Simon says...

Harry rose early the next morning. When he pulled the hangings apart, it was still dark outside. He looked around the room; everyone else was fast asleep. He glanced to the mirror; his hair was messy as usual. He halted and looked into the mirror once more. Just then he realized the emblem on his robes, it was no longer red. It was green, a certain, special green. He hated this green. He had done so ever since he found out what it represented, Slytherin, ever since he first met Malfoy and his fellow Slytherins. All on their best way to become Death Eaters just like their parents. And now, he lived in their midst. He had always fought on the other side - against Voldemort, sending Death Eaters to Azkaban. Parents of many of his new housemates were residing inside the wizard prison because of him. How had he gotten into this? He hadn't wanted to be sorted into Phoenix House, yes, but why hadn't the Sorting Hat just put him back into Gryffindor?

Lost in his thoughts, he left the dormitory and made his way to the common room. As soon as he entered, he regretted the decision. Already three other people were sitting by the fire. He didn't recognize them but walked over nevertheless. He was curious to find out how they would treat him, the archenemy of their master? Unfortunately, the answer would have to wait; as he approached the chairs Harry recognized the two former Ravenclaw students and only one Slytherin.

"Hey, Harry," Simon greeted him and pointed to an empty chair. "Have a seat. These are Ethan Skinner and Frederic Montague." Harry eyed the seventh year. He remembered him slightly different than the young man sitting now in front of him. He used to be strong and scary, now he appeared bony and sallow.

"Hi, didn't you play Captain on the Slytherin Quidditch Team last year? You've changed quite a bit since then." Harry played nasty; he could see that Frederic felt uncomfortable.

"Your friends, the Weasley twins, played a big part in this."

"The Vanishing Cabinet..." Harry mumbled, suddenly remembering the twins' prank in fifth year.

"What's that?" Ethan asked curiously.

"It's a special room that was created way after the original castle was built. No idea why, but it lets people and things disappear. When you are inside, it's pure hell," Frederic explained. "The room is filled with magic, and after a while you don't know where up and down, left or right are. You are in a kind of maze, losing the feeling for space and time. Some need months to find their way back out."

"When the room was built, it was meant to be an advanced training method for older students, to test their skills and ability to resist Dark Magic. They had to master several difficult tasks, like thinking up strategies of defence without losing their sanity," Simon continued. "But the room became a danger to weaker students. It threatened their mental and bodily health. That's why it was taken from the syllabuses about one hundred years ago."

They all went silent. Harry gazed out of the small dungeon window. The rising sun coloured the lake and the forbidden forest in a slightly red-orange shimmer. Slowly, noises of life emerged from the dormitories; soon the common room would be filled with their classmates.

"Harry, what are you afraid of?" Simon inquired unexpectedly when the two of them sat alone.

"I'm not afraid," Harry replied and look to the floor embarrassedly.

"Oh yes, you are. I can see it clearly in your eyes," Simon stated. "You believe that you don't belong here."

Harry looked up at Simon; he was right, but Harry didn't want to talk about it just now. "This is not the time and place to discuss the Sorting, okay?"

Simon understood.

***

The first day as a Slytherin turned out to resemble hell. At breakfast, Harry sat alone at one corner of the table. When searching the High Table for Hagrid, Harry noticed Snape, who barely took his eyes off him, observing his every move. Hagrid, however, seemed to have enjoyed a relaxing vacation; he was talking cheerfully to a new Professor Harry hadn't noticed so far. She was a middle-aged witch with dark-blonde hair and glasses. She had to be the new DADA teacher, as it was the only job opening at Hogwarts.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry jumped. Snape had glided towards him without a single sound and was now standing right behind Harry, handing him a piece of parchment. "Your timetable."

"Uhm...thanks," Harry murmured while examining his new schedule.

"Professor Snape..." Harry muttered confused. "I'm in the NEWT-class for Potions, does that mean..."

