The feast ended without any further interruption, yet Harry found himself itching anxiously. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall resting upon him, both those of his fellow students and the staff members, and the young Ringbearer wanted nothing more than to slip into bed and hide from their myriad gazes. He was forced to remain seated, however, making idle small-talk with Daphne about their expectations for class the next day, and shying away any time a ghost drew near. He was still not comfortable with their presence, so like that of a Wraith. He had not yet managed to sort out the meaning of the word in his own mind, but the knowledge was there. Wraiths were dangerous, and these ghosts resembled them far too closely for comfort or security.

Eventually, Harry's attention was drawn to the Head table as the food disappeared in an instant, and the Headmaster rose to speak once again. He listened with only half an ear to the routine-sounding warnings. Harry didn't doubt that knowledge of the rules might be useful to have, but even if he were to go flaunting them, he would likely do so in a manner that couldn't be traced back to him. After all, where was the fun in simply making a mess? Where was the intrigue? It wasn't until the bearded man mentioned a third-floor corridor that promised 'certain death' that Harry perked up, but even that only held his attention for a moment or two. His true torture, however, came when the school song was introduced.

Harry winced at the cacophony of voices all singing in different tunes and pitches, only to form an incoherent mess of sound that threatened to make his ears bleed. The Ring-maker was no stranger to music. It was, he had found, an integral part of his forging, to sing the songs of hammer and anvil, of stone and metal, fire and power as he wove them into the metal. They were melodious tunes that flowed and burned like the gentle waves of a calm sea, or warmed the soul as a blazing hearth. Yet as Harry sat listening to the atrocity those around him considered the school song, he was forced to wonder if wizards even knew what music actually was. Even Daphne was singing along, a quiet, humming lullaby that Harry's senses, enhanced as they were by the Ring of Power he wore, had to strain to catch.

Eventually, the music-if it could even be called such- came to an end with the closing of a painfully slow funeral march sung by two redheaded Gryffindor twins, and Professor Dumbledore released them to their dorms. The boy rose with his housemates, following along in the prefect's wake with anxiousness. Even Vilya could not stave off the cloud of exhaustion that was slowly starting to overcome him. Soon enough though, they had made their way through the winding dungeons and dark corridors to enter the Slytherin common room.

It was a surprisingly comfortable looking place, lit dimly by glowing emerald orbs of light that hung from the ceiling and furnished with fine leather seats and plush couches that somehow maintained a proud and noble demeanor. Several wide windows portrayed a murky underwater view through the fine glass, one which Harry assumed belonged to the Black Lake. As the whole group of first-year students drew to a stop and the prefect leading them turned, he considered simply collapsing onto one of the couches and falling asleep there.

"Alright newbies, listen up." The prefect, a tall girl with curly brown hair and sharp eyes said, drawing their attention. "I'm your prefect, Gemma Farley, and it is my duty to inform you of what being in Slytherin House means, as well as what will be expected of you as one of us."" She paused, eyeing each of the younger students in turn, before raising an arm and gesturing towards the Common Room as a whole. "This is the Snake Pit. For us Slytherins, it's home sweet home, and for everyone else in Hogwarts, a complete mystery. It will stay that way, understood?" Several heads nodded in tandem, including Harry's, and the Prefect smirked. "What do you know, it looks like this bunch might not all be idiots. Moving on, there are a few very simple rules when it comes to conduct. First, you are Slytherins, the cunning, ambitious, and clever. I expect you to act like it. No getting caught breaking rules, no goofing off in class or disrespecting teachers, and most of all, no making us look bad. We have won the House Cup for six years now, Several of our seventh years are hoping to be the first class in history to have a perfect run. This will happen." The room was silent as everyone stared widely at Farley in a mixture of trepidation and awe. Harry, for his part, merely crossed his arms and raised a bemused eyebrow. The older student certainly knew how to play a crowd with her sharp voice and commanding aura that demanded respect as her eyes roved over the group. Still, it was difficult to impress Harry, especially when he could feel Vilya warming on his finger in challenge.

"Now then, second rule." Gemma Farley continued, after a moment of allowing her words to sink in. "As you may have noticed, Slytherin has a bit of a bad reputation. As such, we Snakes have to stick together. Students, teachers, and even the castle itself will go to any lengths to cause us mischief and take us down. So when in public, we put up a united front, and we stick to that front. You can hash out any problems you may have with your fellow classmates here in the common room, but out there, in front of the rest of the school, we are all brothers and sisters. Potter, Malfoy." Surprised at the sudden address, Harry shifted, his arms loosening slightly as he met Foster's sharp gaze. Malfoy, he was pleased to see, lacked such poise and was struggling to hide a measure of nervousness.

