Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Hey everyone, and thank you so much for the reviews.

I'm sorry about the typos in the last chapter. Once one of my readers pointed them out, I puzzled on what to do. I am typing this up on my Iphone, and because I'm blind, I use a screen reader. Sometimes, it doesn't clue me in to when I make a mistake like that. But I discovered a way to spell check, so I will be able to fix those mistakes from now on. I want my work to look good when it goes up on this site, so I apologize again.

In regards to Harry being friends with Gryffindors as well, don't worry. I do plan to make events extremely different from canon. Harry being friends with Neville and Hermione will lead to some interesting situations, especially because he has allies in Slytherin as well. There will be, hopefully, a unique dynamic in his circle of support.

As for Snape hating him on sight, I made his hatred more pronounced than in canon because he didn't expect for the son of his worst enemy to be Sorted into his house. Even in canon, I think Snape dislikes him instantly though, especially when he makes the unnecessary comment about "our new celebrity". But in this story, it is definitely stronger. But I have plans for how they will grow as characters, and I hope you enjoy where I will take them.

Please enjoy this chapter!

Xxxxxxxxxx

There was complete silence in the common room as Harry and Draco stared at each other, neither of them willing to back down from their positions. Crabbe and Goyle continued to stand rigid on either side of him, and their poses gave off the impression that they would attack Harry at any second. But Harry, being used to these kinds of tactics, had learned not to give in to them. Even so, he felt fear and adrenaline flood his body, because no matter how used to it he was, the anxiety would grip him in its hold and wouldn't let go until the confrontation was over.

"So," said Malfoy, drawing the word out in a lazy drawl. "You were Sorted into Slytherin, the most esteemed and the proudest house Hogwarts has. But within less than a week, you go making friends with our enemies?"

Harry almost laughed at the melodrama of this statement. "Our enemies?" he scoffed. "Really? Do tell me how that's the case."

"Are you really this ignorant, Potter?" Blaise sneered, walking a few steps nearer Harry. "Do you not know any of our history?"

"Yeah, I do," Harry retorted with his own attempt at a sneer. "But why shouldn't we try to change it so we can get along better?"

Malfoy opened his mouth in disgust, but Pansy spoke before he could. "Don't even bother, Draco," she said in a voice laced with poisoned honey. "The Sorting Hat made a mistake. He's a lost cause who should've gone into Gryffindor."

Harry felt a coldness seep through his skin. There had been so many instances this week when he'd thought the same thing, and to have Pansy speak this out loud sent a jolt through his system. But his resolve grew again as he said, "You're wrong. I was put in Slytherin, so that's what I am."

"Well, you're doing a fine job of it," Malfoy snarled. "Those self-righteous, goody-two-shoes Gryffindors, who think they can do no wrong. They think they have the high moral ground for every situation. They sit there in their ivory tower, and I should have known you'd want to join them."

A peculiar feeling swept through Harry as he saw an angry flush creep across Malfoy's face. Like so many other times before, he hated the way the blond Slytherin was going about this conversation, because posturing and intimidation rubbed him completely the wrong way. Harry wasn't going to bow down to anyone, least of all someone his own age. But, in a part of his mind that had made itself known several times this week, he found some truth in Malfoy's vehement statement. How many times had Harry been looked at with scorn and fear because he had been Sorted into Slytherin, and wasn't a vaunted, saintly Gryffindor like so many people had expected? Gryffindors weren't perfect, either; they could be just as hypocritical and narrow-minded as any Slytherin. But Harry also acknowledged that Malfoy was being a hypocrite, too; after all, he was coming off as a bullying, spoiled brat that numerous people wished to stay away from.

Trying to keep his voice level, Harry responded, "You're one to talk, Malfoy. You can't even confront me without your goons here to back you up." At that statement, said goons cracked their knuckles, the looks on their faces almost comical in their absurdity.

Daphne and Tracey, who were standing on either side of Harry, looked at him with respect. Malfoy saw this and shot back, "Don't you talk about Crabbe and Goyle that way. It looks like you've got two little girlfriends that are backing you up as well. My, my, my." Pansy snickered with mirth, and Crabbe and Goyle's smirks widened.

Harry saw the two girls blanch, both looking supremely annoyed. He understood why; they might have been backing him up, but they were adopting a very different stance than Crabbe and Goyle, who looked like they would lick Malfoy's boots if he told them to. Daphne and Tracey, however, were closely observing the situation, taking stock of every word that was said and allowing Harry to be in control without trying to intimidate anyone.

