Harry Potter 1. Panic

**The Fear is Often Greater than the Danger**

**Chapter One: Panic**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

**Author's Note:** Hey there everyone, yes, this is another chaptered fic. No, no I should not have done it. Will I ever stop this relentless build up of unfinished projects, highly, highly unlikely. This particular piece is my submission for the AU Ficcy Challenge on HPCF, check it out if you've got a spare moment! Now on to the story!

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The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right –the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed past the lump that had suddenly lodged itself in his throat and brushed his hands down the front of his robes unnecessarily.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.

"Dunno. My brothers all refused to say anything about it. Lousy gits. But it's some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Harry's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test. In front of the whole school. But he didn't know any magic yet – what on earth would he have to do? He hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived.

He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except Hermione Granger, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need.

Harry tried hard not to listen to her.

He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

He needed to get out of here. Right now. He started backing up along the wall inconspicuously.

"Harry? What—"

"I need a moment," Harry said urgently, "Alone."

"Yeah," Ron agreed reluctantly, "Alright, you are looking a mite peaky. I'll wave you in when McGonagall comes back."

"Thanks," Harry breathed darting out of the small antechamber and back into the entrance hall.

He sank onto the bottom step of the marble staircase and put his head between his knees trying to control his breathing which seemed to just want to hitch and speed up for no good reason. He ran a hand through his wild hair before compulsively trying to flatten it.

He couldn't do this. There was no way that he could pass a magic test. He didn't know any magic! The one spell he'd seen performed wasn't even a spell at all!

Trying to breathe normally Harry considered his options. There were only two really, take the test and hope it was something he could pass without any practical knowledge of magic at the risk of being laughed out of the school, something that would be made infinitely worse by the fact that everybody and their grandmothers seemed to know who he was. Or, he could leave now. He could quietly collect his luggage and his money and just go. No fuss, no muss.

He was up and off the step and halfway back across the entrance hall before he realized what he was doing, and even then he only realized it because the small single door set into the double doors swung open to reveal a student.

He was tall and thin with a very narrow face and serious pale blue eyes. His hair was a rather non-descript shade of brown and was secured in a neat braid that hung over one shoulder of his Hogwarts robes. The inside of his robes were a pretty shade of blue and his tie was also striped that color making his eyes stand out all the more.

"What are you doing?" he drawled.

"What are you doing?" Harry snapped backed defensively, "Who are you?"

"Do you always answer a question with another question?"

"Do you?"

"No," he said shortly, "I am Elliot Sawyer, fourth year Ravenclaw, and I had a bit of trouble on the train, I am trying not to be late to the feast. Now, I've answered your questions, firstie, I think it only fair you answer mine. Especially seeing as I asked them first."

"I just needed a bit of air," Harry lied glancing quickly back towards the antechamber.

A knowing little half-smile quirked up the side of Sawyer's mouth, making him look far less intimidating. Harry flushed a little despite himself.

"You were running away from the sorting," he accused.

"I was not," Harry protested, trying to keep his eyes from being locked with those amused baby blues that would see right through him in a heartbeat.

"It's alright, I won't tell. Though I don't think you're the first firstie to try and flee the castle before the sorting with some of the wild rumors the upper years put about the train. There's really nothing to be scared of."

"Easy for you to say," Harry sighed, "I bet you knew a ton of magic before coming here."

"Not at all," Sawyer said his mouth twisting bitterly and his eyes losing some of their humor.

"Well I don't know any magic at all, nothing!" Harry exclaimed throwing his hands up.

"Such a drama queen," chuckled Sawyer, "Not to worry, you don't have to do any magic. Just sit down, shut up, and go where the hat tells you without a fuss and you'll do fine."

"Hat?"

"Yes, hat, and I've already said too much," Sawyer agreed, "Go back to your year mates and stop worrying your pretty little head to a point, yeah?"

"Alright," Harry agreed reluctantly.

"Good boy."

Harry glared at Sawyer when the older boy ruffled his hair. It was hard enough getting the blasted stuff to lie flat without people going around mussing it up.

"M'not a dog," he complained.

Sawyer laughed a little and the sound was a comfort as Harry gathered the tattered threads of his dignity, mustered his nerve and returned to the antechamber not a moment too soon.

McGonagall was shooing a bunch of silvery translucent floating people through the wall with stern words and the students were muttering fearfully about ghosts now rather than tests.

"Harry," Ron squeaked before breathing a sigh of relief.

"Alright?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Fine," Ron managed to croak out along with a singularly unconvincing smile.

"It'll be fine," Harry said, as much to reassure himself as Ron.

"Enough chatter," McGonagall ordered the students sharply.

The room fell silent immediately and the stern witch gave a satisfied nod.

"Now, form a line, and follow me."

Harry fell into line behind a sandy haired boy and Ron took the spot behind Harry and once they were all settled into place McGonagall led them back out of the antechamber, across the entrance hall, and through a set of double doors into the great hall.

