'No . . .' Hagrid had told him about what Muggles were, and that some folks in the wizarding world didn't care for those who weren't wizards, or born of wizards. 'But I was raised by Muggles. You know, after my parents died.'
Wrinkling his nose as if he smelled something dead a week or more, Malfoy leaned back against the couch. 'That's . . . awful.'
Well, Malfoy didn't know the half of it, but Harry wasn't going to tell him. 'They didn't like magic,' he volunteered, however. 'But I kept doing it anyway, I guess.'
'Obviously.' Something in Malfoy's tone suggested that it would be impossible for anything else to have occurred.
Breakfast was a quiet affair for the Slytherin table, as all the students had been up late and then up early, but some of the other tables were rather rowdy, particularly the Gryffindors, where Ron Weasley had been sorted. Harry was a little sad about that, but he knew that the boy he'd met on the train and who'd told him about collecting chocolate frog cards and such was probably happier with his family than he ever would have been in Slytherin.
Like he was supposed to, Harry waited till everyone had their fill of breakfast before he snagged a slice of toast, though he almost dropped it back on the platter when Draco gave him a hard look. Instead, he nibbled at the edges, just as Professor Snape came around to their table with schedules.
Harry kept his head down, his ears turning red, remembering the morning's scene in the bathroom, but Professor Snape said nothing about it, said nothing at all, in fact, just gave him a nasty look as he shoved the piece of parchment at Harry.
Draco peered over his shoulder. 'We've got Transfigurations first.' He rolled his eyes and sent a baleful look at the loudest table. 'Then Herbology. With the Gryffindors.'
'I wonder how they can hear their Head of House, with all their noise,' Harry murmured.
Draco snorted a laugh. 'Like my father says, they're uncultured ruffians. They can't help it, really.'
Harry wrinkled his nose, but finished his toast and waited, according to the new rules, for his year mates to finish, as well as for any announcements, before they left to go to their first class. Though he was feeling rather queasy with the knowledge that he didn't know any magic and was likely going to be terribly behind all his classmates, he was still very careful, while walking next to Draco to their first class, to make sure none of his awful clothes peeked from beneath his robes. It was harder to hide his trainers, but if he took deliberate enough steps, his robe didn't flap around them and kept them from being seen. So far so good, for the day.
Professor McGonagall seemed tough but fair, and she told them first thing that her class would be amongst the hardest they would have at Hogwarts, and she wouldn't tolerate any messing around. Later, in Herbology, Harry had a chance to say 'Hi,' to Ron for the first time since the boats across the lake, but to his disappointment, Ron gave him a disgusted look and turned away.
Seeing that, Draco swore under his breath something about 'blood traitors,' which Harry didn't understand. The rest of the day went fairly well, and Harry was almost used to the odd way the staircases had of moving when you least expected it, and to the various ghosts who flitted by them in the corridors. Peeves was another matter, but since everyone seemed equally annoyed by the poltergeist, that was okay, too.
He ate lunch with 'Teddy' Nott, as he preferred to be called, while Draco sat with a couple of girls from their year, who he said he'd knows for years and wanted to catch up with. Teddy kept giving Harry odd looks during the meal, and finally Harry said, 'What? Have I got something on my face?'
Teddy's lips quirked into a semblance of a smile. 'Except for your scar, no.'
Harry frowned. It was a remnant of the night his parents died, and he preferred not to think about it, but Hagrid had said they hadn't died in a car crash at all, but were killed by a wizard named Voldemort. And it was the scar that made him famous. 'It's just a scar,' he said, and pushed his hair down to cover it the best he could. 'I wish people wouldn't stare at it.'
Eyes widening just a bit, Teddy nodded sharply and applied himself to his meal. Harry thought he seemed almost . . . wary, which was kind of disconcerting.
After lunch, they had more classes, and then dinner, and then Harry had to go to Professor Snape's office for detention. He knocked softly on the door, heart in his throat, but determined not to cry, even if he was to get caned, like Dudley said they did to freaks at schools like his.
'Enter.'
Harry pushed open the door and gaped around the room at the bottles and vials and jars of weird, squiggly plants and severed animal parts floating in variously colored liquids. The smell of disinfectant and something . . . earthy hung in the air.
'Close you mouth, Potter, before a doleshinkle weed makes a home of it.' The professor was hunched over his desk, writing quickly in bright red ink all over some parchments, which must have been student work. He hadn't even looked up! While
Harry jumped to obey, and after rolling up the sleeves of his robe, spent the next few hours scrubbing cauldrons. He was pretty good at cleaning, but there were a couple stains he just could not get out. He scrubbed at those for a long time, until his arms ached, and his fingers were sore and blistered from gripping the cloths. He had only two left, from the dozen he'd been assigned, and each of them with one last unassailable stain that he was still working on, when a voice behind him made him jump.
'That's enough. Dismissed.'
He spun around to find Snape only a foot or two away, and looked up into the sneering face. 'But, sir, I wasn't able--'
'Are you still having trouble with simple instructions?' the professor snapped. 'I can give you another detention, if that's the case.'
'No, sir. Sorry, sir.' He quickly put away his cleaning supplies and hurried to the door, not catching the pensive look Snape sent after him.
He didn't have time to do very much homework before he was scheduled for bed, but he got a start on reading for Transfiguration, in preparation for an essay they had due in two days. At bed time, once again, Harry didn't want to undress in front of his Housemates, and so crawled onto his bed, and shut the drapes before changing into his nightclothes -- an enormous shirt of Dudley's that was worn enough to be softer than most of his