"You are in the NEWT-class," Snape interrupted him with a silky voice, "until you have failed your re-sit. You will be degraded immediately afterwards. I will need the application form by tomorrow morning or you can erase the class immediately." With that, Snape turned on his heels and continued to hand out timetables to the remaining students.

"You're doing a re-sit in Potions?" Simon had followed their little chat and seemed interested.

"Yep, but I don't stand a chance. I'm a loser in Potions."

"Oh, come on! I'm sure you'll be fine. From what I've heard, you can't be such a bad student."

"Uhm..." Harry could come up with many buts and whens but thought better of it. "Well, maybe. With some tutoring."

Simon nodded encouragingly and left. Harry, with a quick glance on his watch, followed suit.

***

His first class would be Charms, followed by Herbology. NEWT-level classes seemed to mainly take place in the morning, and as he realized in front of the classroom, students of all five houses would participate in one class. His chances of avoiding his former Housemates decreased significantly. Sure enough, he could make out Hermione among the waiting students. She was talking animatedly to Padma Patil and didn't even take notice of Harry when he approached. Harry was nudged in the back and whirling around he saw Malfoy.

"'Morning, Potter," he started, "what did I do to deserve even more classes with you?"

"Malfoy." Harry imitated his tone of voice. "Just shut up."

Harry turned back to the door, which had just opened. To Harry's surprise, the unknown witch was standing in the doorway, beckoning them inside. Without actually intending to, Harry addressed Malfoy. "Who is she?" But Draco only shrugged his shoulders and strolled into the classroom. Harry tried to find a seat as far away from Malfoy as possible, but besides the one on Draco's table, only the seat next to Hermione was free. Instinctively, he steered towards her, but Hermione shook her head.

"Sorry, I'm saving this one for Neville. He's on his way." Boiling with anger, Harry walked over to Draco instead and reluctantly slumped on the chair.

"Now that everyone's seated, we should be able to begin," the new teacher started her first lesson. "I'm Professor McPherson. Professor Flitwick will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year, so I will be covering his former job. This year we will be covering two major fields: Projecting and Apparating."

She let the students digest the information before continuing. "The past years, you've been transporting objects from A to B, vanishing them or summoning them. These are all necessary skills, but have any of you ever wondered how, for example, a Cleansweep Seven works?" She mustered the class. Harry liked the idea of stripping and examining a broom, discovering which part was charmed how. "We will be projecting various features onto objects of all kinds. I wanted to start with self-knitting needles, but Professor Flitwick advised me not to, too dangerous." The students laughed. Neville, always having more trouble than other students, blushed. He was probably imagining how he would charm the needles to knit without being punctured.

Professor McPherson started handing out sugar bowls and spoons to everyone. After successfully applying the Projecting Charm, the spoon should be giving one scoop of sugar into a cup of tea on a simple clap of hands. But not even Hermione managed to get it right. Her spoon kept shovelling sugar into the cup until there was none left in the bowl. Harry's, on the other hand, hadn't moved at all.

With mixed feelings, Harry departed to Herbology. He knew that Ron would be taking this class, along with Hermione. To his great relief, Draco would be absent, though his cronies Crabbe and Goyle took part in this class.

His glance fell on Ron and Hermione, who quickly looked away. Both of them kept distant. He wondered not for the first time how and when he had changed. Okay, he yelled a lot lately, had trouble controlling his temper, and his clothing bore a different colour than his friends, if he could still call them that.

"They could at least apologize for their behaviour on the train," Harry thought. It had clearly been their fault; it was the slightest bit they could do.

Harry was glad that Professor Sprout gave them a task that required his complete attention and distracted him for two hours from his problems. He was supposed to replant a flesh-eating plant and feed it. Many times his index finger was in the almost-fatal situation of becoming the nutritious dessert. If the plant did actually bite, you quickly had to stun it and extract your limbs from its sharp teeth. This was meant to prevent major injuries. Neville, working on the neighbouring table, wasn't as lucky as Harry. The plant had its teeth anchored deep in his finger; his wand emitted green and blue sparks that didn't do any harm to the plant. He was yelping for help until Harry got a clear shot of the plant and Stunned it. Justin had to take Neville to the hospital wing to stop the intense bleeding of his wounded hand.

