Surprisingly, Harry's first class of the day was Potions. He felt a bubble of happiness that morning during breakfast when he was given his schedule and glanced down. At least it wouldn't be anything terribly difficult.

His happiness ebbed away, however, when he realized he would be sharing the class with the Gryffindors.

It wasn't that he hated the Gryffindors, oh no. He actually found a lot of them to be nice, or the ones that hadn't sneered down at him in the hallways anyway. It was just one particular Gryffindor that, only on the second day, had already made Harry Public Enemy #1.

Ron had seemed nice during the train ride, friendly even. When Harry got sorted, he had hoped that the both of them would at least stay in each other's good graces. But that had apparently been a horrible thought on Harry's behalf. Ron had acted like the train ride had never happened. Harry didn't know what he did wrong, but it was obvious the young Weasley wanted nothing to do with him. He wanted to voice his concerns to Severus, but when the man had gotten through with his welcoming speech, he looked tired, almost as tired as Harry felt, and he didn't want to bother the professor.

Because that's what he was now: a professor. He was no longer Harry's guardian. He was someone else entirely, someone who could no longer spend every moment being with Harry. Harry would be lucky enough to see him outside of classes, nevermind every hour of every day. He was just glad that the man was his Head of House. At least then he would be able to see him for emergencies.

Harry ignored the glare sent his way from Ron as Harry walked to the classroom door. He stared at the wall instead, pushing the chatter around him out of his mind. He caught the blonde boy with bat wings--Malfoy, if he remembered correctly--staring at him intensely. Great. Did he want to hate Harry's guts, too? It seemed to be the craze right then. Even some of the Slytherins, who had seemed very delighted at the feast, had turned their backs on him when it came night time. The happy feeling that had blossomed in his chest had quickly became heavy like lead. And once again, Harry couldn't go to Severus. For once, he was actually wishing he would have been sorted into Gryffindor. But then again, Harry constantly reminded himself, it was only the second day. Who knew what else could happen.

Severus came around the corner, dressed in flowy robes that Harry had never seen him in before. His wings were tucked in tightly to his back, blending in with the equally dark robes. He had a look on his face that made Harry want to shrink back into the wall and disappear forever. He had an air around him that said that he clearly did not want to be there. Harry had a feeling that it was just a ruse, but he couldn't help but feel like it was real.

As Harry passed, he glanced into the scowling face. Seeing no kindness that he was accustomed to, he quickly upped his pace, finding a seat near the back and slumped down. God, he was not ready for this.

Severus--no, Professor Snape. He refused to call the scary man that was in the front of the classroom Severus--stood in front of a large chalkboard, his spidery writing written in white chalk etched on the board behind him.

Harry thought he saw Professor Snape glance in his direction, and just when he thought the man was going to give him a small smile or smirk like always, he opened his mouth. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he said, his deep voice echoing around the silent room.

"As there is little wand waving, many of you will just chalk it up to little more than chemistry than magic. But I assure you, it most certainly is. I don't expect much of you to have respect for the delicate science, but for those of you who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can teach you how to brew glory, bottle fame, and even put a stopper to death. " The last part was spoken so low Harry had to strain to hear. He never thought Severus would be one for dramatics, but there he was, acting like he was on a stage in Broadway. Harry seemed to be the only one to realize this fact, however. Everyone else was leaning close, sucking up every word the man spoke like a sponge, eyes never moving from their fixed spot on the black-winged professor.

"But then again, maybe some of you have come to this class thinking that you have already possessed abilities so formidable that you don't even have to crack open a book."

His dark eyes scanned the classroom, and everyone held their breath.

"Potter!" he said suddenly and sharply. Harry jumped in surprise.

"Yes, sir?" Harry mumbled, not liking being referred to by his last name.

"What would l get if I added Powdered Root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood?"

"What?" Harry blurted out, not expecting the question. Professor Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Don't ‘what' me. Answer the question!" he barked.

Harry quickly deduced that he didn't like this version of Severus much. Not at all. It reminded him way too much of Uncle Vernon, and that was never a good thing.

"Erm," Harry stammered, trying to think back to his textbooks that he had read. "They would form a sleeping potion," he answered.

An eyebrow raised, clearly intending for him to continue.

"They would form a sleeping potion so powerful , it is known as the uh, the uh..."

Professor Snape's face darkened slightly.

"The Draught of Living Death!" he finally answered, sweating.

