The evening air was cool against his cheeks as he stepped down from the train. Harry had just split off from the twins, as the first years apparently had to take a different route to the castle than the rest.

"It's tradition," Fred had winked at him before slipping off with his entourage.

At the moment, Harry stood just off the tracks. The other first years clamoured around him, but he paid it all no mind as he maneuvered his way to the front of the crowd. The air was abuzz with excitement and it was beginning to chafe on his mood. Harry was just as eager as any of the others at the prospect of coming to Hogwarts, but his was more of a buried sort of anticipation that grew with each passing moment.

"You're Harry Potter."

The voice pulled him back sharply from his thoughts.

The girl was immaculately dressed in her Hogwarts robes, with her vest and shirt buttoned up to the very top. She had steely brown eyes and her lips were slightly parted with surprise, showing her large front teeth. The self-assured set of her expression despite her otherwise tense body language told Harry all he needed to know.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she said when he didn't reply. "Your scar is showing––That's how I knew. I've read all about you, of course––you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

He had met her type before––clever and proud and stubborn, and entirely too accustomed to being right.

"Is that so?" He glanced away from her, hoping that she would take the hint. It was a lost cause.

"Have you thought about which House you'd like to be in?"

"Not really. I don't think it would make much of a difference."

"Personally, I'm hoping for Gryffindor. Albus Dumbledore himself was a Gryffindor, did you know? As long as it's not Slytherin," she gushed, as if he hadn't said a thing.

Harry's eyes grew taut at the corners, a small shift that should have been hidden in the dimness of the platform. Yet...

"Is there something wrong with Gryffindor?" Granger's tone stiffened and an offended frown touched her lips. Her gaze was piercing.

In a blink, Harry wiped all emotions from his face and looked her in the eye. "Not at all. I'm sure that's exactly where you'll go. Now, if you'll excuse me."

He pushed past her and ducked into the crowds. Nobody else seemed to recognize him but it was a small mercy. He let out a slow breath, allowing himself a brief furrowing of the brows before his mask slid back in place. Hermione Granger...he had a feeling that that was a name he'll have to remember. Her sort was exactly those that invoked his ire the most, yet without a doubt, she wasn't to be underestimated. She had proven that within seconds of their meeting. For now, he'll simply have to be more careful.

He caught the heavy fall of steps moments before he saw him. Harry raised a brow as the great, lumbering figure came into view. There, towering over them and grizzly face lit by the amber glow of his lantern, stood a giant.

"Firs'-years, firs'-years this way!" His voice was scratchy and deep.

Harry stood quietly off to the side as the giant attempted to gather the students milling about the platform.

"He's huge," a petite brunette girl whispered behind him.

"That's Rubeus Hagrid," a boy responded. "My father's told me about him. He's the groundskeeper. They say he was expelled-wand snapped and all."

"C'mon! Firs'-years, right this way!" Hagrid called over his shoulder, waddling off towards a dirt path headed down into the trees. "Watch yeh steps-the rain's done no favours for the grounds."

Harry followed alongside the rest of the students. They moved slowly through the darkness, sidestepping gnarly roots and jagged outcrops of stone. The crunching of leaves and squelch of mud followed in their wake, unusually loud in the silence of the night. As he walked, Harry basked in the ancient magic that grew increasingly saturated as they neared the castle. None of the others seemed to feel it, however, caught up as they were in their own banal whispering.

No one spoke loudly, almost as if afraid to disturb the quietude of the forest. Harry took comfort in the lull in noise, letting his mind drift. They traversed through the dark by the light of Hagrid's lantern, and just as Harry felt a shift in the air, the giant spoke once more. "Yeh'll get yer firs' sight of Hogwarts in a sec," he led them around the winding road, "Right abou' here."

There was a collective gasp as the deep shadows of the forest melted away. The only word that could be used to describe Hogwarts was magical. Spindly towers jutted up into the skies, cutting dark streaks against the smattering of stars. Liquid gold lights streamed from the castle's countless windows, softening the rigid lines and sharp edges. The rest of the castle spread along the horizon, casting long shadows across the rippling water that was offset by the numerous lanterns hung along its walls.

Between them and the castle was an expanse of black, murky water.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called.

The first years surged forwards excitedly, shuffling down to follow Hagrid to the banks. Harry stood stationary, gazing unblinkingly at the sheer splendour of Hogwarts. A slight pressure was building within his chest, sending bursts of warmth through his limbs. Only when he was hit by a sense of lightheadedness did he realize that he was holding his breath. He inhaled deeply, let his eyes flutter closed, and drank in the thick magic roiling along his skin.

A moment of weakness had him dropping his mask. It seemed improper somehow to look upon Hogwarts the first time with feigned indifference. So he let all pretence fall away and simply felt. His eyes held a raw, blissful awe and his expression was open with wonder. His magic flared and something within him settled. In the cover of the night, no one witnessed his lapse in control.

"Everyone in?" Hagrid said as the last few remaining students scrambled into the boats.

Harry shook himself out of his trance and followed, stepping into the nearest boat that was still unfilled.

