On a day the sun was a bother beyond anything else, Harry woke up aching. This was not unusual. He often found a chill settled into his bones in the early hours of the morning, when the city slept and the sun wasn't ready to greet their soot smeared faces.

Harry had left that life, however.

He turned around to escape the light; the world a lazy blur if he chose to peek. Like his hands, the lens of his glasses were smeared with paint, lying motionless on the floor.

Wednesday morning, his last day in Ravenclaw, the world was as it always would be. Since the day he'd lost his coat, he'd spent his afterschool time in any place that wasn't the Ravenclaw dormitories, for a few obvious reasons. Apologies had been made and accepted after his first night out of the dorms, but his dormmates kept their distance from the weird student who seldom joined the group and preferred spending time with the other 'outcast'

Harry had already come across two groups talking behind him, one in the library after he'd lost ten points for the terrible scrawl that was his homework, the second time Professor McGonogall had warned him after weeks of considerate reproach. She wasn't the only one. Teachers who originally did not mind his messy assignments, unfinished homework and other things he'd forgotten or neglected to do in his already busy schedule had grown more impatient by the day.

He wrote slowly. He wasn't trusted enough for them to lend a notebook. He needed more time to read in class and stumbled over his words when he was called to answer.

He wasn't smart.

And now, he wasn't safe from the laughter and angry muttering that followed him.

"I can't believe we're losing points because of a temporary student," hissed a Ravenclaw girl after class, when she thought he wasn't close enough to hear, "If he's bound to leave, then why are we responsible for him?"

"Did you hear how he read?" said another student, chuckling with his friends, "Worse than my brother. And he's in his first year!"

"Ridiculous."

"Did Professor Patel not teach him English?"

"His accent is a bit… off. Probably learnt Arabic first. Or Indian."

"He should just leave already."

And Harry found it in his heart to agree, pursuing the other outcast of Ravenclaw house if he felt the need to be in someone's company.

"You've been…" Luna said last Sunday, a searching look on her. It was no mystery what Harry was doing. He left the dorms after curfew (once he was sure everyone was asleep), seeking the refuge of complete detachment from the world in the forgotten, dusty classroom on the third floor or Greenhouse Two (he felt his stomach churn at the sight of Greenhouse Three ), to water his lilies, which he only continued because every day Professor Sprout made it a habit to remind him indirectly about it.

Right, Luna.

The only one in the castle who had caught a glimpse of the thoughts he was painting. She made no comment on it, which both terrified Harry and came as a relief, brushing her fingers down the page of chaotic splashes of colour.

"You're not going to say anything?" Harry asked, wondering if he ought to show some to Professor Patel as well. He'd made a promise to her after all, to try. To take small steps. This helped. It really, truly helped. With nightmares, with the burning. Keeping the Monster (the thought made him chuckle weakly) out of his head, or whatever mystery that kept happening to him.

Still, life was as it should be. Professor Lupin was as incomprehensible as ever, Snape stayed true to his annoying nature, Professor Patel gave him a strained smile whenever he felt the need to be rebellious, the trio slowly started to talk to each other thanks to Harry's lies (which weren't really lies), because of course Hermione would feel sorry about the situation. So would Ron. Maybe even Dra- Malfoy if he was lucky; and on the topic of practise, he caught no cricket balls diving through the air with bare hands, if the twins or Cedric had anything to say about it.

Today he would try to change it all, though, or at least do something while the lucid effect of the painting was still preserved. One period. That's all he needed. One period, and he'd be able to make amends with the Ravenclaws, and get the hostility between Gryffindor and Slytherin settled for good. This was especially important as Harry would be doing his best to avoid death-by-Slytherin for the next two weeks when he joined them. He'd just have to come up with an excuse to speak in art class, get the students to listen to him and explain what exactly they were doing wrong, in a roundabout way.

The door opened easily, once Harry managed to drag himself to it. His papers and paints stuffed clumsily into his bag, Harry buttoned it as he walked down the hallway, hearing the bell sound louder and louder. Closer and closer he came to the Great Hall, dodging the students with their full stomachs, ready for class after a good-night's sleep, homework complete.

