gone numb from the moment Dumbledore had explained why they were being held behind. He was switching Houses… to Slytherin, of all places. Snape was going to be his Head of House. Harry’s only consolation was that he may be able to provoke the Potions Master into aiding his punishment. After all, he couldn’t see the man denying a chance to hit the famous Boy Who Lived…. ‘Yeah, lived to kill others,’ Harry thought, sure now that his fingers were going to split his hands in two.

“As you may have noticed,” Dumbledore continued, ignorant to the ranting and confusion coming from his students. “Miss Weasley has been moved ahead, and will now be joining the sixth-year curriculum, thanks to an extensive tutoring program she engaged in this summer, allowing her to take her OWLs several weeks ago.”

“WHAT?!” Ron bellowed. Harry glanced between the Headmaster and Ginny, wondering why she had been enrolled in a tutoring program in the first place. Well, at least she’d be able to protect herself around him. The less people he could hurt, the better.

“You may ask your sister to explain in detail later, Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall snipped at the boy from where she stood behind the Headmaster with the other Heads of House.

“Indeed,” said the Headmaster jovially, “for now is the time to find out where the four of you truly belong!” He turned his smiling eyes on Harry and the three others. Harry discovered he couldn’t quite find the same joy out of watching those eyes twinkle anymore.

“Mr. Longbottom, if you will,” McGongall called, lifting the Hat so she could place it on the boy’s head.

The Hat appeared to have a small discussion with the boy, before yelling “Hufflepuff!” across the mostly empty Hall. In a similar fashion, Hermione found herself sorted into Ravenclaw, and Ginny, into Slytherin. That surprised Harry most of all, but couldn’t find the energy to really care. Professor McGonagall called his name and Harry methodically made his way forward, sitting on the stool and waiting for his fate to worsen.

Harry closed his eyes slowly, wishing the floor would engulf him in the silence that followed the pronouncement. Harry avoided his friend’s gazes as he stepped toward the Headmaster, watching the reflection of the ceiling on the tiled floors as his Gryffindor robes and tie were spelled into their Slytherin counterparts.

“Well, Potter, this is an interesting development, indeed,” Malfoy said smugly, eyeing the boy with a new appreciation in his eyes.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry replied, but his voice held no heat. It was dead, lifeless, just like Sirius, and he would find a way to atone for that, too.

Without so much as a goodbye from Ron and Hermione, Harry found himself being led down to the Slytherin common room and right before the last person he wanted to see: Professor Snape.

The man crossed his arms with a scowl, eyeing the two for several minutes, during which the entire common room was silent.

“Perhaps the Hat was right,” he muttered. “This year will be trying, indeed.”

Harry tried to scowl, but when pain shot through his cheek, he settled back into the neutral expression he’d adorned all summer.

“Well, as shocking as it is to have the two of you in my House,” Snape began, managing to only sneer slightly as he flicked his gaze over Harry, “I expect this evening will dissuade many notions you have previously held about the House of Salazar Slytherin.”

Harry very much doubted that, but he wasn’t in the mood to say anything to that effect.

“As I instructed the Prefects to inform the first years of the House rules, I will request that the both of you come to my office,” Snape said, nodding to Harry and Ginny. “The rest of you are dismissed. I expect you all to be in bed by ten o’clock. You know how to contact me if I am needed. Thank you.”

He turned back again to Harry and Ginny. “Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley, follow me.”

Ginny nodded, quickly following the man out of the common room and down a series of dungeon corridors. Harry followed numbly behind, shocked by the behaviour he had seen in only the five minutes he had been present in the Slytherin common room.

First, when Professor Snape spoke, the students listened. Not the sort of half-hearted listening students did in classes, but watching and listening to him intently, as if every word was the most important thing they had ever heard. And they were organized. The thing that surprised Harry most, however, was Snape.

The man hadn’t started with some scathing comment about Harry’s ineptitudes or fame. He hadn’t sneered, well, not all that much. And he had enforced a bedtime. In Gryffindor tower, it was not uncommon for students to be up well into the early hours of the morning working on assignments or simply chatting with friends. Ten o’clock? Harry didn’t think he’d been to bed by ten o’clock since he was a toddler.

---

Severus Snape’s mind was reeling as he led the pair of students down the winding corridor that led to his office. In truth, there was a direct hallway from the Slytherin common room to his office, but the walk would give him proper time to gather his thoughts. It wasn’t everyday at a resorting took place. It also wasn’t everyday that Ginevra Weasley and Harry Potter were sorted into Slytherin.

Dismantling the wards on his office door, Severus entered, ushering the two inside.

“Please, sit,” he said, motioning to two chairs in front of his desk.

He watched as Miss Weasley looked up expectantly, with eyes filled with more mystery than any other discernable emotion. Mr. Potter, on the other hand, was completely closed off, his face so empty that he could have been more successful determining the boy’s emotions from a rock. He watch as the boy took a seat in the large high-backed chair, starring at his hands as he tried to slowly unclench them, rubbing his palms after freeing his fingernails from the flesh.

Severus diverted his gaze from the boy, wondering just what he had gotten himself into this term. Potter was the Boy Who Lived, pampered and brought up like a prince. Even with the loss of his godmutt, it was unexplainable to Severus Snape why the boy would end up in Slytherin House of all place.