"Hang on tigh'!"

The boat lurched beneath his feet. Then, they were shooting across the lake, the stern of their small boats cutting into the dark waves.

Everyone else, to Harry's relief, remained rightfully silent. There was a solemnity to that moment when they each crossed the threshold into an entirely new world. Harry splayed his hands and felt the wind run between his fingers, blowing back the long sleeves of his robes.

The cold spray from the lake was the only thing that anchored him to the present. There was something so completely and utterly intoxicating about the castle that Harry knew that, should he be given the chance, he would be content to simply stand there and take in its grandeur forever.

Finally, the boats turned against the tide and slipped down into an opening beneath the castle. Harry felt a pang of regret as the castle disappeared out of sight.

"Off we go, now!" Hagrid said as the boats docked themselves along a long stretch of walkway. Harry clambered out with the other three in his boat and they set off after the giant.

A large set of doors swung open just as they came up to the granite steps. Hagrid's hand, half raised in preparation to knock, dropped limply back to his side. "The firs-years, Professor McGonagall."

Harry found himself facing the same stern professor that had accompanied him to Diagon Alley all those weeks back. She was staring them down with pursed lips, looking entirely unimpressed. Her eyes softened when they fell upon Harry. He gave a small smile back, and it seemed to appease her.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Professor McGonagall nodded. "Well, come along. The welcoming banquet is about to start and we wouldn't want to further delay the sorting."

She led them up a long flight of stairs before entering a large foyer. Harry squinted at the sudden onslaught of light. The inside of the castle was just as extravagant as its exterior, with floors of dark, varnished wood and moving pictures hung within intricate frames.

Harry couldn't help the smile that lifted his lips. He's seen clippings from the Daily Prophet, read Hogwarts: A History, and heard enough of Fred and George's many adventures. Yet there was nothing quite like standing there himself, feeling the magic in his veins and hearing his steps echo down the corridors. There was something so utterly right about Hogwarts that he wondered how he had ever felt complete elsewhere. Walking into the castle, in all honesty, felt like coming home.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said as they stepped through the halls. Before the feast, you will all be sorted into your houses. The four houses, named after Hogwarts' founders, are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin respectively."

The whispering started up once more at the mention of the Sorting. But the professor was not one to be deterred. "Whilst here, your house will be your family. You will dine together, room together, and study together. Your behaviour will either award or punish you of your house points. Any misadventures will cost points, while accomplishments will earn them. At the end of the year, the House Cup is awarded to the house with the highest points."

She turned and roamed her eyes slowly over them to ensure that they were listening to her every word. At last, she gave a satisfied nod and brought them up to an enormous pair of oaken doors.

"The Sorting Ceremony will begin momentarily," she said. "Please wait quietly while I go inform the Headmaster."

With that, she slipped between the doors. As soon as the doors closed the students instantly broke out into loud chatters.

"How will we be sorted?" The whiny voice of a small first-year boy drifted up behind him. "Will…will it be hard? I haven't got any spells!"

Harry refrained from sighing. He doubted that the professors would be expecting them to perform any outrageous feats of magic on their first day within the castle. Then again, if they had bothered to research, then they would know that the entire process was no more than simply plunking a hat down over their heads.

"I heard you have to duel a third year!" An excitable looking girl said, joining in.

"No! I've heard you have to fight a troll," another boy chirped.

This time, Harry did sigh. So these were the people he would be spending the next seven years with. He has been worried about not having caught up entirely, but it seemed that his concerns were unwarranted.

Instead, he thought of the nearing Sorting Ceremony. He knew that, with his reputation, regardless of which House he will be sorted into, it will be hyper-analyzed and the knowledge would spread like wildfire through the British wizarding community. There will be advantages and repercussions no matter which House he will be placed within, so the best thing he could do is to prepare for every possible scenario.

He knew that he would have to don a different mask depending on his House. The approaches to gaining the interest and friendship of a Gryffindor will be very different from the best method to ensnare a Ravenclaw, and no matter which House he ends up in, he would have to build a network and win the loyalty of its students. From that point on, he could portray himself as the model student and earn the professors' approval.

But it all boiled down to where the Sorting Hat saw fit to place him. His anticipation grew, and his mind unhelpfully cycled through the merits and downsides of each of the Houses once more.

A startled scream suddenly jolted him. Harry whirled around, magic crackling along his skin and ready for the worst. But rather than whatever danger he had envisioned, he saw a swarm of translucent figures drifting in through the walls. Ghosts, his mind helpfully supplied. He pulled back his stance and relaxed once more-ghosts, especially the ones in Hogwarts, were relatively harmless after all. Still, it seemed that not everyone thought the same.

"Good God!" The boy with the whiny voice looked ready to faint.

Harry disguised his scoff as an unconvincing cough. Judging by their reactions alone, it was quite easy to differentiate between those who have been raised in the wizarding world and those who have come to Hogwarts without bothering to do any research beforehand from a completely non-magical background. Ghosts weren't all that uncommon, and it was common knowledge that they normally didn't interfere with the living.