The great hall was a strange and spectacular place out of one of the fairy stories the Dursleys didn't approve of. The room was cavernous and lit by thousands upon thousands of floating flickering candles. In the centre of the hall on either side of the double doors were four very long tables set with glimmering golden plates, platters and goblets where the older students were sitting and either watching them with interest or ignoring them completely in favor of chatting quietly with their neighbours.

Sawyer was sitting near the entrance directly on Harry's left at what he assumed was the Ravenclaw table. He gave Harry a fleeting wink as he passed before turning to make a soft comment to the girl seated to his right.

Harry turned his attention to the front where there was another long table for the teachers up on a raised dais. McGonagall led the right up to the foot of the dais where they gathered, still in a mostly orderly line, facing the students with the teachers behind them.

Uncomfortable with all those faces turned towards him Harry looked up and was captivated by the fact that there didn't seem to be a ceiling but rather the roof appeared to open up into the star speckled night.

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," he heard Hermione Granger whisper excitedly to the red-headed girl beside her, "I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."

Harry looked back down in time to see Professor McGonagall set a four-legged stool before the line of fist years on top of this stool she sat a very typical looking wizard's hat.

"Sit down, shut up, and go where the hat tells you," Harry murmured to himself.

"What was that?" asked Ron.

"Nothing," Harry answered quickly.

The hat wasn't much to look at. It was patched, frayed and incredibly dirty looking. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house and yet everyone in the great hall was staring at it. Harry stared too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth and the hat began to sing.

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see, _

_I'll eat myself if you can find _

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

There's nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can't see,

_So try me on and I will tell you _

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor, _

_Where dwell the brave at heart, _

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry _

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff, _

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuff's are true _

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning, _

_Will always find their kind; _

_Or perhaps in Slytherin _

_You'll make your real friends, _

_Those cunning folk use any means _

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on!_

_Don't be afraid! _

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none) _

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!" _

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song some of the more raucous students whooping and wolf whistling. It bowed, as much as a hat could bow, to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"We just have to try on the hat," breathed Ron some color finally returning to his face, "I'm gonna kill Fred, he was going on and on about wrestling a troll!"

Harry gave Ron a weak smile. While trying on the hat was going to be much easier than taking a test or wrestling a troll he did wish it wasn't going to happen in front of the entire school especially as right now he didn't feel particularly brave or smart or loyal. If the hat had mentioned a house for the perfectly average or the slightly queasy he might have been more confident.

"Sit down, shut up, and go where the hat tells you," he repeated to himself again under his breath.

Then, because it made him feel a bit better, he said it again, and again, and again until it became a silent mantra.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward once more a long roll of parchment dangling from one hand and she picked up the hat and held it by the point with her other.

"When I call your name, come forward and take a seat on the stool. I will place the sorting hat on your head and it will sort you into your houses," she said briskly.

She glanced up and down the line to make sure everyone understood and then turned her attention to her list.

"Abbott, Hannah," she called.

A pink-faced blond girl that seemed to be mostly made of legs and pigtails stumbled out of line and sank onto the stool fidgeting uneasily. McGonagall lowered the sorting hat onto her head where it fell over her eyes until only the lower half of her face was visible.

There was a moment's pause and then the hat shouted:

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

McGonagall took the hat from her head and very nearly bouncing in her excitement Hannah Abbott went to join her new housemates her robes and tie and the piping on her vest turning black and yellow as she went to match the Hufflepuff color scheme.

"Bones, Susan."

The red-headed little witch beside Hermione took her seat on the stool and after a moment the hat declared that she too would go to Hufflepuff.

Boot, Terry was sorted into Ravenclaw and Harry glanced down the table to see Sawyer clapping politely while some of the other upper year students stood to shake Terry's hand.

Brown, Lavender became the first new Gryffindor and Harry spotted Ron's twin brothers catcalling as the students decked out in red and gold practically roared their welcome.

Bulstrode, Millicent became the first new Slytherin and the contrast was staggering. The Slytherin students sat and clapped politely their faces unreadable. Maybe it was just Harry's imagination, given what he'd heard about Slytherin house but they didn't seem like an overly pleasant bunch of people.

In the time it took him to repeat his new mantra five times both Cornfoot, Stephan and Entwhistle, Kevin had taken their places at the Ravenclaw table and were chatting animatedly with Terry. Harry spared the table a slightly wistful thought before clamping down on the hope ruthlessly. If there was one thing he'd learned from his time at the Dursleys it was the more obviously you wanted something the less likely you were to get it.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harry noted, the hat seemed to know just exactly where to put a student and called their house out immediately. Other times, like with the sandy haired boy that had been standing next to Harry in line, Finnegan, Seamus, it would take its time and really think about its decision.

Seamus Finnegan sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

After that Granger, Hermione was called and she was practically vibrating with eagerness as she all but ran up to take her turn on the stool. Ron groaned aloud when she was declared a Gryffindor. Neville Longbottom, the toadless boy, also made Gryffindor, and he was so happy about this that he almost ran off with the hat still on his head.

Thank god for McGonagall's quick reflexes because she saved the poor kid from some serious embarrassment. She was still shaking her head slightly in exasperation when she called on MacDougal, Morag and the girl was sorted into Ravenclaw.

