The Snake in Gryffindor Tower by Captn-Fedora

Harry’s first week passed in a blur of classroom introductions and etiquettes. His wrist, still not quite healed, burned from the countless lists of rules he had written down. He had broken the nib on two out of the five quills he had bought too, not yet used to the delicacy of the new writing instrument.

Overall, though, he had enjoyed his first week at Hogwarts. After the first night they arrived Harry had worried he’d spend more time being lost in the massive castle than doing anything else but, fortunately, Draco had taken a liking to him for some reason.

The blonde boy was always making sure Harry was with him whether they were sitting together in the common room or paired up in their classes. In the halls Harry found himself perpetually three steps behind Draco, who took pleasure in telling him all he knew and showing off the secrets of the castle he finally got to explore outside of the stories he heard growing up.

It was a perfect match, really; Draco was able to easily impress and proudly spew out information to an eager-to-listen Harry, who got to learn all about this new world he was thrust into.

Harry had learned quickly that the other boy tended to talk a lot and over explain everything, but it was something he very much appreciated. Being a pureblood (which Draco was very vocal about) meant that he was raised entirely in the wizarding world, something incredibly helpful to the muggle-raised boy. He answered questions Harry didn’t even know he had yet and was eager to mentor Harry in the ‘proper Slytherin ways’.

But it wasn’t just the mentoring that Harry enjoyed. Much to his surprise, prefect Farley and Professor Snape were right when they had said Slytherin was not just a category of students, but a family.

While the older Slytherins were harsh and sarcastic and almost cruel to students of other houses, they acted completely different once inside the common room or when speaking in hushed tones in the Great Hall.

Taller students reached down books for appreciative shorter ones, tips for anything from wizard’s chess to how to do well in specific classes were passed out like candy at the parades Harry had watched on his cousin’s television set. When Tracey Davis dislocated her shoulder after tripping down the girls’ dorm stairs, it wasn’t only the prefects who rushed to help but at least five others that stood ready to be needed.

And, even more shocking to Harry, they treated him just the same.

He had been asked more times than he could count about ‘You-Know-Who’ and whispers of ‘show me your scar’ from not only first years, but what felt like everyone in the other three houses. Even some of the professors treated Harry differently, stumbling over his name at roll, their eyes full of awe.

But the Slytherins didn’t give him first pick at where he sat in class just because of something he didn’t even remember doing. They didn’t stare at him with wide eyes, pointing and talking too loud about him as he passed them in the halls.

Instead, that boy from the feast (Adrian Pucey, Harry learned) had taught him how to tie his shoelaces. The prefect, Damian, showed Harry, Draco, and Blaise the correct way to hold their wand when their levitation charms continued to fail. Marcus Flint spelled his inkwell back together after Harry had tried (and failed, drastically) to turn it into rum at Pansy Parkinson’s insistence.

It was a weird experience for Harry, the sibling-like bond between the snakes. He had spent so long watching families on the telly through the slots in his cupboard, dreaming for a mum or a dad or anyone to care for him. For someone to spend time with him willingly, to want to hug him and laugh with him instead of at him.

And while he knew that he had only just started his life as a wizard, had only just entered Hogwarts no more than a few days before, Harry was more than grateful to have been placed in Slytherin.

They were teaching him to play chess (and some of the pieces that swore, even!), and all about quidditch. They talked a lot about being respectable and well-mannered and all praised Harry on his level of respect (“Don’t let them fill your head; being arrogant gets you little in this world. Be humble and confident and practice your studies and then they’ll really worship you.”).

That was what Harry struggled with, they told him; the way he carried himself. His confidence. But Harry didn’t know how to be confident; how was he supposed to think of himself as anything more than the little, worthless, waste-of-space, freak he had been called his entire life?

But the Slytherins didn’t treat him like a freak. They didn’t make him do their cooking or cleaning because the house-elves did all that. They didn’t smack him around if he didn’t do their homework for them because they didn’t ask him to do their homework. Harry wondered if maybe he was settling into the Slytherins too fast, but he dismissed the thought with a smile. For the first time in a really long time, Harry realized, he was happy.
. . . . .
Harry had never much enjoyed school before. He was never particularly good at maths or science and although he did like reading, he was never allowed time to at the Dursleys’. Hogwarts, though, was not like a muggle primary school, Harry was pleased to realize.

