A Darker Form of Magic

Snape watched closely as the Slytherin students walked into breakfast that morning. The potions Professor always took special care to watch the students the morning after opening duels, to know what line had been drawn among the snakes. Something as simple as that did wonders with deciding who to place where in class, partner as prefects, and so forth. Or so the professor told himself.

It was always good to know where loyalties lie.

The NEWTs students came first, each of them dragging one another into the Great Hall with green written on their faces. By seventh year all of the alliances had already been made and the novelty of duels had long worn thin. Opening night was just an excuse to get drunk with their friends before they had to forgo the rest of the parties to study and cram.

Everyone else tricked in slowly after the NEWTs students, though the potions master was met with two irregularities.

In all of his years of being the Slytherin Head of House, the potions Professor had seen his fair share of injuries, almost always from a spell getting the better of another student's defense. There were always at least three or four of his snakes dragging their feet into the hall with some cut or bruise evident, but never just one.

Not until now.

Snape watched as Warrington walked in with a nasty gash across his throat and wondered just who could've gotten close enough to have the boy sporting that. He knew that the wound wasn't from a spell, no one would risk casting a cutting spell too strongly and it going wrong and killing another student in a way that couldn't so easily be passed as a splicing since students can't apparate within Hogwarts.

No, Snape knew, someone slit that boy's throat.

The Professor watched his students carefully to find out just who could have done it, but all of the other snakes were keeping a careful distance from the teen. Some of the older years were looking at the boy with disappointed gazes - whether because he lost or who he lost to, Snape didn't know - but Gemma Farley looked outright hostile as far as the man could tell. He'd only ever seen such a look on the girl in her first year when someone had tried to hurt her based on her blood status as a half - blood. The boy hadn't come out of it for the better.

It was the one time that the potions Professor had allowed for hostility to be publicly shown outside of the common room.

The second anomaly presented itself when the first years walked in.

The ten Slytherins walked into the Great Hall as a unit, not a single one of them missing from the group. Normally the lines were drawn between them during the first night as well. Slytherins naturally vied for the position of power, to have the most of it and align themselves to those who do when they aren't the strongest in the room. That meant that there was always a divide.

But not this time, Snape reminded himself as he watched the group take the large space that had been left at the center of the table, that all of the others had avoided as if on purpose.

And it had been.

Where the older Slytherin's gazes had been cold before, there was a degree of warmth that the professor could see in his snakes towards the first years. It was the kind that only one predator could hold for another: an acknowledgment of power. A show of respect.

The potions master studied the group wearily, looking for Huey who had earned such a thing. Green grass and Davis were sitting across from Parkinson and seemed to be gossiping of all things on the first day of term, as Zabini turned his back to the three girls to speak with Potter who sat beside him, and Nott on the other side of the scarred boy. Malfoy sat on Potter's other side, pressed just as closely to the boy as he'd been the night before as the blond spoke with Crab and Goyle - who sat next to one another, in front of him. Only Bulstrode seemed to be left out, but the gazes going to her were pitying at the most.

The professor had almost given up hope at solving this particular mystery before lunch when Warrington looked down that table at the group hatefully, Potter - of all people - meeting his gaze evenly. The older had something of a nasty look on his face, but Snape noted that the boy didn't seem to mind. Potter only picked up his knife and twirled it easily in his hand as if it were an extension of himself, his eyes never leaving the other.

And Warrington flinched.

—-

McGonagall had never really cared much for the intricacies of Slytherin politics, they left something of a sour taste in the witch's mouth, but the opening night duels were another thing altogether. After seeing how much smoother the tensions were among the snakes, the four heads of houses made an agreement after the first one not to mention them to the headmaster. The other three, while not condoning them for their own houses, had to agree that the dueling system worked well for a house such as Slytherin.

And betting on the victors was always fun and a good way to make quick money.

"I see the dueling went well last night," McGonagall observed, noticing the distinctly formed alliances at the table below.

"I suppose so," the potions master agreed, though the Deputy Headmistress could hear the unsureness in the other professor's voice.

She could easily tell why.

The Warrington boy was a nasty one, one that had been brought up in pureblood views about as much as any other of the Slytherins had been; if not more so than some. Now there was a wound across the boy's neck, marring it to match the teen horrid personality. 

And Potter was twitching a knife with a purposeful boredom as the older boy flinched.

McGonagall glanced at the Headmaster and found Dumbledore studying the scene as well, looking at the small boy as if he was a monster in the making rather than a young child.

The witch found herself inclined to agree.

He looks nothing like James.