When Draco Malfoy's name was called the pale boy swaggered up to the stool looking very sure of himself and he got his wish at once. The hat had barely touched his silvery blond hair when it screamed "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went and joined his two lackey's Crabbe and Goyle at the Slytherin table and the muscle-bound boys quickly flanked their more fragile leader. Harry snorted a bit at the ridiculousness of the display and put that down as one more item on the mental list he'd started entitled 'Reasons NOT to Join Slytherin House.'

A little more than half the line was gone now and it was steadily dwindling as Moon, Phoebe, became a Hufflepuff and Nott, Theodore and Parkinson, Pansy both went to Slytherin. A pair of twin girls went to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor respectively and Harry raised an eyebrow at their separation. Perks, Sally-Anne joined Hufflepuff and then finally it was his turn.

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry stepped out of his place in line and almost immediately whispers broke out and the great hall filled with hushed hissing.

"Potter, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

He glanced down the length of the Ravenclaw table once again and was grimly pleased to see even the unflappable Sawyer blinked once or twice in surprise.

Harry sat carefully on the stool and got a good unobstructed view of what looked to be the entire student body craning their necks to get a good look at him before the hat fell over his eyes and ears and mostly blocked out the whispering.

"Hmm. Difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage I see, not a bad mind either, there's talent – oh yes, that is interesting and such a thirst to prove yourself, very interesting."

Harry nearly jumped when he heard the voice speak softly into his ear, or was it into his mind. Didn't the hat say it could read minds?

"I can, young Potter, and if yours would quiet down a bit I might be able to make a clear decision," the hat chided.

Sit down, shut up, and go where the hat tells you. He thought to himself.

"Not bad advice, not that I would expect anything less out of that particular Ravenclaw, and I've made up my mind so best be ready to follow through, Potter. You are going to SLYTHERIN!"

The hat shouted its verdict out for all to hear and Harry barely had time to mask his dismayed astonishment before the hat was yanked off his head and he was faced with Professor McGonagall's shocked expression.

It was silent in the great hall for a long moment and then the whispering started up again twice as loud.

Slowly Harry climbed off the stool and trying his best not to fidget made his way to sit with the other Slytherins at their table. Belatedly they seemed to realize they ought to be making some sort of show of noise and Harry's last few steps were to a smattering of polite applause.

Harry took one of the empty seats next to the Slytherin ghost, a terrifying man with silvery bloodstains down his front. The ghost gave Harry a cool assessing look and Harry gave him a quick up down eye flick to acknowledge the look before turning back to the sorting.

It seemed Professor McGonagall was ready to be done with the sorting because while Harry was busy sizing up and being sized up by a ghost she'd managed to reduce the line to four people. A black boy taller even than Ron whose name was apparently Dean Thomas and who ended up in Gryffindor, a very petite brunette girl called Lisa Turpin who went to Ravenclaw, then there was Ron himself, now a very pale green color. He needn't have worried, much like with Malfoy the hat had barely touched his head before it declared him a Gryffindor and he dashed forward to join his three brothers.

Ron glanced over his way and Harry spared a wan smile for the redhead. Ron looked indecisive and started chewing on his lower lip as he looked away and pretended to watch as Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin.

Zabini slid into the seat next to Harry on the opposite side from the ghost without a word or a glance and Harry thought about fighting the urge to roll his eyes before just giving in. Since his housemates weren't about to acknowledge him he turned his attention to the head table.

He recognized Dumbledore right away from the picture on his chocolate frog card and spotted Hagrid who gave him a grin and a friendly wave despite his newly Slytherin status. Professor McGonagall returned sans hat, stool and scroll and slid into the seat between Dumbledore and a squat smiling witch whose flyaway grey hair was escaping her cap. On the other half of the table Harry spied Professor Quirrell and his odd purple turban and next to him was a sallow skinned man with lank greasy black hair and a large hooked nose, the man was staring right into Harry's eyes when a fleeting but hot burning sensation flared in his scar.

Harry dug his nails into the palm of his hand to keep from crying out. It wouldn't do to make a fuss when he was surrounded by people who were scrutinizing his every move waiting for him to slip up so that they could eat him alive.

Harry could still feel the man's sharp, searching gaze on him even when he looked away and turned his attention to Dumbledore who'd stood up to speak. Harry spared a vague hope that the Headmaster didn't want to make a long speech as the candy and pasties he'd shared with Ron on the train now seemed like ages ago to his stomach.

The old man stood with his arms spread wide as if to envelop the entire great hall in one big group hug and his eyes were twinkling merrily as if nothing could please him more than having them all there before him.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down.

Everybody else in the hall clapped and cheered. Harry glanced at his fellow Slytherins and joined them in the reserved polite clapping they seemed to like so well.

"Is he always like that?" Harry asked the Slytherin ghost.

The ghost stared at him with haunted eyes for a long moment.

"Yes," he replied before floating over to sit next to Malfoy who looked none too pleased with the new arrangement.

