Reap The Bitter Fruit

"Ah. You again. This makes, what, the fourth time we've met? Definitely more than any other student. So. You've decided to try again, and not fight with me over your House placement this time? It's really very rare that reSorting occurs, no matter the circumstances, but you were right, I think, to request it. You have changed, and you fought too hard before."

The voice was silent for a long time, and the student under the hat began to get impatient.

"Not to worry, I think I have it. You can't be placed in Hufflepuff, that's for certain. And you would not be comfortable in Rowena's House, I wager. I can't put you back where you started - you are far too different to survive there any longer. Yes, I realise that it's the opposite of where you've been, but you knew that this is what I would say, didn't you? You have plans, and goals. You've even conned your Headmaster, haven't you? Congratulations, for you're going to -"

"SLYTHERIN!" screamed the Sorting Hat. Harry fought to keep a smug grin from breaking out on his face, and settled for a small sigh, a mix of relief and apprehension, although what the Headmaster interpreted it as, Harry wasn't sure. He removed the Hat, for what he hoped was the last time, ever, and sat it back on the shelf in Dumbledore's office before turning to look at the Headmaster.

"As I said before, I'd like a chance to meet with my new Head of House."

"Yes, of course. Professor Snape will be here momentarily and we can have a nice chat."

"Privately." Last thing I want is Professor Dumbledore trying to impress upon Professor Snape some notion that this resorting was his idea. Idiot would have my Head of House thinking this was all some Gryffindor plot. Harry's voice was hard, and he saw the fleeting wince on Dumbledore's face. He put it there himself, Harry thought. He sent me to the Dursleys, and that's ultimately the cause of it all.

Harry had been home from Hogwarts for less than a day after his fourth year when the beatings had begun, along with the sexual assaults. He didn't know what else to call it, even in his own mind, since actual intercourse hadn't been involved. Uncle Vernon, enraged by a combination of the immense sums he had spent to repair his electric fire the previous summer, and the mere fact that Harry had survived another year at Hogwarts, had made no excuses for his behaviour, and let Harry know quite frequently that he, Vernon Dursley, considered Harry and his kind to be the worst sort of people on the earth. After he would beat him, or use him, he would taunt Harry with the knowledge that all the magic in the world was no good, because Harry wasn't allowed to use magic between school terms. Harry had written about the abuse in rather vague terms to Hermione, and had written in somewhat more detail to Ron and Sirius. All three of them had contacted Professor Dumbledore, was what the return letters said. Soon, though, it became apparent that intervention was not forthcoming. The next letter, received nearly a week later, was from Ron, passing along the news that the Headmaster would not allow Harry to leave the Dursleys, because of some sort of special magic that protected him there.

And the wizarding world needed Harry to be protected. Oh, the Professor hadn't said that directly to Harry, of course, and not even to his two best friends, but there were others that wrote to Professor Dumbledore as well, and Molly Weasley was one of them. Ron had found the letter that Dumbledore had sent in return to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's inquiry, and it was fairly explicit. Harry was a tool, nothing more, nothing less, at least in Dumbledore's mind. Granted, he was a living tool, and a valuable one, but still, nevertheless, a tool. This explained so much about the past four years at Hogwarts that Harry began to wonder what else could be explained if only the possible motives Dumbledore could have were known. Still, the letters from Dumbledore had effectively quashed any hope of rescue from the Weasleys. Hermione seemed to waver longer, ironically, but then her letters abruptly ceased, and Harry could only speculate that she had been taken on holiday with her parents. Then hope had flared anew, when Sirius had written that he would come to get Harry out, no matter what Dumbledore said.

Sirius, however, had been visiting Hogwarts, since Professor Lupin was going to take up his old position as Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. The next letter that Harry had received was from an apologetic Remus Lupin, explaining that, while Sirius was willing to come and rescue Harry, Professor Dumbledore had discovered his plan, and had him under lock and key within Hogwarts to prevent him from leaving the grounds. "I shouldn't be writing this, even," Professor Lupin had added, "but I couldn't let him think that you thought he had let you down, not when he had no control over the situation." Harry had replied in a formal, stiff letter, asking the professor to pass on his reassurances to Sirius that he wasn't angry with him.