—-

Despite being some of the last to arrive, the Slytherin first years were the first to leave breakfast to go to class, identical timetables in hand. Being a first year meant that none of them had any idea as to where to go, some of the students only going off of stores that had been told to them by their parents at the most. But Harry didn't mind leaving early, they were going down to potions after all.

The sick feeling from the night before had risen with a new vigor as Harry and the others had left the Slytherin common room and the dungeons altogether, but this time the boy had been expecting it and had already fortined himself at Draco's side long before the group had ever reached the Great Hall. The feeling had lessened a little more once Blaise had taken his other side at the table, and Theodore had sat across from the three. The closeness of them all left the boy's skin tingling as he realized that they too felt like the magic that came from the youngest Malfoy.

The effect of having so many Slytherins close was enough to allow Harry to think with a clear head and debate with Blaise and Theo on whether or not the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was going to last this year. Though the "debate" quickly turned as they all agreed that Quirrell wouldn't for differing reasons. Eventually the trio just spoke of Astronomy, dragging Draco into the conversation as well as his mother's side of the family apparently had a habit for naming their children after celestial bodies in the sky.

Even talking as he was, Harry took the time to study the older Slytherins and saw that some of the sixth and seventh years seemed to be at a similar level of discomfort as Harry was. He watched as they sighted in their seats as if their skin no longer sat right on their bones and he knew that it was for the same reason that his didn't. Even if he didn't know why just yet. But they seemed to notice it on him too, if the gazes were anything to go by.

Harry didn't see Hermione in the Great Hall and ,though disappointed, had figured that the girl must have come down earlier so that she could find the library before class. It seemed like something that she would do anyway. He didn't see Neville either and figured that he'd see them both in class.

Walking into the dungeons had an effect akin to having the other Slytherins around him, as the dark, underground halls only seemed to be twinged with whatever magic it was that made the boy so ill. It felt like breathing too hot summer air rather than almost none at all.

The potions classroom was as dark as the halls that it sat in and just as dark. There were lab tables with cauldrons already atop them. Set up neatly on the far side of the room as two rows of two person desks were set up on the left, closest to the door.

Harry and Draco took the seats at the front of the left row, Theonamd Blaise taking up post behind the pair. Harry noticed quickly that all of the Slytherins followed suit and filled the left row as they all walked in.

The Gryffindors took the right.

The lions walked in sporadically, no more than three of them at a time. A red haired boy, brown haired one, and a dark skinned boy all rushed in just before the bell, taking seats at the back of the row. Harry shrugged sympathetically at Neville who had trailed in behind them and had gotten stuck with the red head.

Quiet mummers came from the lions, but none of the snakes uttered a word. They knew from their time meeting the options master the night before that he was a sterit man, and none of them were willing to push the bounds of the Head of House's rumored favoring until they knew just which bounties that they could push and get away with it. They were Slytherins after all.

The door to the potions. Classroom slammed closed with enough force and suddenness to make Harry flinch, something that only the three perceptive Slytherins surrounding the boy seemed to notice; much to Harry's pleasure and dismay. The dark haired teacher stormed to the front of the classroom, his cloak billowing behind him as he did. Harry thought that the look was a little outdone, but only just refrained from rolling his eyes when he saw the stars shimmering so brightly in Draco's eyes.

The Professor spared none of them an introduction as he immediately moved into calling out roll, pausing on Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," the Professor said softly, scorn laying thickly within his tone. "Harry Potter, our newest… celebrity."

A few of the Gryffindors snickers at the potions master's words, but the most that the Slytherins did was glare at the lions, and some even at their head of house himself. Harry didn't know if any of them did this out of a sense of budding friendship, house unity, or just not wanting to get on the bad side of the boy that had slit a fourth year's throat the night before, but he found that he didn't care all that much. It was the first time, Jude aside, that anyone had ever tried to stand up for the boy, even in such a subtle way.

Harry didn't think that he was imagining the subtle look of pride on the potions master's face at the sight either, even though a portion of the hostility was directed towards him.

"You are here to learn the subtle art and exact science that is potions making," Professor Snape said after finishing the roll. The potions master's voice was quiet but held the same level of sternness to it as the witch that had led them into the Great Hall. It grated on the boy more than he cared to admit. "Many of you will hardly believe that his class counts as magic, but I don't expect you to appreciate the delicacies of such a subject just yet. If you aren't as much of a bunch of fools and dunderheads as I normally have to teach, then I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even out a stopper in death."