"Pass the carrots," Zabini requested laconically.

Harry blinked as suddenly the formerly empty table was filled to the brim with delicious food.

"Carrots, Potter. Sometime this century if you please," Zabini urged.

Recovering quickly Harry passed Zabini his carrots before snagging a roll, a chicken breast, a scoop of the fluffiest mashed potatoes he'd ever seen and a forkful of green beans for his own. In fact he filled his plate far faster than anyone at the table.

"It's not going to disappear, Potter," sneered Malfoy from across the way as he spooned a bit of caramelized apple sauce onto his pork chop.

"You never know, Malfoy," Harry said coolly.

"You two know each other?" asked Theodore Nott the surprise evident in his voice.

"We've met briefly a few times," Malfoy said taking a delicate bite of his supper.

Harry resisted the urge to wolf back his food with the speedy efficiency born out of a life with the Dursleys and instead tried to slow down by taking smaller bites and chewing them carefully. He didn't have any desire to chit-chat with his house-mates and the food was far too delicious not to savour in any case.

Around him a conversation about summer vacations had sprung up among his year mates.

"Of course Father and I did the usual tour of the properties in France," Malfoy was saying with a dismissive wave of his hand, "Mother stayed in Nice with her friends from that set, and I was nearly cornered by Lady Dulac's youngest daughter."

"Tramp," sniffed Parkinson.

Nott shrugged philosophically.

"You could do worse than Aurelie Dulac," he said.

"Are you still trying to find a way around that betrothal contract, Theo?" taunted Tracey Davis.

"Not that it is any of your damn business but no, father's lawyer friend found a suitable loophole in the contract, and a few hundred galleons goes a long way to smoothing ruffled feathers."

"What about you Daphne? That sister of yours still causing a ruckus?" asked Parkinson. "I heard she tried to run away on a muggle fishing boat of all things this year."

"A rumour, nothing more. We missed you in Pompeii this year Blaise," Daphne Greengrass commented softly as she picked at her fish, "Mama was quite looking forward to discussing her newest endeavor with your mother."

"We spent the summer at the vineyard in Tuscany," the boy to Harry's left said, "The overseer met with an unfortunate accident last season and we've not yet found a suitable replacement."

The conversation then turned to food as the dessert trays began to fill and Harry discovered by way of eavesdropping that the crème brulee served at the Malfoy's sprawling estate in Nice was by far the best, and that Fiona Fortescue would be a first year next year and she was expected to end up in Hufflepuff.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell instantly and respectfully silent.

"Ahern – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year; the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry smiled in dark amusement, and a few people sitting at the other tables laughed as though they thought it was a joke.

"Is he serious?" demanded Parkinson of the older student to her right.

"Must be," said the boy, "The old do-gooder doesn't make jokes about death and dismemberment, I just wonder what it is that's up there."

"Are you going to check it out?" asked a pretty girl sitting a little ways down the table.

"Do I look like an idiot to you?"

"Do you really want me to answer that question, Graham, darling?" she said with false sweetness.

"Piss off, Adriana," grumbled the boy turning back to Dumbledore.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore.

Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed and all around him Slytherins began to sneer and sigh in disgust and annoyance.

"Someone really ought to write a new school song," commented an upper year girl.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

The entire school bellowed, or in most of the Slytherins' cases muttered, or lip synced.

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, _

_Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, _

_Teach us something please, _

_Whether we be old and bald _

_Or young with scabby knees, _

_Our heads could do with filling _

_With some interesting stuff, _

_For now they're bare and full of air, _

_Dead flies and bits of fluff, _

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot, _

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot_."

Everybody finished the song at different times, the Slytherins and the teachers trailing off first with the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors drawing out the torture far longer than was absolutely necessary. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march.

Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

"Do they not teach a music class here?" Harry asked Zabini.

While the black boy didn't seem overly friendly he had proven that he was willing to actually speak civilly with Harry.

"No," Zabini answered shortly rising from his seat.

"There used to be a magical music class," Bulstrode spoke up for the first time that night, her voice rich and husky, "But when the last Professor retired there wasn't enough interest and it was cut from the electives. Now if you want to study music you have to join the choir."

"First Years, gather here."

The instruction came from a slender upper year witch with unreadable eyes a scar through her left eyebrow that made her look quite fierce. There was a taller though equally slender boy with raven hair pulled back into a neat ponytail standing to her right and slightly behind her.

"Is that the lot of you then? Good. I am Gemma Farley and I am a fifth year prefect, my shadow here is Crispin Roy, if you are having difficulties acclimatizing to life at Hogwarts or you have questions you may feel free to ask us. We will be more formally available in the Slytherin common room for an hour after dinner on Wednesdays. If you would all follow me."

She turned abruptly on her heel and led them out of the great hall Roy fell silently back behind the group subtly herding them and making sure none of them got lost. Farley's heels made authoritative clacks on the stone floors as she took them along a long corridor behind the marble staircase in the entrance hall and then down a flight of steps.