Malfoy's last remark was so pigheaded that Harry decided not to respond to it. The more the other boy said, the more flashbacks Harry had of Dudley. In those situations, ignoring the taunts and jibes was Harry's way of handling the altercation. He wouldn't let himself be riled, no matter what more was said.

There were several moments of silence, and Harry took stock of the rest of the room. The remainder of the students in attendance were riveted to the scene, a range of expressions covering their faces. Some looked intrigued, as if they were analyzing who would win the argument. Some looked disgusted by Malfoy and his cronies' behavior, while others were looking at Harry as if he'd grown a second head. Others looked bored with the whole scene, and were whispering to their friends.

Then, an older student broke Harry out of his thoughts. He looked as though he was one of the sixth or seventh-years, and the look he gave Harry was one of complete contempt. The words he spoke were directed at Malfoy, but Harry knew they were meant for his ears alone. "Why do you bother, Draco?" he said, his voice full of mockery, gazing at Harry as though he were nothing more than a failed experiment. "Of course he'd be soft on all those Muggle-loving Gryffindors. After all, his mother was a filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

The temperature in the room suddenly seemed to lower several degrees as a range of reactions rippled through the students. Both Daphne and Tracey let out tiny gasps, and from somewhere in the midst of the students, someone said, "Oh, you did not just say that, Whitmore."

"Oh, yes, I did," said Whitmore, smirking in a fashion very similar to Malfoy, but the expression looked even nastier on him than on the blond. "Potter is an embarrassment to our house, and he'd better learn that now."

Harry looked around the room, confusion apparent on his face. Mudblood. He had never heard the term before, but by the way it was spat out, Harry knew it was something derogatory. He knew there were many words that witches and wizards used which Muggles didn't, and from the reactions of some of the students, Harry knew this was one of them, and it honestly sounded like a swearword. The fact that the words "filthy little" were placed in front of it were another sure sign that it meant something extremely insulting. Even without knowing what it meant, Harry felt himself bristle at once; he couldn't stand to hear his mother being maligned again. All his life, his aunt and uncle had reiterated the fact that his parents were no-good, freakish drunks who'd gotten themselves killed in a car accident and landed the decent, hard-working, normal Petunia and Vernon Dursley with their unnatural, waste-of-space son. When Harry had been introduced to the wizarding world, he'd been told that his parents were really heroes, and had sacrificed themselves to keep Harry safe. Now, his mother was being insulted again, but Harry didn't even know what it meant.

Tracey, with a look of deepest apology on her face, whispered in Harry's ear, even though it looked like the last thing she wanted to do. "It's a really nasty slur that's used to describe Muggle-borns, or witches and wizards born to Muggle parents," she explained. "It means they don't belong in our world, and that they have "dirty blood." You-Know-Who and his supporters were famous for using it all the time."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and a surge of hot, volcanic anger roared to life inside of him. And he decided, then and there, that he'd had enough. How dare this Whitmore jerk say such a thing about his mother! How dare he imply that she was worth nothing! Harry felt his heart pump fiercely in his chest, and a new surge of adrenaline flowed through him as his hands balled into fists. Almost without conscious thought, his feet were moving, and he was making his way through the crowd and over to Whitmore. Through his haze, he somehow realized that the room had gone abnormally quiet as its occupants held their breath, wondering what move Harry was about to make.

As he neared Whitmore, the older boy never lost the superior smirk he was wearing. He was so sure the younger boy would lose his nerve, and would save his own skin by not confronting him. Well,, Harry thought as fury continued to pound through his veins, if he thinks that, then he doesn't know me at all. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Daphne and Tracey were trying to make their way over to him, but surprisingly it was Theodore who held them back. He said something to them that made them hesitate, even though they gave him mutinous expressions. But Harry currently couldn't care less about what was being said. All he wanted to do was give Whitmore a piece of his mind.

Harry came very close to the other boy; they were almost nose-to-nose now. In a voice dripping with venom, Harry spat, "You don't talk about my mother that way, Whitmore. I'll tell you that right now."

Whitmore let out a snort of derisive laughter. "Oh, Potter," he chortled, his whole body shaking with it. "You truly are a soft, sentimental fool. If you want to make it in Slytherin, you'll have to break that habit. Your fame won't get you out of anything here, that's a fact. And don't act like you're so high and mighty. You didn't even know what the word meant until one of the other little ffirsties explained it to you!"

"Well, the poor bloke was raised by Muggles, after all," Pansy chimed in, her voice loud and discordant.

If possible, the atmosphere in the room grew even tenser. "Is that really true?" demanded a student who looked like they were in their third or fourth year. "I thought that was just a rumor I'd been hearing!"