The professor's cold eyes roamed across the quiet class before Harry saw them settle on himself once more. "Potter!" The man announced with enough forewarning that Harry's flinch was minimal this time, though still enough to warrant a cursory glance from the boy at his side. "What would I get if I added a powder root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry let his mind wander back to the books that he'd read at least two times over the last month, knowing that potions should be his best subject after all of the time that he had spent in the Dursleys kitchen since he was old enough to stand at the burner.

"Draught of Living Death," the boy answered with more surness than he rightly felt.

The man looked down at Harry with a hint of surprise that was there and gone as soon as it had come, but it was enough for the boy to know that he wasn't supposed to have been able to answer the professor's question.

"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" The older Slytherin asked, his voice louder and more obviously annoyed that it had been before. 

The cabinet, I would assume, Harry wanted to say, but he bit down the remark. Nothing good ever comes of speaking in such a way to an adult, he knew.

"Stomach of a goat," is what the boy said instead.

Harry could see the other Slytherins shifting in the sears around and behind him, torn between looking proud of their housemate and confused with their professor's obvious show of hostility. Harry knew that the man before them was acting nothing like how they had heard about from their prefects and the older snakes.

The boy couldn't read the emotions on the older man's face, but he was able to read the potion master's body language well enough to know just before the man barked once more and shot down a flinch. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry felt his brows scrunch together at the question. "Aren't those the same plant, sir?" The Slytherin boy asked, his voice lacking his unsureness even as his face showed it all too well.

"…Correct," Professor Snape said slowly, his dark eyes looking over Harry appraisingly. Harry still couldn't read the man well, but he could sense the conflict in his eyes well enough. "Three points to Slytherin."

Draco glanced at Harry questioningly once he saw that the test was over, but all that boy could do was shrug.

The potions lesson continued from there as everyone was paired off and assailed to make a simple potion to cure boils. Harry crushed the snake fangs as Draco weighed the dried nettles. The boys tried not to let too much pride swell in their chests as theirs was the only potion that escaped the potions master's scathing remarks.

Harry looked up and glanced around the classroom as their condors gave off a satisfying hiss and clouds of green smoke. He'd only wanted to see how the others were progressing, but his heart had raced quickly when his eyes landed on one of the Gryffindors.

"Neville, stop!" The boy screamed out, not caring if it would cause any of the others to mess up their potions from his outburst, it couldn't be any worse then what the other boy was about to do. The Gryffindor's table was too far away from Harry's to allow him to do anything but scream.

Neville immediately stilled, his hand still over the cauldron, as did everyone else in the classroom. 

"Potter," the potions master spat, "care to explain to me why you're being so arrogant as to yell in my class?" The man asked, his voice colder and much more dangerous than it had been at the start of class.

Harry swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat at the man's tone, knowing that he expected an answer even when Uncle Vernon often didn't give the boy a chance to do so when he spoke with such scorn. He raised his hand quickly and pointed at the Gryffindor boy with his hand still over the cauldron.

"The fire is still on," the boy said quietly, not daring to look at the older man as he did so.

Harry watched quietly with the rest of the class as Snape walked over to the other boy and looked between Neville's cauldron and what was still in the boy's hand. He could see the man's shoulders move in a sigh from across the classroom. "Well, idiot boy," the man said to the now cowering lion, "it seems that Potter had just saved your pathetic life from what would have been a particularly nasty explosion and case of boils." The man quickly glanced between the pair before adding a quiet, "two points to Slytherin and three from Gryffindor for such idiocy."

Harry privately thought that the professor had probably never sounded so glum about giving points to his own house before.

Potions continued on uneventfully from there as the boys finished the potion with it looking exactly as the board said that it should, eating the pair a nod of approval from the potions master before the man began to reprimand Neville and the red headed boy - Weasley - for how poorly theirs had ended up being. 

Harry and Draco quickly moved to Neville as the class was dismissed, following the other boy out of the class.

"Thankyou, Harry," the other boy said earnestly as the three shuffled out of the dungeons, the other Slytherins trailing behind them. "Really, I would have hated to have been covered in boils on the first day. Even worse, make Snape hate me even more."

Harry shrugged, not really caring about the other boy's gratitude. Hardly anyone ever meant it. "I think I e got you beat on that one," the boy grumbled annoyedly. He really couldn't understand just what the man's problem with him was, or why Snape even had one already

"He's just stern is all," Draco attempted to defend the man that Harry had already guessed that the boy so clearly idolized.

"And the fuckign solo pop quiz?" Harry countered almost angrily, but letting none of it show. It never did you any good to show angirly, only gave people more to use against you. 

Draco had nothing to say to that.

"Well I think you did well, Harry," Blaise complemented, his hand coming close to the other boy's shoulder before pulling away after seeing how tense Harry had grown. The Slytherin knew that Blaise wasn't going to let that one go just yet.