After his lessons, Harry hurried back to the castle. He just wanted to be on his own. He walked to the Slytherin Quarters and hid in his bedroom. He wasn't hungry. He brooded. Why did he let them provoke him? What did the Hat intend by sorting him into Slytherin? Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Malfoy's arrival.

"Simon's looking for you, Potter."

"Tell him I don't want to see him," Harry answered melancholically. Draco fumbled with his trunk and left.

The more Harry mulled over those questions, the more he felt the need of talking to someone. But to whom? Sirius was dead; he strictly refused to turn to Ron or Hermione. Well, at least until they apologized. He thought about Simon. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to talk to him. He seemed to be a nice guy, not as spoiled or corrupt like the rest of Slytherin. He was in the same situation as Harry, and he had been in Ravenclaw before. Harry had just made up his mind when someone knocked on the door and Simon entered the dormitory.

"One could think you can read minds," Harry stated, still slightly sad.

"Malfoy said you weren't feeling too well," Simon replied.

"Malfoy doesn't care about me." Harry felt his mood change to the worse again. Just don't lose your temper, he thought.

"Did you want to talk about the Sorting?" Harry kept silent. He couldn't decide if yes or no. Simon only looked at him keenly, waiting.

After a few minutes of staring at each other, Harry burst out, "Why are you in Slytherin?"

"I knew you would ask me this at some point. And my answer to that would only hurt you more," Simon replied hesitantly. After a short pause he started to explain slowly.

"I grew up with the Boots. My parents were both dark wizards, following You-Know-Who. I never met them, but the Boots told me about them shortly before my departure to Hogwarts; since then, I've known who my real parents are. And what they did."

"I couldn't hide my heritage before the Hat. He wanted to sort me into Slytherin, but I fought. The knowledge of my parents' true identity had strengthened me. The Hat acknowledged my fight and sorted me into Ravenclaw." Simon stopped. He was biting his lower lip.

"What's up?" Harry asked concerned. "You don't like talking about your parents?" Simon shook his head.

"No, I mean...What would you think, when you believed your parents to be dead throughout your childhood and then suddenly..." Simon faltered. "And then you find out that they are one of the closest followers of the Dark Lord and carried out some of his darkest orders and ended up in Azkaban."

"Your parents are in Azkaban?" Harry felt uneasy and noticed that Simon looked sad and pale.

"They were...until they were freed by the Dark Lord last year." Simon spoke with a firm voice. Harry didn't ask any further. He felt sorry for Simon. He had an idea of his endurance, after discovering some truth about his own father last year that still ashamed him. Simon's situation was far worse. After all, James and Sirius hadn't been sent to Azkaban for taking off Snape's pants (or not, for that matter).

A surprised look on his watch told he was about to be late for his next class. Harry hurried out to Hagrid's Hut. "Hello, Hagrid," he forced in a cheery voice but only received a brumby reply. Hagrid was bending over a few wooden boxes. Harry sneaked a glance and burst out, "But those are only ordinary rabbits!"

Hagrid grinned sheepishly. "Mmh, no' entirely. These'r Magic-rabbits, damn fas' an' hard t'catch. The Ministry's been tryin' t'use 'em 's replacemen' fer owls but so far without success."

The lesson turned out to be quite fun. As soon as the boxes were opened, two of the rabbits were gone in a flash. The students' task was to build comfortable housings for the rabbits and then move the magical animals into them. Hagrid didn't talk much with Harry, but that was probably because of the chaotic situation. By the end of the lesson, however, Harry was invited to a cup of tea the coming Saturday.

After the lesson, Harry escaped to the library. He didn't feel like spending his leisure time in the Slytherin common room. Instead, he tried to finish his History of Magic essay, but he just couldn't focus. Finally, he gave up and went for some dinner. Later, while resting on his bed, he took out the application for the re-examination. It was already filled in. Tomorrow, during Potions, he would have to hand it in. "Hermione," he thought, "not there when needed." He opened the homework-planner she had given him last year for Christmas and wrote down a possible schedule. Then he started to study Potions Theory.