"-awful, simply awful!" A stout, round-figured little man was saying as he glided over. "He's caused a right mess this time! I suppose it's his nature…But like I always say, we ought to give each their due chances-"

His companion snorted. "Peeves had been given his due chances centuries ago. Friar, you are too soft. I say, one of these days someone will finally draw the line and he'll be sent off for good."

"Not much you can do against a poltergeist though," Friar said cheerily. "Oh." He halted as he passed through one of the first years who stood stock still, growing paler by the second. "New students! My, is it that time of the year again?"

"Ah, yes," his companion nodded agreeably. "The Sorting-one of my favourites. The best of luck." He tipped his head to the students, but none returned the gesture. Before any more words could be exchanged, the doors swung open and Professor McGonagall strode out.

"Move along now!" Her sharp voice gained the attention of the students once more. She stepped aside, allowing them their first glimpse into the brightly lit Great Hall. "The Sorting Ceremony will be in a moment. Form a line and keep quiet."

Harry stepped in behind her, feeling his breath catch in his throat once more at the dozens of candles floating across the charmed ceiling. A passage from Hogwarts: A History rose unbidden to the surface of his thoughts, but he pushed it down. He saw no point in quoting books when the real thing was displayed before him in all its magnificance. His eyes drifted downwards to the four tables lined vertically across the room, each beneath their respective banners. The upper years were already seated, filling up the majority of the seats. From his brief cursory scan, Gryffindor seemed to house the largest number of students while Slytherin had the least by a large margin.

The Lions were chattering amongst their House, paying the first years no mind. Harry caught the eyes of an identical pair of redheads and they grinned, waving in tandem. Harry flashed them a brief smirk before donning his neutral mask again, glancing over to the other tables.

The Ravenclaws were keeping to themselves. A third of them were pouring over half opened books, notes, or unfinished projects. The remaining were either speaking in hushed tones to their neighbours or staring blankly, lost in thought. Only a few looked towards the new students with curiosity.

The Hufflepuff table and Slytherin table were both watching the procession of first years with avid interest, but for very different reasons. The Hufflepuffs were conversing excitedly, occasionally directing warm smiles or waves at the new students. The Slytherins, however, all wore politely interested expressions that only served to show exactly how well they were able to conceal their actual emotions. It seems like for them, the game has already begun.

Harry only had a few moments to look towards the professors table at the very forefront of the Great Hall. He spotted Dumbledore's inconspicuously colorful robes and white beard, a short bespeckled professor he recognized as the famous duelling master Filius Flitwick, a sombre looking professor he knew to be the potions master Severus Snape who was sneering at the gathered first-years, and a spindly turbaned man whose name he did not know.

He didn't have time for further observation, for all too soon, Harry and his fellow students reached the front of the room. They came to a stop before a wrinkled hat sitting atop a tall stool. Confused muttering rippled through the crowd.

"I told you," a girl could be heard fuming. "I told you we just have to try on a hat! But no, apparently having first years fight a troll was much more believable!"

Suddenly, the hat straightened, and a fold appeared in its middle, not unlike a mouth. Then, it began to belt out the most off-tune song Harry has ever heard. When it was done, the students burst into applause.

"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit atop the stool to be sorted," Professor McGonagall said, unrolling a long strip of parchment that reached the floor.

Eyes narrowed, he focused his attention. The Sorting Hat was known as one of the most ancient magical creations in history, and he was more than a little curious as to how it worked.

"Abbott, Hannah."

Harry watched the scene with mild interest, taking in the various expressions of the students as well as the hat over the course of the Sorting. Certain students took much longer than the rest. He noted that those were the ones that tensed up during the process, face scrunched as if in the midst of an argument.

Oh?

Was it possible to convince the hat to place students in a House other than their intended?

The thought definitely had merit. If it was true, he wondered how the hat ended up deciding whether to accept the student's opinion or to follow through with its better judgement.

Harry was so engrossed in the thought that he nearly missed it when Professor McGonagall finally called out his name.

"Potter, Harry."

A silence like no other fell upon the Great Hall. Harry straightened, vaguely irked. The wizarding world really has a touch for the dramatics, worshipping a baby for over a decade. Harry was tempted to make them wait out of spite, but he quickly decided against it. All he would accomplish will be to add to the suspense. It would be much better to get it over with.

Without a pause he scuffled forwards, stepping up to the stool. He found himself at the direct attention of hundreds of pairs of widened eyes.

The hat touched his head and its rim obscured his vision. He thought that he heard it chuckle before its booming voice filled his mind.

Mr. Harry Potter. How very unexpected.

Unexpected? Harry prompted. He knew instantly that conversing with the Hat would be a terrible hassle. It seemed more prone to misdirect questions or give frustratingly vague replies than both Dumbledore and Ollivander combined, and that was saying something.

It's not every day that one could chance upon a mind as exceptional and different as your own.

The hat must've felt his sudden rise in exasperation, for it let loose a raspy chuckle.

Strange. You seek recognition, yet you seem to loathe the very fame the mention of your name conjures.

Earned recognition and misplaced idolization are two very different things.

A beat of silence passed.