"You have all heard about Hogwarts from your families," Farley's said speaking in a briskly professional voice as she led them deeper into the school, "The reality greatly differs from their stories, the moving staircases make it difficult to navigate for the first little while and while some of the ghosts and portraits might be helpful, others will lead you astray for their own amusement. Give yourself plenty of time to get to your classes and this shouldn't be a problem."

Something about the tone of Farley's voice suggested to Harry that if it became a problem she would not be pleased. Now, Harry had only known her for all of five minutes and even he knew that Gemma Farley was not a woman he would care to see displeased. He wished in vain for an alarm clock.

"Slytherin house has won the House Cup for the past six years, in no small part because we do not give the professors reasons to take points. If you run into any trouble you may also report it to either of us or the other Slytherin prefects, for sixth year that would be Benjamin Baddock and Bridget Kildare, for seventh Nathaniel Bainbridge and Winifred Hatton. If you are caught rule-breaking you deserve to be punished and will get no sympathy from the rest of us," she informed them, "Professor Snape as you may already know is our Head of House. He teaches Potions and will stand up for you against the other professors but he isn't a friendly man and he holds not an ounce of tolerance for fools, so I suggest you lot study the first two chapters in your books before your first class with him tomorrow."

Farley came to what seemed like an abrupt stop in front of a bare stretch of wall located between two torches in an out of the way hall in the dungeons, one devoid of moving portraits and shifting, clanking suits of armour.

"This is the entrance to the Slytherin common room, the password for this week is sepulchre," behind her the wall slid away and unconcernedly she began to walk backwards into the room beyond, "Either myself or Crispin will let you know what the password for next week is on Sunday night or Monday morning before breakfast. Do not share the location of the entrance to the common room or the password with anyone outside of Slytherin house, not even other prefects. The Head Boy and Girl already know the passwords as do the teachers."

Farley paused in her spiel to let the newcomers gawk at the Slytherin common room. The room itself was irregular being comprised almost entirely of platforms of various sizes and seven staircases led up and out of the main common room. It was made with grey marble veined white and was dimly lit by torches in silver wall sconces, most of the upper year students already having gone to bed or to unpack and gossip with their year mates, and furnished with black leather couches and large wingback chairs upholstered in green velvet. The wall hangings were also green and gossamer silver and the entire back wall seemed to be made of black glass. There were tables here and there, tucked into quiet corners for the studious and on the wall by the entrance there was a notice board on which there was already a notice.

'Prefects may retrieve the class schedules for third years and above as early as seven o'clock tomorrow morning. First and second year timetables are listed below. Those with questions or concerns may see me in my office.

-Professor S. Snape'

"You may review your timetables in a minute," Farley continued, "The first year common room is up those stairs and to your right. There are five first year rooms and you have each already been assigned to a room and a roommate. There is also a communal bathroom. I don't recommend that you enter the bathroom that is not assigned to your gender as the consequences are both painful and humiliating. Are there any questions?"

The first years were silent, their faces unreadable and even slightly bored. It seemed that Harry was the only one for whom all this was new, unexpected and fascinating.

Farley nodded briskly in satisfaction at the lack of response she drew from the students.

"I recommend that you copy and memorize your timetable and then go straight to bed for tonight and I will see you all bright and early in the morning."

Roy gave them an appraising look but said nothing as he followed Farley up what Harry assumed was the fifth year staircase.

By some unspoken consensus the first years all climbed their staircase and entered the smaller first year common room which was by and large merely a smaller replica of the Slytherin common room. It became immediately clear that the Slytherins had been roomed first by gender and then alphabetically by last name which put Harry with Zabini.

Harry didn't bother offering his new roommate a smile, if he was lucky he might get a sneer in return for his trouble, if he wasn't lucky he had no doubt that Zabini knew more magic than him.

Their trunks had already been brought up from the train and set next to the beds, sumptuous looking blackwood four posters with an emerald green bedspread and matching velvet hangings. They each also got a blackwood nightstand, desk and a set of shelves for books.

Digging through his trunk Harry pulled out his book bag, some parchment and a quill and ink. He'd been practicing a bit with them over the holidays and could now at least read his own chicken scratch even if no one else could. He jotted down a rough draft of his schedule from memory, promising himself he'd do a better draft when he wasn't quite so drained.

He set out the books he would need for his classes tomorrow and a fresh uniform, which he was interested to see had already turned Slytherin on him, he was reluctant to leave them out where Zabini could easily tamper with them and resolved to learn how to protect his belongings from thieves and vandals with magic as soon as possible. In the meantime he would just have to count on his being a light sleeper and Zabini's apparent extreme disinterest in him to protect them.

While Zabini and the others were busy with their timetables Harry changed into his pajamas, a pair of grey cotton bottoms and a faded green t-shirt about three sizes too big for him that had up until now been one of his good shirts. It was a far cry from Zabini's silk pajamas and velvet dressing robe. He was also the only one of the Slytherin boys using toothpaste if Nott's disgusted sneer and hushed comment about muggle crap was anything to go by.