Behind the dark look that seemed to have embedded itself into Professor Snape's eyes, Harry could see a small glimmer of pride. Harry silently let himself breathe a sigh of relief.

"Where would you look if I tell you to find me a Bezoar?" he asked.

"In the stomach of a goat, sir," Harry replied with more confidence.

The professor nodded. "What is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

The statement ‘Think back to our sessions, Harry' was written clearly across the man's face, and Harry thought back to the time he spent the whole afternoon talking potions with Severus.

"Nothing. They're both the same plant which can also be known as Aconite and they can be used to make Wolfsbane," he said, and this time Severus let a small upward tug of the lips show, making his dark persona slip for a second before coming back again full force.

"Well," he said to the rest of the class, who was staring at Harry curiously, "Why aren't you all writing this down?"

Harry relaxed as the class went on. He found Severus to be a bit more tolerable now that he knew for certain that his current actions were nothing but a ruse. He didn't have to like it of course, but it helped to know that it wasn't real.

He ignored the stares and glares from the redhead and the blonde. Instead, he focused on his textbook, which was demonstrating the perfect way to create a Boil Cure potion.

Flying Lessons was later that day. It seemed like fun until he realized that, once again, he would be stuck with the Gryffindors. They all glared at him now, very openly and not so subtle at all. Whether it was from his display during potions or the fact that ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived' had ended up in Slytherin, Harry didn't know. Harry noticed Ron stayed close to two other boys, which Harry remembered from the sorting. They turned their backs to him, murmuring to themselves. Harry scowled darkly and turned away.

Their flying instructor, Hooch, had the largest wings Harry had ever seen. They were silver, like her wild hair, with hints of black at the tips. They easily stretched out far beyond what Harry's, or even Severus' could. She blew her whistle, the sharp piercing tone making everyone snap to attention.

Before them, brooms in varying shapes and sizes laid on the grass. Harry looked at them curiously, much like the other students.

"Today, we'll be learning how to fly," Hooch said, her gravelly voice making Harry's eyes flick to her.

A Gryffindor raised his hand. "But ma'am, we already know how to fly. Most of our parents taught us as soon as we got our wings," he said.

"I'm not talking about with your wings, Spinnett," she said. "I'm talking about with these babies right here." She motioned to the brooms at their feet.

They certainly didn't look like babies, in Harry's opinion. In fact, they look like what Uncle Vernon would use to kindle the fire before they got an electric fireplace.

"Why?" asked Spinnett again. "We have our wings."

Hooch leaned forward, her nose nearly brushing Spinnett's. "Why? Let me ask you this: What do you think will happen if one of you breaks your wing during the middle of a match or during the school hours? Your team relies on you. You're the only one who has a chance at helping your team win the cup. How do you fly?"

Spinnett gulped. "Um, you don't? T-the reserve takes your place," he stammered.

Hooch's eyes narrowed. "Wrong!" she shouted, and Spinnett jerked back away from the spittle that came flying out of her mouth. "You use a broom! They're just as effective as your wings, if not better!"

"Y-Yes, ma'am!" Spinnett said, shaking slightly. Harry heard Ron snicker behind him, hiding his grin behind his hand.

"On the count of three, I want you to place your hand over the broom and shout up! One, two, three..."

"Up!" they all chorused.

Harry was pleased to note that his broom was one of the few that shot up quickly. Others had just rolled around. Malfoy's had shot up like Harry's, and Ron's had taken two tries before it finally went into his hand.

"Now, mount your broom, with your hands holding the handle like this." Hooch demonstrated the proper way to sit on a broom. Harry noticed with a bit of smugness that he was the only one who seemed to do it correctly. Ron wasn't holding it right, and Hooch told Malfoy he had been sitting wrong.

"But this is how I always do it!" the bat-winged boy complained.

"Well, then you've been doing it wrong," Hooch replied.

"When I say go, I want all of you to kick off the ground. Not too far now, since we're just learning, but about a foot off of the ground. Ready, set-"

"Argh!"

Harry, as well as the rest of the class, looked up to see Ron soaring high above the rest. Whether he was so confident in his abilities to fly or he just kicked off too hard, Harry didn't know. What he did know, was that if Ron continued to go any higher, he would quickly become a simple, tiny spot in the sky. He was already high above the treetops.

"Mr. Weasley, come down this instant!" Hooch called. She let go of her broom and spread her wings, just in case.

"I can't!" the redheaded boy yelled back, his voice almost incomprehensible over the wind.