Deep thoughts for such a young boy.

Harry donned a mirthless smile.

He could feel the ancient magic of the Sorting Hat seep through his skull, mapping out every inch of his mind and flitting over the memories he's amassed over the years. Yet, it still danced around the topic of his Sorting, content to let their conversation drag on. Harry was again reminded of Dumbledore's evasive replies and the wand maker's waffling words back at Diagon Alley.

It was almost impressive how long they were able to speak without giving any real answers at all.

Your point being? Harry sniped.

You'd be surprised how much you can learn about a person simply from peering into the mind of their eleven years old self. As for yourself, Mr. Potter, you have immeasurable potential. A potential for greatness, yes…

Funnily enough, I've already been told the exact same thing, Harry mentally raised a brow. His patience was nearing its end, and since this conversation was kept within the recess of his mind, he didn't need to bother with niceties as he normally did.

Ah, yes. Dear Garrick. He's always been wise beyond his years, gifted with a particular touch for perception. If nothing else, you can always expect the truth from him, however incomprehensible it may be…

Why don't you just place me in Ravenclaw and be done with it?

While tempted by the political mind games the Slytherin House was so well known for, Harry knew that being placed in the house of the snakes would instantly raise a red flag for some of the people watching. He has plans to bring about great change. Being in Slytherin may prove to be an interesting experience, but at the same time, he would have to work much harder to earn the trust of the other students and professors.

If all that he has to gain from Slytherin was entertainment and more cunning acquaintances, the trade-off simply wasn't worth it.

Ravenclaw? That's interesting. Over my many years at this school, I've sorted countless students and I remember each and every one of them. While you would certainly find a place in Ravenclaw, it may not necessarily be the best House for you.

Harry briefly considered putting an end to the hat's rambling and finish up with the Sorting before a sudden thought occurred to him. He perked in his seat, seeing the opportunity for what it was. The Sorting Hat was doubtlessly old-likely nearly as old as the castle itself. If it were being truthful and truly did remember every student it sorted, then…

What do you know of Tom Riddle?

Harry felt an echo of surprise in his mind that could only have come from the Sorting Hat.

Tom Riddle? It mulled over the name, enunciating each syllable. For the first time since they have started speaking, the hat sounded sombre. Interesting that, given centuries of my knowledge available at your disposal, you would choose to ask about a boy before your time.

Harry shrugged. 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' has crossed his path a few times too many for it to be purely chance. Besides, they shared brother wands, and that alone was enough to convince Harry that the other boy was of great significance.

Young Tom was not unlike yourself-a magical prodigy brought up in the midst of uncaring muggles. His ambitions likewise rivalled your own. I'd imagine if you'd met him back then, it would be much like…staring into a mirror at your own reflection.

Harry felt his interest grow with every additional revelation. It was interesting how the mere mention of Tom's name had first so easily unsettled the enigmatic wandmaker Ollivander, and now even garnered a peculiarly solemn reaction from the Sorting Hat. But more importantly was the fact that there was someone like him, someone whose past paralleled his own and who would be able to perfectly understand him.

What happened to him? When the hat didn't answer, Harry commanded more forcefully. Tell me. He hasn't realized that his magic has seeped into his words until the hat laughed.

Compulsion won't work on me, but you can consider me impressed. I will tell you what I know of him, but it will only be general knowledge. You understand, of course. Student confidentiality and all that.

Of course, Harry echoed sarcastically. Nevertheless, he couldn't help the shiver of excitement that ran down his spine.

Tom Riddle came to Hogwarts knowing nary a thing, was sorted into Slytherin and assumed a leadership role in the House by his second year. He was quite possibly the most brilliant student to have ever crossed Hogwart's thresholds. Prefect in his fifth year and Head Boy in his seventh. The only Hogwarts student to date who has earned O's in every one of his OWL exams, and a perfect score in NEWTs. He had great ambitions, of course, and an equally great vision. Great, yes…but terrible.

At least now Harry knew where Ollivander got that line from. He paused, catching on to a few specific words.

Was? A mild disappointment set in, heavy within the pit of his stomach. Is he…dead?

That's for you to find out, Mr. Potter.

Harry scowled at the hat's infuriating reply. He hated having knowledge withheld from him more than anything else, and he had half a mind to badger an actual reply out of the old hat. Still, its words carried a ring of finality that brought a decided end to the topic, and Harry knew better than to waste time arguing for a lost cause. Instead, he stored the information away in the back of his mind for future reference, turning his attention back to the hat as it continued on.

Now, the question is, what to do with you? They've all pegged you as a Gryffindor, but we both know that that is the last House you'd belong in. Chivalry and bravery-neither of which you've got in spades.

Chivalry is for fools and bravery will get you killed, Harry thought.

The thought of Lily and James flashed across his mind. They were soldiers, the both of them, sacrificed for a cause which they found noble enough to die for. It was foolish. What is the purpose of winning a war if one's not there to bask in the victory?