"Did you need something, Farley?" Harry asked, smirking as he saw the light of surprise blossom in her eyes. It died quickly, however, to be replaced by a stern frown.

"Don't even think of getting cheeky with me, Potter. I noticed your little spat at the feast. It can be forgiven, since neither of you had been formally inducted into Slytherin, but that crap stays hidden from now on, got it?" Harry spent a moment staring at the Prefect, not backing down an inch as his thumb rubbed against Vilya, before he nodded slowly.

"Gladly," Harry said with a slightly toothy smile, glancing at Malfoy from the corner of his eye. "As long as he extends the same courtesy, of course." The blonde froze under Harry's gaze, before turning carefully away to look at Farley fully.

"I can restrain myself." He stated, before turning a baleful glare at Harry with his grey eyes. "Some of us know how to control their magic." Harry blinked, surprised at the boy's courage, before his grin widened a touch.

"I'm sure you'll learn it eventually, Malfoy." Harry felt satisfaction flare in his heart as Malfoy seethed, opening his mouth to throw another insult his way. Foster stepped between them before he could get it out, however, and the blonde paused under her sharp gaze.

"Enough." The older girl said in a voice that could cut steel, and all the first year students who had been closely observing Draco and Harry's exchange jumped slightly at the sound of it. Harry merely slid his near-wolfish grin into a smirk, finally releasing his arms and dropping them to his side. "You two can hash it out in the morning. For now, I'm tired, and going to bed. I suggest all of you do the same. Boy's dormitories are on the right, girls on the left. Good night." There was a moment of silence as the Prefect's gaze bore into each student in turn, until finally she turned and stalked away. Almost reluctantly, half the group of first years broke off to follow her, leaving the boys all alone as they stood in the middle of the Common Room. A second later, Zabini, who had been wearing an amused smile for most of the night in general, gave his compatriots a small shrug and started moving towards the boys dorms. Harry fell in beside him easily with a respectful nod, and soon after the rest followed them, with Malfoy sulking at the back. As the six Slytherin boys-Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Harry himself- found their room and got dressed for bed. Harry found himself wondering if he would wake up to a hex in the face. The boy shrugged it off, however. They were barely first-years, and even Malfoy wouldn't be that stupid. Still, he thought, glancing at the blond as he slid a poofy white shirt over his head, perhaps it would be best if he left Vilya on as he slept.

XXX

It was still dark when Harry woke, sliding into consciousness with ease. He had long since learned that wearing a Ring of Power made sleep… not unnecessary, but less so. Where before he might have expected to rest for eight to ten hours, on a good day, now the Ringbearer needed half that, at most. Harry sat up on his bed, looking around the dormitory. Strange, he had been expecting to wake up to a curse, but it seemed Malfoy and his followers were even more exhausted than he the night before.

As Harry set about preparing for the day, he rubbed Vilya. For a moment the boy considered switching it for one of its siblings, but hesitated. Hogwarts was… new; new and dangerous in a way the Dursleys could never be, and already he had made enemies. It would perhaps be prudent to keep the most powerful of the Three at hand while he settled in. He kept the pouch holding Narya and Nenya close, however. If a need for them arose, he would be ready.

The common room was surprisingly occupied by the time he made his way up the stairs, despite the early hour. Several older students were scattered about, looking somewhat frazzled as they flipped through textbooks and scribbled on parchment. Procrastinators, he assumed, finishing their summer homework at the last minute. One or two even sprinted out the door from time to time, frantically checking their watches. Harry himself simply settled down to watch over the rim of one of his textbooks, allowing his attention to stray from place to place.

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed when Daphne finally came up from her own dormitory with more grace than seemed natural for a child her age, but it was enough for the first rays of dawn to filter down through the lake and add just a touch of natural light to the room. The Ring-maker found himself raising an amused eyebrow as his friend paused at the sight of him, her eyes widening slightly in shock.

"Harry." She greeted carefully after drawing near, curiosity coloring her tone. "You're up rather early." Harry's eyebrow rose even further, and he glanced around the common room. It was true. Only one other member of their year, the Zabini boy, had awoken, and he still looked utterly exhausted from the night before. His eyes returned to Daphne.

"I don't sleep much." Harry said with a shrug, closing his book. "But now that you are up, shall we go to breakfast?" The young witch, taken off guard by his sudden question, hesitated.

"I suppose." She answered after a second, and Harry smiled, rising from his seat. The two children easily set off without another word, descending into silence. As they walked, however, passing more and more students the closer they came to the Great Hall, Harry noticed something that twisted his lips into a frown.