"Yes, you can! Just ease the broom downward!"

Ron leaned forward, doing just what Hooch had said, but he put too much body weight on the front of the broom, and Harry could tell from where he was standing that he was slipping.

"Ahh!" His scream was high and shrill. He plummeted down to the earth, broom falling behind him. He was nearly to the ground before it dawned on him to use his wings, and he spread them, but not fast enough. Hooch rushed to the air, but before she could get far off of the grass, Ron had hit ground.

Harry heard a rather sickening crunch that made him want to spew his breakfast as Ron landed. Students' eyes widened.

"Is he dead?" one girl whispered.

A loud moan broke through the chatter and whispers. Sniffling followed, and Harry could see from his point of view that Ron's arm was bent at a very awkward angle.

"Are you okay?" Hooch asked, bending down beside him. She shooed curious students away, making them stand far back.

"Come on, Mr. Weasley, let's take you to Madame Pomfrey." She helped him up with his good arm. Snot and tears were running down his face, collecting at his chin.

"Nobody fly while I'm gone! I want all of you to stay grounded, do you understand?"

"Psh, how pathetic," Malfoy muttered once Hooch was out of earshot.

"Says the one who can't even sit on a broom properly," Harry retorted. He didn't know why he was defending Ron. Even though it was obvious the boy wanted nothing more to do with Harry, Harry still hoped he would get over his prejudice and maybe be friends if he heard Harry sticking up for him.

Malfoy's white eyebrow rose. "Well, well, Potter. If you want to defend that moron, be my guest. You should have persuaded the hat to put you in Gryffindor with him, since that's so obvious where you want to be. There's no need or want for people of your kind in Slytherin."

Harry's eye twitched. "My kind? I'm a Slytherin, just like you. Who're you getting off telling people who they are and aren't?"

Malfoy sneered, contorting his face into something ugly. His eyes travelled past Harry, stopping on something behind him.

Harry turned as Malfoy walked over to it. "Looks like Weasley dropped something!" he said, picking up the round object. Harry instantly recognized it as a Remembrall. Neville had one, and he had shown it to him during their sleepover and told him all about it.

Harry held out his hand, giving the pompous boy a glare. "Give it back, Malfoy," he snarled.

Malfoy gave a smug grin. "You want it back? Prove to me that you belong in Slytherin. If you can catch this, I'll never bother you again."

He wound his arm back and chucked the Remembrall as high in the air as he could. It soared up, up, past the goal posts, higher than the lowest branch on the towering trees, and Harry instinctively spread his wings and zoomed after it.

Harry had to hand it to him; Malfoy really had an arm. He dove after the ball as it made it's descent downwards. His hair whipped against his scalp, and his ears popped as he sped downward. His feet brushed the long grass before he finally caught it. His victory was short-lived however, as he was met with the furious face of McGonagall.

"Harry Potter! Come here right this instant!" she bellowed. Harry shrank back. Malfoy's gleeful grin told Harry that it had all been a ploy, and he had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

As he followed McGonagall away from the field, he could hear Malfoy's taunts as he boasted loudly to the other students.

"It looks like Potter can fetch! He's the Slytherin's little pet dog!" A series of woofs, howls, and barks followed. Harry growled low in his throat, glaring at the back of McGonagall's robes, too angry to make a comeback.

Once they were inside, McGonagall stopped. "What on earth were you thinking?" she asked, her voice low. Harry gulped.

"G-Grammy Min, it wasn't what you think," he began.

"Then tell me what happened."

Harry's eyes never left the spot on the stone floor as he told the story. It was quiet for a long time. Harry shuffled his feet. He could feel the stare of her on his head as she processed what he told her, and Harry could feel the beginning of tears forming.

McGonagall startled Harry by bending down in front of him. She engulfed him into a hug, and Harry was too shocked to hug her back. "Merlin, Harry. I know you can fly, but do you realize you could have gotten hurt? You came so close to hitting the ground!"

"I had it!" Harry tried to argue, but stopped at the look she gave him.

"If you had been in my house..." she began.

"What would you have done?" Harry whispered, his voice coming out in a squeak.

"Well, first, I would have made sure you got onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team as fast as possible, then I would have worried about your detention. You do have talent, Harry."

Harry's ears perked up, and he felt himself blush at the praise.

"But," McGonagall continued, and Harry's shoulders fell. "Severus is your Head of House, and I am very sure that he will not let you off as easy as I would."