This day had just been all too much. Harry reflected as he slid into bed and slid the hangings closed around him. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, dreaming of blank faces that blurred into bone masks, purple satin that snaked around his throat, flashes of green light like lightning and a high, cold, cruel laugh.

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**AN: **So there you have it folks! Harry is a Slytherin, we see the appearance of a key OC, and there is general awesomeness! Please leave a review on your way out and have a great long weekend!


	2. The Dangers of Being Slytherin

**The Fear is Often Greater than the Danger**

**Chapter Two: The Dangers of Being Slytherin**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

**Author's Note:** Thanks as always to everyone who reviewed, alerted and faved! You guys are all my muses! Go forth and see what thou hath wrought below.

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Harry woke with a start sitting straight up in bed. It took him a second to remember where he was and why he was there and when he did he decided against trying to go back to sleep. He didn't want to oversleep and miss breakfast or class after all and he doubted his housemates would bother to wake him. Glancing over at Zabini's bed he saw the boy was still asleep. All the better. With a small sigh he gathered up his clothes and toiletries and headed for the showers.

The Slytherin bathrooms make have looked old fashioned but the water was wonderfully scalding hot and after all but boiling himself he felt much more ready to face the day. Wiping the steam off the bathroom mirror he grimaced when he saw that his eyes had the sunken look of the restless sleeper. He dressed quickly, shoved the robes he didn't feel like bothering with in his book bag, and slipped out of the dorm quiet as you please.

The common room was empty of people and the fire in the fireplace had long since died down to coals and Harry wondered just how early it was exactly and wished in vain for a watch.

After double-checking that he'd copied his timetable down correctly Harry slipped out of the common room and stopped short.

There in front of him was Sawyer. The older Ravenclaw was sitting, perching really, straight backed with his eyes shut and his legs folded lotus style, on top of a thick tome that upon tilting his head Harry saw was the Standard Book of Spells Grade Four. Stranger than that was that he looked utterly serene while doing it although it was very early in the morning from what Harry could tell and he must have been incredibly cold and uncomfortable.

"Sawyer, what are you doing?" Harry asked a bit warily.

"Meditating," Sawyer answered without opening his eyes.

"I mean, what are you doing outside my common room?" Harry clarified with a huff.

"Meditating," answered Sawyer seriously, though Harry could see the faint upward twitch to the corners of his lips.

Annoyed now, Harry crossed his arms and scowled down at the older boy.

"Why are you meditating in the damn hall, across from the entrance to the Slytherin common room, at dark o'thirty in the bleeding morning!" Harry snapped.

"Ah that," said Sawyer, finally opening his eyes and pinning Harry with an intense look, "I wanted to apologize to you. I gave you some advice last night about the Sorting and you ended up in a situation where you'll have to spend the next seven years dancing on razorblades. If I had known who you were I never would have given you the advice I did."

Harry shifted a bit, uncomfortable under that very blue stare.

"S'fine," he muttered dropping his eyes.

"The only reason you're saying that is because you haven't been here long enough to see just what a disservice I've done you," Sawyer pointed out pragmatically as he stood and scooped his bag and spell book up off the floor.

"Look, it's not your fault and I'm sure that whatever the Slytherins come up with I can deal with it when the time comes," Harry said starting off down the corridor.

Sawyer's words had struck a nerve. He wasn't helpless just because everything around him was strange and unfamiliar. He'd dealt with bullying, discrimination and being a target of both all his life. Since before he was even born if Hagrid was to be believed. He wasn't about to let a few snide remarks and a bit of incredibly visible dislike get to him.

Sawyer caught up with him in no more than a few easy strides and Harry cursed him for having such long legs.

"Look Potter, I think you're underestimating the danger here," said Sawyer, all but chasing Harry up a few flights of stairs, "The war may be over thanks to you but there were plenty of deatheaters who never saw the inside of the courtroom much less the walls of Azkaban and you, the one who killed their master, are now sleeping in the same dorm as their children with no way of defending yourself against magic. You might as well be wearing a neon sign that says 'I Am Incredibly Vulnerable. Please, Attack Me.'"

"Are you actually, seriously trying to scare me into listening to you?" asked Harry incredulously.

"I am merely appealing to your sense of self-preservation. You're a Slytherin. I know that despite all current appearances to the contrary you do, in fact, have one."

Harry snorted a bit at that. He'd turned tail and ran from every problem that he'd come up against in the past eleven years. He had very well honed survival instincts and this tack had served him well so far.

"Is that going to happen a lot now?" Harry asked, "The whole, you're a Slytherin thing."

"Yes," said Sawyer without hesitation, "All the more reason for you to be wary. You may not realize given as I gather you've lived with muggles for as long as you can remember, but you have inadvertently betrayed about eighty percent of the school by being sorted into Slytherin. Most of these kids fell asleep hearing about the great hero of the Light Harry Potter, who, despite being just a baby, defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when he was at the height of his power. To see you being sorted into the house for junior deatheaters—"

"Alright, I get it, I get it! Ease up!"

"Just swallow your pride and accept my help."

Harry stopped dead in the middle of the hall and whipped around to face Sawyer head on.