Not quite how I would put it, but not entirely untrue. We might as well cross off Hufflepuff. Rowena knows that you'll never fit in there. You'd do just as well in Ravenclaw as you would in Slytherin. You're not lacking in curiosity and intelligence, and least of all ambition. I would leave the ultimate choice up to you, but you have already decided, no?

Would I be able to find out more about Tom Riddle in Slytherin? Would the other students know of him?

The hat hummed with muted amusement as if Harry had said something particularly funny. Slytherin was his home for the better part of a decade. Try as you might, you will find that you can never truly erase your presence from Hogwarts. Better make it quick-your audience is getting reckless.

Harry's frown deepened. He knew that he's been on the stool for quite some time, but he was reluctant to let the conversation end so quickly. The hat has over centuries of knowledge, after all. Above all, he wanted to know more about the boy who apparently was so alike to himself, and who was growing increasingly interesting with each passing second. But the hat would provide him with no more answers, not at that moment, anyhow. Harry sighed.

Damn his obsessive curiosity. He knew he would be taking a risk, but at the moment, the inconvenience that came with being sorted into Slytherin seemed insignificant to the burning questions plaguing his mind.

If they want a show, then let's give them one, he thought viciously. The hat chuckled before straightening and belting out-

"SLYTHERIN!"

Divide and conquer, . The best of luck to you.

He pulled off the sorting hat just as it finished speaking, setting it lightly atop the stool as he hopped down.

Annoyance surged through him as he took in the professors' and students' faces, ranging from flabbergasted to disbelievingly horrified. Dumbledore was looking especially severe- even his eyes have stopped twinkling. Harry thought the general reaction somewhat extreme considering that he was only sorted into an unexpected House. It wasn't as if being put into Slytherin automatically made him the next Dark Lord.

Before he gains the professors' trust, he would have to tread lightly and watch himself. It will be a nuisance, but the decision has already been made. He just hoped that he would be able to find the answers that he sought within the snakes' den.

Harry fought to keep his expression neutral as he glided over to the table of green and silver. There were more than a few glares directed his way but he honestly couldn't care less. They could think whatever they wanted of him. Within a week, they would be proven wrong anyway.

He settled himself down at the very end of the table, as far as he physically could from the rest of the students without having to move to the floor. The gaping continued.

He lifted his head and his eyes met a pair of steely grey. Draco Malfoy looked just as surprised as everyone else, but also a touch smug as if Harry's placement in Slytherin was a personal victory. His mouth parted slightly as if he was preparing to greet him, but upon sensing the glares that the rest of his housing was sending Harry, he faltered. He blinked, appearing somewhat apologetic.

Harry shrugged in response. He didn't mind all that much. Draco owed him nothing, and he didn't expect the blonde to ruin his own standing within the House by cozying up to the Boy-Who-Lived.

Professor McGonagall was the first to recover. She cleared her throat and called out the next name.

But for the rest of the Sorting, it was clear that people's attention has waned. Harry could feel the stares on him throughout the ceremony, despite him trying to appear as innocuous as possible. It was quite annoying, really. He hasn't done anything yet to warrant such scrutiny, nor did he want to be at the centre of attention.

Even when dinner finally ended and they were escorted back to their dorms, the other Slytherins all steered clear of him, some openly hostile while others preferring to pretend as if he doesn't even exist. Harry never cared too much for other people's opinion of him, but having to suffer through their unfounded hatred simply because of a title he didn't even want was seriously beginning to grate on his nerves.

Harry quickened his steps until he was almost directly behind the prefect, so he wouldn't have to listen to the others' whisperings any longer. When he stepped into the Slytherin rooms, however, his annoyance dipped.

The sleeping quarters were a beautiful mix of silver, emerald green, and dark varnished wood. Over a dozen four-poster beds stood against the walls, boasting creamy silver covers and deep green curtains. Harry chose the furthest one from the entrance. It was pushed back into the far corner of the room, and the dorm was spacious enough to fit the rest of the first years while the beds around his were all left empty. He didn't care either way. Instead, he slipped over to where his trunk has already appeared and prepared for his first night at Hogwarts.

As he rummaged through his belongings, a glint of milky silver caught his eye. Harry's hand faltered. Slowly, he bent down and pushed aside his clothes to reveal the small glass case that he kept the vials of memories in. He glanced up at the other first-year boys across the room, most of who were trying avidly ignore his presence. Then, he made a split second decision.

He quickly cast a few wandless notice-me-not spells around the premise of his bed and pulled close the curtains before muttering the passcode and sliding over a hidden compartment in his trunk. A set of stairs led down into his trunk, leading towards the magic ritual room that had cost him a fortune to install. Harry scanned the room once more. After he was certain that his spells were working, he stepped into his trunk, closing the lid behind him.

It was the early hours of dawn when Harry, at last, stepped out from his trunk. He slumped down into the soft mattress of his bed, feeling a tinge of awe even through his fatigue induced haze. He didn't have enough time to watch every one of the memories, but he did manage to get through the ones whose titles he found particularly interesting.

It was strange to see a much younger Dumbledore, one that has yet to gain the warm twinkle of his eyes and who glared down his nose at every passing Slytherin with open suspicion.

