Green

Green

By Slytherin Tattoo

Chapter 3

Then we were inside Hogwarts and following one of the professors down the hall, and then we were standing at the front of the Great Hall, waiting to be sorted, and then my name was called.

I walked forward and sat down on a stool while the teacher put an old battered hat on my head. It hardly hesitated, didn't even have to think about it. It just announced in a loud voice, "Slytherin!"

Granger, Weasley, and Toad-boy were all put in Gryffindor. Most of my pure-blooded childhood acquaintances ended up in Slytherin.

Then they called Potter forward. He sat down and had the hat put on him. It was too big and slid down over his eyes, making him make look rather comical. It thought a long time in silence while my nails dug into my palms, under the table, where no one could see. Finally, it shouted, "Gryffindor!"

He walked over to their table without once looking at us. So he believed all the rumors about how nasty and terrible we were. The worst part is I know it's all true. I didn't want to be in a House with most of them, either. But if I hadn't been made Slytherin, Father would have been furious.

I glanced over at him a few times during the feast, but mostly I had to concentrate on my own situation. Slytherins are a big believer in rank and status, and that had yet to be established here. Well, I intended to be at the top.

I had Crabbe and Goyle on either side of me, and Parkinson, Bulstrode, and Zabini across from us. Down on one end, a guy I recognized as Marcus Flint was trying to terrorize a couple first years I didn't know. A ghost whose robes were stained with silver blood flew over and spoke briefly to the prefects. I heard him referred to as the Bloody Baron. "Why is he bloody then?" I asked an older student sitting next to Parkinson.

"He won't say," she replied with a light shudder.

"Does he have a real name? What was he Baron of?"

"Don't know that, either. But the other ghosts all defer to him."

I smiled. "Well, of course they do."

It was as if he'd heard me, because he came to hover over my shoulder. "New first years, are you?" His voice was solemn and hushed, but I could imagine it raised in command. It was a voice made to be followed: confident, elegant--so much like my father's silky voice that I felt myself tense up and hold myself away from him.

It was Bulstrode who answered. "Yes."

"Well, I hope you live up to the reputation. We've won the House Cup six years in a row now. I'd hate to see this be the year we lose."

"It won't be because of us!" Zabini exclaimed, looking indignant.

The Headmaster stood up then and announced, "I would like to say a few words. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" That signaled the feast should begin.

Food simply appeared on the plates in front of us, but I ignored it for a moment. "Father always said Dumbledore was an imbecile, but I thought he was exaggerating til now."

"Indeed!" the whole Slytherin table was frowning. "What sort of speech was that? Hogwarts'll be the disgrace of the wizarding educational community."

Crabbe and Goyle just ignored this and started piling their plates with food. I sighed. "Those people up there are our professors then?"

"Yes," said the girl, who turned out to be a third year named Priscilla Horton. "That one there is Prof. Snape. He's Head of Slytherin House. And he teaches Potions. You'll like him--he detests Gryffindors."

"Doesn't everybody," I mumbled.

________ _________

After the feast, they sent us all off to our common rooms to get settled in. I admit I was nervous. I'd never been around that many people all at once, and I knew they were judging and ranking and scheming. My stomach kept clenching up on me, but I didn't show it. I've gotten pretty good at showing what I want to project.

No, that's not true. I can usually manage to not show what I really feel, but I often don't know what to show instead. I don't always know how I come across.

"Blasé and arrogant," Parkinson told me once. But what does she know? She goes around looking like a stuck-up pug dog.

_______ _______

"In order to produce a Patronus," he instructed me, "you have to think of a happy memory."

"A happy memory."

I had none. I thought and thought, and all that finally came to mind was the shimmering of blue and green and gold, and I almost lost it to hysterical, bitter laughter. Blue and green and gold, and that one moment when it almost all ended right.

But it didn't.

_______ ______

Marcus Flint was only a fifth year, but they said he was Quidditch Captain, so maybe that was why he had the central seat of honor in the Common Room. Some students had retreated to their dormitories, but the real political players were all out here.

It was a long, low room in the dungeons with a large fireplace on one wall, with a lot of old, large furniture clustered around it. Flint sat like a King holding court in front of the fire, with the first years hovering off along the far wall, among the study tables, watching.

More of the Quidditch team was ranged on Flint's left: Pucey, Bletchley, Higgs. Then there was Selby, and Crumpton, and CuChalain--very old wizarding name, and Rahab Taltos, who was related to the Weasleys somehow, but everyone overlooked it because she was drop-dead gorgeous.

Most of us here had at least some knowledge of who the others were, or who they must be. The old, pure-blooded families tended to frequent the same circles.

And first year or not, I was a Malfoy, and I wasn't going to hang around the fringes, so I made my way through the crowd until I was leaning, arms crossed, by the fireplace.

"Malfoy," Flint acknowledged me.