"Why do you even care about any of this anyway?" he demanded, green-eyes flashing, "You barely know me."

The same bitter, humourless smile that Harry had seen a glimpse of last night standing in the entrance hall twisted Sawyer's mouth now.

"Because I've been where you are," he answered, "Let's just say that my own origins are less than vaunted and even in Ravenclaw I have been ostracized and attacked. I just don't think that you should have to suffer that, and I feel like I'm partly to blame for getting you into this situation."

Harry looked directly into Sawyer's eyes weighing his words carefully, and saw nothing but raw honesty there. It seemed that this guy really wanted to help him just because he didn't think he deserved to suffer for things he couldn't remember or help. Convenient really, because Harry also believed that he didn't deserve to suffer for things he couldn't remember or help.

"Alright, what did you have in mind?" asked Harry slowly.

Sawyer didn't exactly perk up or give a relieved sigh but Harry could tell by the sudden change in his demeanour that the older boy was both happy and relieved. Weird that.

"I was thinking breakfast and training by the lake," said Sawyer, "Your first class is Herbology with the Ravenclaws right? You'll be able to see the greenhouses from where we're sitting."

"What time is it anyway?"

"Coming up on six, they should just be serving breakfast in the Great Hall now," Sawyer answered, leading Harry around a bend and up another short flight of stairs.

They stopped just outside the doors to the Great Hall and Harry paused suddenly realizing that Sawyer had been herding him in this direction the whole time he'd been busy stalking away in a huff.

"You sneaky little—"

"Coming from someone dressed in green and silver I take that as a compliment," interrupted Sawyer before Harry could get any pithier, moving through the doors in question.

There were a few Ravenclaws and two Gryffindors that Harry recognized as being Hermione Granger and Percy Weasley up and about at this hour. Harry wasn't surprised to see that either, seeing as how most of the school was made up of teenagers and if there was one thing teenagers knew how to do it was sleep in.

Sawyer loaded up on fruit and whole wheat toast and filled a reusable water bottle from his bag with orange juice from the Ravenclaw table while Harry made himself a few bulging bacon and egg sandwiches at the Slytherin table and knocked back a cup of tea. Then the two of them moved outside into the faded grey of post-sunrise and down across the misty lawn to the nearest edge of the lake.

"Alright first thing, let me charm your bag for you. I'm going to teach you the spells for that eventually but they're a bit beyond you right now and you really can't afford to have people tampering with your schoolwork."

"By all means," Harry agreed plunking himself down on the dew damp grass and setting about destroying his sandwiches.

Sawyer set the bag down carefully and began waving his wand over it muttering under his breath, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"There, that should do it," he said after a minute, nodding to himself, "Unbreakable charm, anti-theft jinx, you can make it impenetrable as well once you've learned the spell and gotten some casting practice."

"Excellent," said Harry, "I was thinking last night that I would have to do something like that to my things to keep them from being vandalized."

"Your trunk already has spells like this as a standard, but the unlocking charm is easy enough to master so I'll lend you a book on security spells. Actually the unlocking charm is one of the ones I want to teach you to start out with," Sawyer explained.

"Sounds useful," agreed Harry.

"It is," said Sawyer.

"What else?"

"Disarming charm, tripping jinx, light charm, dark charm, tempus spell, and at least one of the fire charms."

"That's a lot," said Harry a bit wide-eyed.

"That's just for today," said Sawyer, "But the first and most important lesson, is that, for the most part, if it can't hit you it can't hurt you. So if someone points a wand at you, get the hell out of the way."

Harry blinked a little at Sawyer, trying to see if he was in any way…kidding. He looked perfectly serious but Harry was coming to realize that he pretty much always looked perfectly serious.

"You want me to learn six spells in the couple hours I have before class," Harry clarified flatly.

"Correct."

"You're out of your mind."

"Quite possibly. Now, magic is about thirty percent intent, fifty percent focus, and twenty percent actual power. In the old days witches and wizards didn't even use wands at all. Of course there were only a select few who could use magic the way the average wizard uses it today because it required intense discipline to learn."

"Is that why you were meditating earlier?"

"Exactly right," said Sawyer with a small smile, "Meditation helps to focus the mind and body. I'll teach you that as well."

"Oh joy," said Harry.

That bit of sarcasm earned him a sharp swat to the back of his head.

"We'll start with the tempus spell."

Two hours later, trudging towards the greenhouses while Sawyer jogged across the lawn to Care of Magical Creatures, Harry had a newfound respect for the fourth year. He also knew that the Ravenclaw was evil. True to his word Sawyer had managed to, essentially, bludgeon him with the theory behind each of the six spells and then put him through his practical paces until he had the spells down enough to use if not completely mastered. The tempus spell was particularly useful as it eliminated Harry's need for a watch.

Still Harry was fairly exhausted by the time he reached Herbology and he had the sinking feeling that this was just the tip of the iceberg.

"There you are Potter," said Malfoy haughtily as Harry approached the group of Slytherins already gathered outside the greenhouses, "We were beginning to think you'd gotten lost."