Not only were there no games of Harry Hunting at recess, but the classes were even fun! Harry didn’t know if he would ever truly get used to being a wizard, to magic in general. It was just so amazing.

They had classes on tentacle-like plants in herbology and were learning to make feathers fly in charms! Even history of magic was kind of cool, since professor Binns was a ghost.

But potions was, by far, Harry’s favourite class.

He liked that the classroom was only a short walk from the common room; it meant that on Mondays and Thursdays, when he had potions first, he didn’t need to bring his books up to breakfast with him. Not to mention that the dungeons had long ago been deemed ‘Snake Territory’, and Harry hadn’t felt happier (or safer) than when he was with the Slytherins.

But the best part, and Harry smiled just thinking about it as he settled into his chair next to Draco, was that he was good at it. The art of potion making, as the professor had referred to it, used much of the skills Harry had already mastered, honed by years of cooking for his relatives. He already knew how to properly hold and use a knife and to control the heat and size of the flame below.

Really, the biggest thing Harry needed to learn to brew were the safety precautions. He’d never worn special gloves before when touching potentially dangerous ingredients, but maybe after his bacon incident, he should.

The thought of his uncle’s face, all big and purple, if Harry served dinner while wearing his dragon-hide gloves made him smile, but it quickly dropped from his face as he imagined how terrible his punishment would be for that.

The screech of the stool next to him pulled Harry out of his thoughts and he flinched as Theo’s books banged against the table.

“Alright, Teddy?” Blaise frowned, leaning over the table from where he sat at the edge. Theo, brows furrowed with frustration, was glaring at his own fisted hands. “Bloody Gryffindors. Think they can-”

The door slammed open, quickly quieting Theo and causing Harry to flinch. He frowned, angry with himself for jumping even after he had expected the dramatic entrance.
Professor Snape flicked his wand at the chalkboard and their directions appeared in a cloud of chalkdust. He made his way to the front of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at the class.

“Well? Why aren’t you starting yet?”
. . . . .

It made sense that transfiguration was the last class of the day. If potions class was Harry’s favourite, then transfiguration was definitely at the other end of his list. The class itself was alright, really, and Harry thought that under different circumstances it might have been much higher up on that list considering how much he enjoyed studying it in the commons.

The problem came from the Gryffindors.

Transfiguration was one of the fortunately few classes the first year Slytherins and Gryffindors shared, but Harry wondered if that made it worse; it gave them all the rest of their classes to build up nasty comments and insults to throw at each other. He really didn’t understand the animosity between their houses; Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff seemed to get along just fine together.

Laughing as they passed him down the hall, Harry noticed a group of girls that was a mix of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and frowned. It really was just Slytherin that they all hated, wasn’t it.

Even most of the professors didn’t seem like Slytherin, always quick to take points or pass over their raised hands in class. Professor McGonagall, though, seemed to have a particular distaste for the Slytherins, especially Harry himself.

Nearly as often as he heard people whispering about him in awe, Harry was insulted; mutterings of how there was no way a slimy, lying, Slytherin could be the chosen one. They said he would go dark; join You-Know-Who, and, rather than saving the wizarding world, be the one who destroyed it.

While McGonagall had never said any of those things to Harry, he didn’t think it would be a far stretch to assume she thought the same.

Like Professor Snape, the transfiguration professor wore a stern look on her face, her lips drawn tightly together and an intense stare in her eyes that when looking at Harry flitted between disgust, pity, and worry.

And she always seemed to be watching Harry. Even then, as he entered the class, her gaze was glued to him. He swallowed his discomfort with a grimace and took his seat, only to frown again at the match stick in front of him. Unlike with potions, Harry struggled to do even simple things in this class; like turn his matchstick into a needle.

A few more students stumbled into class before McGonagall began her review-lecture on the Transfiguration Formula. Once she was done, she demonstrated the spell they were to practice, much to the delight of Draco; unlike Harry, Draco was quite skilled with transfiguration.

It had only taken Draco a few tries before he grinned, showing his new needle off proudly to the Slytherins around him, “You owe me a galleon, Parkinson.” Pansy sneered in response, digging out a gold coin and tossing it over begrudgingly. Draco caught it with a smirk, pocketing it before the professor could see.

Harry tried harder to imagine a needle, checking over his notes before casting the spell again, but his matchstick only shimmered. In front of him, he watched as Blaise pretended his newly formed needle were a javelin, pricking Theo in the arm and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as Theo defended himself with his match and a toothy grin.