***

Harry knew even before entering the classroom that a NEWT-level class with Snape would be terribly hard. Harry ignored Hermione, who was naturally taking this class as well, and took a seat in the front row.

"Today, we will be preparing a potion that requires your ultimate concentration. Former slips of mind might have caused minor disasters, but from this year on I strongly suggest you keep in mind that we do not cook simple soups inside this classroom." Snape started the lesson in that menacing, barely audible, whisper of his. "You will brow the so-called Wolfsbane potion which, when single ingredients are falsely dosed, can result in death. Does anyone know what it is used for?" Harry as well as Hermione raised his hand. Snape's gaze swept around the class, but nobody else seemed to know.

"Very well, Potter?"

"Wolfsbane is taken by a werewolf a few days prior to the full moon and helps it to keep its sanity during its transformation and stay harmless."

Snape nodded curtly and, with a lazy flick of his wand, projected the recipe onto the board.

"You will be working in pairs." Harry looked around; Hermione seemed to be interested to be his partner, but he concluded in ignoring her further. "Potter, you will join Goyle," Snape commanded with a sneer. Reluctantly, Harry turned to the hulking Slytherin.

Brewing a potion together with Goyle simply couldn't go right. The ingredients weren't cut according to the instructions, and the potion didn't simmer in red, but rather a deep shade of purple. When blue bubbles started to emit from the cauldron and burst on the ceiling, Snape finally swept over to them.

"Potter!" Snape bent down to have a closer look at their attempted Wolfsbane. "Do tell me why you used too much Mycelium? Did you intent to poison someone? Lupin, perhaps?" A sleek grin hushed over his pale features. "Five points from Gryff..." Snape paused and looked loathingly into Harry's eyes. "Slytherin," he snarled quietly.

Time just wouldn't pass, and the lesson seemed to go and on. Harry tried to fix the Wolfsbane so it would at least look like the potion they were supposed to be brewing. Goyle tried to help and give advice, but everything the bullyboy suggested just worsened the situation.

Finally, the bell rang. Harry hurriedly packed his bag when Snape called the Slytherins back. "Quidditch tryouts will be held on Friday afternoon. If you're interested, be on the field at three sharp." With this, the class was dismissed.

"Potter, your application form?"

Harry hastily search his bag and handed the required parchment to Snape.

"Professor, could I please get my broom back?"

Snape looked at him sharply and a smile curled around his lips.

"I'll see what I can do."

Harry felt the happiest in days. These were the best news he had gotten since his return to Hogwarts. He loved Quidditch and was a very good Seeker, but ... He stopped in his tracks. Malfoy was the Slytherin Seeker - not good, but influential. Did he even stand a chance to be chosen for the team?

***

Harry walked up the steps leading to the classroom occupied by Professor Binns. History of Magic was as boring as ever; they were being lectured about the installment and development of the Ministry of Magic. It was a sheer surprise that no one was talked into sleep by the monotonous voice rattling names and dates seemingly without end. When the lunch-bell at long last saved them, Harry strolled alone after his fellow classmates down to the Great Hall. He took a seat next to Simon.

"So, how is it?" the older student asked him.

"Lonely," Harry sighed truthfully.

"Well, that'll stop soon enough," Simon assured him and proceeded with eating his stew.

Harry pulled out his Potions book and reread the passages about Mycelium. He simply had to succeed in the examination. He stood a fair chance of mastering the theoretical paper, if he just studied hard enough. But the practical test would be much harder. He never focused enough to precisely follow the instructions.

***

Harry spent the days avoiding Malfoy and his friends, but in the common room, this was a tough task. While Harry tried to do his Herbology homework, Draco used his leisure time to annoy him. He distracted him by having loud discussions with his cronies about Muggle-loving fools in the Ministry or shooting paper balls at him. Every time Harry complained, Draco only laughed and continued his infuriating behaviour. It took a long while until Harry realised that ignoring Malfoy's provoking attacks was a far better strategy.

