Better Be Slytherin!

Then all that rot about Draco, and how to use information against him. Like it made a difference to Harry if Draco was afraid of his father. It wasn't like Harry didn't understand being wary of adults, even afraid of them. Adults couldn't be trusted, he knew that. But he wasn't going to hold stuff like that over Draco's head, no matter how much Draco knew about the Dursleys or how often Harry had been to the Infirmary. It just wasn't on.

But he'd thought Draco wasn't a complete arse and hoped they could be friends. They'd gotten along for the most part, except for that run in over the Remembrall, so it had hurt more than Harry wanted to admit when Draco had laughed at him in class earlier today, when he couldn't answer any of Snape's questions. As if he'd have any idea what those things were. He'd gotten his books at Diagon Alley with Hagrid and barely had the chance to crack them, with all the chores and glares and the rest of it he'd dealt with for the remainder of the summer before the Dursleys dumped him at King's Cross. He'd read ahead what he could since getting to Hogwarts, but with all his detentions, plus getting used to the castle and classes and magic, and now with Quidditch, too, he hardly had enough time to breathe some days, never mind memorize the Potions text.

Besides, Teddy told him later that none of that stuff was even in the first third of the book, and he shouldn't have been expected to know any of it yet. How Miss Bloody Granger knew it all was anyone's guess. Teddy had a few theories, mostly having to do with her living the library, with books for pillow, blanket, bed and even the loo . . . the latter made of History of Magic books, of course.

Harry had been grateful to Teddy, and had avoided Draco for the rest of the day. He noted Crabbe and Goyle snickered right along with Draco, same with Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. But not Millicent, not Teddy, and not Neville Longbottom or even Ron. Instead, the red head had looked almost . . . angry at Snape, and on Harry's behalf! The thought had lightened his mood, which had plunged rather deeply as Snape mocked him in front of everyone. He'd thought the man would be fair; he'd said he didn't play favorites, hadn't he? That was the most disappointing thing about the class, in the end. And he'd been looking forward to Potions, too.

Looking into the bin, now, Harry saw he was more than half through his work after only an hour. Maybe he'd get a chance to actually study tonight with his group, instead of having to get up early and do his work in bed. Tomorrow was Saturday, though, so maybe they'd quit the study group early in favor of hanging out or playing Exploding Snap or Wizard's Chess.

It was just after nine when he finally finished, bottles of ground beetles lined up precisely and the table wiped down. He closed the door, unsure if he needed to lock it again, or if would happen automatically, and decided to just leave it shut like that, for surely Snape would have told him if he needed to do anything special when he left.

He headed back to the Slytherin common room, passing through several twisting corridors on the way. It was easy to get lost down here. Easier than the rest of the castle anyway. The torches – spelled to stay lit all the time – didn't give off as much light as one might hope, when wandering through dungeons, and the flickering light made shadows appear in odd places, so sometimes you could miss a turn or a recessed alcove you needed to take.

Harry was mostly used to it by now, but his thoughts were still running away from him with all that had happened over the last few days, and he didn't realize until he hit a dead end that he'd missed a cross passage somewhere.

Turning to retrace his steps, he found himself face to . . . translucent face with the Bloody Baron.

Silvery blood covered the Bloody Baron's hands and clothes, and his face, also splashed with a streak of sliver, was caught in an expression of deep pain. A gaping hole in his chest leaked a never ending flow of that silver blood, dripping toward the floor, but then it winked out of existence before actually hitting the stone. Chains wrapped the ghost's torso and rattled ominously, even while he hovered right in front of Harry.

'Harry Potter,' the ghost intoned.

Harry had seen a number of Hogwarts ghosts in the last week, but not the Bloody Baron, not since the Welcoming Feast. He'd felt the ghost's gaze studying him that night, but he'd been so nervous about