"Is this… common?" He asked quietly, gesturing at a gathering of students when Daphne frowned at him in question. The three girls, noticing the motion, blushed, turning away even as they continued their hushed whispering. Understanding dawned on Daphne's face, and she frowned as well.

"Yes, sadly. The Wizarding World loves its gossip, and there is nothing more worthy to giggle and whisper about than the Boy-Who-Lived." Harry cocked an eyebrow at the girl, curious as to the bitterness in her voice. He nodded at the crowd, lips twitching.

"I take it you speak from experience." Daphne stiffened at the words, so minutely he would have missed it had he not been wearing Vilya, but it disappeared a second later.

"Yes." She answered, in a tone that told Harry that was all he would be getting out of her for the time being. Wisely, the boy decided not to push his friend, instead nodding slightly and turning his attention back to their path. They had just arrived at the doors to the Great Hall, and already he could hear the growing murmur of students taking their breakfast. With a glance to the side revealing nothing more than a stone-faced Daphne, he shrugged and pushed it open.

The hall appeared much like Harry remembered from the night before, a long, open space lined with the four tables. They were more sparsely populated now, as most of the school appeared to not have arrived yet, but already multitudes of food were laid out to be taken. Predictably, the moment the duo entered, all conversation stopped, and every eye turned to them. Daphne froze, tension radiating off her as the whispers began, but Harry grasped her wrist and pulled, dragging the girl towards the Slytherin table.

"This is going to get aggravating after a while." He muttered, pushing Daphne into a seat and taking the one beside her. Surprisingly, she managed to shrug off whatever it was that had gripped her, and smiled slightly.

"I suggest you get used to it. Chances are it will last your whole life." Harry, who had reached for a goblet filled with a disturbingly sweet orange drink, choked as a laugh escaped him.

"Bloody hell." The Ring-bearer growled, wiping his face as juice dribbled down it. "You're joking, right?" Harry looked at his friend, hoping against hope that she wasn't serious. When he saw the wicked grin that had spread across her face, however, it was suddenly replaced with dread.

"You destroyed a Dark Lord at the age of one, Harry, and as I said, Wizards love gossip. I wouldn't be surprised if they're still talking about you when you're as old and grey as the headmaster." Harry groaned, raising one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose even as the other picked up a piece of bacon so he could chew on it viciously.

"Well, at least they're not calling me a freak." He muttered, too low for Daphne to hear. Harry hated attention of any kind. For too long he had dealt with people staring and muttering, their judging gazes rested upon his every action. He had hoped, for a time, that the Wizarding World could be his escape from that. And yet, here he was, once again in the spotlight. It was almost like the world hated him. Daphne opened her mouth as if to say something, but was cut off when another voice spoke.

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Greengrass. Your schedules." Caught off-guard, Harry glanced up blinking. Looming above the two studentswas a man he vaguely remembered from the night before, with slicked black hair and eyes like pits of darkness. Harry thought, for a moment, that he looked somewhat like a bat. When the man's eyes turned to him, however, the thought was brushed away to be replaced by confusion. There was such hatred in that gaze, and a terrible pain. Vilya squeezed on Harry's fingers, burning with warning.

"Er, thank you, Professor…" Harry spoke carefully, taking the proffered sheets of paper with tentative care. Even as he said the words, Harry fought against a flinch. The man's power, his magic that coiled like a serpent in the brush, sharpened at the sound of Harry's voice. The gaze hardened, his black eyes turning to coal, and when the man answered his voice was stilted and formal.

"My name is Professor Snape, Potter, and you would do well remember it. I am the head of Slytherin House, and any… punishments you may accrue shall be dealt with by me." With that, the professor turned and stalked away, his robes sweeping after him in a dramatic fashion, and Harry was left gaping. A few seconds passed before he felt a light touch on his arm, and turned to see Daphne staring at him with unfettered fear.

"Harry." She said, in a voice that almost sounded calm. To Harry's ears, however, it was obvious she was simply too shocked to put emotion into her words. "What was that all about?" Harry tried to answer, stopped, and glanced back the way the Head of House had disappeared. Then he shook his head.

"I have no bloody idea."

XXX

Harry had expected many things when he came to Hogwarts, from artifacts of ancient wonder, to mythical tales of valor, and even feats of great and powerful magic. And for a time, he had been impressed. The classes were filled with magic, the halls lined with portraits and suits of armor that moved and spoke, and even the ghosts had their presence, though Harry avoided them on principle-excepting the one ghost teacher, Binns, for whose class he always took the back seat- and yet, alas, there was one thing he had forgotten in his fascination and exploration of the great castle. For Hogwarts, while being a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where young sorcerers came to learn their craft, it was still, in fact, a school. Thus it was perhaps inevitable that he be subjected to the greatest of tortures, which could bring even the most powerful of Dark Lords to their knees and make them beg for mercy: Homework.