“Mr.Potter.”

Harry jumped, eyes flying up to the professor who was suddenly only a few feet before him. “Y-Yes, professor?”

She frowned deeper, “I need to speak with you after class.”

Blaise and Theo turned to him with matching looks of confusion and worry while next to him Draco looked angry, muttering about unfit and biased professors. Harry, meanwhile, was numb with fear.

At the bottom of the silver plaque in the common room, under all the rules, was something Harry had remembered with ease: All of your actions have consequences. It was a statement he had always known, really, a fact ingrained in him by the Dursleys.

With his relatives, as much as he hated it there, Harry at least knew what to expect: if he ruined Dudley’s dinner then he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to eat for a week, when he didn’t complete his chores correctly he knew that he would get a beating. But at Hogwarts, in a world of magic, Harry didn’t know what his punishment would be.

The rest of the hour passed slower than the sleepless nights in his cupboard. Draco, finally having finished complaining, had begun tutoring Harry in transforming his match; with his mind so focused on what was to come, though, he hardly managed to turn it silver.

It was only when Professor McGonagall cleared her throat that Harry realised everyone had left. Well, mostly everyone, that was. Blaise and Theo stood just behind their chairs while Draco hadn’t yet moved from his seat. A long, tension filled moment passed before the professor spoke again, her voice firm. “You needn’t wait for Mr.Potter; this won’t take long, boys. This is a personalI matter and I will take points for any disobedience.”

Harry’s whole being was tense as he watched the silent exchange between Blaise and Theo and after a moment they left, but not before promising to wait just outside. Draco followed another scalding look later, sneering as he did.

McGonagall shut the door with a flick of her wand and sighed as Harry flinched, already on edge. Fears of expulsion filled his mind and Harry sucked his lip between his teeth. Would they really send him away for just laughing during class? No, he decided, Dudley did that all the time and he still got to stay. But they might if he wasn’t showing enough magic, the voice in his head suggested, he was the ‘chosen one’ after all, and he couldn’t even turn his match into a-

“Mr.Potter, did you hear me?”

Harry frowned as he flinched again (he really needed to stop doing that) but nodded; he had more than enough experience to know it was better to work out what he’d missed than to admit to not listening. “Yes, ma’am.”

McGonagall smiled, a gesture that didn’t comfort him nearly as much as she had hoped. “Then I’ll see you in the headmaster’s office at seven o’clock, Mr.Potter.”
. . . . .
McGonagall led him out of the classroom and if Harry hadn’t known better, he’d have said she rolled her eyes at the sight of his friends waiting there expectantly.

“What did the cat want, Harry?” Draco asked once they’d left the corridor. Harry shook his head and shrugged, trying not to look as worried as he felt. “I dunno.” He admitted, “She said I have to go meet the headmaster after dinner.”

“What for?” Harry shrugged again, wishing he knew. He was just about to reply when he heard someone snickering and shot his head up to see a trio Gryffindor boys coming towards them.

“Oh look boys, it’s little Nott again. You gonna start crying again, Nott-y?”

Theo sneered at the blonde boy, his hands clenched around the strap of his bag and continued walking. Eager to avoid any conflict, Harry followed with quick steps of his own. The blonde boy let out a cruel laugh again before shoving Theo to the ground. “C’mon Nott! Why don’t you show off some of those dark spells your daddy taught you!”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath and jumped out of the way as the boy took a step closer, his friends laughing around him.

Draco acted fast. “Petrificus Totalus!” He shouted from behind and sneered as the boy fell to the stone like a statue; his friends quick to turn their wands on Slytherins. Blaise helped Theo to his feet, both pointing their own wands as other students formed a crowd around them all.

Harry yelped as the tall boy screamed “Incendio!”, a burst of flame shooting out of his wand that just missed Blaise’s ear.

Theo cried out ‘protego’ seconds too late and Harry stumbled back, horrified, his knees giving out as a second flame latched onto Theo’s robe; someone in the crowd screamed.

Blaise swore loudly and tried to stop the fire, but not before causing the culprit to fall from a leg-locking curse. Like uncle Vernon, the tall boy’s face went purple; he pointed his wand sharply and yelled “Rictusumpra!” just as Draco called out “Serpensortia!”

