Reposted: July 6, 2021

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Last edited: March 14, 2022

Okay, I think I have first year sorted out. Get it, "sorted"? Ha ha... I'll leave now...

In the midst of the shock, Harry calmly went and took a seat at the Slytherin table. The girl sitting next to him, who Harry recognized from Madam Malkin's, nodded to him in a daze.

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall Sorted the remaining students, ending with Blaise Zabini in Slytherin, and Dumbledore stood up.

"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!"

There was scattered applause; most of the students were still staring at Harry. Many jumped as food appeared on the dishes in front of them and began piling it onto their plates.

"Harry Potter in Slytherin," Pansy remarked as she did the same. "That's quite a twist, isn't it?"

"No," Harry replied, smirking with amusement.

"Do you have the scar?" an older student asked.

"If I didn't, I'd be worried," Harry said, but he made no move to push his hair away to show it.

When it became clear he wasn't going to say anymore, the Slytherins turned back to their food. While they chatted among themselves, Harry let his eyes wander to the other tables.

Several students were glancing his way curiously, only to avert their eyes when they saw he was looking.

Over at the Gryffindor table, a ghost with a ruff was pulling at his ear, causing his head to detach. Fred and George were talking to a boy with dreadlocks; George caught his gaze and grinned before turning back to his friend. An older redhead, presumably Percy, was speaking to a very eager Hermione. Ron, Neville, and a sandy-haired boy seemed to be in a discussion.

Dessert was served not long after, and after helping himself to a treacle tart, Harry looked up at the High Table. Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were talking to each other. A man wearing a turban was conversing with a greasy-haired, hooked-nose teacher.

The hook-nosed teacher suddenly looked past the one with the turban and straight into Harry's eyes. The teacher didn't like Harry very much if his expression was anything to go by, but Harry couldn't think of any reason as to why.

"Draco, who's that?"

"The dark-haired one? That's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions. He's also my godfather."

"I see." Harry recognized the name. Azure had told him he had gotten his masters in potions at age twenty-one, making him the youngest potions master. She clearly had a lot of respect and awe for him, and Harry was inclined to share it.

The desserts disappeared, and Dumbledore addresses the students once more

"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." He was looking at the Weasley twins when he said this.

"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 narrowed his eyes. That was... suspicious. To say that to a mass of children, some that would most certainly feel compelled to disobey the Headmaster for the sake of disobedience, was like waving a red flag at a bull.

"He's not serious?" he muttered.

"He rarely is," Draco scoffed.

The students sang the school song and were then dismissed to bed.

Gemma Farley, one of the Slytherin prefects, led the first years to the dungeons. "Professor Snape is our Head of House," she told them upon entering. "He will speak with you tomorrow morning. But for now, off to bed."

Harry and Draco ended up in a dorm together along with Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, who each still had a look of amazement of having Harry in their house.

The next morning, Professor Snape called the first years together. When he spoke, his voice was soft, not that he needed to raise it to be heard.

"You have been Sorted into Slytherin," he began, "a house that, despite what others may think, is a house to be proud of. I expect every single one of you to hold yourself to a high standard and to be respectful of each other. Quarrels amongst one another should be within the house, if at all. I will not tolerate Slytherin's reputation being burnt to the ground because you couldn't use your brains."

His black eyes flicked to Harry, who did not react.

"If you have any concerns, come see me or the prefects and we will help to the best of our abilities. Any questions?"

The first years murmured in the negative.

"Good. Go to Miss Farley. She will hand you your timetables. Mr. Potter-" his voice hardened here- "a word."

Harry followed the teacher into his office.

"Listen to me," Snape said coldly, "because I will not repeat myself. The other professors may coddle you, but I will not. You will learn what it's like to have to work for once in your life and should you complain, you will suffer the consequences."

"With all due respect, sir," Harry replied, "I believe you are wrong. I do know what it's like to work, to suffer the consequences."

"Please," Snape sneered. "You are the Boy-Who-Lived."

"And how did I come to be called that?" Harry countered. "By having a madman try to kill me. Voldemort came after me, for some reason, and now I am apparently the savior."

Snape had flinched at the mention of his name and retracted his left arm slightly at the pain. Harry's eyes zoned in on it. "What happened?"

"Don't say his name," Snape hissed.

"Why not?" Harry was curious now.

"Just don't," Snape said, rubbing his arm.

In a flash, Harry had gripped his arm and yanked back the sleeve, revealing the brand. "I see," he said tonelessly. "You are one of his Death Eaters."

Snape tried to wrench his arm back, but Harry had a remarkably strong grip and did not let go. "No, I am no longer in his servitude. Now unhand me this instant."

Harry peered down at the faded mark. "Hm, seems like You-Know-Who was into aesthetics."

Snape looked at him in bewilderment. Then he stiffened as a familiar hissing sound came from the boy's mouth. "You're a-"

"Parselmouth, yes, I'm aware." Harry didn't look up as he continued to hiss.

To Snape's astonishment, the snake shifted and hissed back. Harry replied, eyes flicking up to Snape briefly.

Snape felt the magic in the mark shift and yanked his arm back when Harry released him. "What did you say?" he demanded, feeling very unnerved.

"I simply told it to not hurt," Harry replied coolly. "So now you won't feel pain when someone says Voldemort."

Snape tensed, but to his surprise, there was none of the familiar sting the name brought. "How did you do it?" he whispered.

"Simple. I gave it a command." Harry stared at Snape steadily, almost challengingly. "Is that all?"

"Yes. Now get out of my sight," he snapped, voice lacking the harshness he intended.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I would really like to know what you have against me, but I'm hungry. Maybe later."

He exited the office with an air of grace that was rare in one so young, leaving Snape alone to his thoughts.

Snape looked down at his arm, shivering. Harry's magic had been strong, and it had felt familiar, much like... No. Harry Potter wasn't- he couldn't be- another Dark Lord.

Harry is not a Horcrux in this story, which is why he didn't feel any pain in his scar