Harry didn't know if he wanted the other to.

—-

History of Magic was the Slytherins next class, something that - in theory - should have been one of the most interesting classes that they took - it was taught by a ghost for fuck's sake! - but wound up putting almost everyone to sleep in minutes as Professor Binns droned on boringly. Harry didn't even think that the ghost noticed the condition of his class as he lectured on goblin wars. The only thing that made it even remotely salvageable was that it was with the Ravenclaws.

The girls took the front of the class this time, Pamst and Daphne taking the front row as Tracey sat by herself on the second row. Harry, Draco, Theo, and Blaise filled in behind them in the same manner as they had in the last class; the Slytherins taking special care to surround Harry now that they were back in the upper portion of the castle. He couldn't tell when the others had realized that the boy felt ill in the main parts of the castle, or if they were all just surrounding him instinctively, but Harry was grateful for their presence nonetheless.

Hermione walked in with a flurry of books well before the bell, and separate from the rest of her house. Harry found it strange just how divided the other houses were, the Slytherins stuck tightly to one another but not even the Hufflepuffs seemed to exhibit that level of loyalty.

Harry motioned the girl over, ignoring the confused glances from his housemates as he did so. He didn't care about what pureblood views they'd all been brought up in. Tracey didn't seem to either.

The Slytherin girl motioned for the other girl to take the empty seat at her side, much to Harry's pleasure. "I'm Tracey Davis," the girl introduced, holding out a hand in the snake prim manner that Harry had noticed most Slytherins seemed to be born oozing.

"Hermione Granger," the Ravenclaw replied, meeting the other's hand and taking the offered seat.

Pansy and Daphne's eyes met Harry's with a clear question in them. The girl's understood well enough that Hermione was to be welcomed if she wasn't we'd to be when the boy retired their gazes with a look that was startlingly similar to the one that Harry had given Warrington only the night before.

"So where are you lot coming from?" Harry asked, leaning his head against his knuckles as Binns floated across the front of the classroom. 

Hermione gave the boy a scathing look for speaking in class, but it seemed that even she had to admit how poor of a lesson it was when her shoulders sagged in something akin to defeat. "We had Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs," the girl said, which seemed to catch Blaise and Theo's attention as the boys leaned forwards on their desks, close enough that Harry could feel Blasie's breath on the back of his neck.

"And?" The egar Slytherin boy asked, his eyes gleaming with something that Harry could only describe as mischief.

"Well - I…" Hermione's face grew a shade darker though Harry didn't think that it was from the sudden increase in the attention being given to her, but rather of speaking ill of a teacher. "It was his first class, I'm sure that he was only nervous," Hermione protested weakly.

"He's not going to make it the year, I knew it!" Blaise said excitedly.

"We all knew that!" Harry reminded the other Slytherin. "That wasn't what the bet was even about, you toss pot."

"Yeah, you toss pot," Theo chimed in, hitting the other boy good naturedly on the shoulder. It was strange for Harry to see someone touch another in such a way without the intent of violence.

Draco groaned dramatically. "Merlin save us all, there's two of them now." Though Harry could tell that the other boy didn't truly mind it at all.

The girls laughed and Harry was happy to see that Hermione allowed herself to as well.

Harry couldn't help but wonder if this was what friends were supposed to feel like. He thought he could get used to it if it was.

—-

Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs felt a lot like potions had as McGonagall glared at Harry with a gaze that was much more heated than it had been the night before.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic that you will learn while at Hogwarts," the witch said, looking at them all sternly, her gaze staying on Harry for just a beat too long. "Anyone found messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You've been warned."

Harry felt disappointment swell in his chest at the witch's harsh demeanor. Transfiguration and Potions had been two of the classes that Harry had been looking forward to the most. He hated that the professors seemed to dislike him so much on the first day.

The class spent most of the lesson taking some intricate notes that had Harry's wrist aching by the end of it, long before they even drew their wands.

They were each given a match and were told to turn it into a needle. Harry could feel the bite of the match head as he ran his fingers over it and knew that he could change the object with little more than a thought if he so wished, he also knew better than to do so.

Raising his wand for the first time since he'd bought ti a good month ago, Harry pointed it at the match on the desk and quietly muttered the spell, watching with satisfaction as it changed into a needle sharp enough to prick a finger. 

McGonagall only glanced at the sight.

—-

Charms and Astronomy were both rather uneventful in nature, both focusing on more introductory theory than practical, but they did seem to beat the odds that all of Harry's teachers would hate him on sight. Harry supposed that was something.