"But what about Malfoy? He's the one who started it!"

"I'll deal with Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure, however, that Severus will want to deal with you personally."

"You don't have to. He doesn't have to know," Harry tried feebly.

McGonagall pursed her lips. "I'm afraid it's too late. I've already sent him notice."

Harry felt a bubble of fear rise in his throat. Oh, God, the man was going to kill him. He was going to chop him up into potion ingredients and sell him on the black market. He was going to clip his wings and ban him from flying. He was...

Harry gulped. He was so dead.

The entire way to the dungeons, Harry kept his head low. He refused to look up when McGonagall rapped on Severus' door. He wanted to run after her when she turned around and headed the other way with just a pat on the head, but he squared his shoulders and walked past his guardian, priding himself by only shaking just a little.

He finally looked up when Severus cleared his throat. The sight that greeted him made him wish he was still looking down. Severus' eyes were filled with anger, and he had his hands clasped in front of his face. When he had that look, Harry knew he was pissed beyond words.

"Um, I'm sorry," was his weak attempt at apologizing. The words barely came out audible, and even Harry had to strain to hear them.

"Did you know I had to stop my class in the middle of their lesson to answer Minerva's frantic notice?" Severus whispered, his his eyes glaring holes into Harry's head. "They were brewing a very unstable potion. You are very lucky that it was at the stage to cool down, or else there may have been some very bad repercussions."

Harry swallowed.

"Now tell me exactly what happened. Why did you fly when Madame Hooch gave very specific instructions not to?"

And Harry was telling the story again, but this time, his throat closed midway, and he could feel the guilt rise and bubble, and he choked back a sob.

"You do realise Malfoy was playing you a fool, correct?" Severus said.

Harry sniffled and nodded. "I-I'm sorry, sir," he hiccuped.

"I am afraid that actions like this should not go unpunished. You could have gotten seriously hurt if you didn't know what you were doing."

"I just wanted to show that I'm a real Slytherin," Harry whispered.

"By doing something idiotic that could nearly cost you your life? That's not being a Slytherin. That is a trait of a Gryffindor. He played you for a double fool."

Harry wiped at his eyes.

He could hear Severus sigh and heard the sounds of shoes on tile as he came around his desk and knelt in front of him. Unlike McGonagall, when Severus put his arms around Harry, Harry leaned in, burying his head against the older man's shoulders. Black feathers brushed his forehead, tickling at his scar. He let out a small sob. "M'sorry," he said, his voice wobbly and weak.

"I hate having to punish you, Harry, but this is nothing I can let brush by," Severus said in Harry's ear. Harry's lip wobbled.

"Please don't hurt me," he said.

The hold on Harry tightened. "No. No I would never take my hand to you. I am going to punish you just like how I punish my other students. You will be serving detention with me after supper, and then you will go to bed directly after. And because of your actions, you have lost Slytherin five points."

Harry gasped. Severus was taking points from his own house? All because of him? The thought made him feel even worse, if possible.

Severus stood up, groaning as his knees straightened. "Go on to your next class. You only have one after this. As soon as your next class is over, I want you to stay in your dormitory until supper. Directly after, I want to see you here for your detention. Do you understand?"

And the teacher voice was back on. Harry was beginning to hate it. It didn't sound like the Severus he knew. Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

Harry still had a while before the next class was scheduled to begin. He headed towards the hospital wing, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His tears dried as he stared at the stone. He felt the Remembrall in his pocket, and he rolled it around in his hand.

Ron was sitting on the edge of a white bed. Madame Pomfrey was shuffling around, already up to her head with students sick or injured. Ron's arm was in a temporary sling, and he looked up when Harry walked in. Harry noticed Ron's eyes instantly hardened at the sight of him.

"Here, you dropped something," Harry said. He tossed the Remembrall in Ron's direction. He would be lying if he said he didn't find the scene of the Weasley trying to catch the ball one handed amusing.

Ron stared at the Remembrall in his hand, as if trying to figure out if Harry had done something to it. Ron said nothing in return, just stared at his Remembrall.

"A thanks would be appreciated," Harry ground out.

"I don't need help from you," Ron said vehemently.  

Harry felt white-hot anger boil inside him. "Fine then!" he exploded, making a nearby student jump. "Whatever!" He angrily stomped out of the infirmary, seeing red.

If only he knew that Harry had stood up for him. He had gotten in trouble, lost his house points and got detention because he wanted to do the right thing. But apparently Weasley didn't care about that. He still only saw the Slytherin part of Harry. If Weasley didn't want to try, then Harry wouldn't either.

