When they pulled into the train station, the air outside was getting colder and the sky was already dark. Harry spotted Hagrid who was waving frantically and hollering for first years to stand by him. Draco sneered when he saw the half blood, but did not speak his feelings in front of Harry, whom he sincerely liked. It was rare in the wizarding world to find someone so honest and who knew nothing about magic, and Draco relished teaching him.

As Draco watched, Harry's face seemed to turn even paler. Harry was nervous before he spotted the boats, now he was terrified. He could not swim, and previous memories involving water...well it was best not to get into that. Images of his uncle flashed through his mind as he desperately tried to contain them. Draco and the others were already moving towards the boats, with obvious amusement.

Draco was loudly talking of summers spent paddling over lakes, and Harry gladly slipped into a boat next to him. He politely refused an oar when offered, and closed his eyes as they moved into the water. Tense as he was, he felt his back give a sudden twinge of sharp pain, remnant of his Uncle's last bad temper. His whole body ached, and he wasn't even moving. Before long, although it seemed an eternity to poor Harry, the boats were at the foot of a castle that appeared to be lit from within with bright lights. They walked to the entrance, as Harry's body protested weakly.

A tall dignified woman with a severe looking bun tied in the back of her hair waited for them, smiling gently. She gestured for them to wait and disappeared through the door into a babble of noise. Hagrid gave Harry a thumbs up and followed suit, although how he managed to squeeze in the door was beyond Harry. Thankfully, they did not have long to wait (truthfully, the stares and whispers around Harry were getting too much, and he was shyly trying to hide behind Draco). A boy with thick red hair kept trying to catch his eye, but Harry noticed he had dirt on his nose and thought it might not be very polite to stare at it.

As they walked into the Great Hall, all that the chattering ceased and the other students stared solemnly at them, perhaps remembering their own sorting. A battered hat was placed in front of them and began gleefully singing the praises of each house in turn. Harry glanced sideways at Draco when the hat spoke of finding true friendship in Slytherin House. Was this someone with whom he could be friends? Harry had never had a friend before. He was blissfully unaware that Ronald Weasley was sidling up next to him, smiling hopefully. The Sorting began with “Abbott, Hannah,” and continued alphabetically until it reached Harry’s name.

“Potter, Harry,” called Professor McGonagall.

Harry walked to the stool and placed it nervously upon his head amongst shocked whispers. A small voice started talking in his ear.

‘Ah Harry Potter. Plenty of brains, loyalty and a thirst to prove yourself, if only you knew how. Bravery in spades but you haven’t had a chance to use it lately have you?’ Harry flushed, glad the hat covered so much of his face so that no one could see his shame. ’Which house would you prefer?’

Harry was remembering his train trip. All of the people he had met were certain to get into Slytherin, at least according to themselves, and Draco already was in Slytherin.

‘Slytherin,’ Harry thought attentively, wondering if such requests were granted. The hat seemed to smile in his mind, as if pleased he had asked. ‘I think you’d do great in SLYTHERIN!’

After a few shocked seconds Harry realised that the last word had been shouted aloud and the Slytherin house were all clapping. There was silence from every other house however, and the marked absence of even polite clapping was obvious. He took the hat off and turned to grin at Hagrid, who was giving him a sorrowful look. A dark-haired man was eyeing him with open curiosity and slight disgust, but he ignored this and went to join his housemates (remembering to take the hat off, unlike one Neville Longbottom) Draco was smiling genuinely, and moved to accommodate for him, but it was only when he glanced around the room that he realised people from every other house were glaring stonily at him. Blushing, he stared determinedly at his plate, noticing for the first time the quality of the pieces in front of him. Hogwarts must have plenty of money, if this was what they were expected to eat off! The sorting continued although there was a low hum reverberating around the hall as Students whispered about the surprising Sorting. Finally, when every student had found a place, an elderly man Harry recognised from a chocolate frog card on the train, stood. He beamed and clapped his hands, causing the most delicious food Harry had ever seen appeared before the students. They all began piling their plates with food, as Harry watched anxiously. Was he REALLY allowed to take what he liked? It certainly appeared to be so, but Harry had been fooled before. Cautiously he tipped a teaspoon of peas onto his plate, and when Draco gave him an incredulous look, added a wing of chicken. Just looking at the food was making him feel ill. The rich aroma of the chicken assaulted his nostrils causing his stomach to roll. It must have shown on his face because Pansy stopped eating to stare at him.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” she asked, noting his slightly green pallor.