After that, more weeks had stretched on, leaving Harry's body weaker than ever. He was suffering from malnutrition, and the sharp smell and bright colour of his urine testified to the fact that he was dehydrated as well. The only positive about all of the abuse was that it had left Harry so weak that nightmares had ceased after the first few nights on Privet Drive. The corollary, however, was that Harry was left to struggle with insomnia on many nights. On those nights, he had thought for a long, long time about his situation.

If there weren't rules on underage use of magic, he wouldn't be subjected to beatings and sexual assault, as his uncle had repeatedly pointed out. The reason for the rules on underage use of magic was reportedly that Muggles would, horror of horrors, discover that witches and wizards really did exist. Hagrid had once told him that if Muggles were aware of magic, they would want magical solutions to all their problems, and that's why the wizarding world must remain hidden. Harry had privately begun to hold a different opinion, and his opinions towards Muggles were teetering more towards Draco Malfoy's than Ron Weasley's by the third week of summer holidays. After all, what good was it to fight what promised to be a long, hard war, only to end up with more orphans placed in Muggle homes?

He had started to form a plan on those balmy summer nights, and the first step was to be resorted into his proper House. He had fought with the hat because of what Hagrid had told him. "Not a witch or wizard that went bad that wasn't in Slytherin." Ha! Peter Pettigrew had been a Gryffindor, and as Harry had thought about the events in the graveyard, he recalled that Nott had been one of the names, and he didn't doubt that it was his daughter in Ravenclaw, and she claimed to be from a long line of Ravenclaws on both sides of her family. Harry then decided privately that the Headmaster had probably instructed Hagrid carefully, and Albus Dumbledore had clearly wanted The Harry Potter to be in Gryffindor House. Harry could only imagine what complex plots were played out to rule his life behind the scenes. Over the past four years, Harry had enjoyed his friendship with Ron and Hermione, but, overall, he had always felt slightly out of place in Gryffindor Tower. He had always chalked it up to feeling out of place no matter what, or even to the fame that he cursed almost daily, but he had begun to wonder if he simply felt out of place because he was in the wrong place. Stupid, stupid, stupid! he had berated himself. Shouldn't've fought with the damn Hat, it knew what it was doing, even if I couldn't see it.

So it was that Hedwig was sent winging back towards Hogwarts once more, this time to deliver a request directly to the Headmaster of the formidable wizarding school himself. Harry had wondered almost immediately if he had done the right thing, but then the sun rose, and another hellish day began on Privet Drive. Harry had stopped wondering then.

On his birthday, along with presents and his normal school letter, containing a list of books per usual, Harry had received a personal reply from Albus Dumbledore. Harry had been smiling broadly when he finished reading it, though the smile did not reach his eyes. His request to come to school three days early and be resorted in private had been granted. Additionally, he would have the opportunity to meet with his new Head of House before term began. Other requests had been granted, as well. He was excused from the Feast on the first night of term, and all meals and classes thereafter until he had been able to talk privately with the students in his new House. First, of course, to his new dorm mates, followed by his year mates, and finally the rest of his housemates. Professor Dumbledore clearly wanted to make sure that his Golden Boy, his tool, was happy while he waited, whatever that took. Knowing Dumbledore, Harry had smirked, he probably thinks I'm hoping for Ravenclaw, or just wanting to be reassured that I'm in the right house. That's probably it; he's thinking all these accommodations are pointless. He will be surprised.

Harry had then put the school letter away in his trunk, hidden with his moneybag. If there wasn't an opportunity during the three days preceding term for him to slip into Hogsmeade and purchase his new books, he would have to owl for them just before classes began, and hope that Hedwig would be able to return with them before they were needed. He needed new robes as well, but he knew that they would have to wait until the resorting had taken place. He stared at his presents then. Hermione had sent a quick note that she hoped he was doing better and that Sirius had managed to do something, and here was a book on the history of hexes native to Bulgaria, where she and her parents had stopped for a few days to visit Viktor Krum. Ron, on the other hand, had steadfastly ignored any hint that Harry was having difficulty once Dumbledore had spoken, and his gift was appropriately light-hearted and completely insensitive, in Harry's estimation. It was, oddly for Ron, a book, but the contents were sexual in nature, and Harry was repulsed by this wizarding equivalent to the American Playboy. Sirius had sent along loads of new Quidditch gear and refills for his broom care kit, along with another apology. He was still, he had reported, chained up, with anti-Animagus restraints as well. The last gift had been from Hagrid, reporting from high in the mountains where he and Madame Maxime were attempting to forge an alliance with the giants. Harry was almost thankful that no rock cakes had been included.