How hypocritical, Harry gave a wry smile. To advocate for equality and yet still actively work to ostracize an entire quarter of Hogwart's student population.

There was one boy that Dumbledore especially couldn't stand-Tom Marvolo Riddle. Harry's eyes glimmered at the memory of the dark-haired, sharp-eyed boy sitting isolated at the very end of the Slytherin table, an aristocratic curve to his jaw beneath the baby fat. Harry knew who he was before any names had been called-either Ollivander nor the hat had lied when they said that he and Tom shared a striking resemblance.

Mirror images, Harry found himself echoing the Sorting Hat's words.

Unfortunately, he only managed to catch a few glimpses of the other boy, and when he did it was only in the background of the memories. The closest he managed to get was in the whole mess with the Chamber of Secrets, when Tom had brought in a disarmed Rubeus Hagrid to Headmaster Dippet before the entire school. Harry had snorted at the scene.

It was ludicrous.

It was highly unlikely that Hagrid was the heir of anything, never less Slytherin himself. That Tom was able to convince nearly all the professors and students that Hagrid was the instigator behind the petrifications and the death of Warren Myrtle spoke more for his cunning resourcefulness and acting skills than it did anything else. Harry had known immediately that Tom had either been covering up for someone else or he had been the perpetrator himself.

Going from what little he's seen of the boy, he'd guess that the latter was far more likely. But what did that mean? Could Tom Riddle truly be heir to Salazar Slytherin? Harry thought over the idea in his mind, but ultimately he was too tired to attempt to consider how that could be possible with his muggle name. If he was descended from Slytherin, then it would have to be from his mother's side.

But it was irritatingly difficult, if not impossible, to discover that titbit of knowledge about a student from over fifty years ago. After all, there was no reason for a student's parentage to be made readily available to the general public. Harry stored the notion for later consideration and turned his languid thoughts back to the boy himself.

All in all, Tom at the age of sixteen was a sight to behold. Curly locks of the richest brown parted perfectly to the side, serene green eyes that masked his true emotions, and sculpted features that spoke of a Pureblood lineage yet somehow shared no similarities with prominent Pureblood families such as the Blacks or the Malfoys. He had stood there amidst a sea of students, head held high, told a lie so ridiculous that it couldn't possibly be true, and won an award for it.

It was absurd. It was entirely and completely preposterous. It was brilliant.

For the first time in the eleven years of his life, Harry found himself struck speechless through sheer awe. For the first time in his life, Harry wholly admired another person. It was an entirely new sentiment, albeit not a bad one.

Harry absently ran a hand down his holly wand and felt a vibrating warmth in response. Brother wands. The reminder brought a smirk to his face.

He remembered the awestruck gazes of the other Slytherins as Tom sat himself down in their midst. The students had flocked to him, Purebloods most of all. Somehow, a boy who was half-blood at most and possibly even a muggle-born had managed to conquer the House that valued blood purity above all else. It was no easy feat. After all, Harry himself has felt the weighted and judgemental glares of the Slytherins that very night.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Harry whispered into the darkness of the night. The name rolled off his tongue. He felt a stirring excitement grow within him as he laid back, pulling up the covers.

At the moment, the other boy was still an unknown, a shadowy figure seen through the lens of someone else's eyes. He was a puzzle to be solved, a secret to be unveiled, a mystery to be pondered over.

And Harry never left mysteries unsolved.

He promised himself that he would unearth all he could about this boy that was so alike to himself. There was a nagging sensation at the back of his mind as if he was missing something vital, as if he was somehow missing the bigger picture. Harry let out a forceful exhale. He still knew too little to begin piecing everything together, but he was patient. He still has seven years ahead of him anyway.

Harry closed his eyes to the soft coolness of the duvet and the beginnings of a plan knitting together in his mind. If he wanted to know the entirety of the ins-and-outs of Slytherin, then he would have to rise to the very top. Judging by the other Slytherins' reaction toward him that night, he knew that an eventual confrontation was inevitable. He will be ready when it comes, and then he will lay the house on its knees.

After all, Slytherins were drawn to power. And if they wanted power, then he would be willing to show them the true extent of what he was capable of.

It was with that thought in mind that he finally fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next day, Harry swept into the Great Hall when breakfast was already well underway. There was a sudden dip in conversation as the others noticed his presence.

More than a few heads turned to watch, some with curious surprise and others with disappointment or suspicion. It was unusual how complete strangers were so thoroughly impacted by his House placement. It shouldn't have made a difference to them whether he was a Slytherin or a Hufflepuff, yet here they were, treating him with a complete turnabout in attitude than prior to his Sorting.

Harry ambled over to the Slytherin tables and slid into a seat at the very end of the table, leaving a large gap between him and the rest of the students. It was quite obvious that they didn't want his company and he himself has no desire to dragged into some sort of row in the middle of breakfast.

He piled his plate with scones and sausages and poured himself a cup of earl grey, watching as one of the school's barn owls dove and landed before him, dropping a roll of newspaper in his lap. It struck out a leg and he absentmindedly counted a few knuts into its pouch before it took off again. Harry unfurled his copy of the Daily Prophet and read through the news as he ate, paying no mind to the gawking of the rest of the students.