“Must be the excitement. I’m not really hungry,”

“But you didn’t eat on the train either. You bought all those chocolate frogs and let us eat them while you kept the cards!”

“I never eat when I’m excited,” Harry assured her with a smile.

She (and now the other Slytherin around them) watched as he scooped up the peas and nibbled at the chicken. Most, like Draco, compared Harry’s seeming manners to the amount of food Crabbe and Goyle were polishing off and thought it was politeness. Few realised Harry was having a quiet feast.

After dinner, the prefects showed the students to the Slytherin Common Room in the dungeons. Harry expected a room situated in the dungeons to be chilly, but it was surprisingly warm in the stone room. After being directed to the dormitory, most of the boys checked their belongings and returned to the common room. Harry however, waited until the last student had left and dashed to the nearest bathroom where he promptly lost his dinner.

Checking the door was securely locked, he stared at his reflection, willing himself to drop his shields. For as long as he could remember, he had been hiding his face and body from the world, knowing just how disgusted they would be with it. The face that stared back at him was completely different to that of the boy a minute before. A myriad of bruises crossed his face, except for a smallish patch on the left side, which was covered in weeping, checkered cuts. Dudley had held him down too tightly last time he had caught him, ignoring the fact that he was holding him into a fence. Harry had acted surprised when Hagrid had told him he was a wizard, but he had always known he was different. He had always hidden his abuse, protecting what little pride he had left. His relatives had noticed of course, but anything that kept them smelling rosy was a benefit. Often, he could feel blood seeping from fresh cuts while person centimetres away would see nothing. Unless there was physical contact, he would be able to hide these latest attacks from all at his new school, and Harry did not intend anyone to get physically close, or close in any other sense. He had found out about the physical touch some years before. Petunia and Dudley had been going to the shops, but the car would not start. Harry had been forced along to carry groceries while they caught the dreaded bus. Standing in the aisle despite the empty seats (he knew better to sit, seats weren't for freaks like him) he had fallen when the bus gave a sudden lurch. He had fallen directly into the lap of an elderly lady, who was immediately covered in blood. She had been screaming, until Petunia explained that her nephew was a real prankster and must have spilt fake blood on her as a joke. Nevertheless, the Dursleys were no longer welcome on the local bus, and Harry's next beating had far surpassed the one he had gotten to produce the blood in the first place. Harry shuddered in remembrance, bringing his hand up to gently prod the bruises on the right side of his face. Almost lovingly, he plucked a stray piece of glass from naked skin. It had been annoying him all day, but Harry knew better than to try and get it out while there were people around. His shaking hands undid his shirt buttons, the first new shirt he had ever owned. As the cloth fell away, more and more bruises were revealed. He had surprised himself by being able to walk straight that morning, but his determination to attend school away from the Dursleys had prevailed and he had ignored his pain for most of the day. All those who had gawked at his scar would have been surprised to see an equally unusual one gracing his chest. Curiously, it was shaped like the bottom of iron burnt into his skin. And that was exactly what it was. He knew the others would soon miss him and wonder what he was doing, so he turned on a shower and eased himself gently under the water. He barely winced as deep red water ran down the drain. Quickly he towelled himself off, dressed, and was just settling down in bed when the others came up. After a cheery goodnight he pulled across his curtains. His secret was safe. For now.