2 September 1991
Harry awoke after eight hours of the deepest, most restful sleep he had ever experienced.
The bed in the first-year Slytherin dormitory was easily the most comfortable thing he had ever been allowed to touch.
As his roommates began to stir, he lay there for a moment, replaying the events of the previous night.
Jim had, of course, been sorted into Gryffindor.
He had actually looked hurt—betrayed, even—when the Hat declared Harry a Slytherin.
Ron Weasley had joined him, as had (surprisingly) the timid Neville Longbottom and (less surprisingly) Hermione.
Neville had appeared terrified of everything and would probably have been happier in Hufflepuff, but Harry had gathered from platform observations that his parents had been Gryffindors and that his grandmother—and especially his great-uncle—would have considered anything else a failure.
With time and confidence, the boy might yet adapt.
Hermione, as Harry had predicted on the train, seemed well-suited to Gryffindor’s more chaotic energy if she could adjust to its culture.
The Sorting Hat had called Draco Malfoy for Slytherin almost before it touched his head, which Harry found amusing.
Blaise Zabini followed nearly as quickly.
Theo Nott, a quiet, thin boy, had taken longer; he seemed almost resigned to his fate.
Four girls had also joined Slytherin: Greengrass, Davis, Parkinson, and Bulstrode.
Draco—still not on first-name terms with Harry—quietly explained that Greengrass and Parkinson were Purebloods from Noble (though not Ancient) families, while Davis and Bulstrode were Half-bloods from lesser-known ones.
Greengrass and Davis already knew each other and seemed friendly.
Bulstrode kept to herself, while Parkinson practically cooed over Draco, hinting at an arranged betrothal.
The mention made Draco turn faintly green.
(“At eleven?” Harry had thought incredulously.)
Crabbe and Goyle had also been sorted into Slytherin.
Their placements were, in fact, the main reason Harr y’s own Sorting had taken several minutes.
The Hat had immediately suggested Slytherin, and Harry had no objection in principle.
But after speaking with the two boys on the train, he had bluntly asked how two monosyllabic slabs of beef had ended up in the House of cunning and ambition.
However, it was bound by ancient medieval rules requiring children of “vassal families” to follow their “liege lords.” The Crabbes, Goyles, and (to a lesser extent) Parkinsons were magically contracted to the Malfoys through agreements centuries old—details the Hat could not disclose.
It had added, however, that if Harry wished to learn more about such matters, Slytherin was definitely the place for him.
The common room and dormitories contained numerous snakes hidden in paintings and furnishings that were, in the Hat’s opinion, “prone to gossip.” Since discreetly exploring his Parseltongue gift ranked high on Harry’s list of priorities, that had been the deciding factor.
The placement of the Boy-Who-Lived’s mysterious twin had caused quite the scandal.
Dumbledore had looked disappointed.
So had “Mum.” More concerning was Professor Snape’s expression—he had looked outright homicidal.
Later, he had sent the prefects to deliver the first-year orientation instead of appearing himself.
Older students whispered this was the first time in years he had skipped the welcome.
On top of everything else, the Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor gave Harry a sharp headache every time he turned his head.
On the brighter side, his extended Sorting had given Harry an excellent cover story.
“I begged the Hat for Gryffindor, honestly!
But it asked why, and I said I wanted to protect Jim.
It replied, ‘Where do you think the greatest threats to the Boy-Who-Lived will come from?’ So I thought it over…” It sounded plausible enough for James to believe, and the idea of his son going undercover among “the slimy snakes” would probably amuse the old prankster.
Harry resolved to send his birth father a letter right after breakfast.
“Good morning, Malfoy!” Harry called cheerfully as he sprang out of bed.
“Morning, Potter. You seem unusually chipper.”
“First day of school,” Harry replied.
“The first day of the rest of our lives.” He headed for the bathroom with a light step.
On the way, he passed Theo and caught a glimpse of the boy’s back—covered in scars.
Only years of practice hiding his reactions at the Dursleys kept Harry from staring.
He had only one similar scar himself, but it was enough to recognize the mark of a cane.
Thirty minutes later he entered the Great Hall, which was already mostly full.
Jim and Ron were at the Gryffindor table.
Ron nudged Jim the moment Harry appeared, and both scowled.
Jim even sneered, though a strange glint of excitement lingered in his eyes, as if he anticipated something entertaining.
Hermione and Neville sat farther down the table; Hermione chatted amiably with older Gryffindors while Neville kept to himself.
Harry crossed to the Slytherin table and took a seat between Malfoy and Nott.
A few minutes later, the morning owl post arrived.
A majestic horned owl swooped toward the Slytherin table clutching a blood-red envelope.
Theo Nott immediately tensed and stopped breathing.
He only relaxed when the owl dropped the Howler directly in front of Harry.
“Ooooh,” Parkinson squealed with malicious delight.
“Look, everyone! Potter’s got a Howler!”
The other Slytherins drew back slightly while still staying close enough to watch.
“And what, pray tell, is a ‘Howler’?” Harry asked with studied nonchalance.
Across the hall, Jim and Ron stood up for a better view, openly grinning.
Theo answered urgently, “It’s an angry letter, Potter. A very angry letter. The longer you wait to open it, the louder it gets. If you wait too long, it explodes.”
Harry glanced around.
The entire hall had grown quieter; the wizard-raised students clearly knew what was coming and didn’t want to miss the spectacle.
At the staff table most professors looked mildly interested.
Lily Potter had her face buried in her hands in absolute horror.
Harry chuckled.
“An explosive screaming letter. And a school that allows them to be sent to eleven-year-olds at breakfast in front of everyone. How… professional.” He casually slashed the seal open with a butter knife, leaned back in his chair, and took a sip of pumpkin juice as the Howler began to scream.