Moving Company

3. The Ways of the Slytherins

The next day brought with it the dubious pleasures of Divination, and Double Potions, as well as a free period. Ron was clearly pleased to see Harry as he finished the climb up the silvery ladder into the incense heavy room. If anything, Harry noted, the air was so thick this year that not a few people were coughing until someone discreetly opened a window to let some fresh air in.

Harry and Ron took up seats on two brightly colored pillows towards the back of the class as the tower slowly filled.

"How're you doing Ron?"

He shrugged. "It's all right I guess. I'm going to try out for Quidditch"

"Good luck."

"Are you?"

"Snape expects me to."

Before Ron could respond to that, Trelawney caught their attention.

"This year. This year we shall learn to unravel the secrets of the human aura and use them to predict our future." She looked Harry straight in the eye and gasped. "Oh Mr. Potter. Your aura is black, black as the night sky. I fear you will die screaming in pain."

Harry muttered, "Why couldn't I die in my sleep for once?"

Ron snickered, and thus began another boring lecture. Harry really wished he could be anywhere but here.

* * *

Harry picked at his food during lunch. Out of tradition, he always lost his appetite right before the first potions period of the term.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're in Slytherin now. We can get away with murder in that class and he still won't take points away." He shifted in his seat slightly. "Besides. Snape's already asked me to tutor you."

"WHAT?!"

Blaise touched a hand to Harry's shoulder. "Calm down. It's not the end of the world."

Harry groused. "I haven't even been to class yet and I've already been given a tutor?"

Draco shrugged. "If you get good at doing potions on your own, then it won't look like so much a stretch for him to not take points away from you, will it?"

Harry didn't answer verbally, choosing instead to stab his potpie with the fork instead.

* * *

"Mr. Potter! What have I told you about talking in my class! Ten points from..."

Harry smiled angelically up at Professor Snape.

Snape sighed. Draco snickered despite himself. Snape growled.

"Never mind. Seamus! 10 points from Gryffindor for talking to Potter!"

Harry looked over apologetically at Seamus. He shrugged and gave the sigh of a long-suffering Gryffindor. Harry hoped that Dean and Seamus wouldn't become the new target now that the trio of Ron/Hermione/Harry was no more, however he wasn't getting his hopes up. He only felt vaguely guilty though: Snape seemed to pick on Gryffindor's no matter who was in that House.

He and Blaise were cleaning up the remains of the ingredients from the lightening potion (which was now sparking away happily in their Unbreakable jar) when Snape called them to attention once more.

"As you know, the Headmaster was unable to find anyone suitable to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, and has entrusted me with the job of making sure you don't get yourselves killed because of ignorance. After consultation with Professor McGonagall, we have decided that we will meet on Thursdays, at eight pm. I would remind you that though you will not be graded and that there will no exams that this class is mandatory. Therefore, I will see you tomorrow night."

A variety of "Yes, Professor Snape's" filled the room, and the last of the messes were cleaned up before they were kicked out of the dungeon.

* * *

After dinner found Draco and Harry back down in the dungeons.

"We couldn't study in the library or the common room because..." Harry asked as he set his books down.

"Because we can't do any practical work if we have to."

Harry made a face.

"You really don't like potions, do you?" There was no hint of mockery, just an honest question.

Harry shook his head as he pulled out his notes from the past few years. "Not really. I've never had much head for it, and with Professor Snape always hovering over me like he did didn't exactly help anything. Hermione always tried to help me out, but you know. It's hard to really work at something you don't care for."

Draco nodded. "Well, Snape wants you to at least not be an embarrassment to him, so you'll actually have to try now."

Harry laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"You sound like McGonagall."

Draco made a face. "Now that's just low."

"Then stop talking like a teacher."

"I wasn't talking like a teacher." His face drew up into a half snarl, making him look extremely insulted to have anything to do with teachers or teaching.

Harry laughed even harder. "Now you're sulking!"

Draco sniffed. "I am not. Malfoy's don't sulk!"

"Were too." Harry was way too amused by this.

"Shove it." He pushed Harry's book under his nose. "Now tell me what each one of the ingredients in that potion does."

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, something happened that Harry thought never would: Crabbe spoke more then a few words, and not even to Draco, but to him.

"Um. Harry?"

Harry looked around, at first not realizing that in fact it was actually Crabbe speaking. Once he did figure it out, he asked, "Yes?"

"Can you help me with Care of Magical Creatures?"

It was pretty much a given that Harry was the best in the House at that class, if for no other reason then he got along with Hagrid and actually attempted to do the work, no matter how dangerous or disgusting it may be.

"What did you need help with? I'll not feed your creature."

"I can do that. It's that essay."

Hagrid had assigned them a five-foot essay on the creature of their choice, providing they hadn't already covered it in class. It was rare of him to assign homework like that, so Harry had (rightly) assumed that it was because of the OWLs that were forthcoming at year's end.

"What do I get in return?"

One lesson Harry learned quickly was that no one did anything for free in Slytherin. After a few hours in the dungeon last night, and some pressing by Harry, Draco finally admitted that he agreed to help Harry because Snape had promised him points for the House--and limited access to his potion stores. Harry wasn't surprised; he and Draco still ignored other more often then not since Snape disapproved of their bickering. He mused that Draco have earned a number of points for him to consider spending so much time with Harry, let alone to help him.