Wednesday night, Harry once again sat alone in his dormitory studying for Potions. Once again, somebody knocked on the door and interrupted his concentration. It was Simon.

"Here, your broom."

Harry looked up, smiling broadly, when he took hold of his most treasured possession. It felt great. He could have mounted his broom right there and played a game of Quidditch. But, he would have to dust and clean it first. It looked quite filthy after laying around for about year.

"Are you studying for Potions again?" Simon was looking at his notes.

"Yep," Harry said, still engaged with examining his broom.

"Only theory?"

"I'm not good at the practice either, but without permission from Snape and an approved tutor, I'm not allowed to brew potions on my own," Harry explained.

"That's true, but you're in his house, I'm sure you'd get one."

"Simon, please," Harry burst out. "He hates me."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that. Would you like me to throw in a good word for you?" Simon offered.

"Okay, so what if? Who would tutor me?"

"Me." Simon turned to leave. "Think about it. We could start next week."

Harry hesitated. But the moment Simon closed the door behind him, he followed.

"Simon? Okay."

A smile showed on Simon's pale face. Then he left.

***

The next day Harry stared unbelievingly at the written note that allowed him to brew potions under the supervision of a seventh year NEWT-level student.

Harry couldn't wait for the Quidditch tryouts. There was nothing he wished more for than being picked to play on the house team. At precisely quarter to three, he shouldered his Firebolt and, followed by Malfoy, who was armed with his Nimbus 2000, he marched to the Quidditch Field. Professor Snape was already waiting for them. At three o'clock twelve Slytherins had accumulated, and Snape began his speech.

"I had to discover that due to the new house system only three skilled players are left." Snape shot Harry a contemptuous look.

"Harry is a good Seeker," Simon interrupted.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion," Snape replied in a soft, deadly voice.

"Mount your brooms; let's see what you can do."

The four balls were freed from their captivity and the twelve players changed positions throughout the training session. Harry realized pretty soon that he wouldn't make a good Beater or Chaser. He could better concentrate when he had a position that was sole. He could imagine being Keeper, but Seeker was still his favourite spot. Snape whistled and ended the trials.

"I've seen enough. I want our team to win this year. Gryffindor has been way too successful the past years," Snape stated coldly, while sending a fleeting look towards Harry.

"Pritchard, you and Montague will play Beater," he declared while pacing the line of hopeful students.

"You are a fair player, indeed, but Malfoy is beyond doubt out of your reach," Snape sneered.

Harry felt his stomach twist. Snape wouldn't offer him a position on the team if he was playing for the British national team.

"Professor Snape," Simon's voice was confident, "didn't you just say you want to win this season? I believe that Harry missed the Snitch only once, and the training just now was incredible."

"He was lucky," Snape retorted coolly.

"Give him a chance," Simon demanded. He had stepped up to Snape and was now very close, staring into his eyes just as cold and threateningly as Snape stared back. Simon seemed to have no fear at all. The faint notion of a cold smile spread across Snape's face.

"We shall draw lots. Malfoy, Potter, come here," Snape ordered quietly, barely moving his lips.

He placed his wand on his palm and muttered Decidius. The wand slowly rose into the air and circulated. The rotation slowed down. Harry noticed that Simon's eyes were fixed on the rotating wand, as if influencing it. The wand abruptly stopped, pointing to Harry. Snape cursed quietly, and turned back to the rest of the students.

"Potter will play Seeker, Mr. Malfoy and Bole, Chaser," Snape spat and eyed the others.

"Nott, you will be the new Keeper; everyone else may leave." Harry couldn't believe it; he really made Seeker. He glanced at Simon, grinned and gave him the thumbs-up.

"The first match of the season will be on the first weekend of October. Slytherin versus Phoenix. So train hard."

Then he turned sharply one last time to Simon.

"Mr. Lestrange, you will play Chaser and supervise the training sessions. Good Luck."

To be continued.