A brief commotion down the table caught his interest but he kept his eyes on the page before him. Before he has managed to establish his own position in the House, he would not meddle with any of the other Slytherins' ungainly political games.

"Draco!" A shout echoed across the room.

Harry flipped the page, taking a sip of his tea. The Malfoy heir's business was none of his concern.

A set of footsteps neared. To his surprise, it halted right behind his seat, and the next moment, a dull thump sounded next to him. There was only the slightest pause in Harry's hand as it moved across the paper, flipping the page once more. He chewed and swallowed, ignoring the presence beside him in favour of scanning the latest report from the Ministry of Magic in regards to several newly proposed legislation.

He felt the person beside him shift awkwardly. Harry inhaled deeply and turned, setting down his drink with a firm thud. His brows rose slightly at the pair of determined grey eyes staring back at him.

"Malfoy," he said, not bothering to conceal the tinge of surprise to his voice.

"Potter," the blonde haired boy muttered. Instead of his normally impeccable posture, his shoulders slouched nervously, and his hands were fisted where they laid atop the table. He chanced a glance upwards before looking away quickly again. "And just Draco is fine."

Harry sat back in contemplation, head tilted to the side. Draco's gesture of friendship was as clear as day and laid bare for the entirety of Hogwarts to see. Now, the final decision was left up to Harry. In all honesty, he was amazed that Draco was even brave enough to make such a statement. Finally, he folded the newspaper and rolled it up, stuffing it into his bag. He dropped his gaze from Draco and could almost feel the tension drain out of the other boy.

"Tea?" He offered, sending an unused cup and saucer sliding across the table with the flick of a wrist.

Draco started, looking down dazedly at the glassware before him. He blinked. "Oh, please. Thank you," he said, coughing to hide the slight crack of his voice.

Harry hid a smile. A nearby teapot glided over, filling Draco's cup. "You can call me Harry," he said. Draco looked up, shock evident in his eyes. Harry smiled, a crooked lift of the lips that was more wry than amused.

Ever since they have first spoken at Madame Malkin's, Draco has been on edge about his Dark-oriented heritage. Harry knew that it was something he'd have to address eventually, and he supposed that sooner was always better than later. "It's fine. I won't hold anyone's families against them, so you can loosen up. Besides," his eyes slid from Draco's face over to the professors' table. Dumbledore was seated in his normal spot, chatting jovially with Professor McGonagall. "Our parents are quite alike, in my opinion."

"They are?" Draco asked in a strangled tone.

Harry would have laughed, but he knew that this was a sensitive spot for the young Malfoy and so he hid his amusement. "Yes. They each had strong beliefs, they stuck to them, and gave their due sacrifices to their chosen leaders."

Draco remained silent for a long moment. Harry saw the boy's hand tremble slightly and looked away, allowing him the illusion of privacy.

Ever since their encounter at Diagon Alley, Harry has known of Draco's insecurities in regards to his family's history. Harry didn't mind all that much that Draco's parents were both marked Death Eaters. All it really meant was that they were on one side of the war, while Dumbledore and his own parents were on the other. Harry, as of yet, has no loyalty to either, and there was simply no point to faulting someone for their beliefs.

He would be a hypocrite if he held any revulsion towards Dark families, considering his own interest in the more obscure and less legal branches of magic.

"Thank you," Draco whispered, so soft that he could barely hear it.

"Hm," Harry said lightly. He knew better than to make a big deal of the exchange. He finished off the last of his breakfast and drained his tea. "So," he turned to his companion. "What brings you here? I'd have assumed that there would be more merit to sticking with…" He gestured across the room, where the rest of the Slytherins were still watching them like hawks.

Draco snorted derisively.

His brief moment of vulnerability had already passed, and he once again wore his patented smirk, chin lifted haughtily. "You assumed wrong. They can be quite irritating at times. You're much better company."

"Thank you," Harry chuckled. "It's always nice to be appreciated."

Draco raised a delicate brow. "Good Merlin-You're appreciated plenty. I'm sure you hear it just about every day."

"What? The Boy-Who-Lived business?" Harry scoffed. "Ah, yes. Having my praises sung for something I apparently did as a babe is always the highlight of my day. There's nothing I love more than being hailed as the great Dumbledore's protégé."

The two boys exchanged a grim look before both grinned. Harry watched as the Draco's eyes flickered to the headmaster just as the older wizard plopped a lemon drop in his mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully. The blonde broke down into sniggers, trying but failing to hide his mirth behind his hand. At the sound, Dumbledore looked towards them curiously, before opting for giving them a cheery wave. That only served to add to the Malfoy heir's predicament, as his shoulders shook even harder.

"Cracked, isn't he?" Draco said once his laughter has receded. He turned to Harry, the expression on his face much more open and comfortable than Harry has ever seen him.

"Barking mad," Harry agreed, giving a quick wave back at the headmaster. Dumbledore, apparently satisfied, once again returned to conversing with the other professors. Draco huffed, but a smile still played along his lips.

