Chapter Ten:

"I can explain," is the first thing that Harry says once the sorting hat is placed over his head.

For a few seconds, the hat stays silent. And then it laughs, wheezy and incredulous. "Harry Potter," it breathes out, "the boy-who-lived. Oh, the irony."

Harry rolls his green eyes. "Very funny," he mutters.

The sorting hat gives a long, low and thoughtful hum. "Though the boy-who-dimensionally-time-travelled is more fitting. On the other hand, it's quite a mouthful. Perhaps the boy-who-keeps-on-living? The boy-who-can't-die? The boy-who-leaped-through-time? The boy who—"

"Wait, wait. The boy-who-what? Dimensionally time travelled?" Harry cuts in, tone bewildered. "Is, is that even a thing?"

"My, my... what house to put you in?" The hat muses, completely ignoring Harry's question and averting the conversation in a different direction all together. "You're brave, you're loyal, cleverness is definitely hiding somewhere in there—"

"Rude! And don't just ignore my question!" Harry chimes in.

"—And you still have a thirst to prove yourself. Well, you definitely can't escape your true house this time, Mr. Potter." Pausing, the old hat then announces, "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry takes the hat off himself and passes it to a surprised Mcgonagall. She takes the hat with shaky fingers and wide eyes, mumbling a barely there, "thank you," that pierces the booming silence in the great hall. At once, there is awkward but polite clapping from Dumbledore that everyone then reciprocates. There's even a chorused shout from the Gryffindor table, "We didn't get Potter! We didn't get Potter!'' It makes Harry smile as he makes his way down to the table of green and silver and takes a seat beside Draco.

There are a few others who get sorted after Harry and once that's done, Dumbledore gives his usual odd speech with a warning. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

"Wonderful," Harry grumbles under his breath, remembering the fiasco that the philosopher's stone had brought him the first time. Beside him, Draco snorts.

Dumbledore waves a hand and the tables start piling up with dishes of all sizes. There are main courses and side dishes, chicken and gravy, Yorkshire puddings and sausages, cottage pie and many, many others. Harry spies treacle tart and places two pieces of the fine dessert onto his plate. It might not be the healthy choice, but, well, Harry doesn't exactly care.

"Harry Potter in Slytherin," a girl voices somewhere from Draco's side. Her black hair is short, touching just the edges of her jawline. Harry thinks her name might be Pansy Parkinson. "What a turn of events."

"Not really," Harry says. He stabs his fork into his cake and then brings it towards his mouth. The treacle tastes like heaven. It's rich and creamy and makes his taste buds tingle. Harry has a weakness for them. He internally vows that treacle tart is the best dessert he's ever had. For a few moments, the flavour takes away his worries.

Before he even knows it, Harry and the other first years are being taken down into their common rooms. The trip down to the dungeons is quiet, but there's a hiss from Draco's robes that tells him that Nimmy is cold. The entrance to the common room is located behind a bare stretch of stone wall in the dungeons. The tiny, intricate snake carved into the top left corner is the only thing that separates this wall from many of the other ones down in the dungeons.

"The password is Viper." The Head Girl announces. Her hair is a dull shade of ginger and her eyes are sunken, with deep purple bruises underneath them. As soon as the password leaves her lips, the stone wall swings open to reveal the Slytherin common room. The Head Boy motions for them to follow in. He too has dull orange hair and sunken eyes.

Harry and the other first years follow the Head Girl And Head Boy inside. The room is long with rough stone walls and a low ceiling. Greenish lamps hang by chains and a fire cracks under an elaborately carved mantelpiece. There are curved chairs and plush, green sofas. Everything is overlooked by a glass wall that showcases the deep waters of the black lake.

Once the dorms are pointed out, Harry and the others take themselves up spiral stairs and into long corridors.

Draco stops in front of a door that has his name along with Harry's and two others carved elegantly in silver against black wood. "We're in here." He says. The blonde fixes his expression into one of utter boredom that looks... oddly... er... Pureblood? For the lack of better words. Harry sort of wishes he could pull of the same expression. He peers over Draco's shoulder to read the other two names. There's someone by the name of Theodore Nott. Harry doesn't quite remember him. He does however, remember Blaise Zabini.

With a hum, Harry ushers Draco through the door. Their room is large, with four single poster beds that are spaced out evenly. There are green covers with silver linings, black pillows that are fluffed up to perfection. Each bed has a bedside table, it's wooden and the same shade of their door. Harry spots his trunk at the end of a bed. It's beside a single vertical window that goes from the bottom of the carpeted floor to the top of the stone ceiling. It's like a smaller version of the glass wall in the common room. Harry stares into the darkness of the window but doesn't see anything.

The next morning, after Harry gets little to no sleep, he heads down with his dorm mates to the common room. Professor Snape is stood by the entrance, handing out papers. The first years schedule, no doubt.

"Let's hope our first lesson isn't with the Gryffindors." Blaise mutters as he shoulders past Harry. Nott follows after him, right at the other males heels.

"I get the feeling that they don't exactly like me," Harry grumbles, rubbing his shoulder. Nimmy bumps her little head against his cheek in a show of reassurance from where she's sat on his shoulder.

"Ignore them," Draco smoothes out his robes with his hands as they walk. "Only start noticing them when they decide to stop acting like children."

"Right." Harry nods. He can't help but think that Draco is also just a child. Ironic, that he would say such a thing.

"That's Professor Snape by the way." Draco adds, voice barely above a whisper as they reach said man. "He's our head of house."

"Ah. Malfoy," Snape greets Draco with a dip of his head. Draco returns the motion and then accepts his schedule from the dark haired Professor. He stands to the side, waiting for Harry.

Snape moves his gaze onto Harry and his dark eyes narrow, flashing with animosity. "Potter," he says flatly. Harry forces a smile. It's too big. Too bright. Too fake. But he can't bring himself to care. He feels as if every inch of his skin is prickling, like he suddenly doesn't belong in his own skin. Snape raises his gaze ever so slightly and his brows furrow, his lips dipping into a deep scowl.

"Master," Nimmy hisses quietly, "your hair... it's blue."

Confused, Harry reaches for a lock of his hair and tries to pull it forward so he can see it. True to Nimmy's words, his hair is blue. Pastel and beaming. "Aw, fuck. I was glad to have my own hair back and now this?" He whines. "And why blue of all colours?"

"If it's any consolation," Nimmy climbs onto Harry's head and nestles herself between his colourful hair, "I think it's much better than the pink."

Snape's black eyes are wide, unblinking as he stares at Harry. His eyebrows keep raising themselves higher and higher, until they disappear into his hairline. There's a twitch and an odd curve to his lips that sort of looks like a pained smile. It reminds Harry of Lucius' reaction to hearing him speak parseltongue. He too looked like everything he had fought for had suddenly slipped through his fingers.

Heaving a sigh, Harry can't help but ask, "It's the hair, isn't it?"

At the side, Draco smothers a laugh into his hand.

It sort of sounds like he's choking.