Two weeks before term started, Vernon had actually raped Harry for the first time. Harry had cried afterwards, hurt deeply and ashamed but filled with the knowledge that he was going to prevent it from happening to any other wizarding child, no matter what it took. The next day, he had unexpectedly been able to slip away to Diagon Alley to purchase his school supplies. Vernon had, apparently satisfied that the events of the previous night would keep Harry in line, decided to take Petunia and Dudley into London for the day, followed by a musical that evening. Harry had jumped on the opportunity, also secure in the knowledge that the Weasleys' had just left to go visiting Charlie in Romania, and Hermione was still in Bulgaria visiting Viktor Krum, so that he had not had to worry about seeing either of them. He had written them saying that he was unable to come to the Burrow because Dumbledore wanted him to arrive at Hogwarts early. Hermione had written back, full of understanding, but mainly upset that prefect notifications weren't going to be mailed out; instead, they would be announced at the beginning of term. Harry had smiled; that was his fault, too. Dumbledore said that regardless of what House he was in, Harry was to be a Prefect. Therefore, they had to know what House he was in before assigning the rest of the prefects. Harry had even secured a promise that he would be Seeker on the House team of whatever House he ended up in, and Dumbledore had even agreed to that. Yes, being Harry Potter had its advantages.

In Diagon Alley, Harry had rapidly stocked up on books on the Dark Arts at Flourish & Blotts, telling the clerk that Albus Dumbledore himself was going to instruct him. The clerk bought it completely. Fool, thought Harry. He'd sell Dark Arts books to just about anyone with a good enough story. Harry had then made his way down Knockturn Alley for the second time in his life. The small, dusty bookshop had been deserted when he entered, and the veela that ran the enterprise had pointed out to him a small book on using a Parselmouth's talent. He had stuck that in with the rest of the books that he purchase, though it would be several months before he would even remember the book existed.

Finally, books and supplies gathered, Harry had returned to the Dursleys, once again using a neighbour's outdoor cooking fire rather than the more traditional fireplace. The next few days had been spent trying to survive Vernon's renewed attentions, and looking up appropriate healing and concealing charms to use once he was back at Hogwarts and found himself some privacy.

On August 28th, early in the morning, Harry had activated the Portkey that Dumbledore had sent just a day earlier, and found himself landing, with his trunk and Hedwig's cage, in Dumbledore's office.

"Good morning, Harry," the Headmaster had said, in an obvious attempt to look kind and caring to the young man. "I hope that this act of resorting will set your mind at ease." Yep, definitely thinks I just want to be reassured that Gryffindor is still the right place for me. He's in for quite a shock, isn't he?

"I hope so, too, Professor," Harry had replied coolly. "I trust that all the Heads of House are available, pending the outcome of events his morning."

"They are. Now, please, sit down. Would you care for some tea before we commence the activities you arrived for?"

"No, thank you, sir. I'd prefer to go ahead and get the resorting completed, so that other necessary arrangements can take place following the Hat's decision, if you don't mind."

"Of course, I can understand that," Dumbledore had said, once again smiling benevolently, causing a wellspring of hate to rush within Harry.

"Well, then, I'll just set the Hat on my head, shall I?" Harry had noted that Dumbledore completely missed the sarcasm. Just before Harry sat the Sorting Hat on top of his head yet again, he had allowed his thoughts to whirl once more.

What if I've made a terrible mistake? What will Ron and Hermione say? What will Sirius say? Do I care what Ron says? Hermione? Was I right about my mum or not? Dumbledore fully expects the Sorting Hat to put me back in Gryffindor - what if he's actually right and I have to go back into that stifling tower, deal with the heat that emanates from every stone, from the fires that never stop burning, even from the students in the Tower. Hot, hot, hot, like so much passion and energy that doesn't have a home. It's entirely fitting that Gryffindors wear red, and gold. Warm colours, colours of fall, conveying warmth even if not the burning heat that I sense continually. But if I'm right, if I'm the one who knows what will happen in just a few moments' time, it will be a chill, a coolness. I remember being in the common room second year, how foreboding it seemed, how even the fires seemed sickly. I want that sickliness, that foreboding, that chill.

I need it.

Resolve back in place, Harry placed the Hat on his head, almost jamming it down, and listened to the running commentary provided by the ancient Hat that was said to have belonged to Godric Gryffindor himself.