"No, it's true," Zabini smirked. "Potter told us himself on the first night here!"

"Merlin's beard," gasped the other student. "The defeater of You-Know-Who was raised by Muggles? There were so many wizarding families who would have taken you, including mine!"

There were several other exclamations of this nature. Others looked completely blindsided by the news, and yet others looked like they wanted nothing more than to say, so what? Yet others looked revolted that someone so tainted could end up in their noble house. The room was very much divided, but Harry could see that the greater number of students really didn't care where he came from. For that he was grateful, but the annoyance at the others' antics still roiled through him, as well as the rage at the foul word his mother had been called.

"Yeah, I was raised by Muggles," Harry bit out, his cheeks red. "Tell all the newspapers, I really don't care." The instant the words came out, Harry regretted them; how did he know that someone wouldn't take him literally? But he shoved it to the back of his mind hurriedly; there were more important things to deal with right now. Facing Whitmore again, he continued, "If I ever hear you talk about my mother like that again, I'll ..."

"You'll do what?" sneered a girl who was standing next to Whitmore. Her hair flowed smoothly down her back, and her eyes were cold as she assessed Harry. "You won't have the guts to do anything. If you continue your friendships with the Gryffindors, you'll turn out just like them. All they do is talk, talk, talk, but they won't act. The vaunted Gryffindor House isn't so brave after all, is it?"

Harry suddenly felt an unnatural calm fall over him, smothering all his senses. He barely knew what he was doing as he got right into Whitmore's face. Despite the unusual feeling he was experiencing, his heart was pounding so hard that he thought he would collapse at any moment. All he knew was that he was tired of being powerless. Enough was enough. He thought things would be better when entering the wizarding world, and in many ways, it was true. He had made friends, and was adapting well to some of his subjects.

But in other ways, things were exactly the same. To most of the school, he had been Sorted into the house of evil, and he was forever tarnished because of it. To some of his own housemates, he didn't belong in Slytherin, and was considered a soft-hearted, idiotic fool. His mother was no longer an unnatural, good-for-nothing freak, but now she was a filthy little Mudblood who shouldn't have even been allowed to belong in the wizarding world.

And so, without thinking of what consequences his actions would have, his arm swung out, and caught Whitmore directly in the face.

And it felt good.

The blow had been delivered with such force that Whitmore, with a flabbergasted look on his face, fell to the ground holding his bloody nose. Shocked gasps rang around the room, and the Slytherin prefects, Austin and Felicia, stormed over to Harry. They both looked shocked and furious at the same time; it was plain to see that they hadn't thought Harry capable of such an action.

"Harry Potter," Felicia snapped, a fierce scowl on her face as she grabbed Harry's upper arm. Austin walked to Harry's left side and gripped his other arm. "You are in a world of trouble."

"We'll be telling Professor Snape about this incident," Austin said, glowering at him. "Slytherins do not act like Muggle hooligans."

"You will go to your dormitory for the rest of the morning," Felicia growled. "We do not care what your name is, or where you come from. This kind of behavior is unbecoming of anyone from Slytherin house."

Harry kept his mouth shut, but he was sorely tempted to argue the point. Why was it that he was being punished for defending his mother, while they were letting Whitmore get away with using a slur against her? And why were Malfoy, Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle allowed to get away with their despicable attitudes?

"Do you hear me, Potter?" Austin almost yelled, his grip tight and bruising as he and Felicia began to march him out of the common room and to the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories. "How dare you act like this in front of our whole house."

"Malfoy's right," said Felicia, the expression on her face frosty and unforgiving. "You're no Slytherin. The Sorting Hat's losing its marbles."

And as Harry looked around the silent common room, he felt the first stirrings of shame begin. What had he done? He had completely let others rile him up, like he'd sworn he would never do, and he had proceeded to show himself up in front of an entire roomful of people, some of whom had been looking for a weakness and had now found it. He tried to garner the expressions on the many staring faces as he was led out of the room, but for once, he couldn't surmise what people were thinking. Even the ones who had looked at him with intrigue before were now wearing tight-lipped, closed expressions.

As Austin and Felicia marched him up the stairs without letting go of his arms, the anger and defiance began to leech out of him, to be replaced with trepidation and a touch of fear. If Professor Snape was going to deal with him, Harry knew the results would be far from pleasant. And he also knew that Professor Sprout, whose class he had next, surely wouldn't be at all happy when she discovered the reason for his absence.

As Harry entered the dormitory, Austin and Felicia shot him a last matching glare of disgust before the door was slammed shut, leaving him feeling as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach.

God, what on Earth had he been thinking? And what in the world was going to happen now?