In essence, everything Harry currently wasn't.

To make matters worse — he glanced up the staircases, biting his lip when his stomach growled — the stairs ahead stood no more merciful than they had on the first day.

"Last time," Harry said out loud, ignoring the dry rasp of his throat, "Last time, and I won't have to take this class again."

And for a final time, drenched in sweat, Harry lifted the trapdoor to Professor Trelawney's classroom, collapsing at the desk in the middle of the class. Immediately, the wafting mix of herbs and something that shouldn't be burnt indoors travelled up his nose. His head settled on the table. Sleepy. Slowly numb. Professor Trelawney was making her rounds around the classroom, discussing the many wonders that predicted Harry's many gruesome deaths with any student willing to listen. He closed his eyes, until he heard the unmistakable voice of Malfoy, followed by the disgruntled noises Hermione was making at the sight of their teacher.

Malfoy took the table on his right, Ron and Hermione on his left - some improvement from the unspoken rule they had of keeping at least six feet apart from each other a few days earlier. As long as they could hear Harry, they could sit in the middle of the lake for all he'd care. The second bell rang, and Professor Trelawney sprang towards the front of the class, eyes wide behind her glasses.

"Today, my dears," she said, as always sounding very surprised, "We will explore the meaning behind art, the depth you create with your materials. Half an hour, please begin."

Harry, alone at his table, took out the last of his papers, smoothing them out on the table. Perspective, depth. They'd gone over it last week, and it had given Harry the spark he needed to fix the situation. Of course, he didn't have to care. Hufflepuff was still an option, if nothing else worked. They hadn't commented much on Snape, at least outwardly - neither defending him nor Professor Lupin, which was the strategy Ravenclaws had picked up along the way.

Only Harry was already on their bad side, and the inkling thought that their ties wouldn't improve, even if his plan worked, bothered him until the end of thirty minutes.

"Papers down, now!" Professor Trelawney clapped her hands, her colorful skirt dusting the floor in a twirl, "Come, who would like to begin?"

Lavender and Parvaiti's hands sprang up into the air.

And to everyone's surprise, so did Harry's.

"Oh Mr Patel!" Professor Trelawney stooped over his head, insect like eyes scanning his page, "Do tell us about yours."

"Right, well," Harry cleared his throat, looking around the room. Now that it was actually time to speak... all reason left his mind, panic rising up his throat and catching his words, "Uh. Well, I see... I see there's a dark shadow —" he indicated the deliberate smudge he'd made, "— Looming over, oh dear. It seems to be the top most tower."

"The top most tower?" said Professor Trelawneyl, very intrigued. Hermione huffed, while Malfoy and a few others narrowed their eyes, looking concerned about his head, "Let me see, dear —"

But Harry snatched it from her hands, holding out a stalling hand.

"The point I'm trying to make —"

"What are you on, Patel?" laughed Michael Conner, the rest of the class laughing with him. Almost all of them. Harry watched their faces with a sinking heart, pushing his shaking hands behind his back; cheeks warming the more Professor Trelawney tried to silence the class.

He didn't notice Malfoy until he stood to take the paper from him, slipping a hand around his arm and sitting him down at his desk, taking his own bag to drop it beside the cushion adjacent to Harry. And though his head was down for the rest of the class, Harry felt Malfoy glaring, presumably, over him toward the back of the class.

He'd failed. The thought wasn't as uncomfortable as the occasional chuckle behind his back, prompting him to further bury his head inside his arms and not look up until the end of class.

"Shadow, eh, Patel?" someone said as they walked by, and still Harry couldn't bring himself to look up. Only when Malfoy shook his arm — the class silent — was he able to lift his eyes.

Malfoy watched him dully.

"Don't say anything," Harry muttered, wanting to knock his head on the table when he noticed that Hermione and Ron were in the classroom as well, "Just…"

"I wasn't planning to," Malfoy said , gaze flicking towards Professor Trelawney nervously pacing the front of her classroom with the occasional glance towards their group, "However, if you're quite eager…"

"I'm not."