Harry turned, ignoring the blatant attempts of the other students in the Great Hall to hide their spying. To his surprise, he found that he had actually enjoyed his interactions with Draco. The other boy was interesting to talk to and has a dry sense of humour that Harry could appreciate.

Well, he mused. If he has to befriend someone, the Malfoy heir was as good a candidate as any other. Draco obviously still has much to learn, going by his childish actions on the Hogwarts Express. But the fact that he was willing to brave the entirety of Slytherin House's disapproval to continue his friendship with Harry was more than enough for Harry to overlook that one shortcoming.

Anyhow, with time, Draco will grow out of his immaturity and become the powerful wizard Harry knew that he has the potential to be.

"Come on, then," he said, "Let's get going."

Draco nodded, taking one more sip of his tea before shouldering his bag and standing. "Alright. I've heard that Hogwart's staircases are terribly unpredictable, and I don't want to be late to the first lesson."

"Charms, was it?" Harry stood as well, and the two boys strode together towards the entrance of the Great Hall.

"Charms," Draco agreed. They stepped over the threshold and let the doors swing closed behind them, leaving behind a befuddled crowd of students that broke into whispers as soon as they've gone.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord Voldemort, was confused-very confused.

It has been difficult enough to remain sane on less than a percent of a soul and without an actual body, never mind forming coherent thoughts. Somewhere in the back of his muddled thoughts, he's always known that he may have toed the line with the horcruxes.

Having one had been easy, two had been fine, even three had been tolerable. But after that, each successive horcrux drained more out of him than he was prepared to give, and from that point on, it has been a downward spiral. Seven was definitely too many-but it was a necessity.

Damn Dumbledore and that cursed prophecy.

It had been excruciatingly painful to see all his hard-earned results seep down the drains as a result of a self-fulfilling prophecy. He had realized all too late and by then he was already well on the path to his own demise. But he'll be damned if he let a brat get the better of him. Those shockingly green eyes had haunted him ever since he's first laid eyes on the child, and he's let that hatred fester within him for all these years.

He had been prepared to hate Harry Potter, but it seemed that the boy had managed to tear apart even that plan.

Harry Potter was different from anything he's ever imagined.

It had almost been chilling to see the black-haired, emerald-eyed boy, a muggle-raised half-blood like himself, to be sorted into the Slytherin House which loathed his very existence. It had been like seeing a ghost when the boy slipped into the Great Hall that morning, mask perfectly in place and outer robes unbuttoned, walking gracefully down the aisle between the tables.

All those years back, he himself had strolled around Hogwarts, outer robes left open in obvious violation of the school rules. He had done it partially as a statement or sort, to show that he had absolute power within the school, but mostly to spite Dumbledore. Seeing Harry Potter, Dumbledore's precious saviour, do the very same brought a surge of smug vindictiveness that would probably have been enough to fuel a corporeal patronus.

And then, Harry had sat in an isolated corner at the far end of the Slytherin table. For a fleeting second, he saw himself as a first year, sitting in the same spot, and the images overlaid one another, blending together until he wasn't quite sure whether he was in the past or the present.

Now, he wasn't sure what exactly he felt for Harry Potter. The boy had never acted against him-his war had involved his parents, but not him. The spell that had reduced him to his current state had also been Lily Potter's.

He had only assumed that the boy would hate him and anything the Dark simply for what had happened to his parents. Yet he was proven wrong once again when the boy was approached by the young Malfoy heir and proceeded to accept his friendship with open arms.

So, he was confused, and for the first time in several decades, he found himself at a loss as to what to do next. Whatever anger and spite he felt towards Harry Potter has turned to irritation and grudging curiosity.

Would Harry bent under the pressure and be content to live as a puppet to the Light? Or would he continue as he is, and walk the same path that Tom himself once had?

At last, he decided that it was useless to speculate at that point. He would have to keep a closer eye on the boy throughout the school year, but perhaps he could afford to slightly adjust his plans.

His main goal in infiltrating Hogwarts was to acquire the philosopher's stone. He had originally planned to bring an end to Harry Potter while he was within reach and finish off what he started eleven years ago. But now, things were no longer as they had seemed.

Harry Potter will live on, if only so that his unvoiced questions could be answered. The Dark Lord couldn't deny that he was excited to see exactly what choices the boy would end up making. And he was still young-should he choose to side with the Light, there would still be enough time to carry out his previous ideas.

For the moment, he turned his attention away from the Boy-Who-Lived. There were still months before he would be able to make an attempt for the philosopher's stone, and before then, he has to build up his strength. His magic was still weakened from living as a wraith for over a decade and he knew that he would have to be in best condition for when he finally makes a move.

Lord Voldemort glanced up just as Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy stood, walking out the Great Hall while grinning over some private joke. As the boys disappeared into the corridors, he melted back into the subconscious. Yes...he would simply observe from the sidelines for now.

Professor Quirrell blinked and the tinge of red faded away from his eyes, unnoticed by the professors and the students around him. He glanced towards the rambunctious assembly of first years, fidgeted, and sighed. It was going to be a long day.