Crabbe thought about it. He knew there wasn't much he could offer Harry on the homework side--Draco was helping him with potions, Harry managed pretty well at DADA, although Crabbe knew more about the Dark Art part then the rest. Crabbe didn't take divination and his charms work was laughable, although he and Harry were at an equal level in transfiguration and herbology. Harry had been surprised to learn all this, but after the initial shock wore off, he realized that it was all part of an act. He had to give Crabbe points for the effort. No one in Gryffindor would have ever pegged the guy for having any kind of talent in anything. They'd all been fooled.

"When we go to Hogsmeade, I'll take you to the new muggle clothing shop and get you some new clothes to wear under your robes."

"Excuse me?"

Draco and Blaise joined the conversation at this point. "You mean you actually like what you have in that closet of yours?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Well, no." Harry hated his muggle stuff. Even after four years at Hogwarts he still wore Dudley's cast offs: he'd never been able to find a way to get to the muggle shops himself, and even if he had it would have been difficult to explain where he got the money without revealing his Gringott's account to his greedy relatives. "But I don't see why it's suddenly the concern of all of you."

Blaise looked at Harry sympathetically. "Not only are most Slytherin pureblood," no one could point fingers at Harry because technically, he was too, "but all of have an impeccable taste for the finer things in life--including clothing. Got to look the part after all." He paused. "I think he also needs a hair cut."

Draco and Crabbe agreed almost instantly. "I'll even throw that in too."

Harry was outnumbered and he knew it, but he also realized that he'd be getting a good bargain. A few hours helping him and he'd have some proper fitting clothes and a decent hair cut.

"All right. I'll do it. But I'm not writing your essay for you."

Crabbe nodded, "Agreed."

Just then post owls flew in overhead, and Hedwig landed on Harry's shoulder. To his surprise, Pig crash-landed on the table just barely missing his roll. He gave them both a scrap of food and sent them on their way. Harry opened the first scroll, which he quickly recognized as having Sirius' handwriting.

Looking around he saw that Blaise was now immersed in the paper, and Draco and Crabbe were looking through the day's supply of sweets, so he opened it.

Harry,

For the time being, I think it would be best if you called me Snuffles in your letters again. We both know why.

Harry nodded slightly to himself.

I'm not sure what to say about this whole Sorting affair--I'm sure Dumbledore had it done for a reason, we both know that although a Gryffindor, he's as cunning as a Slytherin, if not even more so! I am glad to see you taking the whole thing so stoically. Please do tell me if they give you problems, I'm sure we can work something out.

As for your DADA situation, I can't say I'm surprised. After the mess of the last few years, I too would be throwing my hands up in the air trying to find anyone trustworthy. I'm more surprised at his appointing Snape, but undoubtedly he'll know some good stuff, so pay attention.

Not sure when I'll see you next, but you know the drill. Don't send Hedwig next time.

Snuffles

Harry rolled up scroll, setting it aside him, deciding next time to read the letters in private so he wouldn't have to worry about getting asked about them. He opened the scroll from the Weasley's, surprised to find Fred and George's handwriting on it considering they were only sitting a few tables away.

Harry!

So you got re-Sorted into Slytherin. That's got to be horrid. If Draco gives you any trouble just write back and we'll slip you some of our newest candies to get back at them.

Harry grinned despite the slur on his House. As he had suspected at the end of the last year with the rather dubious attitudes of the Ministry of Magic, their mom hadn't been keen on them joining up after all, and had let them work on their gags as long as they promised to not let them get in the way of their studies.

Mom told us to tell you that she's worried, so if you could send her an owl convincing her that you're not the target of assassination, it'd be most appreciated it. As always, dad has more questions about muggle things he wants answered. I'm sure soon enough he'll owl you with his questions.

One last thing: try and see Ron a little more, would you? He's doing all right in Hufflepuff but he misses you Harry, not that he'll ever admit it. Go...

Harry had to squint to make out the next word. He suspected that the word "study" was initially there, but then the thought of actually suggesting that they do that was too horrid for the twins.

Go...play wizards chess or exploding snap or something. It's for your own good

George's handwriting took over at that point.

And now that we sound like our mum, we're going to take off. Take care Harry.

Fred & George

Harry rolled that scroll up and placed it in his sack, now that it was time to go to transfigurations. He walked with the other fifth years, although none of them were chatty, for which Harry was relieved. Ron missed him? It had only been a few days since the term started. Still, he was always up for a game of exploding snap and his best competition had always been Ron.

* * *

The day was unexceptional. Transfigurations had been difficult as always: they were attempting to convert ordinary muggle teapots into those similar in the children's song. Harry had gotten the dance, but its singing was awful. The thing sounded tone deaf. He still wasn't quite sure where he went wrong, but time ran out before he could fix it.

Professor McGonagall announced they'd continue this work next time due to the fact that no one had managed to successfully transform their kettle, and gave them several chapters of reading to do.

If Harry noticed the slightly pitying and concerned look the she gave him as he left, he made no sign of it.