"I have time to spare."

"I don't," Harry stuffed the paper into his bag, almost falling when he was kept back by the hand still around his arm, "I really don't, Malfoy. The trouble I'll be in if I'm late! And I don't mean the teachers."

At that, the three shared a look, and Malfoy let go. Harry stumbled. Ron caught him. Hermione called after him to meet them in the library after school, huffing when Professor Trelawney tried to catch up to Harry, which he ignored with a clumsy climb down the stairs, almost breaking his leg.

Library…

As if he could be anywhere else, now.

And as promised, he did show up. Hungry, but barely noticing it, fiddling with his hands and itching to scratch his arm to calm down, "Don't know if the library is a good place to talk," he whispered, glancing at the prying Madam Prince who heard too much and said too little.

"Any ideas?" Malfoy said, fiddling with the spine of a book despite how many times Hermione had slapped his hand for it.

Harry did, and the rest didn't mind when he led them to Greenhouse Two. He'd have to water the lilies anyway, and Professor Sprout had made her stance clear — rather excitedly — on how he was always welcome. What were three students more?

"That was a little embarrassing," Harry said after the flowers were watered, the pot sitting between them on the floor. Harry ran a hand through his hair, hanging his head, and covering both eyes, "Actually, I don't want to go to school anymore."

"Don't exaggerate, Ali," said Hermione.

"Do you think he's exaggerating, Hermione?" asked Ron, and all four of them fell silent. Hermione nudged Malfoy when the silence turned awkward, and Malfoy twitched in surprise, rubbing the spot where Hermione touched him, "What?"

Hermione nodded towards Harry, and Malfoy glanced back at him, narrowing his eyes in confusion, "What, I don't understand what you're trying to say. I told you already, when you're talking to me —"

" — Talk clearly," mimicked Ron.

" — Because I don't understand, and sometimes — "

"Lose focus," echoed Ron and Hermione. For a moment, a very brief moment, they held their gazes, and to Harry's relief, a smile cracked each of their lips, their stances far less tense.

"Well, if I had known it would take this little for you to make up — " Harry pulled his knees forward, curling his arms around them and resting his chin on his arms, " — I wouldn't have gone through all that."

"Is that what it was? To get us to make up?" asked Hermione. At Harry's small shrug, Malfoy stopped fiddling with his shirt buttons, an amused smile pulling his lips, "Maybe leave the thinking to the Ravenclaws, Patel."

He successfully dodged the water remaining in the watering can, laughing until he noticed the dirt now running down his sleeve.

"It's only Wednesday!" he shouted while angrily brushing a hand down his sleeve, "I can't wait for the weekend until I wash this."

"Don't you have a trunk full of shirts?" Ron asked, stretching his long arms above his head, "Malfoy?"

Malfoy didn't look.

"Draco!"

Malfoy looked up, confused, "What?"

"I said — Well, nevermind. So if that's settled —"

"I suppose we can just talk to the other Gryffindors, if it's bothering you that much, Ali," Hermione said, on his shoulder.

"It's not the whole school I'm worried about," Harry played with the leaf of a plant beside him, running a hand down the thin branch, "I just… I don't want anyone to keep me as a jury."

"You can think more diverse than that," Hermione said. When Harry furrowed his brows, she continued, "I suppose we'd been thinking… black and white, too. It was wrong of us to defend ourselves so strongly, just because Professor Snape isn't the most…"

"Approachable?" Malfoy suggested, still brushing his shirt.

"Well, yes. He isn't very much like the other teachers."

"I wouldn't have an issue with it, if he took points from all houses," Ron said, offering a puzzled look when Malfoy stopped brushing his shirt, a narrow glare directed at him, "What?"

Still looking like he was dying to say something, Malfoy simply unfolded the jersey hanging from his other arm; putting it on and making sure the now almost gone stain didn't show, "He doesn't give points to us, either. And I suppose I'll do something about it, too. But in truth?" he shrugged, both hands on his hips, "You are exaggerating. It'll die down in a month."