"How? How could they possibly have assigned so much work? It's barely been three days!" Harry muttered, slumping back in his chair and kicking futilely at the table in front of him. It was Wednesday, hardly half a week after the beginning of term, and already he was stuck in a special kind of hell, surrounded by books on all sides as he hid in the library. Not that he minded reading, really, in fact it was one of the few pastimes he had beyond forging and chores, but this was just bloody ridiculous. His old school had never given him this much homework, and he hadn't even been to half his classes yet. Not to mention Daphne begging off for 'Girl Problems' which he wasn't going to touch with a ten foot pole even if it was just an excuse, which meant he was there alone, miserable, and bored out of his mind.

"You know what, sod it." He said finally, slamming shut one tome that looked thicker than his head and rising. He was hardly halfway done, but when one could stare at the same page for ten minutes and still have no idea what they were reading, it was time for a break. Piling the books at least somewhat neatly upon the table, he left, wandering down the aisles aimlessly as he let his mind shut down for the most part. His eyes trailed the stacks, not looking for anything particular, but his mind was off on its own, dancing through thoughts of swords and magic. It was strange, really. Harry had always dreamed of the rings, those shining emblems of light and power that would always be the finest of his craft, but they weren't his only imaginations. Spells, scraps of song and materials that could be used to forge weapons and tools of great power danced through his mind, never lasting long but always present. He had never made any, too distracted by the Three, but recently he had been getting an itch to return to his forge. Harry had no intent on crafting the Seven or Nine; Three Rings of Power were more than enough to worry about for the time being, but perhaps he could make something else?

Harry sighed, pushing the thoughts away, even as something caught his eye. He paused, backtracking a few steps, and scanned the shelf he had just passed. The wizard was about to dismiss it as nothing, when finally he found what he was looking for. A Treaty On the Art of Artificing: Treasures Lost to Time was a small book, thin and dusty as if someone hadn't touched it in years, but still Harry found himself reaching to pick it up. Artificing, was that what it was called? Harry wasn't sure, but it couldn't hurt to find out. Carefully he plucked the tome from its placement and turned it over, examining the cover. It was somewhat shabby, pale beige with a charcoal drawing of the iconic Sword in the Stone, but seemed decent enough. Before he could open it to read, however, a sudden voice startled him.

"I wouldn't read that one if I were you. It's nothing but a load of hogwash and tripe about how 'amazing' all the old Arcanum were, and how we'll never see their like again." Harry jumped, surprise making him lose his grip on the book, and he whirled to face the speaker. Standing there, leaning against a bookshelf with a small smirk tugging at her lips, was a second year Ravenclaw. She was pretty, he noted absently while trying to gain control of his breathing, eyeing her arched asian features and dark raven hair. Dark blue eyes glimmered with amused curiosity as they studied him in turn, and the boy found himself blushing.

"Er, hi?" He greeted carefully, after picking the book back up. He held it awkwardly, not sure what to do with it. "I take it you've read this already?" She smiled, nodding lightly.

"Read it, hated it, found half a dozen better, though none of them here." The girl waved her hands haphazardly around as if to gesture to the whole library. Harry cocked an eyebrow, finally feeling somewhat at ease as he realized she wasn't just talking to him to 'meet the famous Harry Potter'. He glanced around at the towering stacks around them that spread almost further than the eye could see.

"Really?" He asked, just a touch sardonically. He felt a smile start to form, however, when the girl's own grin widened. "Not even one?"

"Hogwarts is an old place." She said as if in answer, shrugging. "But you British lot seem to forget a great deal of your own history in favor of the status quo." Again, Harry found himself rocked back by her lack of subtlety and tact, but somehow, it seemed refreshing. Coming to a decision, he reached out his hand, smiling widely.

"Harry Potter. I don't believe we've met." The girl eyed his hand for a moment, dark amusement flitting across her features before it disappeared like smoke on the wind and she took the offered appendage, shaking it briskly.

"Cho Chang, though you can just call me Cho. And no, I'm not here to ask for an autograph, if that's what you're thinking." A bark of laughter escaped Harry at the blaise dismissal, and he arched an eyebrow, shifting slightly to lean against a nearby shelf.

"What then, may I ask, are you after?" Cho, dark eyes sparkling, shrugged.