The only thing that made Harry feel somewhat better when he entered Defense Against the Dark Arts was that Malfoy was still being chewed out by McGonagall and wasn't there to taunt him or whatever else the bat-winged boy felt obligated to do around Harry. Harry didn't know how he would have reacted if he saw the shock of blond hair in the state he was currently in, but no doubt it would have gotten him into even more trouble.

The teacher walked in, and Harry recognised him as the man from Diagon Alley when he was with Hagrid. His wings were bandaged tightly, and Harry could see dark splotches littering the gauze.

Quirrell's small eyes were squinted, looking over the classroom. His eyes skipped right over Harry, as if he didn't see him, going to the girl sitting next to him. Harry furrowed his brows. From what Harry remembered, the man had nearly stumbled over himself trying to spot Harry in the Leaky Cauldron.

"H-h-hello, c-class," Quirrell stuttered. Harry groand, laying his head in his hand. He felt hot. He tugged at his robes, and a trickle of sweat rolled down his head.

As the class continued, Harry only got worse. He laid his head down, fighting the urge to vomit. He peeked from under his arm. Nobody else was having hot flashes like Harry. He panted, shutting his eyes against the spinning room. Why wasn't anyone else getting sick, too? It must have been something in the room.

That, or Weasley had done something to him.

As quick as the thought came, it left his mind. Weasley couldn't have done anything. His arm was broken, and there was no way an eleven year old could have done wandless magic.

His eyes shot to the front of the room, where Quirrell was writing something on the board. Quirrell turned slightly, and his eyes flicked to Harry for the briefest of moments. Searing hot pain flashed across his forehead, and he brought his hand to his scar.

"Ouch!" he said. Students looked in his direction.

If he had felt sick before, he was downright nauseous then. He had to get out of the class.

Before he could spew onto the desk in front of him, he quickly grabbed his bag and sped out of the room, the smell of garlic wafting his nose as he left. Quirrell didn't even call out to him to stop.

Harry leaned against the wall, catching his breath. His vision swam, and he closed his eyes, fighting the vertigo. His head drummed lightly, making the twinge of pain in his scar more pronounced. He gulped in a breath of air, his vision becoming somewhat clearer. He needed to go to the hospital wing.

He leaned heavily against the wall as he walked. The hard stone scratched at his robes. Thankfully, Weasley was no longer in the infirmary when he entered. Harry let out a small breath of relief at that. He didn't want the other boy to see him in the state he was in.

Madame Pomfrey bustled him to an empty bed. He drank a potion, gulping it down quickly and instantly his head cleared. He leaned against the pillows, letting his breathing even out.

He closed his eyes, just for a second. His headache went away, and his hot flash cooled. Oddly, the smell of the hospital, which Harry had hated before, lulled him into a sense of security, and before he realised it, he was asleep.

He woke to see two fuzzy outlines of heads. Red hair came into view, and he drew away, nearly hitting his head on the backboard.

"Hey," said one of the heads.

"You're awake," said the other.

Harry blinked. Someone had taken off his glasses while he had been asleep. Quickly, he grabbed them from the side table and pushed them up his nose. His vision cleared.

"We wanted to come by and say thanks," said Fred.

"We heard what you did for Ron," continued George.

The twins stared at him expectantly, waiting on his reply.

"What?" Harry croaked.

"We heard that you got Ronnie's Remembrall back for him," George said.

"It was really important to him," said Fred.

Blearily, Harry nodded. "Yeah. Malfoy had took it."

"Thanks," they both said simultaneously.

"Listen, we know that Percy and Ron are being mean to you," said one.

"But know that you're okay with us," continued the other twin.

"It doesn't matter that you're a Slytherin. If you can put aside your house to help another, then that make you okay in our book," Fred said, wrapping an arm around George's shoulder.

"Uh, thanks?" Harry said uncertainly.

"Just so you know, if Ron or Percy ever makes fun of you or is being mean to you like they were before, let us know. We'll straighten them out," George said.

"Okay." Harry actually liked that plan. It seemed not all Weasleys were bigoted idiots like he first thought.

Fred and George gave an eerily similar grin. It looked like one was standing next to a mirror.

"Let us know!" They sang as they headed towards the door.

"Wait!" Harry said, stopping the twins in their tracks.

"Yes?" The turned their heads to face him.

"Is dinner still going?"