"Weren't you the one that argued the most — " Malfoy lowered Harry's hand, brushing some soil from his shoulder, "I'll come with you to collect your things."

Harry scoffed, "I'll be fine."

"With those arms?" Malfoy asked, nodding towards his hands, "You can barely carry your books."

This time, he couldn't dodge the glove Harry threw at his head.

The goodbyes back in the Ravenclaw dorms were brief, as Harry just thanked Professor Flitwick privately in his office, handing over the key for the fourth time that week, assuring him he was fine. After two rounds of carrying his things out, he said a quıick thank you to his dorm mates, waving at Luna with a small smile before walking out the room.

"Right, you take one end, and I'll take the other," Malfoy said, heaving the metal handle, "Ready? One, two, three."

Grumbling, sweaty, tired, and realising mid-way they should have asked someone else considering the staircases, they almost fell with the trunk outside the Slytherin enterance, rubbing their aching backs and wiping the sweat from their foreheads.

"Let me just — " Malfoy huffed, voice thin. He unlocked the door and left it wide open, slipping the chain holding the key around his neck before turning to help Harry with his trunk.

A final few steps, and finally, they were in, sprawling on the cold dungeon floor to cool their skin, "And you said —" Malfoy gasped out, hand over his stomach and chuckling weakly, "And you said you'd be fine."

"Shut it," Harry managed, raising his head. The few people that were in the common room turned their heads when Harry looked up, going back to talking amongst each other. Straightening up, trunk still on the floor, Harry's first impression of the common room wasn't half bad. Lake-water lapped the bottom of the tall windows, and the flames of the fireplace added a soothing warmth to the grey and silver of the furnishings. After bright yellows and blues, Harry had to admit it was a good change.

"Right, well, let's get this to our dorm and I'll take you to Professor Snape," Malfoy said, standing up, though some red still remained on his cheeks.

"Professor Snape?"

"To get your key. Maybe have a talk. Didn't the other teachers do the same?"

They had. But Professor Snape wasn't only a teacher, was he?"

This time, someone — Zabini — was kind enough to lend them a hand, even dragging the whole thing himself at the last few steps. Malfoy patted his arm in thanks, wordlessly taking Harry by the arm to lead him towards the inevitable meeting with Snape.

"Just through here," he motioned the door of the potions classroom, "He has an office in the common room, but he rarely uses it and even then only after curfew."

Without waiting for a response, Malfoy went back the way he came, his silhouette slowly blending into the dark.

Harry knocked on the door. The sound echoed through the corridor, and Snape's voice followed. Eager to get out of the dark, Harry quickly entered, pushing the door with his whole body. Inside, instead of behind his desk where he expected him to be, Snape was by the window, peering into the darkness.

"Sir?"

"Have a seat," Snape said without looking, voice far more quiet than usual, "Or don't, however you're comfortable."

Harry took the seat, eyes following Snape. It wasn't unusual for Snaoe to look like he was thinking — Harry would bet that Snape was thinking every minute of every day, many thoughts in his head, with the little amount he spoke — but right now, Harry found himself… worried. Snape's expressions were fluid enough, usually morphing between anger, irritation and amusement, but the current crease of worry was unusual.

"Are, er, is everything alright, sir?"

"I wonder," Snape said, sitting back down, "Nothing to concern yourself. Now — " he dug a hand into his breast pocket, retrieving a key and sliding it across the table, " — Your key, for Slytherin."

"Does everyone have spare keys?" Harry asked, slipping out the chain he used for all the others and hanging the key on the end of it before wearing it around his head.

"At least five, in my case," Snape said, an irritated frown pulling his lips, "First years can be rather bothersome in the regard of losing their keys. Which is to say — " he leaned forward, pointing at the key with a long finger, " — Do not lose it."

"I have bigger things to worry about — Of course I won't lose it. I'm afraid they won't let me in if I did, the Slytherins."