Draco collapsed but the snake he conjured landed in front of the other boy with a thud. It started moving closer towards him, its head lifting from the ground and bearing its fangs with a low hiss and-

It flew back, a stunning curse flinging it into a wall. The boy Draco had petrified was starting to stand and Harry, fueled by desperation, lept to his feet and screamed, “NO! Attack him!”

The snake looked at Harry and almost seemed to nod before racing to the boy and wrapping around his ankles, its fangs digging deep into his skin as he cried.

Everyone was looking at Harry then: his friends with amazement, the Gryffindors with fear, the students crowding either end of the hall were muttering things Harry couldn’t hear. The blonde boy looked like he had been put in another body-bind curse, frozen in shock.

With a jolt of adrenaline, Harry punched him. Hard. Hard enough that the boy stumbled back and Harry thought he heard his nose crack. Unable to believe he had actually just done that, Harry walked over to Draco in a daze and helped him to stand.

“Harry-” Draco started only to be cut off by a careful cough; Professor Snape appeared next to them, an anxious Gryffindor girl behind him. Quietly, he said something that made the snake dissolve into nothing. “Are you all planning on starving tonight? Go, all of you; except you four.” He looked pointedly at Harry, Draco, Blaise, and Theo. “Granger, escort the three of them to Infirmary.”

“Yes, Sir.” The girl squeaked, tripping over herself to follow the Gryffindor boys.

All of the pride Harry had felt in standing up for his friends vanished like the snake just had as he watched the corridor drain, Ron’s disgusted gaze catching his own. He gulped and dropped his head to the stone, feeling Snape’s intense stare even without seeing it.

“Come with me.”

. . . . .

The walk to Snape’s office felt longer than Harry knew it was and he all but collapsed when the professor directed them to sit, suddenly exhausted.

“What,” He started, voice low but commanding as always, “happened?” A long moment passed before anyone spoke and he rose and eyebrow, picking them each apart with his eyes.

“It was Flack, sir.” Theo sighed, wincing as his singed shoulder hit the chair. “And what, pray tell, did Mr.Flack do to earn himself and two fellow second year Gryffindors each a bed in the hospital wing, Mr.Nott?”

Theo made a face that Harry thought looked a lot like forcing back tears and spoke quietly.

“He’s been saying things about my mum, sir. And my father, too. Saying that it’s his fault she’s-” He sniffed. “His father works in the same department as mine does, sir, and they aren’t exactly friendly. It’s gotten out quite a bit there that my mum is- He’s been saying my father caused the sickness. That he cursed her or poisoned her or-” There was a pause as Theo let out a shaky sigh before continuing, his voice a whisper. “He’s said she deserves it and-”

Theo shook his head, his curls falling to hide the tears Harry was only just able to notice. By the tired sigh he released, Harry figured the professor must’ve seen, too.

Snape nodded solemnly. “While I do not condone violence, I understand the strong emotions that loved ones envoke. I do, however, expect this to not happen again in your time here. Do you understand?” He leveled his eyes with each of theirs and even Draco swallowed his trepidation as he nodded.

“And now,” Snape began, his voice impossibly more intense, “it’s Mr.Potter’s turn to explain. Did you not think it important to reveal your abilities?”

Harry had thought he was on edge before but the question turned him cold with fear. Special abilities? He didn’t know he had any special abilities; besides from the newly found being a wizard and all, that is. What was he supposed to have had told?

“How long have you known you are a parseltongue, Potter?”

“A what, sir?” Harry blurted. He snapped his jaw shut quickly; he shouldn’t have said that. He wasn’t supposed to ask questions. He wasn’t supposed to talk back. He-

“It means you can speak with snakes, Harry.” Blaise informed in a soft voice. “You didn’t know?”

Harry’s brows furrowed over his eyes. Was that a rare thing? He shook his head. “Can’t- Can’t everyone do that?” He asked. “I just, I mean I’ve only ever done it once b’fore, at the zoo on Dudley’s birthday. And then- I, well, it’s always in the stories at school. Or on the telly. Like Snow White and stuff? They can all talk with animals.” Harry’s voice trailed off as he saw the amused look he had come to recognize on his friends’ faces; it was the one they always got when he didn’t know something the rest of the wizard kids did.

“It is not a common trait, Harry, even amongst the wizarding world. Most, even, would consider it to be quite a dark talent. One that they will not take care in finding you possesses, I’d suspect.” Harry couldn’t decide if Snape looked amused himself or concerned as he spoke.

