"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat shouted to the rest of the Great Hall. Silence met Harry's ears. He swallowed hard, handing the hat back to Professor McGonagall and edging uncertainly toward the table decorated with green and silver. Malfoy, already Sorted, sat there, looking stunned.

"Go on, child," Professor McGonagall whispered encouragingly before calling the next name. He hurried over, sliding into a seat at the very end of the table. He hunched into his robes, feeling desperately small and pitiful. He'd been more than half afraid that the Sorting Hat would pronounce him without magic at all and he would be sent back to the Dursleys. He didn't want to be sent back. He felt like a horrible, ungrateful brat for even thinking that, when he knew that they had been kind enough to take him in and feed and clothe him, regardless of his freakishness. But the thought nevertheless would not leave.

"So how did YOU end up a Snake," Malfoy demanded rudely. An older boy with a pale, pointy face nudged him sharply, making the blonde ferrety first year gasp and stick his bottom lip out in a sulky pout.

"Dunno," Harry mumbled to his hands. The Headmaster was talking now, but he couldn't pay attention to the words. It felt like cotton wool was filling his head. He thought it might be because of the last blow Uncle Vernon had dealt him--a good swift blow to the top of his head before he was dropped off at the train station. He'd bitten his tongue and nearly fallen over. The only reason he didn't was because he knew if he did, Uncle Vernon would be forced to beat him further.

He was very lucky that he was allowed to go to this school, anyway. Hagrid had called his freakishness magic, labeled him a wizard. The wandmaker had declared him someone capable of doing great things. Harry felt very confused. He couldn't be a--a wizard. He was a freak. A worthless, ungrateful freak who had to expiate the sin of his being born and dumped on his relatives' doorstep by slaving for them since the day he turned six.

When dinner was over, Harry obediently slid off the bench and followed the rest of the first years down to the dungeons. This, apparently, was where their dormitory lay. He had eaten only a piece of toast and drank some pumpkin juice at the Feast. The pumpkin juice was what he really liked. It was sweet. He hardly ever got sweet things.

The Head of Slytherin House was the grim-faced hook-nosed man all in black he had seen at the Head Table. His name was Professor Snape. He glared at Harry the entire time he was going over the House rules. Harry resolved never to break a single one. He knew the type of man Snape was. Like Uncle Vernon. One who would not hesitate to beat the freakishness out of him. He wasn't stupid.

"Potter!" Snape was calling for him to stay behind. Harry stood stock still as the rest of the Slytherins filed out of the common room. Snape stalked closer to him and Harry fought the urge to flinch. He could not show fear--not this early.

"I'm warning you, Potter," Snape said softly, his voice icy with incipient menace. Despite himself, Harry felt his hands begin to tremble and he quickly hid them in the overflowing sleeves of his robes, drawing them into tight fists. "You may be the Golden Boy out there, famous Harry Potter, but in here, you're only a Slytherin first year. And while I don't care to make my punishments public to the rest of Hogwarts, you can be sure that you will be one sorry little boy if you put one toe out of line. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, a little softly but still clearly. He had learned from Uncle Vernon. Mumble and the punishment will be that much worse.

"Go up to your dormitory now, Potter," Snape spat, turning away from him with a billowing of his robes. Harry scampered up the stairs, making his way into the first-year boy's dormitory on cat-like feet.

The room instantly went silent as the other boys turned and stared at him. Harry flushed bright red, quickly going to the only unoccupied bed. A mousy boy named Theodore Nott was his neighbor. Nott gave him a quick, jerky nod of welcome. Harry nodded back. The spell was broken as the other boys resumed readying themselves for bed. Lights-out was in fifteen minutes and no one wanted to be the first to suffer Snape's wrath.

Harry quietly took himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He had gotten a new toothbrush when Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley--mainly because, well, he hadn't had one before. He had a feeling that even freaks were meant to stay clean at this school.

The rustling of his dormmates slowly stilled as Harry tiptoed back into the room and got into bed, drawing the curtains round. Here, he changed into the ratty old tee shirt and pajama bottoms that Dudley had kindly allowed him to have. They were about five sizes too big, at least, but Harry didn't mind. They were clothes. He didn't need any others. He had bought one new "Muggle" outfit that he could wear on the train (he had changed after the Dursleys had dropped him off), and he intended to wear that on the weekends. He didn't want anyone to know that he was a freak, undeserving of food or clothes or hot showers. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had no say here. His ears turned red at the enormous betrayal of his thoughts. Curling up in a tight ball under one of the covers, Harry fell into an uneasy sleep.