"Don't be senseless. Now, regarding other matters," he sat down, leaning back in his seat with a plain look on his face, "What is this I hear about you being behind in other classes as well? I asked you to pay more attention to the class and your assignments, though I thought it stemmed from your… dislike of me. It applies for all other classes, does it not?"

Harry's heart dropped, and the chain around his neck suddenly felt very, very cold against his skin, "No I'll… I'll catch up soon, I always do… Things were just busy, s'all."

"For two weeks?"

"I think It'll be worse, the longer I stay here chatting about it," Harry said, close to snapping, "I said I'll catch up. I keep my promises."

"So do I," Snape said, and lifting a page from between many more, "I spoke with the staff, as well as the one is charge of students' affairs — "

"Students' affairs?"

"Your dear aunt. We've agreed it best to take you out of elective courses for the time being, until you've caught up," Snape put the page down, pointing at the blank spaces on his schedule which usually held the art and riding classes. Picking up his pen, Snape turned the paper around, wrote something down, and handed it back to him, "You'll continue with the after school lessons for the time being, but instead, the focus will be around catching you up to the current classes, and not about the subjects you've missed in the last two years.

"Those will be handled in the winter and summer holidays, except for English and Mathematics, which you will still study. On this —" he tapped his finger on Wednesday morning "— And this day," and again on Friday afternoon, "I will ask for two seventh years to aid you, and if you're still having trouble while studying on your own on the weekend, there are Slytherin study groups you can participate in. Do you understand?"

Harry stared, blinked, and continued to stare.

Snape furrowed his eyebrows, "Close your mouth, Patel, you look ridiculous."

"Why are you trying to catch me up on school work?"

This time, it was Snape's turn to look confused, in the sort of frustrated manner only he would be able to manage, "Don't tell me the answer is too difficult for you to comprehend. I'm the head of Slytherin house, a teacher in this school, and your issued guardian. As impossible as it is to imagine, I do take care of my responsibilities, whatever those may be."

"Even if…" Harry swallowed, taking the paper from Snape's outstretched hand, "Even if it's me? The real me?"

Snape arched his brow cleanly, "Especially if it's you."

He felt a warm glow.

A glow that wasn't easy to ignore.

"You'll meet the rest of your year tomorrow," Snape stood up, hands behind his back, "For now, the only rule I'm issuing you is that no student is to remain in the common room after half past ten. A prefect will catch you up to the rest tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, standing up as well and turning to walk towards the door. He paused on the first step, though, and turned back around, "Uh, sir. Would it be possible to get more paper?"

"Have you already exhausted your supply?"

Harry caught where the conversation was going easily by the look on Snape's face, "Yes, but not because I was busy with them when I should be working. I promise. They help me… feel my best."

Snape eyed him carefully, "See me tomorrow, and we'll discuss it again. Oh, and Potter —" Harry looked up, hand on the door handle, " — No night time wanderings."

For a moment, Harry had the idea that Snape knew about what he was doing. Panic rose up his throat.

"I do not want to hear about you angrily storming from the common room and not coming back the whole night, though I should thank you for losing all those points and keeping Slytherin in first place."

Harry dropped his hand, "Are you scolding me or thanking me?"

Snape's smirked, "Both. No night time wanderings. And do make use of the coat you have. I'd rather see you wearing a coat too big than dressing thinly."

Heat rushed to Harry's ears, "Of course, sir."

"And a final word of advice," Snape opened the door for him, darkness pooling into the room, "Always be on your guard, and keep someone in your company while out on the grounds."

"Because of Sirius Black?"

"So that troublesome misfortune you have causes no harm to you," Professor Snape muttered bitterly, "The troubles we seem to find you in. Good night, Ali."

A weak smile on his lips, Harry nodded, "Good night, Professor Snape."

The door closed, and Harry found himself in the darkness. With every step back to the common room, and as he lay on his new bed, the thought — oddly in Snape's voice — echoed in his head.

Welcome to Slytherin, Harry Potter.