The professor ran a tired hand over before standing sharply, chair screeching against the stone flooring.

“If you would like, Theodore, I do believe Madam Pompfrey will have finished with Flack by this time and would be more than capable of sorting out that burn of yours now. I’ll send a house elf to deliver you three dinner shortly, as I am sure you’re regretful of missing it. Mr.Potter and I, however, have a meeting with the headmaster we must attend.

“I’m sure it will be wonderful.” He added, voice dripping with sarcasm.
. . . . .
Even after being witness to so many incredibly astounding things in the time he had entered the magical world, stepping into a roaring fireplace had not been something Harry had expected. But he had little time to revel about the floo as he found himself face-to-face with the headmaster.

His eyes sparkled down through the gold wired glasses and his voice too cheery, “Harry! Ever so good to see you. Would you care for a lemon drop?”

“He would not, thank you, Albus.” Harry startled as professor Snape, suddenly behind him, responded. “If we could hurry this up, I do have grading to do.”

Dumbledore smiled and laid a hand on Harry’s arm, guiding him to sit in a golden armed chair. “Of course, Severus, of course. We are simply waiting for our dear Minerva to arrive.” Harry tensed, stiff in the overly soft, star-spangled cushion; somehow, he didn't think that smile meant good things.

The headmaster sat in the all-but-throne behind his desk and popped a yellow sweet in his mouth joyfully. Snape hardly had time to grimace before the door swung open revealing the transfiguration professor.

“A-ha! Minerva, my dear, so glad you could make it.”

Harry took a breath to try to ease his nerves but it didn’t do much other than announce his unease. Truthfully, the act had never done much to stop his fearful tremors but he always hoped it would, regardless of the countless failed attempts.

McGonagal nodded and took her seat in the open chair next to Harry, her mouth in a tight line. “I more than ever now believe this is the right course of action, Albus.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully, “Yes, yes, I agree.”

“As much as I do so enjoy your musings, Headmaster, it would be ever so appreciated if Potter and I were let in on your thoughts, no?”

Dumbledore hummed and nodded, “Yes, Severus, of course.” He stood from his chair and began to pace behind the desk, fuelling Harry’s anxiety.

“You see, my boys, the sorting of our young Harry here was not an expected result at all, as I’m sure you know. And it has been the talk of the town, so to speak, since it happened. I’m sure you can only imagine the amount of unease to our community it has been since; the savior being in Slytherin: the house of the evil.

“Being as such,” The headmaster continued, his eyes gleaming, “Minerva and I have deemed it best for Harry to be moved to Gryffindor.”

Harry had listened carefully when prefect Farley had talked about the hate that surrounded the Slytherin house. He had seen with his own eyes how being sorted had rapidly ruined the friendship he had found in Ronald Weasley so easily. And it wasn’t exactly a secret that even many of the professors themselves expressed favouritism to the other three houses.

Maybe it was him being naive, but Harry had thought that it didn’t matter. Not really, at least. He had put up with bullying from teachers and students alike in his old primary school and dealing with it here, too, wouldn’t be hard for him. Especially not once he formed friends with Draco and Blaise and Theo. Not when he had found something akin to family in Slytherin.

For a moment his mind went numb; moved to Gryffindor? He’d never survive! Harry didn't realize his ears had begun to ring until the low snarl of professor Snape behind him silenced it.

“You plan to what, exactly?” His voice was almost a growl, Harry thought with a shiver. But it was so different from what he had ever heard before. He wasn’t scared of the menacing tone but felt a wave of admiration; protection.

“It has never been done before, that is true, but we believe that it is in Harry’s best interest to-”

“His best interest?” Snape’s voice had lowered to a whisper but it was enough even to widen the headmaster’s eyes, if only for a second. “Or yours?

“Because I would, wager, that perhaps the boy would be safer in his own house, Albus. Especially after he not only injured a second year Gryffindor boy but also revealed he is a parseltongue to half the school.”

Harry heard McGonagall gasp beside him and looked just in time to see her hand covering her mouth in an almost comical reaction.

There was a mere moment of silence that passed and Harry looked to his professor nervously before glancing through his fringe at the headmaster again.

The old mad sighed, long and sorrowful, before sitting once again. He removed his glasses carefully and placed them, folded, ontop the desk.

“It is already decided, Severus. Harry may stay in the dungeons tonight, if he so wishes, but by breakfast he and his belongings will be transferred to Gryffindor tower.”