An amuse smile tugged at their lips. "Dinner was over an hour ago," Fred said.

Harry's eyes widened. With a muffled curse, he sprung out of bed, ignoring the way his head swam slightly.

"I'm late for detention!" he yelled, gathering his book bag.

"Good luck!" the twins called out after him.

He ran down the corridors, his sneakers slapping frantically against the stone. He wings flared out behind him. If it wasn't for Severus' warning about flying in the halls, Harry would have soared down the corridor, quick as a jet.

He wheezed as he slowed down near the potion classroom door. It seemed Severus was awaiting his arrival. As soon as Harry got near enough, the door swung open and Severus' angry look faced him. He was standing next to his desk, tapping his feet, arms folded. His wings quivered in a way that Harry knew he was mad.

"You weren't in your dorm, and you were not at dinner. Where on earth have you been? And you have the gall to be late for my detention?" Severus snarled.

Harry had finally caught his breath, and he sat his bag on a nearby desk. "I'm sorry," he apologised. "I was in the hospital wing."

Instantly, Severus' face softened a tad, and he leaned down to brush his hand against his forehead. "Why were you in the hospital wing?"

For a moment, Harry considered telling him about Quirrell. His eyes travelled to the pile of paperwork that was on his desk, and decided against it. He was busy enough.

"I felt a bit sick," he said instead. "I guess I fell asleep."

Severus took his hand away with a hum. "You feel better now, though? You're not running a fever."

Harry nodded. "I'm fine now." But his stomach didn't. It felt tight, and as soon as he got done with his sentence, it let out a large growl of hunger.

Severus' eyebrows rose at the noise. "You didn't eat in the hospital wing?"

Harry shook his head. "I ran down here as soon as I woke up and realised what time it was." He didn't mention the Weasley twins hanging over his bed.

With a wave of his wand, Severus conjured up a plate of sandwich triangles on his desk. Harry spotted turkey, ham, beef, and pastrami. His stomach growled even louder, and he reached forward and took one. The first bite tasted like heaven, an he quickly shoved the rest of it in his mouth.

"When you get done eating, I want you to chop, debowel, and pickle frogs. Save the legs. You have until curfew."

Pickling frogs was probably one of the worse things Harry had ever done. He would have traded doing a month's work of pulling weeds and mowing with dealing with the reptile. Every time he turned over one to show their belly as he cut into them, he thought of Spin. He knew that it was a completely different species of reptile, but the thought still made him gag.

Severus sat at his desk, grading and writing notes on the higher year's daily work. Harry saw the older man's upper lip curl as he read one, and he felt sorry for the strong words the kid was no doubt going to receive.

Harry felt gross as he walked back to the Slytherin common room. When he entered, heads turned in his direction. Malfoy gave a sneering look in his direction. Harry recoiled slightly as the boy walked over to him, a hand behind his back.

"Here, Potter. I got a present for you." He threw the item that was held behind his back on the table. Harry stared at the green and silver studded collar that sat mocking him. Upon closer inspection, Harry could see that the tag read Harry Potter, Slytherin dog.

Harry wanted to strangle Malfoy with it, but held back the last second. If only the Weasley twins' offer extended to blond-haired, bat-winged boys. Then Harry would have been really happy.

Malfoy was waiting Harry's reaction. A small smile was prominent as he watched the emotions fly across Harry's face.

"This is a great job, Malfoy. Did you come up with the idea, or did you have to get help from your little cronies?"

Malfoy sputtered, looking outraged.

Instead of adding fuel to the fire, Harry simply pushed past Malfoy and trudged on to the showers. He ignored the barks as he passed. He wanted to burn the damn collar, toss it into the fire and watch gleefully as it burned to a crisp.

The water from the shower was hot on his back. Steam filled the bathroom, making a thick cloud as he bathed. He stayed there until he was sure that the rest of his dorm had gone to bed, then silently slipped under the silk covers. He went to bed, feeling uneasy, and his forehead clammy.

.'.

Draco,

I am pleased to hear of your sorting into Slytherin. There was no doubt you would end up there. You are a Malfoy, after all.

As for Potter tainting the Slytherin name with his presence, well, that's can't be helped can it? If anything, it is a good thing he is there. You know the plan. It will just enforce the mission more, and drive it all to home, as they say. In the meantime, don't be too harsh on him.You may pick a little, but in the end we want him to be an ally.

You mother sends her regards. Enjoy her sweet rolls.

Your father,