"The history of Artificing is a passion of mine, and I thought to save a poor misguided soul before it was too late. Honestly, that book should be banned for its offense to actual literature." Harry's lips quirked even as he glanced at the shelf where said offense now resided. He wasn't one to simply take a person at their word, particularly somebody he had no knowledge of, but not only did this girl seem to know what she was talking about, she was also a Ravenclaw. They valued knowledge above all else, and though he also knew better than to stereotype someone based on something so tenuous as House tenets, there was no denying their prevalence in what little he had seen so far.

"I must admit my ignorance in the matter. Artificing is the act of creating powerful magical artifacts, is it not?" Harry's question, to his surprise, was not met with another grin or smirk, but an actual snort of laughter, Cho throwing her head back entirely as she loosed a series of laughter that sent slight tremors down her body.

"It was, perhaps." The dark-haired girl finally said after managing to control herself. The edge of laughter could still be heard in her voice, but Cho's eyes were dark and serious as she eyed Harry. "It's been centuries since a mage was born with the talent to create things like that pretty little ring of yours."

In an instant, Harry froze, the cold metal of Vilya almost seeming to burn into his skin as its temperature , he met her gaze evenly, green eyes sharpening to a razor's edge. "You can see it?" He asked, in a voice like crackling ice. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the girl was surprised by his sudden about-face, and frowned worriedly at Harry.

"Am I not supposed to? Is that bad?" Cho asked, concern and genuine curiosity mixing with a hint of fear. He had not called on Vilya's power, but even so it responded to him unconsciously and he could feel the magic swell, waiting to be used. At her questioning, however, he paused for a long moment, eyeing the second-year warily. Finally, he sighed, releasing his grip on the power. If Harry judged the situation correctly, there was no need for it.

"The power to stay hidden unless its bearer chooses to reveal it is one of Vilya's powers, yes. But…" Here Harry paused trailing off as a memory swam in his mind, of ancient eyes that judged with far too much perception. Ollivander was no destined Ringbearer, the only other explanation for noting a ring without Harry's permission, and yet the wandmaker had broken right through Nenya's glamour. Perhaps, he mused, wizards were simply innately better at surpassing magical obstacles. He would have to be more careful if that was the case. Finally the boy returned his gaze to Cho, smiling ruefully. "I am actually starting to suspect magicals simply have better perceptions than most. I apologize for my harsh reaction."

Unsurprisingly, Cho waved the apology away, once again smiling mirthfully now that Harry had calmed. "Think nothing of it, though I am curious as to why you got so angry. People rarely act like that about a mere family heirloom." At that comment Harry smiled lightly, a fondness overcoming him as he once again rubbed the Ring about his finger.

"Of course not. Vilya is one of my own creations, and few things could ever match its worth." Harry didn't know why, but there was a long second of silence following his statement as Cho's face blanked. For several seconds, and then several more, he waited for the girl's reaction. Finally, she sighed, bringing a hand up to her a light chuckle.

"I must have heard wrong, because I thought I heard you say you made that ring. But that's impossible." Harry cocked his head, but with her vision obscured the girl had no way of noticing. Finally, he simply shrugged, more for his own sake than hers.

"Not at all. Vilya is certainly my own work. I take great pride in that, actually." Again, silence reigned, though for a shorter period than last. When finally the hand dropped and Cho spoke once again, there was a feverish gleam to her eyes that had not been present before.

"You're serious. Dear gods you're serious." The words were breathy, those of a faithful worshipper at prayer, and suddenly Harry felt a touch of unease slipping into him. No twelve year-old should have such a sound to them, nor the near-manic expression that was slowly spreading across her face. "Oh this is brilliant. There hasn't been an honest-to-gods Artificer in centuries. And now? I'm going to have fun with you."

Perhaps, Harry thought as he edged slowly backwards from the now grinning girl, he should have remained with the homework.

XXX

Alright, alright, alright! Another chapter of Rings of Power, finally! First off, apologies for the extraordinarily late update, but even normally I am notorious for intermittent inspiration, and these last few months have been horrifically chaotic. Recovering from an injured foot, kidney stones, reaching the end of my employment in preparation for moving, actually moving which should be happening in the next week some time, and half a dozen other tiny and distracting things have made it near impossible to focus on writing at all. Hopefully, everything will begin to slow down soon and I can go back to throwing these things at you every month or so. In the meantime, I do apologize for the sudden cliffhanger, but one, if I wrote any more it would take a lot longer to finish, and two, I rather like cliffhangers. Also, I'm curious as to what people think about Cho, and a few other hints of things I scattered about the chapter.

Anyways, it's getting late and I should probably try to get some semblance of sleep. Au Revoir, and don't let the bed bugs bite! (I have no idea where that just came from, honestly)