Severus eyed the pair speculatively, a tiny seed of doubt planting itself for the first time that perhaps Albus had been right. No, there was no way that Harry Potter belonged in his House, no way that his childhood was anything less than perfect. Clearing his head, Severus leaned back in his chair, deciding exactly how to approach the coming conversation.

“I must admit that I’m surprised at finding the pair of you in my House, despite the rarity of a resorting,” he said simply. “You see, Slytherin is not only the House famous for producing dark wizards. Slytherin is the House of broken children, as well; home to those whom have suffered trying childhoods and have seen depravity beyond what a child should ever witness. I find myself at a loss as to why either of you have been resorted here.”

Well, sometimes the direct approach was the best, he’d decided. He felt something inside him clench as he watched the Weasley girl pale and Potter’s hands once again form the piercing fists that were drawing blood from his palms. He narrowed his eyes at Potter. He’d seen students do that before, although it was usually the precursor to self-injury. Surely Potter had no reason to feel that degree of self-loathing?

“S-Sir?” Miss Weasley asked, and Severus could hear the trepidation in her voice. “Perhaps we were resorted here for a different reason? I mean, surely not all Slytherins have a background of child a-abuse.”

The stutter was not lost on Severus. Being a spy had made him especially sensitive to the changes in voice and body language that revealed the truth behind one’s statement.

“You are correct, Miss Weasley,” he said slowly, eyeing the girl for any other signs that she could be hiding something. “There are children in Slytherin House for other reasons, but they are very few and far between. It is a documented statistic in our world that one in four children is abused. Do you find it odd that there is a House in the school for such children?”

Severus watched as the girl visibly swallowed before shaking her head a little. Sighing to himself, Severus slowly began to resign himself to the fact that he had just acquired two new students in need of a lot of help. Whether or not they would admit it, the signs of child abuse were clearly written all over the pair of them. Although it was well hidden, someone with personal experience in hiding the effects of abuse and dealing it with year after year had no problem seeing what was right in front of him.

Potter. Oh, how he did not look forward to those discussions. Had Potter remained in Gryffindor or resorted into any other House, he would not have this dilemma. He had refused to admit that Potter had less than a perfect family life for years. As much as it pained him to say, he was going to have to admit to being wrong. He could only hope that Potter was one of the borderline students of his House, who had taken the greatest amount of emotional impact from the least abuse. At least then, he could perhaps save some face.

“I understand that you are probably less than comfortable with the proceedings tonight,” he said. “Unfortunately, there are several rules I must impart on you before I can allow you to return to the dorms.”

He watched as the two children looked at him warily, as if expecting to be tortured in their new common rooms. Had the pair not been sorted into his House, he would have taken joy at the sight. However….

“The first rule of Slytherin House, is that we protect our own,” Snape stated, regally announcing the unwritten laws that governed his House. “For example, Mr. Potter, I do not care how much you and Mr. Malfoy argue, or even hex each other down in the common room. However, the moment you step into the Hogwarts halls, you will watch over each other as if you have been best friends your entire lives. Is that in any way unclear?”

The boy’s lip had unmistakably curled up at the pronouncement, but he nodded his head in affirmation without protest. Potter’s behaviour was almost worrisome; it wasn’t like the boy to simply accept orders.

“Yes, sir,” he said meekly, meeting his teachers gaze for just a moment, causing Severus to freeze. Pain. There was a nearly unbearable amount of pain in Potter’s eyes, as if the boy were being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse right before him. Merlin preserve him, Severus Snape had a long night ahead of him, indeed. He would not offer the boy assistance while in the presence of Miss Weasley, he had more decorum than that, but he could hurry along the proceedings as much as possible.

“The second rule is that you are not to miss a single House meeting,” he continued. “They are held every Wednesday and Saturday, without fail. I will make rounds through the common room every evening, but you are required to be there for the mandated meetings. Failure to do so without just cause will result in a punishment.”

“What punishments, sir?” Potter asked, croaked, really, if Severus wanted to admit it. It was almost as if the boy’s voice held hope. Hope for what, exactly, was the problem.

“That brings me to the third rule, Mr. Potter,” he stated, motioning to the boy. “You will do everything in your power not to have points deducted from Slytherin, and I will never take them from you. Inner-House matters will be dealt with in the House, and have no bearing on the points counters. Punishments will be at my discretion, but much like any ordinary detention, with perhaps an exception to extraordinaire circumstances.”

For a fleeting moment, it almost seemed as if Potter had deflated a little. Severus furrowed his brow, now utterly confused with the boy before him. Miss Weasley was still watching him intently, as if trying to discern his ulterior motive. That was never a good sign. His experience was that those suspicious of ulterior motives had some kind of past with sexual abuse.

Severus let out a tiny sigh before continuing. “Otherwise, I’m sure either your Housemates or myself can clarify the intricacies of our House.” He turned to the Weasley girl. “Miss Weasley, I would like you to stop by my office tomorrow morning before your classes. The door next to the fireplace is a direct hallway to this room, and you should feel free to knock on the door to speak with me anytime. You will be rooming with Pansy Parkinson and Daphe Greengrass this term. You are excused to get settled.”

He watched as the redhead child nodded and said her thanks, before making her way from the office. Potter’s body visibly tensed as the door clicked shut once again, and Severus turned his tired eyes on the boy, knowing that the conversation was going to be a difficult one, indeed.