"Flint," I returned. Selby gave me a nod, he knew all about my father (his mother was an Avery). My ace in the hole was Rahab, who had adored me ever since my mother brought me along visiting her mother, aged two.

"Oh, Draco! What do you think of Hogwarts so far?" she cried with a smile.

I smiled back. "The castle or the company?"

"The company, of course."

"Rahab, I could gush compliments at you all day."

She laughed and stretched languidly, causing every boy to stare. Then she patted the sofa next to her. "Come sit by me."

So I did.

"And the hero, Harry Potter, landed in Gryffindor. Why am I not surprised?" Crumpton ranted.

Two very large guys came pushing their way through the crowd then, to sit near Flint's right.

"Here's our Beaters," Higgs grinned lazily.

Derrick and Bole were their names. They crowded in between a girl called Mason and a girl named Reed. The others on Flint's right side shifted over, grumbling: Warrington, Montague, and Menagerie.

Flint took Mason's hand, stroking her fingers. "Potter. He's going to be trouble."

Crabbe and Goyle shoved their way to stand behind the couch, behind me. Parkinson, Bulstrode, and Zabini followed in their wake. A group of third and fourth years proceeded to subtly sound out and insult them. After all, they were only babies. Age should have some priority.

I ignored it to concentrate on Flint. He wasn't very attractive. His eyes were too small and mean, for one thing. I wondered how easily he could be manipulated. Well, I would find out.

________ _______

Malfoy Manor is an old, wizarding castle, so I'm used to stone and surprises, but Hogwarts is something else again. Staircases move, Filch and That Cat lurk around, doors disappear. . . but I kind of liked it (except for Filch). And I had a handy charm that didn't keep me from getting lost, but did let me always be able to backtrack to where I started. Plus, I talked to the Bloody Baron, who I ran into quite a lot, and the people in the pictures (when no one was around to see).

Classes were going to be interesting. I liked learning things; I always had, even if I didn't admit it. The only truly boring class was History of Magic, but Astronomy made up for it. Plus, DADA was rather a joke--I knew more already than what he was teaching us. But I had the suspicion that Quirrell knew a lot more Dark Arts than he was letting on. Just something about his eyes. He seemed to think I was a good student and always said hello to me in the halls, but I didn't like him.

Since that first night, I had been considered among the in-crowd, but most of my time was spent with the other first years, who I had all my classes with. I had determined I had better try to find Potter and talk to him again, though.

So I waited outside the Great Hall before lunch that first morning until he came along in a group of Gryffindors, four of them I was certain were Weasleys. I didn't see Granger.

"Hello, Potter. Weasley."

"Oh, hi, Malfoy." The Weasley would have kept walking, but Potter hesitated, then stopped. "How are you?"

"Fine, and yourself?"

"Fine."

How stilted could you get? Next we'd be discussing the weather. "What classes have you had so far?"

"Um, Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Ah. How was DADA?" At that point, I hadn't had it yet.

"Not nearly as interesting as I thought it would be."

The Weasley had come back and stood next to Harry again. "What about you?" I asked him, to be polite. "What did you think of DADA?"

"The whole room smells like garlic! They say Quirrell is afraid of vampires."

I half-smirked. "Really. Well, so far, I've had Charms and History of Magic, which, let me tell you, is boring."

"Great. We have it first thing tomorrow morning. I'll fall asleep for sure," Weasley moaned.

Several Ravenclaws walked by us. I heard one loudly whisper, "That's him, Harry Potter!" and they all stared as they passed.

Harry noticed, and grimaced. Hn. Could it be that he didn't like his celebrity status? I just assumed he would enjoy having everyone fawn all over him. "You seem to be quite popular," I said, feeling him out.

He grimaced again. "They stare at me all the time. I wish they'd just leave me alone!"

Ron patted him on the shoulder, looking sympathetic.

"Try to make the best of it," I advised him, shrugging. "Rules will bend around you. Take advantage of it."

They gave me odd looks that I couldn't read. "Harry, we need to go sit down before Fred and George eat all the food."

Harry nodded at him. "Yeah." He looked back at me. "You like Slytherin House?"

"Like is a strong word," I replied lightly, looking away.

"Yeah. Well, see you around Malfoy."

"Sure. Hey--tell Granger I said hello." He'd like that.

He did. He smiled as Weasley led him away.

"And tell Toad-boy to watch out," I murmured when they were out of earshot. "And by the way, Weasleys suck. You have poor taste, Potter."

_______ ______

That morning I had Transfiguration, which was enjoyable enough, except for the teacher. She tried not to let it influence her, I think, but she didn't like Slytherins. She would squint at me a lot, as if waiting for the word "Evil" to imprint itself on my forehead. It made me want to do something dreadfully wicked. I would have, if Toad-boy had been there.

After class, we had a free period. Crabbe and Goyle and some freaky hulk of a kid named MacDougal went off to bully Hufflepuffs. I did some exploring.