Harry didn't bother dignifying that pathetic excuse for an insult with an answer but breezed past Malfoy to lean against a tree, as much because it annoyed Malfoy to be ignored as anything.

The Ravenclaws arrived in groups of twos and threes talking excitedly or meandering around with their noses in their textbooks. One second year in particular looked up from the notes she was scribbling frowned at them through coke-bottle lenses declared that this wasn't the right class and left in tizzy.

Professor Sprout, a short plump witch with a cheery smile, dirt in the lines of her face and flyaway grey hair escaping out from under a singularly unattractive cap, gazed after her retreating form and shook her head knowingly before she led the first years into greenhouse number one to look at Laughing Lilies and take notes on their care.

Harry had great fun watching Malfoy trying not to dirty his crisp school robes out of the corner of his eye while he worked with a star-struck pair of Ravenclaw girls at measuring the heights of the flowers and recording them in a chart.

The Ravenclaw girls weren't the only star struck ones either. Everywhere he went the whispers followed him.

"There, look!"

"Where?"

"The short one with the black hair."

"Wearing the glasses."

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

"Can't believe he's in Slytherin."

"I heard that—"

People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring, always staring. It got very old very fast and Harry was sorely tempted to use some of the magic Sawyer was teaching him on the annoying busybodies.

It was hard enough trying to find his way to classes without the distraction and confusion of his throngs of adoring fans.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts according to Hermione Granger who had cornered him in the library and talked his ear off for about fifteen minutes before he was able to escape. Harry believed her because everywhere he looked there seemed to be another one. There were wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump.

Then there were the doors. There were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just waiting for you to try and walk through them. Harry was ready to kill the people who'd designed the school by lunchtime. It was coming up on impossible to remember where anything was, because it all moved around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk. He was also sure that the one on the fourth floor outside the boys bathroom was stalking him whenever he happened past and Harry made a point of avoiding it.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open and then right through you, and on top of that none of them were overly friendly to the Slytherins. Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Sawyer had to rescue Harry twice on the second day of classes and on the third he set up a one way Speaker Spell on Harry's ear while the first year Slytherin wasn't paying attention and used the damn thing to get Harry up at five to run laps before their spell practice, saying if he couldn't deal with a single Poltergeist than clearly he wasn't being trained hard enough. By the fourth day Harry was halfway regretting ever meeting Sawyer who had clearly been a Nazi drill sergeant in a past life.

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry managed to get on the wrong side of him on his very first morning. Filch found him trying to force his way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe he was lost, was sure he was trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock him in the dungeons while Harry leaned against the wall and rolled his eyes until he was rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing on his way to class and heard the commotion.

When he recounted the incident to Sawyer later the brunet had flicked his braid over his shoulder and appeared the next morning to their training session with a neatly hand-drawn map and threatened to pin it to the front of his robes.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins who also took to appearing unexpectedly with things like water balloons and firecrackers in hand) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many, Harry included, to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. Interesting and difficult Harry was incredibly glad that Sawyer was working with him because writing the long notes on theories of magic and then practicing finicky wand movements weren't nearly as effective for Harry as Sawyer's sink or swim methods.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes once a week at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. This was pure torture for Harry who hadn't had a good night's sleep since he'd arrived at Hogwarts and who had to be up with Sawyer the next morning but easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was also the only one taught by a ghost.

Harry didn't even pretend not to be sleeping through that period, even when his classmates hexed his hair pink and he spent a whole day being sniggered at. Professor Binns had a droning voice that sent him into a stupor faster than Sawyer's attempts to get him to meditate.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. Amusing though it was it didn't endear Harry to him at first. Still he turned out to be an alright teacher and was very professional with Harry after that one incident of hero-worship so Harry didn't hold a grudge.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said, "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. A very, very long time.

After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only a few of the Ravenclaws, and surprisingly Harry himself had managed to make any difference in their needles. He got a raised eyebrow, five house points, and a soft comment about having his father's talent at transfiguration from McGonagall for that one. He also had to dodge around his housemates' jealousy fuelled hexes and eat lunch in an abandoned classroom.

The class all the Slytherins had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. Harry couldn't think of any reason the vampire would even bother. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but nobody in their right minds actually believe that story.

For one thing, when Kevin Entwhistle asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, everyone had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban.

The Weasley twins insisted at top volume that this was because the turban was also stuffed full of garlic but Adriana Corner and Graham Montague, a snippy pair of second year Slytherins that allowed Harry to sit near them without a fuss when he graced the house table with his presence, were both of the opinion that the turban concealed something unsightly and their theories ranged from a nasty bald spot to nasty spell damage.

Harry, who had been closer to Quirrell then anyone, the man seemed to like him for some reason, was of the opinion that whatever was under the turban it was rotting.

The real trouble for Harry though, didn't start until Friday.

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**AN: **Thanks for taking the time to read! Hope you guys enjoyed! Please feel free to bombard me with reviews and any suggestions for plot points or ways to improve my writing are of course always welcome.

Til next time (whenever that may be)!


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Harry Potter, Adventure, Friendship